After leaving Malcolm’s apartment, Sarah began to walk down the sidewalk away from the building. She looked at the street, and then at her watch. Three o’clock— they were running late. Irritated, she paced back and forth. Someone was going to see her if they didn’t hurry, and the last thing that she needed was a suspicious citizen. Or worse, a suspicious Malcolm.
In a moment, a van with dark-tinted windows and the words “Dodge & Sons Physical Therapy” hastily spray painted on its side rolled up to the curb, and Sarah sighed in relief. The van screeched to a halt. Sarah quickly looked around for anyone who she might know, and then opened the back door and climbed inside.
There were two people occupying the van. The driver: a bald and heavily tattooed man wearing comically large sunglasses, and in the passenger seat a hunched figure draped in a spooky grey cloak. Neither said anything to Sarah, and she didn’t say anything, either. It was kind of awkward.
Five minutes passed. Then ten, and fifteen, until it had been nearly half an hour since their departure.
“Hey,” said Sarah, finally, “do you mind telling me where we’re going?” She said this because normally when the suspicious duo picked her up, they only drove a couple of miles to the quote-unquote physical therapy clinic . Now, she was fairly certain that they were driving in the polar opposite direction, and she hadn’t the slightest idea where the heck they were at.
The tattooed man spoke from the front of the car. “Yeah bucko,” he said, “actually I do mind. So how about you do us all a favor and shut your mouth.”
The cloaked figure in the passenger’s seat turned around to face Sarah. His dark hood drooped down, making it nearly impossible to distinguish his features.
“I apologize for the rather obscene attitude of my compatriot,” he said in a low voice, “we have conferred with the Great High One, and it is His will that the weapon be transferred to the Righteous Land to prepare for His rise.”
“Oh, okay,” said Sarah. Then she said, “Wait, hang on a second— weapon? Righteous Land? You’re taking me to the isl-”
“Shut it, punk!” yelled the tattooed man. “That’s right, we’re going to the goddamned island. Now you’d better stop asking stupid questions, or else He’s gonna decide you’re not ready, and it’s back to therapy for you. Is that what you want, buddy?”
“Not particularly,” said Sarah, “as far as I remember, that’s the first time any of you have given me a say in any of this.”
“That is because it has been foreseen,” said the hooded man.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” said Sarah, “and I think gender-based discrimination played a big role in my being chosen. I mean, why did you decide for me to be the weapon and not Malcolm?”
“Ah,” said the hooded man, “well, you see, it was actually ability-based discrimination that went into His choosing.”
“Yeah,” agreed the tattooed man, “we don’t like Malcolm because he is physically disabled.”
“Uh, okay,” said Sarah. She looked out the window. “We’re not going to the airport, are we?”
“I said be quiet!” screeched the tattooed man, “Everyone shut your damn mouths before I beat someone’s ass!”
“Ah, but my good fellow,” said the hooded man, “I actually did not do anything because I was not talking. As it has been foreseen, of course.”
“I said shut up!” said the tattooed man, and he grabbed his companion by the neck and shook him around some.
“Oh dear,” said the hooded man, “I do feel rather ill.”
“Alright, alright,” said Sarah, “I’ll stop talking.”
After some time, the van arrived at the edge of a large field, far out of sight from the city. In the middle of the field was a medium-sized airplane. The tattooed man parked the van, and then got out. The hooded man turned to Sarah again. “He is waiting,” he said.
Sarah followed the two across the field and towards the airplane. She could feel her heartbeat accelerating, out of dread or anticipation or something like that. She knew what was in that plane, but she didn’t know if she was prepared to see it.
The odd-looking men ascended the small set of stairs, and entered through the plane’s door. Sarah took a deep breath, and then followed them.
It was the first time that she had actually seen Dodgson II face-to-face. He sat in the very last seat, wearing a regal-looking gold tracksuit and making a very smug face. A pale middle-aged man stood beside him—Nelson, the guy who’d attacked her and Malcolm and ultimately gotten her involved in this whole thing.
“Hello Sarah,” said Dodgson II. He gestured for Nelson to bring him something to drink.
“Hello Dodgson II,” Sarah said, sarcastically.
“You see Sarah,” said Dodgson II, “I have now recovered all of my memories and experiences from my past life. I remember everything . Wanna know something that stands out right about now?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” Sarah said, “maybe that time when you threw me off of a boat in the middle of a storm to die?”
Dodgson II laughed. Nelson had brought him a diet Pipsy* which he had begun to drink. (*This is the Jurassic Park universe’s equivalent of Pepsi)
“You tried to murder me,” Sarah said, “what makes you think that I’m gonna agree to go through with this plan of yours?”
“Well, Sarah,” Dodgson II said, “if I remember correctly, you basically tried to murder me, too. So I think we’re about even.”
Sarah thought about this. It was true that she had kind of fed Dodgson to a t-rex, but she didn’t think that this was the best comparison because it was more or less self defense.
“And anyways,” Dodgson II said, “I don’t need you to agree to anything. Watch:”
He pulled a remote control from the pocket of his tracksuit pants. There was a big red button right in the middle, which he pressed.
“Dino-Sarah, activate!” said Dodgson II. This wasn’t at all necessary to the remote’s ability to function but he liked saying it anyway.
Sarah yelled because she was in a lot of pain. The fake teeth which she’d been wearing recently fell out of her mouth to accommodate enormous razor-sharp dinosaur teeth, and her fingers extended into jagged claws. Two large hooked talons grew from each of her feet. Her senses of smell, sight, and hearing increased by a factor of five hundred. Finally, a row of little triangles popped up on her back—these weren’t really good for doing anything, but definitely functioned to distinguish her as a dinosaur-mutant and (admittedly) looked pretty cool.
“Incredible, my Lord,” Nelson said.
“They said it couldn’t be done,” Dodgson II said, reverently. “My colleagues, for years they told me that the dinoplasty procedure was too far-fetched, too unethical, and utterly impractical. If only they could see us now, eh Sarah?”
“Kern oo pease turn ee berk ner,” Sarah said. It was pretty hard to understand because of the dinosaur teeth.
“If you insist,” said Dodgson II, and pressed the button again. Sarah’s dinosaur features retracted.
“Alright,” he said. “Nelson, stop standing around like an idiot and get your little self up to the cockpit. It’s time for our departure.”
“Can I have a window seat, at least?” Sarah asked.
“Hahaha. You wish, punk,” said the tattooed man, “Ultimate Dodgson already called it.”
“That is true,” said Ultimate Dodgson, the hooded man. “I already called it. I yearn to view the world from above—is that not the closest thing to seeing through the eyes of gods?”
Everyone pondered this for a moment.
“Hang tight everyone,” Nelson interrupted from the overhead speakers, “we’re clear for takeoff.”
“For the record,” Sarah said, “I really didn’t agree to any of this.”