“I

can’t believe you let her talk you into this,” Jilly said, following me down a narrow, back country trail into deep bush.

We hadn’t been out this way before, but I wasn’t worried about getting lost because my canine navigation system was fully online. The white tuft of Keats’ tail was up and swishing happily.

That tuft said it was going to be a fabulous night.

That tuft was wrong.

No matter what happened tonight, it would not be fabulous, I was quite sure of that. A night at home by the fire with Kellan, now that would be fabulous. A night in Edna’s bunker? Not so much.

“It felt more like a dare,” I told Jilly. “You know I hate turning down dares.”

I could feel skeptical green eyes boring into my back. “You used to be completely immune to dares and random challenges.”

“That was the old me. And you know what changed.” I gestured in the direction of the white tuft. “The universe dared me to rescue that dog and I—make that we—rose to the occasion.” I turned and glanced at her. “We’ve been rising to occasions like that ever since.”

Her manicured eyebrows came together in a frown. “Dares don’t motivate me. I just tag along to try to keep you alive. And to keep me alive, too, I suppose.” Craning to see the white tuft, she sighed. “And our animals.”

I knew she meant all of our animals and I loved her for that. Jilly hadn’t been a pet person growing up or pursuing a career in Boston. Now, she’d taken into her heart a furry and feathered head count of about 60. Their worries were her worries, and if that wasn’t daring, I didn’t know what was.

“This is for a good cause,” I said. “An animal cause. What else could I do?”

Jilly fell further behind, mostly because she couldn’t see where she was stepping. Percy was lolling in her arms and his ginger fluff blocked her view of the path. The cat was perfectly capable of negotiating rougher terrain than this and had done so countless times. His sweet ride was more about comforting Jilly. My feral stray had become an accomplished therapy cat.

“Say no. That’s what you could do,” she called after me. “It’s a very simple word and you sure knew how to use it when you were the grim reaper of HR. Give it a try.”

“No,” I said. “No, I could not say no to Edna. Because she’s trying to prevent hunters from killing this mysterious creature. It’s a noble cause.” I turned again to toss her a grin. “Did you get that? Noble.”

“What I get is that she suckered you into staying in a bunker Kellan isn’t aware exists. You know how he feels about her experiential prepper training. Spending a night in Bunkertown breaks every boyfriend rule in the book.”

I sped up, less to get away from Jilly than to catch sight of Keats’ tail again. It was late afternoon, and we were losing what little light penetrated the tall trees.

“There’s a boyfriend handbook?” I called back. “I need to get a copy of that. Good thing I’ve got a library card now. Dottie Bridges can hook me up.”

“Your sneaky evasive maneuvers are wasted on me.” Jilly’s voice was strained and when I turned, she had bent over to set Percy on the ground gently. This was the cat who routinely dropped from very high places onto unsuspecting people. He knew how to make a landing. If Jilly continued to baby him like that, he’d become too spoiled for sleuthing.

The fluffy cat charged past me, giving a little hiss of annoyance either directed at me for my disloyal thoughts, or at Keats for getting the leading role in finding Bunkertown. That was part of the challenge tonight. Edna had invited—nay, entreated—us to come, but refused to give us exact coordinates. The location was top secret because Kellan had already shut down her survival class three times. That barely fazed Edna. A nomadic lifestyle was the way of our future after the end times, she said, and we might as well get used to it now.

We’d taken a guess at our destination based on her previous moves, and then Keats had done the rest. His tail was very confident we’d end up in Edna’s slice of prepper paradise.

I didn’t fancy the idea of a nomadic lifestyle at all. When my boots touched down at Runaway Farm they sank deep in the soil and rapidly grew roots. Someone would have to yank me out of there with the same crane Edna kept hiring to move her shipping containers around.

The trail got a little wider, and Jilly caught up with me. When she was alongside, I said, “You wouldn’t have packed your overnight bunker bag if you didn’t think this was a worthy cause. We can’t let local farmers or homesteaders shoot this creature, or creatures, without a fair trial. It goes against everything we stand for.”

“We stand for wild pigs now?” Her grunt was more reminiscent of a pig than she’d probably care to know.

“It might be a regular pig gone feral,” I said. “Either way, we stand for all animals in need. Both as hobby farmers and honorary members of the Rescue Mafia.”

“I was just about to mention the Mafia. Isn’t a situation like this more up their alley than ours? Even a domesticated pig like Wilma is a force to be reckoned with.”

She adjusted the straps of her heavy backpack. It had been hard to know just what to bring. Edna said she was fully equipped but her standards were likely far lower than ours. Minimum survival standards, probably. Despite all the challenges farm life and sleuthing had thrown in our paths, Jilly and I weren’t exactly roughing it types. Neither of us had ever gone camping. Not once. The few vacations we took as execs found us beside a tropical pool drinking sweet confections out of split coconuts. In fact, the closest I’d come to roughing it was sleeping on fresh hay in a nice warm barn.

“Edna didn’t want the word to get out beyond us just yet,” I said. “If this creature is either a wild boar or a feral pig, I’ll happily defer to Cori and the gang. Wilma’s shown me my limitations.”

“Wilma nearly drowned you once,” Jilly reminded me.

I sighed. “What a way to go. In a pig wallow. And yet I still prefer living here to my old ivory tower.”

“I’m having second thoughts right now,” she said. “If there are cockroaches in the bunker, I’m gone. Don’t think I won’t call Asher to carry me out.”

I laughed. “He’d do it, too. But there are no cockroaches out here.”

“That’s what you always say about nasty critters. And then—poof—they arrive.” She glared at me. “You don’t know if there are cockroaches.”

“Maybe not, but I’m positive there are no tarantulas. Warm weather only.”

She gave me a little shove. “Ivy Galloway, don’t even. Just don’t.”

“It’s going to be fine, Jilly. We’re on a reconnaissance mission, that’s all. Someone had to follow up on the reports going around town.”

“How about Animal Services? Don’t they get paid to take care of wildlife complaints?”

“No one’s actually laid eyes on this wayward beast. There are just a few fleeting images on security feeds,” I said. “Now, the story is getting out of hand, like an urban myth. The rumor mill says there’s a group of wild pigs roaming town like a street gang. Eating birdseed, raiding fishponds and mowing through gardens. But there’s no actual proof it’s a pig, let alone several.”

“What about the old lady who fell into her garbage bin trying to escape them and got trapped?”

“She came out of the house waving a broom when she heard the clatter,” I said. “You could call it self-defense. Anyway, the neighbors heard the ruckus and got her out.”

“Good thing, because these nights are cold. She could have died. In her own trash bin.”

“Even worse than passing in a pig wallow, I suppose. Feral swine are supposedly very clever and aggressive. Kellan says there haven’t been sightings in our region before, but apparently they can evade notice for ages. On the bright side, if they’ve moved on to bother Edna, the town should be safe.”

“Unless there are more of them than we think,” Jilly said. “Ivy, if it’s feral pigs, you promise we’ll leave it to experts, right?”

“Promise,” I said.

I meant it, too. Kellan, my handsome police chief boyfriend, shouldn’t have to find me gored and lifeless near a makeshift bunker. That would be on the long list of common errors in the boyfriend handbook.

Or at least the uncommon ones.

Keats slowed and let out a sharp yap to command attention. We must be getting closer.

He didn’t need to raise his paw in a point, because Edna, my octogenarian neighbor, had jumped into our path with her sword raised to make a point of her own.

“Oh, put that thing away, Edna,” I said. “We come in friendship, remember?”

There had been a couple of times recently where I’d questioned just how well our friendship would survive, but each time it got knocked down, it seemed to bounce back stronger. She had saved my life again just two weeks ago. Despite all her eccentricities, I was very fond of Edna and so was Jilly.

“You come in noisy chatter, like a flock of starlings,” Edna said.

“Starlings? Honestly,” Jilly said. “As birds go, they’re no beauties.”

“There’s no need to worry about your looks here, Jillian,” Edna said. “You’ve left civilization behind and no one cares. If there’s a blow dryer in that backpack, you’ll be sorely disappointed to find we’re off the grid.”

Jilly patted her golden curls. “I see why you keep up your perms, Edna. It’s the perfect solution for off-grid living. But are regular salon visits truly aligned with your survivalist vision?”

Edna gestured down the trail with the sword. “You’re getting the lumpy bed.”

“There are beds?” Jilly said, brightening.

“Not beds, per se. But a little something between you and the cold metal floor.”

Jilly groaned. “This pig had better be grateful.”

Edna led us through labyrinthian trails that all seemed to turn back on each other until we finally entered a clearing. On the far side sat a single shipping container, painted a dappled gray-green to blend in with the foliage. There was a windowless door in one end. My hopes of spying on wildlife from the safety of the bunker evaporated.

“What happened to the other containers?” I asked. There had been three of them when Keats discovered Bunkertown in its first location.

“Your boyfriend happened to the others,” she said. “Chief Haughty McSnobalot seized all of my originals and I had to settle for this rusty old thing. It leaks in the rain, but the forecast is clear tonight. The moon will be nearly full. That’s good for us. Not so good for the pigs.”

“Pigs plural?” Jilly asked. “Are you certain of that?”

Edna shook her head. “Not even sure it’s a pig, although there are cloven prints in the soil. I’ve got three cameras trained on this place and I can’t get a good shot. But there’s been a lot of damage for a single pig.”

“What kind of damage?” I asked, looking around. There was little sign of human habitation except for the firepit. Keats and Percy had already made a complete sweep of the clearing and returned to us. There obviously wasn’t much to see.

“It was when I had a few friends over for supper,” Edna said, proving she was still holding prepper classes against Kellan’s express orders. “Someone’s backpack was not only emptied but consumed. Only the buckles left behind. This pest also managed to break into my secret larder and crack open a dozen cans. Spurned the beans and carried off the tinned meats.”

“Like Spam, you mean?” Jilly gave a slight shudder. As a talented chef, my friend would probably rather eat the tin than the classic preserved luncheon meat. Or starve. But I’d eaten my share of Spam when my mom was trying to feed six kids on a limited budget.

“Fear not, I restocked, Jillian,” Edna said. “I’m hoping you can fry some up for us over the campfire. If not, there’s probably still time to shoot a—”

“No need,” I interrupted. “We came with our own rations. Protein bars. That’ll get us through till breakfast just fine.”

“Protein bars? That’s hardly in the spirit of the occasion,” Edna said.

“You already told us we didn’t make the cut into your SurvivalDare class because we’re divas,” I said. “But we’ll sit around the fire tonight and pretend otherwise. I suppose wafting Spam will send the marauder an invitation to the party.”

“Exactly. The pig is less likely to show up if it only smells protein bars.” She gave us a wicked grin. “You don’t want to have to come back, do you?”

Jilly stared at me pointedly. “Ivy?”

“No,” I said, on cue, and then repeated the word for good measure. “This is a one-off. Keats doesn’t like to be away from his livestock.”

The dog mumbled an affirmative on that. While Byron, my guardian dog, was on duty at home, Keats was always the lead farm dog. It was understood. Normally, Byron reported to Keats throughout the night, and it was the only way we got any sleep.

Edna pulled out a flashlight and escorted us into the shipping container to stow our things. I hadn’t expected anything fancy, but it was even starker than I feared. There was a row of thin mattresses on the floor, a couple of battery-operated lamps, and a long metal box that might well have been a coffin but was probably an arsenal.

Jilly wilted visibly. Maybe, like me, she’d hoped for a cot, at least. And a heater. There was a dank chill inside that would sink into our very bones. Edna had puffy sleeping bags, but I doubted they were a match for the nip of a late September night in hill country.

“Don’t look so dour,” she said now. “This is a palace compared to what we’ll face down the road. We’d be lucky to have a shipping container after the end times. It’s more likely to be a muddy hole in the ground—and a different one every week. You’ll thank me later for easing you into this.”

“We’ll thank you now,” I said. “Another adventure to add to our long list. Bring on the Spam.”

Edna laughed. “I knew you’d come around. Let me get a fire started.”

She accomplished that with speed and practiced ease. There was plenty of firewood and reasonably comfortable seating on a couple of worn logs. After the flames flickered in the pit, she disappeared for a moment and came back with an old blanket. I expected her to hand it to Jilly and me, but she arranged it on the ground for the pets and they accepted the offer. It was clear who ranked around here.

Night fell while we were busy learning how to cook on a grate over a campfire. Jilly singed the first slices of Spam and relegated them to Keats and Percy over Edna’s objections.

“You won’t always have the luxury of turning down charred edges,” she said.

“But we do tonight,” I said. “We’ll need good fuel to survive this cold.”

“Cold? It’s positively balmy,” Edna said. “That’s why I called you out now. It’ll get harder and harder on that pig… or pigs. Food will get scarce and they’ll become more aggressive. The next old lady may not make it out of her trash bin alive.”

Edna was technically an old lady, too, but it would take an army of feral pigs to make a meal out of her.

“What’s in Spam?” I asked, holding up my fork to inspect a square.

“It’s one of life’s great mysteries and best left that way,” Edna said.

I stared at her. “Is it pork? Because that would feel wrong, Edna. We can’t eat pig while saving a pig.”

She poked at the glowing embers under the grill with a stick. “I’m embarrassed to admit I felt the same way. So I ordered the turkey variety, this time. We won’t have the luxury of delicate feelings after—”

“The apocalypse. We know.” I popped a square of Spam into my mouth and chewed. “Not bad, actually. I remembered worse.”

Jilly couldn’t bring herself to agree, but I noticed she put away a big helping.

Eventually, she moved the cast-iron fry pan aside and heated tinned vegetables in an old saucepan. We passed it around, eating straight out of the pot. There was no sense in dirtying more dishes.

That was about the point when I realized I was enjoying the meal, and maybe even the adventure. As always, my appetite was twice that of everyone else’s, so Jilly opened another tin of meat. By the end, she was flipping slices in the fry pan with flair, like a short-order cook. I wasn’t the only one starting to enjoy myself.

After the meal, Edna gathered the pots, plates and utensils and stowed them in a metal storage box I hadn’t noticed earlier. It was directly across the clearing from the bunker’s door. “We can clean up at the creek in the morning,” she said. “Meanwhile, this should attract some company. I’ve directed the cameras at the bin and we can observe from inside.”

She boiled water for tea and once we were all clutching a steaming mug, she pulled something out of her pocket: a high-quality chocolate bar.

“Talk about luxury,” I said, as she split it in three sections.

“I figured if you lasted through dinner you deserved a treat,” she said.

We all savored the chocolate slowly, as if fearing it might be our very last bar. If nothing else, this evening was making me appreciate all that I had. Like anyone else, I was guilty of taking it for granted sometimes. Not the big things, like friends, family and farm, but the small things, like a simple meal.

And the stars. When had I last looked up and appreciated the beauty of the night sky? These same stars shone over Runaway Farm but it had been ages since I truly took them in.

Jilly must have been doing the same because we all lapsed into our own thoughts. Even Keats and Percy stayed quiet, stretched out yet alert on their blanket.

The fresh air seemed to clear out the many worries I carried around, and the tangy scents of fir trees and moss offered an almost primal comfort. I listened hard for strange noises but little could be heard over the babbling brook nearby. Keats would certainly sound an alarm if needed.

I looked at Jilly and found her smiling—not at me, but at the sky. She looked like a wood nymph and I half-expected her to get up and start dancing around the fire. If she did, I might join her.

Edna’s eyes were still sharp, however, and I sensed there would be no dancing under her watch. Letting our guard down would give the enemy a chance to blindside us.

It may have been an hour or more of companionable silence before Edna said, “See? It’s not all bad. When the end comes, we’ll lose a lot… and maybe gain a few things.”

She offered hot water for more tea but Jilly shook her head. “I haven’t seen the washroom yet.”

“Yeah, about that…” Edna gave us a grin that looked devilish in the firelight. “The latrine consists of a board hung between two trees, with a hole cut out of it.”

“Oh no,” Jilly said. “And a hole under it I could fall into. If that happened, I would welcome the end of days.”

“Don’t worry,” Edna said. “Ivy and I will be right there, offering our full support.”

“So much for privacy,” I said, laughing again.

“Another luxury,” Edna said. “What’s a little potty call among friends?”

Jilly got up. “Let’s get this over with because there’s no way I’m getting up in the night for a communal potty break.”

The prospect chased away the mystical vibe and brought us back to reality.

Despite the grim set of her jaw, Jilly nearly collapsed into giggles during our visit to the latrine. It did indeed take both of us to pull her up from the board, mostly because she was weak with laughter.

Keats stood by pant-laughing too, and his “smile” got even bigger when I took my turn. I had to close my eyes and pretend I was in the bathroom back home to make anything happen. Out here in nature, nature didn’t want to call.

When her turn came, Edna declined our help and sent us back to the fire.

“Did you ever think we’d…?” Jilly started.

“Never,” I finished. “But we did it. If we can survive that, I expect our chances of apocalyptic adaptation are pretty good.”

After dousing the fire down to embers with a pail of water, Edna escorted us to our “room.” Jilly pulled out her pajamas but quickly shoved them back into her pack when Edna slid into her sleeping bag in her camo jumpsuit, boots and all.

“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Jillian,” she said. “I, for one, don’t want to face the enemy in flannel pajamas.”

Jilly took the last bed, furthest from the door, and thrashed around until she got settled in the sleeping bag.

I shimmied into mine and stretched out on my back. Keats curled up beside me on the blanket we’d brought inside, and Percy climbed onto Jilly’s stomach, looking for a direct heat source.

When Edna switched off the light, a darkness fell over us that seemed so heavy and dense I actually gasped. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, yet the breeze coming through gaps in the shipping container certainly allowed plenty of air circulation.

“Oh, relax,” Edna said. “You’ve faced worse many times.”

“It’s like being shut up in a coffin,” I said.

“A coffin?” Edna’s tone was indignant. “I resent that. I’m providing the finest in prepper lodgings.”

Jilly giggled again and I was about to join her when Edna cut us off with a sharp bark of disapproval. “Do I laugh during your stakeouts, girls? I believe I take them very seriously indeed.”

“Sorry,” I said, meekly.

“Now you see why you didn’t make the cut for my class. You’re both giddy.”

“Sorry,” Jilly echoed. “It’s just all so… strange.”

“Consider my mind officially blown,” I said. “You were right, Edna. I wasn’t ready for your class.”

“Not yet, but I see promise in both of you and expect to make good soldiers out of you eventually. Weapons training comes next. I like to start with blades.”

“We’ll carve out some time,” I said, and Jilly started giggling again.

I felt a whoosh of air and sensed Edna’s camouflage glove was sweeping us into silence.

“Catch some sleep while you can,” she said. “I’ll be wide awake. Listening.”

Just knowing she was lying there wide awake, listening, was enough to keep me wide awake. I was prone to nightmares so terrifying that Keats and Percy regularly woke me up to chase off the demons from my past. Sometimes I thrashed wildly and twisted myself up in my sheets, and I had no doubt I groaned or even spoke aloud. Jilly must know that because her bedroom was just down the hall, but she was too discreet to mention it. Regardless, I didn’t want Edna to witness me at my most vulnerable, no matter how many times she’d saved my life. It was just too personal.

So, no one slept. Because we needed the marauding pig to think we were out cold, however, we had to stay quiet. Keats kept his mumbles to himself but Percy couldn’t help purring loudly, until Jilly convinced him to stop.

The moments seemed to tick by slowly. I knew it had only been about an hour, but hoped it was more. It was going to be the longest night of my life. To pass the time, I listened to the wind outside, and tried to pick out the various smells that crept in through the cracks. My fingers touched the metal floor and explored the crusty bubbles of rust. I wished I’d thought to bring a toothbrush because I could still taste Spam. It wasn’t so bad the first time, but the replay wasn’t nearly as good.

A while later, my heart started to pick up the pace for no obvious reason and I worried the others would notice the thumping. Once it started, I could barely hear anything else.

Keats gave a mumble that I felt rather than heard. “Chill,” it said. “I’ve got this.”

My fingers groped for his ears and my heart gradually slowed. The next half hour passed in more comfort and ease. It was all fine. I was warm, all except for my nose. My buddy was here and I trusted him more than whatever weapons Edna stored in her long box.

When the ears under my fingertips pricked, I knew trouble was on the way. The dog’s muzzle came up and I felt his hackles rise. Percy gave an almost imperceptible hiss.

“Uh-oh,” Jilly said.

“Hush.” Edna’s sleeping bag rustled as she sat up and quietly unzipped it. “Is it go-time, Keats?”

The growl deep in his throat confirmed it, and she got to her feet.

A second later, grunts outside the door validated his opinion. There was a series of porcine articulations I recognized from my daily dealings with Wilma. They sounded hopeful. Excited. Hungry.

How soon would the noises turn to frustration when the pig found the trash bin locked?

Make that pigs, plural. There was far too much noise for one pig, even as the grunts faded.

The frustration came quicker than I expected, with a metallic clanging. They must be attacking the bin.

On the bright side, the noise gave us a moment to get up and ready.

But ready for what, exactly? If Edna had a strategy, she hadn’t shared it.

“What’s the plan, Edna?” I whispered, clambering out of my sleeping bag in the darkness. I tried hard to avoid elbowing Jilly or the pets as I stood up, but I jabbed someone and she wasn’t fluffy.

“Just give me a second.” Edna pulled out her phone to watch the feed from the security cameras. “Dagnabit, they’re smart. Banging things up and still staying in the shadows.”

“Is it a herd?” Jilly asked. She was on her feet now, too. “Or do they call it a pack?”

“In wild pigs it’s called a sounder,” I said.

“A sounder? How strange,” she said.

“Quiet, you two,” Edna said. “Let a woman surveil in peace.” She held the screen up to her nose. “Something’s moving toward us. I can see a shadow that’s nearly out of camera range.”

My heart was thumping again. Why was I so nervous? We were perfectly safe inside this big metal box.

Or were we?

There was a scraping sound at the door. More grunting that seemed less piglike now. Keats was growling like he meant business. He never sounded that serious when it was Wilma giving us trouble.

What if it wasn’t just pigs, but a human with ill intent? There were rumors of people vanishing from Clover Grove without a trace before Kellan’s time. Some said they’d been sucked into Potter’s Bog, the so-called Bermuda Triangle of hill country. Others said the missing people still lived out here. We could be facing a nomadic herder of feral pigs. Did Edna have a plan for that?

“I could use the latrine again about now,” Jilly said.

I fought back a laugh. “You’ll need to handle that on your own, my friend. Edna and I are going to be busy.”

Edna kept her nose to her phone’s screen. “I can only see one body moving,” she said. “Chubby, looks like. It’s gone back to sniffing around the trash. Knows we’re here and doesn’t care. This thing is pretty full of himself.”

“I’m sure we can manage one pig between the five of us,” I said. “How should we handle this?”

“Guess we should have discussed that earlier,” Jilly said.

Edna cleared her throat. “We could have, but you two got caught up with the Spam and the ambiance, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“We should act now,” I said. “Mr. Chubs might decide to move on quickly because there are no scraps to find.”

Edna handed me the phone and the screen gave off enough light to let us see her pull a helmet over her perm. She straightened her shoulders and turned as Jilly and I kicked our sleeping bags aside. Meanwhile Keats and Percy both moved to be first out the door.

“We charge out together,” Edna began. “As quietly as we can. Run toward the trash bin. Ivy, you feint left. Jilly, you feint right. I go straight on with the net.”

“You’re going to net a feral pig?” I asked. “It’ll rip it to shreds with its tusks.”

Edna shook her head. “It’s a heavy gauge wildlife net, so we’ll be fine. There’s one of those long poker things behind the bin. You grab that, Ivy.”

“You stole one of my pig pokers?”

“Borrowed. I wanted you to have a weapon you’re used to.”

“What about me?” Jilly asked.

“You’re the bait,” Edna said. “Flutter around like an injured duck and get its attention.”

“An injured duck?” Jilly’s voice was shrill. “Do pigs eat ducks?”

“Wild pigs eat nearly anything, from what I’ve read,” I said.

“Don’t get hung up on the details, Jillian. Just distract the thing so Ivy and I can nail it.”

There was an indignant mumble near my knees.

“You mean Keats can nail it,” I said, pushing in front of Edna. “Let’s trust the dog’s judgment. You and Jilly hold the net and Keats and I can drive the pig into it.”

Jilly crowded in behind us. “Ivy, you said we were only going to ID this thing and report back to experts.”

“If it’s aggressive, we’ll do just that,” I said.

Edna fell back and the energy shift told me she was relieved I was taking the lead. “Retreat to the bunker if there’s more than one. Speedy-like.”

“You bet we will,” I said. “Now, instead of charging, we’re going to creep out. Let’s try calm and friendly first.”

“You don’t sweet talk a wild pig, Ivy,” Edna said.

“Who’s got a better record with animals?” Jilly asked. “If anyone can sweet talk a pig, it’ll be Ivy.”

Grabbing the doorhandle, I took a deep breath. “Keats, be extra careful. Sociopaths are easier to read than feral pigs, I bet. And Percy, please go high. They can’t climb.”

“Are you sure?” Jilly asked.

“They can’t climb like Percy, that’s for sure. I did google to see what we’re up against. If there’s a gang of them, we move to plan B.” I raised my hand before she could protest. “Plan B involves a lot more people.”

I cracked open the door just enough to stick my nose out. Keats stuck his muzzle out, too, and his growl turned into a perplexed grumble.

My eyes searched for the chubby invader and I saw it poking in the bushes across the clearing. It seemed to be a solo scavenger.

When the pig turned toward us, I gasped. “It’s Kenny Hoggins!”

“What?” My friends’ voices overlapped.

“The singer?” Edna said.

“The ‘Footloose’ guy,” Jilly said. “I love that song.”

“Kenny Hoggins,” I said. “Not Loggins. What I’m seeing out there is a black-and-white pot-bellied pig, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s the one who went missing near Dorset Hills before I came home. The Mafia found remains and called the case closed. Meanwhile, Kenny Hoggins has apparently survived an entire year on the lam.”

“Oh, poor Kenny, all alone in the woods,” Jilly said. “He needs a bride.”

“What he really needs is a bribe,” I said, stooping to grab protein bars from my backpack. “He was a nice pig, from all reports. A beloved house-pet.”

“He’s feral now, Ivy,” Edna said. “As savage as a wild boar, no doubt.”

“Let’s see.” I opened the door wider. “New plan, boys. Let me lure him with the food and then you two herd him into the net. Edna, Jilly… get ready to swoop in.”

Kenny Hoggins didn’t make a run for it. Instead, he stood perfectly still, staring at me with small eyes as I walked a few yards and then knelt on one knee in the middle of the clearing. When I ripped open a protein bar, soft snuffles turned to eager snorts and then an excited squeal.

“Don’t charge, don’t charge,” I muttered, tossing a chunk in his direction.

Kenny charged.

Before he got to me, I toppled and then scrambled out of the way.

Had I overplayed my hand? Was Kellan going to come out and find me trampled under cloven hooves? That probably wasn’t covered in the boyfriend handbook either.

Keats was ready and circled like a flash of lightning. Before Kenny had a clue he’d been duped, he turned left to avoid the growling dog, turned yet again at the sight of the puffed and spitting cat, and then ran straight into the net. Jilly and Edna pulled it in tight but the chubby animal didn’t put up a fight. He just stood there in his mesh veil and grabbed the protein bar I slid under the bottom edge, grunting rather cheerfully.

“What do we do now?” Jilly asked.

I turned to Edna. “You’ve got rope?”

“I’m fully equipped for an alien invasion,” Edna said.

“Well, set the phasers on stun, and just bring rope and bungie cords.”

Keats circled again and again, and Kenny watched the dog warily as he ate another protein bar.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but between us, we managed to lift the net in sections and wrap Kenny up in a makeshift rope harness with three handles. We’d need to work as a team to keep the pig in check. His year in the wild hadn’t slimmed him down much from his original 250 lbs. If he bolted, he could take us on a wild ride.

“Better to wrap him up in tarps and drag him behind the ATV,” Edna said.

“We’re not dragging Kenny Hoggins,” I said. “After what he’s been through, he deserves the dignity of walking out of the bush on his own. I’m quite sure he will come willingly.”

“What makes you think so?” Jilly asked.

“She who holds the turkey Spam holds the power. Catch my drift?”

Edna went inside the bunker and came back with half a dozen tins of the fragrant luncheon meat.

I started walking slowly to the trail and the others grabbed a loop. Kenny Hoggins came along so easily and happily that I suspected he had been leash trained at some point. Still, I didn’t underestimate him. To survive so long on his own, he had to be wily.

“He’s adorable,” I said, staring down at the bristly flat disk of his snout, and scratching the white blaze between his ears. He’d already grown a thick winter coat. “Did you know they have forty-four teeth?”

“I know this one has two sharp tusks that could make short work of my fur-child,” Jilly said, scooping up Percy with her free hand and shoving him up onto her shoulder.

“Just keep him fed and walking, Ivy,” Edna said. “This isn’t the time for one of your instalove affairs.”

I glanced at Jilly. “Instalove? Edna’s so with-it.”

“Eyes on the pig,” Edna said.

We kept the treats coming and Keats circled constantly as we went back up the trail that seemed even longer and more twisty than when we came down.

Edna shone the light ahead. “What are we going to do when we get to your truck? There’s no way we can hoist him inside. He’s like a giant football. With tusks.”

“Cori’s on her way with reinforcements,” Jilly said. “Asher and Kellan, too.”

“You called in Chief McSnobalot?” Edna was outraged.

“I’ll ask him not to oust you from your bunker again,” I said. “You’ve just done a tremendous public service.”

“He can’t oust me, anyway,” she said. “I’m here with the owner’s permission.”

“The owner? I thought the township owned all the back country land.”

“Some plots belong to founding families,” she said. “And I happen to know the right people.”

Kenny Hoggins continued to grunt enthusiastically and eat the bits of Spam we dropped in front of him as we headed for the floodlights at the top of the trail.

Cori had already lowered a ramp in the back of Bridget Linsmore’s battered green VW van. Her sheepdog, Clem, joined Keats to herd the pig inside, where a feast of vegetables awaited him.

Kenny surrendered his freedom without a backward glance.

“He’s a sweetheart and his owner will be so thrilled,” I said, grinning as the doors closed on the pig. “I’d love to be there for the reunion.”

“The guy moved away a few months ago,” Cori said. “We’ll have to track him down. Chief Hottie can probably help.”

Bridget gave us a wave before walking around to the driver’s door, and said, “See you back at the farm.”

“The farm? My farm?” My voice was a harsh squawk. “You can’t dump Kenny Hoggins on me.”

“You just said he’s a sweetheart.” Cori fluttered her trademark black glove with its orange middle finger in my direction. “And you’ve got a big empty stall you didn’t fill after Clippers and Bocelli left. It’s a crime for a space like that to be vacant when there are pigs in need.”

“It’s only for a while,” Bridget said. “And we’ve got you covered tonight if you want to finish your bunker sleepover.”

“Here’s a big nope to that,” Jilly said, letting Percy drop down into her arms. “Edna can bring our stuff back tomorrow. I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight.”

I gave up the fight I never won against the Mafia and sighed. “It’s been fun, Edna. Another time.”

“This wasn’t an open invitation,” she said. “Now call your boyfriend and misdirect him, please. The situation has been handled and I don’t need the cops disrupting my peace.”

“Jilly?” I asked, as the two of us walked to my truck. “What does the boyfriend handbook say about willful misdirection?”

“Negative on that,” she said. “But I’ll suggest the guys meet us back at the farm for hot cocoa.” She texted them with her free hand. “Let’s boot it.”

Keats and Clem raced around in the circles of our headlights to celebrate a job well done, and then parted to get into their respective vehicles.

“Mission accomplished,” I said, rolling down the window and waving at Edna. She straightened her shoulders and gave us a salute. Keats squirmed into my lap, something I normally didn’t allow when I was driving. But this was a big moment, so I let him stick his head out the window, too. “Let’s go home and roll out the red carpet for Kenny Hoggins.”

“Just what we need,” Jilly said, as the truck rolled over the rocky trails after Bridget’s van. “A pot-bellied pig.”

“What’s one more mouth to feed? Albeit a big one.”

“Do you hear all that splashing?” Jilly asked, cupping a hand to her ear. “That’s the sound of your ark sinking.”

“Remind me to get a new one,” I said. “I’ll wait for a sale at the ark store.”

Keats gave a happy pant and Percy draped himself around Jilly’s neck like a living fur boa.

“Remind me to order some Spam,” Jilly said. “I’ll wait till there’s a sale at the Spam store and then conjure up some recipes for my bunker cookbook.”

“We could offer the bunker experience at the inn. Instead of upscale, we go downscale. It’s probably an underserved niche in the hospitality market.”

She patted my arm and Keats at the same time. “There’s such a thing as taking a joke too far, my friend.”

There wasn’t, of course. With us, the laugh was always welcomed warmly and given a home in our hearts, just like the stray animals.