“Thanks a lot.” But I let him take it. If I got him upstairs, he’d be halfway to the medics.

A bucket line passed stuff up the stairs, hand to hand. Two of the lads went by, lugging a big crate of vegetables, and I drew Rubio in behind to let them break a path. We edged up the crowded stair in a near darkness thick with urgency and heavy breathing. A maze of crates and boxes filled three sides of the balcony, spilling onto the media loft at one end and the bunk tiers at the other. Small furniture and equipment, salvage from the swap counter, food from the Mess, everything that could be carried was piled up wherever space could be found. Oil lamps burned atop the highest piles. Rube swayed under the weight of his load as we stood dripping filthy water on the old marble tiles.

“Stick it over here.” Rivera appeared from behind a tower of crates, one arm still in a sling. “Watch out nothing tips!”

Rubio set the box where she pointed, then stood there watching it. Definitely out of it.

With her long hair tied out of the way, I could see Rivera’s cheek and jaw had gone purple-yellow, the healing tinge. In the wan lantern light, she looked tense and spectral. “You two get caught out there?”

“In more ways than one.” She’d hear about the beating soon enough. “Got to get him stitched up.” I nudged Rubio toward the Ward.

Rivera saw he needed an extra push. “Best get in line. It’s wall to wall up there. A shit-eating fuck fest all evening.”

“And they talk about Gracie’s mouth,” growled Jake behind me, arriving with an armload of towels.

Rivera managed a grin. “Sorry. Must be catching. What’s the water doing?”

“Crested.” Jake dumped his load onto a dish crate, then watched Rubio shamble off toward the stair hall. “What happened to him?”

“Long story.” I’d let Rubio tell the tale in his own time. Jake would understand.

“And you look like you swam home.”

“Partly did.”

Jake took a step back. “Then go get a wash up! Before the bad crap soaks in.”

“So prissy, Jake!” Rivera slid me a sympathetic look. “But you should. They’re setting up a cold meal in the Loft. Everyone together for some grub, and Rousseau will fill us in on how things stand.”

“Jake!” A woman yelled from below. “Next load’s ready!”

“On my way!”

“Everyone get in okay?” I asked Rivera.

She glanced away to wave several racks of baked goods into an empty corner. “Haven’t stopped for a roll call yet.”

“Grace?”

“She’s out on windmill salvage.”

“Brave woman! Be back soon as I detox.”

At the women’s, a girl coming out warned, “Showers ain’t working.”