I don't remember the exact moment the gates clanged shut. Maybe I heard them in the background, maybe I didn't. Either way, I hadn't started the day thinking I'd end up trapped in a zoo overnight. But that's how it always is, isn't it? You never really plan for your own stupidity. You just sort of trip into it, like an open manhole in the middle of a joke you think you're in control of.
It started with a dare, like all the worst ideas do.
"Bet you won't stay until closing," Wyatt had said, his voice too casual, that sideways smirk already blooming across his face. "Bet you don't have the balls."
And like an idiot—I smiled back.
I knew how to hide. I'd done it before in malls, in theaters, in that one stupid haunted house that shut down at midnight and nearly called the cops. The zoo didn't seem any different. A few maintenance closets, some bushes near the aviary, and I was golden. Just stay out of the sightlines. Wait for the tourists to vanish. Wait for the keys to click the locks. Then I could climb out at dawn and brag all week like it was some kind of wilderness survival story.
Easy.
Except nothing's easy when you're surrounded by teeth.
I didn't realize how fast it would change. How quickly comfort turns to cold. How light bleeds away like water from a cracked jar. One moment the place is a chirping, laughing chaos of kids and overpriced popcorn, and the next—stillness. Not the kind you enjoy, either. The kind that breathes down your neck.
I stayed tucked behind a shipping crate for the first hour after closing, behind the big cat enclosures. I listened to the cleaning carts roll past, heard a few radios squawk out scratchy instructions, and when the last engine sound faded toward the parking lot—I came out. Slow. Careful. But confident. Always confident.
The air smelled different at night. Thicker. No one tells you how wild a zoo feels when it's not pretending. In the daylight, it's all paths and fences and brightly colored signs about endangered habitats. But under moonlight, it becomes what it really is—a collection of beasts in boxes, each one breathing in its own corner of the dark.
I started walking. Maybe I should've stayed still, but I couldn't help it. Curiosity is a sick kind of hunger, and I was starving for the thrill.
The monkeys didn't like me.
I stopped near the primate house and they went berserk—low howls and hoots echoing off the glass. One of them threw something. I couldn't tell what. It hit the ground and splattered. That was my first clue that maybe staying mobile was the smarter move.
So I cut across the center loop and ducked down a less-lit service path, one I hadn't walked before. No signs. Just a stretch of gravel and packed earth winding between brush and bamboo.
That's where I found the gator pit.
There was no warning. One second I was thinking about vending machines—wondering if I could crack one open, maybe find a bag of peanuts or something—and the next, I was weightless.
The ground wasn't there anymore.
I hit something hard, then wet. My ribs stung. My mouth filled with water.
Panic is a strange thing. It doesn't roar. It doesn't flash red across your vision. It shrinks everything. Focuses it. I didn't feel the cold, not right away. Didn't scream. I just kicked, hard and fast, toward the edge of the murky water I'd landed in. I clawed at the cement ledge. I slipped once. Twice. On the third try I got a grip, tore my fingernails bloody, and hauled myself over.
I laid there for a long time, cheek against the stone, chest heaving. I didn't move. I didn't think. Until I heard the splash.
Not mine. Another one. Slower. Heavier.
I twisted my head.
Behind me, just a few feet from where I'd been treading water—an alligator. Long. Pale under the moon. Its eyes looked through me, unbothered. Like I wasn't even worth registering. It slid backward into the black, scales like ridged leather, and vanished.
I should've vomited.
I just laughed.
It wasn't even a real laugh. More of a broken sound, halfway between disbelief and hysteria. The kind of sound you make when you realize you almost died but somehow, ridiculously, didn't. I sat up and wiped my face with my sleeve. It came away dark with algae and blood. My fingers were trembling.
I'd fallen into an alligator enclosure.
And walked out.
How many people can say that?
I kept moving. Not because I wanted to. Not because it was brave. Because standing still meant thinking too hard about what had almost happened. I found a staff tunnel, half-dug into a slope behind the herbivore house, and stayed there until the sun started to rise.
No one found me.
No alarms. No patrols.
Maybe they didn't even realize they'd left a kid inside. Or maybe they didn't care.
Either way, I survived.
And that meant I won. That's what I told myself.
I waited until mid-morning. Long enough that I could slip out with the early school groups, blend in with the clusters of uniforms and matching backpacks. My shirt was still damp, and my knees were scraped raw, but I made it past the food court. Past the bird show stage. Past the carousel.
I almost made it to the front gate.
I don't know what stopped me. Some part of my brain, probably the same part that got me in this mess to begin with, told me I needed one more look. One more loop. Just to say I did. Just to drive it home.
So I turned.
And that's when I said it.
"If I was put on Isla Sorna," I muttered, mostly to myself, "I could easily survive."
The words tasted like defiance. Like pride. Like I'd made it through something sharp and wild and come out with my edges still intact.
I took one step forward.
And my foot caught on a rock.
Just a rock.
Small. Stupid. Half-buried in the soil near the service path. I didn't even see it.
I tripped.
The world turned sideways.
And I fell.
There was water again. The smell hit before I even hit the surface—stale, green, heavy with life and something older than rot.
I knew where I was.
The crocodile pool.
This one was different. Deeper. Unfiltered. The warning signs were everywhere during the day. Do not lean. Do not cross. Do not approach the edge.
I had approached the edge.
Now there was no edge at all.
Just teeth beneath still water.
And silence.