I try to smile, but my fingers tremble as I unwrap the bar. I keep seeing those corpses stacked like cordwood in the clinic.
“You can make that joke,” he says. “As long as you don’t make the one about the increase in dead bodies since you arrived. That shit’s not funny.”
“True, though.”
“Bullshit.” He pauses, chocolate halfway to his lips. “Actually, no. You’re right. If not for you, we wouldn’t have any bodies in the clinic right now. They’d all be rotting in the forest, including Sophie.”
“You never would have left her out there.”
“Yeah, but in an alternate reality where you never came to Rockton, Sebastian and the other kids wouldn’t have been having a party on the lake, because even if he’d somehow still met them, I’d never have allowed them to hang together. I certainly wouldn’t have been there myself. So Sophie would have died in the forest. If somehow I was there without you, then there’d be no April and thus no one to save her. Even if another doctor did manage that, I’d have shipped Sophie south, trusting the council to look after her, and we both know how that would work out. So, no, without you, there’d be no bodies in Rockton right now. They’d all be rotting in the forest, with no one to investigate and make sure it doesn’t happen again. You figured out what’s going on with the hostiles. We’re going to stop this because of the work you did. These tourists and settlers aren’t the first people they’ve killed.”
“Hostiles didn’t kill the settlers.”
He frowns.
“That’s why I was in the clinic. A bullet killed the boy.” I sigh. “And as much as I appreciate you bringing me back here for a break, I really do need to return to the clinic so we can autopsy his parents.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.” I waggle the bottle. “I have a feeling I’ll want more of this at the end of the night, but for now…” I cap it. “My pity party is over. Thank you for attending. However—”
Storm scrabbles to her feet, nails clicking against the hardwood as Dalton’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing.
“What the fuck?” he murmurs.
I catch the sound then. The unmistakable drone of a low-flying plane.
FIFTEEN
Rockton isn’t on any commercial flight routes or any local ones—the founders chose our location well. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible for a small plane to randomly choose a path that takes them over us, which is why all of our buildings are constructed with structural camouflage. The council also invests in the latest technology for keeping us off radar, which is partly what interferes with the radios.
Even with all that, it would only take a stray plane passing low enough to see people and buildings.
Like a plane searching for a quartet of missing tourists who aren’t at their pickup point.
Dalton and I are out the door in a shot, Storm racing past. We’re barely outside when Anders shouts, and we look to see the deputy running our way as others scan the skies.
We stride to Anders.
“No one’s seen it yet,” he says.
“Hasn’t passed close enough,” Dalton says. “We’d all hear that.”
Dalton turns, face upturned. He doesn’t shade his eyes. He’s listening, not looking. He pinpoints the sound and takes off at a lope.
“Everyone inside!” Anders calls as I run after Dalton. “Sebastian? Maryanne? Jen?”
He calls out names of people in sight and tells them to order people into their homes. Residents will obey. No one’s going to risk their security. By the time I’m running, the entire town is scattering, like mice seeing a hawk glide overhead.
Dalton’s already in the forest. The plane’s engine roars, as if turning for a second pass. Not just idly crossing our airspace. Searching for something.
Searching for four hikers.
We are so unprepared for this. We—
The plane banks, and I whisper “Shit!” as I see where it’s heading.
To our airstrip.