Security Record: Poachers Incident
(Report by R. Muldoon)
The inevitable has finally occured: poachers. The eventuality has been discussed time and again, and has finally happened. Perhaps I was the only one who took it seriously. This past week, a routine survey of Sector 023, along the Parasaur game trail, turned up several animal foot traps. Management decided long ago not to employ such devices, and so it was relative certainty not to be from InGen personnel. Less than a week later, an empty Benelli shotgun was found on the edge of Sector 024, where Ornitholestes are known to hunt. For my part, the evidence was conclusive. I put together a team of myself, Mr Andrews, and Dr Carter to seek out and locate the poachers. We took a standard InGen survey Jeep and eventually found footprints near where the traps had been found. Getting out of the Jeep, Dr Carter and I advanced on the prints' trail while Mr Andrews attended to the wheel. What we found next was more than I expected. The shredded remains of a tent, a multitude of empty shells, a broken gas lanturn. Human and Dinosaur prints in all directions. The Dinosaur prints were indeed Ornitholestes, but we found only a dash of blood on the tent. After searching the campsite another fifteen minutes, I finally discovered where all three individuals had gone, into the bush. Dr Carter had found a tuft of human hair, but it wasn't anything to go by. We followed the prints. I thought briefly that we would end up right in the Ornitholestes nest. But no, all three sets of prints passed it by. Eventually we passed out of Sector 024, then through 025 and 026, when we came to a stand of oaks. Already cautious, we suddenly heard a growling nearby, and I signaled to halt. The growling continued, and then there was a shot. It was unclear if the shot hit, but the growling continued, more aggravated this time. After a moment, one of the poachers yellwed out, something to the effect of "Get back you Devil!" It was a sothern American accent. Then a different voice, something in Spanish. More shots were fired. I had a plan. Dr Carter and I circled the large oak, where it was evident the voices had come from, somewhere in the canopy. There were a good deal of branches low to the ground; we scaled the tree quietly. Coming around the trunk, we saw the two men standing, not seven feet away from us. The American was shaking. Then, without a thought, I fired my tranquilizer at the Ornitho. It stood in surprise briefly before collapsing to the ground. The two men turned to face me, my gun already aimed. They looked at each other a moment. They did not seem as upset as I'd expected, but they threw their weapons to the ground and lifted their hands. No sooner had I begun to step forward than a screaching sound came from behind me. Not moving my aim, I looked back just in time to see a Dimorphodon racing toward me. I had no time to react; it scratched my face as it flew past. I had just enough time to see the pterosaur land on a poacher's shoulder before falling head-first out of the oak canopy. Dr Carter was fast. He gripped my ankle and held it, the rest of me dangling there like a piñata. I heard both poachers laughin briefly, then exchanging words and jumping to the ground below.
We never found out what happened to them. After Carter and I got down from the oak, a storm began, and the mud became too difficult to track through. Either they are still out there, or they got smart and left. That Dimorphodon looked unusual, I'm not sure it was ours. But this incident will be our first reminder to add what new security measures are necessary.












