A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel

by Armstrong, Kelley

  “If there isn’t a gun pointed at me.”

  “Well, since I can’t tell whether there’s an arrow pointed at me, that’s a problem.”

  “Lower your weapon,” she says. “That will be enough.”

  “Agreed.”

  We proceed with care. She steps to a point where Dalton can spot her through the trees, and then I ease into the hatch opening.

  My gaze goes first to Victor. He lies slumped on the ground, his eyes shut. Dead? I can’t say for certain, but I think so, and if not, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I particularly want to do either as the image of that dead settler family surfaces.

  The shaman and I proceed step by careful step until we stand in the clearing less than three feet apart. This is the first time I’ve seen her in the full light of day. She’s older than I thought, definitely in her sixties. Her shoulder has been patched up more expertly than I would have expected, given the substandard medical care I saw on Maryanne.

  It’s one thing to lack the skills to do better; it’s another to have those skills and withhold them, and my dislike for this woman solidifies into something close to hate. I rein it in. I can’t afford that. I’m here to get my people to safety, and protect Edwin and Felicity, and help those hostiles who will accept it.

  “You shot me,” the shaman says without preamble.

  “You tried to attack us.”

  “I tried to attack the man who murdered one of my people. You also killed my husband and two more of my people a year ago.”

  “Again, in self-defense. They took us captive, and they planned to kill us for our clothing and supplies.”

  Anger surges through my voice. I want to say more. I want to say that this is what they do at her behest. They will kill us for trespassing on their territory. They will kill us for our goods. They will take us captive and brainwash us like they did to Maryanne. I don’t know what Bennett’s story is, but my gut says he wasn’t with them by choice. They had lost men. They needed more, and so they took one. Because this woman told them to.

  If I start down that road, I will not come back. So I say, as evenly as I can, “We are not your enemy.”

  She snorts.

  “Your group attacked three people in the forest last week,” I say. “They were with him.” I nod back at Victor. “You attacked because they were hunting you. Because you had reason to believe you were in danger. Yes?”

  No answer.

  “Did you not attack them?” I press. “Are you not responsible?”

  Still nothing, which tells me I’m correct. She just doesn’t deign to answer.

  “You did. Presuming it was self-defense, that’s between you and them. It has nothing to do with my people in that plane or the settlers you’ve kidnapped.”

  Her face remains implacable, and my frustration rises.

  “What do you want?” I say.

  “To be left alone.”

  I gesture toward Victor again. “Considering you just killed the last of the four who came after you, it seems you’ve got your wish.”

  “More will come.”

  “Not if I can stop it, which I think I can. However, if you kill us, more will definitely come, because the only people who give a shit about you are here.”

  Her lip curls. “You’ll protect us, will you?”

  “Yes, Heidi,” says a voice behind us. “They’ll protect you.”

  At the name, the woman’s head jerks up, her lip curling even more as her gaze lands on Émilie, sliding from the plane as Dalton grabs for her. Émilie brushes him off and steps forward.

  “Hello, Heidi,” Émilie says. “I always wondered where you ended up.”

  The woman—Heidi—lets out a sound dangerously close to a growl.

  “She’s . . .” I glance at Émilie. “She’s one of the researchers, isn’t she? One of the original Danish employees.”

  “Not Danish. Canadian. Heidi worked for us—worked with me—until she quit about a year before the Danish firm sent two researchers up here. Apparently, she got a better offer. Funny that she wouldn’t just say so. Our firms were working together. Or so I thought. She obviously knew better.”

  “So you came to Rockton,” I say to Heidi. “You and your new colleague joined the Second Settlement and quietly developed the stronger version of Hendricks’s teas. Then you took settlers into the wilderness to create your own cult.”

  Her entire face contorts in a sneer. I knew it would. That’s the point. Make up something so insulting that she’ll rise to the bait.

  “Cult? We were professionals. We were conducting research. Then the firm decided they were done with us. Time to come home, they said. Home? Yes, in a casket.”

  Heidi turns to Émilie. “They did headhunt me away from you, but I thought I was just changing jobs. A new challenge. A new chance to make a name for myself. Then Georg told me the truth. If we failed, we lost our value as assets and became liabilities. They’d kill us. Kill us.” Her voice rises.

  “And you believed him?” I say.

  “No, I did not. I agreed, however, to run. To be careful. Our employers came after us. Tried to kill us. There was no doubt then.”

  “Georg was the other researcher,” I say. “Your partner. The man who died last year.”

  A bitter laugh. “No, that was not Georg. We parted ways long ago. We divided our people.”

  “He leads the other group.”

  “Did. He died years ago. He was a fool. I should have known that. Only a fool would have taken that job knowing how it could end. A greedy fool.”

  “When your research failed, you became a threat to—”

  “We did not fail. We did as they asked. We created what they asked, and I perfected its use. You’ve seen my people. Soldiers who follow my orders without question. I gave that company what it wanted, and then I was stuck living with these . . . these creatures.”

  It takes everything in me not to grab my gun and pistol-whip her. She created these “creatures,” and then she kept creating them long after the study ended. Kept them as her own private cult.

  She might hate that word, but it’s true. She created a cult of half zombies who did her bidding, and at any time she could have stopped providing the narcotics and freed their minds. But she didn’t. She may not have been drinking as much as the others, but she’d become an addict in her own way. Addicted to the power of controlling lives.

  “It’s all over now,” Émilie says. “I had nothing to do with what happened to you, and now that I know the truth, I can help you out of this. I’ll protect you. I’ll take you home.”

  “Home?” Heidi’s voice rises with that fresh edge of hysteria, and as I look into her eyes, a shiver runs through me.

  Here is the full answer for what I’m seeing. Yes, Heidi had been trapped in the wilderness, unable to go home. Yes, the power she discovered was addictive. But that doesn’t explain all of this. Madness does, and that is what I see in her eyes. Madness.

  For years, the sheriffs of Rockton presumed the hostiles were simply people who’d reverted to a more primitive form. I’d dismissed that, but it is part of the answer. Heidi is not sane. She likely hasn’t met the legal definition of that word in a very long time.

  She lost something out here. Lost or surrendered it. Dr. Moreau on her island, creating creatures to serve her, descending into madness.

  “You think I can go home?” she says. “After all this? Pick up where I left off? My friends and family have long forgotten me. And look at me. Look. There is no going home.”

  “Yes, there is. I can—”

  Heidi lunges at Émilie, and I pull my gun, but Heidi’s rush is only a feint, cut short before Émilie can even stagger back. Heidi looks at my gun and instead of snarling at me to put it away, she smiles.

  She smiles.

  That wasn’t a feint. She wanted me to pull my gun. She wanted her people to see that and think she is under attack.

  Dalton scrambles from the plane, shouting, “Get the hell over her
e, Casey!”

  But nothing moves in the forest, and barely a heartbeat passes before Anders shouts, “Clear!”

  “All of them?” I yell back.

  “The three archers are in cuffs. There was another woman with a knife. She bolted.”

  Heidi snarls, spinning on the forest. “Liar!”

  “It’s over, Heidi,” Émilie says.

  Heidi wheels on her, but Émilie raises Petra’s little gun and says, “No.”

  “Fine,” Heidi spits. “Let me go. I’ll—”

  “It is over.” Émilie enunciates each word. “You are going home, whether you want to or not. Your people are going home, whether they want to or not.”

  “They’ll want to,” Maryanne says as she comes around the back of the plane. “Most will. Once their minds are clear. Even if they joined by choice, no one stayed by choice.”

  “You!” Heidi lunges at Maryanne, but I grab her as Dalton comes over to tie her hands.

  Heidi pulls harder than I expect, and she breaks free, getting two steps before Maryanne yells, “No!,” and I think she means Heidi. But then I see Maryanne running for the plane. The boy, Bennett, is out of the plane and aiming a gun at Heidi. Maryanne is running right into the line of fire.

  “Maryanne!” I shout as I lunge her way.

  But Bennett doesn’t shoot. He just stands, frozen. Then Maryanne is there, taking the gun from him, and he lets her, his eyes glistening with tears as he rocks in place.

  “She’s—she’s—” he says.

  “She’s nothing,” Maryanne says to him as we cuff Heidi. “Not anymore.”

  He nods and falls against her shoulder as her arms go around him.

  36

  We don’t linger after that. Victor is definitely dead, and he’s taken any further answers with him. We need to find Edwin and Felicity. We know at least one hostile fled, possibly to warn those holding them captive. Following Bennett’s directions, Dalton and I take off with Storm and leave the handcuffed hostiles with Petra and Anders.

  It turns out there’s no need for concern. Yes, the remaining hostile did run to the others, but only to warn them to flee. The three of them melted into the forest, leaving Felicity and Edwin, who are half out of their bindings by the time we arrive. They’re unharmed. They were only pawns, grabbed by a madwoman because she’d been sane enough to know that if they’d been coming from Rockton, they could be valuable hostages.

  As we’re escorting Edwin and Felicity, we meet two of Edwin’s men searching. We leave Edwin and Felicity with them after securing a promise that they’ll send Sebastian home tomorrow.

  Once they’re on their way, we take a moment to breathe, just breathe. And then we head back to help Anders get the hostiles to Rockton.

  * * *

  Four captive hostiles. I don’t include Bennett in that. He’s been a prisoner for two months, and we won’t treat him as one now. On the way to Rockton, we get his story. He’s from a community nearly two days’ walk from here. A couple of months ago, he’d been captured while hunting away from home. His family and community will certainly have been searching for him, but he hadn’t told anyone where he was going—he’d left after a fight with his parents, needing time alone. He’s eighteen, and the authorities may have written him off as a runaway. In northern communities, particularly Indigenous ones, that’s often as far as an official “investigation” goes.

  For Bennett, the last couple of months are a blur. He barely believes me when I tell him it’s May—he’d presumed this must be a freakishly early thaw, because there’s no way two months have passed. We’ll need to have a long talk about what happened and what to tell his community, but he’s a smart kid, and I trust he’ll help us out with whatever spin we put on it.

  We don’t bring the hostiles into Rockton. That’s unsafe on so many levels. We put them in the hangar. Émilie, Phil, and the council arrange a swift pickup.

  Do we trust the council with this? I can’t even begin to answer that. All I know is that our priority is Rockton and its residents, and I will grudgingly trust Émilie to oversee the hostiles’ proper care and rehabilitation.

  As for the small group still left in the forest, any action there has been put on hold. Rounding them up and shipping them south for reintegration smacks of some very ugly history, but in this case—knowing that most have been unwilling participants in an experiment—it’s a move we must seriously consider.

  Dalton and I are in the Roc. It’s two in the morning. Going on forty-eight hours without sleep, and now that the hostiles are gone, we should be in bed. But Isabel wanted a celebratory drink, in honor of solving the hostile mystery, and the truth is that I’m not sure I could sleep just yet.

  So we’re in the Roc waiting for Isabel. A single candle lights the silent building. Storm sleeps nearby, a celebratory bone abandoned nearly untouched before she drifted off.

  “You did it,” Dalton says, his arms around me as I stand with my back to the wall.

  He hugs me so tight I can’t breathe. There are congratulations in that hug and there is pride and there is love, and there are all the things I desperately wanted from my family growing up and never got. I can wallow in self-pity about that, or I can accept that my family was unable to give what I needed. They did love me. They were proud of me. Whatever I lacked, I have it now, in this place, with this man, and my eyes flood with tears.

  I look up at him and say, “Do you think it’s enough? That this will fix things?”

  He hesitates, and then his smile falters. It doesn’t break or evaporate. One second of dismay, and it returns with a fierceness that sends pride and love coursing through me.

  “It will be,” he says. “We’ll make sure it is.”

  “I fear it’s not that easy, Eric,” says a soft voice from the shadows.

  We turn to see Isabel, bottle in hand as she closes the storeroom door.

  “Rey Sol Añejo,” she says as she lifts the tequila. “Bought specially for when you solved this mystery, Casey, because I knew you would.” She sets the bottle down. “You solved all the mysteries. Dead tourists who weren’t tourists at all. Dead settlers mistaken for hostiles. And the hostiles themselves—the biggest mystery of all. Solved in one fell swoop.”

  She pours a shot of tequila and holds it out.

  As I take it, she says, “But now comes the big question. Does it matter? Yes, I know what’s happening here. Phil told me your suspicions, and I think you’re right. They are shutting us down. The hostiles were the apparent reason but . . .”

  “They were an excuse,” I say.

  “Jury’s still out on that one,” says another voice, and I look to see the door open, Petra coming in, others following. Kenny and then April. Mathias and Anders. Phil bringing up the rear and shutting the door behind them.

  “Surprise!” Petra says, throwing up her arms.

  I chuckle, the sound a little ragged. “Not sure if this is a surprise party or an intervention.”

  “Party?” April says. “I was told it was a meeting to plan—”

  “—to discuss,” Isabel says as she passes out shots. “A meeting to discuss our future as a town. Or for now, just to say that we’re in.”

  “You’re in . . . ?” I begin.

  “For your relocation plan,” she says. “Yours and Eric’s.”

  Petra clears her throat.

  “Yes,” Isabel says. “Some of us believe we’re jumping the gun, and it will all work out fine, but I’m told you believe in planning ahead. Having contingencies, just in case.”

  “Who told . . . ?” I look at Dalton.

  He shrugs. “I said everything would be okay. I didn’t say how it would be.”

  Phil says, “Like Petra, I believe this is indeed jumping the gun. But I also agree with you, Casey, that contingency plans are never a waste of time. I’m not saying I’d join you if you relocated, but I believe I can be of assistance on the management side of preparations.”

  I look across their faces, and the
tears well again.

  April strides over, casting a cold look at the others. “Petra and Phil are correct. This discussion is premature, and it upsets Casey unnecessarily.”

  I smile at her and shake my head. “I’m not upset, April. Just . . .” I’m not sure how to articulate what this means to me, seeing all these people—our friends—here to support the idea of Rockton, to support us and our ability to make it happen. So I just take a deep breath and say, “Thank you. It—it means a lot.”

  “And hopefully will indeed be unnecessary,” Isabel says. “But in case it isn’t, I declare this the first meeting of the potential next Rockton. Drink up, and let’s talk.”

  More Rockton To Come

  I hope you enjoyed A Stranger in Town. Casey has finally solved the mystery of the hostiles, but is it enough to stop the council from shutting down Rockton for good? That question will be answered in book seven, coming in 2022. Watch my website for more details!

  About the Author

  Kelley Armstrong believes experience is the best teacher, though she’s been told this shouldn’t apply to writing her murder scenes. To craft her books, she has studied aikido, archery and fencing. She sucks at all of them. She has also crawled through very shallow cave systems and climbed half a mountain before chickening out. She is however an expert coffee drinker and a true connoisseur of chocolate-chip cookies.

  Visit her online:

  www.KelleyArmstrong.com

  mail@kelleyarmstrong.com