James Smith - The Flock

"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."