Roland lit the blunt and stared off toward Dallas. It was still early morning, and the sky was streaked with red and orange. On the horizon black smoke rose to meet the sunrise. Roland was struck with a powerful sense of déjà vu. This wasn’t the first time he’d watched a great city burn in the light of the rising sun. According to his hindbrain, it was around the thirtieth time. He recalled a few of those cities—Denver, Baltimore, D.C., Richmond—but the particulars of each calamity were lost to his memory.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his broken brain might be a blessing.

“Oi.”

It was Sardar. He approached from the rear and stepped up to Roland’s right side. Roland offered the mechanic his blunt, now half-smoked, and Sardar accepted it. He drew in a deep lungful of medicated smoke, held it in his lungs for three long seconds, and then exhaled with only a small fit of coughing.

“This tastes like fucking cough syrup, man.”

“Ayep,” Roland agreed. “There’s enough opiates on that to kill a small cat.”

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

“Ayep,” Roland agreed.

Sardar took a second hit and then passed the blunt back to Roland. They stood in companionable silence for a minute and watched the distant smoke mingle with the morning light. Sardar spoke first.

“Jim’s on his way out here. He’s flying in with three more squads. Austin’s approved emergency funding to stabilize the front. Apparently a chunk of that’s coming our way.”

“Grats,” said Roland. And then, “What’s the money mean to you?”

Sardar shrugged. “Cascadia, probably. Been saving for a couple years now. Fifty grand to buy residency, another hundred grand or so to set me up for the first year while I find work.”

Roland finished another deep pull on the blunt and offered it to Sardar. The other man declined with a polite wave of his hand.

“No thanks.”

Roland puffed again and asked, “So what’s the Pacific Northwest got that you want?”

“A future,” Sardar said. “I mean, that’s what it always meant in my head. I grew up in El Paso. Got trained up by that army, blooded in their first little civil war.”

“The Albuquerque Secession?”

Sardar nodded. “Didn’t see much action then. But I got Jim’s attention. He made me an offer when my term of service expired. The idea was I’d be with him for five years and retire with enough money to make a new start out West. I always dreamed of a life in Portland. It seems nice there.”

“It is,” Roland agreed. “Or at least, I’ve got nice memories. I met a girl out there when I was…younger. I remember watching the fog roll in with her.”