I have to get everybody out of here without anything going wrong. Whatever’s been going on with these kids, I think I’ll puke on my shoes if anything further happens to them because of me. I’d rather die. I’ve heard people say that sometimes but right now I know I mean it.

When I come up out of the basement I’m ready to kill or die to get these kids out of here.

Otter is standing in the living room, all his prisoners doing their best to stand out of the way, quietly, heads down, as the other bikers pick up boxes and take them outside. The crates are gone. There’s not much left.

“Let’s go,” says Otter. “Straight out to the bus everybody. No running and no trying to run away. I’m looking at you, Kevin.” He pumps a round into his shotgun. “It ain’t loaded with rock salt this time. I’ll take your fucking head off.”

None of the children and teenagers react to the threat. For some reason, that makes me angrier. I force a cough and school my face. Without a word, I head outside. I hear them follow behind.

The church bus is a little shorter than its yellow cousins, but not by much. The folding door is open and when I climb in, the interior is indistinguishable from anything I ever rode in to and from school.

You know, they’re not really yellow, are they? School busses. They’re orange. Huh.

I guess my mind does weird shit when I’m scared out of my mind.

The hacker comes up the stairs first. Like I hoped he would.

I say to him, “Sit close. I need you to distract him. Don’t say anything now.”

The kid looks at me, his eyes wide. He looks pissed, but he doesn’t open his mouth. I have no idea if he’ll do what I asked. If he doesn’t this could be a short trip. It's not going to go the way Otter thinks it will.

The biker gets on last and takes the first seat on the other side of the bus from me. He rests his shotgun on his shoulder. “You know where you’re going?” he asks.

I almost say yes. I know exactly where we’re going. Instead, I say, “The general idea, yeah, but they didn’t give me an address. You got it? I’ll put it in my phone.”

He rolls his eyes and reads it off to me.

Once I’ve typed it in and the map comes up I see that it’s in the exact opposite direction I want to go. Of course.

I save both this current address and the one he’s given me in the GPS app, and as I do so, I turn the volume down, hoping Otter won’t notice.

I back the big bus out of the driveway and into the street without incident. There’s only this one road, it looks like. The houses are spaced out every couple of acres up and over a hill where it disappears. The perfect neighborhood, probably, for human trafficking or whatever this is.

The first turn we have to make doesn’t conflict with where Otter thinks we’re going, so that’s okay. I’ve never driven a bus before, but so far so good.

The next turn is onto a state route and I’m afraid he’ll notice when I go the wrong way.

The hacker kid hasn’t said a word. He’s just staring out the window.

I say, “Why they call you ‘Otter?’”

Otter says, “Long story.”

“It’s because he doesn’t listen too good,” says the hacker.

“Shut up, Amir,” says Otter.

“A couple of years ago,” says Amir. “They were watching History of the World, Part I, right? The old Mel Brooks movie?”

We were coming up on the turn.

“Shut up, Amir,” says Otter.

Amir says, “You remember the part where they go, “Auto de fe? What’s an auto de fe?”

I say, “It’s what you oughtn’t to do but you do anyway.” I must've watched that film a dozen times growing up. Dad was a fan.

“Yeah,” says Amir. “Only this guy says, ‘What’s otters got to do with anything?’”

“Goddammit, Amir,” says Otter.

“So I’m rolling around laughing but no one else is, right?” says Amir.

I’ve made the turn.

Otter is glaring at Amir.

I’m beginning to worry about the kid.

“Nobody got the joke,” says Amir. “They didn't know what an auto de fe was. I guess the Wild Specters aren’t that into history.”

I still haven’t gotten a good look at the backs of their jackets. There was something white though. Could’ve been a ghost.

“After I explained it to them, the name stuck,” says Amir.

“I’ll stick you,” says Otter.

It just hit me that Amir said ‘years.’ He’s been held by these guys for years.

“What fur? I’m not your type,” says Amir. “Too old. Keep your paws off me.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“He gets like this,” says Otter. “Last time, Patches almost drowned him in the toilet.”

Amir shrugs. “Needed a bath anyway. I mean, it ain’t floating cutely on my back in a river but hey. Beggars. Choosers.”

Otter stands and for a second I think he’s going to shoot the kid right then.

Amir turns to look out the window. “What? I didn’t even use any puns that time. Water you know?”

“You did there.”

Amir looks shocked. “Who?” he says. “Me? Look, it’s getting hairy in here, Otter. Why don’t you put the gun down beaver you hurt someone?”

“Just you.”

Amir stands. “You would deny me my petty revenges? What do you think I do all day besides hack and code?” He levels a finger at Otter. “Puns burrow through my brain and I squirrel them away, waiting for moments such as this current one. The idea that I can annoy you,” shouts Amir. “Keeps me from rabbiting out the door. Keeps me alive rather than the riverse. Keeps me sane, unbroken, and useful to you. Keeps me from finding a way to rat you guys out!” Amir is screaming at Otter now. “I don’t like yelling! I’m a mice kid! Possumbly, I’m overreacting. Maybe you should put me in the ground. Hogging the attention like this. I know I’m badgering you. You’re dangerous, I know. My sanity must be beginning to chip. Munkying around like this’ll get me killed despite what I can ferret out for you guys online. Put me down, which is another type of fur, you cretin, and be done with it. Tiny little animal mother fucker.”

Amir sits and looks back out the window.

Otter doesn’t know whether to jam the shotgun into Amir’s mouth or his own, I think. He sits. Laughs once, despite himself, then stares out the window.

“Kind of outfoxed you there, Otter,” I say.

“Don’t you start.”

“Lame!” says Amir.

Agreed. So? I couldn’t think of one for capybara or prairie dogs.

Whatever. It seems like it works. We are definitely headed the wrong way and Otter’s just staring at the scenery without seeing it. I want to ask Amir questions, like how long he’s been with the Wild Specters, or how he wound up with them, or what he does for them, but anything I ask might break the spell and clue Otter in.

Wild Specters. Stupid name. Are there tame spirits? Domesticated haunts?

We’re getting close to town. It can’t be much longer before Otter realizes we’re not going to the right place. I hope maybe he’ll pick up his phone or something, but he doesn’t. He’s lost in his own thoughts.

We hit a light.

A gray car pulls up on my left. The intersection has one of those extended left turn lanes that has part of the space in between hashed out into a no-man’s land. The driver is far enough from me, in other words, that we can see each other. The woman driving looks over at me.

She does a double take.

There’s something familiar about her. She’s blonde and curvy. Very pretty. I don’t want to stare at her and make her uncomfortable. I look away.

I hear her shout.

The light changes and I pull away.

I see the gray sedan pull out of the turn lane to follow us. She’s shaking her fist out the window.

Where have I seen her before?

“What the fuck?” Otter has noticed the woman.

She’s flashing her lights now and honking her horn.

“We got a flat tire or something?” says Amir.

“No, I—.” I remember where I’ve seen her. In my defense, I didn’t get a really good look. She was wearing a towel at the time.

Otter is standing, squinting, and looking out the window. “We gotta find a side str—. Wait a minute where are we?”

Oh shit.

I say, “The GPS—.”

But Otter cuts me off. “Bullshit, this is Willamette. What did you do?”

“Side street?” I ask. “Why?”

“She’s going to get the cops on us,” says Otter. He points the gun at me. “What did you do?”

“Shortcut,” I say. “What? You want to kill her? Are you crazy? It’s broad daylight on the edge of town!”

“Roll the dice on killing her against that? That's for sure.” He hooks a thumb back at the woman who’s pounding on the side of her car, flashing her lights, honking her horn, and swerving around. Anything she can do to call attention to herself.

Jesus Christ, lady. You were wearing a towel.

Okay, that’s unfair. From her point of view, I sneaked in somehow to leer at her in a vulnerable moment. It must’ve felt like a violation. I feel awful.

“Take that next right,” says Otter.

The street he’s talking about leads into a residential area thick with trees.

“Nope,” I say.

“Do it,” says Otter. The shotgun is aimed at my temple.

But we’ve already passed it.

“Look,” I say. “I pissed her off way before all this, okay? She knows nothing about you or the kids back there. Besides, if she’s doing all that she’s probably not on her phone….”

But I can hear sirens.

Otter is leaning out into the aisle, his feet braced, both hands on his weapon. The bore of the gun looks huge.

I’ve been pushing luck this whole time, mostly without paying much attention to it. There’s a rough part of the road ahead, standing water in a puddle. I aim for it and push harder.

Otter growls, “Last chance, B—.”

The bus lurches up and down. It wasn’t a puddle but a pothole. We’re all flung up into the air. I’ve got a seatbelt though and I was ready.

I snatch the shotgun out of the biker’s hands as he reaches out to steady himself. By the time the bus settles, I’ve got the stock and trigger in my left and the barrel resting in the crook of my right arm, aimed at Otter’s center of mass.

“You stay right there and don't you move,” I say. “Amir, come here.”

“But—.”

“You come here right now,” I say.

He steps into the aisle but hesitates as he gets near Otter.

“Good idea,” I say. “Otter, you sit in the stairwell where I can watch you better.”

He complies and then he says, “You are not the IT guy.”

“Amir, my cell phone is in my right pants pocket,” I say.

“Dude, I am not reaching into your pants,” says Amir.

“I’m not giving you the gun,” I say. “Just get it. You know the number for nine-one-one, right?”

The kid snorts. He hesitates.

“Okay, look, we need the cops and the way to them is in my pants, yes!” I yell. “It's awkward, uh huh. Nobody here will think you’re gay if you call for help, goddammit!”

“I will,” mutters Otter.

“I will kill you where you sit!” I’m screaming at him. Oh fuck, I’m losing it. “You fucking pedophile slaver piece of shit!” I spare a quick glance at Amir. “Now get my phone!”

He does even if he goes about it like he’s disarming a bomb or something. He sits back down in his seat and dials.

“The address where you were being held and the new one saved in the GPS app,” I say. “Give them those. Tell ‘em we have one of the bikers on here and that I’ve got a gun on him. Then tell them all the rest. Oh, and don’t forget about the angry lady following us.”

I have to ease down on the brakes for a turn. The police station is a block or so ahead.

When I slow, Otter jumps up and runs down the aisle toward the back of the bus.

I don’t shoot him. I hesitated and the moment is gone. Probably I’ll regret that later.

I wonder if he’s going to grab one of the kids but he keeps going, hits the emergency door which slams open, and then he’s rolling behind us in the intersection.

The lady following almost flattens him and he’s nearly run over two more times before he makes it out of the street.

I wonder if Ms. Towel is going to pull over to help him or yell at him for knowing me or something, but she stays on our tail.

Less than a minute later I’m spinning the big bus wheel and pulling into the rear of the sheriff’s station.

I’ve come in too fast. I clip a cruiser and the bus's tires are howling and smoking.

The kids in the back don’t make a sound.

I get the behemoth stopped with a hiss of hydraulics and open the door.

Police are spilling out the back door, some with their hands on their weapons. I see Torelli and then Smythe.

I unhook my seat belt, hold the shotgun over my head in both hands, and hurry down the stairs.

“Walker?” I hear Smythe say.

Torelli takes the shotgun for me and ejects the shell.

“What the hell?” asks Smythe.

“One of them’s getting away,” I say.

“What? Who?”

“Pervert!” and then the world goes sideways, the left side of my face feels ablaze, and I stagger against the side of the bus.

I hear the sheriff say, “This is why I wanted him out of town, goddammit."