Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Can we wonder, then, that nature’s productions should be far ‘truer’ in character than man’s productions; that they should be infinitely better adapted to the most complex conditions of life, and should plainly bear the stamp of far higher workmanship?”

- Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species

Once they hit Main Street, they encounter their first dinosaur.

A Brachiosaurus, thankfully. Claire agreed to come on this mission knowing full well they might run into any number of the dangerous carnivores inhabiting Isla Nublar, but she’d like to avoid such an encounter if at all possible.

Their little fleet of trucks has pulled over to allow the large herbivore to pass. Zia was out the door before their truck had even stopped and now stands motionless, staring up at the Brachiosaurus in awe.

“Look at that,” Zia breathes, her voice choked. “Never thought I’d see one in real life.”

Claire’s heart twists.

She remembers the first time she ever saw a dinosaur. Or, an asset, as she’d called them back then. It had been a very different experience; a hatchling behind glass, under the harsh glare of incubator lights. What a privilege it had been- one that she hadn’t fully appreciated until it was almost too late.

The Brachiosaurus bellows as it passes by. It’s not a full-out roar, but it rattles in Claire’s eardrums anyways, and she’s incredibly thankful that they’re too small for a creature so big to pay any mind to.

“She’s beautiful,” Zia sighs, her voice wistful.

Franklin clears his throat. “Can we…?” He waves an arm back at the truck, clearly anxious to leave.

Owen catches Claire’s eye, his lips pulling up into a half-grin. “Yeah, we should get moving,” he amends, turning away from the departing Brachiosaurus.

Franklin practically jumps into the truck, folding himself back into his seat. Zia huffs a laugh and wipes at her eyes, casting a final longing gaze at the Brachiosaurus. Claire squeezes her shoulder before stepping away. She hates to think about how many of these creatures are going to perish, but there’s only so much they can do-

The ground shakes, and an Ankylosaurus crests the hill.

Shouts of alarm rise into the air, accented by half a dozen guns swinging around to face the approaching dinosaur. Claire’s heart jumps into her throat; it’s an herbivore, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be aggressive-

A voice rings out.

“Hold your fire!”

Claire freezes, seeing her confusion mirrored in everyone else’s faces as they look at each other, trying to figure out who spoke. It was a male voice, but distinctly young- and Franklin seems just as baffled, looking on from his spot in the truck.

The Ankylosaurus has slowed its approach, baying lowly, and Claire gasps. There are two figures on its back- teenagers, a boy and a girl, who slide to the ground as the dinosaur comes to a stop.

“Oh, thank god we found you!” the girl cries, racing forward to wrap Claire in a surprisingly strong hug. “We’re saved!”

Claire can only stare down at her in shock. “Wha- who are you?” she stammers. “What are you doing here?”

The girl releases her and backs away, expression apologetic. “Sorry, that… that must’ve been weird. I just can’t believe someone finally found us.”

Now that Claire can get a good look at the girl, her heart jolts. The first thing that jumps out at her is the girl’s left eye; it’s colored a cloudy white, only the slightest hint of green to match the other one. Her pupil is dilated and there’s mottled scar tissue surrounding the orbit, further lending to the idea that there’s some kind of damage there.

Claire tries not to let her gaze linger, instead taking in the rest of the girl’s appearance. Her stringy brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, several loose locks framing her face. The clothes she’s wearing are faded and torn; a pink T-shirt with raptors printed on it and a pair of khaki shorts. Oddly, she’s got some kind of tree bark armor on over it covering her arms and legs, tied with vines. A strap of woven vines holds a baseball bat across her back, the end of it stained dark with dried blood.

The boy stands several inches taller than the girl, his lanky frame built of wiry muscle. Light brown hair is tied back under a filthy blue bandana, accenting the piercing blue eyes beneath it. He’s dressed in a similar manner as the girl; a sleeveless black shirt with a Mosasaurus on it underneath ramshackle armor. A leather pouch is buckled around his waist and a spear is slung across his back. He’s standing close to the girl on her left side, his shoulders hunched and his gaze unblinking as it drifts from person to person, one hand resting on the Ankylosaurus behind him.

Both of them are absolutely covered in scars; little white hash marks criss-crossing their skin. Claire doesn’t see any obvious large wounds, save for the girl’s eye which is clearly an old injury, but she can’t help the way her breath catches.

The girl tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, almost self-consciously. “I’m Brooklynn, and this is Ben,” she says. “We’re from Camp Cretaceous.”

“The hell is that?” Wheatley calls, a frown etched into his weathered face as he eyes the teens.

Claire’s stomach drops. “Oh god, that’s… the children’s camp we were testing out, right before the shutdown,” she breathes. Somewhere behind her, Owen makes an incredulous noise deep in his throat, and she winces- in hindsight, the project had been a very bad idea. “It was in the early stages of development, with only six campers… you were presumed dead.”

“So wait,” Owen says, stepping forward, “you’ve been here for the last three years?”

Ben shifts closer to Brooklynn, focusing his stare on Owen. “It’s been three years?” he muses. He has a blunt way of talking, his tone flat and a little louder than what seems necessary. “Huh. Not sure how to feel about that.”

Claire glances around, hesitating. “Are the others…?”

“All alive,” Ben says, only the slightest quirk of his lips betraying his pride. “Despite Nublar’s best efforts.”

Owen runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, and Claire’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Oh, thank god.”

“How?” Wheatley asks, seeming baffled. “I mean, how could you kids survive on this island for three years?”

Brooklynn gives him a considering look. “We never give up,” she says, shrugging. “Anyway, now that we found you, we’d better call the herd.” She’s barely finished her sentence before Ben is putting his fingers to his mouth and giving a sharp whistle, two short trills that make everyone jump in surprise.

Brooklynn continues speaking without missing a beat. “When we saw your boat, we decided to split up to find you faster. We figured you wouldn’t be staying long.” She looks at Claire expectantly. “You’re here to save the dinosaurs, right? From the eruption?”

Claire blinks; Brooklynn’s mismatched gaze is a little disconcerting. “I- yes, that’s right. I’m Claire Dearing, I used to work here. We were hired by John Hammond’s old partner, actually. He’s got a sanctuary prepared for them, on a private island.”

Brooklynn beams. “Oh, that’s great to hear. I mean, we had a plan to hole up in the tunnel system, but we knew most of these guys were gonna be wiped out.”

“I’m surprised you care,” Owen says mildly, folding his arms, “considering what they must’ve put you through.”

Ben wrinkles his nose. “They’re just animals. It’s not like they’re evil,” he says. “Besides, Bumpy here has saved all our lives countless times.” He pats the Ankylosaurus behind him without turning, still keeping his eyes on Owen.

Wheatley lets out a low whistle. “How’d you manage to tame that thing?”

Ben cuts his gaze towards Wheatley, displeasure flashing across his face. “I earned her trust. We look out for each other, it’s not like she’s my pet. Besides, she spends most of her time nowadays with her own herd. I was planning on bringing her into the tunnels with us to wait out the eruption, ‘cause there’s no way I could just leave her…”

Throughout the conversation, Claire notices that Brooklynn’s attention has been on their surroundings. She’s slowly turning her head from side to side, scanning, a look of intense concentration on her face. Suddenly, her head whips around to look somewhere behind Claire, and her hand shoots out to grab Ben’s.

Ben stops talking instantly, head snapping around to follow Brooklynn’s gaze as both teens reach for their weapons.

The whole group startles, troopers whirling around to face whatever threat the teens have sensed. Zia stumbles back against the truck, where Franklin has clapped his hands over his mouth to muffle his cry of alarm. In the abrupt silence that follows, Claire can just barely make out the faint sound of footsteps, echoing off the sides of the abandoned buildings.

Owen, one hand hovering near his gun, meets Claire’s gaze. His expression is tense, but the way his eyes widen in surprise means he’s realized what Claire has; Brooklynn heard those footsteps before any of them, even though she was farther away. That’s incredibly impressive.

A heartbeat passes, and the footsteps stop. Then comes two sharp whistles.

Ben and Brooklynn immediately relax, hands falling from their weapons as the tension drains from their bodies. “Here,” Ben calls out, though his gaze has returned to the people standing in front of him.

Claire lets out a shaky breath, feeling her heart rate start to slow. “Your friends?”

Without looking at her, Ben snorts. “Well, it’s not the T-Rex.”

“Yeah,” Brooklynn says with a sage nod, “she ditched this place weeks ago.”

Claire manages a laugh- and then she realizes Brooklynn isn’t joking. Inside the truck, Franklin is frantically buckling his seatbelt. “Can we please leave now?”

“Uh, we’ve got another party of two coming, man,” a new voice chimes in. “Cool your jets.”

Two figures round the corner of the building.

The speaker is a young man who looks to be of Asian descent. But all Claire can look at are the three massive scars slashed across the right side of his face. The lines of pink, raised scar tissue indicate it’s an old wound, but the sheer scale of it makes Claire wince. The top one skirts along his nose and passes narrowly under his eye, leaving it with a slight squint. Underneath that, the second scar has torn through the inner border of his ear and the corner of his mouth on the other end, exposing a sliver of his teeth, while the third scar travels along his jaw.

It’s painfully obvious that the scars were made by a three-clawed theropod. Owen’s jaw is clenched, and Claire can almost hear him praying that it wasn’t Blue who disfigured this teenager.

“Hey,” the boy calls as he approaches, his grin crooked due to the tightened skin on his right cheek. “My eyes are over here.”

Claire feels herself flush and quickly averts her gaze. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stare-”

“Ah, I’m just messing with you,” the boy laughs, waving her off. “I’m Kenji. And you’re our ticket off this hellhole, so you can stare all you want.”

He’s taller than Ben and his frame is broader, more filled out. That, along with the scant facial hair lining his jaw, tells Claire he’s probably one of the oldest of the teens. His thick, black hair sticks up in the front, kept out of his dark brown eyes. His white vintage Jurassic Park T-shirt is accompanied by the same style of tree bark armor, and there’s what appears to be a machete sheathed across his back.

“Be nice, Kenji,” the girl next to him huffs, her voice rough and low. She takes in their group with a discerning eye before offering a tentative smile. “I’m Yaz. And god, are we glad to see you.”

She’s of Middle Eastern descent, her skin a warm sepia and her silky, dark brown hair in a choppy pixie cut. Her frame is slender but muscular, the crop top and shorts she’s wearing making that fact even more apparent. In addition to the armor, she’s got some kind of brace around her left foot- a bulky structure of tree bark and rusted pipe, held together with vines and compression tape. She’s wearing a makeshift backpack- it looks like an altered plastic tote bag, like a souvenir tote- and a woven rope belt holds a hunting knife at her hip.

Once again; both scarred, and both armed.

Kenji strolls right up to Owen and takes his hand, shaking it. “Seriously, thrilled to have you guys here. I’d offer to give you the VIP tour, but we’re kinda pressed for time here.”

“The others should be here soon,” Yaz adds, addressing an impatient-looking Wheatley before turning to Ben and Brooklynn. “Good job, guys.”

“Told you we’d find ‘em first,” Ben says plainly, though the mischievous glint in his eye implies he’s teasing.

Kenji makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Well yeah, ‘cause you guys have the Bumpy advantage.”

“Still counts,” Brooklynn smirks.

The teens shift into what seems to be a familiar formation. Ben stays planted on Brooklynn’s left side as Kenji slides next to him, settling an arm around Ben’s waist. Yaz stays on Kenji’s other side, her arm reaching up and resting on his shoulder as she leans against him, enough to take the weight off her braced ankle.

Standing together in a line, there’s an immediate- but subtle- shift in the teen’s demeanor. They look more at ease, more confident… and oddly enough, more intimidating. Maybe that’s the point.

Claire takes another look at Kenji. It’s hard to see past the scars, but his name sounds familiar…

“You’re Daniel Kon’s son,” she realizes. She hadn’t spoken to the real estate tycoon on many occasions, during the negotiations for his plans to develop condos on the island. But the fact that his son attended Camp Cretaceous- and was declared dead in the aftermath- had made headlines.

Kenji raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh- yeah, actually. Heh, I wasn’t sure you’d remember. I mean, we met like, what, twice?”

“I- I think so,” Claire says, slightly taken aback that he remembered. Back then, he’d come off as… well, as a typical rich kid, a little self-absorbed. “I’m-”

“Claire Dearing, right?” A slightly bittersweet smile tugs at Kenji’s mouth. “You uh, you were our counselors’ boss. Dave and Roxie.”

The sudden reminder is like a kick to the stomach. “Oh, that’s right,” Claire murmurs. “They… spoke to me, after everything happened. They were convinced you were all still alive, insisting we go back… but I didn’t have the authority to make that call. I directed them to my higher-ups with the Masrani Corporation and didn’t hear from them again. And then, when the death count was finalized a few days later… I’m so sorry.”

In the days following Jurassic World’s fall, the shock and grief had been overwhelming. It hadn’t been made any easier by all the misinformation flying around- part from genuine confusion, because the whole series of events was pure chaos, but part malicious because people loved to sensationalize. By the time officials got control of everything, the conversation had already slipped to the back of Claire’s mind, and she hadn’t thought to question six more names in the death toll.

After all, how could anyone think that six children who went missing at Jurassic World would still be alive?

If the revelation has shaken the campers at all, they aren’t showing it. “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Brooklynn says gently.

“Yeah,” Kenji agrees easily, “I’m sure everyone just thought they were in denial or something. I probably wouldn’t have believed them either.”

Somehow, that makes Claire feel worse. But before anything else can be said, another double whistle pierces the air.

“There they are,” Brooklynn sighs with relief, as Ben fires a whistle back. “Slow pokes probably stopped to dinosaur-watch.”

This time, everyone hears the rustling footsteps as two figures approach from across the street; another boy-girl pair.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see y’all!” the girl says as she rushes over, wrapping Claire in a hug.

She’s a tall girl with a thick frame, standing just an inch or two shorter than Kenji. Her souvenir shirt of choice is a gray Jurassic World scoop-neck, the logo decorated with plants that compliment the tree bark and vine armor. A hunting knife like Yaz’s is sheathed around her waist. Fortunately, she doesn’t have any obvious injuries aside from the patchwork of little scars that all the teens have. Her wavy black hair is cut above her shoulders, kept out of her face by a pink headband, and her brown eyes are bright as she pulls away to beam at Claire.

“My name’s Sammy,” she says, her southern lilt becoming more apparent, before turning to pull Owen into a similar bear hug. “Thank you so much for comin’, I just knew someone would wanna save the dinos.”

Claire can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as Owen awkwardly pats Sammy’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it,” he says, seeming bewildered.

Sammy steps away, laughing. “Look at you, bein’ all modest.” She glances over her shoulder at her companion. “Now I can finally say, ‘I told you someone would come!’ Y’know, eventually.”

The boy shakes his head, amused, before stepping forward, a slightly-wavering hand raised in greeting. He’s African American, with his collection of pale scars standing out in sharp contrast against his dark skin, and his tightly-coiled hair shorn close to his scalp. Claire can’t begin to guess his age, because while his features seem rounder with youth, he’s got the beginnings of facial hair on his upper lip. He’s slightly shorter than Ben, in any case. The black T-shirt he wears under his armor is mostly plain, save for the design of two little raptors poking out of the pocket, and he’s got what looks like a raptor tooth around his neck. A similar knife to Yaz’s and Sammy’s rests at his hip- except it has a strap running along the handle, as if to provide a more secure grip.

“D- D- Darius,” he says, his voice soft and low. Then he moves his hands in an odd gesture, something Claire doesn’t recognize.

Sammy, who’s watching Darius with rapt attention, gives a nod. “Darius says to tell y’all he’s got some brain damage, on account’a nearly bein’ drowned by a duckbill,” she tells Claire plainly. “So that’s why he stutters. We use this kinda sign language sometimes, for simple stuff. He can still hear an’ all, it’s just so he don't have to talk as much.”

Horror seizes Claire. “That’s… terrible, I’m so sorry.”

Darius gives her a gentle smile and shakes his head, as if waving her off. Then his gaze sweeps over the rest of the teens, his head tilting to the side as he makes another hand gesture.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Brooklynn says in response. “So what’s the plan?”

Claire glances at Owen. “We should take you back to the boat-”

“Don’t have time,” Wheatley breaks in, folding his arms. “I can radio to see if there’s another transport nearby that can reroute to meet us, but in the meantime, we’ve got to get moving.”

Claire is about to chastise him, and insist that getting these children to safety should take precedence over their mission, but then Darius gives a nod.

“That’s fine,” Brooklynn says easily.

“Yeah,” Ben chimes in, climbing onto his Ankylosaurus’s back. “We’ll follow you guys.”

Brooklynn quickly climbs up behind him, followed by Darius and Yaz. Kenji and Sammy hang back, the former scratching the back of his head as he looks around.

“Mind if we join you on the truck?” he asks. “Bumpy’s reached carrying capacity.”

Wheatley frowns. “I don’t know if we have any extra seats-”

“We’ll ride up top,” Kenji says, before hopping onto the side of the truck to do just that. He scales it effortlessly, disappearing over the edge before anyone’s fully processed what’s happening.

“Ooh, count me in!” Sammy grins, hauling herself up after him. “This is just like when me an’ my sisters would ride on the tractor back home!”

Owen puts his hands on his hips, nonplussed. Claire gives him a helpless shrug and climbs into the truck.

“Alright,” Wheatley barks out, finally regaining control of the situation, “let’s move out, folks.”

The truck door slams shut once everyone’s piled back in, and the engine roars to life. As they pull away, Claire catches a glimpse through the back window of the Ankylosaurus loping behind them, its passengers huddled on top. It’s a surreal sight.

“… so, that happened,” Franklin says eventually, in the tone of someone who’s so overwhelmed that they can’t even decide what they’re feeling.

Owen lets out a heavy breath. “Yep,” he replies.

Claire tips her head back against her seat, closing her eyes.

What else is there to say?

One hour earlier.

“Bumpy! C’mere, girl!”

Ben doesn’t have to wait long before Bumpy is bounding towards him, bellowing a greeting. Barely slowing down in time to avoid running Ben over, she rams the flat of her head into his stomach; an affectionate gesture that used to knock him over when he was younger.

Watching from a few feet away, Brooklynn can’t help the amused smile that pulls at her mouth. Which is pretty miraculous, considering how tense things are right now.

Based on the volcano’s activity this morning, the eruption is happening soon. Like, within hours soon. Luckily, they’ve had a plan in place for months, since before the volcano even showed signs of an impending eruption. They’re going to bunker down in the underground system of tunnels, which- thanks to all their hard work over the last however many years- are now entirely sealed off from the outside except for the access hatches. Lots of space, lots of air, and protected from lava and toxic gasses. And ever since the volcano started rumbling, they’ve been stockpiling fresh water and dried food, so there isn’t much left for them to do now that the actual day has come.

They don’t have many belongings with sentimental value; everything they’ve scavenged and constructed has a purpose. But there are one or two little things that each of them are sure to bring, so as not to leave them behind in the evacuation.

For Brooklynn, it’s the master keycard. They haven’t needed it to get around the island for a while now, not since they finished scavenging from all the buildings and fully established their home base, but she can’t bear to part with it. She keeps it tucked in her pocket in case they ever need it, and as a fond reminder of the early days, back when the island was just a mystery to unbox.

For Darius, it’s the raptor tooth necklace that’s ever-present around his neck, and the field guide he keeps in his back pocket. He filled its pages ages ago, but he likes to keep it close in case he ever needs to refer to it, or use it to explain something faster than his words or signs could. And part of him still likes to think it could come home with him, someday.

For Yaz, it’s her sketchbook. It’s a very personal thing for her; none of the herd has seen all the drawings in it, not even Sammy. But among its filled pages are landscapes of their island home, lifelike studies of dinosaurs, and countless portraits- of them, and of her mom. Or at least, what Yaz remembers of her; it’s scary how fast the details are fading.

For Sammy, it’s the flashdrive with Wu’s research on it. She wears it on a cord around her neck, tucked into her shirt. It’s hard to say why she’s held onto it. The casing is sturdy and waterproof, so she knows it’s probably still functional, but it’s unlikely they’ll ever make it home and get the chance to use the information on it.

For Kenji, it’s an old childhood drawing he found in his penthouse, one he made of him and his family. He keeps it folded up in a Ziploc bag- which was a great find, even if it had a super moldy sandwich inside. He doesn’t like to call attention to it- whether out of embarrassment or something more, no one’s sure- but every now and then someone will catch him looking at it with soft eyes.

And for Ben, it’s Bumpy.

Obviously, keeping a four-ton armored lizard in an underground tunnel for who knows how long sounds… impractical. But they all agreed they couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself on the surface, not after everything she’s done for them.

“Hey, Bumps,” Ben murmurs, probably louder than he intends to, and digs a handful of berries out of his pack. “You and I are gonna go on a little vacation.”

The other Ankylosauruses have taken notice of the teens’ presence, rumbling with uncertainty. They’re still wary of getting too close, but they’ve grown used to Ben- and by extension, the rest of the herd- hanging around, so it’s not usually dangerous to linger. There’s an added sense of nervousness today, though. No doubt a product of the looming eruption.

Ben’s expression is pinched as his gaze sweeps over the Ankylosaurses. “Thanks for taking such good care of her,” he tells them softly.

Brooklynn’s heart tightens. “Hey, they might be fine,” she says, taking a few steps closer so he can hear her better. “It’s a big island, you know? I’m sure it’s not all gonna be covered in lava.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ben sighs, watching Bumpy finish the last of the berries. He wipes his hand off on his shirt before patting her head, right between her uneven horns. “Okay Bumps, time to go.”

Swinging a leg up, Ben gets situated on her back. Brooklynn accepts the hand he offers her and climbs up behind him. Now that Bumpy’s reached her adult size, it’s not as easy to hop up onto her back, but Brooklynn’s had plenty of practice. Ever since the herd implemented their buddy system, she goes where Ben goes, and Ben often goes with Bumpy.

At Ben’s signal, Bumpy trots off into the jungle, away from the clearing and her herd. Ben steers her in a way that would almost seem telepathic to an outside observer, with no obvious prompting. But in reality, it’s the subtle shifts in his body weight that tell Bumpy where to go- and she must’ve realized they’re heading back home, because she gives an excited rumble and speeds up a little.

Brooklynn keeps her head turned to the side, watching the trees as they race by in a blur. But mostly, she’s focused on listening. After all, they’re more likely to hear a dinosaur coming before they see it, and her hearing is excellent.

There’s a certain degree of background noise she’s become familiar with and learned to filter out; leaves rustled by the tropical winds, clouds of buzzing gnats, the ocean waves whenever they’re close to the shore. She can recognize and differentiate between a few dinosaur calls- and at the very least, she can tell between herbivores and carnivores, even if she can’t name the exact species.

But it’s not often she hears something she doesn’t recognize.

“Wait,” she calls in Ben’s ear, loud enough to be heard over Bumpy’s footsteps but still hushed out of wariness.

Ben leans back, prompting Bumpy to stop. “What is it?” he asks lowly, scanning their surroundings with one hand on his spear.

Brooklynn pauses, concentrating. She knits her brows together. “I’m… not sure.”

It’s a rumbling sound, but not from the volcano, and not from a dinosaur. It’s almost… mechanical? But that doesn’t make sense at all.

“Not a dinosaur,” Brooklynn says after a moment. “Pretty sure, anyways.”

Ben relaxes, but only slightly. He jerks his head over at a nearby tree. “Want me to take a look?”

“Yeah,” Brooklynn decides, “just to be safe.”

Humming his acknowledgement, Ben slides off Bumpy’s back and starts climbing the tree. It’s a skill they’ve all mastered over time, but Ben’s the fastest. He had a lot of practice, back during the days he spent alone. Trees were the only place he felt safe enough to sleep, after Bumpy was gone.

He doesn’t talk about it much.

It’s not long before Ben’s reached the top. Pushing through the canopy branches, he squints against the daylight- not as bright as usual, with all the smoke in the sky- and takes in the view.

Off to the right is the volcano, thick plumes of gray smoke billowing out of its top. Ben should probably feel more anxious about the impending eruption, but honestly, it’s just another danger to add to the ever-growing list. He doesn’t have time to be afraid, because that doesn’t help anything. Action does.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Ben slowly turns his head to scan the horizon. Jungle, jungle, more jungle- small group of Pteranodons flying off in the distance, shudder- and even more jungle. And then his gaze lands on the eastern shore, and his heart jolts.

There’s a boat.

Looming over the dock, it’s less of a boat and more of a ship- a massive cargo freighter. Even from this distance, he can tell it’s easily ten times longer than a full-grown Brachiosaurus, with an open hold that looks like a cavern. It’s hard to make out details, but there are clusters of vehicles and large crates on the shore, cranes and trailers and- is that a helicopter?

Ben can only stare. The scene is so unexpected, it’s hard to wrap his mind around. There are people here. Real, actual people- a lot of them, from the look of it- came to the island covered with dinosaurs and an active volcano.

Well, there’s only one reason they could be here. Assuming Ben isn’t hallucinating. He pinches himself, just to make sure, before he calls down to Brooklynn.

“There’s uh, a really big ship docked at the eastern shore.”

“What?!”

Ben’s already making his way back to the ground. “Lots of people. They’re probably here for the dinosaurs. We need to get back to the herd, fast.”

Brooklynn is silent for the ride home, her mind racing furiously. It’s almost too good to be true- but she trusts Ben’s eyesight, and knows that he’d be the least likely of them to be tricked by wishful thinking. If Ben saw a ship, there’s a ship.

And if there’s a ship, then there’s a way off the island.

The idea makes Brooklynn’s heart pound. It’s dangerous to hope; they’ve learned that the hard way. After all this time, she’d pretty much resigned herself to staying on this island until the day she died. It’s gotten to the point where the word ‘home’ just makes her think about the clubhouse, not anything from her old life, and she’s got a hunch the others feel the same way.

But it’s not like they could stay, when they have the chance to leave. Even if it’s a slim chance. Because at this point, there’s a one-hundred-percent chance the volcano is going to erupt, and the chance that they’ll survive long enough in the tunnels to outlast the fallout is even slimmer than the chance of getting off the island.

Well, probably.

They make it to the clubhouse in good time, pulling up just as the others are starting to head out, carrying their last bottles of water and packs of dried food.

“There you are!” Kenji greets them, his relief evident as he grins up at Ben. “You guys ready to get this evacuation party underway?

“There’s people here,” Ben says, sliding off Bumpy’s back.

The herd stares in stunned silence. Brooklynn drops down next to Ben and gives a helpless shrug; she knows how crazy it sounds.

“Uh, you mean besides us?” Kenji ventures with an uncertain laugh.

Ben doesn’t even roll his eyes. “A huge ship, on the eastern dock,” he says urgently. “There’s a ton of trucks and trailers, they’ve gotta be here for the dinosaurs.”

Kenji’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, you’re not joking.”

Sammy gasps. “No way!”

“Oh my god,” Yaz breathes, grabbing Sammy’s arm. “Oh my god-”

“Darius?” Brooklynn prompts, noting the younger teen has yet to react. “How should we handle this?”

It takes Darius a second to process her voice. ‘Sorry,’ he signs, shaking himself out of his shock. Right now, he has to focus. “Were y- you…. uh, s- seen?” he asks.

Brooklynn shakes her head. “I heard them first, and then Ben scouted it out.”

“Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Sammy asks excitedly. “We’ve gotta catch ‘em before they leave!”

‘Wait,’ Darius signs, before grasping for his words. It’s even more difficult to sort his thoughts when his mind is spinning like this. “We n- need t- to… to- to um, to think th- this thr- through.”

“Uh, what’s there to think about?” Yaz demands, an anxious undercurrent in her voice. “We have a chance to leave, we should take it.”

“Yeah,” Kenji agrees, “unless you’d prefer to hang around on an island with an erupting volcano?”

Darius makes a noncommittal noise. ‘Bad,’ he signs. ‘Careful.’

“He’s right,” Brooklynn says, frowning. “If they’re here for dinosaurs, it’s probably not for noble reasons. We’ve got to play this right, or they’ll turn on us like the rest.”

“I don’t like this,” Ben says lowly. “Remember what happened last time? Instead of just relying on ourselves, we trusted strangers. We almost died, and our boat got wrecked.”

“This is different,” Kenji insists, in his special tone he uses for ‘talking Ben down from the brink of a freak-out.’

Normally, it works pretty well. This time, Ben bristles. “We have no idea who these people are!” he argues, throwing his hands up. “They could be with Wu, for all we know!”

“Oh, please let it be Wu,” Yaz growls, cracking her knuckles. “I’d love to settle up with him for stranding us.”

Sammy puts a hand on Yaz’s shoulder. “We can focus on gettin’ our revenge after we’re safely off the island of dinosaurs and active volcanoes,” she says soothingly.

“Yeah,” Kenji presses, with a beseeching look at Ben, “we can’t pass this chance up!”

Ben crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed. “The volcano is gonna erupt soon. If these people turn out to be bad news, we’ll be wasting our time. We should head to the tunnels while we still can.”

Darius shakes his head. “Th- that was a- a, um- a…. a- a last d- ditch effort. How l- long do you re- eally think our s- st- st- stock will last? Or- or Bumpy’s?”

Ever since they first noticed the volcano growing active, Ben’s been stockpiling dried leaves, grass, and berries to keep Bumpy fed in the event they have to bunker down. But Bumpy’s not a baby anymore, and it’s highly unlikely he’s managed to store up enough to last her more than a month- which could be just a fraction of the time it’ll take for the surface to become safe again.

Ben’s jaw tightens; he knows Darius is right, but doesn’t want to admit it.

“We h- ha- have to t- try,” Darius pleads. “Are y- you- are you w- with us?”

Ben blinks before his expression softens. He’s instantly picked up on the concern in Darius’s voice, and he knows where it came from. But things have changed since the last time they had a chance to leave the island; he could never stay here without his herd.

And gauging by the size of that ship, they can actually bring Bumpy this time.

“Of course I am,” Ben assures him, his voice quiet. Then he breaks into an easy smile. “Besides, someone’s got to keep you hopeless optimists safe.”

A subtle, but palpable, breath of relief rolls through the herd. Kenji huffs a laugh and wraps an arm around Ben’s waist.

“Says the most reckless one in the herd,” he teases. Ben rolls his eyes, but he turns into the embrace anyways, bumping against Kenji’s shoulder affectionately.

“We’ll have to move fast if we’re gonna catch them,” Brooklynn points out, knitting her brows together. “No time for recon, so we won’t know what we’re dealing with until we’re face-to-face. How should we play this?”

She’s right, of course. Darius takes a second to think. “C- capable, but naïve,” he decides. “N- n- no other h- humans. No… no S- Scorpius either.”

If they pretend to be clueless kids, no one will believe they’ve managed to last so long on the island. But they can’t let on that they suspect these people of bad intentions, otherwise they’ll probably just try to kill them straight out. So their best angle is hardened survivors who have had no human contact since being stranded, and thus have no reason at all to think these people could have ulterior motives. They’ll greet these strangers with nothing but gratitude for being rescued, and accept whatever explanation is given at face value.

And until they’re safely on the mainland, back in society, it’s best to keep their knowledge of Wu’s dirty laundry a secret. No telling who these people could be working for.

‘Split up,’ Darius signs. “B-Team, m- make the… th- the- the uh, the first con- t- tact. Ev- everyone else, st- st- stay close. Two w- wh- whistles. A-List m- moves in…. th- th- then us.”

Brooklynn is great at reading people, so she’ll be able to work out what their intentions are, and decide if it’s safe enough to engage them. If it’s Wu’s crew, they’re likely to be openly hostile, so having Ben there (and Bumpy) as backup will lend her some protection and a quick getaway. Besides, they’ve grown used to accommodating for each other’s impaired senses, so splitting them up is always a last resort.

Kenji and Yaz, admittedly, aren’t the most tactful pair to make a good first impression. But they’re both heavy hitters, and pretty fast even with Yaz’s ankle. They can hang back so that if things go south, they’ll be in place to provide ambush support- or a distraction so Brooklynn and Ben can escape, if needed.

Darius and Sammy are probably the least inclined to combat, so they’re best suited to watching from a distance. Keeping an eye out for any sign that a fight’s about to happen so they can warn the others. And then, if all goes well, come in last to round out the herd.

Darius doesn’t have the time to explain all his reasoning, but he doesn’t have to. They trust him, plain and simple. He can see it in the determination that settles in his herd’s faces, and pride blooms in his chest, mingled with anticipation.

Part of him is still struggling to grasp the reality of the situation, but another part of him knows they can handle whatever happens. One way or another, they’re getting off this island today. He can feel it.

“Let’s m- m- move out.”