Young Writers Society

Christopher Chase Polk - Tuesday, Day 4 On The Island, 7AM

The Mapu charging through the front of the hotel. The elevator ripped off its cable in the dinosaur's massive jaws. Polk falling out the window to his death, his fingers brushing Chris's, just a little too late. Alex crushed under a pile of rubble. The crystal chandelier crashing to the ground, its shards ripping through Christopher's back. The Mapu falling lifelessly to the ground on top of the electrified fence.

The events played through Christopher's mind, over and over again as he tried to sleep. Each time he dreamt of it, it only got more vivid. The fifth time, he felt as if he were there, living it all over again. He could almost feel the heat from the fire, could almost smell the smoke that filled the halls of the hotel...

He bolted upright, eyes shooting wide and tears streaming down his face. His body trembled, and his breaths came in quick gasps. Not even in sleep, could he escape the horrors he had faced thus far. How long would it be before someone else was killed? How much time did he have before someone else he trusted betrayed him?

Early morning light filtered into the cave in dappled spots of sunlight. The rain had stopped finally, but the occasional drop still fell from the cave's entrance. Ax and Annabelle were already up, seemingly planning out their next move. He drew a stick through the moist dirt, drawing a map of the island. The others were just beginning to stir, and luckily, hadn't noticed Chris's abrupt awakening.

Christopher stood on shaky legs and made his way out of the cave, past Ax and Annabelle and to a large rock a few yards away. He sat on it, resting his arms on his knees and looking out into the lush, dew-ladened forest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The morning air was cool and musky, the smell or rain mingling in his nose.

The others started to rise for the morning, picking themselves up from the hard ground of the cave they'd all slept on and collecting their things. A sling made out of a long-sleeved shirt had been draped over Nigel's shoulder, allowing him to keep his broken arm still and close. After everything that had happened, they were running pretty short on medical supplies.

The group gathered around the map Ax had drawn as he pointed around it with the stick, explaining what their plan was going to be, but Chris didn't bother going over. He was sure someone would fill him in, and right now, he just felt like being alone.

Several minutes later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Annabelle. "Hey, kid."

Christopher's eyes lingered on her for a moment, then he turned his gaze back to the forest.

"We're just about ready to head out," she said, trying to sound chipper. "Ax says we should head south, towards where all the gift shops are. If we want to find more food and supplies, it'll be there."

"Fine," Chris said.

"What happened to your hat?" she asked him after a moment.

The memory of him pressing his hat back into his Grandfather's hands flashed through his mind, followed by Polk falling out the window, his blue eyes locked on Chris's before disappearing into the island fog. Chris closed his eyes, the memory too painful to bare.

After a moment, he opened them again and finally said, "I lost it."

"Oh," Annabelle said. "Well, maybe when we get to the gift shops, we can find you a new one."

"Yeah, maybe."

Annabelle came around to crouch in front of him. She gave him a smile of pity. "You're a strong kid, you know that? You've been through a lot."

"We all have," Chris said quietly.

Annabelle was about to respond when Ax cut her off. "Two minutes! Grab your belongings and let's head out. We're wasting daylight and it's a long walk to the shops." Ax hoisted a heavy backpack over his shoulder, then headed back into the cave.

Annabelle looked back at Chris and examined the cut on his cheek. "We should get that bandaged before we go."

"I'm fine," Chris said.

"No, really. That's a nasty cut. You don't want it to get infected--"

"I said I'm fine!" Chris shoved himself off the the rock and trudged into the forest, tears prickling in his eyes. Why couldn't people just leave him alone?

"Chris!" she called after him, but he ignored her.

The others followed behind him, and they were close enough for him to hear Ax say to Annabelle, "The kid's been through a lot. Just give him some space."


The late afternoon light was just beginning to dip behind the mountains, an orange sheen glimmering off of the rich leaves and luscious plants. The soggy ground squished under Chris's every step, the mud clinging and drying to the outside of his boots like a thin layer of cement.

They'd been walking for hours, and finally, when Chris pushed through some large ferns, he emerged into what once was the marketplace of Jurassic World.

He could tell it was once luxurious, just like the hotel had been before it burned to the ground. Chairs had been knocked over and covered in a layer of dirt. Tables and umbrellas sat around in disrepair, broken or bent. Fancy gift shop signs dangled by one side, threatening to break off completely at any moment.

But at least they wouldn't be sleeping outside that night.

The group spread out through the marketplace, peering through dirty or broken windows. Chris pushed his way into a gift shop, followed closely behind by Ax.

Displays of Jurassic World shirts met them just inside the doors. One read: "I went to Jurassic World and all I got was this lousy teeshirt." While another said: "I fought a T-Rex. What's your superpower?"

Chris knew he would have found those amusing just days before, but now it all seemed too real. Dinosaurs just weren't something that could be joked about anymore. It was too soon.

"Hey, Kiddo. Mind helping me out for a second?" Ax said. Chris turned around to find Ax standing behind the register counter, peering behind an empty drink cooler. He came to stand next to Ax and followed his gaze. Crate's labeled Gift Shop Snack Overstock were stacked behind it. Jackpot.

"The cooler doesn't quite want to budge. With the two of us, though, I think we can get it. Mind helping?"

"Sure," Chris said, shrugging off his backpack. Together they pushed as hard as they could and with the little bit of extra force Chris gave it, it slowly slid over.

"Thanks, kiddo. You're strong." Ax gave him a grin as he slid behind the cooler and returned a moment later with a couple of the crates. Ax pulled one of the lids off and dumped the contents onto the counter. Mixed bags of candy and chips spilled out everywhere in a heaping pile. "Let's see what we've got here..."

Together, Ax and Chris picked through the pile of food, separating them by type and counting how many of each there were. As they worked, the store was completely silent other than the soft crinkling of the bags. But Chris's mind was anything but quiet. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, he couldn't get the images out of his head, couldn't stop remembering what he had been through. The grief was overwhelming, and the guilt was too much. Finally, Chris blurted out, "It was all my fault."

Ax gave him a curious look. "What was your fault?"

"My grandfather and Alex's deaths."

"I highly doubt that."

Chris was silent for a moment, a mixture of confusing thoughts and emotions coursing through him. Abruptly, he turned to Ax. "I was right there. If I had just moved a little faster or been a little stronger or a little smarter, things would be different." Christopher could feel himself starting to get worked up, but he tried hard to push his emotions down as he continued. "My grandfather would still be alive and Alex never would have been killed. It's all my fault." His eyes filled with tears again.

Ax sighed sympathetically and turn to Chris, crouching down to his level. "Sometimes..." Ax took a deep breath. "Sometimes you do everything you can to try and save someone and they still don't make it. It's not their fault, and it's not your fault, either. Sometimes, things happen that you can't explain or that you don't understand... But I can assure you, that whatever happened was not your fault."

"Then... Then why am I still alive when so many others have died?"

"Because you're lucky... and because you're smart. You have survivors guilt, Chris. But you don't need to. You don't need to feel guilty for being a survivor. Be proud of yourself for being strong enough and brave enough to have made it this far. Not a lot of other kids your age would have."

Chris looked down at his hands, pondering Ax's words.

Ax placed a finger under his chin and lifted it to meet his eyes once more. "This is not your burden to carry, Chris. It's... It's mine. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Help is going to come soon. I know it. I just need you to stay strong for a little bit longer. Can you do that for me, Kiddo?"

Chris wiped his hand under his running nose. He smiled a little at Ax, recognizing that his idol was looking out for him, and had asked Chris to do something really important for him. A new sense of determination and purpose rose up in him, and for the first time since Carson had found him at the hotel, he felt like maybe he had enough strength to go on.

One step at a time, one day at a time, he would make it through. He just had to trust in Ax and believe that everything would turn out all right.

Finally, Chris nodded. "Yeah, I can do that, Ax."

"That'a boy. Come on, let's go take this food to the others."

Ax swept all of the food back into the crate, then they each took one and headed out the doors to find the rest of the group.

Professor Nigel Auguste – Tuesday, 5:10 P.M.


This was the worst, and most unhealthy, exercise regimen he’d ever participated in.

Nigel had spent the past couple of days alternating between long amounts of sleep followed by heavy activity. That he had been able to descend a cliff face with a broken arm was astounding; however, as Ax had explained while helping him place a sling over his shoulder, using his arm like that hadn’t improved its condition. That arm was now held close to his side, a reminder of his own incapacity to lift objects or assist with the general exploration of the Jurassic World marketplace. He despised it, but there were no medical supplies here, and nobody he could call upon for advanced medical advice. As much as it hindered him and made him more at risk in the event of an attack, the alternative was overusing that part of his anatomy and making it useless altogether. The prospect of an amputation in these conditions was even more horrid than the sling itself.

The small gathering of people was also unnerving. Beyond Ax and Carson, and perhaps those two guards, most of them were ill-equipped to handle this desperately bad situation. Even then, those lucky few with the right training and skills were limited as there was little to work with. The only thing between Nigel and the violent dinosaurs on this island was everyone’s capacity to take care of themselves without aid. On the other hand, it had been the best news he’d heard in the past few days – or even since this expedition began – that he’d somehow managed to outlive Polk and the old man’s guards, hotel, and fancy equipment. Their “leader” had apparently died in the ensuing crisis and fire, but the specific details were in the hands of Polk’s grandson, who wasn’t willing to talk about it.

Nigel understood. It was amazing, in his mind, that this expedition had only lasted a few days thus far. In between his triumphant arrival and present position, he’d seen a lot of violence, death, and carnage. His lengthy sleeping sessions were consumed with the memory of Mercer, gun pointed into the wilderness, before vanishing under the foot of a humongous creature. How suddenly the man had gone from alive to a hole in the ground. Now Auguste could only look upon this place as one where life was cheap, and victims were now a part of everyday life. Worse yet, he knew this dreadful reality and the expedition it was associated with were not through with him or anyone around him. There were still more people to be made victims, and more dangerous places to explore, and no clear chance of escape. The professor wondered how long he might survive in such conditions. He’d somehow kept himself alive by sheer energy and adrenaline, managing to evade the foot while keeping the gyrosphere running. Yet, there was no sense of triumph in it, nor in his later death-defying adventures. Only by luck was he here, inspecting the broken and battered marketplace. He dearly hoped such luck would keep him going, as Polk – whom, as much as Nigel hated to say, had been far more resourceful and defended – was felled by extraordinarily bad luck.

Still, he hated random chance – even chaos theory relied on organized rules, as complex and as many as there were. Thus, he wished that the group, now scattered among various dilapidated stores and broken down facilities, would find something that might be useful to them. In the meantime, he had to avoid tripping over the huge impressions in stone where dinosaur feet had pressed down. Given he had only one arm, that proved challenging, though he couldn’t help at marvel how deep and large these footprints were. He could only imagine the crowds of panicked people knocking over chairs and scattering umbrellas as they ran past attacking dinosaurs in a wave of violence. There were still stains marking the walls of some of the gift shops and the stairs that led upwards towards the imposing principal facility of Jurassic World, now a blown-out piece of dusty and rusting metal overlooking the equally ruined grounds beneath it.

He was here. Nigel had heard of the Jurassic World incident in-depth only a few years ago. Before that, he had been amazed by the place. It had been complex, the pictures had made it look shining and beautiful, and all the tourist blogs in the world couldn’t do it justice. Auguste had ignored the consequences of the Jurassic Park incident, looking upon its successor as a far better organized, brilliant accomplishment of a dream. They had tamed and controlled the dinosaurs, had placed them within exhibits, and had presented them to approving crowds. He had actually bought tickets for him, his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew; the four of them had been hoping to spend a week in the luxurious hotels and have a wonderful time seeing the dinosaurs. Fortunately for them, their scheduled visit would have taken place the day after the complex had been forced to shut down because of the simple fact that dream had turned into a nightmare.

Those tickets were probably still lying on the desk beside his bed, collecting dust. He hadn’t been reimbursed for them, mostly as the company involved had gone bankrupt incredibly quickly. Nigel remembered having had to tell his nephew that they wouldn’t be able to go; the young boy’s heart had been broken. Until recently, it had been one of the more tragic moments in his life, and perhaps the strongest catalyst behind his desire to see this island destroyed. How else could he have been able to handle the reality that his dream had been built on unsteady foundation? Nigel had read all the news accounts, looked through the interviews, and had grown frustrated with the incompetence of the staff involved and their slow spiral into greed and destruction. This hadn’t made the same mistakes as its predecessors – it had just made new ones.

Those errors were on full display here, with every shattered window and weed poking through the stones and screech from the jungle in the distance. This place was an overgrown mess, and many of the building’s roofs had already collapsed. Nigel observed it while standing in front of a massive circular pool of green, murky water, he having walked through a shattered gate to reach it. Neglected, it lay among rows of seats extending upwards towards a sky that did not care how they were doused in water and the scattered, neglected belongings of quickly fleeing human beings. As he turned his gaze onto it, part of him wanted to take off his socks and shoes and dip his feet in the water. That urge was quickly turned off by the sight of a distant shadow somewhere in the slimy mess that was the deep pit. Nigel took a few steps back and watched the pit carefully as he left the area rapidly.

A part of him was paranoid. He imagined dinosaurs around every corner, all wanting to tear him to pieces. When they had arrived, nobody had found anything suspicious – the place had seemed quiet. Nigel had been told that the dinosaurs had likely picked the place clean by now, and the unfamiliar terrain was not to their liking. Even now, he wasn’t sure how much to believe that, but the lack of screaming and terror meant that no dinosaurs had poked their head out of a gift shop thus far. Facts were useless against his nightmares and anxiety, though, and he continued to walk about with a fearful stare. Every trace of violence and dinosaur presence made him feel tense, with his stomach clenched and body prepared to run. It was shameful; he was a man who had prided himself on his resilience and strength, and Isla Nublar had left him into a nervous, chattering wreck.

Nigel tried to distract himself. Maybe he’d make up it to his nephew by rummaging through one of the stores and picking up a poster, or book, or stuffed animal, or whatever was still here. And, if he was still alive at the end of this, he’d come back to his family and hand it over and cry in his brother’s shoulder and laugh because the nightmare is over and nothing would ever be as horrific or scary as what he had had to go through for the past 48 hours. All he wanted to do was have the button in his hands so that he could press it and destroy this whole damned island in his fury. He could become an observer again, and watch with disinterest as the blind continued to march in and leave in tatters while he sipped coffee and graded papers on New England landscapes or something. Auguste could pull out his laptop and open it up to see the news and scroll by, ignoring that latest round of violence and aggression from the comfort of his own home –

The suitcase.

The professor realized he had been impulsively carrying his suitcase this entire time. He had dragged it from the tree where his lovely bonfire was likely still raging (hopefully to consume the whole island), and had begged Ax to carry down that suitcase with him before they had descended the cliff. The other man had looked him like he was crazy, but Nigel had asserted it would be useful in some way. True, the professor hadn’t been sure what exactly it could do, beyond provide the papers and notes by which he could try to bring ruin upon this place, but now Nigel realized it could serve more than one use in accomplishing his goals while somehow keeping him alive in the process.

He crouched, setting down the suitcase on the ground and opening it. Exuberantly, the man pulled out his laptop, quickly pressing the power button as he waited with bated breath to see if it would work. To his joy, it flickered to life, flashing a red screen with a text box that was anticipating a password. Nigel didn’t even have to look at the hint to type down his password – BrotherlyLove – and then he watched as the loading screen slowly faded into the background. Of course, his computer always started up slowly, so it would be a minute or two before his latest notes and papers would appear on the screen. Impatient as he was, Nigel felt relieved that the one key to his survival had been with him the entire time, and that he had been able to find his tool against random chance. His greatest focus was on the part of his computer where the small icon for his level of wireless connection would appear. The professor wasn’t sure if, on this island far from civilization, there would be any kind of signal.

He was praying there would be.

Annabelle Quail – Tuesday, 5:30 P.M.

Doritos! Glorious Doritos!

They had taken refuge in the dusty backstage “Employees Only” section of a gift shop that could be locked safely from the inside. It consisted of a cramped, narrow hallway furnished with a wooden bench, a coffee table laden with a tiny dish of peppermints, and an old employee schedule sheet pinned to the wall. The hallway ended in a locked door for a single-person restroom. Jorge had found the key for it in a drawer behind the gift shop counter.

For the first time in a long time, Annabelle felt safe. She felt certain that if they waited in here long enough, taking trips only to restock food supplies, the FBI would find them. If need be, they could light one of Nigel’s smoke fires to alert them of their location.

Happy and full and sitting on the bench amongst bags and bags of junk food, she was startled when Ax posed the very straight-forward question she had been trying to avoid for so long.

“So,” he said, sitting against the wall beside her, “who really are you?”

She looked at him. He was facing the opposite wall but his green eyes flicked toward her for a second. They looked even more brilliant and wild framed by the dirt and grime of his face.

She closed her eyes and sighed, realizing that after all these days the brick walls around her secret had crumpled. She was about to blurt it out to everyone seated there in the narrow hallway, but stopped short when she reasoned that spilling the beans to so many people would have disastrous legal consequences. But really, at this point, who gave a damn about legal consequences?

Still, she felt that their rescue was close and that she shouldn’t be so brazen about her secret. For now, she’d just tell one person.

Rising to her feet, she nodded toward the restroom. Ax raised his eyebrows. “Is it really that serious?”

Annabelle shrugged. Ax rose and followed her into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind them.

“Last time I did this you yelled at me,” Ax said.

Annabelle ignored him and crossed her arms. “FBI,” she said.

Ax stared. “Woah.” He paused and she let him think. “Damn. What for?”

“Polk. Suspicious motive for returning to the island.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“Hardly.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“Yep.”

Ax nodded, then grinned, flicking his eyebrows triumphantly. “I got it out of you.”

“You did.” She allowed herself a smile. “Was it what you expected?”

“Of course not. You’re becoming a fascinating woman the more I get to know you, Annabelle.”

He stepped closer, and she felt her face turn red.

“Ax?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

He waited. She faltered, hearing voices outside.

“You have dirt on your face,” she said, finally. She backed away, her eyes lingering on his for a second longer, before turning and slipping into the hallway.

Nigel had returned. He had seated himself in between Jorge and Christopher on the bench and was gesturing to the screen of his laptop excitedly. “We have hope,” he said. “This thing is alive.” He looked up at Annabelle when she came in, then scanned the room quickly, doing a quick headcount. “Where’s Ax and Carson?”

“Don’t know about Carson, but Ax is in the bathroom,” she said.

“Oh.” His wide eyes darted between her and the bathroom door.

“Hey, we’re not judging,” Jorge laughed, showing his palms. Chris laughed.

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Please. I just had to tell him something in private. We didn’t do anything.”

“Suuure,” Jorge said.

Suddenly, the doorknob to the gift shop jiggled. Everyone was struck with surprise and froze, staring at the door. They listened as a second later, distinctly human footsteps turned and walked away.

“Who’s there?” Annabelle squeaked, but already the person was too far away to hear.

Gary rose immediately and pounded his fist on the bathroom door. “Ax. You’re in there, right?”

Ax opened the door. His face was washed clean. “Yeah, sorry. Does someone need it?”

Annabelle, in a cry of excitement, flew to the gift shop door and fumbled with the lock to undo it. “There’s another person out there, Ax!”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, “they tried the door and then walked away.”

“Is it Carson?”

“Maybe,” Nigel said. “But why would he try the door and then walk away?”

Annabelle was struggling with the rusty lock, her hands shaking. Finally she opened the door and by then Ax was right next to her, and was the first to slip outside. They turned the corner and saw a man bending over one of the smashed vending machines. He was wearing a camouflage military uniform like Carson's, but it wasn’t him.

Help. Help had come. She breathed a sigh of relief and opened her mouth to cry out joyfully.

“I got one, Manny!” a man yelled from outside.

The guy in the gift shop, Manny, looked up. “Hell yeah! Are they talking?”

“Nope. This one’s smart. Maybe you can help me get something out of ‘em.”

Carson was shoved into the gift shop, his hands tied behind his back. A man behind him was holding his weapons and his backpack, Carson’s lucky rabbit foot dangling from one of the zippers. Carson himself glanced towards their corner near the hallway and with a sharp, minuscule shake of his head, urged them to stay away.

Annabelle sucked in her breath. Ax glanced back at her, his face a mix of utter surprise, anger, and confusion.

Manny walked towards Carson. “Well, well,” he said.

“Certainly you can sympathize with our cause, soldier boy," the other man said. "You’re American, aren’t you? Don’t you want to help out your Uncle Sam?”

“You don’t know these creatures,” Carson muttered. “They can’t be controlled.”

Manny spat an ugly word in Carson’s face. “Where’s the capsule? Where’s your friends?”

“As I already told your buddy here,” Carson said, “my friends are all dead. And I don’t know anything about a capsule.”

“Don’t lie to us, you sonofa - ” The other guy took Carson’s gun and with the butt of it smacked him on the head from behind. Carson cried out and crumpled to his side. “The capsule’s been dug up,” Manny said. “So where the hell is it?”

Chris turned and silently fled back to the hallway. He returned a moment later with Alex’s bag. From it he removed the very capsule Manny was asking for. He swallowed, and lifted it up for Ax to take.