A Gun

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I decided I needed to check out the status of the utility buggies in the garage. My thinking is that it is very likely I will need to use a buggy if I plan to escape. I don't have a clear plan yet. My best thought so far is that if I could find an inflatable raft I could maybe drive a buggy to the shore and try my luck on the ocean. I keep trying to decide on a course of action and then second-guessing myself. Every plan seems doomed. Then I find myself retreating into the relative safety of my nest in the command room, a sanctuary I know will soon be gone.

It took me most of the morning to mentally prepare myself for the trip down to the garage. To get to the garage I need to traverse the south hallway with the dead Pachy, and one of the exterior doors to the garage is ripped open from the encounter with the Trex. I decided to go around noon: I've noticed this seems to be the least active part of the day for the dinos. I made my way down and through the broken hallways, carefully checking each new space and shimming the door before entering. My mind was ringing with anxiety by the time I entered the garage. Seeing beams of sunlight through the broken door and feeling the breeze from outside was both objectively beautiful, and in context, nauseating.

The garage is small, considering. There is parking for 3 buggies, one of which is missing. Perhaps the one outside the center where I found Parker. There is basic shelving along the ways holding some basic repair parts and other equipment. The middle door of the three is ripped open, and the bay furthest from the door I entered by is missing its buggy. The hood of the buggy by the damaged door also shows some serious damage. I'd be skeptical to try to drive it.

What immediately drew my attention was a gun locker in the back of the garage, by the missing buggy. Until today, I have never fired a firearm of any kind. It just wasn't part of my life growing up. Recently I have, of course, considered that a gun would be useful. But they have been surprisingly hard to come by. The gun locker is not in view of the cameras in the garage. An unlocked firearm cabinet away from the security cameras is just par for the course here at Triassic Encounters. Part of our image of confidence and safety.

Inside the cabinet, I found several shotguns used by the security team, as well as boxes of shells. Much bigger guns than I had hoped or expected to find. I have one sitting next to me in the command room right now, and it feels as dangerous as it does re-assuring.

I think seeing the guns and realizing what I had in front of me must've mesmerized me a little. I spent more time than I should have gingerly fiddling with one of the shotguns, figuring out how to load and cock it while trying not to kill myself. I finally managed to successfully cock the weapon, and the noise of the weapon triggered another noise behind me. I snapped around and saw the feathered head of a raptor looking at me through the broken garage door.

I froze, somehow unsure if the raptor had seen me. It hissed at me and slowly entered the garage, breaking any illusion I had of being able to avoid it. The feathers on its neck fluffed in anger. The next few moments are a bit of a blur. I did not scream. I inched along the back way, raising the gun as best I could. It was heavy. I knew it must have a safety, and I fumbled for it. The raptor screeched. It leapt at me, feet and claws first, I screamed, and the shotgun went off. I was thrown to the ground, my left shoulder searing with pain. For a fleeting second, I thought I was being mauled, before I realized the raptor was thrashing on top of one of the buggies. I had blown a hole in its neck. Blood covered my face, gushing from the quickly expiring raptor. My ears rang. I could see in the distance outside the garage the motion of other raptors. I picked myself up, immediately wincing and realizing how badly my shoulder was hurt. I managed to drag myself out of the garage, the shotgun in tow, feeling like a 1000-pound weight dragging behind me.

I passed out upon return to the command room.

The dead raptor now sits slumped across the passenger seat of the undamaged utility buggy. I would have to move the raptor before I could possibly consider driving it. My spear / walking stick was left in the garage. I barely had time to use it. My shoulder is so badly bruised I am not sure I can safely fire this shotgun. I may have dislocated it. I was not able to grab any additional ammo for the gun, although it has 6 of the 7 rounds I loaded into it.

The raptors know I can kill them now. I am officially a threat to them. I am not sure that this is a victory for me.

I am going to try to sleep now.