his mouth and looked at it, looked at Holcomb. “Well, we’re obligated to call in someone.”
“Someone?” Holcomb’s brow went up.
“One of the fellows who contracts with the state to capture problem animals. Usually, it’s gators, of course. But sometimes they can come in and take raccoons. And I guess snakes.” Ron did not like the look on Holcomb’s face. It wasn’t anger, exactly, but he didn’t look entirely happy.
“They kill those alligators. Correct? And the raccoons? They skin them all out and sell their pelts. All for being crowded out of their habitat by humans.”
“Um. Yes, sir. The alligators and the raccoon are sold to markets. Or, rather, their skins are. In the case of the gators, even the meat is sold.” Ron spread his hands. “The alligator in Florida is no longer endangered. You know that. It’s not a problem to harvest them from time to time anymore.”
Vance Holcomb leaned forward and eyed Ron, his demeanor no longer completely friendly. There was now an adversarial feel to their meeting. Maybe it had become a confrontation. “And what will happen to this snake? If it is a snake?”
“I’m not entirely sure, if they capture a large snake. I would assume that it would be worth more to a zoo alive than to someone dealing in leather goods.”
“But you aren’t certain?”
Ron slumped in the chair. He’d been enjoying the day, until then. “No. I honestly can’t say. But I don’t think it would just be killed outright. We don’t do things that way anymore.”
Holcomb rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. “Please. Spare me that. Of course things are still done that way.”
“Well…hell.” Ron wilted a bit more.
Holcomb turned his back on the desk, swiveling his chair. Ron saw him depress one of the buttons on the arm of the chair. On the far side of the room, what Ron had assumed was a wall slowly eased back in almost complete silence. If he strained, he could just hear the perfect whirring of finely tuned machinery. A gigantic window of truly impressive proportions was slowly revealed. Ron could see the view Holcomb had whenever he wished it. The forest was there, outside the great window, just beyond the chain link fence, no wooden barrier on this side of the compound. The view was impressive: cypress, gum, oaks, pines. Birds were moving across the afternoon sky, heading for roosts: ducks, birds of prey, egrets, cranes, storks. Incredibly, Ron saw a black bear moving at the verge of the forest, its snout testing the winds.
“I’ll be damned,” Ron said.
“This place must be protected, Mr. Riggs. I’m going to do whatever it takes to save it.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said, the cigar loose in his fingers, his voice feeling like a whisper.
“I think we’ll try to locate this snake before you and your animal killer do so. I really don’t want the wrong kind of people mucking about around here. Understand?”
“Understood, Mr. Holcomb.”
He faced Ron again, his face stern. “Please. Call me Vance.”
Chapter Ten
Walks Backward was at his position, as always. Behind him, the Flock was moving ahead, scouting. He surveyed the leavings of the route they had taken, running quickly from one side of the hunting pattern to the other. There: a bit of covering shed by one of last year’s youth; he ate it. On a sandy patch of ground: a great three-toed track left by one of the females; he scratched it out with his own great claws, until there was no track to see.
Behind the Flock, he kept his vigil, searching for sign his fellows had left, things for him to collect in his gullet or expunge from existence. They had learned that to continue to live, to continue to survive, all sign of their being must be kept from the Man.
They had lived in this place for a long time, the Flock. Most of their race had vanished, and they were the local remnant of once vast numbers who had hunted here, taking the prey that had come and gone, gift of a fickle sky. The Two, Mother and Father, held the history and told it each day, bit by bit as it came to them in the sunlight moments. Once, there had been other creatures who had lived in this land, other hunters and other prey. Horned antelope, smaller and quicker than the deer on which they now lived, had once danced across these scrubby prairies. Great, hairless mammoths had shared the spaces with them. Huge