Dinosaur Island -1994- -

“You’ll never make it to the beach. The T. rex—”

“I’ll be back,” she promised.

She came to on her back, seawater flooding her mouth, the roar replaced by the shriek of twisted metal. Something had hold of the ship—not rocks, not a reef—something alive . Through the shattered porthole of her cabin, she saw a shape in the lightning: a column of flesh, brown and ridged, bigger around than a redwood, rising from the sea and wrapping around the stern like a serpent. The Calypso Star bucked once, twice, and then the hull split open like a walnut. Dinosaur Island -1994-

She looked up.

The tyrannosaur’s head snapped up. It turned, took two bounding strides, and vanished into the trees. “You’ll never make it to the beach

She wasn’t alone on the island.

“You remember my father,” Lena said. It wasn’t a question. She came to on her back, seawater flooding

Lena understood. The raptor wasn’t a monster. It was a prisoner. Just like her father. Just like her.