James Smith - Hybrid

Corey quickly sat up and spoke. “I’m afraid I’m not following you here. You said a wolf in part ?”

“The wolf we’re talking about is clearly a mix with something else. It has to be an offspring of a wolf with another member of the dog family. A breed that’s been tough to pin down. Unfortunately, our database for all the variety of dog breeds is limited, but we picked up telltale DNA sequences. They suggested bulldog terrier and bull mastiff. Even Great Dane. Not surprised at that, given the apparent size of this hybrid animal. I asked myself what kind of dog breed would show such a mix. I kept searching our archives and running iterative software designed for those kinds of matches.”

He stopped to make sure everyone was paying close attention. “We now have an ID with better than eighty percent chance we’re correct. In this business, that’s as good as it gets.”

Everyone around the table was glued to Wallace’s face. “Tosa Inu,” he said. “This… creature is best described as half wolf and half Tosa Inu.”

“Tosa Inu?” Professor Hornsby asked, that now permanently puzzled look still contorting his face.

“It’s a rare Japanese breed,” Wallace replied. “From what I’ve learned, it was bred solely for organized fighting in nineteenth century Japan. Once this strain was perfected, it made all other fighting dogs obsolete.”

“So, there’s a hybrid wolf roaming around, killing?” Professor Hornsby asked.

Wallace leaned back. “This hybrid is no doubt responsible for every attack we’ve investigated.”

McFarland sat spellbound, as if not knowing what to ask next.

“There’s even more supporting evidence,” Wallace said. “I called one of the country’s top breeders of wolf-dog hybrids, a gentleman from Fort Worth. We all know that a wolf has an innate fear of man and tries to avoid any human contact. But as the breeder explained, a hybrid wolf doesn’t fear people, no matter what breed of dog is in the mix.”

“It’s more hostile?” McFarland asked.

“It’s far more aggressive than any wolf in the wild. Will attack anything that moves. Think about that. Imagine the offspring of a wolf that’s mated with the most vicious fighting dog in existence.”

Professor Hornsby couldn’t hold back. “With that conclusion, Dr. Wallace, I can only think of one question. How could a wolf in the Canadian Rockies have any chance in hell to mate with a prized Japanese fighting dog?”

“I did plenty of head scratching over that one, too,” Wallace replied. “Then I called a colleague from the Wildlife Service in Ottawa. He told me that dog fighting for sport happens all over rural Canada. No different from small town America, from coast to coast. I bet England even has its share of dog fights in the Cumbria region.”

“But you said,” McFarland responded, “that you’re continuing to analyze DNA samples from the victims. Why?”

“I believe we can determine exactly which Yellowstone wolf we’re talking about.”

“How is that possible?”

“I met with the wildlife biologists who were part of the team that captured the wolves in Alberta at the start of Operation Wolfstock. Before the animals were transported to Yellowstone, they were given complete physicals. Blood was drawn and samples frozen and stored. So, if any disease outbreaks occurred, they could test the stored blood to help track down the problem.”

“Luckily,” Wallace continued, “I’ve had access to five cc of blood from every wolf brought in from Canada. My lab techs back in Oregon are analyzing DNA from each blood sample to look for a match. If we get one, we’ll know the hybrid wolf is among the Yellowstone wolves.”

McFarland looked over at Corey. “What’s your take on all this, Jack?”

Taken by surprise, Corey sat up and cleared his throat. “It all sounds interesting. I’m just not sure that—”

“I’m asking what if Dr. Wallace’s lab can pin down a specific wolf among those in the Park?”

“As you know, every wolf we’ve brought in was fitted with a radio-collar.”

“So, once a wolf is identified, what can you do?” she asked, clearly perturbed that she was having to drag information out of him like she was drawing blood.

Corey scratched his neck and took a deep breath. “Well, then we can go to the charts and check its exact transmission frequency. Then we can locate it with our electronics in a flyover.”

“Whichever way it goes,” McFarland said, “the superintendent wants this taken care of… now.”

“When do you plan to post warnings to the public?” Professor Hornsby asked.

McFarland squirmed in her chair. It was her turn to get uncomfortable. “Our policy, Professor, was carefully developed with the Department of the Interior in Washington. We have to eliminate the danger before making announcements to the press.”

“But you could give out an alert to visitors at the gates,” Hornsby replied.

“If we released anything right now,” McFarland said, “we’d alarm the throng of visitors coming in over the weekend. We wouldn’t be in a position to provide any guidance or reassurance to anybody.”

What she meant, Montgomery thought, was that closing Yellowstone on a Labor Day weekend would lead to a public relations disaster. Forest fires, they could fight. Earthquakes, they could deal with. But no disaster was like a PR disaster.

“Fortunately,” Corey said, “with the last long weekend of the summer starting this week, we’re almost out of the woods. After the weekend, the number of visitors will fall off dramatically.” He faintly smiled.

McFarland buried her head in her hands.

Wallace scooted back his chair and straightened up. “My techs are working twelve-hour shifts to finish the job. We should have results on the exact identity of this hybrid by next week.”

McFarland kept her elbows on the table supporting her head as she looked up. “That’s not soon enough, Dr. Wallace.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“The superintendent needs to take action quickly,” she responded calmly. “Not only do we expect at least ten thousand visitors spread over the Park, but we have a regional Boy Scout event all weekend at Indian Creek campground. We need to know what’s going on with this so-called hybrid by Thursday.”

“But it’s Monday already, Miss McFarland. Getting the data you need in only three days will require working around the clock.”

“Yes, I know.”

After the meeting broke up, Montgomery followed Corey into his office. Corey threw himself down into his chair and sat with his feet on the windowsill, staring outside and ignoring him. Montgomery wanted only to walk away at that point. He knew what was coming; had seen it too damn many times before, although lately it was getting worse. Nowadays you could never be sure what topic to stay away from. He especially saw the erosion of Corey’s nerves day-by-day after his separation from his wife of twenty-two years. He tried to talk with Corey about it, but he would always change the subject and focus on the crisis of the day. It was as if he felt that ramming his head into the sands of a job would somehow make his other problems run away and hide.

“You okay, Jack?” Montgomery finally asked.

Corey swiveled around to face him. “They’re after my wolves, Bantz.”

“There’s no way in hell that we or anybody else could’ve known this might happen.”

“After all these years of fighting to bring wolves back to the Park, to—”

“I found out we got another call from Washington today,” Montgomery interrupted.

“What about?”

“They gave Claire Manning the budget figures she’s been looking for. They didn’t have a choice. She threatened to make a ruckus.”