The city’s defense forces had counter-attacked the Martyrs coming up from Lake Houston at the same time as Rolling Fuck and Roland had made their stand. That battle hadn’t been as one-sided, but the Martyrs had been pushed back. Rumor had it that the SDF forces around Lake Houston were sallying out now, sending gunboats with pocket artillery into the flooded parts of the city to shell Kingdom forces in the suburbs.

The Heavenly Kingdom had withdrawn from Waco. They’d probably pull back from around Houston soon. But they still held Dallas, Galveston, and hundreds of miles of territory besides. Word was the Canadians and Californians were sending in more military advisors, the Choctaw and Navajo were sending in special forces. The UCS had recoiled at all this foreign intervention; they were threatening to send in ground troops to protect the faithful. Texas would not stop bleeding anytime soon.

“Yeah, that’s everything,” he told Tule. “Austin’s got nothing else for me now.”

“Good.” She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. One look at her eyes told Manny she’d been crying while he’d been inside with Aisha. It was odd, but he appreciated her grief. She hadn’t said anything about Marigold, but the fact that she was also clearly wracked with pain and guilt made his own burden easier to bear.

Tule popped the jeep into drive and, together, they rolled forward and out of the subdivision where Oscar had lived, and Aisha still did. Without really thinking about it, Manny opened the glove compartment. His time with Rolling Fuck had taught him that there had to be drugs squirreled away somewhere inside. He was right: a full, clear plastic hip flask sat next to a ziploc bag filled with blunts. Manny grabbed the flask and fished out one of the blunts.

“You got a light?” he asked.

Tule snorted in laughter.

“What kinda fuck’n question is that? Course I got a light.”

She handed it over. He lit the blunt, hit it, passed it off to her, and then unscrewed the top of the flask and pounded back a shot.

“You’re learning,” Tule told him, as she took a sharp right turn onto South Congress Avenue.

“Learning what?”

“Learning that the world’s too fucked to take on with a clear head.” She passed the blunt back. Manny took it, and handed off the flask.

“When I first came to Rolling Fuck,” she started, “I didn’t get why everyone was so damn wasted all the time. I’d been an activist back in Albuquerque, y’know. I thought having a clear head would help me fight.”

She laughed, took a deep belt of liquor and then continued.

“It turned out my clear head and my hard work didn’t stop home from going to shit. After a couple weeks with Marigold, Topaz, and Skullfucker Mike, I realized something.”

“What?” Manny asked, already kind of sure he knew the answer.

“The world’s gonna be more-or-less exactly as fucked up, no matter how serious I take it. So I might as well enjoy the shitshow.”