City of the Lost

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Butler!"

  I barely hear Dalton's shout over the roar of the fire. I move faster. I have to get to her before he comes back into this burning building.

  "Casey!"

  The door opens with a whoosh, the wind and the change in pressure making the smoke clear long enough for me to see the woman. She's sitting propped against a stack of wood, her hand resting on something red.

  Resting on a gas can.

  Shit, oh shit.

  I just risked my life to save a goddamned killer.

  "Casey!" Dalton shouts.

  I try to answer but can barely whisper. I cover the last few feet to the woman. I'm here now--I can't turn around and leave her.

  Under her dark coat, she wears a pale blouse. It's covered in blood. One hand clutches the knife, the other rests on the gas can. I grab the wrist holding the knife, and she makes no move to resist. Her fist opens. The knife falls. I take it. Then, as I reach to grab her shirt, I see it again. Pale pink blouse. Peter Pan collar. Embroidering down the front.

  I know this shirt.

  Blinking hard, I rise up on my knees until my face is inches from hers. Only then do I see more than a pale blur. I see Diana's face.

  Her eyes are open, and she's staring right at me, but she doesn't seem to see me. She hacks, doubling over, and her coughing ignites mine, and it's a beacon for Dalton. His hands grab my shoulders and yank me back.

  "No!" I croak. "Di--"

  I can't even get the rest out. I'm coughing too hard, and he's picking me up, running for the exit, and I can't fight, don't dare. There's no way to communicate, and every second lost is a second we don't have.

  He kicks the door open and we're through. Then he throws me to the ground. Literally throws me, like a sack of flour. I hit the grass, knife falling from my hand as I'm hacking and groaning, half blinded by the smoke. I twist around and say, "Di--"

  But he's gone back for her, and I shout, "No!" and push to my feet. I'll get her. I'll do it. I'll take that risk. I don't want him taking it for her. I don't want anyone else taking it for her after what she's done.

  It's too late. He's inside, and I'm left stumbling toward the shed, hacking so hard I can barely move. I reach the door, and I pull it open, and I'm about to go in when I hear running footfalls. Anders appears, others following, brought by the smoke seeping through the cracks.

  They see the smoke billowing from the open door. Anders is on me, scooping me up to get me away from the fire.

  "No," I croak. "Eric."

  "Eric's--? Fuck!" He sets me down as fast as he can, shouting, "Get Beth! Now!" but I'm right behind him.

  He vanishes into the smoke before I make it. Then I see him again, a stumbling figure. I leap to grab him, to direct him, but I realize it's not Anders. It's Dalton, with Diana over his shoulder. He manages one last step and collapses. Then Anders is there, thank God, and he's grabbing Diana as she falls, and I have both hands wrapped in Dalton's shirt, dragging him farther from the door. Anders shouts, and someone's there to help me. I don't even look up to see who it is.

  We manage to get Dalton out of the smoke and away from the inferno pouring through that open doorway. I put out the fire on his shirt and jeans. That's when I realize he still isn't moving.

  He's not breathing.

  I start CPR. I don't even think whether I remember it well enough. I start and then Anders is there, saying, "I can do that," and I say, between breaths, "Am I doing it wrong?" and he gives a strained chuckle and says, "No."

  "Chest," I say. "Take over--"

  "Chest compressions. Okay. But if you need me to--"

  "Got it."

  "You've swallowed a lot of--"

  "Got it."

  I might have barely been breathing a minute ago, but all that evaporates as I focus on my task. Breath-one-two. Nothing.

  Goddamn it, Dalton!

  Anders's chest compressions are hard enough to crack a rib, but I say nothing. The look in his eyes tells me he's freaking out. Hell, we both are. I let him continue his compressions and tell myself a cracked rib is nothing.

  My turn. Breath-one-two.

  Goddamn--!

  Dalton coughs.

  We flip him over fast, and Dalton coughs up smoke-blackened mucus. He's on all fours, supporting himself, waving Anders away when he tries to help.

  "Oh my God," a voice says. Footsteps run over and I look up to see Beth, her eyes wide with panic. "Eric!"

  "Mick's dead," he says, his hand going up when she tries to kneel beside him. "Check Diana. Then Casey. I'm fine."

  "You are not--"

  "Diana first," he says with enough snap that I wince as Beth flinches. "Then Casey. I'm fine."

  She backs up, looking confused and hurt, until Anders leads her to Diana.

  "You okay?" Dalton asks me as he sits.

  "I'm not the one who passed out."

  "I'm not the one who caught on fire," he says, and reaches out to catch a lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers, the singed pieces raining down.

  "It'll grow." I cough. "Shouldn't have gone back in."

  "Yeah, you shouldn't have."

  "I mean you. She--" I hack again, hard enough that I feel like I'm going to cough up lung tissue. He thumps my back and looks toward Beth, but she's busy with Diana, so I say I'm fine, then, "She killed Mick. Diana. I--" I look over at the knife, the blade covered in blood. "She was holding that, and she had her hand on a gas can. The blood on her shirt ... I don't think it's hers. I tried to tell you."

  "Would you have stayed out?" He doesn't wait for a response. "Hell, no, you wouldn't. So I'd have gone in anyway. We have no idea what happened in there, Casey. An hour ago, we were considering Mick a suspect."

  I stop. Blink. I just jumped to the conclusion that Diana murdered a man when I have no idea if that's what happened. Mick could be the killer and Diana saved herself from becoming his next victim, and all I thought was, She's guilty. My best friend. The woman I've known half my life.

  Dalton leans toward me, voice lowered. "You okay?"

  I nod. "Some smoke inhalation and--"

  "Not what I mean. And a fucking stupid question anyway, isn't it? You're not going to be okay, either way this played out."

  "Boss?" It's Anders.

  Dalton pulls back fast. He'd been leaning in to be heard over the chaos. It wasn't as if everyone was standing around watching the lumber shed burn. A dozen men and women were fighting the fire with buckets of water and blankets.

  "Eric?" Anders says, and we both push to our feet. "Mick's gone, like you thought. Someone should tell Isabel before she--"

  At that very second, Isabel comes running around the building.

  "Shit," Anders says, then, "I'll handle this."

  He takes off to intercept her. Someone shouts for Dalton, and he looks over, squinting through the haze. His gaze follows the man's finger up to the roof, where flame has broken through ... a scant few feet from the next building.

  "Goddamn it!" Dalton starts running toward the others. "Sam! Kenny! Get everyone you can find. Tell them to bring all the water they can carry."

  I jog up behind him. "Give me a job."

  He looks me up and down, assessing damage, and then nods. "The building two doors down has more fire blankets. Grab two guys and bring all of them."

  I nod and take off.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  As soon as the fire is under control, Dalton tries to send me to check on Diana. I pretend not to hear and keep hauling water. When the blaze is finally out, he says, "Get your ass over to the infirmary, Butler. If you don't want to admit you're worried about her, then I'm your boss ordering you to make sure a suspect is secured."

  We're alone when he says that. No one else knows we'd found Diana with the murder weapon and accelerant.

  "Sure as fuck don't need that," he said earlier. "Got enough problems without worrying someone'll try to lynch her."

  I could say he was being colourful, but Rockton has taught me that you can't
underestimate the speed with which we humans can undo a thousand years of civilization. We aren't nearly at Lord of the Flies level inside the town limits, but if you walk a mile into the wilderness, you'll find Golding's world come to life.

  The changes that come with living this way are not all a regression, though, and I see proof of that tonight. Everyone pitches in, whether it's helping with the fire or bringing wash basins and cold drinks and fresh clothes for those fighting the fire.

  As for Diana, she's been taken home and sedated. I pop my head in, but she's unconscious. Beth's busy at the clinic treating burns and smoke inhalation, and I'm not going to interrupt her to ask about Diana's condition. So I head out to find Dalton. When I hear that Val has summoned him, I pick up my pace.

  A lantern glows in Val's house. Voices drift from a partly open window.

  "--one resident dead, another half dead," Val is saying.

  "His name was Mick. Hers is Diana."

  "Don't correct me."

  "I'm reminding you. I know how hard it is for you to remember people. Well, I'd say that you just don't give a shit, but it's been a fucking horrible night, Val. Otherwise, I'd also complain about how you didn't even leave your goddamn house, and that's a conversation best left for a more respectable hour."

  "Five people are dead, sheriff, and--"

  "Here, let me save us both some time. Five people are dead, and I'm a fucking lousy sheriff because I haven't stopped a killer."

  "We hired you a detective, and I don't see that it's made any difference."

  "Butler is doing just fine. Without her, you'd have had another body in that fire. I'm also not convinced tonight's crime is connected to the others."

  "So your lack of progress is emboldening others--"

  "It's been two fucking weeks, Val. Do you know how often we catch killers faster than that? Only when they're standing beside the damned body, sobbing a confession. That's pretty much the only sort of murders we get. This is different. Let us do our job--"

  "The council is not pleased."

  "Fucking shock of the century. Tell them I don't give a shit. Those exact words, please." Footsteps as he heads for the door.

  Val calls after him. "One building destroyed. Another damaged. Our entire stockpile of wood gone. Half our supply of water depleted."

  "Yeah, it's called a fire. Which is why I've been telling the council for years that we need to be better prepared for one. If Casey and I hadn't been there in time, we could have lost half the fucking town. I'll pass on the council's thanks."

  More footfalls. He is heading to the rear door. I back up past the corner.

  "Murder, drugs, fire--this town is a mess, Eric. If you can't do the job--"

  "The council will boot my ass out the front gate. Heard it. Not concerned. I'm the best damned sheriff you've had since this place opened. And yeah, that includes my father. Otherwise, the council would have hauled him back to deal with these murders. Good night, Valerie."

  He saunters out the back, his head high. The door slaps shut behind him, and he thumps down the porch steps. In a few long strides, he's beside the house. Then he stops, out of sight, and that steel melts from his spine and there's a moment there, of turmoil and fear, so unguarded and raw that my gut twists in shame for watching. I'm backing away when he notices the movement.

  "I'm sorry," I say as I walk to him. "I heard voices and--"

  "It's fine."

  He starts walking and motions for me to keep up. At the road, he pauses to look at the still-smouldering lumber shed, at the smoke creeping over the town, at people with scorched jackets and soot-streaked faces on porches catching their breath, no one talking, everyone realizing how bad it could have been. He falters, that unguarded look returning for a moment before he blinks it back. Down the road, someone sees him and steps off a porch to wait. Someone else follows.

  "Fuck," he says.

  "I'm sure they just have questions, but you don't need to deal with that right now."

  He exhales again, that slow stream of exhaustion. "Nah, I should..." He trails off, as if he can't even summon the energy to finish his sentence.

  "We need to check the forest," I say.

  "Hmm?" He looks over, eyes unfocused.

  "We should check the forest, in case sparks spread to fire there."

  "It couldn't have..." He catches my look and nods. "Right. Yeah. Should make sure."

  "You head on in. I'll run over and tell them you'll make a statement later."

  It's dawn now, which would make a lovely sunrise as we head east ... if we weren't surrounded by towering evergreens. As it is, it's a peaceful walk, the early morning light seeping through. I think we're wandering aimlessly. Of course, we aren't. Dalton leads me to a fallen tree, one so big I need to jump up to perch on top of it.

  I unhook the backpack I brought and take out two beers, wrapped in a towel.

  "I snagged these from the station," I say. "We haven't slept, so technically it's not morning yet."

  He takes one with a grunted thanks. We drink, staring out at the forest.

  "Do you know Val was attacked out here?" I say. "Shortly after she arrived?"

  "What?"

  "She got separated--"

  "Yeah, I remember. I wasn't part of the patrol party, but I helped search. She wandered off, got lost, and showed up in the morning."

  "After being attacked by two men. Hostiles, I suspect, given her description. She said they threatened to teach her a lesson about trespassing and then fell asleep, letting her escape."

  He looks over, frowning.

  "They didn't fall asleep after threatening her. Not right away, at least."

  He exhales. "Fuck."

  "Yes, but she denies it, and we need to let her keep that delusion for now. But it explains why she hates this place and why she stays in the house. And partially why she doesn't trust you. You're connected to this forest. To the place that hurt her. To the men who hurt her. It isn't logical, but I get the impression that Val likes her compartments. Everyone fits neatly into one."

  "Yeah." He stretches his legs. "I've always known she doesn't like me much. It's worse than that, isn't it?"

  "Val's a bitch," I say. "What happened to her is horrible, but it doesn't make her less of a bitch."

  "Nah. She doesn't have the spine to be a bitch. I wish she did, because that would be something I could fight. This?" He shakes his head. "Makes me feel like a dog barking at a dishcloth snapping in the wind. It might annoy the hell out of me, but barking at it doesn't do any good."

  A few minutes of silence, and then I say, "It's bullshit, threatening to kick you out. They never would. They need you."

  He shrugs.

  "Seriously," I say. "No one would want to lose you."

  "Locals, you mean. They're the ones who have to live here, and as much shit as I give them, they know this place needs hardcore law and order. But the council doesn't have to live in Rockton."

  "While I still don't think they'd ever kick you out, it might help to have a plan B. To imagine what you'd do in the worst scenario. So you feel you have some control."

  "I already know what I'd do."

  "And it doesn't help?"

  "Nope. Because I don't want to do it. It's just the only option. For me."

  That's all he says. I'm curious, of course, but I know to keep my distance, too. We sit there, drinking, until he points his bottle at the forest and says, "I'd go there."

  "Live in the forest?"

  He tenses, as if he's assessing my tone. After a moment, he relaxes. "Yeah. There's nothing for me down south."

  "If it's because there'd be a learning curve..." I say slowly.

  "No, it's because I'm not interested."

  Maybe that's partly true, but it's partly bullshit, too. Dalton has too much ego to deal with the constant sense that he doesn't fit in. And I'm not sure there is a satisfying life for him down there. He's thirty years old and runs an entire town. People snap to attention when he enters a room.
They respect him and they fear him and they admire him. Down south? He'd be a dictator in exile.

  "You could start a new Rockton," I say.

  He snorts a laugh.

  "I'm serious," I say.

  He looks over, lips still twitching, that smile extending to his eyes, warming them to a soft blue-grey. "You gonna help me start a new town, Casey?"

  "I don't know. It would take time, and someone's only letting me stay six months."

  He laughs at that, and it's a good sound to hear, a damned good sound, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are sparkling and I feel ... I feel things I don't want to feel, because I know there's no room in Eric Dalton's life for that, but I don't care. I'm not going to do anything about it, so there's no harm in feeling it.

  "Build a new town, huh?" he says. "Sure. No big deal."

  "Are you saying you couldn't handle it?"

  He catches the challenge in my voice, and that smile ignites into a grin.

  "You'd need to start small," I say. "Just take whoever would join you from Rockton and not worry about admitting new people for a few years. It would take at least that long to grow from a camp to a town. That's how you'd have to begin--as a camp. Preferably in spring, so you have until fall to get the first houses up."

  "You're fucking serious."

  "I am absolutely fucking serious, Sheriff Dalton. At least fifty people from town would follow you. That includes Will, Beth, and pretty much everyone in essential services. Hell, even I'd go, if someone decided I could stay more than six months."

  He chuckles and shakes his head again.

  I twist and lean toward him. "I'm not saying you should do it, Eric. I'm saying you should plan to do it. Work through all the details. Talk to Anders and Beth. They both know the shit the council puts you through. Make a plan. A solid plan. And the council will lose their hold on you because you have a backup, ready to launch."

  He finishes his beer and sets it aside. Then he sits there, rubbing his chin, and I'm certain he's thinking of how to tell me I'm crazy without kiboshing my enthusiasm.

  "Couldn't be too close to here," he says. "Fifty, a hundred kilometres away would work. There's plenty of land..."

  FORTY-NINE

  Dalton never says he's going to follow my advice and devise a solid backup plan. But we do spend the next hour hashing it over, so I know he'll give it serious consideration.

  He also never says anything about extending my six-month stay in Rockton. Was I hinting there? Yes, I was. I hate feeling that if I don't find a killer, I'll get my ass booted out before spring thaw. It also makes me feel like Dalton still doesn't consider me more than a casual acquaintance, someone whose company he enjoys well enough, but if she disappeared tomorrow he wouldn't miss her all that much. No insult intended, Butler. That's just how it is.