Welcome To Jurassic Hell

Ch. 27: The Watch

Alas, I admit...the overbearing protectiveness from the campers was actually helping me to heal.

Not mentally, of course, but physically.

Although I'm no medical professional, I know the mysterious wounds I'd procured wouldn't get better for at least a few months (if I was still alive by then, anyway). But as long as I stuck to the ridiculous amounts of daily medicine that was scooped from one of the laboratories a few days prior and switched my bandaids every two or three days, I should get better enough to be able to run without trouble again.

In the mean time, however, I'd have to stick to the ridiculous smothering from my peers.

Almost two weeks had passed since I'd passed out, making it a little over a month since we'd first gotten trapped here and Ben had...had died.

God, had it really been that long already? Was Ben really gone for that long?

It was weird and uncomfortable to think about.

The meer idea that I was starting, and had started, to move on without my twin brother had me near tears.

And sitting above the flowing river, staring at my vague reflection within it gifted by the sun's shiny glare, made the thought a lot harder to bear. I had water, I had food, I had people and developing wits to help me survive — Ben had never gotten that chance. He'd never gotten to relish in the fresh water of Jurassic World or the nastiness that was the canned peaches.

He'd never gotten to get over his fears.

A tear fell from my cheek and disappeared into the river, never to be seen again. I wasn't able to conure anything else, because that one year held all that remained of my trauma from this island.

The last of my sanity.

Darius came over and kneeled beside me wordlessly, which I silently thanked him for.

I knew he'd learned that I preferred peace and quiet when full of emotion, at least for a period. It was a trait both Ben and I had shared. It never took long before I allowed comfort, both physically and emotionally.

Though right now, I didn't feel like I needed a hug.

Just...words.

And that's what Darius gave me.

"Are you okay?"

I shrug and remain quiet. I'd regained my ability to speak a few days ago, having drunken enough water to calm the swelling in my throat. But I've barely spoken a word since then, even less than normal, if possible.

Darius stays quiet for a few more minutes, and we relish in the river's flow and splashes together.

He then speaks again after a while.

"We're planning on going out tomorrow, if...if you think you can. If not, it's okay, we'll leave someone here so you're not alone."

I smile and pat him on the shoulder with a nod, to which he smiled back.

————

It was early in the morning, everyone still being asleep, when I decided to take a brief walk. What would the harm be, anyway?

Okay, getting attacked and torn apart by a dinosaur, probably...

Flesh tearing.

Limbs going down it's monster it's throat.

I want to throw up at the memory of those poor workers. Even though it'd been so long ago, it's hard to stop feeling guilty.

They'd probably had families, people who'd cared about them who now didn't know if they had survived the island.

Almost just like the campers and I.

Did mom think I was dead by now? Did she think the same for my brother?

The idea of a dark, depressing funeral with me and Ben's portraits seated in front of two empty coffins almost distracted me from spotting something along my path. I stopped suddenly, the painful thoughts leaving when I realized I'd strayed a little too far from camp.

I wasn't lost (I could easily see my footprints and trampled leaves in the mud behind me), but it'd probably take me a little longer to get back with as far as I'd walked. I would've turned to start heading back, wanting to get back before the others woke up, but my curiosity brought me over to the small shiny object I'd spotted glistening under the sun rays peaking through the trees.

At first I thought it was just a little puddle, nothing more. But as I looked closer, I realized that wasn't at all what it was.

Oh

My

God

It was a watch.

And not just any watch.

Ben's.

Ben's handed down from Uncle Gambet after his passing. I knew it because it had the familiar engravings of GP carved into the center of the cracked face, which was dirtied and cracked. The leather strap, on the other hand, was fully in tact, not a single mark.

It wasn't ripped, it wasn't torn.

It was clearly unbuckled, taken off by it's user.

That had to mean one thing...

Ben was alive.

My brother is still out here.