Extinction

“Back again, Professor McBain?” the park ranger asked.

“Yep,” Jack answered, handing over the five dollar entrance fee.

He’d been spending his weekends in the Lake Mead National Recreation Area for the previous nine months, systematically covering as much of the park as he could. A Professor of Environmental Sciences/Wildlife at the University of Las Vegas, Jack had been given permission to camp in non-designated areas.

The ranger handed back a receipt with a small piece of tape stuck to it. As Jack stuck the paper to his windshield, the ranger continued.

“Be careful if you’re headed toward Spirit Mountain. A couple of hikers reported seeing a wolf half-way up. I don’t buy it though. It was probably a ram or coyote, but I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

Trying to keep his cool, Jack nodded and drove passed the gate. It wasn’t until he was almost a mile down the road that he pulled his Jeep Wrangler to the side of the road and let out a whoop in celebration. Quickly digging a map of the Newberry Mountains from his backpack, he got out of the jeep and spread it out on the hood.

Nine months. He shook his head. This was the first real lead he’d had since relocating his search from the Grand Canyon. He refused to voice the worries that had continued to plague him since the discovery of two skinned humans in Grand Canyon National Park.

Jack was certain the two humans, he believed to be Beothuck shifter wolves, weren’t the last of their kind. The shifter’s existence had been a legend he’d overheard from his great-grandmother, Sara, but
Jack always knew he was destined to prove it.

After figuring out the best way to reach the base of Spirit Mountain, Jack climbed back into the jeep and opened his battered leather journal.

March 21, 2009

A wolf has been spotted in the area of Spirit Mountain. My hopes are that I’m getting closer to finding one of the elusive packs of Beothuk shifters. It’s been a long eleven years of following leads, but I have a good feeling about this. I’ll trek up the north slope of the mountain as far as possible and set up camp.

After repacking his journal, Jack pulled back onto the road and headed south toward the Newberry Mountains. An accomplished tracker, Jack knew if the shifters were indeed on Spirit Mountain, he’d find them.

Following an off-road trail, Jack drove as far as he could before pulling his jeep to a stop. Even though he’d set out that morning before six, the clock on the dash read almost nine. Damn. He’d have to make good time if he had any hope at all of reaching his desired location while the sun was still out.

Hoisting a pack onto his back, Jack set out. The route he chose to take was a fairly easy one for an experienced climber such as himself. His aim was to find a way to circle to the other side of the mountain, reaching the first of three plateaus.

Scrambling up the rocky terrain was tiresome, but not difficult, and Jack’s hopes of making good time soared. He had been six-years-old the first time his great-grandmother, Sara, told him the story of the Beothuk people. Native to Newfoundland, the Beothuks population declined shortly after the European settlers first landed on the coastal province. According to legend, as the Beothuks’ numbers dwindled, they asked the Earth Mother to help them. In her revered wisdom, the goddess gifted the Beothuks with the ability to shift into wolf form, therefore allowing them to meld into the local wildlife population.

The shifters lived peacefully in the wilds of Newfoundland for almost seventy years, until the settlers realized the dramatic increase in the number of wolves in the area. Sara didn’t know whether the settlers simply suspected the wolves and Beothuks were one and the same, but they began systematically hunting them down. The last known Newfoundland wolf was killed in nineteen-ten. According to his great-grandmother, some believed small groups escaped the province.

Stopping to take a drink, Jack’s gaze roamed the rocky outcroppings.

Are you here? He slipped the water bottle back into his pack and continued. What would he say to them if he managed to track them down? Did they even speak English?

Jack reached the plateau and stopped for a brief rest while he studied his topographical map. He could safely manage the terrain to the west. The ravines and rattle snakes, he’d have to watch out for.

He tucked the map into his pants pocket and shouldered his pack.

Two hours later, he sensed movement off to his right, above his location. He slowly lowered his pack and withdrew a small pair of binoculars. Up the mountain, a flash of white darted behind a cluster of rocks. “Gotcha.”