“I don’t understand,” he says.
“I don’t think anyone can understand. Except maybe Sebastian.”
Dalton exhales and leans against the plane. “If this is what happens down south, that’s one more reason to stay up here.”
“Except that we send all those people up here to you.”
“Yeah, stop that. Just fucking stop.” He shakes his head. “And I can’t even say that. We grow our own here. That’s what Harper is, isn’t she? Like Sebastian.”
“In her way.”
“How many people are like that?”
“Very, very few. That’s the thing. I can joke that we send all our killers to Rockton, but you’re going to get more than your share, considering its purpose.”
“I know.”
“And while life in the forest isn’t going to turn a kid like Harper into a killer, there aren’t any safeguards in place out there. No one to recognize what she’s becoming and help her before it was too late.”
“So Sebastian solves his problems with murder. What’s the chance Garcia came for him?”
“About equal to the chance he came for anyone else. Also, we have no way of knowing that the killer was actually Garcia’s target. They just thought they were.”
“Fuck.” He sighs, deeply. “So did we accomplish anything here?”
“We found out how Garcia tracked us. We seem to have plugged the leak. I confirmed Paul’s story. Roy’s was bullshit—which I’ll explain later—but his crime wasn’t violent; he’s just an asshole, as we already knew. I answered our questions about Sebastian. And I am certain that whatever Garcia was doing here, we won’t have a troop of marshals parachuting down on Rockton, looking for their lost man.”
“So that’s a win?”
“I also got a dirt bike.”
He smiles. “Okay, it’s a win. We made progress, then, even if we aren’t much closer to finding a killer.”
“We’ll get there.”
* * *
No one comes out to meet us at the hangar. Anders knows that we can’t afford for him to leave Rockton right now, and Kenny obviously can’t come running to help as he used to. We could have gotten someone else to watch for the plane and help unload supplies, but we can handle it. We didn’t buy much anyway—this was an unscheduled run, so it was just taking advantage of the extra space. Treats and luxuries. Yes, bribes. It’s been a shitty two weeks. Here, have some M&M’s and new books and strawberry-scented shower gel. When the council promised us extra luxuries for the inconvenience of taking Oliver Brady, Dalton had muttered about bread and circuses. He understood, though, that up here, those little extras go a long wa
y toward easing discontent.
We load everything into the ATV. Then Dalton takes that while I follow on the dirt bike. When we get near town, I hop off it. Yes, that twelve-year-old in me would love to rip through Rockton on my new toy, but the thirty-two-year-old knows that would be as welcome as the cousin at Easter who rips around on his new BMX when you got a pair of fuzzy socks. So I will quietly walk the bike to the shed and tuck it away until a better time.
The shed is locked tight. The ATVs and snowmobiles—and now bike—represent the best chance of getting out of Rockton for anyone who’s changed their mind about putting in their full two years. I undo the double locks on the heavy metal door and it slides open with a whoosh.
Inside, it’s pitch-black. It might be bright sunshine out here, but the angle of the doors is wrong for this time of day, and no light filters beyond the opening. I reach for my pack, to get my light …
I came from the city. I’m not wearing my pack.
No matter. There’s a lantern just inside the door, for this very situation. Eric Dalton is the quintessential Boy Scout, prepared for everything. I reach inside the door and … no lantern.
It’s awesome that our boss thinks of everything. It really is. The problem is that he’s surrounded by people who aren’t nearly as conscientious. Someone has needed the lantern to put away a vehicle and left it farther in the shed. I could gripe about that, but it very well might have been me.
I wheel the bike inside. This being a secure building, there are no windows, so once I pass that rectangle of dim light at the entrance, I’m running on memory. The snowmobiles are tucked at the very back until winter. Dalton has the side-by-side ATV. The two smaller ones should be on my left— Ow, make that my right. So the spot on my left should be clear and— Ow, it’s not.
Having now stubbed my left toe and banged my right shin, I’m considering dropping the bike here. But that’s like running into the house and dumping my shoes at the door, and while I was that kid, I try not to be these days.
Prop the bike up and then feel around for a place …