We place Kenny under Dalton’s version of work release. He’ll do the lumber-shed repairs during the day and spend his nights in Brady’s new residence, as we give his cell to Roy instead. As for our suspicions with Kenny, we will say nothing to the council. As far as they’ll know, we are punishing him for letting Brady escape on his watch.

Kenny will be leaving as soon as this is over, and we will let him go, even if that means he’s going to collect a reward down south for helping Brady. Otherwise, if the council knows, we cannot trust he’ll survive the trip south, and whatever mistake he’s made, it doesn’t deserve the death penalty.

We spend the next day combing the forest for Val and Jacob. Dalton’s trying not to freak out about that. There is no sign that anything has happened to his brother, and this is how Jacob lives. He moves with game and the seasons and whatever whim strikes him.

Jacob’s life, though, means Dalton can’t pick up a phone and call to warn him about Brady. Jacob comes and goes, and that stresses his brother out at the best of times. The fact we can’t find him means absolutely nothing. It’s just driving Dalton crazy.

* * *

We take an ATV out the next morning. We have three of them—two smaller ones that can take a passenger on the back and a side-by-side that only travels on the widest trails.

I’ve been trying to talk Dalton into dirt bikes for getting deeper into the forest. In fact, when the council told us we’d get a windfall from Brady, that’s what Dalton said to me, trying to find an upside—we’ll get a couple of those bikes you’ve been talking about. Which apparently isn’t happening now.

We’re riding one of the smaller ATVs. I’m on the back. We’ll switch at some point—Dalton knows there’s no way I’m taking the bitch seat for the whole trip.

Storm runs along behind us. We aren’t going that fast, and we don’t really have a destination in mind. We’re just covering ground and making a lot of noise doing it, in hopes that if Jacob is around, he’ll pop out. Or that Val will come stumbling from the forest, having been abandoned by Brady three days ago.

We’re zipping along a straightaway. I have my visor open as I scan the forest. Dalton’s turning to say something just as a massive shaggy shape tromps onto the path.

“Bear!” I yell.

Dalton hits the brake. The figure in front of us shouts, “Bear? Do I look like a fucking bear?”

The man is over six feet tall. Massive shoulders. Grizzled shaggy hair and beard. Dressed in a brown jacket that he’s pieced together from skins and fur.

“A fucking bear, no,” I say as I hop off the ATV. “A standing one? Absolutely.”

“Ha!” Cypher jabs a finger my way and says to Dalton, “See, boy? That is what we call a sense of humor.”

“You get our note?” Dalton says.

“Good to see you, too,” Cypher says as he bends to pet the dog. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. Weather’s been clear. Hunting’s good.”

“We have a problem.”

Cypher plunks his ass down right on the path and then pulls a kerchief full of jerky from his jacket. One piece goes to Storm. He holds out another for me.

“I said—” Dalton begins.

“That you have a problem. I was hoping you’d say something new and original. You want to know how to solve your endless problems? Take your girl here and leave that piece-of-shit town. I did not get your note. I haven’t been to the cabin in days. I heard the ATV and thought I’d say hi. Beginning to regret that.”

“Brent’s dead,” Dalton says.

Cypher stops. He looks at me, as if checking whether he’s heard wrong.

“He was shot by a prisoner who escaped from Rockton,” I say. “Gutshot. We found him the next morning. He lived long enough to confirm who killed him.”

“Fuck.” A moment’s pause. Then, “Fuck.” Another pause, this one followed by a knitting of his brows as he looks up. “Did you say prisoner?”

When we finish explaining, he says, “You let the fucking council—”

“We didn’t let them do anything,” I cut in. “You know how it works.”

“Yeah, which is why I got the hell outta Dodge. You couldn’t stop them from dropping off that guy, but you didn’t need to accept the delivery.”

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “Coulda just left him there, a few hundred feet from town. A guy who tortures people to death for fun. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Okay, fine. You had to take him—onto the back of your ATV there, and then head to the swamp and dump his ass. I’d give him three days. If swamp fever doesn’t kill him, the mosquitoes will.”

When we don’t answer, he looks from me to Dalton. “Fuck, no. Do not tell me this guy said he was innocent. No, scratch that. Of course he told you that. The fuck no is fuck no, tell me you didn’t consider the possibility. Well, I guess you know better now.”

“Because he ran?” Dalton says. “Yeah, if I was brought up here, held prisoner for crimes I didn’t commit, I’d just plop my ass down—like you on this damned path—and sit it out.”

“My ass is on the damned path because I’m tired. So is your puppy. I’m resting for her.”

“We entertained doubts about his guilt,” I say. “Those doubts had no impact on our treatment of him.”

“Except that they kept you from dumping him in the swamp. Or taking him behind the hangar and putting a bullet through his skull. That’s why you’re in this situation, kids. You don’t have what it takes to run that town properly.”

“No, we don’t have what it takes to be run out of that town,” I say. “If we killed Brady, the council would have put Eric on the next plane out.”

“Not if you did it right. Hire an expert. I’d have taken him out cheap. You could even blame me if you wanted—we took that kid for a walk, and Ty Cypher came roaring out of the forest. You know what he’s like. Fucking certifiable. Dragged the poor kid off, and a hail of bullets couldn’t stop him.”

“What we should have done doesn’t matter,” I say. “The point is that he’s out there, and he took Val, and he killed Brent, and I don’t care if that wasn’t what he had in mind, if I see him, there will be a hail of bullets. Our priority right now is twofold. Find Val and warn Jacob.”

“Well, I can’t help you with the first. If I’d seen a lady out here, I’d have noticed. I’d have come to her rescue right quick, hoping she’d have been grateful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t give me that look, girlie. I mean I’d have hoped for a reward of the material variety. I’m not a perv.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you came to Rockton because you slept with a mark instead of killing her? And you slept with her because she was grateful for your warning?”

“Which means I have learned my lesson about gratitude. It is safer in tangible form. However, I can help you with Jakey. Saw him yesterday morning, carving up a bull caribou over by Elk Ridge. He let me have the heart. I am very fond of hearts. Builds strength.”

“You ate a raw caribou heart?”

“Fuck no. I cooked it.” A grunt as he hefts himself to his feet and hands Dalton the last piece of jerky. “I’ll take you to the site. You gotta leave the wheels, though. I’m too old to run behind it with the dog.”

“You need more caribou hearts,” I say.

“Evidently.”