Chapter Fourteen

shogun chemicals. Roland started off by sampling them all. He drank until the fireworks showing his head was indistinguishable from the actual fireworks outside and those real Am I just fucking lit? Roland decided that answering that question wouldn't make him happier. He lost himself for a while and drifted from one of the fondel boats to a dance party

in a field underneath the main gantry. After hours of that, Roland had his fill of rhythm, so he found his way to a coke benge in a weird purple house atop one of the spindles. The rest of the night he spent testing the limits of his talks and filters and his tolerance for human contact. The latter came first, he had and in the coke party and stumbled through rolling fuck until he reached a small booth with baggies of umnuloch, a d M T based hallucinogen made from

synthetically grown giraffe liver. Thanks got fuzzy. After that, there was a fireworks fight on a spindle that caught a shack on fire. He downed a shipload of mescal and as the sun breached, and then quite suddenly it was afternoon and he was lying on his back across the baking hot metal of one of the spindles. Schoolfucker Mike stood above him, naked as the day he was born, and holding some sort of frosty purple beverage in a

large teaky cup. Hey man, Mike said, as he took a sip, Nanny as he told me to find you. You straight enough to talk to people. Roland nodded. He wasn't, really, but he could sober up fast. Maybe sober wasn't the right word. His brain could flood itself with focusing drugs to offset the hallucinogens, and he had a vial of liquid meth amphetamine somewhere in his pack that might do the trick. Roland sat up, grunted, and waved a hand at Mike. Then he dug around in his pack for

the vile. He found it and drained half. All right, let's go, he said. Let's go to the place and do the things. Mike helped him down the spindle. Roland's unsteady legs were proof that he'd managed to find himself a worthy drug bench. The satisfaction he felt from that mixed well with the initial meth euphoria. By the time they reached the conference room, he was wired as fuck and kind of wishing he'd picked a different drug to spend his mood. Roland sat down and eased into his chair.

A short, young Anglo fellow entered next and sat down on the opposite side of the conference table. He looked and smelled nervous. Roland paid him little mind. He was too jittery from the meth to want to talk. He decided a nice dose of some downers would help his situation and rooted around for his heroine kit. At that moment, another young man entered the room. He was short, Hispanic, and about twenty one years old. Nanni Yazzi embraced the

kid schoofucker might clapped him on the shoulder. They started talking, the kid said something that seemed to surprise most of the people in the room. Roll and half paid attention to all that while he loaded up his syringe and tied off his arm. He stopped when he realized everyone else in the room was staring. Hey, something wrong, he asked Rowland. Nana Yazi said in a warm voice as she gestured to the Hispanic kid. This is Mannie. He's going to be your partner for the mission. He grew

up in the Republic and he's a skilled negotiator. He'll help you blend in while you do your work. Er cool, Roland grunted and returned to his heroine. Roland, if you wouldn't mind, Reggie was about to speak. Nana yazi smile was as indulgent as ever. He's uncovered something important about the Heavenly Kingdom. It might be useful to you, Roland shrugged. Mossy's galis to which bartenders and playing on make a

pass of a whiskey. Sara can't imagine caring. But if you let me finish this, he jiggled the syringe in the air, I might be able to at least pay attention right now, I'm quite too met out to focus. The old man leaned forward and sighed. The kid looked horrified. He started working his mouth and what Roland was pretty sure must be the prelude to some sort of expression of shock or offense. Schoolfucker Mike preempted him. Lead Roland shoot up. Trust me, drugs aren't going to make him

any more or less effective here. Rowland grinned. Skullfucker Mike clearly knew him, even if he could only sort of remember skullfucker Mike. He went back to tying off his arm and shooting up, while the younger Brits stumbled into the start of his speech. Yes, well, I've been going over the last few days of successful vehicle based bombings on checkpoints from Galveston and Lake Houston and all across

the Dallas Fort Worth area. In total, I've identified three hundred twenty one bombings that appear to have been carried out as part of this overall offensive. Two hundred and forty of those bombings involve autonomous vehicles hitting dedicated autonomous vehicle checkpoints. Right on cue, a projection map flickered to life on the wall behind him. Hundreds of red dots populated a map of the conflict riddled regions of north

central Texas. It looked like the pattern of attacks you'd want in order to funnel the stf's limited resources towards the least defensible chunks of their line. What was weird was that so many bomb rigged autonomous vehicles had gotten through the scanners. So Roland asked, how the fuckers do it? Munch zero days. Reggie shook his head. That's what I thought at first, he said, But these attacks actually started

more than a month before this offensive. If they were relying on exploits, the s d F I T folks would have caught something by now. The most likely explanation is that the mattys found some way to make vehicles that aren't autonomous. Seemed that way, yeah, Manny said. The martyrs have tried to hide drivers and autonomous vehicles before the s d F watches for it, which means the martys have figured out something new, said the journalist, some new way to hide a human driver that doesn't register

on conventional senses. And that way is nanny, Yazi asked. Reggie's face reddened. He grunted and swallowed, and then spoke, I've got no idea. But I think I know where they're putting these new vehicles together. He's Napta's fingers and the projected image changed to a map of a city called McKinney and the Dallas suburbs. It zoomed into an aerial shot of one enormous factory building near the outskirts

of the city. The Earth BBC pays for access to a few independent satellites that overlooked this part of North America. We also pay the s DA for limited access to some of their drone surveillance footage. From all that, I was able to trace out pass for seventy eight of the vehicles used in these attacks. Every one of them started their journey here. The projection changed again to it looked like a stock photograph of the front of a

large white factory building. The Tesla logo was displayed prominently by the front door. It's an old Tesla plant. They finished it about a year before the Civil War. It's been in and out of operations since then. As best as I can tell. The last normal vehicle rolled off the line three years ago, before the Heavenly Kingdom started cacking things up. McKinney was one of the first parts of the old Metroplex to fall, so they've had plenty

of time to fiddle with shit. Roland ray his arm and realized belatedly that the needle was still dangling out of it. The old man sighed again, but Rowland bravely ignored him. So what does this have to do with your captives, he asked. I didn't sign on to help you guys spy or blow up a factory. Send this data to the SDF for Austin if you think it matters, schoolfucker.

Mike put a hand forward in a placating gesture. We're not asking you to do anything about this, he said, but you and Manny will be our only eyes and ears inside the Kingdom. If you get a hint of how they've accomplished all this, it will be valuable to us in the SDF. We'll find a way to make it worth your while. I mean, the drinks are free, right, Roland asked. I don't know what else you got that

I might want. Mike smiled and gestured to Roland's backpack of narcotics, which sat next to him on the big redwood table. By my account, you've gone through about half your stash that's coming out here. If you're able to get us any worth while info, I'll make sure the bags full before you leave. Roland narrowed his eyes. It would be a giant pain in the ask to find good percoset between here and Cammebltowe. He sighed, alright, fine, if we hear something, we'll look into it. But Donald

your breath. After the meeting, schoolfucker Mike took Rolland down to the city's makeshift morgue so he could steal a dead man's face. Rolling Fox Militia had found the fresh corpse of some guy Roland's rough height and build. He'd fled Dallas and made it almost as far as Waco before getting hit by a drone attack. The four funk had been gutted by shrapnel, but his face was intact enough for Roland's chameleon implant. Roland hadn't used the thing

in so long he worried it might not work. He stared down at the man's face and took in his features. The fellow was white, but his skin was burnt a deep reddish brown. He'd clearly spent a lot of time under the Texas sun. He appeared to be in his early forties and clearly hadn't taken many juven treatments. His hairline was fine, but the man's eyes and the edges of his lips were creased with wrinkles. His dead ring eyes were blue. There were deep dark bags beneath them.

Plenty of time to sleep, now, Buddy, Roland thought. He closed his eyes, focused on the dead man's face and felt his facial bones start to tear themselves apart and then reform. He felt the pigments in his skin shift two, which was always strange. The sensation of his pigments opening up and taking in more light felt a little like stripping off a thin layer of clothing. While Roland did this, skullfucker Mike ran a scanner over the corpse and located

the I D card in its right forearm. Mike used a tool that looked like a long metal straw to suck the I D free and then shoot the tag into Roland's own arm. He took a second for Roland's body to pull the data. His name was erin Wether's. He was single. He worked as a mechanic in Arlington for most of his life. He had a clean criminal

record save for a drunk driving arrest in his early thirties. Roland, now Aaron, left the morgue with skullfucker Mike and headed for the ride that would take him into the Heavenly Kingdom. He used the walk as an opportunity to smoke a couple of grams of fine Afghan opium. He was still smoking when they reached the battered old pickup truck on the outskirts of Rolling Fox campground. The kid Manny was in the driver's seat. Hey Manny said, and stared wide

eyed at him. You look different, he added, with a forced smile. Yeah, Roland replied and pulled himself into the passenger seat. Mike tapped him on the shoulder, What, Roland asked, I'm gonna need your bag, man. He pointed to the still smoking opium pipe in Roland's hand, and that the Heavenly Kingdoms got a pretty strict policy on intoxicans. You're not going to get a backpack full of narcotics through their checkpoints. Roland growled at Mike. He couldn't fault the

other post humans logic, but he'd be damned. He was going to spend several days surrounded by a bunch of religious nuts and do its sober. Roland locked eyes with skullfucker. Mike opened his bag and grabbed a heavy handful of drugs. He swallowed them all one by one, pillbottles and baggies, vellucinogens and vials of amphetamines. He ordered his gut to reduce its acidity so he could store the drugs for

later regurgitation and can sumption. Then he took one last deep hit from his opium pipe and handed it and the bag to Mike. Manny popped the car and to drive, and they rolled off into the night. They drove in silence for a while. Roland's hind brain would have marked the time if he hadn't done such a successful job of pickling it with opium before they left. The quiet got awkward and boring pretty quick though. He considered putting on music, but of course his head wear was severed

from all outside networks. He couldn't connect to the car anymore than he could blinks into an email. He decided to ask Manny to put something on, guy music, Can you music? Roland realized he was slurring and his words were not coming out the way he'd intended. The kid Manny looked irritated. How fucked up are you right now? Roland gave a shrug that meant very You know my ass is on the line here too. I'm not made of whatever fucked up science you've got in your veins.

I'd appreciate it if you took this seriously on an objective level. The kid's request was fair. This must be a big moment for him, going off on a dangerous mission to enemy territory, et cetera. But to Roland, this was Tuesday or whatever day it actually was. He disabled his clock and calendar years ago because funk that noise. Funk that noise, he said, without meaning to good God,

I'm so high? What Manny sounded confused and perturbed. Sorry, man Roland rubbed his eyes, a little dazed from the opium. I wasn't talking to you. I am the only other person in this car, Manny said, yeah, but you know I'm highest. Shit. Words come out sometimes they aren't meant for anyone, and they just happened. The car slowed, and Manny pulled over to the shoulder of the cracked old highway. When the car came to a stop, he put his head in his hands, and breathed in and then out

very slowly. It took Roland a moment to realize the kid was going through a panic attack. He's never done anything like this before. Of course, he's terrified. Roland wondered if he should do something to comfort the kid. You know, he said, I've killed about twelve thousand armed people. Many turned to stare at him. He looked shocked, but Roland noted with satisfaction the statement had disrupted his panic. What

what the I mean, give or take a handful? Roland continued, I burnt my brains, killed canner out with crocodile and cheap vodka while back. Why would you tell me this? Why would you think this would help? Because Rolland said, we're about to go into a very dangerous place together. You're scared you're gonna die, and I want you to know, however many arm nut jobs are in that city, I can murder them, all of them. Manny stared at him. He still looked terrified and vaguely pissed, but his heart

rate was steadier, his breathing had slowed. Roland declared his gambit a success. Okay, the kid finally said, that's actually comforting. Thank you. There was silence for a beat, and then Roland spoke again that all sudden, I'd prefer not to kill anyone. I'd really prefer that. I was on a pretty good no murder streak until a couple of days back. I'm trying to stay on the waggins talk well, be a good face, man. This will all be easier if

I don't have to commit murder. Manny looked a bit nervous again, but he popped the car into drive and rolled back onto the highway. I'll do my best, he said. They were an hour outside of Dallas when they hit the first checkpoint and the Kingdom's guards ordered them out of the truck. Roland stepped out with his hands up. Manny had done the same. The guards scanned them, verified their status as Republic citizens, and then the questioning started.

What brings you to the Heavenly Kingdom? Their leader, a fat man with the kalashnikov, asked Manny. We heard about the amnesty, Manny replied, and we thought it sounded good. We we want to live under the rule of God. The fat man grunted. So you're both good God fearing men, then, yes, sir, Manny nodded, of course, and praise be to God for all the victories you've won here. The fat Man sniffed at the air and looked over to his partner. I'm not wild about another skin here, Hanson. You think we

need any more Mexicans? Hanson shrugged orders say you the faithful are all welcome. Yeah, the fat guy continued, if they're faithful. He looked back to Manny, why did it take a couple of devout men like yourselves so long to make a break for the heavenly Kingdom. We've been at this fight for a while, you know, I. I I mean we we were scared, and we didn't we weren't sure what to believe. What you're supposed to believe is

the word of God, the man snarled. And that's as clear as day to everyone who lives inside the kingdom. He looked back at his men and smiled an evil wolfie grin Hanson malloy, I think we might need to question these two more intensively. Radio command, and that was the last thing the fat Man said, probably ever. Roland shoved a hand into the martyr's mouth, pulled downwards, and shattered his jaw in four places. Then he leapt into the others. It went quickly. He gouged eyes, broke jaws,

severed tongues, and then started in on their limbs. By the end of it, all four men were still alive, but none of them were in any shape to report on what they'd seen. Manny vomited several times. What I happened to do? In your best, Manny, Roland asked, more irritated than angry. Once he'd finished, the kid recoiled, Roland realized Manny had started to shake a little. He also realized there was still a part of a man's ear in his mouth. Hell, you scared him, Sorry, kid, he said,

and squatted down next to Manny. Look, the odds were always good that this first tryal was going to be a scratch. The good news is they've got other checkpoints. Will hop on the access road and find the next one. It'll be fine. What did you too, Manny started? I stopped them from talking, he said, very quickly. No one's dead. There'll be uh. He glanced down at the burbling, bleeding mess of shattered humans. They'll be I but we need to move now before someone else comes along, and I

gotta break them too. Roland popped open the cab so he could change into a clean set of spare clothes. He was grateful that skullfucker Mike had packed them bags to lend their story extra versimilitude. Manny changed too, and once his hands stopped shaking, they rolled off to the next check point. Roland tried not to think too much about the men he'd just broken. That helped that one of them had been an asshole. It helped that none

of them had died. But still they hit the next checkpoint eight minutes later, and things went much better this time. For one thing, it was busier. There were already a dozen other cars in line when they pulled in. The guy who was questioning them was less of an asshole, and he seemed to buy Manny's claim. We weren't brave enough to make the journey until now, but we prayed all night about this. I know it's the right thing to do. Roland had to fight to avoid rolling his eyes.

The line worked, though. The man at the checkpoint waved the men and issued them a temporary transit pass. This is good for six hours, the checkpoint officer said. That's plenty of time to find the immigration center. And poured in. If you're caught driving around the Kingdom after that, it won't end well for you. They drove on, but it was slow going. After the checkpoint, the roads into Dallas

were choked with ruined vehicles and actual traffic. It looked as if hundreds of people had taken a heavenly kingdom up on its amnesty offer. Roland couldn't fault them for that. The Kingdom seemed to be winning. As they rolled towards Plano, they were stopped regularly by patrolling martyrs and asked to present their papers, But bit by bit they made their way onto and through the packed and crumbling highways of

Old Dallas. At one point they found themselves installed traffic on Highway seventy five, overlooking the cratered ruins of the Lakewood Blast. He felt cold October air. He smelled barrel fires and heard the sharp crack of rifley. He saw flashes of a face it might have been Gem's, and he remembered the feeling of a cold metal handle attached to something heavy dense. He remembered yelling to a small, sweaty hand held tight in his own. He remembered guilt,

what's up, Manny asked. He looked over at Roland and his eyes widened. Dude, you're shaking. Don't tell me you're flipping out now. We're way too deep in this thing. Roland shook his head. It's it's it's nothing, he said. Just a piece of an old memory hit me in the face. I think I've was in town when that fucker went off. The young man's pupils grew as big as saucers virga, he spent. You're fullish shit, Roland shrugged. I don't know. Maybe it's just a piece of a memory.

I might be confusing it with something else. Sure got triggered by seeing the blast side, though Manny was not satisfied by that answer. I refuse to believe that someone could watch an atom bomb evisceraate a city and not have a clear memory of it. I had to take anti Radtoll's my whole childhood because of that bomb. I don't have any clear memories, kid, none from further back than about I guess, five or eight years ago. I don't have a whole lot of clear memories since then either,

But that's from the drugs. What the hell happened to you? Manny asked, I thought you post humans all had hard drives running through your blood. Were you too cheap to pay for a photographic memory? Roland scratched his neck. He wasn't ditchy, it was a nervous gesture. He was a little fascinated at the fact that this line of questioning made him feel nervous. He really couldn't remember the last time a conversation had made him feel that way. Weird. I got hurt, was all he could honestly say. I

don't remember much of anything from before the revolution. Help, I don't really remember the revolution. The line of cars started moving again. Many popped the car back into drive, and they rolled further into the Heavenly Kingdom. Both men were quiet for a minute until Roland spoke again, That's why I'm doing this, you know. He wasn't sure why he was saying all this, but Roland found he couldn't

stop himself. Jim, the guy who brought me on, you know, some fucking East Coast search and who specializes in post human brains. They think they can give me back my memory. This rescue mission is That's how I pay for that. Are you sure you want those memories? Back. Manny asked, what fun do you mean. I don't even know who I am or was right now. Wouldn't you want that ship back if you lost it? Many glanced over to him, they locked eyes. I don't know, the kid said, you

say you killed at least twelve thousand people. I've been working as a fixer for the last two years, and I've seen a lot of fucked up eyes, dead eyes on men who have done too much killing. But none of them hold a candle to what's going on there. He pointed to Roland's face. I don't know. I got a feeling your past as one big fucked up nightmare. Maybe you're better off without it. Rowland was quiet for

a while, and Manny didn't say anything else. They crept along and stops and starts, and inched closer to Plano as the sun cracked open the horizon. Kid. At a point, Roland decided he'd worried about the same thing himself since Jim made the offer. Every hour or so, he still found himself thinking about the driver of that technical The man had reeked of love, and yeah, the guy had been fighting to establish a crystal fascist nightmare state. Somehow

that didn't mitigate his death. In Roland's head, most causes were ship. Most men who fought for anything fought for nightmares. That guy and all his friends had just been doing what felt right based on the ship lives they'd lived. The same thing had to be true for most of the soldiers and insurgents Rowland had killed. How many civilians did you kill, Roland? How many lives did you in

just to keep the battle drugs flowing? When he thought about it that way, he really didn't want his memories back. But then, of course there was Topaz. He loved her so much, or rather, the pieces of him that remembered her loved her so much. Roland knew he wanted those memories back. He needed them back. Every time he thought about her face, something twisted inside him, as if his guts were being tugged in whatever direction he thought she might be. It was a weird way to feel about

a woman he only remembered in fragments. Roland shook his head in a nervous attempt to shake the thoughts from his mind. Then he stared ahead at the line of cars. The immigration center was chaotic, crowded, and heavy with the smell of scared humans. It was also a happier place than Roland would have expected. Martyrs in fresh, olive drab uniforms with bright golden crosses and blasted on the arms handed out food, water, and even cups of instant coffee

to the adults. They posed for pictures with children. The whole place almost had the air of a party about it. There was someone filming, too. Roland guessed he must be a propagandist for the Kingdom, putting together some sort of documentary. They stood in line for two full hours before it was their turn in front of the intake officer. He was an older man with a big, bushy mustache, red jowls, and a droopy rooster wattle of a throat. He had a whiny voice that baraged them with questions as soon

as they sat down at his desk. How many apostles did Christ have? What was the name of the hill where our Lord was crucified? What is the fifth Commandment? Manny answered every question while Roland sat there and smiled vacantly like an invalid. They decided in the car that playing dumb was his best option. He'd probably wind up starting a fight if he talked to the man. And besides, Boland didn't no shit about the Bible. He didn't even have any memory fragments of church services. And why is

it that you're answering all the questions, young man? The officer finally asked about your friend here erin is it? Ah? Yeah, Roland replied, I just I don't know. I don't test so good. Mom said, I ain't a thinker, but you are a Christian. Yes, oh, yes, sir, he nodded enthusiastically. I love God. I am all about God. The intake officer narrowed his eyes at Roland. Manny flashed him a look of fury, and then quickly turned it into a smile directed at the officer. He's a he's slow, sir.

His mama took care of him, but she died in a drone strike two months back from the SDF. I'm just trying to make sure he's okay. The man grunted, and then looked to Roland. I imagine that must make you angry, losing your mother. Roland nodded and put on his best fasimile of an angry face. They're bad men. I want to hurt them back, the intake officer chuckled, Well, I've got good news for you. Then. The Heavenly Kingdom needs soldiers. I'm sending you both to a training platoon.

In a few days, you'll be martyrs and you'll have a chance to get your revenge. Wait, Mann, he asked, were we're being drafted? The officer narrowed his piggy eyes. The Heavenly Kingdom is fighting for its life. Boys. Every person we let in has a job. There are no shirkers here, no layabouts. If you aren't willing to help build the Kingdom of God on earth, we have no use for you. And I've decided you boys will best

serve God in our infantry. And just like that, Roland found himself inducted into a military for what was at least the second time in his life. The intake officer gave them more papers, signed a mustering order, and sent them off with directions to find the barracks that was apparently their new home. Manny handled the rest of the

interaction well. He even managed to act enthusiastic after his first startled outburst, But once they were out of ear shot back in the truck, he started to hyperventilate again. It looked like another panic attack ERDA. He cursed. This was such a fucking bad idea. Hey, Roland patted the kid on the shoulder. It's gonna be all right, buddy. Some aspect of his comforting tactic must have gone wrong, because the kid just looked pissed. You not realize how

fun this is, Manny shoved rolling back. We're supposed to be affecting a rescue here, he yelled. They're going to have us drilling and training day and night, will be surrounded by soldiers. I thought we'd just be squatting in an apartment saying some peace be with you is when we went outside, I thought we were going to track down those hostages and like a day, Now, what the funk are we supposed to do? Roland thought about that

for a moment. You thought about the martyrs he'd faced on the battlefield three days ago in their motley armor and battered, rusted weaponry. Look, he said, this for a real army, we'd be fucked. But you've seen how these guys fight. They had numbers and some professionals, but the bulk of their forces are just poor dumb fox with a week's worth of training and whatever gun was lying around. We're not going to be drilling from dawn till dusk,

he gestured at the truck's dashboard. They're letting us drive our own fucking truck up there. This ain't gonna be like a real army. I guarantee you we'll have time to do our ship. Stay calm, stick close to me, do what I do. I'm real fucking good at soldiering. If you follow my lead, they love us, and our job will be that much easier. And what if something goes wrong? Man, he asked, what if they catch us? Roland shrugged. If they catch us, then will already be

in the middle of their army. That will save me so much time. Hey, I'm Robert Evans. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope you enjoyed the chapters to come. You can find the free e pub of every chapter and eventually the whole book at a t r book dot com, complete with illustrations. If you want to support me in writing the sequel, you can crowdfund me at After the Revolution the Sequel at go fund Me. Just

type and go fund me after the Revolution the Sequel. Um. I'd like my books to always be free, so I'm just going to try to crowdfund the next one and see how that works. So After the Revolution the sequel on go fund Me. You can also find the community of fans of this book online at our slash after the Revolution on Reddit. So after the Revolution the sequel on go fund me and are slash after the Revolution on Reddit. A t r book dot com for the whole book. Thanks