As the Heavenly Kingdom prepares for another assault, SDF and Austin abandon Waco.

“I’m not surprised they’re pulling out,” Mike said. “Your people are good enough fighters on a normal day. But the SDF’s built to dominate a buncha squabbling militias. They were never gonna hold off a sustained assault from a real army.”

The sleep was fully banished now. Manny was awake, and the gravity of what had happened over the last few days sank in again. Hamid and DeShawn were probably dead. So was Mr. Peron. And Alejandro. And Oscar. Oh holy shit, holy shit, what am I going to tell Aisha? And then the darker, more selfish thoughts: Am I going to have time to fly out of Austin?

“How the hell did the Martyrs turn into a real fucking army overnight?” he asked, with more fear in his voice than he meant to display.

“Well,” Reggie said, as he gestured to a series of curated social media posts from people in and around ciudad de muerta. “Best as we can figure, they sorta stole most of the Republic’s army. There are a lot of reports of entire units of Republic soldiers, thousands of fighters, turning at once.”

He gestured to a live-updating political map of Texas. It was a map Manny consulted regularly. The Heavenly Kingdom’s territory was outlined in red. There was a lot more red on the map today. It seemed impossible that…

“Son chorrados,” Manny breathed, “Galveston?”

“Yeah,” Reggie gave a grim nod. “Fell about ten hours ago. Heavenly Kingdom’s pushing into the Lake Houston suburbs right now. They’re holding position in Dallas though. Digesting their gains still.”

“Ain’t gonna be long before they hit Austin,” Mike said. “Maybe a week. Maybe two.”

Manny stood there for a moment. He thought about his father, his friends. He thought about the house where he’d grown up and the view of Austin’s sprawl from his roof. He imagined golden cross banners flapping in the breeze above burnt-out buildings. He pictured gallows filled with people strung out along sixth street. A knot of nausea started to build in his belly.

What will you do, Emmanuel? He heard Mr. Peron’s voice echo in his conscience. Manny shook the dead man’s words away.

“I need to get back home,” he insisted. “Is there some way you can get me a ride?”

Skullfucker Mike took a long pull from his drink. He squinted at Manny and the chromed man’s eyes focused. One iris looked a lot larger than the other. Mike swayed a bit in his seat but he seemed lucid. Mostly.

“And what’re you gonna do in Austin?” he asked. “Pick up a gun and die fighting? Unless you’re hiding some serious mods under that skin, I don’t think your help will make a rat’s shit wortha difference.”

“I know. I’m not going there to fight. I need to–”