City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(52)

“Isn’t that Felis domestica, sheriff?”

“Nope. That would be a common but incorrect taxonomic name, detective. It can also be Felis silvestris catus, which combines woodland and domestic cat. And in this case, that might be more accurate.”

“So they’re former house cats?”

He motions for me to resume walking as he says, “Escaped from town when they allowed them.”

“You have feral cats in the forest?”

“And dogs. Rabbits, chickens, few hogs. All descended from escapees. Dogs were for security. Cats for mousing. The others for food. Back when there were fifty, sixty people in Rockton, raising livestock made sense. Now? Too much land needed to raise more than a few dozen chickens for eggs and goats for milk.”

“Why did they get rid of the cats and dogs?”

“No idea. They weren’t documenting things back then. I do, for the day-to-day stuff—what kind of problem we faced and how we resolved it. For the dogs and cats, I’ve heard rabies outbreak. They put them down and didn’t want to risk bringing in more. I also heard it was something as stupid as allergies—one of Val’s predecessors was allergic so he made a no-animal law and no one’s changed it.”

“Have you considered changing it?”

He looks surprised by the question. “Course. You can’t just say that we should keep doing a thing just because it’s always been done. Cats eat their fill of mice, so upkeep is minimal. Dogs can eat the parts of game we throw out. Fresh water is plentiful. I’ve been considering it. Getting new ones—not taming the ones out here. You don’t do that shit. Once they’re wild, they stay wild.”

“Are the feral dogs dangerous?”

“Fuck, yeah. More than wolves. They’re bigger and meaner. Lot less scared of humans, too. It’s just wrong to go from being wild to tame or vice versa. If you see a dog, I’m not saying to shoot it on sight. But if it makes any aggressive moves? Yeah, you have to put it down.”

We step out of the woods into an open area near mountain foothills. I admire the scenery for a moment before coming back with, “But the cats are fine?”

“Unless they’re rabid. Or just crazy. It happens. Fucking with nature is a problem, like I said. Worst, though, are the hogs. More dangerous than the black bears.”

“Tell me the wild chickens aren’t dangerous.”

“Unless they fly out in front of your horse, which they do sometimes. Unseated a guy years back. Broke his neck. The rabbits, though? The rabbits haven’t killed anyone.” He pauses. “So far.”





Eight

As we continue along the foothills, I drink in the scenery. Most of the trees are evergreens, but there are enough deciduous changing colour to remind me of home. It’s a perfect autumn day, crisp and clear.

“Given the many, many dangers of the forest, I’m presuming you guys don’t do a lot of activities out here.”

He shrugs. “Nah, we do. Some of us, anyway.”

“Any rock climbing?” I say, gesturing at the craggy face of the mountain.

He nods. “Anders is into it. We go out sometimes with a few of the others. Caving, too. Former resident was into that. Mapped out caves. Taught me. We go sometimes—Anders, me, few others. Only those who can handle themselves out here.”

“So that’s a no, then?”

He frowns back at me.

“You’re subtly telling me not to ask to join you.”

He snorts. “If you think I’m capable of being subtle, you aren’t very perceptive, detective.” He peers over. “You want to come out with us?”

“I might.” I shrug.

I’m trying for nonchalance. I don’t want to sound like I’m brown-nosing. Nor do I want to jump in like an eager kid. But his thoughtful look vanishes, he turns away and grunts something I don’t catch, and I’ve made a misstep.

Before I can try again, he points and says, “Gonna have to do a bit of rock climbing now. We need to get there.”

I follow his finger to see what looks like a crack high in the rock face.

“What’s up there?” I ask.

“Cave. Like I said.”

“I expected something bigger.”

“If the opening was bigger, there’d be something bigger in it. Like a bear. And it is bigger on the inside.”

“Like the Tardis?” As I say it, I mentally kick myself—pop culture references make him uncomfortable—but he makes a noise suspiciously like a chuckle and says, “Yeah, except no time travelling.”

He catches my expression, shakes his head, and says, “Ever heard of those amazing devices calls DVDs?”

“Sure, but what do you play them on up here?”

“Tree stumps. If you carve them out just right and get ground squirrels to run around them really fast, you can project moving pictures on a wall.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We have a DVD player,” he says as he starts up the slope. “We hook it up to a screen and generator for movie nights. As sheriff, I have a laptop and access to the generator for charging. I also have an income that I can spend down south on shit like DVDs. You want to watch something? Ask me. My collection is limited, though. Right now I’ve got Doctor Who, The Walking Dead, and Game of Thrones.”