After Lacey and Rivet woke up from their definitely-more-than-a-couple-hours-long nap, time seemed to speed up. Days bled into one another like watery ink.

The first thing they did was visit Wrench in the infirmary. Norba's sort-of-medic tossed another bottle of mystery pills Lacey's way before explaining what had happened to Wrench. Apparently, the bullet missed the bone and the major arteries in Wrench's thigh, but its crude homecast design meant it had shattered on impact. Rivet's brief conversation with her after their tour of the warehouse had been one of very few moments of clarity. Most of the time, she was delirious from a mixture of pain and rage. Her mood had soured more than Lacey had thought possible.

Lacey and Rivet tried their best to spend time with her, but Norba kept dragging them away. First, they were asked to demonstrate how OC worked and show Norba around the Swill Torpedo. Once she was satisfied, Norba ordered them to attach fuel tanks to the canoes without sinking them so they could move on to a test mission.

This last proved especially difficult. With some adjustments, their two-person canoe’s weight capacity would support a pair of light paddlers and one standard tank, but no more. Not exactly the quantity of fuel Norba wanted. That wasn’t the only issue: they’d have to re-drill their yakus and reset the amma to compensate for the extra weight, which took time and know-how. Also power tools. Lacey nearly drilled through her finger too many times to count. It would have been funny if she wasn’t frustrated to the point of screaming.

Each night, Rivet and Lacey stumbled into the Torpedo’s cabin, sweat-streaked and too exhausted to talk to each other. For the first couple days, kept Rivet stealing Lacey’s table bed. Lacey pointed out that it would make more sense for them to just take Wrench’s bunk. The only response she got was a grunt. Finally, in a fit of frustration, she pulled the blanket off of Rivet’s back and dragged them into their own bed with her. They seemed surprised at first, but they didn’t protest. They lay facing the wall with their back to Lacey, but when morning came, she awoke to Rivet’s arms wrapped around her waist and their breath tickling the back of her neck.

They pulled away when they woke up, mumbling an indistinct apology.

“Don’t be sorry,” Lacey said.

Rivet blinked their sleep-blurred eyes. “I thought you didn’t want…?”

“I do,” Lacey said. “Just not…everything. This much is good.”

Rivet nodded. “You know we’ll have to talk at some point, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed. “But today we’ve got to figure out how to build a false bottom-slash-fuel tank for an OC one and also make sure Wrench doesn’t throw the forceps at the medic again, so I think we’ve got our hands full.”

They did indeed have their hands full that day. The fuel tank conversion turned out to require welding, which Norba didn’t have the equipment for. On the upside, Wrench did not throw the forceps at the medic. On the downside, she did throw them at Lacey. Talking the medic out of inducing a coma took most of the afternoon. Rivet and Lacey didn’t have time to eat, let alone talk.

That night, Lacey noticed Rivet’s hesitation when they lay down next to her. She curled up to them and whispered, “This is okay.” They relaxed and wrapped their arms around her.

Something about the gesture felt so right that Lacey’s eyes started to prickle. She squeezed them shut and let her breathing sync up with Rivet’s until they both fell asleep.

#

Whenever they weren’t working or sleeping, Rivet and Lacey crowded into the infirmary to entertain Wrench. The room was more or less a closet and it smelled of mildew and bleach. There was barely room to turn around.

Given their proximity, Lacey and Rivet had gotten to know the medic pretty well. She went by Hex. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut diamonds and she rarely smiled. Lacey wouldn’t either, if she had to care for Wrench. Her resentment for all three of them was obvious, but when they spent so much time in the infirmary, conversation was more or less unavoidable.

It turned out that Hex did have some medical training after all, just not a lot. Anyway, she explained, she preferred field work. She accompanied that with a glare in Wrench’s direction.

“Where did you learn?” Lacey asked. Curbing her info-mining instinct was hard work.

“Mayo Clinic,” Hex deadpanned. Lacey’s shock actually made her crack a smile. “I’m fucking with you. I worked for the Red Cross.”

Rivet leaned back in their chair. “No shit?”

“Swear to God.” Hex crossed herself. “I really thought I was being a good citizen and all that shit. You know, turning my life around. Turns out there’s no money in charity work. Who knew. And then the supply runs stopped, so there was nothing for any of us to do, and, you know.” She shrugged, trying to hide her defeat.

Unfortunately, Lacey did know. Somewhere down the line, the number of boats had dwindled, then stopped. She'd asked around, but no one seemed to know what had happened. The most she ever got was that the channels they were using had gotten too clogged by debris. Roads were obviously out of the question: federal repair teams worked slower than snails and community efforts only went so far. Plane and helicopter fuel was so expensive, it was practically nonexistent. The Red Cross hadn’t formally disbanded, but everyone knew you were better off going to your neighbor for help versus the understaffed, understocked clinic.

At one point, Mara had remarked on how odd it was that the police were still in operation and strictly enforcing the laws, yet the government couldn’t afford to send basic supplies. “It just seems weird,” she’d mused. “I mean, where is all that money going?”

The rest of the team had burst into laughter. Her innocent confusion was just too funny. For Mara — the kind-hearted, silver-spoon bastard — it had taken an apocalyptic natural disaster to see how things really worked. The others had tried to get her to understand during high school, but there was only so much you could do. Mara hadn’t grown up knowing that her taxes and fines were lining politicians’ pockets. Sure, this was cruel, but it wasn't exactly world-shattering.

Hex gave a little shudder. “God, it smells like shit in here. I need a cigarette.” She bustled out of the room, leaving the patient and her attendees alone.

Lacey took the opportunity to steal a cold pack from the icebox. She pressed it against her jaw and closed her eyes in relief.

She wished Hex had more of those magic pills, but she'd been cut off after a day. Apparently they were on a tight supply. What little they had was reserved for Wrench. Lacey could gripe internally all she wanted, but she couldn't argue with Hex's logic.

“Maybe I should’ve worked for the Red Cross,” Rivet mused. “I mean, that job is obviously trash, but I’d at least have a marketable skill.”

“You did save me,” said Lacey. She spoke through a half-closed mouth to avoid shifting the ice pack.

“Doesn’t exactly make me doctor material.” Rivet tilted their chair back so only the back legs touched the ground.

“Would you have wanted to study medicine?” Lacey asked.

Rivet had quickly gotten used to Lacey’s questions. She had told them she wanted to get to know them better, and she was determined to keep her promise. At some point, she knew they would get fed up and tell her to cut it out. Hadn’t happened yet, though.

“I really doubt it,” Rivet replied. “Not my thing.”

“What was your thing?”

“Is this a fucking interrogation?” Wrench snapped. The other two ignored her.

“Don’t laugh,” said Rivet, “but I was really into zoology. Not like vet stuff, but bio type shit.”

Lacey scoffed. “Why would I laugh about that?”

“Because I’m trying to seem very badass and cool, and wanting to sit in a lab all day crunching numbers for fun doesn’t exactly fit the profile.”

“Maybe you should’ve studied law instead,” Wrench said waspishly. “Carried on the family tradition.”

Rivet threw her a warning look. Lacey watched in bemusement as a silent conversation passed between the siblings.

Before she could ask what was going on, the door swung inward. Hex shuffled back in, smelling of nicotine and rain. She went to sanitize Wrench’s wound, which resulted in a dying-cat scream and some very creative threats. Lacey’s promise to herself that she would follow up got lost in all the excitement.

#

The solution to Lacey and Rivet’s welding issue, as it turned out, was very simple. All they had to do was let Wrench loose in Norba’s giant scrap room. While the gunshot wound was healing, a couple weeks wasn’t nearly enough for Wrench to have recuperated all her strength. She wasn’t able to walk and wouldn’t be for weeks. She was okay to scoot, though, which seemed to work for her. Within a few days, she’d jerry-rigged a blowtorch. It was definitely dangerous, but they didn’t have any other options.

Lacey and Rivet already had a couple design ideas for the portable gas tank, so now it was just a matter of narrowing down the details and putting the stupid thing together. That was the part that required teamwork: Wrench wasn’t strong enough to hold the bits of scrap metal together long enough to weld, even at her healthiest. Norba let Lacey and Rivet help her without supervision, which meant she knew for sure the three weren’t going to escape. The room did lack windows and the one door remained locked until someone came to let them out. Besides, it would be stupid of them to try. Where would they go?

Lacey and Rivet spent a lot of time kneeling on the concrete floor, sweat pooling in their DIY protective gloves. Wrench had cobbled together several pairs of sunglasses to form something like goggles, but there wasn’t enough for everyone. Lacey and Rivet ended up tying their handkerchiefs over their eyes. Wrench referred to that as “Bird Boxing,” a reference that went over Lacey’s head.

“She’s weirdly into crappy 2010’s movies,” Rivet explained while the two of them held a pair of metal sheets together and prayed their clothes wouldn’t catch fire.

“Honestly, if I had a TV, I would’ve been, too. But, you know. Gotta love those post-fuel crisis electricity bills.” Lacey shrugged. The handkerchief was starting to slip, so she pushed it up with her shoulder. “I got books instead.”

“Bird Box was a book,” Wrench pointed out. “Rivet read it.”

To her right, Lacey heard a groan. “Don’t make me out to be a nerd.”

“Too late, Ivy Leagues,” Lacey said. “Favorite book, let’s go.”

“I hope it’s Robin Hood,” said Norba. Lacey jolted so hard, she dropped her half of the metal and fell on her ass. She yanked the handkerchief off of her face as Norba finished: “You guys have a chance to steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

“If you’re gonna sneak up on us, at least use a good line,” Wrench snapped. She’d turned off the blowtorch and pushed her sunglass monstrosities onto her forehead.

“Watch it, hunchback.” Lacey’s hand automatically went to Rivet’s arm, warning them to keep cool. Norba looked unfazed. “Do you want to hear the job I’ve got for you or not?”

“Shoot,” Lacey said, before Rivet or Wrench could respond.

“We’ve got eyes on a ship coming in from Portland,” said Norba. “The port they use is half-flooded, so it’s a no-go on motorboats. I could do divers, but I think I’d like to see how well your rowing works.”

Paddling, Lacey corrected mentally. What she said was, “When do we need to be ready?”

“Couple days.” Norba eyed the half-formed gas tank in front of them. “Will that be enough for you?”

The three muttered vague affirmatives. It would be stupid to say anything else.

“Good.” Norba turned and sauntered out of the room. The echo of the door closing almost masked the lock’s heavy thunk as it turned.

“Say what you want about Ronan,” Rivet muttered, “but he never talked to you like that.”

Wrench’s expression soured. “It bothers you more than me.”

“Yeah, that’s a whole other issue.” Rivet shook their head. They glanced at Lacey and rocked up onto their knees. “Ready?”

Lacey picked herself up off the floor and took her position alongside the gas tank. She pulled the handkerchief over her eyes, then flashed a thumbs up. Her hand had just barely returned to the metal when Wrench flicked the blowtorch back on. Its heat scorched her hands even through their dubious protectors.

“Leaves of Grass,” Rivet said over the hiss of the torch.

It took a minute for Lacey to realize the context. When she did, she chuckled. “I can definitely see that. Not technically a book, though.”

“Still my favorite,” Rivet said. Lacey couldn’t see them, but she could picture their shrug. She wondered how hard it could be to get her hands on a copy.