Jurassic Park – The Hunters


Helicopter blades thudded overhead, blaring opera music down into the forest. Smoke, fire, flashes of chaos amidst clear blue skies. I watched it all unwind in a drug-fuelled haze. The jungle stretched away, bleeding into the liquid napalm sunset. A radio spluttered.

"Lo nguc, ke manh? Ynoi tre pang."

I looked blearily into the sun, watched the birdlike silhouettes flit across it.

"Lon! Yar trii pi nga!"

I turned round. Behind me, dark shapes rose up in the trees, sharp teeth, glinting talons. They snarled. In a moment I saw the futility of it all, the reality. "The horror," I said, perhaps a little too melodramatically. "The horror…"

"Long, you're tripping. Stop it," said someone. The dark shapes growled, and pounced.

Rewind. A little background is in order, I think.

My name is Samuel Thomas Long. My Dad comes from the Caribbean, my Mum from Scotland, and we all lived in central London. I was a privileged black private school dropout. I enjoy extreme sports, watching films and videogames. I had always been a huge fan of war movies, obsessed, even after my carefree childhood had slipped away into sepia-toned memory, with the glamour of it, that ancient fantasy that you were a soldier fighting a war.

I ended up in Costa Rica, for reasons I won't divulge. It was just a few years ago and I was trying to dredge up enough money to get myself out of the country. Only I spent all my money in escaping the drudgery, the futility, the ennui of modern life. I frittered away my cash to immerse myself in a fantasy world. Yes, I played a lot of videogames in those days. I was younger then, and greener. Just when things were starting to look up, I was shipped out. Okay, so I volunteered.

Perhaps if I hadn't been so mired in fantasy this wouldn't have happened to me. Some very weird shit has happened to me in my life, and I'm writing this just to get it out of my system. Perhaps, by committing it to paper, I'll better understand it. I don't expect anybody to read this. I've never been a good writer, I got a C-grade in English, so this won't be a work of art. Memory blurs the details a little: I can't quite remember exactly what certain people said, but it would be hard to forget the actual events depicted here.

This is the story of what happened just three years ago on a small island off the coast of Costa Rica.

My story.

Ahem: I do not own Jurassic Park, the film or the book. Universal do own the films and Michael Crichton owns the books I believe.

If you're reading this for the first time, welcome. This story was published a long time ago and it was only recently in rose-tint that I realised a chapter was missing. That chapter has been reinserted, but unless you're an old reader, don't mind me. I've moved on from this story and I don't have a great deal of pride for it, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

I will only write A/Ns at the beginning and end of each chapter, so anything in brackets within the story is still the protagonist talking and not me.