When Rede first learned about the new fuel jacking industry before the quake, she had thought it was a modern day Robin Hood fantasy come true. Rede had watched gas prices skyrocket even as the government imposed strict taxes on fossil fuel emissions. The free market had combined with the government’s last-ditch attempts to halt climate change in the worst possible way: no one could afford to use gas except the very rich, who began to see fuel use as some sort of twisted status symbol. Rede vividly remembered Mara’s parents picking her up from practice in their shiny red Audi with the big belching exhaust pipes custom molded to stick right out of the hood like devil horns. Meanwhile, the rest of the paddlers used EV transit — or, if they were lucky, borrowed their parents’ zero emission cars. The construction process on cars involved fuel, though, and the resulting tax was folded in with the price of the vehicle. Cars became virtually inaccessible unless you saved like crazy and bought used. When she learned that people were starting to tap into private fuel mains and redistribute the product for cheap, Rede wanted to cheer.

But her optimism had quickly faded. Jackers’ clients were poor people seeking out illegal goods. They had no leverage and everything to lose. It wasn’t hard to predict the results. Rede had watched the industry eat away at her hometown like a scavenger at a still-breathing body.

After the quake, the only thing that changed for the jackers was the mechanics. They used boats now, not trucks or tap lines, and diving was now a more valuable skill than underground navigation. Still, the authorities still checked vehicle owners’ Proof of Fuel Purchase Legitimacy Cards with frightening regularity — never mind that it was boats now instead of cars — and inspected the service line certificates for the precious few buildings who’d managed to repair their gas mains after the quake shattered them. Just like before, the consequences were dire if you were caught driving on gas that your PFPL card couldn’t account for or powering your home using a pirate line.

Which was why smelling the tang of petrol in the air near their rendezvous point made Rede’s stomach clench with anger. Just a few minutes into the job and she was already getting heated — not exactly a good sign.

Presumably, the aluminum fishing boat tied to a nearby piece of wreckage was the source of the fuel-stench. The thing was tiny and barely water worthy, precious gas leaking out of the tank to form a colorful halo in the water, but the way their buyer eyed it betrayed the fact that this craft was nothing short of vital.

The buyer in question was a mousy-looking man wearing a plastic rain poncho and clutching a bundle to his chest. He stood next to their rendezvous marker: a pile of uprooted street signs nearly as tall as he was. As they approached, Rede noticed the hollows under his cheekbones, the slight tremor in his legs as if standing upright was a struggle. There was no way he was fueling his motorboat legally. Some moneysucker must have looked at this skeleton of a man and taken no issue with taking everything he owned in exchange for gas. Rede kept biting her tongue until, with a jolt, she realized she’d drawn blood.

The man waved. “Hello! Over here!”

The canoe veered left as Mara dug in her steers blade. Mimi slowed down their rate so Mara had a better time navigating. They’d chosen this area because it wasn’t as rocky as the rest of the bridge ruins, but they had run into a few nasty surprises before, so it couldn’t hurt to be careful.

Rede’s paddle struck sand. She pulled it out and let the waves carry the canoe’s nose onto the shore, then helped the others pull it fully out of the water.

While Mara went to go talk logistics with the buyer, Rede took a look around. The sun had fully risen, cutting through the low-hanging clouds that blanketed the city. A gentle breeze rippled the surface of the water. The riverbanks weren’t really defined anymore: the flooding from the quake had gone down in the first couple months, meaning most of the city wasn’t completely drowned like it had been at first, but the city remained marshy. Plants grew from every available patch of dirt. The river stuck greedy fingers past its banks, running down streets and through natural dips in the terrain. Tree limbs sprouted from half-submerged trunks. In the distance, Rede could see the arch and sway of the Fremont Bridge peeking through bullet-gray smog. The approaches had collapsed during the quake, but the body of the bridge had remained intact.

Everyone had expected the Tilikum to survive the quake, and it had — which meant that everyone flocked to cross it, loading the structure with constant mass and motion. Rede later heard rumors that the Department of Transportation had sent out warnings about bridge safety, but the cell networks had gone dead by then, miles of fiberoptic cable twisted and shattered and left to crumble. The city had floundered in its disconnection. Some flaw in the bridge’s supports had been exacerbated by the quake; the combined strain of aftershocks and high volume traffic had taken the whole thing down. Now, Rede and her teammates knelt on sand littered with bits of concrete and cables that once held up Portland’s newest bridge.

Crunching gravel alerted Rede to Mara’s approach. Mimi trailed behind her with the team’s payment in her arms. She turned to give one last wave to their client before trotting forward to catch up.

“This is the package,” Mara said when she’d reached the canoe. She hefted the bundle in one hand. It looked like an old T-shirt with the sleeves tied together, strips of duct tape wrapped haphazardly around the cloth. She stuffed it into the dry bag clipped to her belt.

When she spoke next, Mara made sure to keep her voice down. “I have no clue what this is, but the guy seems nervous. I don’t think he’s serious trouble, but he definitely gives off weird vibes.”

“Be careful and keep an eye out. Got it,” Thanh said.

“He didn’t seem seriously sketchy, though, did he?” Inna pressed. “Like, he’s not a crackhead or anything?”

Mara shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

“Great. Let’s get going, then.” Thanh grabbed the bench closest to her and glanced at the rest of the team. “You guys ready or what?”

#

The team paddled across the river to the east bank and took a short break while Mara reoriented herself. Mimi took the opportunity to clean her glasses. Rede threw her legs over the side of the boat, letting her bare toes dangle in the water. Inna dipped his charcoal-filter bottle into the river and passed it up the canoe. The team drank, felt the sun’s rays slowly work their way through the clouds, and waited for Mara’s earsplitting call: “Paddles up!”

Long distance paddling was no challenge to the team. One of their favorite annual races had been a twelve mile course in the wave-tossed Puget Sound. Getting from one end of the city to another, then, wasn’t much of an issue. Jobs as short as this bordered on snooze-worthy. The only real problem was navigation, but that wasn’t Rede’s responsibility. As long as she stayed in time and maintained her form, she didn’t have to concentrate on much of anything. She could just watch the scenery slide by.

Her city had been beautiful once. It had already entered its decline by the time Rede was born, but knowing it had passed its prime didn’t make the Portland she knew any uglier. This post-quake version was beautiful, too, but in the same way as a cicada’s shell remained beautiful after the living insect left it behind: the structure remained, but the inside had gone hollow. It was a beautiful empty thing.

Mara steered them down what used to be the Eastbank Esplanade. To their right, half-submerged buildings sprouted from the water like rusted teeth. No one lived this close to the bank, Rede knew; the varying water levels made it virtually impossible to find an actual livable location year-round. Right now, the water was shallow enough that Rede could see tufts of grass ripple beneath her paddle with each stroke. Bits of wreckage too useless for salvagers to sell poked out from the silty river bottom. Rede carefully angled her blade to avoid knocking into anything hard.

“We’re sticking to this area for a bit and then heading into the neighborhood,” Mara called — somewhat unnecessarily, Rede thought. The team trusted Mara to take them wherever they needed to go. Route corrections from the other paddlers were practically nonexistent.

“Hey Mara?” Inna called. “I think we might be going the wrong way?”

Rede groaned.

“No, this is definitely the way to get there,” Mara replied.

“Okay,” said Inna, “but I feel like we shouldn’t be hearing a motor?”

Rede cocked her head. Sure enough, if she tuned out the gentle rush of water and the creak of the canoe’s rigging, Rede could detect a faint hum from somewhere behind them.

“Fuck it,” Rede muttered. She let her paddle fall across her knees and twisted backward. Squinting, she made out the silhouette of a motorboat and its trail of white water approaching their stern.

This was not good. If this was a police boat, they would be hearing sirens by now, and if it were some benign traveler, then they’d have no reason to make a beeline for the canoe.

“Goddamit,” Thanh muttered. “I knew that guy looked sketchy.”

“Let’s rate up,” Mara called. “On the next change, we’re starting a power set. Let’s get out of the main channel.”

Rede resumed paddling, though she couldn’t resist the urge to look over her shoulder. In the corner of her eye, she could see Mara’s steers paddle flare outward, turning them toward a waterlogged side street. The water grew progressively shallower. Rede unintentionally shortened her stroke out of fear that she’d break her paddle.

Mara wove behind what used to be a roof, now four feet of brick and crumbling tile that effectively shielded their bodies from sight.

“Now we can’t see them!” Inna protested. Panic made his voice crack.

“They also can’t see us, genius,” said Thanh.

“I feel like we’re overreacting,” Mimi said, but her voice was so quiet that only Rede could hear.

Rede’s mind raced. Did they accidentally cross into someone’s territory on accident? Maybe they had taken a dirty job without knowing? It had gotten so hard to double check now that Lacey was gone. They could have missed something.

Or maybe it was nothing at all. They were all on edge. This could be nothing. Just a coincidence. Everything was probably fine.

The nose of the canoe passed the end of the roof. Mimi threw a cautious glance to her left, craning her neck forward and throwing her body off balance. “Guys?” she said. “I can see the boat, I think they’ve got-”

A sharp crack resounded from off to the left, and something splashed into the water not a foot from the canoe. Rede caught a glint of bronze drifting toward the river bottom.

“Fuck!” Thanh lurched forward, paddle slamming against the gunnel. “They’ve got guns!”

“We can tell,” Rede said through gritted teeth.

“Mimi, are you okay?” Inna yelled.

“Keep going!” Mara’s voice had risen to a screech. “One hundred percent, guys, let’s go!”

Rede redoubled her efforts, gritting her teeth with strain. The muscles of her back throbbed. She refused to look to her left, forced her ears to shut out the hum of the motor, convinced her body that the boat supporting it was not rocking from the force of a wake.

Mimi had recovered, body reaching long and hard for the water in front of her. They were headed for another building, this one taller than the last. Mimi twisted her body desperately forward, dragging the canoe along at a breakneck pace. Rede’s lungs burned with the effort of keeping up.

She felt her blade smack into something unyielding. Water splashed into her eyes. Rede gasped and looked down, expecting to see a chunk of concrete or a piece of driftwood blocking her way.

Instead, Rede saw a pale hand reaching up from the water to grasp her blade.