James Smith - The Flock

So why would it take four dogs? The probability that there were more than two large snakes here wasn't even worth considering. Of course, he supposed, stranger things had happened.

Taking his small daypack off, he laid it at the base of a big pine tree and sat down, his back against the tall trunk. He looked up, watched the needles undulating in the breeze. Despite the warmth of the day, he felt comfortable out there, and the wind had chased away whatever biting bugs were about. The thought of taking out the camera and snapping a few shots occurred to him, but he decided it would be better to eat a sandwich and get back to Salutations to start scouting around. After all, if there really were a snake, he'd be better off looking under someone's house than off in the wilderness. He reached into the pack and began to rummage for the roast beef on sourdough he had prepared. The thought of tangy deli mustard had him salivating.

Almost, he didn't catch the rustle of moving grass over the small noises his hand was making in the recesses of his little backpack. Ron froze.

Holding his breath, he looked around. Overhead, a Snail Kite streaked across the sky. Even alert as he was, he made a mental note to mention that one to the boys back at home base. Snail Kites were definitely an endangered species. He stared across the savanna, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. There was only wind whispering through pine needles.

And then it came again.

Whatever it was, it was out in the savanna, maybe a hundred feet away, and it seemed to be coming toward him. He stared, squinting, and finally saw a movement out in the sedges. A tall figure was moving his way, almost a beeline right toward him. He held silent until he could identify it.

It stopped. All he could see was something light colored standing behind a tuft of bear grass. And then it was moving toward him again. Suddenly, it appeared from out of the tall grasses.

"Hello," she called in a husky voice.

Ron breathed out, relieved and wondering why he had been so tense. There really wasn't anything out there likely to be a danger to him. He felt relatively certain he could outrun a big snake. He laughed nervously, low in his chest, before he stood.

"Hey," he replied. The girl was moving his way quickly. She, too, had a small daypack on her back. She was wearing khaki cotton pants and a long-sleeved shirt of similar color, a kerchief of muted green around her neck. She had short brown hair, and she was very tall.

And she was quite pretty, he noticed as she walked up to greet him, her own hand outstretched to take his. Her grip was strong, stronger than he had expected. He had to look up to meet her eyes: she was six feet tall, at least.

"So. You're with Fish and Wildlife." Her gaze was on the patch on his right shoulder.

"Yes," he needlessly replied. "Out here scouting around today."

"You guys thinking of updating those preliminary impact reports you did? Those really sucked, you know. I almost thought you fellows were working for the studio." She was shedding her own pack, revealing a great dark stain down her back. Ron realized she had been out on the savanna for some time, and he wondered how she had spotted him.

"No. I'm not here for anything like that. That's not my gig. They have other boys at the office for that type of thing. I'm more of a Jack-of-all-trades with the department. PR, informational talks, that kind of thing." He indicated his tree. "Have a seat. Plenty of room. Name's Ron, by the way. Ron Riggs."

"Sure. I think I will have a seat. Lunchtime, anyway. Thanks." She tossed her pack next to his and sat, her long legs extending out before her, back against the tree much as Ron had been sitting before she'd arrived. "My name's Kate Kwitney. I was hoping your bunch'd do another impact statement. As I said…"

"The last one sucked," he finished. She smiled at him. "Yeah, I read it, too. I thought it was somewhat superficial to say the least. Hell. I just saw a Snail Kite zipping across the sky here. There was no mention, at all, of Snail Kites in the report." He was sitting next to her, getting his sandwich and searching for his water bottle.

"Christ. You have no idea," she told him as she retrieved a bag of dried fruit. "Why, we've identified ninety-three threatened or endangered species living within three miles of here. And that's just birds, mammals, and reptiles. We're not even talking plant species, amphibians, or fish. Botany and ichthyology aren't my line, mind you, but I know a bit. We have a couple guys working on those."

"We? Who are you with?" Ron sat there, his sandwich poised.

"Oh. Sorry," she told him, working the words around a mouthful of dried apples and apricots. "I work for Holcomb. Vance Holcomb. You know who he is, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. He's fighting Berg Brothers tooth and nail over this old bombing range. How's that going, by the way?"

She stopped chewing, and Ron looked at her as she stared off into the savanna. Her blue-green eyes were terribly pretty, he thought. So was the rest of her. "Well, you know Vance is an extremely wealthy man. A billionaire. His fortune is certainly hefty enough to give anyone pause. However, even he can't successfully fight a corporation like Berg Brothers. Them and their damned town." She scowled at something he couldn't see, but could imagine.

"Saaaaaaaaal-yew-taaaaaaaaaaaay-shunz," Ron squeaked.

Kate looked at him, and she laughed, showing a lot of straight, white teeth. He laughed along with her.

"What are you doing?" she asked him. "I mean, after lunch." She reached into her bag and came out with another handful of fruit.

"Just heading back to my truck. Why?"

"Would you like to come back to the compound?"

"Compound?"

"Holcomb's place. The research center."

"The Eyesore!"

She laughed again, and Ron found himself liking her.

"Yes. The Eyesore. We hear that one a lot. You'd be surprised at the glares I get when I go into the market in Salutations and someone recognizes me as one of Holcomb's people." She sighed. "But I'm used to that from way back. Anyway…you want to come back with me? Vance might want to talk to you."

Ron finally took a bite of his sandwich and chewed, thinking. "Hell. Why not? I've never met a billionaire."

"Billion and a half," she corrected.

"Wow. I'm impressed. Sure. I'll come."

As Ron sat and ate his lunch, Kate began to run down her list of ninety-three endangered and threatened species living in the area. He listened, giving her his undivided attention.

And they were not aware of a brief flash of scarlet that glimmered behind them, off in the trees, and then was gone.

Damn it, he was lost.

Tim Dodd was a pretty good reporter. The editors had really liked his work covering the lost doggies and the snakebite victims and the alligator problems at Salutations. So he had figured he'd find something else to crow about if he followed the officer who had been sent over by Fish amp; Wildlife. There was nothing to it, really. Just park a quarter mile away and wait until the guy walked off into the woods. And then get out and follow him. At worst, he'd be good for a few photos and some Q amp; A.

Dodd had been pretty sure the guy had gone down a foot trail that led off into the woods. In fact, he had watched him take the trail past that brick enclosure with all of the electrical doodads inside of it. Following at a discreet distance was something he did well, so he faded back a bit and plunged down the path, thinking he would come upon the other man sooner or later.

But sooner had certainly turned into later, and he still had not caught up to the wildlife officer. Riggs his name was. Well, he would be happy to see Riggs, if he could just find him. Unfortunately, all Tim Dodd had seen since he'd gone down the trail were trees and bushes. The air was alive with the sound of insects. Things whined and buzzed and chirped all around him, but he was ignorant of the source of each sound. It all was like a bothersome noise to him, and he wondered how anyone who lived out here could concentrate long enough to form a coherent thought. The constant chirping was maddening, he thought. Thank God for air-conditioning, else he would have had to listen to that crap through an opened window whenever he had to use his laptop or steal a few hours sleep at The Executive.