Four.

The oversize 4x4 swung wildly through the gates, gravel and dirt shooting from under the enormous tyres and peppering the undergrowth, pulling up at the limit of the car park. Ray Daventry stepped out of the passenger door, his polished tan cowboy boots shining in the dusty grass. He walked to the back of the car and watched admiringly as the chino’d backside of his companion descended athletically from the cab. `Every time I can’t see you I know where you’re looking’ she said with a humouring smile in her voice. On the ground, she turned and accused him with her eyes whilst grabbing the kit from the back of the truck. `Just admiring the view ma’am’ he returned in his best back-hills drawl whilst indicating the woodland around them, wild flowers liberally spread below the over-hanging boughs. He was besotted with those deep emerald eyes - accusing was nothing, they could hang, draw and quarter him and he’d love it. She threw a kit bag to him `come on, dickhead’ she said and led the way into the trees.

With a resigned sigh he grabbed and shouldered the bag and set off after her. They were in the New Jersey Country Park - an attempt by the community leaders to persuade the citizens of this joke of a state that they weren’t living in an industrial wasteland. As such it had become a surprising success. Around twenty square miles had been reclaimed from defence agency property ten years ago and the area had been left largely untouched save for the reintroduction of some indigenous species. Lakes and streams had been cleared and marshlands and wooded areas had been zoned to provide nesting areas for wildlife as well as recreational space for people. Only a small area had been allocated to mountain biking and ‘blading had been outlawed. The most amazing thing was the lack of concrete. With the trees shielding most of the noise from the freeways you could almost imagine that you were indeed in the boondocks. There were, however, numerous refreshment cabins scattered around - Americans don’t like to go far from food.

Sean trudged up the wood chip path behind the woman. He tried to keep an eye on her figure but the going was so rough in places that he had to concentrate hard on the ascent. Her name was Alison Ellis and she was an animal behaviourist. His editor, not liking Ray much, had handed him this peach of an assignment. To follow her around for a few weeks while she built up evidential statistics for her doctorate. The paper’s management had agreed to help fund her year in return for the usual accreditation and regular access to her findings for any stories for weekend features. Alison seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. ‘And why wouldn’t she?’ thought Ray - all costs and living expenses for a year for doing what you wanted to do anyway?, but until he had met his assignment Ray himself had been figuring to chuck it in and try to move to another paper in another state. New York was pissing him off. Ten seconds into meeting her and he was ecstatic that he hadn’t thrown the assignment into the editor’s face and followed it with a swift uppercut as he’d fleetingly thought of doing.