City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(32)

“I have a date,” she says, that glow returning.

I smile as we settle onto the sofa. “With your swimming partner?”

“Nope, someone else.”

Her grin turns wicked, like she’s sixteen and announcing that she kissed two different boys in the same weekend.

When I don’t react, she jostles me. “Haven’t you always said I need to date more? You should be happy for me.”

“I am happy,” I say. “This is my happy face, remember?”

She laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit, the male-to-female ratio in this town helps my popularity, but it’s more than that, Case. It’s the whole …” She waves her hands. “Atmosphere. It’s like band camp. Which you never went to, and it’s not like you needed that anyway. You never have a problem meeting guys. So I’ve been taking advantage of the opportunities before you arrive and they all forget my name.”

“That’s not—”

“When we walk into a bar, guys only glance my way if you shoot them down.”

I protest. This topic of conversation comes up far too regularly for my tastes. I’m no femme fatale, and Diana is no wallflower. I joke that she’s welcome to all the guys in town and then say, “Work will keep me plenty busy. And I’m … not exactly looking.” I absently finger the martini glass necklace.

“How’s Kurt?”

“Doing okay.”

“Good.” A moment of awkward silence. Then, “Speaking of guys, how about that deputy, huh? He’s just your type. Brawny. Gorgeous. Not likely to win a Mensa membership anytime soon.”

“Hey,” I say, with genuine annoyance.

“Oh, I’m sure Will is bright enough. Just not on your level. No one’s on your level.”

I try to keep my voice even. “Plenty of people are above my level.”

“I’m not.”

Goddamn it, Di. Five minutes ago you were glowing with confidence. And now this shit?

She makes a face. “Sorry. I’m a little scattered. It’s great here, but … After Graham … I guess I’m a little on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It won’t.” I’ll make sure of it.

She twists her rings. “Maybe I should cancel my date. I agreed yesterday, when I didn’t know you were getting in today.”

“We have another hour. Then you’re walking out that door and going on your date.”

She struggles for a smile. “Is that an order?”

“It is.”



After Diana leaves, I clear my head by exploring my house. The upstairs is a loft bedroom, with a balcony overlooking the forest. Standing on it, I wonder where I can get a chair so I can sit out here with my morning coffee and watch the sunrise. When I realize it might not be that easy to procure a chair up here, there’s a split second of near panic. And I have to laugh, because I have never bought a piece of furniture in my life. Nor have I ever had the urge to sit out and watch the sunrise. My new balcony doesn’t even face east.

But I have a house. And it’s kind of awesome.

Without a book to read, I’m in bed by ten. But once I’m there, all I can think about is those files. I also realize how quiet it is. My back window is cracked open and I hear nothing. For a city girl, that’s unnerving. When I strain, I do pick up sounds: a distant laugh, the crackle of undergrowth, the hoot of an owl. But there’s no steady roar of street traffic or even the hum of a ventilation system. When I hear a howl, I practically fall out of bed.

There aren’t any dogs in Rockton. No pets allowed. That can mean only one thing: I’m hearing wolves.

I push open the balcony doors and step out to listen. The sound is distant, meaning there’s no danger that a pack of wild canines will charge from the forest. It’s not that kind of sound anyway. Not a warning cry, but a beautiful and haunting song. I go back inside to grab my blanket, and I lower myself to the balcony floor, my back against the wall as I stare into the forest and listen to the wolves.

There’s more out there than wolves. More than bears and wild cats. That’s what I read in those files. What is beyond the town borders and how it got there.

Rockton was founded in the fifties by Americans escaping political persecution during the McCarthy years. Some had returned to the US when they felt it was safe. Others remained and opened Rockton to people seeking refuge for other reasons. When the town struggled in the late sixties, a few wealthy former residents took over managing it and organized regular supply drops. That’s when the town began evolving from a commune of lost souls into a police state secretly sheltering hardened criminals.

Some residents became dissatisfied with the changes, wanting a more natural and communal lifestyle. They left Rockton in small groups and “went native,” as the saying goes, giving up even the primitive comforts of the town to live off the land. Rockton calls these people—and their descendants—settlers.

But there are others, too. Those who aren’t just living out there like a modern-day Grizzly Adams. Those who lost something when they left Rockton—lost their humanity and ultimately reverted to something animalistic. The hostiles.

That’s why residents can’t wander around in the forest without armed escorts. Sure, wolves and bears are a concern, but the bigger threat is the people who live in the forest. Step on their territory and they’ll treat you like a trespassing predator and kill you on sight.