Rede left the back room to find everyone else ready to go. Night had already fallen; all they had to do was get in the boat, check for ambushes, and leave.

Everyone else was on high alert. Thanh and Mara were clearly both moments away from strangling Shay, whose peppy demeanor had not changed in the slightest. While she did seem incapable of calming down or acting serious for more than five fucking minutes at a time, Rede was slowly realizing that there was an end to Shay's chaos. She had installed a system of seemingly innocuous chunks of cloudy glass throughout the house that bounced reflections off each other in a way that showed every one of the building’s blind spots. “It’s basically a bootleg closed circuit monitor,” she said proudly while tapping a strategically angled remnant of a windowpane. The dry bag on her belt was apparently always stocked with ammo and first aid supplies. Her many layers of clothing hid the pair of miniature police-issue binoculars that dangled from her neck. Rede was absolutely sure there was more, but Shay apparently wasn’t ready to open up all her secrets to them yet — or maybe her attention span was just too short for her to remember.

After one last perimeter check, the team made their exit. The wreckage of the bridge loomed above them, bisecting the reflection of the moon in the dark water around the house.

While Shay bolted all the locks, Inna put a hand on Rede’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but even in the dark, Rede could see the concern on his face. She threw him a bracing smile. I’m fine now, she tried to convey.

“Let’s go,” Mara whispered.

Following her lead, the others climbed down the rickety steps and took their customary spots in the canoe. Shay sat in the vacant fifth bench. Her eyes glittered with interest in the shadow of the ever-present goggles on her brow.

The team had figured out pretty quickly that shouting calls at the top of your lungs was not a good idea after dark. In response, they’d developed a system that still relied on sound without broadcasting their location for all to hear: two taps on the gunnel meant paddles up, one tap meant let it run, and a whistle from bench three was their signal to switch.

Rede had barely gotten settled when she heard the two taps. She lifted her paddle and matched the gentle swing and pull of Mimi’s silhouette. The water whispered around her blade, oddly muffled by the night. Just like always, she felt her stress begin to melt away.

The journey back to the Barn didn’t feel very long. Logically, Rede knew it had taken some time, but that familiar zen state she’d settled into had made the time pass quickly. Before she knew it, the boat was gliding up alongside the ramp.

“Hold,” Mara half-called, half-whispered. Rede dug her paddle into the water, wincing as the blade hit the ramp hidden just below the surface.

“Now what?” Shay whispered.

“Now you all move up one,” Mimi replied. She set her paddle down before stepping off the canoe and onto dry land. Her sneakers squelched against the wood. She stood in the entrance to the Barn, folding her arms across her chest to ward off the cold, and looked back at the crew. Stars danced in the reflective sheen of her glasses. She caught Rede’s eye and flashed the exact same smile Rede had given Inna earlier that night.

Of course, such a fragile facade couldn’t fool her: Mimi was the only person who’d held out hope, the one who’d stayed up late obsessively turning the knobs on her radio and refused to say ‘dead’ instead of ‘gone.’ Rede pictured her friend sitting in the Barn alone all night, trying to ignore the memories etched into the records she’d kept of their adventures together. A wave of emotion pressed against her ribs, threatening to crack her open.

“Have fun, be safe,” Thanh said. “Don’t do anything I would do.”

Mimi’s smile softened into something genuine. “Thanks.”

Thanh gave her a two-fingered salute. The gesture itself was sarcastic, but they all knew it wasn’t meant to offend.

Rede scooted up one bench, tucking Mimi’s paddle under her seat for safekeeping. The shuffle of bodies and the rocking of the canoe let her know the others were switching as well. She held her paddle across her lap and watched Mimi out of the corner of her eye until the boat settled.

At Mara’s command, Rede lifted her blade — starting on the left now, since she was the lead — and set a calm, steady pace, trying her best to copy Mimi’s effortless motion. She didn’t look back; she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Once again, Rede fell into a trance. She was vaguely aware of Mara steering them to the opposite bank where the wreckage provided more cover. It also meant she had to measure her strokes to avoid hidden rocks, so she focused on that, taking each obstacle as it came. Time passed. They took rests occasionally, passing water up and down the canoe in silence and rolling their stiffened shoulders before moving on.

The sky had just barely started to lighten when Mara turned them to the right. The canoe headed down a channel lined first by rubble, then by increasingly close-packed houses — if you could call them that. Chipped paint jobs and ragged signs stubbornly clinging to the walls announced the presence of supermarkets and restaurants. Most were partially collapsed, standing tall among stacks of rubble, indistinguishable from any other post-quake structure save for the telltale signs of life. The few windowpanes that remained were kept clean; trinkets and keepsakes lined their sills. Buckets stood by gaps in drainpipes to collect water. Strings of laundry fluttered feebly in the night breeze like bodies from the gallows.

The canoe wove through the makeshift neighborhood without interruption. Gradually, the signs of occupation grew less frequent: the buildings here had been older, more fragile. Most had been actual houses to begin with, ironically abandoned after the quake in favor of the better-fortified commercial buildings where people actually felt safe.

Mara took them in a lazy crescent around a collapsed overpass and brought the boat to a stop. The overpass’s off-ramp, miraculously still intact, sloped over a strip of elevated land and disappeared into the water. A shattered footpath branched from the overpass onto the strip of land, which was occupied by a concrete platform bordered on each side by train tracks. Three cars painted in faded hues of orange and purple loomed on the far side of the platform: remnants of the city’s electric train system, the MAX. Rede wasn’t sure if the windows had been painted over or if it was just too dark to see inside.

The canoe’s nose angled toward the shore. Rede instinctively slowed their rate. She could feel the pull of the water changing as it grew shallower.

Mara flared her blade. Rede, knowing she must be trying to dock, paddled perpendicular to the canoe’s left gunnel for extra pull. The canoe swung left, its right side bumping up against the dirt.

Rede had just gotten out of the boat, rope in hand, when a sound caught her attention. She turned to see the door of the first MAX car slide open. A bulky silhouette stepped onto the tracks and headed for the team. Despite the deafening thrum of her heartbeat, Rede heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Ah, fuck.” That was Shay’s voice, she knew — and that was also Shay’s own pistol sliding into position, echoing the jacker’s as if in challenge.

“Put that shit down,” Thanh snapped. She had gotten out of the boat and was stomping toward Shay, who glared insolently through half-lidded eyes.

“Listen to your friend,” added an unfamiliar voice.

Rede’s head turned toward the source. The jacker, backlit and hulking, stood on top of the mound of dirt, sidearm glinting in the moonlight. Its barrel was pointed at Shay.

Mara climbed onto dry land. With her shoulders thrown back and her chin jutting upward, she looked almost theatrically confident. Her only tell — which Rede herself barely caught — was her left hand, gripping the canoe’s back rope hard enough to make her veins pop. “You’re with Ronan?” she asked.

The jacker gave an affirmative grunt.

“You must be new, then.” Shay adjusted her grip on the pistol. “We’re friendlies.”

“Friendlies don’t come armed,” the jacker replied.

Shay sucked her teeth.

Thanh's hand curled into a fist. She narrowed her eyes at Shay. “I said, put that shit down.”

With a sigh, Shay lowered her weapon.

“She’s a passenger,” Mara said, by way of explanation. “She’s a little tetchy, but we’ve got her under control.”

Another grunt. The jacker’s weapon remained locked on Shay, who looked less than pleased about the situation.

“No one else here is armed,” said Mara. “We’re just here to talk to Ronan. Could you please let us in?”

The jacker switched to a one-handed grip on the gun and reached for his belt. He unclipped some type of apparatus and held it to his mouth. Rede heard the distinctive crackle of a walkie-talkie. “This is Four-Stroke, over. Got some dipshits in a canoe saying they wanna talk to the boss. Savvy? Over.”

A moment passed. The team waited with bated breath.

The radio crackled again. “Let them in. Over and out."

Rede’s knees went weak with relief.

Four-Stroke replaced the radio. His sigh was audible as he reluctantly lowered the gun. “Well, you heard the man.” He took a step backward, apparently unwilling to turn his back on the team, and waited for them to meet him at the top of the hill. They walked toward the middle car in the line. At this distance, Rede could see that the windows were indeed painted black — a good security move, though dangerous. If she were in Ronan’s position, Rede would want to see whoever was approaching. She wondered how Four-Stroke had seen them coming.

The doors creaked open. A cool electric glow spilled onto the tracks. Four-Stroke stood with his back to the car and waited for the crew to step inside.