Lenny, finding it impossible to produce coherent speech, said nothing, busy as she was in that moment praying that the earth would swallow her whole.

“You can’t just make up a lie on the spot!” Kohra protested. “It won’t be believable!”

         Lenny fired off, “I’m Wilma Featherstein, from Carding’s Corners, I work in the Pale Boar Inn as a bartender. I’m Jessica Smithson, from High Ridge; I work on the Kempton’s Hog Farm, about three miles outside of town, right along the banks of the Spokane River. I’m Bonnie Billingsley, from Jordanville; I’m on a research trip, studying the migratory patterns of rare butterflies.”

How in the Hells were they going to get out of this? Would they ever be safe? And what happens if you’re being chased for so long that you just really, REALLY have to go to the bathroom?