City of the Lost (Rockton 1)

I peer up into the treetops.

"Too dense for her here," he says. "And she's not likely to strike when you have company. Predators are smart. They don't bite off more than they can chew ... or haul away."

"Lovely..."

"The guy who got killed had wandered off from the party. We only knew what happened because he screamed and someone spotted the cat dragging his body away. I suspect she only went after him because of the kittens. Spring's when you need to be particularly careful."

"I won't need to worry about it, since my six months are up by then."

He grunts in acknowledgement. And yes, that stings, because I want him to be impressed enough already to change his mind, even if I haven't made up my own.

"Lynx, then?" I say, pointing at the tracks again.

"Too small. Lynx aren't big cats, but like cougars, they have oversized paws. Adaptation to walking on snow. Those prints are Felis catus. Domestic cat."

"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 animals--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."

TWENTY-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."