By the time we left the following afternoon, our miniature bus was packed to the brim with supplies and people. We squeezed more than thirty people into the 14-seater by removing the seats and making everyone travel standing up. I’d snagged us a spot near the middle while they were still sorting out how many others would get to come, keeping us away from the likely-to-be-punctured walls. Others, less privileged than my family, were willing to risk riding in the more dangerous seats to get across town. The colonel had given us the first repaired vehicle, which didn’t seem quite fair, but he insisted the hostages said they were being treated well, and he really seemed to want to get my kids and I back into the comparatively-peaceful suburbia. He was hoping he’d be able to follow himself the next day, but…

“No plan survives contact with the enemy,” the colonel said. “Their captors aren’t getting anything until they let our people go, but if they start cooperating, I want to make sure they get their feet under them.”

“To reward them for pro-social impulses?”

Dane gave me a confused look, then waggled a hand. “A bit. Also, because I don’t want them pulling more of this shit again soon. If they start cooperatin’, probably that’ll indicate that their hardliners are losing influence. If I can funnel food and necessities through moderates…”

“...People will start looking to the moderates for leadership going forward, instead of the extremists,” I finished.

He smirked. “Exactly. But, that’s why, even if I’m hoping to be home tomorrow, I’m expecting it might be another few days.”

We had nearly 200 people begging for seats, desperate to reunite with loved ones who lived along our route back to Autumn Hills. We couldn't take everyone, and even bringing thirty was pushing it. Accepting so many had meant each could bring only a small amount of food or water, but each person would also return armed with information about where to get more.

I’d left most of the clothes we'd brought behind, self-conscious about taking up the space that could allow another person to travel. We brought only our armor, weapons, and a small emergency bag of necessities. I’d left my shield with William; even if I could no longer use the Shop, I could have Gavin buy me a replacement when we got back.

We were crammed in like rubbish in an overstuffed garbage can, people half-spilling over the plywood beam that had been wedged behind the driver’s seat to mark off his area and leave him space to see and drive.

The bus was as hot as you’d expect of a vehicle sitting outside in the summer sun. Micah immediately started doing his best to cool it down, but he was only one boy, however strong, and he was fighting Alabama summer weather and the body heat of dozens of passengers. I warned him to pace himself, so the temperature dropped only from “potential heatstroke” to “uncomfortably warm,” still hot enough that people were sweating. The growing stench of body odor didn't do anything to make the trip better.

Pointy wasn’t available to distract anyone. The AI was being held by Cassie, but she’d locked up when I had started holding my daughter. I was holding Gavin, too, in a way; my son’s tail was wrapped around my waist and he had lifted himself up, dangling over my head like a mobile over a baby’s crib. He looked bizarre, an entire boy holding himself up by one spindly tail, but it was easy for him. Gavin weighed a little over 40 pounds, and with our increased strength, such a pitiful amount barely even registered with him or me. I didn’t mind at all being used as support, and he kept himself up with no sign of strain. Unlike everyone else on the bus, he actually had space to stretch his limbs, and the rest of us were grateful for the tiny amount of extra room his antics granted us.

The new steel tires added their own brand of discomfort to the drive. Each bump or pothole shook the whole vehicle, causing people to stumble against one another.

Worst of all, the bus ride was dangerous. The driver tried to warn us when stabcrabs approached, but with most of the bus windows covered, we were relying on him alone, and he couldn’t see everything. He’d shout “Left!” and we would try to squeeze against the right wall before the crab’s legs could punch through. We succeeded most times, but the handful of failures were... striking. People were keeping their heads and hearts back from the walls, but they had to use their legs and arms to brace themselves. Once you see a monster leg smash through metal and completely out the other side of someone’s hand once, it’s in your mind forever.

We’d stopped the vehicle after each crab attack, letting a strike team out to end the monster’s life while healers tended to any injured. I’d shared the information about the stabcrabs’ weak spots, and it helped people fight them more efficiently.

The stops weren’t enough to let our driver keep up with the extra weight of the overfull bus. We had to stop twice when we'd gotten lucky stretches with no catastrophes, just to give him a breather before he could get us moving again.

What with one thing and another, it took nearly three hours before we let our first passengers off at the edge of Madison, just before Jeff Road. Only three people got off, but the sliver of extra space was so welcome it felt like much more.

From there, things got easier. People started leaving, one or two each time we stopped. Those of us left behind were able to move away from the dangerous walls, and I could set Cassie down. Free of my influence, Pointy came back to life and started “reading” books she’d memorized to Cassie. Her goal was to help keep my daughter calm, but the distraction helped everyone

By the time we made it back to Autumn Hills, the sun was starting to set and we still had nine people aboard; a decent number in a 14-seater bus, but a gloriously small quantity compared to the hideous crush of people we'd started with. Aside from my immediate family and the driver, we had three men and one woman with family in the neighborhood. The colonel had reached out to his wife, Tammy, who’d been able to track down their family members, so a small crowd was waiting on the walls of Fort Autumn as the minibus pulled up outside, and when our passengers disembarked, the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Daddy!” a little girl screamed. Her mother’s arm on her shoulder was all that kept her from diving over the edge of the wall. “Daddy! I was so worried about you!”

The man in question was running forward toward the wall, ignoring the gate. He gathered his strength and jumped, almost making it high enough to grab the lip of the ten-foot-high barricade. He missed, but his little girl’s chubby hands caught his fingers, and, anchored by her mom, she dragged her father up.

The changes the Maffiyir wrought ought to have been familiar, but sights like that were still surprising.

I ushered my kids inside the fort, away from the joyful reunions and the knot of jealousy that was growing in my heart instead of pride. It was hard not to think That could have been us. If Vince had been at work, he’d be home right now. He’d be holding Cassie, I’d be snuggling up against him. I hated when he left on business trips, but I accepted them as the necessary minor evil they usually were. Who could have predicted this?

All three kids seemed subdued as we walked away, and I was grateful to find the Turners waiting for us inside, a happy distraction.

The whole family went down on one knee to Gavin in a clearly-rehearsed motion. George reached out a hand to my middle child. “My liege! Will you accept us into your service?”

It took Gavin several seconds to get over his fit of delighted giggles and accept, long enough that Arnav had gotten bored of kneeling and laid down on the ground instead.

After he’d taken them as “royal subjects,” we followed them down into the Quarry and started chatting. The Turners had been getting updates about our journey, of a sort, but it was information passed from Colonel Zwerinski to Fort Autumn’s communication specialist, then from the communication specialist to Tamara, then from Tamara to them. All of those people being busy, our friends had gotten only the barest and sketchiest details about what had happened, and nothing at all for the past day or so. We’d heard even less about them.

“Things have generally been okay here, right?” I asked Priya and George. “No major issues?”

My question made Priya snort in amusement.

George shook his head, sighing. “Things have been basically okay, yeah. But… ‘major’ issues are exactly what we’ve been having. Some guy named Major Fitzgerald showed up last night and claimed some general said he’s in charge of Fort Autumn.”