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–”

“What, fly away? Go to fuckin’ California? Try your luck in Europe?” Mike shook his head. “You’ve got a chance to actually do something. Help us get our people out of Dallas and we can fuck the Kingdom’s advance. Maybe even throw them back.”

Manny thought about it, sighed, and said, “I think I do need a drink.”

Skullfucker Mike nodded. He pointed over to a table lined with a dozen different beer taps.

“The normal stuff’s self-service. I recommend the Wheat Haze. Pretty mild, but it’s good for stock humans like y’self.”

Manny got up, grabbed a glass from a dispenser at the edge of the bar and walked over to the beer table. Each keg had a thick strip of white tape across the front. The only details given about each beer were vague, almost illegibly scrawled names. Manny found two labels that both looked like they might say “Wheat Haze.” He picked one at random, then headed back to the bar and sat next to Reggie.