Jason reclined at his desk, feet up on its cluttered surface. It felt good to be back in jeans, hiking boots, and a comfortable shirt. He sipped his coffee, loving the smell as always and the way the aromatic vapors filled his nose. The chunky blue mug had been a gift—the memory of which made his taste for coffee evaporate. He pushed it away from himself and dropped his feet to the floor, returning to his work.  He had been staring at his screen for hours, reviewing footage from the previous week’s helicopter film of the migratory black tail and mule deer herds in Northern California. Every year, he spent about a month capturing data via helicopter reconnaissance, trying to assess the size of the herds, their elevation, the number of offspring, and where they were heading. And each year, he had more deer that decided to stay, stop migrating, and just hang out in the lush yards and easy greenery of the foothills. 

              The migrant population remained constant, but the resident population was swelling, leading to countless problems of lost vegetation, inbreeding of the two species, and the attraction of predators, mostly mountain lions, to the backyards of humans. People thought the deer were “cute” and even fed them, tamed them, and fawn-knapped their young, thinking they were abandoned when they were really just hidden in the brush by their mothers for the day. Plus, he now had thirty thousand deer killed each year by cars, and only three thousand people taking out hunting licenses, less than half of whom would be successful.

               He stretched his back and ran his hands through his curly hair. Maybe he needed to take a break and get some air. It was a warm sunny day in Sacramento, and he could see people walking, biking, and skating on the American River trail outside his second story window.

               “How was your trip?” Jason’s boss, Lionel Walker, filled the door frame. Lionel looked like a scout leader, and probably was, Jason decided. He was a tall man, on the stout side, with wide shoulders and a crew haircut. Glasses framed his cleanly shaven face. Today, he was in Forest Service uniform, complete with his last name emblazoned above the right shirt pocket.

               “Fine. What’s up with the outfit?”

               “I have a public service announcement thing down at the capitol. Our senator thought it would look more official.” Lionel shook his head, then smirked. “At least it still fits.”

               Jason wasn’t about to comment on that topic, so he picked up his coffee and took another sip. “My speech was the usual scene—a motel ballroom filled with suits, but it seemed to go over well.”

               “When you didn’t come in yesterday, I got concerned.” Lionel’s eyes weren’t readable due to the reflection on his glasses. Jason felt the urge to close the venetian blinds so he could better see what Lionel was thinking. He was definitely up to something, and that meant trouble.

               “Just a mental health day. The travel wore me out.”

               “Huh.” Lionel adjusted his position in the doorway, leaning his shoulder into it and tipping one boot up onto its toe as he crossed it in front of himself. “So, it had nothing to do with Ethan Hamilton’s request, then?”

               “The guy from Oregon? No. He wanted help with a wolf issue, but it seemed to me he had everything in hand, just needed more communication between factions.” Jason carefully returned his mug to the table with two hands to hide their shaking. It also allowed him to break eye contact, as Lionel was observing him closely.

               “He came by yesterday. His problem sounds much bigger than a need for communication to me. They have factions almost at war with each other, and they’re losing a lot of livestock. If we don’t intervene, that powder keg is going to explode.”

               “So? Send a field agent up there to check it out then. This has nothing to do with me.” Jason felt sweat pooling in his armpits. Lionel stood straight and cleared his throat to make Jason look at him.

               “I told him I’d send you.”

               “Why the hell did you do that?”

               “Didn’t you tell him you’d help if you could but needed the permission of your supervisor?”

               “That’s not what I said.”

“Look, you’re an expert in this area, and these people need you. Hell, the wolves need you.” He pointed at Jason as he continued his lecture. “Besides, you’ve got to get back in the field. Hiding in your office is not going to help you get over the loss of your wife, Jason.”

Jason stood, pushing back his chair so forcefully it rolled into the wall behind him with a bang.

“How I deal with Natalie’s death is none of your business. Send someone else—I’m not going.” His breathing was labored now, and he felt a flush rising from his chest and neck.

               “Oh, you’re going. Ethan was right, and you know it, too. There’s really no one else with your qualifications. The situation up there is dire, and if something isn’t done soon, you can bet your wolves are going to be exterminated whether it’s legal or not.”

               “What about Richard Jenkins? He’s done some good work in this area.” Lionel continued to look at him, this time his eyes sad.

               “Wow, Jason. You’re really out of touch, aren’t you? When’s the last time you checked in on Richard, or did you even hear about his diagnosis?” Jason’s heart fell. He didn’t know what Lionel was talking about. He’d been wallowing in his own private hell.

               “If you push this, I’m resigning.” Jason crossed his arms to keep them still, feeling them ricochet off his chest with each beat of his heart.

               “Fine. I’ll consider this your two weeks’ notice, but you’re doing this field work first.” Lionel turned and disappeared down the hallway. Jason collapsed into his chair and held his head in his hands.

               “Fine, you son-of-a-bitch,” he whispered to no one.