ORLANDO, Florida - The recent breakthrough in de-extinction—bringing dire wolves back from a 10,000-year slumber using CRISPR gene-editing technology—signals a future where extinct species could once again roam the Earth. Colossal Biosciences’ success with dire wolf pups, born in October 2024 by editing gray wolf DNA with ancient genetic material, proves that science fiction is inching closer to reality. If this technology scales, a real-life Jurassic Park could soon take shape, and Florida stands out as the prime candidate to host it. As the world’s theme park capital, with a subtropical climate already teeming with prehistoric holdovers like American alligators and invasive giants like Burmese pythons, Florida’s wild landscapes could sustain a zoo of resurrected extinct species. Here are some extinct creatures that, if brought back and unleashed, might thrive in the Sunshine State. Deinosuchus: The Terror Crocodile Imagine a crocodile twice the size of today’s saltwater behemoths—35 to 40 feet long, with jaws that could crush a dinosaur skull. Deinosuchus, an apex predator of the Late Cretaceous (80–73 million years ago), once ruled warm, coastal deltas across the southeastern U.S., with fossils unearthed near Florida. In the modern Everglades, this “terror crocodile” would feel right at home, ambushing deer, feral hogs, or even livestock along brackish waterways. Its diet of fish, turtles, and anything it could drag underwater is a perfect match with Florida’s abundant aquatic prey. Heat and humidity? Deinosuchus was engineered by nature for this exact climate. Smilodon fatalis: The Saber-Toothed Stalker The iconic saber-toothed cat, Smilodon fatalis, once prowled North America, leaving fossils in Florida’s tar pits and sinkholes like those along the Aucilla River. Weighing 400–500 pounds, this stocky ambush predator relied on powerful forelimbs and bone-snapping jaws to take down large herbivores—think bison or camels in its prime. Today, it could stalk white-tailed deer or feral hogs through the dense thickets of the Green Swamp or Osceola National Forest. Its short-burst hunting style suits Florida’s tangled wilderness, though a run-in with an alligator might test its mettle near water’s edge. Short-Faced Bear: The Towering Scavenger Standing up to 12 feet tall and tipping the scales at over 1,500 pounds, the short-faced bear (Arctodus simus) was a Pleistocene titan that roamed Florida until about 11,000 years ago. Fossils from the Ichetucknee River reveal its presence in the state. With a lean build and long legs, it was likely a fast runner or skilled kleptoparasite, stealing kills from lesser predators. In modern Florida, it could dominate the Ocala or Apalachicola National Forests, feasting on deer, hogs, and carrion—or raiding rural garbage bins and livestock pens. Outmuscling panthers and alligators, this bear would reign as an unchallenged apex predator. [caption id="attachment_6023" align="aligncenter" width="1024"] Giant ground sloth and mastodon.[/caption] Megalonyx: The Lumbering Ground Sloth The giant ground sloth Megalonyx, extinct for 11,000 years, once browsed Florida’s woodlands, nibbling leaves, twigs, and fruits. Its fossils dot the state’s rich paleontological record. In today’s Everglades, this slow-moving behemoth could thrive in wet prairies and hardwood hammocks, munching on palmetto, live oak, and—if it wandered into civilization—citrus groves. Its laid-back lifestyle fits Florida’s warm, vegetative bounty, requiring little more than a steady supply of greenery to sustain its bulk. Dire Wolf (Aenocyon dirus): The Pack Hunter Freshly revived by CRISPR, the dire wolf—larger and burlier than modern gray wolves—once roamed North America, including Florida, where its bones lie in sinkholes. Extinct for 10,000 years, this pack predator hunted megafauna like bison and horses. In contemporary Florida, it could adapt to white-tailed deer, feral hogs, or even armadillos, thriving in wilderness pockets like the Apalachicola National Forest. Roads and urban sprawl might hem in its range, but its cooperative hunting tactics would give it an edge over solitary competitors. Megalodon (Otodus megalodon): The Oceanic Titan The stuff of nightmares, Megalodon—a 50–60-foot shark—dominated ancient seas until 3.6 million years ago. Florida’s fossil-rich Bone Valley and coastal rivers like the Peace yield its massive teeth. Once a hunter of whales and seals, it could target dolphins, manatees (in a pinch), or hefty tuna in the Gulf Stream or deep waters off the Keys. Florida’s warm seas match its prehistoric haunts perfectly, though modern fishing fleets might be its only rival—or unwitting prey. Mastodon: The Forest Browser Mastodons, elephant kin extinct for 10,000–13,000 years, thrived in Florida during the Pleistocene, browsing woody plants in a cooler, drier landscape of forests and wetlands. Fossils from the Aucilla River and a 2024 tusk find off Venice Beach attest to their presence. Today, they could roam the Everglades’ hammocks or the Kissimmee Valley, feeding on palmetto and oak. Their tolerance for wet terrain and plant-heavy diet would make Florida a cozy fit, though human encroachment might push them to remote corners. Helicoprion: The Buzzsaw Shark Sporting a bizarre, spiraled tooth whorl, Helicoprion swam Permian seas (290–250 million years ago), growing to 20–25 feet. Likely a slicer of squid and small fish, it would find a smorgasbord in Florida’s Gulf waters—mullet, squid, and more abound near mangroves and estuaries like Tampa Bay. Its warm-water adaptability could see it cruising shallow coasts, a prehistoric oddity reborn. Titanoboa: The Swamp Serpent At 42 feet and 2,500 pounds, Titanoboa could coil through the Everglades like a nightmare come to life. Fossils from South America peg it as a lover of hot, wet jungles—Florida’s swampy twin. Preying on hogs, deer, or even alligators, this colossal snake would dwarf today’s pythons, with humans as mere snacks on its menu. Megalochelys atlas: The Giant Tortoise Extinct 120,000 years ago, this 6–8-foot, 1,000-pound tortoise grazed on grasses and fruits across South Asia. Florida’s humid climate and lush expanses like Paynes Prairie or Kissimmee grasslands could sustain its slow, steady munching—palmetto, fallen fruit, and more. No hibernation needed; it’d thrive year-round, perhaps plodding into citrus groves for a treat.