LAST PREY Crimson streaks slashed across the white canvas of early-spring snow, turning the campsite into a slaughter yard. Silence gripped the shattered tents; even the forest seemed to hold its breath after the carnage. The metallic stink of blood and opened bodies hung thick in the cold morning air. Two corpses lay outside the nearest tent, mangled beyond recognition, their heads completely gone. Whatever had attacked had torn them off with raw, brutal force, leaving only ragged stumps of spine and shredded muscle. The third body was missing. “Mr. Carnahan?” The Commissioner from Fort Simpson spoke quietly. Another backpacking party had spotted the massacre from the air and radioed it in back to the town. “Yeah?” “Have you ever seen an animal attack like this?” Carnahan scanned the scene, jaw tight. “I’ve hunted and killed dangerous game on six continents. Never anything like this.” He paused, then turned toward the blood trail. “It would take one hell of a grizzly...