Sherri Crichton was on a mission. She was poring over filing cabinets, old computers and scattered notes when she finally found it: a manuscript from her late husband, “Jurassic Park” and “Congo” writer Michael Crichton.
Each thread led her to the next: a draft called “Vulcan,” and other pieces called “The Black Zone” and “Black Agent.”
She knew about a long-gestating volcano project he’d been working on before his death – they’d been to Pompeii on their honeymoon, after all. “He would leave breadcrumbs. We’d be on a hike, and he would talk to me about the formation of lava,” Sherri says over lunch in early June. “His mind was this massive database that was just pumping out great story after great story after great story.”
There was just one problem: this story wasn’t finished. “When I started reading the book, I literally was covered in chills knowing that this is it.
