James Smith - Hybrid

The Judge beamed as he explained his ham radio hobby. He handed Dieter a stack of post cards. “These are from all over the world. They acknowledge contact with Station WUZ8.” He pointed to the one Dieter was examining. “That’s one from Bishkek. Did you know that’s the capital of K-Kyrgyzstan?”

Dieter shook his head, smiling.

“I took up this pastime soon after my accident,” the Judge continued. “I’ve learned more about the world than I ever learned in school. Easy to do, if you have the right equipment. You can catch good sky waves at night and get reception for thousands of m-miles. Are you planning to get into ham radio?”

“No, not really. But I was told that many of the Yellowstone wolves have been radio-collared. I assume those are signals that can be picked up somehow.”

“Those s-s-signals almost always transmit near the amateur radio frequency band. But the type of transmitter a wolf would have around its neck has a range of only a couple of miles at most.”

“Where could I get my hands on a receiver for that?”

“You mean to pick up the wolf transmissions? Locate their whereabouts?”

“That’s the idea.”

The Judge nodded with a smile and thought for a moment. “You just need something thrown together from a few parts. It’s close enough to the upper TV frequencies that you could hook up a small antenna to an S meter.”

“You’re getting over my head, Judge.”

“My point is that I’ve got enough junk between here and the garage to jerry-rig you up a system you could c-carry around like a lunch box.”

“How can I help?”

“I don’t need help. With Molly out and about, I’ve got some time on my hands. Just give me a few hours and stop back.”

Molly latched the trailer carrying her all-terrain vehicle onto the hitch of her truck. She’d worked past midnight tuning up the three-wheeled Honda that could take her anywhere. She had been up and at it before the Judge awoke to get ahead of traffic and the chance of suspicious onlookers. Although the Park banned ATVs, there had to be a way to finagle it. Unlike the Judge, she wasn’t into analyzing the hell out of situations. The only way to find out was to try.

She’d searched a Yellowstone map the day before for what Sam Phillips at the General Store thought was the Deer Pass trail. He was close. The Fawn Pass trailhead was only eleven miles up Highway 191. As she drove she kept watch on the overcast sky and trees fluttering in the gusting winds. The temperature had dropped ten degrees from the morning before. When she arrived at the parking lot for the trail, one lone vehicle sat in a far corner. Frost covered its windshield. A yellow and black folder in the console between the front seats looked a lot like a rental car agreement.

She unchained the ATV from the open trailer and coasted it down the ramp. After unhitching the trailer, she pushed it into a cluster of trees to hide it from passing motorists. She then hopped onto the ATV and prayed her tune-up would do the trick.

On the second crank, the engine purred.

Charlenewoke up to the aroma of bacon sputtering over a fire. She unzipped her sleeping bag and scuttled out of the tent to stretch in the brisk morning air. He was hunched over a campfire with his back to the tent.

After she squatted behind a pair of birch trees to pee, she hurried to the stream for the can of Mountain Dew that she’d wedged between rocks while he was struggling the night before to build the fire. She sauntered back to the campsite, waving the cold beverage high and smiling. When she got close enough, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips, but he didn’t put any real desire into it.

“No longer interested in some nooky, slugger?”

He let her comment pass.

She sat on a boulder and yanked at the tab on the Mountain Dew. While he cooked there wasn’t much in the way of conversation. She took big swallows and belched. She’d thought about it most of the night and had decided that she might’ve overreacted last night. As soon as he made his next move, she’d be more accommodating, that was for sure.

When they got back on the trail she strolled at an easy pace, free of the worry and tension. She wondered what Duncan and little Sara were up to. Katherine Belle and Marilee would take good care of them, no doubt about that. Taking good care of them like they did for all the others. She would go back for her precious ones in due time.

The morning sun peeked through the dark, racing clouds as they hiked. The air smelled nice. The leaves on the silver maples flapped about in the wind and turned over so you could see their undersides. Rain was coming. Thousands of spider webs clung to the meadow grass and sparkled in the heavy dew.

“Don’t those webs look like giant snowflakes?” she asked.

He nodded.

She didn’t ask any more questions. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but small talk was what she knew the most about. When he stopped to rest and take the load off his back, she sprawled on the ground beside him. She wasn’t tired by a long shot. A flock of ravens burst from the trees. Shading her eyes, she followed them when something moved about in the bushes on the other side of the stream. Wasn’t the wind, because it had died down.

Could be a foraging bear.

If one of those took off across the stream, it’d be on them in no time. She stood and ambled toward the water, placing each foot softly down so not to make any more noise than necessary as she studied the bushes across the way. She couldn’t make anything out. Then flashed a frightening thought—Joseph Vincent. But it wouldn’t be him over there hiding, because he’d already be on them like a wildcat if he’d spotted her. He was probably out searching for her though, driving up and down the highway, not stopping to ask nobody questions of course, just making plans to teach her a God-fearing lesson. Him and his cave.

Joseph Vincent would be rubbernecking at everybody out there on the highway, gawking with those eyes, those sickening eyes, those magical eyes that could see into her soul. They were the eyes of the Devil, that’s what they were.

The ravens flew in, low and circling, cawing at each other, squawking at her for nosing around in their territory.

She despised her Uncle Withrow, too. He used to tease her real bad and tell her how ugly she was, but that didn’t stop him. He wasn’t going to hurt nobody no more. She made damned sure of that seventeen times. Her mother used to tell people that he likely upped and walked away, but she would just smile every time his name was brought up.

The bushes across the stream quivered again and she froze. An enormous wolf crept into the open, a wilderness beast that looked like a wolf anyway, but it was actually too big. Her companion rushed to her side and tossed an arm around her shoulders. Too shocked to speak, she clutched him around the waist. The wolf darted toward the shallow stream where boulders jutted above the surface.

“Looks like it’s trying to come across,” he whispered. “I think it’s rabid.” When he let go of her shoulder, she ran for her backpack.

“No!” he shouted. “Leave it. That might be what it’s after.”

“My backpack?”

“The food. It smells the food.”

He grabbed her hand and they took off as a dark cloud of ravens joined in the chase. When she glanced over her shoulder, the wolf was climbing up the bank on their side of the stream.

“Come on, Charlene.” He tugged on her arm. “ Run, for God’s sake!”

The path led them out of the open field and into a grove of pines. In the thicker cover they ran straight for a pile of fallen trees blocking the path. Panting, he boosted her over the logs and she flopped to the other side and slammed hard onto the ground. She screamed as pain shot through her ankle.