"THERE'RE TOO many of them!" He was sure his heart was clogging up his throat for his words to take on such a strangled pitch — panic screamed through his veins like he wanted to.

Lale whacked another dinosaur over the head (Amelia had mentioned their names, he remembered, but he didn't care to call them anything else but ruthless bastards with sharp teeth) with his stake, and turned a full 360, scanning over the white TimePods and coils of muscle and feather for Bradley. The only indication to where his friend was hiding were the sounds and direction of rushing arrows zipping into the scales of the snapping beasts.

Another screech right by his ear immediately alerted him of another attacker, and he twisted just as a muscular tail thumped into his side, and all of the air gushed out of him.

Lale fell backwards, and slammed the back of his skull against the hard surface of a TimePod. White dots blanked out his vision and his thoughts were a whirr of Gotta get up gotta find Bradley need to get out of here before his breath returned in an agonizing huff.

The feeling of a broken rib — like a dagger that bloomed into his side every time he breathed — was familiar enough for him to recognize it, and he grabbed the stake in his right hand while cradling his side with his left, Lale's senses thankfully returning.

Adrenaline turned into anger as he glared down a Tawny-cola or whatever they were called; it opened and shut its jaws indecisively, as if suddenly debating whether or not he'd be as tasty as he looked.

Before it could make its choice, he lashed out with a well-powered blow of his arm. Triumph fueled him as he climbed shakily to his feet, the Colaraptor backing away as it squalled its pain at getting a stab. He could probably imagine its thoughts; Hey, prey isn't supposed to fight back!

Well, I'm going to, Lale thought grimly, before he smiled, mocking the predator's own toothy grin. "You coming at me, or what?"

Before he could even blink, let alone tense in order to escape, a beam of white-hot energy that flung Lale's dark hair into his eyes and heated his face made mincemeat of the Colaraptor; the feathery dinosaur keeled, twitching, smoke rising from its dark plumage. Shock — but thankfully not of the electric kind — made him glance around wildly until he spotted the EEG, a small lever raised out of its side.

"The Tanycolagreus has been rendered unconscious," the EEG explained, its circuit boards perhaps noting Lale's look of barely-disguised relief. His heart still thudded painfully in his chest, his brush with death too current to forget. "Non-lethal protocol remains initiated." The robot seemed to blink at him, small blue pupil winking out of existence, before it turned back to the TimePods to continue releasing the other ERAA recruits.

Lale felt a pang of something like regret as he heard freshly-renewed screams, tightening his fists to try and qualm his frustration. Save it for the dinosaurs, he told himself firmly. The sense that he had failed his fellow marines and Learners weighed like a tumor in his chest, though, so he returned to beating the dank out of the Tanycolasses or whatever.

The ERAA recruits fell back to something like instinct as they fought. With no guns at hand, Lale used his stake to beat in dinosaur skulls, though every movement sent a twinge of pain screaming down his rib cage. From his peripheral vision, he spied other marines fighting with stones and ripped pieces of metal from the TimePods. Most of the Learners were fighting too, though he had to swallow each time he saw someone just lying on the ground and screaming.

Then, suddenly, it was over.

The last red-feathered predator released an echoing trill, pedaling the ground with sharpened claws and glaring into the human trespassers with an animalistic hatred that made Lale's blood freeze. 

He stood, wary, bloodied stake raised and dirt speckled across his face. He could taste its earthy flavor on his tongue, and he had to refrain to spit, another paranoid thought wondering whether the dinosaur would take that as a threat.

The leader's surviving brethren followed, dashing off into the surrounding ferns with little hesitation. Their shrieks faded, and once more the jungle droned with the buzzing of insects that Lale had somehow managed to block out. (Maybe because his mind had been on more important things, like surviving.)

It took a little longer for the humans to relax, and Lale puffed out a sigh that immediately turned into a wince as his side flared up again. "Well. That happened."

"The plan failed." He hadn't noticed Amelia limp up beside him, looking a little worse for wear. Her eyes were tired and the side of her face was scraped. "But even a broken clock is right twice a day."

Lale offered no comment — he had never understood that comparison — just a nod to the rest of the survivors. "You should get yourself patched up."

"So should you," was the quick retort. That time, he couldn't hide his smile, though it seemed unnatural to grin in such a situation.

They both returned to the rest of the recruits, none of whom seemed unscathed. Lale wondered, with some sadness, if he was losing his touch when he recoiled at the sight of a man (well, he reckoned it was a man), with a face so bloodied it was basically a slab of meat on a living body.

The doctor — Royson? He was sure her name was Royson — looked positively frazzled, the PAST-issue grey suit already stained with blood as she ripped the faceless man's own legging part, immediately pressing it to the flesh of his head. Lale wasn't certain that that was entirely sanitary, or that it would be effective, but he remained silent as the marines and Learners dazedly regrouped.

Maybe, had Lale been given time to think over his thoughts instead of continuing to flee for their lives every hour, he too would've been among those who stood blinking in the sunlight, their eyes blank. And this is only day one.

The precarious nature of their situation slammed him in the gut, and Lale bent over slightly, hands on his knees, his head suddenly spinning. The place where his head had hit the TimePod throbbed, and his ribs twinged at his movement. He shut his eyes, trying to space out from their situation at that moment, and return to Melbourne and the mosquitoes and the pina colas.

He furrowed his brow at the fuzziness of the memory, but the pain and the sudden exhaustion swept over him, and he was too tired to care. Focus on the now. The now is what matters.

Lale'd forgotten Amelia was beside him, but she leant against him and helped him straighten up. They helped each other straighten up, actually, though he wasn't sure of the extent of her own injuries.

Not sure. Not sure. Not sure. Lale tightened his fists momentarily, snapping his eyes open. The number emblazoned across the closest TimePod stared back at him, black and branded. They were numbers in a system to PAST — albeit a system that depended on their survival. The uncertainty was replaced by an anger caused by his uncertainty.

It crept up on him but flashed through Lale quickly, and left him feeling more drained than before as Amelia and he hobbled towards Dr. Royson, like some dejected losers of a three-legged race.

"I need better supplies," Lale heard Royson mutter, swiping back her dark hair. She glanced up at them, eyes widening, though her gaze was fixed on Amelia. "Both of you, sit down," Royson said briskly, looking all too much like she was trying to sweep the fact that she had no medical equipment whatsoever under the carpet.

Amelia helped Lale to the ground, and he leant against another nearby TimePod, the cold seeping into his back. He was closest to the twitching, bloody-faced guy, but kept his gaze firmly on the approaching Bradley, who wore a grim expression.

There's nothing happy about this. Deep down, Lale wished he wasn't so cynical. But what was there to be optimistic about, other than he wasn't dead? Bradley's exterior only matched his internal thoughts.

"We need to get moving," Bradley said brusquely, holding some bloodied arrows in his hand. Lale tilted his head back, contemplating on whether half of the ERAA recruits were even capable of retreating. "There was a lot of noise. The scamps and scavs will be coming soon; and trust me, they won't pass up on the blood." He jerked his finger to the prone guy with the bloody face.

Royson appeared over his shoulder, holding a First Aid kit in her hands. Lale couldn't deny his relief when she opened her mouth to reply instead of him. "With all due respect, Bradley," Royson barely batted an eyelash at his more rugged appearance as he turned to her, "but I need to treat my patients. There're First Aid kits in each Pod. The sooner I get these guys patched up, the sooner we'll twinkle-toe outta here, I promise."

Lale had shut his eyes during his exchange, reassured by Amelia's presence at his shoulder (not side to side, because of broken ribs), too tired and dizzy to do anything but contemplate what life in the Jurassic honestly meant. He felt like he'd been thrown in the middle of the Pacific Ocean only knowing doggy-paddle; he doubted anything could've prepared them for the heat of the jungle and the fatality of the dinosaurs, let alone JEE.

He could imagine Bradley sniffing with displeasure, and only opened his eyes when he heard his old friend walk away, barking orders at other marines and shell-shocked Learners to get moving.

Royson turned to them, grey eyes lighter than Lale's own flashing. "Alright." She knelt in front of Amelia, assessing her ankle first. It was the first time the marine got a good look at the girl's wound, and he hissed in sympathy through his teeth, guilt panging as he realized that Bradley's and his stupid plan were to blame for her messed-up foot.

"It looks like your Peroneal tendons have been ripped," Royson murmured, "and maybe some bruising ..."

Lale locked eyes with Amelia, who seemed to be imploring him for a translation. He held up his one hand in a moderately less painful variation of a shrug.

Royson fingered Amelia's swollen lower leg contemplatively, which sparked a wheeze from the curly-haired girl. "You'll live. You'll always have scarring tissue, but if we splint your foot and just get rid of the skin to air contact wound, you'll be fine."

How 'fine' will she be if you've got nothing for her? Lale wanted to ask, but Royson had already turned to him and the moment passed.

"And what about you?"

"My ... my side," he said lamely. "And my head, I think."

Before Royson could turn to him fully, there was a scuffle further away from the TimePods. Luca (Of all people ...) was between the oaf, Xeon, who was almost a foot taller and packed a lot more muscle, and Bradley, obviously trying to mediate the situation.

Xeon pushed him away, nose-to-nose with the other marine, who, for his credit, didn't back down. Concern was his reason for looking towards them rather than curiosity, and he felt Amelia's own panic flare. She gripped ahold of his hand. He stifled a wince.

"You don't give me orders, " Xeon was declaring, arms folded, while Bradley clenched his fists. This is not gonna end well.

"Get me up," Lale told Dr. Royson, knowing that he was sounding brusque but desperate to try and get Bradley out of a potentially dangerous situation. Royson helped him to his feet, and he shared another glance with Amelia before getting closer to the two warring marines.

"Look around you!" Bradley's words were harsh. "You think we have time to appoint senior officers? Huh? Only to watch 'em get eaten and have to go through this process all over again?"

Lale reached the two of them, the tension immediately enveloping him. He was acutely aware that standing was only furthering his headache, but what was a headache to any injuries Bradley could receive?

"Leave it, Brad," Lale blamed his own sharpness on the throbbing in his skull. "He's not worth it." He pressed his hand against his friend's shoulder, firmly anchoring him away from Xeon.

The two men faced off for a minute or so more — Xeon glowering, Bradley scowling — before Bradley shrugged Lale away and marched off.

Lale didn't turn to face Xeon, but he heard the leer in the black-haired man's voice.

"We've got one guy dead, and that's where we're all headed if Bradley doesn't get his head out of his ass."

Lale said nothing; just turned to go back to Royson, but the sudden storm brought on in his chest roiled — because he agreed.

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