⟩ 5

                                    

                                          
New Home, Old Friends, Rotten Milk⤵


The homes for staff at the amusement park — which is secretly built as a trap, for those who don't know — are mainly the hotels. Luxury rooms featuring marbled bathtubs that could go for hours, flawless kitchens with handmade cupboards from polished wood. And the softest of mattresses for each room. Seems like a dream. 
Masrani invited Claire to drive the jeep, which she had done. Masrani sat in the backseat with me, talking endlessly about reckless ideas that would most likely get everyone killed or up payloads for the park. Both seemed rather amusing. 
He only stopped ranting on when we had arrived at the shore, a bungalow lay in wait under the setting sun. The dusk radiated nicely hued reds, yellows and oranges. The slightest twinge of pink between the red. The shore reached up to halfway up the shoreline, a sandbar appeared not too far from the hut. 
They showed me around. Not too worn out, but rather freshly made. Not planks had squeaked in protest upon stepping foot onto the porch. The door hadn't groaned when opening. Better than my apartment back home, who seemed to complain with each of my movements. 
The duo left not too long ago, leaving me to settle into the bungalow. It felt lonely out here, just the way I wanted it. If dinosaurs were to go loose, I'd have the first chance of running without casualties.
''Wait, wait, wait.'' Alan repeated. I could see his head shaking and his waving hand as he spoke. I explained the park to him in a few simplistic words. ''Raptors?'' That seemed to be the only thing he picked up on. The only topic of the broad conversation. 
I hummed, standing from the couch. ''Yeah. Not a lot, though. Just four.'' 
''There only needs to be one for total destruction.''
He was right, he usually was. I walked across the cold flooring of polished hardwood towards the kitchens, tip-toeing to reduce the cold shivers to the bottoms of my feet and up my spine. My shirt reached down mid-thigh, a favorite shirt of mine for the specific reason of its comfort. Something I desperately needed once more.
I opened the fridge, responding to Alan. ''Yeah, but they seemed to have them trained.''
''Trained?'' I could imagine the way Alan ran his hand down his face in a stressed motion. Sweat collecting above his brow. His hands shaking against the phone. And he wasn't even the one on the island. ''You remember what happened to the last person who supposedly had them 'trained', right?'' 
The fridge was stacked from top to bottom with food. Shelves having no room for anything more. They must've been expecting me to get this much food into the storage, seeing as I wasn't allowed to bring any nor did I think to do so. Simply providing myself to the food courts around the Main Road wouldn't hurt. An occasional muffin or omelette to start the day. 
But since they provided me food to cook with, I found myself relieved that my money wouldn't have to be spent so early in the trip. I didn't know how long I'd be staying. 
''Yeah, I remember.'' I nodded, although the receiver couldn't see it. ''He died, didn't be? Kind of hated that guy. He seemed smug.''
Alan gave a short, breathy chuckle from the other end. ''You and I both. I can't believe they made another.''
''I can.'' I scoured through the fridge, casting a weary glance back at the television. The news had been playing on a low volume, almost muted. Even when on such low volume, I could still hear the newscasters tone of urgency. Something bad had happened somewhere off the island. Something I hadn't the mind to pay attention to. It wasn't anyone I knew.