Leaving Norba’s warehouse and setting course for Portland felt like a fever dream.

Rivet, Wrench, and Lacey threw supplies together in a few short minutes. By some stroke of luck, the coast was clear. Lacey and Rivet threw Wrench’s arms over their shoulders and bundled her, along with all their supplies, out to the Swill Torpedo.

As they were tying off, Lacey felt a prickle on the back of her neck. They were being watched. She turned around to see Hex leaning against the doorframe of the entrance into the warehouse.

Lacey stood. Her mouth went dry, hands shaking. She stuffed them in her pockets to hide her nerves.

Before she could say anything, Hex shook her head. She drew two fingers across her mouth. Zipper lips.

A woeful grin spread across Lacey’s face. It would be plenty easy to turn them in, let them face Norba’s wrath. But, even after all Wrench’s abuse and the trouble the three of them had caused, Hex was letting them go. Lacey wished there was some way to thank her, but she didn't want to risk shouting across the dock this early in the morning.

Rivet finished untying the Torpedo. They motioned for Lacey to get on board. When she turned to get one last look at Hex, the doorway was empty.

The sun had just begun to clear the horizon when they left the dock. Wrench insisted they keep the motor running low so they didn’t make noise.

While she slowly picked up speed, Lacey crouched at the stern to keep watch. Norba’s scout dinghies should have rolled back into the dock before they left, assuming they kept to their schedule. No imminent threat. Still, it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for stragglers.

The day wore on with no signs of interference. Wrench kept the Torpedo close to the shore, going as fast as possible without stirring up a wake. Their tank was almost full — Norba’s reward for their good work. They wouldn’t have to refuel for a while. Getting to Portland would be far from difficult.

Rivet left the cockpit around midday. A pair of granola bars and a full canteen dangled from their hand. They plopped down next to Lacey and offered her a bar. The two ate in silence, watching the shoreline roll on by.

Gratitude welled up inside Lacey. There was a way to express what she felt, she was sure, but the feeling was too overwhelming for her to find that mysterious sequence of words. Instead, she settled for resting her hand on Rivet’s and giving it a long squeeze. Rivet’s look of surprise melted into a soft half-smile. They didn’t say anything, either. There wasn’t really a need.

#

Rivet and Lacey took cover once they came within a few miles of Portland. Wrench dialed back the speed, hugging the shore and crawling along just like the other Frankenboats. There weren’t any windows belowdecks, so Rivet and Lacey waited for Wrench's signal. They kept the volume to a minimum in anticipation of the three stomps that would mean it was safe to come out.

In the meantime, Rivet picked out their favorite guns from the locker in the corner. Lacey didn’t hesitate to grab herself a pistol. She filled the magazine and tucked it into her waistband. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to use it, but you could never be too sure.

Those three stomps couldn’t come quickly enough. Lacey was half convinced Wrench had forgotten about them by the time she gave the signal. The boat lurched to a halt. Wrench waited a moment, then gave three more stomps. They were safe to move.

Rivet climbed out first, bandanna pulled up over their nose, to scout the area. It was dark out. No noise spilled through the open hatch. Lacey shifted impatiently until Rivet waved her up the ladder and into the cockpit.

Wrench glanced up as they entered. She picked at her bandage distractedly. Her face was washed out by the flickering electric bulb, turning her even more gaunt and waxy than usual.

“We’re right about where the St. John’s Bridge used to be,” Wrench said. “Just a few more minutes ’til we get to the Tilikum, but once we’re there, it’s up to Lacey to tell us where to go.”

Lacey nodded. “Can do.”

Wrench gunned the engine and let them crawl forward. A glance at the fuel gauge let Lacey know they were a little under halfway full. They had a while, but the reality was that they’d have to refuel soon. Lacey didn’t even want to think about how they would manage that.

As the Torpedo drifted along, Lacey tried to think of how she would explain this whole mess to her friends. Would they even still be her friends? If they decided to cut her off, she wouldn’t blame them. Especially Rede.

Lacey’s stomach knotted up so hard, she had to lean against the control panel so she didn’t fall over. Her instinct was to shy away from the feeling. This shame was necessary, though. Lacey closed her eyes and let it wash through her. After a while, it faded from an overwhelming roar to a low thrum. It was still there, but Lacey would be able to function.

She would apologize, obviously. That was the first step. She’d show them the camera next — she couldn’t waste any time. The crew had to know what was going on before anything else. If they were still curious about what had happened to her, then Lacey would explain. It wasn’t much of an if — Lacey knew they would have questions. She would answer them, of course. They would be furious with her, and that would just have to be okay.

They might refuse her help. The thought made Lacey’s blood run cold. She tried to fight through the fear, to make herself build a plan just in case. She had to be prepared. It wasn’t unreasonable for them to just take the camera and go. Lacey wouldn’t blame them, but she would have to stop them. They’d have no idea what they were getting themselves into. She, Rivet and Wrench would have to really drive the stakes home. The crew would have to know what they were up against.

With a jolt, Lacey wondered when she had started referring to the crew as “them” instead of “us.”

Rivet kept casting Lacey concerned glances out of the corner of their eye. With a subtle shake of her head, Lacey dismissed their concern.

It helped to focus on their surroundings. She had to do it anyway, since Wrench wasn’t as familiar with the main channel. Her vague responses gave Lacey the idea that the siblings were used to navigating flooded back streets or just forgoing the boat altogether. Lacey couldn’t be sure, but she knew this wasn’t the time to pry.

Lacey guided Wrench along the shoreline. They passed clusters of other repurposed motorboats and buildings leaning against each other like half-collapsed houses of cards. All three of them kept an eye out for other jackers. Whenever the telltale hum of a motorboat sounded in the distance, Wrench killed the engine and the three hunkered down until the sound disappeared. If there were land scouts in addition to water patrols, they didn’t see any.

The lack of jacker presence put Lacey on edge. She didn’t like it when she couldn’t see them. It felt like losing a spider in your bedroom: the discomfort of looking at it was ten times better than the constant, nerve-jangling uncertainty of not knowing when or where it would pop out of hiding. Also, it made Lacey suspect that they were gathered elsewhere in the city. That was never a good sign. She mumbled that to Rivet and Wrench, who just nodded grimly.

Finally, they passed the Tilikum ruins. The sight of the jagged pylons sent a chill down Lacey’s spine. She glanced away.

When Lacey dragged her gaze back out the window, she could see the Barn’s roof up ahead. She pointed it out to Wrench, who guided the Torpedo in a lazy arc toward the shore, as if they were just another houseboat looking for a place to wait out the night.

Wrench killed the engine. The sudden silence weighed on Lacey’s ears.

Rivet jutted their chin in Lacey’s direction. “This is your turf, Lace. Lead on.”

Lacey stood. Her hand had migrated unconsciously to the pistol in her belt. With leaden footsteps, she pushed open the door and hopped into the mess of nettles that bordered the Barn.