their heads. Eric scrambled ahead and grabbed for the lighter. The Pteranodon screeched as it flapped its wings and launched itself at the boat again.
The boat cleared the covered bridge as Eric fired up the lighter and locked the flame in the on position in one motion. Then he tossed it at the patch of water just ahead that smelled of strange chemicals.
A fiery burst rose just as the Pteranodon flew overhead, talons reaching for Josh. It screeched and veered away, sailing off toward the buildings beyond the Amity pier.
The fake shark appeared a final time, and the flames upon the water burned higher and brighter, searing the plastic monster.
The boat was nearly at the dock, but half the passengers didn’t wait. In a panic, they jumped and swam for shore.
Eric and his mother stayed in the boat. But the instant it stopped, Eric sprang out and raced ahead of his mother.
“We’ve got to find Dr. Grant!”
CHAPTER 8
Carrying his travel bag and laptop, Alan Grant had told his driver that he would meet him by guest services at eleven sharp. That had been an hour ago. Now he had only a few more minutes to find Eric in the park and say goodbye.
He had gotten in very late last night, too late to return Eric’s messages, and he didn’t want to leave things unsettled between them.
“Dr. Grant!”
Alan’s shoulders tightened. He knew that voice—Manly Wilks—and he had no intention of stopping for it. When he heard running, he knew that Manly had no intention of giving up. The reporter was beside him in moments, holding up a small digital video camera.
“So, Dr. Grant, how about one last statement on the rumors that a secret group of international foreign interests is paying you to produce bio-weapons for them?” Manly said.
Alan didn’t take the bait. He knew the reporter would love for him to overreact the way he had yesterday. “Mr. Wilks, tell me, how can I miss you if you won’t go away?”
“Now, Dr. Grant, is that any way to speak to a card-carrying member of the free press?” Manly asked. “Without the kind of publicity you came here to get, you probably wouldn’t know what to do with—”
A horrible scream came from a dozen yards behind the men. They looked back and saw a nightmarish vision—huge creatures swooping down from the skies, trying to snatch up men, women, and children in their great claws.
Pteranodons. There were close to half a dozen, and at least three were the size of adults.
Manly aimed his digital camera as one of the creatures soared right over his head. He spun, capturing its flight toward a doomed couple. The woman tried to run, but was grabbed by the flyer.
The Pteranodons sailed over the park’s re- creations of “San Francisco,” “Hollywood,” and “New York,” snatching tourists and guides, hauling them high into the air and dropping them into the central lagoon.
“It’s . . . it’s a coordinated assault,” Alan whispered.
A young flyer shrieked as it flew in fast at Alan, its claws twitching and ready. Blue and red spots dotted its wings. The scientist knew what he had to do—hold his ground, wait until the last second, then duck—but he was frozen!
Manly grabbed Alan’s laptop and swung it by the strap at the Pteranodon’s head. It connected with a sharp crack and the flyer wobbled off, then fell skidding into the boardwalk. It crawled onto all fours. Standing on its hind legs, the young flyer faced into the wind with outspread wings. A single leap and stroke of its wings raised it into the air.
Manly caught it all on his digital recorder. “So, talk to me. What did you mean by ‘a coordinated assault’?”
Alan stared in shock at the reporter. The man barely registered the danger he was in. He showed no compassion for the people around him. The last time Alan had faced anything so single-minded, it had been on the island. In fact, Manly seemed to have the same terrible determination as a T. rex!
“Come on, Grant. I just saved your life.
The boat cleared the covered bridge as Eric fired up the lighter and locked the flame in the on position in one motion. Then he tossed it at the patch of water just ahead that smelled of strange chemicals.
A fiery burst rose just as the Pteranodon flew overhead, talons reaching for Josh. It screeched and veered away, sailing off toward the buildings beyond the Amity pier.
The fake shark appeared a final time, and the flames upon the water burned higher and brighter, searing the plastic monster.
The boat was nearly at the dock, but half the passengers didn’t wait. In a panic, they jumped and swam for shore.
Eric and his mother stayed in the boat. But the instant it stopped, Eric sprang out and raced ahead of his mother.
“We’ve got to find Dr. Grant!”
CHAPTER 8
Carrying his travel bag and laptop, Alan Grant had told his driver that he would meet him by guest services at eleven sharp. That had been an hour ago. Now he had only a few more minutes to find Eric in the park and say goodbye.
He had gotten in very late last night, too late to return Eric’s messages, and he didn’t want to leave things unsettled between them.
“Dr. Grant!”
Alan’s shoulders tightened. He knew that voice—Manly Wilks—and he had no intention of stopping for it. When he heard running, he knew that Manly had no intention of giving up. The reporter was beside him in moments, holding up a small digital video camera.
“So, Dr. Grant, how about one last statement on the rumors that a secret group of international foreign interests is paying you to produce bio-weapons for them?” Manly said.
Alan didn’t take the bait. He knew the reporter would love for him to overreact the way he had yesterday. “Mr. Wilks, tell me, how can I miss you if you won’t go away?”
“Now, Dr. Grant, is that any way to speak to a card-carrying member of the free press?” Manly asked. “Without the kind of publicity you came here to get, you probably wouldn’t know what to do with—”
A horrible scream came from a dozen yards behind the men. They looked back and saw a nightmarish vision—huge creatures swooping down from the skies, trying to snatch up men, women, and children in their great claws.
Pteranodons. There were close to half a dozen, and at least three were the size of adults.
Manly aimed his digital camera as one of the creatures soared right over his head. He spun, capturing its flight toward a doomed couple. The woman tried to run, but was grabbed by the flyer.
The Pteranodons sailed over the park’s re- creations of “San Francisco,” “Hollywood,” and “New York,” snatching tourists and guides, hauling them high into the air and dropping them into the central lagoon.
“It’s . . . it’s a coordinated assault,” Alan whispered.
A young flyer shrieked as it flew in fast at Alan, its claws twitching and ready. Blue and red spots dotted its wings. The scientist knew what he had to do—hold his ground, wait until the last second, then duck—but he was frozen!
Manly grabbed Alan’s laptop and swung it by the strap at the Pteranodon’s head. It connected with a sharp crack and the flyer wobbled off, then fell skidding into the boardwalk. It crawled onto all fours. Standing on its hind legs, the young flyer faced into the wind with outspread wings. A single leap and stroke of its wings raised it into the air.
Manly caught it all on his digital recorder. “So, talk to me. What did you mean by ‘a coordinated assault’?”
Alan stared in shock at the reporter. The man barely registered the danger he was in. He showed no compassion for the people around him. The last time Alan had faced anything so single-minded, it had been on the island. In fact, Manly seemed to have the same terrible determination as a T. rex!
“Come on, Grant. I just saved your life.
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