“Wait, did you used to live here?” Manny asked.

“I don’t know,” Roland shrugged.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sasha asked. “You clearly know this farm.”

He shrugged and gave a vague wave with his free hand.

“I have memories of this place. Bright lights at night, people dancing, drugs and wine and people and songs. I have memories of packing supplies into boxes. Burying ammunition.” He nodded toward the still-locked front door of the barn, “I remember locking that thing up. But I don’t remember why, exactly. I might have lived here. It might have belonged to a friend. Either way, I feel like the last time I was here was back before the Revolution.”

“His mind is fulla holes,” Manny explained. “Something happened to him a few years back. He remembers pieces of who he is, what he’s done. But not everything.”

Tule kicked Sasha gently in the hip. She gestured to the bottle of whiskey.

“If you’re not drinking pass the bottle. Some of us have grieving to do.”

On impulse, Sasha took a pull from the bottle. She started to hand it over to Tule, but then the taste hit her and she gagged. It was like someone had lit a fire in her throat, one that tasted of burning peat. She coughed and hacked for several seconds while Tule and Roland laughed. Once she’d regained her breath, Sasha finally handed off the bottle.

“You’ll get better at it,” the woman said. Her lips twisted up into what might have been a real smile. “Whiskey’s an acquired taste, like cigars. And anarchy.”

Tule took a very deep pull and sighed in satisfaction. She handed the bottle off to Manny, and started gently petting Rick’s face. The wounded man was asleep, but he seemed much healthier than he had been a half hour earlier.

“How are you doing, Sasha?” Manny asked. His eyes met hers, and Sasha saw deep concern in his gaze.

“I’m…fine,” she said, not really meaning it.

“She’s all fucked up over the guy she killed for the truck,” Tule grunted. “You shouldn’t be. Fucker picked the wrong side.”

“So did I,” Sasha tried to keep the anger out of her voice. “At first. Darryl was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did Marigold,” said Tule.

“Neither did Major Peron,” Manny added in a quiet voice. “They hung him on the day you and I met.”

“The whole world’s full of good, dead people,” said Tule. “My advice? Don’t cry over someone you shot in self-defense. That’s a karmic freebie.”

“The guy had a gun,” Manny added, “it seems like you just did what you had to do.”