Jurassic Dead (6 page)

11.

Aboard Oil Tanker Hammond-1, Erebus, Antarctica

Marcus looked up from embracing his son to see the crewman who'd acted as his jailer return from the adjacent part of the hold, staring at them, hoping for a good argument that could entertain him, as he whiled away the rest of his shift at the shabby little desk. Marcus pointed toward the end of the hold where the crate was.

“Let's go to my quarters where we might find a little privacy.” He glared at the guard, and then he and Alex walked out of the brig and into the section where the crate had been delivered. It was busy with workers now wrestling a huge, adult dinosaur body onto a specially constructed wheeled platform where it could be laid out in all its frozen glory.

Alex stopped walking as soon as he got a glimpse of the incredible sight. “I still can’t believe that’s a...”

“
Tyrannosaurus rex
? Believe it.”

Marcus waved his son onward and they walked up close to the spectacle. Xander was standing nearby, pointing toward the makeshift large-scale laboratory, a worker then trundling a cart laden with electronic equipment in that direction.

Xander looked over at Marcus when he saw him approach and gave him a dose of stink-eye before looking away. Marcus couldn't help but hear a couple of crewmen talking about a serious injury out on the work deck.

“Dad, we should be careful around this thing.” Alex sounded genuinely nervous, not simply trying to make a scene for the sake of attention.

“Calm down. It's remarkably well preserved from the below-freezing temperatures of the freshwater lake—but it's dead as a doornail, a stiff for millions of years.”

Alex rubbed his forehead. “Why do I feel like we’re in a horror movie and no one fucking believes me?” A crewman put his bare hand on the animal's tail and attempted to drag it onto the platform where it flopped back onto the floor. It proved too heavy and stiff for one man, though, and another came to his assistance, the two of them together wrangling the wayward appendage fully onto the platform.

Marcus put a hand on his son's shoulder. “Alex. We need to finish our conversation. My quarters.” He pointed to the opposite side of the hold, about the width of a football field, where his divided-off area was. “Now!”

Alex shuffled off toward his father's room. When they got there, Marcus indicated for him to walk around the divider and take a seat on the military-style cot that served as his bed. He also had a folding card table for a desk and a single chair, a small transistor radio, along with a few books on Antarctica, and assorted field guides about flora and fauna.

“Nice place you got here,” Alex joked, flopping onto the cot and crossing his arms behind his head as he stared up at the high ceiling.

“Sit up please.”

Alex grunted with the effort of pulling himself to a sitting position. “C'mon, Dad.”

“Alex,” Marcus thought about his next words, but couldn’t stop himself, “shut up and listen for once in your life!”

His son's eyes widened a little at his sharp tone. He remained silent.

“This time you've gotten yourself into one hell of a situation. Maybe more than you bargained for.” He saw Alex about to reply and put his arm up, palm facing out.

“Don't talk. Listen. Don't think for a second that just because you're out of that cage for the time being, it means your troubles are over.”

“Aren't they? Thanks a lot for getting me out of there, Dad. I'm sorry for what it cost you. I know it was a cool job, working with dinosaurs and all, and that's what you love...”

Marcus shook his head vigorously. “No, you still don't get it, Alex! Look around you. At this ship...” He waved an arm at the rust-streaked metal walls soaring high above them where racks of fluorescent lighting kept the space from being in the dark. “...Outside is
Antarctica
, Alex, one of the most forbidding places on the planet. We are
far
from civilization. My point is that you have absolutely nowhere to go from here. You're entirely at the mercy of DeKirk's people. I got them to release you from the brig for now, but they know you can't really go anywhere! At any moment, they could change their mind, decide they need a favor from the Russians, and turn you over to them. You got people
killed
, Alex, do you understand that? We're at their mercy now, and let me tell you, after working for them—that's not a good position to be in.”

Alex held his head in his hands. “I know I screwed up, but you have to admit, the conditions here were pretty freakin’ unbelievable. I mean, who knew—”

“Even coming down here at all was a ridiculously stupid stunt, much less what you did after you got here. The question now, is what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I just plan to lay low until they drop us off in Chile, I guess, and then…”

“No, Alex. I mean with your life. What are you going to do to make sure this kind of thing never, ever happens again? Because this might be Antarctica, but you pull something like this back in the States, and there won't be anything I can do to help you, Alex. Do you understand that? You thought it was bad standing over there for a few hours? You want to go to prison for the rest of your life?” He raised his voice. “Because that's where you're headed, damn it!”

Alex looked down at the floor. Marcus, seeing that he had finally managed to make an impact, pressed on.

“What else can you direct your energy toward besides activism? Because nobody's going to pay you inadvertently to kill people and destroy property, I don't care how pure your motives are. I understand where you're coming from. I really do. You wouldn't believe the number of times I've been out in the field on a dig in some remote, beautiful place, and find all kinds of trash left behind by careless campers, or even worse, industrial waste dumped by companies who can't be troubled to dispose of it properly. It disgusts me, but I don't blow up their campers or poison their food. I just do my job in the hopes that the more I can tell people about the amazing history of life on our planet, the more respect for the environment they'll have.”

Alex wiped his eyes and looked up at his father. Marcus was certain he saw something there he'd never seen before.
Was that respect?

“Um…I can fly.”

Marcus wondered,
is he high on drugs?
“What?”

“Flying lessons. Summer three years ago. I didn’t tell you, but mom knew. She paid for them.”

“She did? Great, I guess I know why she kept that quiet. Yet another summer break spent goofing off while the rest of the world worked.”

Alex took a deep breath, as if pushing back a reply he might regret with a blast of incoming cold air. “Okay. Not going to argue, but what I was saying is that I finally finished. I actually saved enough money on my own to go back and finish the lessons. I just got my prop plane license in the mail from the FAA two weeks ago.”

Marcus studied his son's expression. “That's great, Alex. Congratulations, but honestly, I don't see what that's got to do with your situation right now.”

Alex held his hands up. “Dad. I can be a pilot! I can take people on eco-tours in small planes. My instructor told me he can hook me up with a guy who certifies for float planes, and then I'd be able to…”

“Alex! Really—”

He cut himself off as they heard the sound of the tanker's humungous anchor being winched back into the ship.

“What?”

“I just don't think—” Again, Marcus stopped himself short. Now is not the time to talk about being realistic, he told himself. It wasn't realistic to be stuck on an oil tanker in Antarctica with a frozen dinosaur after you've just been shit-canned from the most rewarding job a paleontologist could ever hope to find, either, yet...here he was.
Let it go.

“Never mind. We'll discuss it further when we get back home.”

Alex shrugged. “Okay. Well, it would make Mom proud, don't you think?”

Marcus looked at his son. Yet another uncomfortable subject between them. “All your mother wants from you, Alex, is simply to hear from you now and then. She's dying of cancer and you haven't seen her in over a year.”

“I thought it was in remission?”

“It was. For a while. It came back about six months ago.”

“I sent her an email.”

Marcus gave a sage nod. “So you send your dying mother an email on Mother's Day and now you've fulfilled your obligation, is that it?”

“Oh, come on!” Alex stood up from the bed.

“A real Son of the Year. Yeah, that's you.”

“And you’re Husband of the Year? This is why I can't ever talk to you!” Alex got up and ran around the divider, and out into the main cargo hold.

“Where are you going?”

No reply came.

“I'm proud of you for getting your license!” Marcus called out, but he wasn't sure if Alex heard it. He stood from the chair and walked out of his living area. Didn't see Alex, but the crew had cleaned up the last of the crate mess and was now driving the forklift away. There was a cluster of people on the far side of the hold, in the lab area. Alex could not possibly have gotten all the way over there yet. Marcus looked right down the long way through the hold, then left and saw him, almost to the stairs leading to the aft deck. 

He started after him and then halted.
Let him go. Give him some space.
Feeling like he'd gotten his point across for the most part, Marcus' growing curiosity over the dinosaur got the better of him. He started walking over to the lab area as he felt the ship's engines vibrate the hull beneath his feet.

They were underway.

12.

Aboard Oil Tanker Hammond-1, En route to Chile

Alex walked out of the cargo hold onto the aft work deck, not looking for anything in particular other than to be as far away as possible from his father right now. Soon, he came across a small crowd gathered in a tight circle. He heard shouted instructions like, “Put some pressure on it!” and, “Does anyone have a belt?”

Edging up to the gathering so that he might see what was going on without bothering anyone, he got a peek between two bodies of a crewman lying on deck, writhing in agony, clutching his right leg. His rubber overalls had been severed at the knee and copious amounts of blood soaked through. A piece of heavy machinery Alex couldn't identify lay toppled on the deck nearby.

“Where's that damned doctor!” somebody yelled.

“She's been called,” returned another.

Since there was nothing he could do to help, Alex thought it best if he stayed out of the way. He climbed the staircase of the ship's looming bridge tower. When he reached the top, he stepped out onto a perimeter walkway that surrounded the tanker's superstructure. He didn't see or hear anyone up here so he paused at the rail, looking out over the water. The sun was setting over the field of icebergs they were leaving behind. He was numbed to the spectacular view, though, as well as the biting wind that pummeled its way through the slightest opening in his parka. Watching the Antarctic coast recede into the distance, he thought about his friend. Tony’s body was still down there in that horrible place.
Because of me, and those Russians...what were they?

He couldn't stand to think of it anymore and turned away from the view of the coastline. Suddenly, he couldn't take being outside where he could see the place where everything had gone so horrifically wrong for him. There was a door in front of him. Didn't know where it went, but he didn't care. He flung it open and stepped into a short hallway—then stopped.

He was surprised to see a person walking toward him down the hall. He was even more taken aback to see that the person was female, and an attractive one at that. Her haircut was a little weird, cropped short but not in a stylish way, and her outfit wasn't much to look at, either, but hey, this was a working tanker ship at Antarctica, not Spring Break in Cabo San Lucas. He judged her to be about thirty. Her sea green eyes were fixed intently on the screen of her smartphone, but he saw them flick upwards at the noise of the opening door. The black medical bag she carried, as well as the Red Cross and Caduceus symbols sewn into the front of her frumpy sweater, told him that she was the ship's doctor.

“Hi, uh...excuse me,” Alex began.

She looked him briefly up and down, probably to see if he needed urgent medical attention, although Alex preferred to think she was checking him out for different reasons. Their eyes met and Alex felt something stir within him beyond the tilting of the ship and the crisp air tingling the flesh on his neck. The sort of spark he had only felt very rarely before, but this wasn't some eco-girl back home that he could comfort after watching
Blood Dolphins
or
Blackfish
and see where it led. An older woman, and a physician to boot. Smart and good-looking. Probably out of his league, but then again, so was this entire misguided trip.

“What is it?” She asked, looking past him.

“Oh, just taking a walk.”
Great, that’s a brilliant opener.
“Oh, but hey—I was just down on the work deck and there is somebody hurt bad down there. Not that I'm a doctor or anything.”
Real smooth, dumbass.

Veronica looked at her phone again and then back up at Alex and gave him a chilly response. “Yes, I’ve been alerted. Listen, would you mind…”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Alex bowed his head and stepped aside.

“No,” she said, her tone softening, “I mean would you mind taking me there? I'm still new to the ship and time is of the essence with these kinds of injuries.”

Alex looked up, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, sure. It's this way.” He led her back out the hallway through the door he came in and then along the platform outside. “My ex-girlfriend is pre-med,” Alex said, making conversation as they descended a series of ladder-like stairs. “Got into U.C. San Francisco and left me.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, no worries. I'm way over it by now. Where'd you go to med school?”

A pause, then: “UCLA.”

“Oh, wow! I used to live in Westwood, right there. I didn't go to the school, but I grew up there, so I totally know the area. What street did you live on?”

She didn't respond, and for a few seconds, he heard only the pounding of boots on metal stairs. They reached a landing and made the turn down the last flight of stairs that would lead to the main deck.

“I don't remember the name, sorry. All I did was study. It was, you know, pretty typical for student housing kind of thing.”

“Isn't med school like six years?”

“Eight, actually, counting the residency. I had a few different apartments while I was there.”

Alex frowned.
Shut up, stop making her uncomfortable.
The wiseass in him couldn’t resist.
“So you don't remember the name of a single street where you lived for eight years? That must have been some—”

Veronica's phone chimed and she held it to her ear. Alex could hear a frantic voice emanating from the other end and then heard her say, “On my way. Almost there.” She pantomimed
which way
to Alex when they reached the lower deck walkway. He pointed to the left and waved an arm for her to follow as he took off at a jog toward the work deck.

When they ran up, the crew parted for the doctor like the Red Sea for Moses.

“Right here, Doc,” one of them called out. “A davit motor busted off the rail under heavy load. Too damn cold probably, and landed square on his right knee. Crushed it pretty bad. We tied a tourniquet on his thigh to stem the bleeding.”

The injured crewman was in bad shape. Someone had given him a piece of wood to bite down on, but his anguished cries still filled the air. His knee had been severely crushed. Alex noted that even the doctor seemed to be squeamish around it. He saw her face wrinkle in revulsion as she moved in for a close look at the wound. A few seconds passed and she still had said nothing.

“Doc?” one of the crewmen pressed.

She shook her head back and forth, as if snapping out of it. “Good work with the tourniquet. Seems like most of the bleeding has stopped. We can't do anything else for him here. I need to get him to the infirmary. You two, can you lift him?” She pointed to two beefy crewman standing nearby. They looked at their wounded associate's crumpled knee and then exchanged confused glances.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Alex said. As a long-time adrenaline junkie and X-games sports enthusiast, he'd been treated by emergency responders and ER doctors for more than his fair share of various impact injuries. “Doesn't he need splints and a stretcher to move him?”

Veronica looked confused. One of the crew gave Alex an angry stare. “This the kid who should be in fuckin’ jail? Why the hell should we listen to you?”

“He's right, though,” another said. A murmur of agreement could be heard in the huddle of men surrounding their fallen colleague.

“Okay,” Veronica said, somehow mustering an air of authority behind the word, “who can get me the splints and a stretcher?”

The victim continued to moan in agony on the deck.

“Doctor, don't you have splints in the infirmary? You didn't bring them? I thought they messaged you a crush injury notice?”

Veronica gave the man a stern look. “I wasn't coming from the infirmary. I thought perhaps there might be a trauma station closer by than the infirmary.”

“Ask the patient if he cares,” somebody said, pointing to the man writing in pain, clutching his ruined knee.

Another man quickly waved him down. “Not now, man. He needs her help.”

Veronica stood up from the victim and threw her hands up. “You—” she pointed at Alex— “Can you come to the infirmary with me to get the stretcher?”

“Sure.”

“Let's go, and you
gentlemen
, keep that tourniquet tight.”

They watched her leave, many shaking their heads.

“I don't know where the infirmary is,” Alex said, realizing he was leading Veronica.

“This way,” she said, breezing past him. They passed by the staircase they'd used earlier, remaining on the main deck. After what seemed to Alex like a long walk, they made a right turn through a door into a small structure. A door on the right had a large red cross painted on it. Veronica pushed it open and they walked into the ship's infirmary.

The room was packed with shelves, drawers and cabinets full of medical supplies and equipment. Alex spotted a pair of stretchers hanging from a rack against a wall and quickly picked one of them up. He hefted the stretcher, ready to start moving, but when he looked over at Veronica, she was looking around, not moving.

“What's up?” he inquired.

“Just looking for the splints...” Her gaze shifted around the room.

Alex gave her a look and rolled his eyes. “You sure it only took you eight years for your degree?” He quickly scanned the labels on the cabinets, searching for recognizable groupings. “First aid in that one there,” he said, pointing to a cabinet with his free hand. “Splints got to be near the bandages.”

Veronica went to the cabinet and opened it. He saw her arm reach out and then withdraw from the cabinet clutching a bag of splints. She tucked them under an arm, ready to go.

“This is it, now for the stretcher.” She moved toward the exit.

Alex remained standing. “Hold on.”

She looked at him expectantly, her hand on the door handle. Alex looked her directly in the eyes. He lowered his voice.

“You're not an M.D., are you?”

Her mouth dropped open and hung there for a moment, as though she was going to say something, but then she closed it without having spoken.

Alex thought of the real doctors he'd been treated by as well as known personally, as friends of his family. The air about her just wasn't right. He shook his head, not even saying anything. He didn't need to.

She let go of the door, then moved in closer, staring him down. “You don’t want to press this issue. You're just some troublemaker kid, the son of the paleontologist who just got fired. Yes, I overheard all that, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t take too kindly to your inquisition here.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “If you knew half as much about treating injuries as you do about what's going on with DeKirk's personnel, you would have been fine with your…disguise, or whatever game you’re playing here.”

“Listen, you little—”

“No, you listen!” His tone came out sharper than he'd expected, and he was surprised to see her shut her mouth. He continued. “The guys down there are already suspicious, I'm sure. It wouldn't take much,” he threatened, but then softened his tone. “Just…listen, please. Even if you’re not a real doctor, I’m sensing your heart is in the right place, and what’s more…we might be on the same side.”

“And what side is that?”

Alex shrugged. “Not that Xander guy’s, and not Melvin DeKirk’s. If that’s a safe bet, then I’m willing to help you, and my guess is that right about now, the way things are going, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Veronica sighed heavily, staring back at his eyes, gauging his sincerity. “You win. You’re right, you’re going to have to help me, or we’re both in deep shit.”