The wait for the authorities felt like an eternity as the sow’s heartbeat grew faint and erratic. Aris decided we couldn’t wait for a sterile environment; she had to operate right there on the forest floor. I held the flashlight steady, my hands trembling as she made the first incision.
The smell of infection was overwhelming, but the doctor didn’t flinch as she reached into the cavity. Her gloved hand emerged clutching a large, half-decomposed salmon that the bear had clearly swallowed whole. It felt unusually heavy, and a strange, rhythmic light was pulsing from within the fish.
“Help me cut this open,” she commanded, handing me a scalpel with a steady hand. I sliced through the tough, preserved skin of the salmon, expecting to find roe or internal organs. Instead, a small, black plastic housing tumbled out into the moss, glowing with a faint blue LED.
It was a sophisticated GPS transponder, the kind used by researchers, but there were no official markings on it. Aris wiped the gore from a serial number etched into the side and cursed under her breath. “This isn’t for science, George. This is for a harvest,” she said grimly.
The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach as I looked at the male bear. These animals weren’t being studied; they were being “tagged” for slaughter by someone who wanted to track them remotely. The sow had simply been the first to swallow the bait that wouldn’t go down.