Crisp morning air brought blood to Lacey’s cheeks. Her fingers had gone white where they gripped the boat’s metal rail. Mist curled around her, obscuring everything but the distant tips of pine trees on the riverbank. The sharp air sliding down her throat cleared away some of her brain fog. She was starting to feel oddly like herself.

They had been traveling for almost a day now. Staying in Portland was not an option. The longer Lacey stayed within city limits, the higher the chances of them getting caught. The jackers had filled their tank and detached the line while Lacey was sleeping off her near-death experience. As soon as she gave them a destination, they left.

Lacey turned to lean against the railing. The boat’s sail flapped uselessly in the wind. No one else was around, so they were using the motor now. Rivet had informed Lacey that the sail was just a disguise so cops and rival jackers didn’t stop them. That was one of the few concrete facts they had given Lacey when they gave her a tour of the boat. It was better to orient her before they left the city and Wrench was busy, so Rivet took charge.

The two emerged from the hatch just before dawn. Rivet hadn’t seemed bothered by the dim lighting. Dew and scum had coated the narrow decks. The boat rocked with every wave. Lacey had struggled to keep her footing as her guide scampered around the boat.

The boat was called, absurdly, the Swill Torpedo. She measured somewhere between twenty-five and thirty feet from bow to stern. Below deck was the cabin, and above deck sat a small flybridge that housed the controls. Two masts stuck out of the boat like spines on a creature’s back. Rivet went over all that at breakneck speed. Lacey hadn’t had time to ask questions before Rivet grabbed the rail and launched themself over the side of the boat.

Lacey had yelled and run to the gunnel. She leaned out over the rail, hand outstretched, to see Rivet standing totally unharmed a few feet below.

“Gotcha,” they wheezed in between cackles.

“Not funny,” Lacey had huffed.

Rivet stood on a narrow wooden platform bolted at water level to the Swill Torpedo’s port side. From what Lacey saw, it wrapped around the stern and extended across the starboard gunnel, forming a misshapen C. Junk littered the water stained boards. From the looks of it, the platform was rigged from salvaged wood. Faded writing was just barely visible on some stretches. Signs, she’d guessed, or pieces of shipping containers. Lacey wondered how the jackers had waterproofed the absurd structure.

“Come down,” Rivet had said. They watched with amusement as Lacey clambered over the railing. She had landed awkwardly beside Rivet and looked around. The boat’s deck was now level with her head.

A large wave crashed over the edge of the platform. Lacey grabbed the railing out of instinct.

Rivet seemed unfazed. “This is where we keep our shit,” they said. “It also helps with the disguise factor.”

Lacey nodded approvingly. Credit where credit was due: this definitely looked like a Frankenboat.

“Oh, I’ve gotta show you the Ritz!” Rivet had exclaimed. They had guided Lacey around the platform, ignoring the way the motor made the boards vibrate. On the starboard side of the platform, a Port-A-Potty greeted Lacey in all its sun-warped glory.

Lacey blinked. “Wow.”

“The Ritz,” Rivet repeated.

“Sure.” Lacey knew she should be surprised, but she was used to this kind of thing by now. Plenty of Frankenboat owners equipped themselves with Port-A-Potties they’d stolen from relief camps. Actual plumbing on boats was difficult to maintain compared to dumping a plastic tank into the river. It just seemed silly to install one when they already had a working head belowdecks.

“I think it’s pretty smart,” Rivet said. They picked their way over piles of garbage to unlock the Port-A-Potty. Lacey held her breath in preparation for the stench she expected to wash over her, but when the door opened, she realized there was no need. Rivet and Wrench had removed the seat and tank to make room for a massive gas drum strapped into place with repurposed seatbelts.

“This is where we hide the booty,” Rivet said.

As much as Lacey hated to admit it, Rivet was right. This was pretty ingenious.

“Right, so that’s basically it.” Rivet grabbed the rail and hauled themself back onto the deck. Lacey followed with much less grace. “You’ve got free run of the ship. Just don’t do stupid shit, don’t steal, don’t leave, blah blah blah. I’d threaten you, but I feel like you’re smart enough to figure out what’ll happen if we catch you doing anything we don’t like.” They flicked a piece of dirt off their overalls. “Savvy?”

“Savvy,” Lacey echoed. The jacker slang felt clunky and strange in her mouth.

“Wrench!” Rivet had bellowed over their shoulder. “Ready yet?”

“Give me a minute,” Wrench had yelled back from inside the cockpit.

Rivet had rolled their eyes and stomped over to start an argument with their sister. Lacey had left the two of them to their business. She stood at the stern, hands clenched around the railing, and looked out over the dawn-lit city. Dead cell towers poked out from the skyline like giant modern cairns. Lacey remembered the sinking dread of pulling out her phone after the quake and realizing that she didn’t have service. No one did. Everyone expected the phone companies to fix their reception eventually. They had been naive, stupid. The area was too shaken up to bother fixing. Good thing Mimi had that Ham radio license, Lacey thought wryly. God, she fucking missed Mimi.

Then the guilt hit her again. Lacey had doubled over with the force of it, whimpered wordless apologies to no one.

By the time the boat started moving, Lacey had recovered. She calmly listened to Rivet explain that they’d be using the wind to travel at first. They’d start using the motor once Wrench couldn’t see anyone else on the water. Meanwhile, Rivet had asked her to stay below decks. It hadn’t really been a question, but Lacey said yes anyway. It felt good to pretend she had a choice.

Rivet had waited with her, too. Wrench was the navigator, Rivet had explained. “Anyhow, she’s a better pilot. Driver. Whatever.” They’d stuck their head into a cabinet in search of food. “I mostly go real fast and bump into stuff. She says it’s dangerous, I say it’s boring. Potayto, potahto. Ah fuck, there’s, like, no food.” They frowned in disappointment. “Hey, I always wondered this, but did you guys — the canoe people, you know — did you work for food and stuff? Like, was that your payment?”

Lacey had hesitated. Giving away information about the team felt wrong somehow. But Rivet couldn’t do anything about it, and why would they, anyway? No reason to it.

“We worked for whatever people would trade. Sometimes food, sometimes not. We had a trust fund baby on the team who knew a lot of other rich people, and she worked out a deal with one of the private hire grocery people. You know, for the weirdos who stayed behind.” Just thinking about those shits made her mad. Too stubborn to leave but too uppity to live on scraps like everyone else, holed up in their West Hills mansions they refused to share. They capitalized on water, housing, police gear. Everything that people needed and anything that could be commodified.

Rivet nodded. “I know the type.”

“Lots of brokers like that?” Lacey guessed.

“Some.” Rivet shrugged. “Honestly, not too many in that crowd.”

Lacey smirked. “Yeah. Jacking seems a little too plebeian for a lot of those types.”

“Plebeian?” Rivet raised an eyebrow.

“Like, too normal,” Lacey explained.

Rivet scowled. “I know big words, too, fuckwit. I got accepted to motherfucking Harvard.”

“Okay, sorry!” Lacey threw her hands up in mock innocence. Meanwhile, she made a mental note to ask about this later. “I’m not questioning you.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Rivet drawled. “No, I just feel like plebeian-ness isn’t the reason they don’t join in on the business, you know? Like, it’s more a matter of shitty social skills. They just don’t know how to relate to the actual workers. You know, they talk best to the other people in charge. They treat everyone else like idiots.” Rivet grinned. “Maybe that’s why you’re so familiar with that type.”

Lacey had tried to suppress a laugh. She failed spectacularly. After a moment, Rivet had joined in.

It had been nearly a day since then. The sound of Rivet’s laughter still echoed in Lacey’s ears. There was something remarkably freeing about meeting someone who’d completely decimate Lacey to her face, especially for their own amusement. She hadn’t realized how rare it was until now. The team had made fun of her, but there was always some kind of qualifier. An undercurrent of deference ran through their jokes. Good to see you doing X stupid thing, Lacey. I’ll latch onto it as a reminder that even perfect people fuck up sometimes. She’d tried to correct them, but there was only so much she could do. Leaders had to be special. Mistakes turned into life lessons, talents into tools, habits into wisdom. She let Rede borrow her jacket like she used to in high school and Thanh joked that it was like that scene in some old superhero movie where Captain America’s sidekick borrows his shield. Rede had flushed with pride. Lacey had pretended it was funny. On the inside, something had broken.

“Hey, jackass.” The soft lines of Rivet’s silhouette resolved into focus as they rounded the cockpit.

“Hey, Ivy Leagues,” Lacey replied.

Rivet snorted. “You’re up early.”

“Early bird gets the worm.” Lacey shifted her weight. The railing was starting to warm from her body heat. “Is it always this foggy on this part of the river?”

“I think so.” Rivet joined her in leaning against the railing. They’d thrown a ratty Timbers hoodie over their overalls. “Don’t get down here much, so I’m not sure.”

“Down here?” Lacey echoed.

“We’re getting close to the mouth of the Colombia, apparently,” said Rivet. “Wrench and I were gonna trade out for a bit so she can do a rations inventory. See if we need to stock up or anything.”

Lacey chose not to ask what ‘stocking up’ meant to these two. Something told her she didn’t want to know the answer. She tugged at a knot in her hair to distract herself.

“You should cut that,” Rivet said.

Lacey’s hand froze. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“Suit yourself, I guess.” Rivet picked their teeth. “Long hair gets caught in SCUBA helmets, though. Not fun.”

“You have to dive pretty regularly for that to be an issue,” Lacey said.

Rivet smirked and inclined their head.

Lacey cleared her throat. “I’m going to go get Wrench so you can change out.”

“You do that.” Rivet settled back against the railing. Lacey felt their eyes on her as she made her way into the pilot’s cockpit.

The space was cramped and a little too warm. Wrench sat in front of the controls. Her posture made her back even more hunched than usual. One hand gripped the wheel in front of her while the other lay in her lap.

Lacey shuffled across the scuffed wood floor. Tall windows overlooked the foremost third of the Swill Torpedo. The ship’s controls shone dully in the light that filtered through the glass. Lacey traced the lines of a lever, ran her fingers over a label’s half-worn figures.

“Rivet thinks you won’t run,” said Wrench.

The sudden sound jarred Lacey. “They would be right,” she replied, once she’d composed herself.

Wrench turned her head a fraction. The movement looked almost painful. “For your sake, I hope you don’t try.”

Lacey turned toward the window. Rivet’s silhouette was blurred by fog. Even at a distance, Lacey saw nothing but solid strength. They may be flippant and unfocused, but Lacey wasn’t stupid enough to confuse that with stupidity. Anyone would be an idiot to cross them.

“Rivet’s ready to change out,” Lacey said.

“Good. I’m done sitting still.” Wrench stood and hobbled to the door. She moved slowly and deliberately. Lacey suspected every movement was as difficult as it looked.

“You’re coming with me,” Wrench said. “I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

Lacey decided against arguing. She followed Wrench out of the cockpit and through the hatch to the cabin. The air was warmer and slightly stale. Lacey sat on the blanket-covered table that had become her bed while Wrench opened the cabinets. She sorted through the contents, muttering to herself.

“Rivet thinks I’m going to stick around for a while, apparently,” Lacey said. She leaned against the wall and relaxed her face. “Was that something you were going to ask me about at some point?”

Wrench arched an eyebrow. “It’s not something they brought up to me, so no, I wasn’t planning on it.”

A weakness, Lacey thought automatically. Something to catalog and use to her advantage later. There was no advantage to exploit, she knew, but oh well. Old habits die hard.

“It’s not surprising, though. You should get used to Rivet’s boundless enthusiasm,” Wrench said drily. She squinted at the label on a can of what looked like soup. “They’re very optimistic for such a cynical person.”

Which made Wrench the grounding rod, Lacey’s mind filled in.

“You two make a good team, then,” Lacey said.

“Oh, absolutely.” Wrench smirked. “Every broker we’ve had has made bank off of us.”

“It would be stupid to give you up.”

Wrench snorted. “Tell that to-” She cut herself off. Lacey met her eye as Wrench twisted her neck at that same awkward angle. “Wow, you almost got me.”

Lacey sighed and spread her hands. “So close, and yet so far.”

Wrench kept her head turned toward Lacey. “I’m half tempted to shoot you now.”

“Would it help if I said sorry?” Lacey smiled.

Wrench shook her head. “It’s better for everyone if you don’t know who our last broker was.”

“I just want to know who I’m dealing with,” said Lacey.

“Well, you haven’t told us who’s after you, so you’ll just have to suck it up.” Wrench fiddled with a loose hinge.

“Fair’s fair.” Lacey scratched the back of her neck. “I guess it doesn’t matter too much now that we’re out of Portland.” Rivet and Wrench didn’t seem like they’d done something worth pursuing past city limits. They might struggle to find work there, but there probably wasn’t a penalty on their heads. Lacey was another story. Lack of immediate danger didn’t equal safety.

Wrench seemed to think the same. “Whoever’s after you seems plenty willing to come after you, even if you do stay far from the city.”

“Maybe at first.” Lacey’s lips thinned. “If the team does spread word that I’m dead, I expect they won’t waste resources on me, at least after a while. I definitely don’t want to let them know I’m alive, though.”

Wrench hummed. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to keep a low profile.”

“No paddling where anyone can see,” Lacey agreed.

“And you’ll cover your face.” Wrench nodded to herself. “Probably cut your hair. You’ll have to do that if you want to dive, anyway.”

“Rivet said the same thing.” Lacey shook her head. “Yours is long-ish. Mine should be fine.”

Wrench gave her a measured look. “Mine is also very thin and to my shoulders. Yours reaches your butt.”

“Comme-ci, comme-sa.” Lacey rolled her eyes hard enough to make Thanh proud.

Wrench was not amused. “Okay, have it your way.”

They sat in silence for a while longer.

Wrench finished going through the cabinets. “We’ll definitely have to stock up soon. Do you know if this marina place has food stores?”

Lacey snorted. “I doubt it. I don’t think anyone’s even been there since the quake.”

“You and your rowing friends went to yours,” Wrench countered.

“We had a reason.” Lacey shrugged. “Besides, we got lucky. All of us were here, our families were either dead or leaving, and we all wanted to help. That’s a pretty rare situation for a team to be in. Also, it’s paddling, not rowing.”

“Comme-ci, comme-sa,” Wrench mocked.

Lacey rubbed her face. “I see where Rivet gets their sarcasm.”

“Oh, I learned it from them,” Wrench said. “They’d been annoying our parents with smartassery for years before I was born.”

“You’re the younger sibling?” Lacey couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

Wrench nodded sharply.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” Wrench said guardedly.

Lacey’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“The hunch makes me look older.” Wrench’s face softened. “Rivet’s twenty-two. They know how to keep themself young.”

Interesting.

“How long have you been doing this?” Lacey gestured to the boat.

The softness in Wrench’s face disappeared. “Stop trying to get me talking.”

Lacey opened her mouth to deny it. Instead, she found herself muttering an apology.

A sudden lurch threw both of them against the cabinet. Wrench spat a curse. “God, I should’ve known better than to let them steer. Wait here.” Wrench gave Lacey a warning glare before leaving the cabin. Lacey sat on the counter. She listened to the muffled sound of water slapping the boat and wondered what Rivet would be like if they’d actually gone to Harvard. It was hard to picture them sitting in a lecture hall with a spiral notebook. College just seemed a little. Well. Plebeian, for them. Lacey didn’t doubt their success, though. Rivet would have devastated the competition. Maybe they’d have even liked it.