Jurassic Park: Mockingbird

Jurassic Park: Mockingbird

Isla Sorna-87 miles southwest of Isla Nublar
February 8, 1984
10:02 p.m.

Rainfall pattered ominously against the small porthole in the thick cement bunker. The sky had shifted from its young and brilliant glory into a resonating liquid black early that day. Lightning tore fissures in the sky, illuminating billowing clouds in a backdrop against a dancing row of an erratic tree-line. Hunched in front of a mini box TV, a man sat intensely watching an episode of MASH.
By now, Haden McCobb was used to the almost monthly typhoon. This one was focused on the southern part of the island anyway. McCobb was always posted in the northern central and he doubted that he would even have to pitch in and clean off all of the branches. He and his co-workers referred to it as the island’s crapshoot. You would sometimes find some pretty interesting shit in the mess of all of that debris. One month, McCobb had to clean up a smear of trike crap that had somehow gotten into a vent inside the hatchery compound. Jackpot that month.
“Typhoons,” McCobb mumbled to himself “Always around to spice up a boring shift.” He was silent for a moment. “I hope you’re having a blast Jake
Calmly, McCobb rapped his fingers against the small metal table he leaned on. The patter of rain, mixed with the fizzle of the TV resonated in the air.
For a bunker, it wasn’t that bad. It had an electrical outlet, which provided plenty of light. And the goddamn TV was the messiah to McCobb. The man laughed slightly then leaned back, arms laced. Abruptly, the chatter of a walkie-talkie almost tipped him over.
“Hey!” he yelled loudly. “Goddamn it!”
McCobb stood up to seek out the bothersome crackle. Haden McCobb was a fairly large man. He had muscular arms, and quite a tan to boot. He wore a receding hairline proudly in a tight buzz cut. Oddly, his hair was graying, even at his young age. A salmon colored tee-shirt with the trademark JP logo fit loosely down his shoulders. Light brown khaki shorts drooped just past the knees. He wore INGEN appointed boots that were already muddled horribly.
“Where are you, you little bastard?” he grumbled.
McCobb rifled through a pile of empty cardboard boxes and found an open metal cabinet. He grabbed the active walkie-talkie with a swish.
“McCobb here,” he said automatically. “Whaddaya want Howie?”
A gurgling fit of electronic interference overtook Howie’s wavelength.
“Howie, you there?” said McCobb with a snap. “Howie, the storms messin’ with the…”
“Howie?” McCobb clapped the walkie-talkie several times.
“Piece of…” A voice broke in abruptly.“…ey, what’s up…ith …iss thing?” it said with a slight southern drawl.
“Howard! I’m here!”
“Ah…McCobb, the damn …orm is screwin’ ‘round with us.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” McCobb said tiredly.
“…es, well, news from up top says we got a … roblem.”
“So what’s new Howie, we always got problems.”
“Yeah, yeah…well looks like our little monsoon…. broke a couple….”
“Could you repeat that Howie?” said McCobb rapidly. He ambled back into his chair and was greeted by a commercial for Tylenol.
“…said that one of them damn…eatures got loose!”
“Fuck! Not the rex!” McCobb nearly dropped his walkie-talkie.
“…et your mind off of the damn…ex! She’s still wanderin’ ‘round her paddock like normal.”
“You sure?”
“…ositive. I asked the same question myself.”
McCobb laughed softly.
“So what’s roaming free out there then?” McCobb asked finally.
“Just a raptor. … not one a those defected lookin’ ones … released last year.”
“Hey Howie, fuck that raptor, man. Thanks for the heads up and all, but I’m in a bunker that puts five feet of concrete between me and any lizard.”
“…ouldn’t be singin’ the same tune if it were a rex.”
“Howie, there’s a difference of seven tons. Lay off me.”
McCobb almost clicked the walkie-talkie off and effectively hanging up on his buddy Howie, but that southern twang continued.
“…ig guys are sayin’ that Dr. Wu … showing up from Isla Nublar next mornin’, and … don’t want to … any problems whatsoever.”
“So what?”
“…Hammond just … tired of raptor escapes. You know how many raptor feeders get attacked.”
“All of them do, Howie.”
“Thank God for those electric wires huh?”
“Howie, I don’t care. Fuck the raptor.”
“…isten McCobb, I’m just passin’ the word. Shut off the lights … your bunker. We got a chopper off lookin’ … little beastie.”
“Yeah I know the drill, Howie. No lights or sound in the raptors marked territory.”
“…nd you’re the lucky one inside it.”
“Thanks for nothing Howie.”
“Anytime McCobb.”
The walkie-talkie buzzed then was silent. McCobb’s bulky figure stood silently in front of the little TV. He dropped the walkie-talkie onto the metal table with an audible clang.
“Fuck the raptor.” he said again.

Sure, the lights were out. But Haden McCobb was not about to sacrifice a healthy dose of Hawkeye, Trapper, Radar and the rest of the gang for some dumb ass lizard slinking around in the rain.
With his head resting on crossed arms, McCobb stared blankly into the screen. Rapid staccato flashes of multicolor illuminated his gruff features. He even dared to twist the little volume knob seven times!
The tiny box played out joyfully, for its one man audience.
McCobb knew he was perfectly safe, even if he was inside the raptor’s perceived territory. As group hunters, he concluded that they were pretty much useless alone anyway. What were they called, herds? droves?, flocks?, pods? Fuckin’ prides?
Several times, McCobb swore he heard the helicopter pass by overhead. He distinctly heard it over the typhoon. Crazy as it was, those rangers braved stormy weather thanks to those new upgrades the choppers got last year. He wasn’t sure if the lights were spotlights or just lightning flashes though.
McCobb started to doze off, and thought he did when he heard a slam at the steel door. “Geez!” he yelled.
“Who’s there?”
Who’s there? What was he saying? He let out a couple of nervous shivers, then stood up. He didn’t dare turn off the TV. It was the only light source he had. He jerked the box around and played the light against the ascending metal staircase. Cresting the table, McCobb stopped before the metal platform that lead up to the door.
“What the hell?” he said aloud.
Behind him, the jabber and applause of the audience in the TV melded with the sound of the rainfall outside. Frank and Hotlips could wait.
Again, a loud slam rattled the door. It shook the door? It couldn’t have!
“Yeah, I’m in here!” shouted McCobb. He sounded strong, but he stayed at the base of the platform.
A small, almost inaudible sound could be heard outside. It wasn’t insistent, but it sounded like a voice.
“That’s it!” said McCobb in a growl. He clinked up onto the platform, and whirled a yellow plastic raincoat on.
“Who the hell is there?” he yelled as he approached the large door.
Now that he was closer, he heard the voice again. A distinct “Hey!” this time that was followed by something he didn’t catch.
“Whoa,” McCobb stated broadly.
It was dark in this corner of the bunker, but the jumper cables were down past the TV.
“Hey!” came the voice again.
McCobb peeked through the slit window in front of the door. It was too dark to see anything outside.
A gravely rattle startled McCobb. He peered down. Was it…the doorknob? He stepped aside and allowed a small shaft of light from the flickering TV to illuminate the door.
In the vague shadows, McCobb could see the door-latch rattle up and down.
Someone was out there! McCobb gasped loudly, and jumped back, nearly falling against the metal platform.
Did some ranger fall out of the damn helicopter? Who would be out there in forty mile an hour winds?
McCobb stepped forward again and clenched on the door-latch firmly, then stopped. A voice came to him out of some distant memory.
“Exhibits a high amount of intelligence… works together in packs… cooperates…problem solver.”
Standing silently in front of the door, McCobb stared into the window slit for a long time. And for a long time there was nothing. No noise, save the wind. The door-latch never quivered from the outside.
A bright flash of lightning brightened the door, and not a single shadow permeated from the outside.
“Hey!” yelled the voice from behind.
“Fuck!” bellowed McCobb.
He whirled around, his raincoat squeaking freshly. The TV was still sporadically flashing. No one was there.
“Hey!”
The window! McCobb stumbled back into the main room in the bunker, nearly tripping over the two steps down. The guy was at the fucking window!
As he bustled into the TV light, McCobb barely caught a figure pulling out of his line of vision to his left. Away from the right side window. Someone was fucking out there!
Quickly, McCobb ran back up the platform and ran straight to the door. He swung it open with a flash and rumble of thunder. Clumps of warm rain pelted him in douses as he stood in the open doorway. Wind howled in his ears, and whipped his raincoat about. Darkness was complete, but he could see the outline of trees swaying violently in the storm. His hand brought up to shield his eyes, McCobb scoured his “porch”.
Against the drenching rain and the screaming wind, McCobb could hear a persistent scratching sound.
“The fuck’s that?” McCobb thought.
“Hello!” he yelled into the tumultuous air, “Who’s out here?”
Chillingly, the scraping stopped. Suddenly it became very clear what the grating noise had been. A clear picture of his cat back home appeared to him. His cat scratching against his favorite couch.
Almost as if on cue, a sleek head poked around the corner to his right. Haden McCobb stared calmly at the pointed muzzle that curved back into a sinister looking grin. He could see it clearly, even in the darkness. His plastic hood blew back in a powerful gust of wind.
The eye, cold and reptilian, stared at him and never blinked. He could see the very color in it. He could see the cold, calculating intelligence. Green eyes, cruel intelligent green eyes.
It snorted against the rain and McCobb thought of himself from a mere fifteen minutes ago saying, “Fuck the raptor.”
“Wily shit, aren’t ya?” said McCobb quietly against the wind.
McCobb blasted back into the bunker, trying to slam the door behind him. He heard the scream and knew it wasn’t the wind. It ripped loudly through the atmosphere in a mixture of high pitch propensity and deep ensuing bass.
A flutter of footsteps charged after him, stopping the door before it had reached the frame halfway.
McCobb cleared the platform in a giant leap from the doorway, almost scraping his head on the ceiling. He landed squarely beside the mini TV in the bunker room. He ripped it off of the table and flung it behind him, heedless of the light. The room seemed to tumble as the mini box of light arched through the air. Like an instant photograph, McCobb saw the raptor fully inside the bunker and ducking to miss the tumbling projectile.
Not waiting to hear the TV clatter to the floor, McCobb slipped into the stack of cardboard boxes.
Then there was silence.
McCobb, lay at the bottom of the pile feeling the concrete against this cheek. For a millisecond, he just wished that the dinosaur would just turn and go away. Then he heard the clicking against the floor. The soft padding of leathery skin against the floor, then the sharp clip of a talon against concrete.
Above, McCobb could hear what sounded like purring. The raptor purred with every breath and would sometimes erupt into a guttural throaty growl. It sniffed the air.
Toying with him. The bastard was playing with him! It knew full well where he was!
“Bastard!” thought McCobb. Then, instinctually he reached back and grabbed into the open metal cabinet. His hand brushed against the hilt of a rifle. He grabbed it instantly. He knew that all of the rifles were armed with one shell, unless you manually inserted more. No time.
Before he could bring the rifle around, a strong “hand” clasped his leg and dragged him out of pile of flimsy boxes. Pain slid up from his kneecap.
Light still emanated from the tiny television, which now lay on it’s side in a corner. Above him, the raptor stood. It was taller than McCobb thought. It tucked its arm back up under its scaly stomach and cocked a head at him intuitively.
“Hey!” it snarled at him in a gruff, now perfectly inhuman voice. Its teeth flickered like MASH. Then it bellowed something that sounded a lot like “Goddamn it.”
“Copycat...” said Haden in bewilderment.
McCobb leaned forward, sitting up. The raptor brought up a heavily clad foot and stamped down on his chest. McCobb slammed back down, teeth grinding. A thin trail of blood leaked down his cheek. A small JP tag was tattooed in dark ink against its ankle. He couldn’t breath, but he didn’t care. He even thought of a disapproving John Hammond, still angry about his pesky escaping raptors, but he didn’t care.
Haden McCobb brought around the muzzle of his rife from the ground and pointed it directly at the raptor’s slightly bobbing head.
“Fuck you, raptor.” he said, then pulled the trigger.