The Flock

by James Robert Smith

  “You assume right,” Ron told him.

  “You want a cold drank?” The guy had lapsed into an exaggerated southern accent. “Git you won out dat dere oss bahx. Might have a RC Cola in thar.”

  Ron opened the refrigerator and saw an array of beverages. He chose a bottle of distilled water. “Thanks. This one looks good. I think I’ll pass on the RC. You guys don’t have any Moon Pies, do you?”

  “Slap outta them. I et ’em all.”

  Ron eased over to where the other man was working, looking to see what he was doing. “Well, in lieu of a proper southern greeting, I’m Ron Riggs. You already know who I work for.”

  “I’m Adam Levin. Formerly with the University of Florida. At Gainesville. Now a much higher paid employee of one Mr. Vance Holcomb, all around jillionaire and crusading environmentalist.”

  “Who’s the environmentalist? You or Holcomb?” Ron had all but emptied the water bottle.

  “Both of us, actually.”

  Ron had moved up close, and finally had a view of the contents of the vinyl tub. It looked to be a pile of guts. “Intestinal tract,” Riggs noted. “What was it?”

  “Turkey buzzard. We’ve found several dead within the area, and I’ve been dissecting them to figure out what’s going on. We suspect poison. This is the first chance I’ve had to go through the stomachs. Got three more in the cooler over there.” He indicated a waist-high refrigeration unit against the far wall.

  “Who would poison a buzzard?”

  “Well, someone likely poisoned something else. Something the buzzard subsequently ate. Used to see this kind of crap all the time when I worked out in Arizona. Stupid, short-sighted ranchers would poison the coyote, other stuff would scavenge the dead coyote, and then they’d die, too.” He shook his head. “Damned ranchers. Those spoiled brats got away with everything they did. And those jerks grazing their stock on government property practically for free. Makes me sick to even think about it.”

  Ron said nothing. At times, he felt helpless and ineffective in the face of the turning of events. So he had trained himself to be impassive when it came to something over which he had no control. Why put yourself in anguish when you had no influence to change such things? “Should the stomach be that color?”

  “Yeah. That’s nothing unusual. Been in the cooler for some days, now. That’s the way it goes, you know.” Levin was using a small scalpel to open the top of the stomach cavity. Even cooled the smell that oozed out was noxious. It was only then that Ron noticed the scented jelly on Levin’s bare upper lip. Unprepared for the stench, Ron backed away.

  “Ever come up on a vulture sitting on its eggs? They’ll cough up the contents of their stomach at you, hoping the stench will drive you off.” Ron was thinking of a black vulture whose nest he had accidentally found while investigating a rocky overhang on a mountain in Georgia.

  Levin nodded. “Yeah. Seen it a time or two, myself. And they just lay their eggs right there on the bare ground. No nesting material at all.”

  “Yep.”

  Taking a second to glance back at Riggs, Levin spoke again. “So. What brings Fish and Wildlife here to the mighty compound?”

  “Kate Kwitney brought me,” he said.

  “Ooooooooooooh.” The biologist nodded knowingly.

  “I just met her, actually. Out in one of the savannas a few miles from here.” Ron coughed.

  “Just met her, you say?” Levin was cutting and squeezing his gory prize.

  “Yep. Couple hours ago, is all.” He tossed the empty water bottle at the nearest trash bin, but it hit the rim and clattered to the floor. “Oops.”

  “So, then. You don’t…know her that well.”

  Ron grunted as he picked up the bottle and tossed it at the bin again. Once more it hit the rim and bounced off and clattered to the floor. “Shoot,” he muttered. “Um. Yes. I mean, no. I don’t know her well. Just met her, I said.” He picked up the bottle and put it in the bin.

  “What do you think of Kate?” Levin was sawing and squeezing, looking down at the last meal of a carrion eater.

  “Well. She’s pretty sharp. Very smart lady. Knows what she’s talking about when it comes to the local flora and fauna. Knows more than I do, I’d say. Seems to know more than anyone back at the office, actually. And…”

  “And?”

  “Well, she’s good looking. I think she’s really pretty.”

  Levin chuckled. “Air she purdy?”

  The guy was getting on Ron’s nerves. Maybe he was a boyfriend of Kate’s. Maybe not. Riggs couldn’t ignore him, though. Levin had pushed just a bit too far. “Yeah, I think she’s good looking. I’d like to be alone with her and bang her for an hour or two.”

  “Why, Ron! That’s not very nice.” It was Kate, of course, having arrived, having watched the exchange from the open doorway.

  Adam Levin, whose back was still to the whole scene, his hands full of buzzard guts, let out a full, belly laugh that, for Ron, went on for far too many painful minutes.

  Chapter Eight

  Dodd did his best to keep up with Colonel Grisham, but it wasn’t easy to do. He had to practically run just to stay ten feet behind the old soldier. Coupled with the need to take a look behind every quarter mile or so, it was almost going to be impossible to not lose sight of his new companion.

  “What the hell did you think you saw, anyway, son?”

  The reporter almost ran into the retired officer, since his attention had been on the forest they had just traversed rather than where he was headed. “Damn,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

  “Well…I don’t know, really.” Dodd had decided along the miles they had already walked that he didn’t want to tell this frankly scary fellow what he had seen. Especially not if what he had seen was real, and not just part of his panic at being lost and disoriented.

  “What do you mean? When you came bustin’ out of that thicket it sure looked to me like you knew what you saw. And it didn’t seem like it was no cottontail, either.” Grisham was set solid, glaring eye to eye at the torn and bloodied Dodd.

  Clearing his throat, getting ready to lie (something he did well, on occasion), Dodd’s mind danced. “First of all, I got lost. I thought I was following a trail that led around the north side of Salutation. But after a while, I knew that wasn’t right, because I wasn’t coming back to any of the neighborhoods and the roads. I was just getting deeper and deeper into the woods.

  “And then, when I came out into that big field-looking place…”

  “A savanna, son. They call that type of habitat a savanna. Got lots of it in Africa, not much of it here.” Grisham was rapt, examining his charge.

  “Okay. A savanna. Yes. Anyway, I really got lost when I was out there. I couldn’t tell which way I had come in. I couldn’t figure out which way to go to get back to that trail, which I had lost track of before I got out there in the first place.” He picked at a thorn mired in the tender flesh in the pad of his thumb. A bright dot of blood welled up where the thorn had been.

  “You’ve got no sense of direction, do you boy?”

  “Eh. No. I guess not.” He cleared his throat again, afraid to look the retired colonel in the eye. A man like that might be able to spot a lie in a man’s eyes. “And so I stopped by this big tree that had fallen over. And while I was standing there, this big blackbird, sounded like a damned foghorn…well, it came out of the bushes and scared hell out of me.”

  Grisham was chuckling, now. That was good, so Dodd continued. He wasn’t really lying, yet. “And right after that, I put my foot down and this big brownish and orange snake crawled over my foot and almost scared me to death. I thought I was going to have a heart attack, for sure.”

  “Corn snake. Just a harmless old corn snake,” Grisham told him.

  “Well, I didn’t know that. I do now, thanks. After that, I walked off from the tree, and then I heard something moving in the bushes. I thought it might be a bear or one of those Florida panthers I’ve read about. So
I started running. And that’s when you happened along.” He smiled sheepishly and looked away, hoping that Grisham wouldn’t mention his camera and ask him if he’d taken any photos.

  “And that’s when you trespassed, Mr. Dodd. You came across a posted boundary. That’s private property.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I respect private property. I just didn’t see the signs.”

  “You know, boy. I’m from South Georgia, and where I come from you do not dick around with a man’s private property. It’s sacred ground, another man’s land. You don’t go where you ain’t supposed to be.”

  “I understand. I truly didn’t mean to offend you or violate your rights.” Dodd swallowed, was aware of his thirst, which he’d forgotten in all of the excitement. He was really parched.

  “Apology accepted. Now, what the heck were you doing out here, anyway? I mean, other than trying to see where that trail went? I’ve been reading your stuff. Hearing some things. What’s this about a giant snake? You guys on the level?”

  Dodd looked around, trying to see if there was anything to see other than trees and brush, anything that might look like comfort. Why, this man could kill him out there and no one would ever know. Grisham was certainly no stranger to death. His reputation as a warrior was quite formidable. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what’s going on in Salutations. They’re stonewalling me. I do know that pets are missing. Cats. Some dogs. We think there might be an escaped python or something like that around the town.”

  Grisham laughed, a big, braying cackle, and slapped his thigh. “You guys. You guys are something. You know that? Hell. It’s probably just a gator or bobcat killing some pets. Giant snake. You’re a real joker, Dodd. You know that?”

  “Yes sir. I try.”

  Grisham’s hand was up in the air, Dodd noticed, as his eyes followed it. And suddenly the woods came alive with men. Formerly invisible figures came out of the trees and up from the earth where they had been waiting. Perhaps they had been following along all the while, or maybe they had been waiting here. He didn’t know, and now he was truly, completely afraid.

  “Meet some of the boys,” Grisham said. He nodded toward the camouflaged soldiers edging toward them, their faces painted in greasy stripes of gray and brown and green. As the group closed in, Grisham stepped up very close to Dodd. “Now. You really were out here to do a story about a giant snake, right? I mean,” and he chuckled, “you weren’t here to spy on an old, retired colonel, were you?”

  Bringing his hands up, palms out, Dodd took half a step back. “No sir. I swear. I was just here to do a story about Salutations. I promise you I wasn’t here to spy on you. Swear it.”

  There was a long period of silence. No one spoke. Dodd could hear his own breath, but oddly could not hear breathing from any of the others, though there were at least ten of them, now. Gnats sang in his ear, but he did not brush them away. His hands remained out, palms up, toward Grisham.

  And finally, the old colonel laughed again. It was a cruel laugh, but welcome just the same. “I believe you, son.” Grisham turned his head and barked at his fellow militiamen. “Come on, boys. Let’s get this citizen back to his car.”

  As the formerly invisible soldiers marched off, westward, Grisham patted Dodd on the back, his funny compadre. “Let’s go, Mr. Dodd. I’ll take you to my ranch and drive you to Salutations. Believe it or not, my house ain’t but two miles from here. Me and the boys were just doing a little…practice when you interrupted us.” He pointed at one of the men quickly vanishing ahead of them.

  “Old Wylie, there. I’ll bet you think old Wylie’s a nigger. Huh? You think he’s a nigger?” Dodd shook his head from side to side, speechless. “He ain’t a nigger. He’s a Cherokee Indian. God, I swear I purely love our Native Americans. Did you know that Indians make up only one percent of the population, yet they are eight percent of our veterans? Did you know that?” Dodd shook his head in the negative again. “Well, it’s true. Best damned soldiers you could ask for. God love ’em, I say. God love ’em.”

  True to his word, they soon came out of the woods and began to skirt the edge of a big pasture. There were cattle in the field, and the scent of manure soon came to them. “Beef cattle,” Grisham said. “I farm beef here. Florida’s great for beef. I’ve got me a thousand acres out here, and I wish I had more time to farm beef. But, you know, there’s more important things to do.”

  Dodd was quiet. He was going to do his best to keep his mouth shut until he was off this man’s property.

  “This country is in trouble, you know. Deep trouble.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dodd told him. He was peering around, trying to see if there was a car or truck parked nearby. There didn’t seem to be, although he finally spotted a large barn and what might be the edge of a very big farmhouse.

  “Take these wilderness types. I’m all for parks. It’s good to go out and take in the fresh air and see the sights. But when these socialists think they can tell a man what he can and cannot do with his private property, then things are out of hand. You see what I mean?” They were rounding the end of the pasture. The cattle watched them with great, bored, half-lidded stares.

  “I know exactly,” Dodd agreed. Certainly the man had a truck somewhere.

  “These government agencies. They’re out of hand. Telling a man dry ground is a wetland, for Christ’s sake. It’s insane. Telling a company they can’t build a factory with jobs for people because of a minnow.” He breathed in. “A damned minnow.

  “That’s why, you see, we need people like me. Like me, and my friends you just met. We’re kind of like a counterbalance to some of that craziness. Something to make some sanity out of it. Make them see the light, so to speak. You understand?”

  Dodd nodded his head up and down, his curly hair damp with sweat. “Yes, I do.”

  “If I ever give you permission to write about me, you remember some of what I’ve told you. Okay?” Grisham slapped Dodd firmly on the back. Hard enough to clear Dodd’s lungs.

  Dodd coughed. “Yes. I’ll remember it if you think you’d like us to do a piece on you.”

  “You’ve probably already heard it on my radio show, anyway.”

  In fact, Dodd had never heard Grisham’s rants on radio. He had actually forgotten the man did radio. But it was true. He was carried on a number of AM stations around the country, although mainly he broadcast on shortwave.

  As they rounded the pasture, the barn and the house came into full view. Some men were closing the doors of the huge barn, and it was very dark in there, but as it was closed up, Dodd was certain that he had glimpsed an armored personnel carrier parked inside. He stared at the ground and pretended he’d seen nothing. And, anyway, a shiny red Chevrolet truck was parked not a hundred feet away.

  “You ready for a ride?”

  “A ride?”

  “A ride. Back to your car.” Grisham smiled.

  “Yes. Yes, thanks. That would be most appreciated, sir.”

  The two of them headed toward the new red truck and, once there, Grisham emptied the chamber of the gun and released the full clip. He stowed the gun on a rack behind the seat and put the clip and bullet in an ammo box on the floorboard. Dodd eyed the bullets so that he could look them up and figure out what type of guns he’d seen. “Climb on in, son.”

  As the reporter opened the passenger door and slid in, Grisham produced a key and started up the engine. It purred beautifully and soon the air conditioner was blasting. “One more thing, Dodd.”

  Dodd looked at him. “Yes?”

  “On the way out, don’t take any pictures. And don’t try to snap one of me when I drop you off. You got that?”

  “Got it,” Dodd told him.

  And each was as good as his word.

  Chapter Nine

  When Ron was able to turn around with a straight face, Levin’s chuckling still going strong, he turned toward Kate Kwitney, the woman he’d just met and who he had already succeeded in alienating. He a
ssumed, at least, that he’d alienated her. And as he turned to give her his most sheepish expression, Ron noticed that someone else had walked in with her. Merely from the way Kate deferred to this new occupant of the room, merely from her body English, Riggs immediately knew that this was Holcomb.

  He was a bit younger than Ron would have thought. He’d heard of him for years, had read about some of his exploits since he was a youngster just out of high school. Ron took the hand that was extended to him. “Hello, Mr. Riggs. I’m Vance Holcomb. Call me Vance.”

  “Hello.” He squeezed back and looked into Holcomb’s face. In his early fifties, the billionaire had obviously spent a lot of time in the outdoors. His blond hair was still thick, tinged just a bit with gray, and his face was permanently tanned from years spent in the sun. Currently, the darkness of the skin around his eyes and nose was accented, since he had obviously recently shaved off what had been a long held beard. The skin on his chin and around his lips was noticeably lighter, more like the complexion he’d probably sported in younger days. His features were appropriately chiseled for an outdoorsman, Ron thought; he was almost lantern-jawed, but just shy of that. There was a long scar along the left side of his face: pale skin that puckered slightly. Ron wondered how he’d gotten that, and why his millions hadn’t bought the plastic surgery to hide it. Perhaps he thought it gave his face character. If he did think that, he was right.

  “Kate here tells me she stumbled across you on one of the longleaf savannas.” Holcomb took a half step away and put his hands behind his back, as if standing at attention. He was as tall as Kate was.

  “Yes. But I’d hardly call it stumbling. Even though I was sitting down, eating my lunch, she picked me right out and headed straight over.” Ron looked over at Kate, who was smirking at him. “I don’t know how she did that.”

  “Oh, Kate knows the area, she does. I suspect she would have picked you out even if you’d been half a mile away. Kate’s got a sharp eye out there in the forest. She’s the best damned field taxonomist I’ve ever met.” Holcomb looked her way and winked.