Manny hopped into the passenger seat and looked around for a seatbelt before remembering that Tule’s jeep had none. He settled back into the seat and looked over to her. The woman took two more deep puffs of her cigar, then put the nub out on the side of her vehicle. She exhaled, belched, and then fixed him with a weary smile.

“Is that it, then?”

Manny had already visited his father. It hadn’t taken long. The old man was happy to see him alive, proud of what he’d done, and livid that he planned to flee Texas to live with a bunch of weirdos in a moving city. He hadn’t fought Manny on the matter though. Life in Austin didn’t exactly promise a bright future—for anyone.

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The Heavenly Kingdom had withdrawn from Waco.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.