Dinosaur Island -1994- [SECURE]

She had kept her promise. The island was now a protected zone. Scientists from a dozen countries were already on-site, cataloging species, studying behaviors, unraveling the genetic mysteries of Ingen’s failed dream. The animals were dangerous. The animals were beautiful. The animals were alive.

Ingen hadn’t just cloned dinosaurs. They’d engineered them—spliced DNA from frogs, birds, cuttlefish, anything that filled the gaps in the fossil record. But the gaps were bigger than they’d thought. The animals were unstable. Prone to disease, to sudden sex changes, to unexpected migrations. By 1988, the island had become a prison. By 1989, it had become a tomb. Dinosaur Island -1994-

She remembered her father’s notes. Compsognathus—Late Jurassic, Germany/France. Size of a chicken. Scavenger. Social. The photo. The little creature, no bigger than a dog, perched on his shoulder like a parrot. She had kept her promise

Lena grabbed her father’s notebook, kicked free of the tangled sheets, and swam for the light. The animals were dangerous

Mercer went very still.

Lena had seen the blueprints in the bunker: laboratories, hatcheries, a veterinary station, a cafeteria, and at the center of it all, a four-story tower with a helipad on top. The tower was where Hammond had kept his office. It was also where the geothermal plant was housed—the island’s heart, still beating.