I wrote the first version of Jurassic Park IV: Extinction a while ago, but looking back on it, it's more than a bit cheesy. In other words, you won't get to see that one. :) Instead, I decided to start rewriting the story. So without further ado, I give you my take on the fourth JP film. There's more to extinction than meets the eye...
Fog. Endless fog, thick and dense. All you could see was the fog. Fog, mist, dew – whatever you wanted to call it – it still overwhelmed your mind and your senses.
Beneath the fog – ocean. Waves making their way to an unseen shore nearby. But it was a still wave, still enough for the blanket of fog to settle without much disruption.
There was only the fog and the waves, except for a lonely boat, cruising slowly and steadily towards the invisible shore. And a man, standing on a deck, hands at the railing, staring into the wall of white and dull blue.
Paul Emhart watched, and waited patiently. It was bound to appear soon. Only a few more moments now.
Almost on cue, the dim silhouette of an island started to emerge from out of the fog. To a layman, it would have looked dark and menacing. But Paul had seen it many times before, and it was like the return of an old friend.
Paul was a geneticist back at the park – the original Jurassic Park. He had wonderful memories of the job, right up until that fateful day, so many years ago. At first, it was like any other day, apart from the inspection team. Then he hopped on the boat with the rest of the staff.
It was only the next day when he finally heard what happened at the island. Sooner than he could speak, his job was gone and all his work was collected and simply filed away, never to be remembered again. The company handed him plane tickets home, and then simply disappeared from his life forever.
It took Paul a while to get over it all, but he was later able to leave the world of InGen behind. After a reluctant divorce (he decided to forget about that like he did with the island disaster), he got a job at the post office for the next few years, and then retired, as soon as he earned enough money to last himself, to the peace of the mountains.
Still, he was restless. He had to see one more thing before he could die a happy man.
Now, at the age of sixty-one, he had decided to take a vacation, and say goodbye to Isla Nublar properly.
Paul glanced back at the driver, who was standing by the engine and steering the boat along. He was the only one willing enough – or, as some would say, crazy enough – to take Paul this close.
Of course, there was no danger here. The authorities had taken care of that issue right off the bat. They had firebombed the island, blasting it with napalm wherever they could. After the fires exhausted themselves, the jungles should have been a ruin and no animals should have remained standing on the island. But the locals believed whatever they wanted to…
The boat passed gnarly rocks sticking up from out of the sea. "Get us in a little closer," Paul beckoned to the driver, who gave a single, silent nod.
Paul turned back to the island and the fog, resuming his thoughts. There was so much that they had left unfinished. Wonderful plans that would never come to fruition…
Hammond and the surviving scientists were the only ones that would ever remember the grand plans. Preliminary projects had already started on Isla Sorna, but they were abandoned. And they were forever irretrievable, now that the island had been set up as a private reserve. After the San Diego incident, nobody was allowed within 25 miles of Sorna, and security from both air and water would detect any attempted approach. It was for the good of the animals, but it was also a dream wasted. Nobody would ever really know.
But then again, not everybody knew all about Isla Nublar, either. Maybe after all these years –
With a noticeable jerk, the engine cut and the boat stopped. Only the waves moved them forward.
Paul looked towards the boat driver, vaguely annoyed. The driver was looking anxiously at the water's surface, like he was searching for someone.
"What is it?" Paul said.
"I do not know," the driver said, with a heavy accent. "There was something in the water. What it was…well, I cannot tell."
"What sort of shape?"
The driver paused. "Long, perhaps like a pole."
Paul stumbled through the man's English. From what he could tell, he was trying to describe something elongated. "Maybe a shark," he ventured to the driver. Paul had never considered the idea of sharks around the island before, but it was perfectly reasonable now that he thought of it. The Pacific Ocean teemed with sharks.
The boat driver shrugged, but still looked uncertain. He kept scanning the water.
"Well, start it up and let's keep going," Paul said. "I just need one more look up close."
The driver nodded, and Paul turned back to the ocean. He gazed up at the island, noticed the trees that were blackened and burned from the bombings, long ago.
But still the boat did not move. Paul sneered, and turned back towards the driver once more. "Did you hear? Keep on –"
He stopped when he saw the driver's face. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was slowly starting to fall open.
"What?" Paul asked. He knew he shouldn't have chosen a local to do this for him, especially one who didn't speak much English. "What's so funny?" he said again.
The driver started backing away, gasping for breath, and then finally released his energy and ran towards the far side of the boat, through the fog and out of sight.
It was then that Paul finally realized something, and he looked over at the water behind him.
He saw a black shape under the ocean, emerging from the fog, moving slowly but steadily towards the boat. He could not see it, but he somehow knew what it was. As his emotions turned from surprise to fear, only one if his thoughts escaped to his lips:
There was a splash, and then there was nothing.