Lena crawled out of the surf on her hands and knees, coughing seawater, every muscle screaming. The notebook was still in her hand—sodden but intact. Behind her, scattered across a kilometer of white sand, lay the wreckage of the Calypso Star . No sign of Harriman. No sign of the crew. Just the broken ship and the endless jungle beyond, a wall of green so dense it seemed to breathe.
Tents, collapsed and moldering. A field kitchen overgrown with orchids. A generator, rusted into a cube of iron. And in the center of it all, a wooden sign nailed to a post, the letters carved deep and painted red: Dinosaur Island -1994-
But the handwriting wasn’t Hammond’s. It was her father’s. Lena crawled out of the surf on her
“What happened?”