What does all this mean for the woman lying in the bed? She isn’t a hostile. She might look as if she’s been living rough, but clear polish clings to her ragged fingernails, her hands are smooth and soft, and she was wearing contact lenses, which April removed.
Maryanne has come to see this woman because, in what we know of her story, Maryanne sees echoes of her own past: the horror that began her years as a hostile.
Her quartet had made camp a few nights after leaving Rockton. Having lost Gene Dalton and his men, they didn’t post a guard. Healthy bears won’t attack four sleeping humans around a smoldering fire. Fellow settlers were known to be territorial and unfriendly, but not thieves or murderers. As for the hostiles, well that was just a story, and a rather silly one at that.
That night, they learned the truth about those silly stories. The hostiles attacked while the quartet slept. They wanted the women and the supplies. They slit one man’s throat before he woke. The other, though? They used a stone knife on his stomach and abandoned him to die in agony, alone.
FIVE
This is, of course, what both Dalton and I thought of first when we realized what happened to our mystery woman. It’s what Maryanne thinks of when she hears the story. It’s why she’s here—to help determine whether hostiles attacked a group of tourists. Whether there might be other survivors out there, women like her who’d been given the choice between a narcotic brew and a horrible death.
When Maryanne was captured, she drank the drugs, thinking she’d play along and then escape. Her companion ref
used and thought Maryanne weak for giving in. For that, the other woman was bound to a tree, with someone nearby, waiting for her to surrender. A week later, Maryanne got to see what remained.
Is that the scenario playing out right now? Our mystery woman escaped and others are being held captive and given that horrible choice? Or perhaps it was the men who were captured, and the women killed. Which they chose would depend entirely on what the group needed.
What we need is answers from this woman sleeping in our clinic.
Who did this to you?
Did people from the forest attack you? Or was it your own companions? Or is there a chance we’re misreading the evidence, and you were in a horrible accident?
Tell us something, anything, before we set off into that forest, chasing the wrong answer. Each potential solution to this mystery requires a very different tactic.
I am hoping that when the woman wakes, lucid, she will speak English. Most European tourists know at least enough to communicate. In her fevered state, she’d been unable to tell that we were speaking English and had reverted to her native tongue. That’s all.
In case that’s not all, though, I need a backup plan.
After Maryanne leaves, I turn to Dalton.
“Can you find me a German speaker? In the files?”
He doesn’t even need to respond before I see the answer in his eyes.
“And that’s a no,” I say as I slump against the counter.
“I thought of that last night,” he says. “You’d think it’d be there, under useful skills, but…” He shrugs. “Residents must speak fluent English.”
Rockton is diverse when it comes to race, religion, and sexual orientation, because none of that has any impact on your ability to survive in this environment. Otherwise, though, we’re a homogeneous bunch. Sebastian is our only resident under twenty-five and Mathias is one of the oldest at fifty-five. The most serious disability is Kenny’s—he wears leg braces after taking a bullet in the back.
Kenny would never have been allowed in like that, though, even if he’s perfectly capable of Rockton life in his current condition. The council wants able-bodied adults. They also want English speakers, because struggling with the language would be a disability. Therefore we don’t need to know if residents speak other languages, because we’ll never require their skills for translating.
Resident privacy comes first. Even what does make it into the files is for Dalton’s eyes only, and he can’t share it with me unless it directly impacts a case.
“Any hints?” I ask.
When he hesitates, I wince. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask. If you know of any residents who lived in Germany, will you speak to them? You could conduct the witness interview to protect their privacy.”
“Nah, it wouldn’t come to that,” Dalton says, stretching his legs. “Can’t imagine language skills being top-secret personal details. But yeah, there’s someone who mentioned being stationed in Germany during their entrance interview. I can see whether they speak the language. If that doesn’t pan out, you can call a meeting and ask for German speakers.”
“I need to call one anyway to explain the stranger in our clinic.”
Dalton grumbles under his breath. Before I arrived, there would have been no announcement. Not that he could keep the woman a secret. People saw Sebastian and Baptiste race into town for the doctor. They’d be asking who got hurt, and we’d need to reassure them that it wasn’t a resident, and then they’d realize the clinic is closed for a reason—because a stranger is in their midst.
As far as Dalton is concerned, that’s “none of their damned business.” I disagree. A stranger in town is a valid concern for people who’ve been promised sanctuary. Better to explain the situation than deal with false rumors.
I’m about to say more when the door opens and a woman says, “Did I hear you say you need someone who speaks German?”