Page 115 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
She looks over sharply. “Yes. A thinner blade, more precise, with signs that the flesh was pulled apart.”
“As if removing something under the skin?” I turn to Dalton, who seems to figure out what I’m getting at. “The blood on Jay’s shoulder was in the same spot.”
“And his was still bleeding.”
“I think these marks explain why they were fine with letting the miners wander. I think it also explains why they were able to find Sandy and kill him. I think they were always able to find him.”
Dalton blinks. His lips form a curse.
“Tell me I’ve read too many sci-fi novels,” I say.
He turns to April. “Could that mark be from someone inserting a tracking device? Like a chip?”
“A chip?” She looks at the photo again. “Yes. This is the sort of mark it would leave.”
“They chipped them,” I say to Dalton. “That’s why they don’t need to worry about them wandering. Sandy obviously didn’t realize he had one.”
“Jay did, and so he cut his out before he ran.”
“Rogers discovers we’re missing a kid while Sandy has been heading off for long walks in the woods. They track him down, kill him, and remove the tracker.”
“I don’t understand most of what you are saying,” April says. “But from what I do understand, you think they’re inserting tracking devices into their employees, against their will and without their knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“That is highly unethical. If they were concerned about their employees getting lost in the forest, why not insist they use a wearable tracking device for their own good?”
I pause. Dalton looks at me, and I look back at him.
That’s a good question.
A damn good question, and another one we can’t answer right now. This case is over, however unsettling the resolution. Max is home. Sandy and Jay are dead. Such a neat and tidy solution. Such a convenient solution.
Too neat and tidy. Too convenient. And too many gaping holes that look like viper-filled pits.
Jay warned us we didn’t know what we were dealing with. He’d obviously been trying to scare us into listening to him, but …
Had there been more to it? Is there actually something we need to know about our new neighbors?
If so, we need that answer, and it’s not going to be easy—or quick—to get.
Max
When Carson comes in from seeing Mathias, he ducks past the bedroom doorway, avoiding Max as he’s been doing since Max came home. Oh, Carson isn’t ignoring him. He’s just avoiding him.
“I’m done with the Switch,” Max calls.
“You can keep it.” Carson’s voice comes from the living room.
“I’ve played enough. It’s your turn.”
Max sighs and swings out of bed. He walks into the living room and holds out the game console.
“Stop doing this, Car,” he says.
His brother doesn’t even look at him. “Doing what?”
“Giving me the Switch. Bringing me snacks. Picking out books from the library. I like all that, but I’d like it even more if you talked to me.”
