I forgot what it was like to round up a group of kids. This pack was especially chaotic – probably the whole kidnapped for forced mining labor and then some strange amazonian woman beating their captors to death in front of them thing, but they might just be hungry. We line them up and walk them toward the front of the bus. The red-headed kid pipes up yet again.

“Hey, our feet hurt! The sand on the floor doesn’t feel good!” he shouts.

I look down and see that they are all barefoot.

“They took our shoes so we couldn’t run,” he adds.

Teresa and I exchange a look. She stays with the kids while I go back out to look around. When I step off into the dusty wind, I check on my three admirers. Two are gone. The one whose arm I removed is laying, bled out, in the sun. I don’t see much of use by him. I turn and see the dune buggies. Now I kind of wish Teresa hadn’t disabled them. I find an oil-stained canvas in the back of one. I pull it aside. Behold! A box o’ kid’s shoes!

Back on the bus, I hold up one shoe at a time. Each kid takes their turn coming up to claim their shoes. Teresa stands back and lets me handle the kids.

“Now,” I state officially, as I’m handing out the shoes. “We’re gonna have to do some walking. So, whoever can walk the farthest without whining wins.”

“You’re just saying that to keep us quiet,” says the little red-headed boy.

“You’re absolutely right,” I agree. “It’s not going to work, is it?”

“You wish,” says the boy.

“Hey, red, what’s your name anyway?” I ask.

He furrows his brow but doesn’t say anything.

“His name’s Judd,” a girl from the back yells.

“Shut up, Jessie,” Judd yells back at the girl.

“Hey, Judd,” I say, as I return to the shoe sorting.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re going to be with me,” I say. “Me and Teresa are going to need help and you’re clearly not as nervous as everyone else.”

“It’s Teresa and I,” Judd says. “But yeah, okay.”

Teresa turns and smiles at me for the first time ever.

“I think you met your match,” she says happily.

We get the shoes sorted and the kids lined up to depart. Teresa leads the way and Judd is at the back with me.

“Where are you taking us anyway?” Judd whispers to me.

“Where did you come from?” I respond. “And where did you go?”

Judd looks at me about as confused as he deserves.

“Where did you come from, Cotton Eyed Joe?” I continue.

“The hell you talkin’ ‘bout?” he hisses.

“Don’t cuss,” I whisper back. “And I’m asking you where you all came from?”

“Tumblewood,” he replies.

“That a town?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “It’s the name of the orphanage.”

“Its not an orphanage!” a girl in front of us says. “It’s a children’s home and a school.”

“Whatever,” says Judd. “We ain’t none of us got parents!”

“You can say ‘We ain’t none of us got parents.’ but I can’t say ‘Teresa and me?’” I snap.

Judd ignores me as he steps off the bus and follows the line of other kids.

***

We’re able to make it back to Holden in about four hours. We probably could have made it sooner, but we had to stop for kids to pee plus Teresa was walking the bike the whole time. Luckily, most of our breaks were in the shade of various rock formations.

Larry’s is busy, but all I want is some water. So do the kids. We go to the watermaster, a fella at the end of the main street whose job it is to hand out mostly-purified water rations.

“I can’t be waterin’ thirty kids!” he protests when we ask for service.

“Take your shoes off and count again,” Teresa barks. “There’s only twelve of ‘em.”

“And maybe some extra water for that sick burn,” I call from the back.

After some heavy persuasion and a handful of coins, the watermaster obliges. The kids sit on the ground and sip at their little mismatched tin cups.

“So where is Tumblewood,” I ask. “Is it here in this town?”

“Nah,” Judd says, “Its over in Gridley. Ever heard of it?”

“More like has Gridley ever heard of him.” Teresa chuckles.

“Who are you?” I ask. “When did you start droppin’ one-liners?”

“Well, the Tumblewood is in Gridley,” Judd repeats.

I look at Teresa and scratch my chin. I can tell she knows what I’m thinking. From Gridley to here in Holden was a day’s ride on the bike. It’s at least twenty-five to thirty miles. I can’t imagine she’d want to walk the bike that far all while taking care of this crew.

“I guess I’ll have to sell the bike,” she says. “We could use the money anyway.”

“How about a horse and wagon?” I ask. “We could pile this whole gang into one if it were sized right. It might not cut down on the time terribly much, but it would avoid the long walk.”

Teresa nods approvingly.

“I’ll go see the stable master,” she says. “You got a handle on these guys?”

“I didn’t win the State of Nebraska’s ‘2029 Educator of the Year’ for no reason,” I say smugly. “We’ll be singing school songs by the time you get back.”

Teresa and I pool our loose money, and she walks the bike away as she leaves. If she can get a decent price for it, maybe she can trade it in for some credit toward the wagon and steed.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I start teaching the kids a full verse to ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’.

Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert.books@gmail.com

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