James Smith - The Flock

"I'm six-three," she said.

Riggs was so stunned that he said nothing. He swallowed hard enough for her to hear.

"I'm used to it," she said. "Guys are always trying to figure out how tall I am. Especially when I'm at least-what?-five inches taller than you?"

"Uh. Yeah," Ron said. She had stunned him. He didn't know what to say.

Her water bottle in her left hand, she pointed with her right and made a clockwise movement with it, indicating the pine savanna around them. "You know, Richard Leakey says the human mind is accustomed to this kind of terrain. That we seek it out and find it soothing, somehow. Because our ancestors came out of terrain like this in Africa. Out of the grasslands and the open vistas." She took a swallow of water. "You agree?"

"I've read that, yes. I can't say I completely agree. I think he just has an affinity for this kind of place because he grew up around it. Totally subjective thinking on that point. Myself, I like deep woodland. Uplands, preferably." He looked across the wide patch of open grasses; tall, thin pines interspersed every ten yards or so like some gigantic subtropical garden.

"You might be right," she said. "You know…this land we're on. It's a little higher than the surrounding area. Just underneath the soil here, we have limestone."

"Oolitic limestone, yes."

Again, Kate smiled. "Nice to meet someone who knows his stuff," she said. "At any rate, this is what the boys all want."

"Pardon?" He was thinking of wanting something, but he wasn't quite sure what she meant.

"You know, this is the best terrain for building in the entire Florida peninsula. This stuff runs in bands in different areas of Florida, and wherever it is the boys love to build on it. It doesn't sink. It doesn't give. Wonderful place to slap up houses and shopping centers and all kinds of buildings."

"I know what you mean." Ron followed her gaze out across the savanna. It truly was unique.

"You know, there are about eighty thousand acres of this here."

"What? You're joking."

"Nope. Vance has mapped out at least eight thousand acres of longleaf pine savanna. Biggest untouched plots anywhere in North America. Used to be common all along the low country on the Atlantic and Gulf coastal plains. Almost all gone, now." She looked at Ron. "This is why this place is so important. This is why it should be preserved. And as a whole, not in parcels.

"Vance has some plans. Some grand plans." She replaced the water bottle on its holder and started off. "Come on. We're going to cross Carson Stream and get back to the compound." Ron fell in behind her. "And stop staring at my ass," she said.

True to her word, the crossing was made without even getting their feet wet. A big tupelo gum at the edge of the stream had fallen, creating a natural bridge across the creek. It had been a moderately old tree, so they hadn't even had to do a balancing act as they went over it. Downstream, Ron had spotted an alligator, a six-footer, and had pointed it out to Kate. "Seen 'im," she had said, not even bothering to look.

Within an hour they had come to Vance Holcomb's compound, angling at it from the east, through a stand of particularly impressive live oaks, Spanish moss draping down in heavy ropes and tendrils all around them. Under the shadows there, Kate had stopped Ron with a gentle touch, pointing to the ground a few feet away. "A gopher tortoise," she told him, aiming with a long index finger at the shelled reptile. "Now that's worth looking at. You don't see many of them anymore."

They watched the tortoise who looked back at them, perfectly still, and calmly sizing them up. And then they headed toward the compound, which really did look like a fortress. There was an eight-foot privacy fence made of dark stained pine, and beyond that was a ten-foot chain link fence with gleaming razor wire coiled along the top. "So this is the Eyesore," Ron muttered.

"We like to call it Fort Apache." Kate stopped at the first fence and fumbled with a rather large and formidable padlock, trying to insert a key from a ring she had pulled from her pocket. "Damn thing always gives me fits," she told him. Ron stepped up and held it for her while she worked the key in and turned it. "Ah." It clicked open.

As they entered the enclosure a short, dark man who was walking just inside the chain link fence, a box on his shoulder, greeted them. The man waved and hollered, "Hey, good looking." Kate waved back to him as he passed and went about his business.

"That's Billy," Kate told him, this time having no trouble with the lock on the inner gate. Soon they were inside it. "He's a Native American."

"Seminole?" Ron watched the retreating figure.

"Yes. He is, actually." She led him toward the first building; long, low walls of tabby construction, flat roofed with wide, narrow windows inset with dark glass through which Ron could not see. He suspected there were people in there looking at them, though. It was something he could feel.

"I'm one quarter Seminole. My grandmother was full blooded, she always said. She never taught me a lick of the native language, though. I can't speak a bit of it, either dialect." Ron always felt guilty about that, even though he couldn't think of a good reason why he should feel so. His father was of Irish descent, and he never felt guilty about not being able to speak Gaelic. He thought of Mary Niccols, her dark, beautiful face, and realized the source of his guilt.

"Why not?" Kate was looking at him in a new way. He always got that when he told people he had Seminole blood in his background. So many people thought it was cool, or they thought he had some kind of inner sight for being of Indian ancestry. Both reactions were condescending and annoying.

"I was just never exposed to the culture. I almost applied for the tribal rolls, once. Went down there to see about it, but I never said a word to them. Down there at Miccosukee." He remembered that, just a few years back, after his father had died and when he had first found the job with Fish amp; Wildlife. Ron had driven down with every intention of talking to someone about his lost heritage, but he hadn't done it, had ended up just looking around like he was merely another tourist.

"Why didn't you talk to them?" Kate had opened the door at the front of the building, holding it for Ron. He could feel cool air inviting them in.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just didn't feel like I belonged there, I guess." He shrugged. "Heck. I don't know." He shrugged again. "There was someone once, who encouraged me to look into it, into signing on and learning the culture. But, well, it just didn't work out." Mary's name was on his mind, but he decided not to mention her.

Kate ushered him in. "Oh well, then. Welcome to Fort Apache."

They were in a large, pale, brightly lit foyer. The floor was white tile against stark white walls. The overhead lights were all fluorescent, and there were panes of frosted glass covering skylights that let in muted sunlight. "We use a lot of solar energy here. Half the light is powered with solar, and all the water is heated with solar. About one fourth the cooling is done with solar, through evaporation actually, but Vance has guys working to beef that up."

"I'll be damned."

Kate pointed down the left side of the hallway. "You go that way. You'll see a room. First door on your left. Go in there and look around or have a seat. I've got to go see someone. There's a fridge in there and you'll find something cold and refreshing to drink. Make yourself at home and I'll be right with you." She patted him once on the shoulder and quickly strode off, her long legs taking her down the hall and around the corner. She was gone.

Ron went to the door she had indicated. It seemed to be a lab of some sort. There were the classic lab tables, much like those he had used in college science courses, complete with natural-gas fixtures, sinks, and work areas. A smock-wearing fellow was busy puttering around with something on one of the tabletops, up to his elbows in a plastic tub.