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James Smith: Hybrid

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James Smith Hybrid
  • Название:
    Hybrid
  • Автор:
  • Издательство:
    Braveship Books
  • Жанр:
  • Год:
    2018
  • Город:
    San Diego
  • Язык:
    Английский
  • ISBN:
    978-1-64062-022-3
  • Рейтинг книги:
    3 / 5
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Hybrid: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Once on your scent, it’s too late to run… Dieter Harmon stared in shock at the hiker’s corpse, the head hanging only by a tangled ribbon of flesh. But what horrified him was the sight of claw marks on the victim’s chest. Something has gone terribly wrong with the government’s plan to return wolves to Yellowstone. As Dieter seeks answers, he is drawn into an escalating battle with Jack Corey, the chief park ranger. This is Corey’s dream project. Wolves have been missing from the primitive beauty of Yellowstone for decades—it is past time to bring them back. For Jack Corey, this bitter fight is personal. And to his advantage, he knows well that in the remote backcountry tragic “accidents” happen. That is where Dieter Harmon sets out to track a gruesome hybrid wolf that shouldn't even exist. But he soon finds that two predators are stalking him. They are very different in nature, but equally deadly.

James Smith: другие книги автора


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“Can’t tell too much. I chased off a pack of coyotes with my shotgun twice already. They’ve managed to mess up the area pretty good.” Josh waved his hand in dismissal. “The only scat I’ve found is fresh stuff from those coyotes. But no damn doubt in my mind—it’s a wolf kill.”

Dieter walked closer to the carcass and stooped down. He brushed back the fur with his fingertips until he found the impression of a bite just below the neck where the sharp upper cuspids must have penetrated. Making a fist, he straightened out his forefinger and little finger to form goalposts. He held it up to the bite marks and then displayed the measurement for Josh.

“That looks like three inches, Doc. Can you picture the size of the jaws?”

Rusty barked from Molly’s truck bed and wagged his tail. A brown pickup with the logo of the US National Park Service wended its way toward them.

“Well, waddaya know,” Josh said. “Look who finally made it.”

“I can’t believe the pull Josh Pendleton has,” Molly whispered to Dieter.

The pickup stopped only ten yards away and two men in park ranger uniforms and Smokey Bear hats stepped out. It wasn’t hard to make out who was in charge. With a royal-like stroll, the head honcho flaunted well-tanned, angular features and a chin held too high. When Josh and Molly exchanged greetings with him, there was a sudden undercurrent, as if present among feuding cousins at the annual family picnic.

Josh gestured toward him. “Chief Corey, meet the new vet in town. Dr. Peter Hammond.”

Dieter held out his hand. “That’s Harmon, Dieter Harmon. Pleased to meet you, Chief.”

Yellowstone’s chief park ranger explored Dieter’s face. He didn’t smile as he held out his hand to shake, a forceful grasp that lasted too long.

Jack Corey introduced his fellow ranger as Bantz Montgomery, who politely touched the brim of his hat, nodded and stepped back as if he knew his place.

“We’ll take a look at what you got,” Corey said. “But I’ll remind you again, Joshua. We don’t have any jurisdiction here. ADC should be on this. They’re responsible for any wolf kills outside park boundaries.”

“We haven’t found the animal control folks particularly quick to respond,” Josh replied. “Billings is too damn far away.”

Corey adjusted his hat and looked toward the carcass, walking to it as he spoke. “I’ll be happy to give you my humble opinion. We’re just trying to reach out to you ranchers, like we promised.”

Josh pointed but didn’t move from the spot where he’d anchored. “That’s another victim of your folly.”

Corey stooped to look, ignoring the putrid odor. “You’re not talking about my wolves now, are you?”

“You bet I am.”

Corey grinned like a politician and pulled a pair of plastic gloves from his back pocket. “They’re America’s wolves, Joshua. They belong to everybody.”

“You can tell America to come take ‘em back.”

Corey slipped on the gloves, carefully positioning each finger into place like a surgeon. He probed around the wound and with Montgomery’s help, rolled the carcass about to examine further.

“When did this happen?” Corey asked, his eyes fixed on the fatal wound.

“A couple of days ago at most,” Josh replied.

Corey reached with his right hand over to his left and yanked the glove away, then stood and removed the other. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Joshua, but what you’ve got here is either an angry neighbor who was clumsy at wielding a dull axe or a cougar kill on your hands. This is certainly not the work of a wolf.”

“How do you reach a cockeyed conclusion like that?” Josh asked.

“Straightforward. No bites on the legs or hindquarters and—”

“That don’t mean nothing.”

“And its belly hasn’t been ripped open. The attacker went straight for the throat.”

“That don’t mean a damn thing.”

“Your big llama males can defend themselves from a lone coyote or wolf, Joshua. But they don’t have any chance with a cougar.”

Josh unbuckled the sheath that hung from his belt and pulled out a hunting knife. He shuffled in Corey’s direction.

Jesus! Dieter stood and quickly backed away. Corey had a side arm holstered on his hip and Dieter waited for him to draw.

The chief park ranger held his ground as Josh bent down and cut deep into the neck of the carcass, peeling away tissue to reveal bone. “Take a look at this.” He pointed with the tip of the blade where he’d carved.

Corey lifted his chin and set it. The joints of his jaw twitched and he scratched the back of his neck. Dieter moved forward and crouched to get a better view.

“You see any puncture marks here?” Josh asked. “I’ve seen plenty of cougar kills in my day, Mr. Corey. Even watched them sneak up on their prey and attack. Cougars, just like their cousins, the lions and tigers, go for the nape of the neck—not for the throat. It just ain’t their instinct.”

Josh used his hands on his head to demonstrate. “They pierce the skull or spinal cord like a butcher knife. When have you ever heard or seen anything about a cougar grabbing a victim by the throat?”

“They attack with the sole purpose of killing, don’t they?” Corey asked. “So what if they go for the nape of the neck or the throat or the crotch for that matter?” Corey was determined not to allow a jackass rancher get the best of an expert who’d studied wildlife throughout his career.

Josh shook his head. “They attack from the rear ‘cause their inbred strategy is to blind-side their victim. These animals have a blueprint stored in their marrow. Nothing’s done helter-skelter in the wild, Mr. Corey. Nothing.” He shook the carcass with his fist buried deep in the fur over the backbone. “There’s no teeth marks on the back of this neck or the skull.” He pulled out a dirty plaid handkerchief and wiped off the blade, then looked hard at Corey. “This was no cougar kill and you damn well know it.”

Dieter glanced at Molly. She returned a veiled smile, as if what they were witnessing was nothing but good entertainment.

“If it was a wolf kill,” Corey said, “we’d see that llama torn to pieces by the pack.” The chief park ranger wasn’t going to be outdone by the likes of a trapper. “Why would we see a body with only its throat ripped open?”

Josh shrugged and threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why would a cougar attack and just take off?”

“They’re easily spooked. Much more so than a pack of wolves. The big cat could’ve made his kill and then got scared away.”

His gut curled up in knots, Dieter couldn’t hold back any longer. He’d witnessed such stonewalling by law enforcement in Philadelphia. What progress had they made on finding Fran’s killer? What kind of priority was the PD giving the hunt for the beast?

“Have there been other wolf kills reported outside park borders?” Dieter asked.

Corey jerked his head toward him. “Yes, Dr. Harmon, there have been. When we do get valid claims, the ranchers are compensated.”

“How so?”

The look that Corey shot back at him was one of keep your mouth shut, asshole, this is none of your business. Corey paused before he answered, a pause calculated to relay that message. “Up to five hundred bucks per head. That is, if it’s proved to be a wolf kill.” He re-adjusted his hat and placed his thumbs back inside his belt. “And I’ll tell you this—there’ve been a lot more reported than confirmed.”

“How many wolf packs are in the Park?” Dieter asked.

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