Free Primal Estate: The Candidate Species by Samuel Franklin

house sat atop a prominence providing slight downhill slopes on all sides. From his back patio and its adjacent small patch of struggling lawn, one could take in, with a casual scan to the southeast, Mesa Verde National Park and Sleeping Ute Mountain to the south, with the Four Corners nestled somewhere between them in the distance. Further to the right, to the southwest, was the gentle rise of a plateau hiding in its desiccated drainages some of the roughest desert canyon areas of Colorado, trailing further west into Utah. The house lived among the usual pinion pine and juniper cedar high desert forest that held a surprising number of mule deer, coyote, and jack rabbit, with the occasional mountain lion and bear. The privacy of his place was complete with much of his property surrounded by some irrigated fields and undeveloped land with only the occasional neighbor.
Rick took advantage of the size and position of his land to shoot a variety of weapons to practice marksmanship, but he never took any game there. It was a kind of pact he had with the wildlife. He would live there in peace, and so would they. It provided him with the additional benefit of being able to simply observe their behavior.

Rick was unusually well provisioned on his government salary, but only due to his frugal nature. He had a great collection of guns, one for every occasion. He had a wood shop adjacent to the house, a three-car garage complete with his old jeep, a newer Dodge Charger, and a pickup truck. Under a carport outside was his 17-foot fishing boat that served every purpose he could think of, from the nearby McPhee Reservoir to Utah’s Lake Powel, where he frequently camped. He had a John Deere tractor with a front end loader and a backhoe. And he had his health. He had seen to that. He had a short time to retirement with his work for the NSA and was intent on spending the rest of his life helping Carson get a good start. His free time would be spent fading into the mountains and desert wastes. The end.
He was in the kitchen heating some venison stew left over from the night before, just starting to break a sweat from his quick workout and the warmer indoor temperature of his house, when Carson finally rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen.

“Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, Carson, how’d you sleep?”

“Okay, but I’ve been having the craziest dreams.” Carson rubbed his eyes, finding a seed in the left one. He tried to rub it out of the tear duct. “I can remember them when I first wake up, but then I fall back to sleep and I forget.”
“Put a pad and pencil by your bed and write it down as soon as you wake up. Then if you go back to sleep…” Rick trailed off. “You want some stew?”

“Yes, please.” Carson sat at the table as Barnes walked up, nosed him, and gave him a small lick on the elbow. Nobelle circled him and watched. “The funny thing is when I dream, it’s not like I’m imagining something, it’s like I’m remembering it. Does that make sense?”
“I think I know what you mean. Maybe its genetic knowledge you’re becoming aware of.” Rick glared at his son, slowly cocking his head with raised eyebrows and whistling the Twilight Zone theme. Rick put a bowl of stew in front of him and stuck a raw carrot in it. “You ready for your test today? You weren’t up very late last night.”

Carson began to eat. “I’m ready, more ready than anyone else in my class, if I can judge by all the texts I got last night. For some reason, everyone was after me with questions.”
“They needed your help. You’re a smart kid. Take after your dad, no doubt.” Rick sat down across from him and stared.

“Are you going to eat?” Carson asked.
“Nah. I ate yesterday,” Rick replied with a smile, “I’m just not hungry. Maybe dinner tonight with you. Today’s my fast day.”

“So, I was talking yesterday with the guys at school.” Carson began randomly, “How many evil toddlers do you think you could