“Put this on.” Harvey throws me a lump of cloth from Badger’s dresser.
I shake it out. It’s a dark hooded shirt. The hood is oversized, and when I pull it up, I feel completely shielded from the world. Harvey puts on one of Badger’s hats in an effort to hide his own face.
When we’re ready to make our move, Clipper sticks his head outside, scanning the streets. A quick nod and we’re on our way, racing through the rain. It’s now pouring so hard I can barely see more than a wingspan in front of me, but we make it to the wharf without incident. If there are Order crews keeping watch from their boat, they can’t see any better than we can.
As soon as we’re onboard, the boat lurches to life.
“Wait!” I cry to May. “The rest of the team.”
I glance at the shore like I expect them to appear there, but all I see is a thick sheet of rain and a plume of smoke battling it. Right around where the bookshop stands. Stood.
“What are you staying out here for?” May snaps. “Head down. They’ll be happy to see you.”
“They’ll . . . ?” My eyes trail to the nearest stairwell.
“In the crew quarters.”
I take the steep stairs too quickly. They’re slick with rain, and I tumble down the last few, catching myself on my hands and knees. In the narrow hallway, I call out for them.
Bree appears first, darting from one of the bunk rooms so quickly she has to pull herself to a stop by the jamb of the door.
“You idiot!” She shoves me in the chest with both hands. “Ducking out”—another shove—“and we had no clue where you were”—another—“and I thought . . . I thought . . .” She slumps against my chest and hugs me around the middle. “Damn, you scared me, Gray. You scared me so much.”
“Sorry.” I fold my arms around her.
Sammy steps into the hallway and Bree straightens, puts a formal distance between us.
“Nice of you to join us,” he says.
“How’d you guys know to get to the boat?” I ask.
“Adam wasn’t checking with the hotel owner about chores. A tip came in during the earlier morning hours—from one of Bleak’s team—that the Order was in town. Couldn’t have been more than five minutes after you left that Adam told us to pack.”
“He thinks they’re searching for you and Harvey,” Bree adds. “I knew that Forgery would be nothing but trouble.”
“We’re heading for Bone Harbor,” Sammy explains. “There will be no going back to Pine Ridge. Hiding will be impossible, and the Expats probably won’t even make a stand against those Order members tossing town. Vik won’t want to waste resources or lose supporters to a fight. We need them.”
“For what exactly?”
“We’ll have a tough time getting that info from Adam now.”
I eye the crew quarters behind him. Emma stands in the doorway, but no one comes to join her.
“How?” I ask.
“He hung back at the hotel and promised to slow them down, wanted to give us a head start,” Sammy says. “If we’d known what he had planned . . .”
“He detonated something,” Bree says. “Manually, from the inside, once the Order filed in. There’s no way he survived the blast.”
I wonder momentarily if the smoke I saw came from the hotel, not the bookshop. All those times I gave Adam a hard time about not being committed to this fight . . .
“And Charlie? Badger?”
“No word yet,” Sammy responds. “Looks like it’s our cozy little team again.”
At a predetermined location on the Gulf, May’s trawler meets a second. September waves to us through the rain, a small smile on her lips.
After securing the boats together—a near-impossible task in the choppy conditions—our crew climbs the railings and leaps over to September’s ship. She introduces us to Daley, an AmEast fisherman who she claims is one of Badger’s best clients. We’re cutting across the water again before I have a chance to shout a good-bye to May and Carl, but maybe this is best. Good-byes lately have seemed so permanent. And this isn’t good-bye. I hope not, at least. We’ll just be walking different roads for a while.
Before we’re in sight of shore, September ushers the team belowdecks. She lifts a panel of flooring in the crew quarters to reveal a hidden storage compartment for smuggled goods. I imagine it’s often filled with drinking water, but today, it holds spare fishing gear.
“You expect us to all fit in that matchbox?” Sammy says.
“Course not. Inspection crews know about this compartment. It’s standard on a lot of ships.” She hauls out the gear. “You’re going below.”
This is when we realize the floor gives way again, to a space no less cramped. We’ll fit, but only if we all lie down, shoulder to shoulder, and are shut in like corpses.
“Come on,” September urges. “I don’t have time for fits of claustrophobia. I might have a few people in my pocket in Bone Harbor, but I can’t escort you in plain sight.”
“Will there be enough air?” Bree asks.
“It’s ventilated,” September assures her. “And it’s not for too long.”
“But long can be so subjective,” Sammy muses.
“Just get in.”
I go first. Bree follows. Then Sammy, Emma, Clipper, and Harvey, until we’re lined up like game on a rack.
“Not a sound until I lift this door back up,” September warns. “You have to wait out the inspection, and then for the port to clear. I’ll get you when it’s safe.”
The panel comes down, trapping us in and leaving us blind.
“I’m in a coffin,” Sammy says. “I’ve been buried alive.”
“Shut up,” Bree hisses.
The second panel is secured overhead with a muffled thud.
“Could be worse, I suppose. At least I’m sandwiched between two pretty girls.”
Bree elbows him. “Shut your face, Sammy. You’re wasting air.”
“It’s ventilated,” he mutters, but he falls quiet after that.