He looked back at the green eyes behind him, and forced himself onward. He could go a little farther, he thought. And then, directly ahead, he saw a light through the foliage. Was it the boat? He moved faster, hearing the compys behind him.
He pushed through the foliage and then saw a little shed, like a toolshed or a guardhouse, made of concrete, with a tin roof. It had a square window and light was shining through the window. He fell again, got to his knees, and crawled the rest of the way to the house. He reached the door, pulled himself up on the doorknob, and opened the door.
Inside, the shed was empty. Some pipes came up through the floor. Some time in the past, they had connected to machinery, but the machinery was gone; there were only the rust spots where it had once been bolted to the concrete floor.
In a corner of the room was an electric light. It was fitted with a timer, so that it came on at night. That was the light he had seen. Did they have electricity on this island? How? He didn't care. He staggered into the room, closed the door firmly behind him, and sank down onto the bare concrete. Through the dirty windowpanes, he saw the compys outside, banging against the glass, hopping in frustration. But he was safe for the moment.
He would have to go on, of course. He would somehow have to get off this fucking island. But not now, he thought.
Later.
He'd worry about everything later.
Dodgson laid his cheek on the damp concrete floor, and slept.
Trailer
Sarah Harding laced the aluminum-foil cuff around the baby's injured leg. The baby was still unconscious, breathing easily, not moving. Its body was relaxed. The oxygen hissed softly.
She finished shaping the aluminum foil into a cuff six inches long. Using a small brush, she began to paint resin over it, to make a cast.
"How many raptors are there?" she said. "I couldn't tell for sure, when I saw them. I thought nine."
"I think there's more," Malcolm said "I think eleven or twelve in all."
"Twelve?" she said, glancing up at him. "On this little island?"
"Yes."
The resin had a sharp odor, like glue. She brushed it evenly on the aluminum. "You know what I'm thinking," she said.
"Yes," he said. "There are too many."
"Far too many, Ian." She worked steadily. "It doesn't make sense. In Africa, active predators like lions are very spread out. There's one lion for every ten square kilometers. Sometimes every fifteen kilometers. That's all the ecology can support. On an island like this, you should have no more than five raptors. Hold this."
"Uh-huh. But don't forget, the prey here is huge…Some of those animals are twenty, thirty tons."
"I'm not convinced that's a factor," Sarah said, "but for the sake of argument, let's say it is. I'll double the estimate, and give you ten raptors for the island. But you tell me there are twelve. And there are other major predators, as well. Like the rexes…"
"Yes. There are."
"That's too many, she said, shaking her head.
"The animals are pretty dense here," Malcolm said.
"Not dense enough," she said. "In general, predator studies - whether tigers in India, or lions in Africa - all seem to show that you can support one predator for every two hundred prey animals. That means to support twenty-five predators here, you need at least five thousand prey on this island. Do you have anything like that?"
"No."
"How many animals in total do you think are here?"
He shrugged. "A couple of hundred. Maybe five hundred at most."
"So you're off by an order of magnitude, Ian. Hold this, and I'll get the lamp."
She swung the heat lamp over the baby, to harden the resin. She adjusted the oxygen mask over the baby's snout.
"The island can't support all those predators," she said. "And yet they're here."
He said, "What could explain it?"
She shook her head. "There has to be a food source that we don't know about."
"You mean, an artificial source?" he said. "I don't think there is one."
"No," she said. "Artificial food sources make animals tame. And these animals aren't tame. The only other possibility I can think of is that there's a differential death rate among prey. If they grow very fast, or die young, then that might represent a larger food supply than expected."
Malcolm said, "I've noticed, the largest animals seem small. It's as if they don't seem to reach maturity. Maybe they're being killed off early."
"Maybe," she said. "But if there's a differential death rate large enough to support this population, you should see evidence of carcasses, and lots of skeletons of dead animals. Have you seen that?"
Malcolm shook his head. "No. In fact, now that you mention it, I haven't seen any skeletons at all."
"Me neither." She pushed the light away. "There's something funny about this island, Ian."
"I know," Malcolm said.
"You do?"
"Yes," he said. "I've suspected it from the beginning."