Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(6)

Before Phil arrived, he’d been a faceless voice on our satellite receiver, and I’d always pictured a nebbish middle-aged pencil pusher with a comb-over and paunch. I was still fighting the disconnect.

Phil steels himself and walks out, his chin lifting. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”

“Yeah. This”—Dalton waves the satellite phone—“is a fucking piece of shit.”

He whips the phone. To Phil’s credit, he doesn’t hit the deck. He just takes a quick step back as the phone smashes into the wall, pieces flying.

“That—that is an expensive piece of technology, Sheriff.”

A few of the gathering locals titter. I hear at least one whispered request for popcorn.

“No, that is fucking piece of useless shit,” Dalton says, bearing down on Phil. “Or did you fall asleep?”

“What?’

I answer as I walk up beside Dalton. “We hoped to speak to April before she went into work. You’d said the phone would be manned at all hours.”

“It was. I had a nap, of course, but Sam was watching it while I slept. I was awake at daylight, which up here, is four in the morning apparently.”

“We called at four-thirty,” I lie. “And five. And five-thirty. And six . . .”

“The fucking phone didn’t work,” Dalton says. “Which is a problem when it’s the only fucking way we have to get in touch.”

“I’m sure there was some other way—”

“Like what?” Dalton says. “Smoke signals?”

“It’s a direct link satellite phone,” I say. “If it fails, we can’t just buy a new one. This is what happens when you refuse to give us another method of communication.”

“One fucking method of communication,” Dalton says. “We had a trained neurosurgeon on hand, ready to give Kenny the best goddamn care possible, and you fucked it up.”

“The council—” Phil stops himself and straightens. “I apologize, Sheriff. Yes, the council has very strict communication protocols, as you know, but in this case, you are correct that we needed redundancy.”

“Well, you can tell that to Kenny. The lack of fucking redundancy cost him the use of his legs.”

Phil clears his throat. “Redundancy means—”

“It means a backup plan,” Dalton says. “So just say you didn’t have a backup plan. You decided Kenny’s future mobility wasn’t worth making an exception to your goddamn rules.”

“The rules are there for security, Sheriff. Providing an unsecured satellite phone introduces the possibility of an intercepted call. Even letting you take that phone was dangerous. We allowed it to show that we do care about Kenny’s situation. Now we’ll need to get him someplace else, which means he cannot return to Rockton.”

“Not yet,” I say. “My sister gave me detailed notes based on the x-rays and photographs. Mathias and Will will attempt to remove the bullet. My sister believes that will be enough. Then, on Monday, we’ll fly to Dawson and provide a phone update.”

“I don’t think the council will want you leaving again so soon—”

“We are,” Dalton says. “For Kenny.”

A chorus of approval from the crowd. This isn’t just about Kenny. It’s us versus them. Rockton versus the council.

Not everyone here is a fan of our sheriff. He’s tough as hell, and even those who obey our laws don’t appreciate his endless rules. But they know each of those rules is designed to ensure they are safe here and return home alive.

Dalton is the one living with them, enduring the same conditions, and he’ll be here long after they return to twenty-first century life down south. In contrast, the council represents nameless, faceless bureaucracy. They enjoy hot showers and fine dining and modern technology from their high-rise towers, while dictating our conditions here. Even when they do show up, they’re like Val and now Phil, sequestered in their house, putting in time until they can flee back to civilization.

The truth is that Phil could be the nicest guy imaginable, and the residents would still side with Dalton. The fact Phil seems like a real dick doesn’t help matters at all. He isn’t an idiot, though. He hears those rumblings, and he looks out over the crowd, and he’s very aware that he’s no longer hiding behind the safety of a satellite receiver a thousand kilometers away.

“All right,” he says. “I will convince the council that, in light of this mishap, you should be allowed to return to Dawson City to consult with Detective Butler’s sister. I will also authorize funds to purchase additional supplies, so long as you are making the trip.”

Phil raises his voice. “If anyone has items you need purchased, please compile a list. I will ensure the council authorizes extra funds, in light of everything you’ve been through in the past week.”

“Bread and circuses for all,” Dalton mutters.

Phil frowns over at us. “Hmm?”

“Nothing,” I say. Then I turn to the crowd. “I want to get working on Kenny, and I’m going to ask for minimal distractions. I know everyone is worried about him, but this is a delicate operation, without a trained surgeon. If you can give us time and space, we would appreciate it.”

“Sam?” Dalton calls into the crowd. “Jen? Nicki? Round up the militia. Those who aren’t on patrol, I want them keeping a wide berth around the clinic. No one comes in or out until I say so. That includes you guys. Last thing Kenny needs is someone slamming a door when Will’s got a scalpel next to his spinal cord.”