A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(8)
Anders and I look at each other. I say, “It’s the middle of the night, and there’s been a storm. We’ll go if that’s what you absolutely need, but it’ll be much safer to wait until morning.”
She starts to shake, and I hurry on. “If you need to get out of here, we completely understand. But you are safe. We have guns, and we’re both police officers.”
“Both?” She looks from me to Anders. “Oh. I know Will likes caving, so I thought you two were out doing that. I didn’t realize it was night.” Another twist of a smile. “Or winter.”
“It is,” I say. “We were—”
I think of what we were doing. Of that bloodied toque. Of the man in the path. I’m not telling her that, so I say, “We were on patrol when the storm hit, and it was late in the day, so we holed up here. The point is, we have supplies, and we’re armed. We’ll be fine until morning. One of us will stay awake, and we’ll leave at the first hint of light. But if you need us to go now, we can do that.”
She nibbles her lip and looks at Anders.
He nods. “Casey’s right. You want to get out of here as fast as you can. We totally get that, and we’ll do our best to make that happen. But it is safer in the daytime.”
She squares her shoulders. “He won’t come tonight. If he does…” She looks, not at Anders, but at me. “Will you shoot him?”
“With pleasure.”
SIX
We return to the cavern where we left our things. Anders sits guard at the entrance while I unpack for Nicole. I hand her two energy bars, and she stares at them and says, “Chocolate?”
“Well, supposedly. It’s not exactly Godiva.”
Tears well again. “I used to turn up my nose at Godiva. Clients would buy us baskets, and I’d tell my co-workers that if you’ve had real Swiss chocolate, Godiva wasn’t any better than that cheap stuff you get at Easter. Do you know how many times I dreamed of those baskets?” She opens a bar and inhales. “No fancy chocolate can touch this. Not today.”
She takes a bite, and the sheer rapture on her face makes my eyes well.
“Were there Saskatoon berries in Rockton this year?” she asks. “I remember Tina’s jam. On Brian’s bread. That was heaven.”
“Tina made jam,” I say as I hand her the water pouch. “And Brian is still baking bread. You’ll get all you want tomorrow.”
“So Tina and Brian are still there,” she says. “What about—” She stops herself. “I’m sorry. You need to sleep.”
“Nah, Casey never sleeps,” Anders says. “You want to know who’s still in Rockton? Let’s see, there’s…”
*
Anders doesn’t list everyone. There are nearly two hundred people. A few months ago, I couldn’t have imagined a town that small. Now it feels huge, as I struggle to remember names. This is community policing, where every resident expects you to know their name. More importantly, I need to know them all because policing in Rockton isn’t like law enforcement anywhere else in the world.
Rockton is supposed to be a place of refuge for those in need, those whose very lives depend on escaping the world—escaping an abuser, escaping false charges, escaping an impossible situation or a stupidly naive mistake. The town is financed by also admitting white-collar criminals who’ve amassed a fortune and are willing to pay very well to lie low until they’re forgotten. Then there are those like me and Anders, on the run for something we did, something that does deserve retribution, but the council has decided our crimes aren’t the types we’re liable to re-commit and they are otherwise in need of our skills.
So that’s Rockton. Or that’s what it’s supposed to be. There’s a deeper ugly truth, the one that means they really need people like me and Anders. Modern Rockton, established as a haven by idealists in the sixties, is now run by investors who aren’t content to take a cut of profit from white-collar crime. They accept massive admission fees from actual criminals, giving Dalton false stories, which leaves him trying to uncover the real criminals to protect the real victims.
These criminals are exactly what Anders and I discuss once Nicole is asleep. She’s snoring softly, telling us she’s definitely out, and we slip into the next cavern, our voices lowered as we talk. We discuss the possibility that Nicole’s captor isn’t a settler or a hostile but a monster much closer to home.
Before she fell asleep, I’d asked her, as carefully as I could, if she could tell us anything about her captor. She said that the whole time she’d been in there, he’d covered his face. She knew only he was undeniably male. As for how she knew that … I know the answer. But I wasn’t making her say it.
“I want to say it’s not possible he’s from Rockton, but—” Will runs a hand over his hair. “Shit.”
“It wouldn’t be easy. Presumably he’s coming up at least once a week, likely twice, with food and water. It’d be a long hike in bad weather, but if he left Rockton in the early evening and got back in time for his work shift in the morning, no one would be the wiser. It’s not as if residents can’t sneak past the patrols.”
Rockton isn’t a walled city. They’ve tried that—it only makes people rebel. Residents aren’t prisoners. The rules against wandering into the forest are for their own good, and most people know enough to stay put.