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“Oh, absolutely. You think you’ll be here long?”
They were climbing now. To her right, steep hills bristling with dark spruce and spindly birch. To her left, the ground dropped further and further away. She could see the glint of water in the distance. The Susitna River. Barbara swallowed. She didn’t like heights. Or water.
“Well, I guess it depends on what I find,” she said.
She glanced up and saw Al frown. “No offense,” he said. “But seems like it’s pretty clear what happened.”
“Is that so?” She couldn’t help the slight edge that had crept into her voice.
“Yes, ma’am. I get why you’re here. You gotta tick the right boxes. But everyone in town knows one of them Colony killed the boy. Not saying they did it malicious. I mean, they can’t help themselves, but it doesn’t change the facts. A young boy is dead.”
She forced a smile. “Well, I’m not much of a box-ticker, Al. I just want to find the person responsible.”
He carried on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Look, I’m no ’phobe or nothing. Live and let live and all that. But it’s like an animal. I love my dog, but if she bit a kid I’d shoot her, no second thoughts. Once they get a taste of blood, they’re gonna come back for more. Same thing.”
“And would you also kill that dog’s pups and any other dogs in its pack?” Barbara asked.
“If I didn’t know which dog done the biting, yes, ma’am.”
The cross swung to and fro. The land slipped further away. The road was precarious now. Barbara was suddenly very conscious of the icy snow beneath Al’s tires. They were heavy-duty snow tires, and his cab was more of a 4x4, but still. One small slip and they’d be rolling down into the river’s icy depths. She didn’t want to distract Al, so she swallowed her retort and nodded. “Well, I’m sure you’re right. But I’m booked in here for a week, so if I find I’ve got some time to kill, what else do you reckon I should do?”
Al smiled, and he was off again. Barbara decided she preferred Al the tour guide. She sat back in her seat as the road started to descend. The car rolled along the highway, then turned on to a narrower track. The dark expanse of forest hugged the blacktop either side. Above them the sky had begun to ditch into darkness. Barbara checked her watch. Just after 3:15 p.m. A lot of darkness in Alaska at this time of year. Further north, it would soon be the start of the polar night: twenty-four-hour darkness for a little over two months. Even here, in the central region, she’d be lucky to see five hours of daylight. That was why the colonies settled here. In summer, they spent more time hibernating. Sun wouldn’t kill them, but it wasn’t comfortable. Central still offered a decent amount of night, although some colonies moved in the summer, to areas with less midnight sun.
Up ahead, the cab’s lights illuminated a makeshift wooden sign at the side of the road: Deadhart. Population 673. Underneath, some bright spark had added: Living.
Nice. Of course, the population was now 672, Barbara thought.
The car rounded another wide bend, the trees thinned, and the town came into view.
“What the—”
Although it was only early November, the town was lit up like a Christmas wonderland. Lights. Lots of lights. Every building along the small main street was adorned with row upon row of twinkling fairy lights. Windows glowed with shimmering stars and crosses. Trees had been strung with multicolored bulbs. Some residents had gone for broke with sparkling reindeer and flashing “Merry Christmas” signs. Incongruously, these were mixed with Halloween lanterns and more traditional mounted antlers and animal skulls. Atop the roof of the general store a huge illuminated Santa waved his hand up and down, except some of the lights were busted so it looked like he was rubbing something else, closer to his bulging sack.
Barbara blinked. “Guess people really get into the festive spirit here in Deadhart.”
“It makes people feel safe,” Al said.
“They know that artificial light is no deterrent, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, but at least the lights mean you can see who or what is coming.”
“I guess so.”
“Where is it you want me to drop you?” Al asked. “Hotel or police department?”
“Erm, you can take me straight to the Police—”
Her words were cut off. Al slammed on the brakes. Barbara bit down hard on her tongue as she was thrown forward against her seatbelt.
“Shit!” Al cursed.
There was a thud. Barbara glanced up. A boy stared at them through the windscreen, face white, eyes wide, hands splayed on the cab’s hood.
Then, just as suddenly, he leaped up, clambered over the car’s roof and vaulted off the trunk. Al flung open his door, yelling after the boy, “You’d better not have damaged my car, you little shit!”
But the boy was gone, a blur disappearing between the buildings.
Al shook his head. “Damn kids.”
