“Some of the richest people in the world made their money off drug manufacturing.”
He frowns. “There’s money in that? Sure, I don’t figure they give them away, but Canada has free health care. Drugs are covered by taxes.”
“Health care, yes. Drugs, no.”
“You mean optional medication. The ones you need are free, though.”
I shake my head. “There are programs if you can’t afford them, but medication is never free, and the drug companies are definitely in it for profit. Lifesaving drugs can cost a thousand times the manufacturing cost.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Yep. And that’s where Émilie’s money comes from.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Petra told me. Seemingly out of the blue. Big-pharma families are among the world’s greatest philanthropists, and she was joking about it being guilt money. Except I don’t think it was really joking. She said it a few days after she’d been shot. When she had just been shot, she said something about my hostile theory and Émilie, and I thought she was just going into shock.”
He says nothing, just walking, his distant gaze telling me he’s searching for connections, rather than asking me to supply them.
I continue. “This Hendricks guy came from Rockton, and I’m speculating that he was sent to the Second Settlement to create the tea from local ingredients.”
“To keep them calm. Reduce the risk they’d set their sights on Rockton, like the First Settlement did.”
“Right. He clearly had some idea what he was doing, and Josie figured he was a professor … or a scientist.”
Dalton’s hand tightens on mine. “Like someone who’d work for a drug company. Not selling them but making them.”
“Exactly. It—”
Another shout comes, and we both stop. Storm halts, too, her ears perked as she turns toward the source. A few minutes ago, I’d heard what sounded like a neutral shout. Not anger or excitement but surprise mingled with a mild warning. Like realizing someone is about to walk straight into a tree.
We were close enough to Rockton that I’d presumed it came from there and only made a mental note to warn people against being so loud when a search party could be looking for the Danish tourists.
This shout is different. Rockton is to our left, and the only people allowed in the forest right now are the militia on patrol, who wouldn’t be that far from town.
We strain to listen, but nothing else comes. I’m about to ask Dalton what we should do when another sound rips through the forest. A bellow that only comes from one creature out here.
“Bear,” I whisper.
Another shout then, clearly human, spiked with panic. A young voice, and in it I hear an accent I recognize from Edwin’s settlement. There’s a recognizable note in the voice, too. One of Felicity’s friends.
TWENTY-FOUR
We make our way carefully toward the voices. It seems to be two men, their voices coming through as we draw near. They’re shouting at a bear to scare it off. It is not scared. It is angry, and the more they shout, the angrier it gets.
I put Storm behind us. She doesn’t like that, but we have no idea what we’re walking into. Well, yes, we have some idea. Bear versus human. It’s the specifics that elude us, and so we’ll keep Storm at our rear, lest the bear spot her first and attack.
We soon see one of the settlers. A third man, perhaps in his thirties, this one not making a sound as he stands with his empty hands raised. Dalton grumbles under his breath. Your hands should never be empty out here. Even if a bear surprises you, you should have time to at least pull a knife. But this man has clearly been caught unawares, with no weapon within reach. As soon as I think that, I spot a bow propped against a tree. Why the hell didn’t he grab it as soon as he saw—
“Fuck,” Dalton breathes, and I see the answer to my question as I get past the tree that partly blocks my view.
At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. My gaze is level with the man’s shoulders, and there is something right in front of him. It is a wall of brown fur, and I have to look up at least a foot above the man’s head to see the muzzle of the beast.
A grizzly. Brown bears, as they’re more rightly known. Alaskan brown bears, a head taller than their southern brethren. I’ve caught sight of them fishing. I’ve spotted them in the distance, decimating a berry patch. I’ve seen them making their way along a mountainside. I’ve even encountered one up close. I’d been goofing off with Dalton and darting around a fallen tree to find a grizzly rooting out grubs. In each case, the bear had been on all fours, and while I’d thought Holy shit, that beast is big, nothing compares to seeing a brown bear on its hind legs, towering over a grown man.…
Something inside me gibbers in panic, a tiny voice telling me to get the hell out of here now. Grab my man. Grab my dog. Push them ahead of me if I have to. Just get out.
This unarmed stranger has made a fatal error, and if his companions have any sense, they will run. Let their companion’s death buy them time to escape.