The next couple days were a blur of bland food, nocturnal canoeing practices, and accidental hulis. When they weren’t paddling, the siblings kept Lacey busy. She got a more detailed explanation of how the boat worked and how to tell if something was wrong. Wrench started letting Lacey cook, which was nice. She even explained the basic mechanics of jacking between bites of freeze dried chili mac. Lacey knew the absolute bare-bones, but that wasn’t enough to function here. She committed everything to memory as best as possible.

Wrench noticed Lacey’s attentiveness. She definitely still didn’t trust her, but she got closer every day. One night, she actually shared some of the siblings’ secret booze stash with Lacey. Judging by the acrid burn in her throat, Lacey suspected it was just watered down rubbing alcohol. She wasn’t complaining, though. It worked just fine.

Lacey barely remembered half of what happened that night. There was music, or maybe just the three of them singing, and a paddle swordfight. At some point, Rivet brought up the team. Lacey remembered a long, rambling response that ended with her crying into Rivet’s lap about how much she missed her paddling buddies. After that, she remembered strong hands tucking her into bed and pushing the hair back from her face. That had felt nice. She’d leaned into the touch. “I’m so sorry about Rede,” she recalled Rivet whispering. They’d said something else about wanting to help her. Probably. But Lacey wasn’t sure she should trust her memories. Chances were, that part was just a drunken dream.

By the time Lacey decided that the siblings were ready to paddle on their own, Wrench had already picked out the main they were going to hit through some complicated cross-reference of maps she’d dug up from who knew where. She’d even planned out their route within a foot of accuracy. Her efficiency was both frightening and impressive. Wrench also refused to waste time: the Torpedo’s engine was firing up minutes after Lacey gave her stamp of approval.

They would travel during the day, which would only take a couple hours, and camp out until nightfall. Darkness would hide the canoes and diving equipment when they paddled out. Lacey’s job was to stay on the surface while the siblings dove. Despite Rivet’s insistence that she had to learn the actual process, they all agreed that this wasn’t the best time.

Currently, Lacey sat with the siblings inside the cockpit. They scrutinized the wrecked riverbanks for landmarks. Their destination: Orondo River Park. According to the map, it was a grassy camping area with a mountain sprouting directly from the opposite bank. Its slopes had definitely collapsed in the quake. No people, plenty of obstacles. Perfect spot to test their new technique. Most importantly, Wrench had dug up a schematic that showed an on-site kerosene storage unit at the park’s ranger station. Wrench was positive it hadn’t been raided yet.

“It’s too hard to reach,” she insisted. “It’s on a public park on a riverbank. That’s a lot of wet, loose soil. The whole thing would have collapsed after the quake. Even if they could get to the tank, no one in their right mind would go to that much effort for so little fuel.” She lifted her chin in triumph. “No jacker in their right mind will have tapped this spot.”

“And we’re sure the tank didn’t rupture in the quake?” Lacey asked dubiously.

“They rarely do,” Rivet said. “Trust us, we’re the professionals.”

“I trust you,” Lacey said doubtfully.

“Shitty liar,” Wrench muttered. “We’ve got to work on that.”

“I’m just not trying,” Lacey sniffed.

“Shut up and watch the river,” said Rivet.

Half an hour passed in silence. Finally, Wrench stiffened and tilted her head. “We’re here.”

Lacey leaned across the controls. On the left bank, a crumbling snarl of dirt and rocks that used to be a mountain clogged the river. The boat’s depth meter showed a very shallow reading.

Wrench turned the speed down to a crawl and guided them closer to the bank. Debris knocked into the hull every few seconds. She killed the engine once the driftwood was packed too tightly to maneuver.

“Now what?” Lacey asked.

Wrench’s expression didn’t change. “Now we check for holes in the diving helmets and gather up the waterproof guns.”

#

Night fell quickly. Lacey, Rivet and Wrench had spent the afternoon prepping. That left very little time for Lacey to think about what they were doing, so she felt no actual fear when Wrench announced it was time to leave. They strapped on their headlamps and climbed out of the boat’s cabin.

Everything was cave-dark. The three lonely headlamp beams wobbled with each step. Lacey didn’t trust herself not to slip. She moved slowly and stayed close to the jackers.

Their practice had paid off: Rivet and Wrench put the canoes in the water without a problem. Wrench hopped into the OC-1, grabbed her paddle, and pushed off. Rivet and Lacey followed. This time, Lacey sat in front so she could set their rate. She held onto the edge of the platform, icy water turning her hands numb, while Rivet unlocked the Port-A-Potty. They grabbed a cartoonishly large petrol can and a length of hose that they wrapped around their waist like a kid’s floatie. Lacey barely stifled a giggle.

As soon as Rivet was in the canoe, Lacey pushed off. The piss-yellow glow of her headlamp illuminated the other canoe waiting at the Torpedo’s stern. At Lacey’s signal, Wrench started to paddle. She set a gentle, steady pace. Lacey did the same while trying to ignore Rivet’s sloshing strokes and grunts of effort. She didn’t blame them. No one would have an easy time paddling with a petrol can on one arm and a hose around their waist.

Lacey had paddled at nighttime before, but never like this. The world had never been so quiet before the quake. She could hear each droplet of water sloughing off her blade as she lifted it over the canoe to switch sides. Exercise quickened her pulse and the sound of blood in her ears grew louder.

They slowed as they approached the bank. Lacey wished she had a way to tell Rivet to paddle more gently without actually talking. They seemed to get the message fine regardless. Lacey heard their breathing grow slower as they narrowed their focus.

The debris had been close-packed before, but now it was getting unbearable. Lacey could hardly see the water. Her knuckles kept hitting wood. She grimaced through her handkerchief and wished she had borrowed some gloves.

They followed a winding path toward the bank. Wrench’s pace slowed exponentially. Lacey could see her headlamp beam sweeping the shore. Slimy tree trunks reflected the light. Occasional flashes of metal mixed in with the dull gray of decomposing plants and disturbed soil. The shoreline here was jagged and uneven. Although she couldn’t see the bottom, Lacey knew the water was shallow. Years of experience made her her sensitive: some little difference in the echo of her stroke and the motion of the canoe clued her in.

Wrench switched her paddle to the right and dragged it in the water. Her canoe swung perpendicular to the bank. Lacey grimaced and stopped her own canoe before they collided.

Wrench caught her eye and gestured toward the bank. Lacey nodded. Thank God her handkerchief hid her irritation, otherwise Wrench would probably drown her out of spite.

They drifted easily toward the flat patch of dirt Wrench had picked. Lacey ran the OC-2 aground with one smooth stroke. Wrench tried to do the same; she shot forward like a new driver stepping on the gas. The nose of her canoe dug a trench in the mud. She didn’t fall over, though, and she kept her dignity as she stood up. She squelched forward and glanced over her shoulder. The headlamp cast her face into shadow.

Rivet grumbled something unintelligible and climbed out of the canoe. They put a hand on Lacey’s shoulder. “Watch the canoes,” they whispered. “Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lacey whispered back.

The siblings turned away and strode into the darkness.

Lacey sat awkwardly in the canoe. Her fingers drummed nervously on her paddle. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask how long this was supposed to take. That seemed like important information.

Now that the jackers were gone, Lacey felt strangely exposed. Also alone. She felt the way she did as a child on the basement steps at night, terrified of the ghost she was sure hovered behind her. She craned her neck in every direction, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing appeared. Still, the prickle on the back of her neck remained.

Lacey took a deep breath. She was psyching herself out. She turned off her headlamp, tilted her head back and looked up at the stars.

The upside to losing all energy infrastructure was the lack of light pollution. When she and the crew finally secured the Barn, she and Rede used to sit by the entrance and stare at the night sky. Rede would always get cold and every time she’d forget to bring a sweater. Lacey would drape her jacket over Rede’s shoulders and grumble affectionately at her. Rede would try to seem contrite, but she was a terrible actor. They both knew the gesture made her melt. It made Lacey feel nice to be coveted like that, too. Mostly. At least for a while.

Fuck. Lacey grimaced. This was not the time.

Nearby, a twig snapped.

Lacey froze. With trembling fingers, she flicked her headlamp back on. Fuck the loss of camouflage — if she was about to be attacked, Lacey wanted to see her opponent.

Another twig broke. This one sounded closer.

Fuck, Lacey thought for the second time in less than a minute. She climbed out of the canoe and hunkered down. As she moved, she was careful to keep her headlamp from moving too much. She didn’t want to give away her movements.

Mud oozed around her boots as Lacey settled into a crouch. She tightened her grip on her paddle. Whoever this was, she could take them. She’d done shit like this before. Not often, but she’d done it. Hopefully they didn’t have guns.

A sound like footsteps echoed from off to the left. Lacey kept her head still and looked with the corner of her eye. She saw motion further up the bank, a slight bobbing motion. Lacey frowned. She leaned forward to see her attacker.

A skinny black duck waddled into the beam of her headlamp. Its eyes narrowed in the light.

Lacey sagged against the canoe. Her sigh of relief was muffled by her handkerchief.

“Fuck you,” she told the duck.

The duck quacked and waddled away.

Lacey stayed still. She watched the duck go and tried to muffle a laugh. Of course this would happen to her. Losing her nerve over a fucking duck? God.

She climbed back into the canoe. No more preparing to duel wildlife.

Headlamp off, paddle across lap. Lacey sat perfectly still. Everything was still silent, but the lack of noise didn’t weigh on her like it had before. Something about the ridiculousness of the situation had given her perspective. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. No more freakouts, she promised herself.

Time passed. Lacey wasn’t sure exactly how much, but it was shorter than she’d expected. Rivet and Wrench’s bobbing headlamp beams alerted her to their approach. They both beamed and flashed her the thumbs up. Rivet hoisted the petrol can, which obviously took some effort. Lacey could hear it slosh as it moved.

“Bien hecho, dickhead,” Lacey whispered once they were close enough to hear.

Rivet rolled their eyes, but they were still grinning.

The siblings got into their respective canoes and the three of them pushed off. Again, Wrench guided them back to the boat. Rivet tried to paddle at first, but the weight of the can was too much for them. They ended up settling the kerosene in their lap and holding their paddle like a flag-bearer. Lacey’s back and abs stung from the effort of pulling all that weight, but she was too happy to care. Their stupid plan had worked. No one was dead. She wasn’t useless. More than that: Rivet and Wrench were happy. Even without seeing their faces, Lacey could tell. She watched Wrench’s back and mirrored the smile she was sure the jacker wore.

All three were skilled, intelligent people, but they were also young, and they were happy. It was understandable for them not to notice the tiny electric motorboat trawling along silently behind them.