Anne Duquette - Her Own Ranger

“You win,” she said lightly, seeing that Josh was in no mood to cooperate right now. I’ll find out what’s going on, but it’ll have to be later. “I’m off to take a couple rolls of the snake.”

“That’s my Al.”

She retrieved her camera case, grabbed her chilled snake and headed for the door. “What’s this ranger’s name, anyway?”

“Ward. Carson Ward.”

ON THE LONG FLIGHT NORTH, they were served boring food and shown a boring in-flight movie whose plot made no sense, despite the English subtitles.

Too bad, Alisha thought. I could have used the distraction. Josh napped, leaving her with uneasy thoughts and unanswered questions about the job. My last job. Poachers had attacked her in Africa three years ago, and her health never did bounce back. Now it’s rocking chair time ... and me only thirty-five years old. Should’ve stuck to endangered ferns or threatened insects, she thought wryly. But no, they’d targeted poachers. So I’m going home-one step closer to doctors and hospitals and boredom and retirement. Life’s so unfair!

Alisha was glad when Josh awoke. The two engaged in their usual routine of briefing each other on the upcoming assignment.

“All right, we get one month on the reservation.” Josh dumped peanuts into his mouth directly from the package. “That’s plenty of time for you to get critter shots and tape the Everglades for the Seminole angle. As for accommodations, we have rooms at the Lucky Lady Hotel and Casino.”

“A casino?”

Josh shrugged. “It’s owned by the Seminoles... has a four-star rating and a five-star chef. And great wine.”

“Any other entertainment besides the casino?”

“Cable TV. A pool. Not much else, but the rooms are gratis. Although I guess you’ll be spending some time in the swamp.”

“I thought you’d be coming out in the field with me—this being our last assignment.”

“I can write in a bungalow. I can’t write in a canoe. Nor can I plug in my computer if I’m living in some hut in the Everglades.”

“Chickee. It’s called a chickee,” Alisha said, shuffling through her papers and spotting a picture of the raised platform with open sides. The structure kept Seminoles dry when it was raining and cool in the worst heat. “The roofs are made out of palm fronds. In fact, you can see them on the beaches, as well—for tourists.”

“I’m from Florida, and I know what a chickee is,” Josh reminded her. “Full of mosquitoes, Ms. Chicago.” He shuffled through his own papers. “All right, we’ve got multiple endangereds here right at our fingertips. Doesn’t Florida have the most endangered or threatened species of the fifty states?”

“Nope, Hawaii does...Mr. Native,” Alisha. tossed back with easy camaraderie. “Florida is second.”

“Whatever. Since the gator farm opened in St. Augustine, both National Geographic and the university in Gainesville have worked on saving the critters. Gators are big news again. Apparently, numbers are down, but not seriously.”

“They’re the keystone animal of the wetlands. They go, and everything goes. Still, there’s no reason to limit ourselves to gators.”

Josh looked up so sharply, his reading glasses slipped down his nose. He shoved them up again. “Oh?”

“Everyone’s doing alligators, and they’re not endangered. If we finish in enough time, why don’t we get some footage of the American crocodile, as well? They are in trouble.”

“Crocs prefer brackish, coastal areas. It’s easier for official patrols to keep tabs on them, and harder for poachers to get ’em,” Josh observed. “We’ll be inland where the freshwater alligators—and poachers—are.”

“I know, but if we wrap this up early, we can do both.”

“Nah. With all the competition on gator and croc stories, you know everybody wants us because of our poaching angle. Plus, we’ll get even more markup value if we add the Seminole angle. And they don’t have any large coastal reservations.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know that. “Well, as long as we’re there, we could broaden our horizons. What about endangered sea turtles and the Eastern indigo snake?”

“We’re talking saltwater Everglades again, not inland fresh,” Josh said, rubbing his chin. “Let’s skip the coastal stuff. Just give me inland. How about mammals?”

“Florida panther?”

“That’s more northern Big Cypress than Everglades. The cats need trees. Vegetation in the southern wetlands can’t support their weight or hunting habits.”

“Well, yes, but—” usually she was the one with all the information and Josh was the one shuffling through notes “—the Seminoles own land in Big Cypress.”

“We haven’t been given permission to stay there. It’s a different tribe, different reservation. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

“I’m in no hurry to—”

“—check into the hospital for more surgery?” Josh shrewdly asked. “You’re the one who’s been insisting that you’re well enough to work. If you’re feeling worse, we can always cancel.”

“I don’t want to cancel. Look, right now let’s just worry about this assignment. Did you tell your contact I won’t have any problem roughing it in the field?”

“Yep. By the way, you’ve got the reservation permit. I won’t be needing one. When I’m not in the hotel, I intend to stay with family. It’s been a while.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I’m telling you now. That’s why we have these little meetings.” He dumped the rest of the peanuts into his mouth and crumpled the wrapper.

Alisha, who didn’t like nuts, slid him her unopened pack. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ve been to the Everglades. I’ll pass. You don’t need me there, anyway. You’ll have local guides. Like this ranger.”

“Yes, but still...”

Josh studied her carefully. “What are you worried about? We often don’t do fieldwork together. I think you’re just nervous about going into the hospital when this is over.”

Alisha shot him a sideways glance. “I am not.” Yes, I am. Which was why she’d taken this assignment, despite her health. She needed to keep busy as long as she could.

“Surgery makes everyone nervous,” he said. “Now look at this, and get your mind back on business.” He tapped a notebook with his pen. Alisha leaned over the armrest. “You want to document the big cats, which would mean doing a night video. We’ve just done an all-night safari. Are you seriously in the mood for another?”

“I’d like some more sun.” Need some sun was more like it. Her resistance to illness—and to cooler temperatures—was slowly but surely failing.

“All right, then.”

“Let’s put the Florida panther on the ‘maybe’ list.” Alisha scribbled in her notes. “Supposedly there’s only thirty of them left in the state. The other mammal would be the West Indian manatee. They’re freshwater and saltwater, but mostly fresh. Could we fit them in?”

“As a Florida resident, I can tell you they’ve been done to death. Literally and figuratively. The beasts are still dying in droves, thanks to the almighty powerboat. Lucky for them, they get lots of coverage. Almost as much as the whooping cranes. They’re not good money. Too much media exposure.” Josh stared at her. “Besides, poached animals are our specialty, and no one’s poaching them.”

“Yes, but still... They’re endangered. Beautiful animals, the manatees. So graceful.” The memory of a colleague’s documentary film played in her head.

“Beautiful?” Josh snorted. “Graceful? They’re fat hippos, U.S.A.-style.”

“But we could chance it, if we had time to go up north.”

Josh frowned. “It’d be dicey getting decent shots unless you were lucky enough to find them in the shallows. Anything deeper and you’d probably need to scuba, for stills or video. You can’t dive anymore, remember?”