Monstrosity

by Edward Lee

  Fort Alachua Park was constructed in 1898, to safeguard the bay from the United States’ latest enemy: Spain. But the Spanish “empire” never summoned the audacity to launch a credible attack; if it had, the fort’s hefty 12-inch seacoast mortars and rapid-fire anti-ship rifles would have promptly relocated any offensive vessels to the bottom of the pristine waters, where most of the Spanish navy wound up anyway. The construction of the fort, ultimately, was criticized by some members of Congress as a colossal waste of the U.S. war department’s money because it went virtually unused thereafter, until 1942, when the Army Air Corp developed it into a practice range for aerial bombing runs.

  So perhaps it wasn’t such a waste after all; a couple of fellas by the names of Tibbets and Ferebee learned to drop bombs at Fort Alachua. Though these two men only dropped one bomb together in combat, they proved a formidable team. Tibbets was the pilot and Ferebee the bombadier of a plane called the Enola Gay.

  In 1960, the fort became an official listing on the National Register of Historic Places, not only for its past as a military post but for its existence as a complete sub-tropical habitat. Within the long, angular confines of its 900 acres, there was a spring-fed lake, a mangrove, a bayou, a hardwood forest, and seven miles of untouched white-sand beach. Today, the impressive artillery remained, as did the original stone barracks, observation posts, and the Tudor-arched headquarters bastion which now functioned as a museum—in all, a terrific draw for tourists. It was an even better draw, however, for nature-enthusiasts; the most unique of Florida’s flora and fauna could all be found at Fort Alachua Park, and its additionally unique geography made it one of the very best Gulf-side parks for camping, boating, fishing, and nature-trailing.

  In the mid-’90s, the park’s entire eastern wing was closed to the public.

  (II)

  What choice did she have? Well, a more pragmatic choice might have been to walk away rather than get into a car with a perfect stranger. Clare’s instincts told her that this handsome, well-dressed man named Dellin was probably not a murderer or serial-rapist but then Theodore Bundy was handsome and well-dressed too. Desperation, here, overrode basic common sense. She’d been homeless for almost a year, and all of a sudden here was this sharp, amiable guy in a fancy car offering her what she needed more than anything else in the world—a job. Clare knew that she had only one true choice.

  She got into the car with this perfect stranger and let him drive her away.

  It was little consolation but she still remembered all her hand-to-hand combat techniques. If he tries anything freaky, she reasoned, I’ll kick his ass.

  Simple.

  He’d said he was some kind of scientist, and after they got on the road, he was forthright enough to show some identification without having to be asked. DANIELS, DELLIN, THE NATIONAL INSTITUTES OF HEALTH: TRANSFECTION AND MOLECULAR TARGETING. Clare didn’t know what in the Sam Hill any of that meant but the ID was clearly official.

  “So…what about this job?” she asked.

  “Same sort of thing you were doing before. Security work.”

  Clare liked to think of her work as a military-police platoon leader in the Air Force Security Service as something a bit more significant than “security work.” She wasn’t guarding a candy store; she was in charge of perimeter protection of highly classified database facilities for the Air Force Clinical Research Corp. Still, she was in no position to complain. Minimum wage, probably, she guessed, but it sure beats twenty dollars for sticking my armpit in a fat lady’s face.

  “You’ve heard of Fort Alachua Park?” Dellin asked next. He’d gotten off the highway and was now turning off in front of the Don Cesar—like a pink castle—the most famous hotel on the coast. Moments later, he was heading south on one of the barrier keys. We’re going to the beach? Clare wondered. “Fort…what?” she said.

  “Fort Alachua Park. That’s where we’re going.”

  She gave it some thought. “I was born and raised in Maryland. I spent four years in Florida, at MacDill, but to tell you the truth I was always so busy with my platoon, I never got much of a chance to see anything beyond downtown Tampa. Never even went to the beach. So I don’t know much about the area. I’ve heard of Alachua Park but never been there. It’s a big campground or something, right?”

  “All that and a lot more.” Dellin kept driving down the main drag. The posh beachfront hotels had thinned out to a quieter residential district. “During the winter it’s a big tourist spot, great for nature hikes, canoeing, fishing. It’s probably the most diverse campground in Florida, because it’s got a little bit of everything. There’s a spring lake, palm groves, a real glade and a real bayou. The nature freaks love it—during the winter, that is. During the summer, it’s so insufferably hot and humid and mosquito-infested that no one comes anywhere near the place.”

  “Sounds like paradise,” Clare said. “Can’t wait.”

  “Don’t worry, the clinic’s air-conditioned.”

  “Clinic?”

  Dellin shook his head. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. The bottom line? We want you to run our security operation at our cancer clinic.”

  “A cancer clinic?” Clare couldn’t help but sound startled. “You built a cancer clinic in a tropical campground?”

  “I know, it sounds strange, but it’s all because of budget cuts. Fort Alachua is technically owned by the U.S. Park Service—in other words, an arm of the federal government. The federal government can’t afford to buy new land for new projects, so they simply cut Fort Alachua Park in half. The west half is still a public park. The east half is now the private property of the Department of the Interior, and the Department of the Interior, in a manner of speaking, lets the Air Force use it.”

  “Oh, fantastic. You want me to work for the Air Force again,” Clare sputtered over her confusion.

  “No, you’ll be just like me,” Dellin said. “I’m on loan for the project from the National Institutes of Health. I don’t work for the Air Force, I’ve simply been sub-contracted out. Same thing with you; you’ll be a civilian sub-contractor. I know you’re not too cool with the Air Force, you know, after what happened to you, but don’t worry. It’s all civilian-run. No Air Force personnel on the property, ever. The Air Force funds the project, because they own the patent on the drugs.”

  Clare shrugged in exasperation. “What drugs?”

  Dellin tapped himself on the head. “Jeez, sorry. It just occurred to me that you don’t even know what happened. Your last duty station, the Clinical Research Corp, found a cure to one of the absolute worst forms of cancer.”

  Clare’s brow rose high. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It was about a year ago, right around the time you got discharged. They invented a drug that targets tumor cells and destroys them in a type of cancer called stromatic carcinoma. It’s always been untreatable because it spreads so fast; it’s the fastest-growing cancer that exists. The Air Force found an immune agent that stops it cold, cures it, sometimes in as little as a month. It’s quite a break-through.”

  “Yeah, it sounds like a huge break-though,” Clare agreed, but couldn’t quite quell her cynicism. “So how come I haven’t heard about it in the news?”

  “Because it’s not FDA approved yet. That’s why they built the clinic—FDA-approved human testing began a couple weeks ago.”

  It sounded thrilling but…

  The Air Force? Clinics? Land annexations?

  I don’t get ANY of this, Clare thought.

  “Look, I know the details are confusing,” Dellin continued. “The reason that it was legal for the military to annex half of the park is because they agreed to officially re-categorize the east sector as a Natural Habitat Reserve. That way none of the new environmental laws would be broken. Typically when military research happens to lead to a discovery that would improve public health, the research is then picked up by the U.S. Health Department. The reason that didn’t happen in this case is purely political. If significant cancer treat
ment is derived from Air Force research, the Air Force gets a larger budgetary allotment for future research. Ordinarily, the military cuts stuff like this loose as fast as they can ’cos they don’t want to bother with it. Let’s face it, military research is supposed to lead to better ways to kill people, not save them.”

  “But because this is so significant,” Clare deduced, “a major cancer treatment, the Air Force doesn’t want to give the credit to civilians and lose a potential cash cow.”

  “You got it,” Dellin said. “Security isn’t a big issue at a cancer clinic, of course, but then you’ve got to consider the military mind-set. The spooks in the Air Force don’t want any other parties stealing their research.”

  “Industrial spies,” Clare remarked.

  “Right. You and I both know nothing like that is going to happen, but the Air Force is anal-retentive about it. And there is a reasonable threat of theft simply because—”

  “Cancer clinics use all kinds of pain-killers, mostly morphine derivatives,” Clare figured. “You need security to keep the local dopeheads from busting into the place and running off with their next high.”

  “You nailed it on the head.”

  She felt better about the whole thing now that she had more details. One part still didn’t fit, though.

  Why me?

  “You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble to find me,” she observed. “You do know that I’m damaged goods as far as the Air Force is concerned, don’t you?”

  “Oh, your discharge status? Sure. Don’t worry about that.”

  His nonchalance on the matter was encouraging—which made her suspicious. “For a job like this, regular security work, why not just run an ad in the paper?”

  After a short laugh, Dellin explained, “We can’t just hire someone off the street for this job. What you said before is quite right; there’s a lot of morphine in a cancer clinic. Same reason we can’t hire people from a bonded security contractor. We need people with federal-level background clearances. Do you know how much it costs to have one of those done on someone new? More than a couple of these cars. But you’ve already been cleared. The other security staffers are ex-military too, MPs. Already cleared and already trained.”

  “Yeah, but my case is a little different. I have a dishonorable discharge—for perjury,” she reminded him. “They say I lied in a military court, that I—”

  “Made up a story about being raped. I know. Don’t worry about it.”

  Clare sat back with a soft frown. Still sounds kind of fishy, she admitted. “This is a minimum-wage job, I presume?”

  Dellin shot her a shocked glance. “Oh, no, don’t misunderstand. You’re going to be chief of security at the clinic, not some guard punching a clock. I’m authorized to offer you a starting salary of $52,000 a year, plus free health and dental. In this day and age, I realize that’s not a whole lot of money for someone with your experience but—”

  Clare was incredulous. “Fifty-two grand?”

  Suddenly Dellin seemed nervous. “Uh, er, plus a yearly COLA raise, ten-percent bonus if you stay twelve months, yearly contract after that, that you can negotiate. Wow, I’m really sorry if you’re insulted by the offer.”

  He’s serious! “I’ll take it,” Clare said. “When do I start?”

  “Well, immediately.”

  Clare knew she could do it but now, all at once, other problems began to occur to her. Shit. I’m homeless. I have to get clothes, I have to get a place to live. Is this damn park even on a bus line? Embarrassed, she admitted, “I have some things I need to take care of, you know? Do you think it would be possible to get a small advance from my first paycheck?”

  “Oh, I forgot—sorry.” Dellin handed her an envelope.

  A curiously fat envelope.

  “We’re not total skinflints,” he said. “Here’s some cash to cover moving expenses.”

  Clare’s mouth hung open as she counted out $7,500 in $100 bills. “This is—Jesus! This is a lot of money.”

  “It’s just the standard relocation allotment.”

  She couldn’t remember being so excited. “I can buy clothes, get a used car, and still have enough leftover for a down-payment on an apartment!”

  “Buy all the clothes you want,” he said, “but you won’t need a car. The employment contract provides the security chief with a new SUV free of charge. We pay for the gas, the insurance, everything. Oh, and you get a free apartment, too.”

  Clare almost collapsed in her seat.

  “It’s a nice one-bedroom cottage, right on the bayside beach, and it’s brand-new too, not some dive. We built a small complex of cottages close to the clinic, for convenience. I live there, and so do the other members of the security staff. You can live in town if you want but rents are sky-high.”

  A cottage. On the beach. Free. “I think it’ll do,” Clare said, still astonished.

  “And you’ll love the area. Sure, it’s hot as hell this time a year, but once you see the park, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. It really is a tropical paradise.”

  Ahead of them, a long straight road bisected the barrier island. Sand dunes swept by on either side, backed up by lone stands of spiring palm trees, then came the beach. Through the trees, the water looked brilliant lime-green. The sky was cloudless, flawless blue. In her last year of destitution, she’d forgotten just how beautiful the Florida coast was. And now I live here, she thought.

  Or so she hoped.

  “I guess you’ll want me to take an aptitude test of some kind, right? And what about my interview?”

  “You just had your interview,” Dellin said, and winked at her. “You passed. I’m the admin director; I do all the hiring. Your Air Force commendations and that distinguished service award cover the aptitude test. You’re hired.”

  Suddenly, a short burst of chuckling overcame her. “Looks like I don’t have to make my noon sniffing.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. So you’re my boss?”

  “Nope. We’re going to meet the boss now.”

  ««—»»

  NO TRESPASSING

  PARK CLOSED BEYOND THIS POINT

  EAST BEACH CLOSED

  EAST PIER CLOSED

  ALL CAMPGROUNDS, HIKING TRAILS

  AND NATURE HABITATS ARE

  CLOSED!

  The sign at the end of the main road was large as a garage door. Bright-blue with white letters. “Gee, I guess the place is closed,” Clare remarked. It was quite a contrast to the previous, more cheery WELCOME TO FT. ALACHUA PARK signs that had marked the last two miles.

  “That way—” Dellin pointed right. “That’s the main leg of the park. That’s where all the campgrounds and hiking trails are. And, as you can see—”

  They idled around a sharp turn, the joining-point of the island’s distinct “V” shape. Here, overlooking the mouth of Tampa Bay, stood the actual cut-stone edifices of the fort. Many of the ramparts looked as if they’d been built recently, the cannons at the ready, barrels up. Several tourists meandered into the rotunda-roofed visitor’s center.

  Then Dellin pointed left. “This is us.”

  Another hundred yards of perfectly straight roadway brought them to an unmanned gate post.

  “Talk about a punch in the eye,” Clare commented.

  “Yeah, ugly isn’t it?”

  The high double-layered fence shined like tinsel with its rolls of brand-new stainless steel razor wire. More traditional barbed wire filled the gap between the two fence layers. The last two miles of the ride had shown Clare a nearly inconceivable range of natural beauty—all to be abruptly severed by this unsightly gate post.

  “Only employees and patients have gate access, and at this early stage we don’t even have a lot of patients coming in. All told, it’s less than twenty people. The gate’s all bark, though, not a whole lot of bite,” Dellin said. A remote in the car opened the gate. “The fences don’t span out very far into the woods.”

  “Appearance is nine
ty-percent of effective security…and that gate makes quite an appearance,” Clare commented. “A lot of wahoos would take one look at that security fence and turn right around, go somewhere else. That fencing wire is 460 steel; most boltcutters won’t go through it, and even if they could manage to cut a hole, they’d never get through all that barbed wire.”

  “We certainly hope it projects that kind of deterrent effect.” They drove through; the gate hummed as it quickly closed behind them. Clare easily noted the video cameras too, staring at them from high brackets in the trees. “And if that doesn’t, maybe this will.”

  The next sign couldn’t have been more clear.

  RESTRICTED AREA

  USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED BY SECTION 21, INTERNAL SECURITY ACT OF 1950 - 50 U.S.C. 797

  ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE FIRED UPON.

  “Wow. This looks serious. You have armed sentries here?”

  “Yeah. You. And two others. Like I said, mostly bark—the budget won’t provide for any additional guards. There’s one ranger from the U.S. Park Service, but his jurisdiction stops at the gate.”

  “Why? It’s all federal land, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not open for public use any more. Legally, there’s a difference between U.S. parkland and a habitat reserve. Security of a reserve is the responsibility of the ‘endorsing entity’—in this case, the Air Force. The Florida department of natural resources has no authority, either. As for the park-service guy, he only comes by our end once a week for potential violation reports, or, every once in a while you might see him staking out one of the favorite poaching spots. Any violation against the land itself, we report to him, but it’s always just minor stuff.”