Harriman shrugged. “Your money. But the crew calls this stretch the Devil’s Jaw for a reason. Charts don’t match reality out here. Compasses spin. Radio goes to static.” He tapped the rail. “And three other boats have gone looking for that island since ‘89. None came back.”
“Isn’t a problem.” Lena smiled again, that same not-nice smile. “My father spent five years studying these animals. Their habits. Their territories. Their weaknesses. He wrote it all down.” She tapped the notebook. “I know where to walk. I know when to run. And I know that the tyrannosaur is deaf in its left ear, which means it can’t hear you coming from the southeast.” Dinosaur Island -1994-
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph. The little compy. The smile. The miracle. Harriman shrugged
But the next entry, dated five days later, had been scratched out and rewritten: Status: TERMINATED. Charts don’t match reality out here