Dinosaur Island -1994- Today

“We thought we were creating a theme park. We were wrong. We were creating a world. And worlds don’t belong to anyone. Not even God.”

She walked through the gate.

Lena heard the footsteps a second later. Dinosaur Island -1994-

The compound was a ghost town. Wind blew through broken windows. Doors hung open. In the cafeteria, plates of fossilized food still sat on tables—eggs, bacon, coffee mugs half-full of something that had long since turned to sludge. She found a calendar on the wall, flipped to March 1989. The fifteenth had been circled in red ink. EVACUATION DAY was written in the margin. “We thought we were creating a theme park

Lena turned the body over. A man, fortyish, dark hair, wearing a Costa Rican military jacket with the patches ripped off. His hands were tied behind his back with zip ties. His pockets were empty. Around his neck, on a leather cord, hung a key card: INGEN – SECURITY LEVEL 5 – MERCER, V. And worlds don’t belong to anyone

Lena closed the logbook. Her hands were steady now. The shaking had stopped.

She found the second camp at dawn.