Chapters Six, Seven, & Eight

Mister Dane was a good lecturer, with a rich baritone voice and a habit of animating his lectures with vibrant hand gestures. He was Sasha's favorite teacher and one of her favorite people. Mister Dane was a heathen, of course, but he was still a sweet man. She appreciated his even handed perspective and his commitment to the unbiased study of history. It broke her heart that no one else in her Advanced Placement Continental History class seemed to appreciate him.

The other twenty four students stared ahead with slackened aws and unfocused eyes. They were all deep in their decks, messaging friends, browsing snap bids, or playing whatever game was popular right now. Decks were far too entrenched in modern life for schools to force them off during class time. Instead, the school filtered the WiFi and forced students to download apps that restricted access during school hours. This had led to a thriving underground trade and apps that countered the

school spyware and covertly lifted the blocks. The district I T team was locked in a perpetual losing battle to spot and crack these programs. But on a practical level, the teachers, like Mr Dane, just had to accept the intrusion. The students didn't ignore him entirely, but very few of them gave him their full attention. They didn't give anything

their full attention. Really. Most of her peers went through their days half reading two or three conversations, playing games, and scrolling through several social media feeds, even when they were out in the world surrounded by people. Pastor Mike called it the death of Joy. That was the name of the essay and revelator that had first turned Sasha

on to the heavenly Kingdom. He'd railed against distraction culture, which he said not only robbed mankind of a relationship with God, but it also robs us of the little moments, the quiet joys of living are drowned by a flood of data. It's a mosquito bite on the human soul, and the masses have convinced themselves that the abatement of discomfort from scratching this itch is the same ashappiness. All around her classmates scratched their itches while mister Dane lectured.

He looked so lonely up there, they all looked lonely. So mister Dane cleared his throat in an attempt to pull at least a few of his students out of their stupor. As we close this unit, I'd like to ask you all a simple question. What should we call the war that split the United States? Your textbook calls it the Second American Civil War. In the Northwest, and the Christian States they call it the Revolution. By next Monday, I'd like each of you to upload an essay arguing

which name is more appropriate. One thousand words please. The bell rang. The other students got up slowly in twos and threes and made for the door. Sasha was one of the first up, but mister Dane called to her before she reached the exit. Miss Marian, would you mind holding back a moment, Sasha stiffened. She glanced involuntarily up to one of the government's propaganda posters on the wall. It showed a young man with a brightly colored backpack,

surrounded by burnt out buildings in rubble. A green rocket hung above him like the sword of Damocles, an instant away from impact. Next to the young man were the words think again, step back, Yes, sir, she asked. As she approached his desk. Mister Dane fixed her with a kind smile. He looked around forty, although that was no guarantee of anything. His eyes and lips were creased with smile lines. Though she liked that about him. You seemed

a bit distracted to day, Sasha. That's not uncommon for most of my students, he gave a slightly forced laugh. But you're normally so engaged. I just wanted to make sure everything's okay. Over the last year, Sasha had started building up a dock pile of what she called defensive smiles. She had one for when her parents were worried, another for her few friends, and another for the school administrators. The smiles were calculated to reassure everyone that she was

still normal. Sasha and she certainly wasn't planning to escape to the heavenly Kingdom. But she'd never worked up a smile from Mr Dane. She genuinely enjoyed his class, so it hadn't seemed necessary. She just decided to go with her friend smile and hope that worked. I'm okay, I'm just you know, inspiration head her. The news today is so scary. What's happening down in Texas. I'm worried. Mr Dane visibly relaxed. Ah, yes, I can see why you'd be troubled by that. I think it's taken everyone a

bit by surprise. He paused and struggled with his words. I expect it must be somewhat more difficult for you than the rest of the class. Being a Christian. Her smile faltered a bit. She knew she was supposed to act like one of the tame preachers the government trotted out, the men and women who'd Christianity was all about peace and love. They'd say that the Lord's truth could coexist with the equal truths of other faiths and with the

secular world of the am fed. That all felt wrong to her, but a little irritation was worth avoiding suspicion. My faith is stronger than a handful of terrorists, she said to mister Dane. There are a lot of Christians in the secular forces. You know they'll when in the end, won't they. Mister Dane's smile remained unchanged, but his eyes bored into hers. Sasha was more comfortable with eye contact than most teens, but she found this deeply uncomfortable, invasive.

Even after several long seconds, he spoke, I fear it's going to be a long, bloody fight before that happens. We're very lucky to be insulated from all that madness, you know, he sighed. An eleventh grader, However, A Jefferson I was killed fighting in Dallas yesterday. The news just broke. Sasha hadn't been aware, but thank God for him and his sacrifice. She thought, that's awful, she said, I can't imagine what his parents must be going through. No, you can't,

he agreed, And then mister Dane broke eye contact. He looked down at the ground, and his voice dropped an octave as he asked, did you know I had a son? Genuine surprise passed over Sasha's face. No, sir, I didn't. He shrugged and gave up on his smile. It wasn't much more than a ghost now, Anyway, I married young, I was a dad at nineteen, and by the time he was nineteen, the whole country was coming apart. He reached down to his desk and picked up a small,

rather battered looking red button. It had the letters R J printed in lower case letters across the front. Mister Dane stared at it. Something twitched under his left eyelid. He bit his upper lip. He was silent for a long beat, and he swallowed and looked up at Sasha. Do you know what this is? No, she said, reluctant and pretty certain. She ought to have known. In the years leading up to the revolution, there were a lot of different activist movements founded and spread by anonymous radicals.

They'd organized flashed demonstrations and co ordinated direct action campaigns. The pins were one sort of I D badge, so when you showed up for a flashed demo, you could quickly identify your comrades. He shook his head ruefully. It sounds silly now. All I can say is, at the time it made sense, and it felt meaningful. The anonymous voice I listened to was a guy named Red John. He had all these videos about history, politics. He explained the whole world and what was wrong with it in

a way that just felt right. I started playing his stuff for my boy Mikey when he was thirteen or fourteen. I just wanted him to know what was going on. I thought I was doing the right thing. Mister Dane's eyes looked watery and heavy with the ghost of old tears. He seemed to have trouble keeping his voice steady. Mikey grew up believing hard, and when the fighting broke out, he was young and strong and so very ready to

fight for the world he believed we all deserved. Mr Dane set the pen back on the desk with its cover facing down. His eyes were red. He died in Denver, mister Dane said, and his voice broke a little shot through the head. When the National Guard pushed into Westminster, Sasha put a hand on mister Dane's shoulder. It was an instinctive move, blessedly honest. She silently thanked God for this moment of connection to the educator she so admired. He smiled back at her, Thank you. I don't mean

for this to be a lecture. I don't think those tend to work. Just he glanced back at the table. Just be careful about putting your faith in charismatic men and their ideas. I will, she said. A minute later, as she left the classroom, a notification pip lit up on the top right corner of her vision. She wink clicked it and saw a message from Brother Andrew bus stop twenty three a four thirty p m. The rest of the day passed normally enough. In the afternoon, they

had an assembly about the suicide of a classmate. It was the third this year. Principal Hargrave delivered the same platitudes they'd all heard a hundred times. There was a lot of talk about suicide hot lines and chat rooms. Of all the counseling services the school had available, Sasha knew none of it would help. Almost twenty percent of teens in the m FED would attempt suicide Every year. That number ticked up a few tenths of a percent, and the government had no idea how to stop it.

Pastor Mike blamed the rash of suicides on the emptiness of secular life, the spiritual whole. At the center of capitalism and the self worship had fed. Sasha thought he'd hit that right on the money. Even the United Christian States still engaged in global capitalism and doing so that a dark God in permanent opposition to the Lord Almighty. Pastor Mike again, she knew Principal hargraves lectures were pointless, but she sat through the assembly and gave the right

smiles to the right people. The rest of the day, she focused on her studies as best she could, despite the growing anxiety in her gut. Two weeks ago, she'd read a Pastor Mike article and revelator, don't talk yourself out of Heaven. It had clearly been written for the conflicted faithful just like her. I've received messages from hundreds of you who say I'd love to open myself up to martyrdom. But I'm a doctor, or a police officer or an engineer, and I think I can do more

to glorify God where I am right now. Brothers and sisters, these are the doubts of the serpent. Don't be fooled. No one stays in comfort because they want to bring glory to the Almighty. Our Lord does not speak to us from comfortable places. He spoke to Moses in a desolate desert, from a burning bush. He delivered his greatest sermon atop a mountain. Jehovah wants our souls to be so on fire with devotion that our own lives mean

nothing before his flame. The heavenly Kingdom is that cleansing flame. What a gift it is here now in your lifetime. What a tragedy it would be to miss this chance at salvation. She recited that passage again and again throughout what she now knew would be her last day at school. The words steadied her as she waved goodbye to mister Dane at the end of the day. These are the doubts of the serpent, they calmed her. When she looked into her backpack, which held the small go back she'd

put together that morning. It was just a change of clothes and a handful of hygiene items that seemed woefully inadequate, but anything more would have looked suspicious. Leaving, I'm leaving. It was only now, on the cusp of leaving, that Sasha realized how much she was going to miss movie night with her friends. Central heating in the winter, reliable internet access. Our Lord does not speak to us from comfortable places. It took her an embarrassing amount of time

to find the bus stop. She was scared to use her deck. She'd shut it off as soon as she'd left school, and she didn't know the city bus system very well. She'd taken buses to school for years, but her parents car had always driven her around the city. She was ashamed of how anxious she felt about riding a city bus. Here she was on her way to a war zone and possible martyrdom, scared of public transit,

Be strong and courageous and do the work. She recited David's advice to Solomon, do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord God, My God is with you. That helped a little. Thinking of Alexander's smile, his green eyes, and the strong lines of his jaw helped more. Sasha didn't like admitting that to herself. It felt too carnal, almost sacrilegious, but she knew that what mattered to God

were her actions. Even if her flight to Zion wasn't done with a completely pure heart, God would forgive her her sacrifice to build the new Jerusalem with outweigh the sinful part of her mind that couldn't stop imagining how Alexander's strong arms would feel when they finally wrapped around her. She waited at stop twenty three. A four thirty came and went by four forty five pm. Her chest burned with barely restrained panic. She was sure the people passing

by all knew her secret plans. A pair of police officers passed her at one point. One of them, a woman not much older than Sasha, flashed her a smile. For a long time, she was convinced it had been a sign that her communics had been intercepted and the police or the FBI were onto her plan. But the police didn't come to stop her, and after a quarter hour that felt like days, a brown sedan rolled up

to the bus stop. Its window peeled down, and Sasha locked eyes with a careworn young man in the back. Sasha Marian. He asked yes, She said, are you brother Andrew? As I was with Moses, so will I be with That was the pass phrase Alexander had told her to expect. It was all Sasha could do to stop from bawling right then and there. She got in the car. The man inside was exactly what she'd have expected of a man and brother Andrew's profession. He had long, straw colored

hair and a ragged beard. There were deep pockets of exhaustion under his brown eyes and well creased smile lines around his lips. He wore a simple black suit with no tie. Everything about the way he looked and the way he dressed spoke of quiet devotion and humble service. Here finally was a man of God. Not a pressed, preening dandy like the pastor at her father's church, not a hip, young pretender like the Baptist minister who had given a speech on inclusion at her school last year.

Here was a real, road weary man of the Lord. I know how you must feel right now, Sasha, he said. You're relieved. You never thought you'd make it this far. You didn't know if you'd have the courage to take the final leap of faith. But you have now, child, and your soul is secure. Sasha melted. The knot of anxiety that had twisting in her guts suddenly untied itself. Her eyesight blurred, and she realized that she'd started to cry. It was all she could do to look over to

brother Andrew and whisper thank you. Together they drove to a little, white walled suburban house, maybe five miles away from the only home she had ever known. The car stopped, but Brother Andrew gestured for her to stay in the vehicle while he stepped out and knocked on the door. Another man, shorter and balding, stepped out. They both hustled back to the car, their eyes darting left and right.

As soon as they made it inside, the car sped off fast enough that the acceleration pushed Sasha back in her seat. The new man sat across from her in the autonomous car, second row of bench seats. He was older, in his fifties. If he hadn't taken any juven treatments, he had tired eyes with deep bags beneath them. While Brother Andrew radiated calm, self satisfaction, this man seemed nervous and a little frantic. He clutched a small briefcase with

white knuckled hands. Sasha smiled in an unconscious attempt to call him. He smiled back. Brother Andrew spoke, Miss Marian, this is brother Brian. He's going to disable your deck. It's the only way we can get you across the border to our people in the Christian States. Brother Andrew smiled and put a hand on Brother Brian's shoulder. The other man took this cue to open up his suitcase.

He started to assemble something small, silver and intricate. Brother Andrew kept speaking, All it would take is one phone call from your parents or your school when the police could spot your precise location from the GPS unit in your deck. This car is a dead zone, so you're safe inside it, but as soon as you exit, you'll be back on the map, so we need to remove

your deck before that happens. Will it hurt? Sasha remembered how it had felt when they'd first implanted her deck, like having a new tooth forcibly inserted into her jaw. She'd been four or five at the time. Her head had hurt for days. Brother Brian didn't look up from his briefcase as he answered her. Yes, I've got a topical anesthetic, but nothing stronger. It'll hurt. Sasha nodded gravely. She had anticipated this. A little pain was a small price to pay to become one of God's elect few.

She thought of Paul and Silas stripped and beaten with clubs on the orders of a heathen magistrate. God shows his love through salvation, We show ours through sacrifice. The memory of Pastor Mike's words helped ease her fears she'd miss her deck, but Alexander had said there'd be replacements in the heavenly Kingdom. In another minute, Brother Brian had finished assembling the tool. It looked like a cross between

a syringe and a handheld shot back. At Brother Andrew's urging, she moved over to sit on the bench seat next to him. Now lay across my lap, an angle your temple towards Brother Brian. A pang of fear flitted across her heart. These were men of God, but they were also men she didn't know, who were much older and larger than her. She had to fight down the urge to panic and flee. You were trusting these men to

smuggle you across a border, dummy. She hesitated for a few sweaty seconds, but eventually Sasha nodded and laid down on Brother Andrew's lap. Her heart beat so loudly that she could hear it crashing in her skull like ocean waves. Brother Andrew put his strong hands on her. He tightened his grip. He's holding me down, she realized, and although he tried to restrain her in a comforting way, the liquid mass of panic in her chest almost boiled over.

There was a sudden, sharp pain as Brother Brian plunged the needle in through her temple, and then a dull, throbbing feeling like a migraine. Sasha felt dizzy, disoriented, and then nauseous in turns. She blacked out for a few seconds. When she came back to herself, she realized she had been vomiting. The floor of the car was coated in the remains of her lunch. Some of it had gotten on Brother Andrew's pants leg. Brother Bryan looked disgusted, but

Brother Andrew was all smiles and comfort. Jesus, here's your suffering sister. He knows what you are giving up in his name. You will reap the dividends of this investment in your soul. He helped her up and guided her to the opposite bench, where she laid down and continued to clutch her throbbing head. She drifted off or passed out, and when she came to, the interior of the car had been scrubbed clean. Leaving behind only a brown stain

and the lingering smell of sick and antiseptic. Sasha guessed an hour or more had passed, although without her deck it could have been more. They were in the woods now, driving along a country road. Brother Andrew explained that they were just a few minutes away from the border, and almost as far as an automobile could take them. Soon they'd stop in the town of Franklin, right on the border of the U. C S, and she'd meet the men who would help her on the next stage of

her journey. The main border stations are blanketed with cameras, Brother Andrew said, but we're right in the thick of the Blue Ridge Mountains here. They can't watch every inch of them. We have some coyotes here who know where the holes are. One of them will spirit you across. Coyotes, Sasha asked. It's an old term, he said, A coyote is someone who helps smuggle people across national borders. Usually

the phrase has somewhat mercenary connotations. But the men we work with, our true believers, soldiers in the Army of God. You needn't fear, Miss Marian. A few minutes later, they rolled into Franklin. She'd never heard of the place before, but a quick look around told her most of what she'd needed to know. Most of the bill things were empty, the storefronts were boarded up, the city hall was in disrepair, and the skeleton of a once mighty Walmart supercenter dominated

the south side of town. There was clear fire damage around its roof and entrances. Twenty or so years ago, when the Civil War had been at its height, Franklin had swollen with refugees. When the war had ended, the refugees had gone elsewhere, and the city had been left gutted and exhausted in their absence. The car stopped outside of a public park. Sasha noticed that the grass was overgrown and the sidewalks around it were cracked and broken.

She shared a quick prayer with brothers Andrew and Brian, then they bid her farewell. The car pulled away and Sasha was alone. She'd been told to find a park bench and wait just a few minutes, so that's what she did. A few minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, then twenty. Sasha began to worry again. That was when she really started to miss her deck. Normally, she'd been able to catch up on the latest news from Zion, read one of her favorite issues of Revelator, and maybe

even touch base with Alexander. Without it, she only had the throbbing pain in her head to keep her occupied. Sasha's mind wandered to the rolling mountains on the horizon. She'd never spent so much as a night out camping before. The wildest animal she'd ever seen was a squirrel, and there aren't bears out there. That scared her more than the prospect of being arrested, or even the fear of what might happen to her nearer to the fighting. Dying alone in a drone strike or from a sniper's bullet

would be quick and expected. Given where she was going, She'd spent a lot of time thinking about dying from sudden violence. It had acquired a patina of romance in her mind's eye. But dying on some mountain to a slavering monster from another age. Sasha shuddered, seized by a chill entirely at odds with the extreme heat of this August day, it was a hundred and nine at least. Sasha rooted through her bag and pulled out a small leather bound bible she'd received as a Christmas gift from

her dad two years ago. She opened it at random and found herself in the Book of Jonah. In my distress, I called to the Lord, and he answered me. From deep in the realm of the dead, I called for help, and you listened to my cry. She read on through the rest of Jonah's cries to the whale, vomiting him up onto the shores near Nineveh. The word of God calmed her. She grew so engrossed in her scripture that she was taken completely by surprise when the coyote found

her on the park bench. Miss marian a man's voice, weathered and gravelly, said from behind her, you'd serve us both whale by putting that book away. This is not a safe place. She looked up the coyote. He was older than she'd expected, in his mid forties at least. He had a mop of greasy blonde hair, a round face, kind blue eyes, and a slight paunch that spoke more to his age than an activity. He had thick biceps and forearms that bulged with corded muscle. His thighs were

large too. He had the look of a man who spent a lot of time on his feet. Mister, she asked Jonah. He said, you can call me Jonah. And again the knots and her stomach melted away. She rejoiced inside. Over and over her faith had flagged, and over and over the Lord had sent her signs of his love and approval. That's what trusting and reason gets you. She had missed herself fear and pain. God is watching out

for me. Her childish fear of bears faded away. Suddenly the world and her future felt bright and exciting again. After years of delay, she was finally on the doorstep of Zion. Jonah, I'm ready to go. You lead the way and I will follow. It took about an hour for Sasha to decide that she liked camping, and then two more hours to decide that she never wanted to

camp ever again. By the time they stopped for the night, she'd gouged herself open on half a dozen different tree branches, smashed her left toe into a rock, and somehow managed to draw every allergy on the East Coast into her nose. The headaches from her improvised surgery and her throbbing sinuses warred for dominance. She couldn't sleep, food had no taste, and her hands were too grubby and generally snotty to allow her to read the Bible. Jonah was not as

talkative as brother Andrew. He'd given her a brief rundown of things to avoid out in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He'd told her how to recognize timber rattlers, diamondbacks, and copper heads, although for some reason she had much more trouble retaining that information than she'd had memorizing the Pythagorean theorem or the date and importance of the Battle of Hastings.

She was supposed to watch for pointy heads, she knew that, but every time a snake slithered past her, it moved way too fast for her to tell the shape of its head. Other than that quick lecture and a few admonishments for her to step lightly, Jonah hadn't said much. He'd given her food each night, protein bars and nuts. Mostly, he'd been kind enough to let her snuggle with the heated blanket he'd brought along. She knew she'd gotten snot

on it, but he never complained. When they settled into camp on the second night, Sasha was surprised to see her coyote start to gather wood and build a fire. He laughed when he saw the dumbfounded look on Sasha's face. He pulled out a small yellow bottle of lighter fluid, squirted it onto the wood, and then lit the edge of it with his lighter. The fire leapt to life, burning away at the pine needles until they caught the

smaller sticks and limbs stacked round in a small box. Next, he pulled two silver pouches out of his backpack and handed them to her. The labels informed her that one contained chicken and dumplings and the other Macaronian cheese. Her mouth was watering before the first and to night, Miss Marian, Ye get a fire and a hot mail. We're over the line. And that was how Sasha learned she'd crossed

the border into the United Christian States. She had successfully fled her country and the secular rule of law entirely. The u c S wasn't a true godly state, not by her standards. It's multi denominational acceptance was a denial of the harsh truth of God's love. Not everyone who called themselves a Christian truly lived in such a way as to earn God's gift of salvation. But just being in a country that acknowledged the primacy of God Almighty in their law and public policy was enough. For now.

There's no abortion here, she thought, with awe. No atheists on television mocking the Lord no callow acceptance of primarital sex. She felt a thrill at being in a place that was so much closer to her conception of right. It didn't even matter that she was still stuck in the woods. Jonah, she asked, do you live here most of the time? Yes. He had a quiet, soulful voice that made him seem even older than he looked. What made you decide to

start smuggling people out of the am fed? She stared into the tree line as his hands stuffed thin sticks into the base of the growing fire. Sasha watched his jaw clinch and unclinched, as if he was mentally rehearsing his response before he said it out loud as a United States armor arranger. Once been a Christian my whole life, though Southern Baptist, grew up in a country just as lost to sin and vius as yours is, and when the fighting started. I saw an opportunity to bring my

nation back to its godly roots. Hands emptied, Jonah rooted around his bag and pulled out a kettle. He filled it with water from a heavy fabric bag and placed it on a flat rock near the edge of the fire. Then he stood up, gestured for her to follow, and walked over to a nearby copse of trees. I joined a local militian Marietta near Atlanta. He said, most of us are Vettes like me, anither Baptist or Pentecostal. He crouched down next to a tree that had been cracked

in half by lightning. It was dead and very dry. The ground around was littered with tree limbs and thick slabs of bark. He started gathering up some of the larger pieces. Mom, get down, are and l Some of these are a little damp, but we'll stick them around the edges to dry out. The most important thing right now is to get some middle in size logs in there so we can build up a little bit of coals. Sasha wiped a runnel of snot from her face and

knelt down to help. Jonah continued his story while they filled their arms anyway, things heated up. The army started calling in their deep reserves guys lack maidman out for Dagham near a decade. That was after the fids Nut Dallas so go an active duty again didn't sound good to anyone. He lifted away a fallen limb and revealed a massive log, roughly the size of Sasha's torso. Jonah shifted everything he'd gathered over to his right arm and then hafter the log with one hand. He nodded at

Sasha's much smaller pile. We've probably got enough, he said. They headed back to the camp site. She could see Jonah was doing that twitchy jaw thing again, thinking carefully about every word. I grew up real patriotic, you understand. I love my country, fought for it down south. But I also grew up with a Confederate flag on the back of my dad's truck. I wasn't on board with those Marxists who started the Civil War, So when Governor Galen had his referendum on secession, well I fell right.

I was on board with the u c S back before it was even born. They sat around the fire again. Jonah started to add in larger branches. He slowly built the fire in a U shape around the flat stone. Now, I is never a fanatic when a church most Sundays, but I had jew neighbors, a couple of Muslims in the unit. Good guys. Wasn't real political, you know. But Pastor Elgin's gave a speech only time I saw him in person. He said, diversity wasn't making us strong anymore.

A melting pots all well and good, but the quality of the soup depends on the recipe. That made sense to me. He sat back, popped the kettle onto the rock, and looked over to Sasha. The ideal was a Christian recipe would make for a stronger nation, but the U c s wound up being a dag un prosperity gospel pile of nonsense better in the Amphid. Sure, maybe we've got less queer politicians, less rich Jews running things, but it's still corrupt here. Sasha wasn't really sure how to

handle this disclosure. She'd run into similar attitudes among believers online, uncomfortable references to Jewish gay or gay Jewish conspiracies. That sort of nonsense had always gotten on her nerves, but she'd written its purveyors off as edge lords and trolls. Part of her thought they might be CIA plants hell bent on making the Kingdom look bad, but she knew they didn't speak for the actual heart of the movement. Sasha wanted to speak up, but she held her tongue.

The fact that Jonah had been nothing but kind and respectful to her didn't change the fact that he was twice her size, who knew what he might do if he got agitated. Sasha fought for calm and recalled a specific passage from Revelator and one of their guides for young women immigrating to the Kingdom. No, daughters, that our Lord made your brothers and husbands both strong of body and quick to anger. It is your job to soothe,

not in sight. And if his wrath falls upon you in a sudden burst, remember the forgiveness and patience of our Lord. Let his example guide your reactions. So she smiled at Jonah and said, tonight, I'm happy enough to be in a godly land. He smiled back. Sasha hoped God was proud of her for being meek as Mary. When she thought about it that way, The rest of

the night was surprisingly tolerable. The food wasn't good by her normal standards, but it was hot and savory, and after days of protein bars, it was exactly what her suffering stomach needed. Sasha wasn't aware of wind she drifted off to sleep. Jonah woke her up the next morning, not long after the crack of dawn. He handed her a box of wet napkins and walked off into the woods for a few minutes while she cleaned herself off

as much as possible. When she was done, he led her down the mountain and into a small town on the border. It was Sasha's first real look at life in the UCS, and it did not disappoint. In the twenty or so minutes they were outside, she saw nine churches. There were crosses on every house in a dizzying variety. She saw Bible quotes printed on windows of shops and cafes, and the strangers who passed them in the street all flashed warm smiles of you, offered their blessings. Sasha had

never seen such public to splay of religion. She floated through those first few minutes on a cloud of giddiness unlike anything she'd ever known. The architecture and the environment were similar to what she'd grown up with, but everything else seemed alien and the most exciting way possible. Sasha felt so light she did almost feel the Holy Spirit lift her up. Her gleeful reverie only ended when Jonah led her up to the door of an unassuming brownstone house.

They were taken in by another man, whom Jonah had introduced, a Saul. Saul looked a little younger and a lot less weathered than Jonah. He had the thin arms and stooped posture of a lifelong scholar, and his conservative, button up white shirt made him look more like a youth pastor than a people smuggler. Welcome sister, he smiled, but his voice was more haggard than warm. You want to

get inside, please, There's no sense tempting the law. Saul's house was packed to the rafters with toilet paper, jugs of water, bends of freeze, dried food, and bags upon bags of clothing. The house had almost no furniture and no decorations aside from a large wooden cross above the hearth. There were a couple of stools arranged around a crate on the round, which seemed to have served as an

improvised coffee table. Saul sat them down, left for a moment, and came back with a hot French press filled with coffee. I'd suggest drinking your fill. It's hard to come by in the Kingdom right now, most things are. I'm afraid. I'm not scared of hardship, she said, a little too loud. You sound like a little kid. Keep your stupid mouth shut or they'll think you can't handle it. Saul was conspicuously silent, but Jonah spoke up. She handle yourself well out in the woods, he said, not bad for a

city girl. Didn't have a lott a woodcraft, but did have an open heart. He took well to it, ma'am. Saul chuckled as he began to pour in hand out cups of coffee, first to her and then to Jonah. Sasha wasn't entirely sure why, but she waited until both men had taken their first SIPs to take hers. She didn't know much about coffee, but she was pretty sure this wasn't the beverage at its best. Would you like to pray with us, miss Marian, Saul asked, Of course.

He extended his hands out on either side, so did Jonah. Sasha took Saul's left and Jonah's right. Havely, Father, Saul began, bless this young woman who comes to you with a full heart from a land of sin and shirk. She's given up all pretense of control and yielded herself fully to your grace. Lord, Please guide her in this next journey. We pray that she makes it safely to your kingdom and into the arms of her husband to be. Sasha almost paid. Where did he hear that she and Alexander

hadn't even met yet, there'd been no proposal. Was he just speaking in the general hope that she'd get married, or had Alexander told him something? May she obey him as she does you, Heavenly Father, and may you quicken her womb like Rachel, so that she delivers a new Joseph to our cause. That didn't sit well either. Sasha wanted children very badly. She knew they were in her future, but not now, certainly not soon enough that she'd be praying for them already. She was grateful that they had

their heads bowed in prayer. If any of this had come up in conversation first, she was sure she'd have reacted an obvious shock, but Sasha calmed herself, thought of her duty to God, and centered her mind just as the prayer ended. And A Sam A lady, it is a brave thing you're doing, Sasha said, as he reached for his cup and took another sip. Even here in God's country, not many are willing to answer the call. Oh sure, they'll all tell you it's the drone strikes

that scared them. I can do more good by working my job and sending money, as if the Lord asked Abraham to sacrifice a bag of gold in his name. Saul kept talking, but Sasha's attention drifted the spot on her head where the deck had been itched. All of a sudden, she scratched it, and for the second time,

she found herself truly missing the gadget. If she had her deck, she could call Alexander and find out what was going on, But instead she just squirmed a little in her chair and hoped the men didn't notice how uncomfortable she'd become. Miss Marian You all right, Jonah had noticed, of course he had. Sasha cursed herself and then cursed herself again for cursing. Yes, sorry, I'm kind of tired, even with the coffee, and I'm um worried about my

friend in the Kingdom. She definitely stressed the word friend too much. Do you think I'll be able to find a deck once I'm there? I've heard a lot of different ma'am that with Saul, and his voice had no more feigned mirth. You're about to be smuggled illegally across a heavily fortified border. There are all sorts of worldly goods in the heavenly Kingdom. Were not poppers or savages. But as to whether you'll get a deck, well, that rather depends on what our Lord wants for you. Sasha

lowered her head a little in submission. There wasn't the time to press further. Maybe that time would never come. You knew there'd be sacrifices, she reminded herself. How are you going to smuggle me across the border? She asked. Saul finished his coffee and set his mug down on the makeshift table. I'll show you, he said. He let her pass the living room and into a spacious and very chilly garage. They're a trio of workers with face masks were busy sealing up large crates of unfinished wood.

She couldn't quite make out the words stamped on the sides, but the blocky font looked military. There was a time when it was easy enough to sneak the faithful across on foot, Saul explained, but international concerns have forced the government to take a rather hard line. I'm afraid this is the best way to get across the border. Wait. Sasha's gut went sour. She felt the acid in her stomach churn a greasy boil. Are you trying to tell me I'm going to be nailed inside a crate? Saul's

face turned. There was no pretense anymore. He was disgusted with her. Sasha didn't really know why. All she'd done was asked questions. But then Jonah was there with a hand on Saul's shoulder and a calm voice in her ear. Think of this as a blessing, said Jonah. Most people never test the blind part of blind faith. He was right, darn it, and there was something freeing in the idea of just giving herself up to Providence. She'd done everything God had asked of her. Now he would either deliver

her desire on or the arms of the law. Either way, She'd done everything she could to obey the call of her faith. All the little sins of her life, the cursing and the anger, and those dark, gnawing desires she still struggled to tamp down. Those would all be forgiven. She was truly giving herself to Christ now, so nothing else mattered. You're right, she said, I'm sorry, I questioned it. I'll do whatever it takes to reach the heavenly kingdom. She took another hard look at the cramped wooden box

and the piles of aid supplies surrounding it. How was she going to fit in there? Whatever it takes? Chapter seven Manny Manny was used to war, he wasn't quite as used to being on the losing side of one. As chaotic as things gotten Sida de Muerta, his guys had always held the upper hand. Manny had come to expect safe supply lines and reliable transport to and from the battlefield. During past defensives, the martyrs hadn't controlled the skies.

His first hint that this had changed came when the fifty caliber machine gun atop their transport fired into the sky. It was soon joined by the echoing boom of the lead vehicle's twenty millimeter cannon and a sparking whoosh as anti drone rockets arched up into the sky. Nuts Reggie yelped as the gunfire jolted him awake. He drifted off a half hour or so into the ride. Manny grabbed onto him and looped his own legs around the bench

for stability. An instant later, the transport veered off of the road and into the high grass surrounding the highway. There was a flash somewhere to the left, followed by the roar and heat of an explosion. When Mannie looked back, he saw the smoldering wreckage of one of their escort vehicles drones. He shouted into the journalist's gear over the blistering gunfire. Mannie scanned the skies as their transport plowed

through the tall grass. Wounded soldier screamed as the vehicle banked and bounced and sent them slamming into each other. He caught sight of a small drone, maybe the size of his torso. It was matt black and an almost perfect oval. The only break in its seamless form was the bulge of a missile pod on its belly. A red light blinked above the weapon. The drone slowed to a stop, maybe a hundred feet above them. There wasn't

time to think. The fixer shoved his journalist hard off the back of the transport and then leaped off himself. He hit the ground with a painful thump that knocked the air out of his lungs and the scents from his mind. For a second, the whole world was stars and shock. Mannie rolled to a rough stop against what felt like a large rock. Something cracked inside his chest, and then there was another explosion, this one louder and closer than the last one. The heat hit him like

an ocean wave. Many was vaguely aware of the scent of burning hair, his hair. He cried out, but he couldn't hear his own screams. Many's ears rang like the inside of a church bell. It was several moments before the pain and shock subsided enough for him to open his eyes. He looked down at himself. First, his pajamas were scorched and his arms were scraped and bloody from the fall. His backpack was gone, but there were no signs of serious injury. None of his bones seemed broken.

What remained of the transport smoldered half a football field away. He saw a few writhing, burning shapes. Inside Many's stomach turned Reggie. The pain of the fall head momentarily wiped the journalist from his mind. Many scanned the field and found the other man curled into a fetal ball a dozen or so feet to his left. He ran over, gave the journalist a quick scan, and determined Reggie wasn't seriously injured either. A small slipper of shrapnel had pierced

the other aunt's bicep. He was just as scraped and bloody as Manny, but also basically intact, except his eyes didn't quite focus when Manny looked into them. Maybe a minor head injury. The journalist said something, a lot of something's, in fact, but Manny's hearing was all tenitus. There was no time to talk anyway. He hoisted Reggie up by the armpits, ignored the other man's pained expression, and pulled him along as he beat feet away from the flaming wreckage.

In the ongoing firefight, another blast way of rolled over him, this one more distant, and then another coming from somewhere above them in the sky. The extent of their injuries meant that their run was more like a hobble. Reggie had dislocated his unshrapnelled arm. Manny had fucked his knee up in the fall and done something awful to his ribs. The two stumble staggered as fast as they could manage towards an abandoned gas station by the side of the

old highway. They reached their temporary salvation and took cover inside the dusty, cobwebbed building. Cut cut, cut, cut, cut. Reggie screamed as he slumped down against the wall. It took Manny a second to process the fact that he could hear again. You're all right, he out it. You're fine. We're going to be okay. Manny had no idea if that was true, but he knew managing fear would be critical to their survival. The gas station had been abandoned

for a decade or more. Most of the glass was gone, but the basic structure of the inside counter was still intact. He and Reggie took cover behind it, careful to avoid the piles of shattered glass and shrapnel. There were old bullet holes in the wall all around them. At one time There'd been a plexiglass window on the inside wall behind the counter with a little bucket in it, so the cashier could do business at night without letting customers inside.

Most of the plexiglass had been removed, leaving a gaping wound in the building's concrete hide. Manny stuck his head out of the hole and looked out at the sight of the massacre. Both transports had been hit. Much of the field was a flame. The six sweet smell of burning human flesh wafted over them like a dense fog. Manny saw two of the escort trucks still firing into the sky. There was another flash above as one of them hit a drone. It corkscred out of the air

burst on the ground and ignited the dry grass. What the funk do we do, Reggie shout asked. There was panic in his voice and quite a lot of pain, but the journalist didn't seem to have lost his wits. We need to get out of here, Manny said, Well, those drones are still occupied. The highway was a couple of hundred feet away. The civilian vehicles following them had scattered when the attack began. Some of them had clearly been hit by machine gun fire from one of the drones.

Others had crashed, rolled into ditches, and been abandoned by their occupants. Manny spotted one, an ancient white jeep that looked like it had taken around Through the window. He could see blood inside the vehicle, but the engine and wheels seemed intact. The tree line of a sparse forest was just on the other side of the highway, a half mile away. If they could reach it, Reggie, he put a hand on the journalist's shoulder. The two men locked eyes, and many tried to force all the fear

out of his voice. When I say so, run very fast, straight towards that white jeep. Understood the brit brought a hand to his dislocated shoulder and winced in intense pain, but then looked back to Manny and let out a sharp sigh. Fucking all right, shit, yeah. Manny took that as a yes. He glanced back at the firefight in the field. The fire part was literal, now at least a full acre was aflame. The smoke seemed to have

interfered with the drone censors. That was probably the only reason their last two escorts had stayed unfucked for so long. Manny watched in horror as a large beetle black drone buzzed down low and opened up with a machine gun. He saw bursts of red as the rounds tore into the escorts gunner and flung him off the truck's bed. Time to go, Manny slapped Reggie's uninjured shoulder and sprinted as fast as his jankie ankle could carry him. It

was increasingly obvious that his leg was supremely fucked. The middle of Manny's back itched the whole run in anticipation of a bullet. That peculiar sense was even louder than the pain. They reached the jeep, Manny went for the driver's side door, pulled it open, and jerked back as the soupy remains of a pulped human being oozed out onto the asphalt. He heard Reggie start to wretch behind him.

It was fucked in there, for sure. The man he was sort of sure it had been a man, had taken a couple of rounds from a very large weapon. Manny guessed they'd been fifty caliber mass reactive bolts because the impact had torn the man apart. He wasn't sure if additional rounds or bone shrapnel had hit the two kids in the back seat, but they were all exceptionally dead. Many pulled his shirt off and did his best to wipe the corpse from as much of the seat as possible.

He hopped in and glanced over to the journalist. Reggie wretched outside, Hey, get the funk in, We don't got all. A concussive blast echoed from the field. That was one more escort down. The fight was as good as over. Many felt a tinge of panic rise up in the base of his spine. Reggie still hesitated. Dude, either deal with some gore in your clothes or stay here and die. Your choice. The Brits snapped out of it, went for

the passenger door and hopped inside. Manny wasn't a great driver, or even a very good one, but this was a simple vehicle, and he was blessed with the motivation of not wanting to die. He turned the car back on and the engine woke up with a rich electronic hum. The fixer flipped the vehicle into drive and gunned for the tree line. The jeep bounced and swayed over the lumpy grassland ter rain. Reggie puked out the window. Manny

felt nauseous too. He honestly wasn't sure if it was more for the pieces of people scattered inside the vehicle or sheer motion sickness. Fifteen seconds went by, thirty a minute. Manny allowed himself to think they might make it out of this alive. And then he heard the buzz, that sickening, familiar machine hum that every war zone kid knew, as well as the sound of their own mother's voice. A drone closing in. Manny jerked his head out the window

and scanned the sky. The jeep had a pothole, and his head slammed to the top of the window frame. He saw stars and almost lost control of the vehicle entirely. It veered to the right and lifted up onto only two wheels. He righted the jeep, spun it back to the left, and gunned it again. As he turned the other way, he stuck his head out again and scanned behind them. There it was the black beadily fucker buzzing

towards them. It was close enough that he could see the glint of its camera optics and the barrel of the heavy machine guns slung underneath it. Manny knew it was picking up speed to compensate for the recoil of its weapon. It would be low on ammunition now and probably wait to fire until it was too close to miss. The tree line was so near he could almost grab it. Another fifteen seconds and they'd be there, But the drone

was close. They didn't have that long. He looked over to the journalist, get ready to bail, Get ready to what Manny saw the muzzle flash, and in the same instant he spun the wheel hard to the right. The drone's first round chunked through the back of the jeep, cracked the axle, and blew apart the left tire, but the jeep was in the air. An instant later. It flipped over like a drunken dolphin, and the rest of the drone shots blasted chunks out of the ground where

the jeep would have been. By the end of the burst, the recoil had robbed the drone of its momentum and brought it to a spinning halt in the sky. The jeep rolled twice and bounced Manny and Reggie around like rocks in a tumbler. It hurt it hurt shiploads, but Manny was high enough on adrenaline in fear that he could almost ignore the pain. Blood streamed from his forehead, something ached terribly between his shoulders. When the jeep came to a stop, he was deeply surprised to be alive.

Let's go, he shouted to Reggie, not even a hundred percent sure if the journalist had survived the crash. Manny pulled himself up out of the open window and then reached his hands back blind into the jeep while he scanned the sky around them. He felt reggie small hands grip his own. They were wet with sweat, maybe blood probably both. Manny squeezed pulled him up. The too hopped

down quick as they could with their sundry wounds. The drone had probably veered around and started another loop so it could build up the speed for one more accurate burst of fire. Many couldn't quite hear the buzz yet, but he couldn't hear much of anything over the sound of his pounding heart. Reggie pulled ahead of him in a lopsided run. Manny tried to pick up speed, but his knee just wouldn't let him. Ah. There it was. He had three, maybe four seconds before that big gun

opened up again. The tree line was only about a hundred feet away, so close and yet too far for him to possibly make it in time. I really didn't want to die here. I was so close to getting out. He thought of a picture he'd seen of the Bavarian Alps, white snow filled valleys and rich pine forests. I'm never going to see that or anything else, Reggie looked back as he neared the reline. Many appreciated the gesture. It was dumb as fuck, though I run. The fixer bellowed

at the top of his lungs. The journalist didn't hesitate this time. He bolted past the tree line and disappeared into the wooded thicket. Manny felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He was about to be torn apart by some nut fuck martyr with an itchy trigger finger and a joystick. But he'd done his job. He'd gotten his journalists to safety. Well not quite safety, he thought, but whatever best I could do under the circumstances. The hum

grew louder. Manny tried to coax a little more speed out of his wounded leg, even though he knew he was too far away now to make the tree line. Even at a dead sprint. It would have been nice to see Berlin or Paris. Oh well. He heard the thumping sound of heavy gunfire and braced himself for the instant of agony that would precede his end. But instead he heard the sound of impact and crunching metal behind him, followed by a high pitched mechanical wine. Something heavy and

black crashed into the ground ahead of him. He made it to the tree line, pushed the underbrush, got perhaps twenty feet into the woods, and collapsed against a tree. For a few seconds, he just let the pain wash over him, his knee, his shoulders. He could feel something stuck deep in his back too, maybe a shard of glass or some shrapnel. From the start of the firefight, he had quite a few deep cuts the trauma nanites, and his circulatory system had clotted most of them, but

the deeper ones still oozed blood. It was hard to tell just how injured he really was, since his body was also covered in blood and viscerraph from the jeep's previous occupants. Espera, he thought, how am I alive? His brain gradually spun up to meet his body. Someone had shot that murder beetle out of the sky. But who Reggie? Where would he have gotten a gun? And the man was British. He couldn't shoot Reggie. He shouted over here. The brit called back. He sounded weirdly cheerful. I'm er

think we've made some friends. For the first time in his life, Manny found himself face to face with two post humans. The first appeared to be a lady. She was hunk it up in the branches of a tree, and she cradled a very large gun in her hands. Most of her body sort of faded into the forest. She was only easy to see now because of her smile. The shine of her teeth was quite unlike anything else he'd ever seen. They appeared to be made of some

sort of strange, swirling colored metal. Where a normal person would have had incisors, she had long, curved fangs. The other chrombed was a black man. He was of average height, with a muscular body and a wide build. His head was shaved, and he had a plump, friendly face and round cheeks that accentuated his broad smile. He wore a red kilt and a silver breastplate over his muscular chest.

It gleamed in the afternoon sun. His only weapon appeared to be an enormous sledgehammer, larger than Reggie's entire body. He smiled and nodded in Manny. His whole body twitched as he stood there, as if a constant stream of electricity buzzed through him. Reggie stood in front of the man. It looked like the journalist had run into the post humans during his flight from the drone. He looked terrified in the friendly sort of way only the British could manage. Hey, y'all,

Manny said. He wasn't sure how nomadic half god warrior people preferred to be addressed. Y'all seemed a safe bet, hey guy, said the woman up in the tree soap said the kilted man um. Can we help you, Manny asked? The man chuckled. He had a deep, throaty laugh that bounced off the trees and seemed to get louder as it reverberated. Na, buddy, you guys a look pretty near death.

I'm gonna guess you don't have anything I want nice pajamas, though, He pointed down to Manny's blood soaked and burned pajama bottoms. The fixer's face turned red with embarrassment. They might have whiskey, said the woman. Ask if they have whiskey. The big man smiled, lowered his mall, and spoke the name's schoofucker Mike, He said. The lady who shut down your drone is Topaz McMillan. Do you guys have whiskey? Manny didn't, but Reggie did. Holy fuck, he shouted, I actually do. Somehow,

the journalist hadn't lost his backpack in the chaos. He unzipped the main compartment, dig around for a few seconds, and produced a small metal flask. Reggie passed it off to skullfucker Mike, who took a belt of it and let out a dog's bark. He didn't bark like a dog, it was the exact sound of a large hound barking. Schofucker Mike passed the flask up to Topaz. She took a poll and cooed appreciatively. All right, Scully, I like these guys. They get a ride. A ride, asked Reggie,

a ride to where to rolling fuck? She said, to the City of Wheels Chapter eight Rowland. So you were there, right, Sardar asked you saw the white house burn. Sardar was Jim's mechanic. He was a short, slightly pudgy kid with a wide, handsome face and scan a couple of shades darker than Roland's own. This was maybe his twentieth question since Jim's aircraft had dropped their transport off two hours ago. The other members of Jim's team hadn't said so much

as a word to Rowland. They all listened, though he could see the tension in their shoulders and feel the vibrations in the air as their ears twitched and their eyes darted over to watch his replies. The fact that they were all cramped together inside the armored confines of a maddis a PC made it easy to read the room. Roland wasn't a hundred percent sure if the young mirk had been put up to the task of questioning him, or if Sardar was just an inquisitive soul. Roland smelled

a light drizzle of nervousness waft off the boy. He'd caught several glances between Sardar and Bigsby, but neither of those facts were proof of anything. Nervousness was a perfectly natural reaction to hanging out in a cramped metal box with a guy you'd just been trying to murder. I remember pieces of it, Roland replied, fucking somebody in the Lincoln bedroom, stealing liquor from the kitchens, shooting in the ball return the White House bowling alley. Sardar shook his head.

That's fucking loco. You're like a history book. I bet I read about ship you did back in high school. Probably, Roland said with a shrug. He had about nine clear memories of his life before the shack on Camelback Mountain, and none of them felt very his story. Rick, can I get your autograph? Man, Sardar asked Bigsby the post human Rowland had been about to arm club in a submission a day ago. Shook his head and groaned in embarrassment. One of the women he'd buried in his collapsed hovel

grunted out a laugh. Her name was Nadine or something with an inn. Anyway, she and her partner as Ame were both close assault specialists, like the rest of the crew, except Sardar. They've been cold to Roland ever since he'd beat the living hell out of them. Something occurred to him. Hey, I got a question for you, he said to Sardar. Yeah, your crew has been real pissy to me this whole ride. Roland nodded at Bigsby. How exactly did you guys expect

that fight to go down? Sardar pursed his lips. He seemed at a loss for a second. Then he said, Jim framed it as just a standard quilt team action. We've done that sort of thing a couple of times. Last year. There was this crumbed out Nazi in Idaho, so he tricked you. Then Roland interrupted, convinced you this was just another assassination when all he really wanted to do was get my attention. Roland looked around and realized the rest of the transport was glaring at him. Bigsby

spat on the ground in front of Roland's foot. We'd deviced you if he'd given us another minute. Roland just laughed and turned his eyes back to Sardar. It's clear you and the other guy, he gestured at the young man next to Sardar, are the only smart bastards in the unit. Since you didn't get back up when I beat you down, Sardar squirmed a little, clearly uncomfortable me and pedro He gestured to the other man. We're just engineers.

We don't go toe to toe with the with whatever you are all this conversation, the most he'd had in years, made Roland feel uncomfortably lucid. He rooted around in the tattered old backpack he'd brought with him. It contained one rusty Mateba auto revolver that he'd found under the floorboards of his collapsed shack, and five point oh eight seven kilograms of assorted narcotics, mostly opiates. Roland remembered how fun it was to watch things explode while high on oxy.

He pulled a pillbottle out of the sack, delauted, and poured half of it into his mouth. Roland swallowed, then guzzled the second half. Jesus said, will the man he'd stabbed in the throat with a piece of wood yesterday, This is the guy who kicked the ship out of us. I am sorry about that, Roland said. If I'd known we were going to wind up sharing an a PC, I probably would have just choked you out. Mortar fire incoming. Roland's hindbrain ran the calculations estimated it at a round

eight miles out. He sat up straight, since his focus towards the sound of the fire. Bigsby and asime reacted the same way. They'd clearly splurged on the good ears. The rest of the team didn't seem to have heard. They're shooting ahead. As Amey said, sixty millimeter mortars. Get up, folks, Biggsby added, as he pulled his own S thirty barret assault rifle from its resting place on the wall behind him.

The funk was that Asimey cocked an eyebrow, her left ear twitched, her tan, lean face flushed red with excitement. I don't recognize that one me either, Biggsby grunted. The other post human looked to Roland with clear frustration. You recognize that, Roland did. It's an M one forty two, he said, Mobile rocket Artillery Antique U S Military issue. Will looked over to Biggsby, confused, I've never heard of

anything like that in the s d f's armory. It's not the s d F, Roland explained, slurring his words more than a little. The opiates had just started to hit. Holy shit, I loved allotted. He thought, that's in coming, can't you tell? He said, not a not from this distance. Asimee answered, she glanced awkwardly over to her partner, Nadine, put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. Could you not be monstrously fucked up when we're about to go

into battle, Biggsby asked. He seemed angry. Roland debated, offering one of his handfuls of pills. He decided he'd much rather save them for later. First off, I didn't sign up for battle, he explained, as he popped and chewed a pair of morphine tablets. Second, we still got about almost eight miles before we at the front. Plenty of time to sober up. Eight miles, asked Sardar. The Richardson line is fifteen miles out. More mortars crumped in the distance.

Roland heard blossoms of heavy machine gun fire too, and the hums of dozens of assault drones. Hey Beggs, the voice of the APC's driver crackled over the vehicle intercom. There's a lot of craziness coming in from the man S d F channels. It sounds like a major assault. The martyrs have pushed all the way to deep Ellum. Some of the field commanders are talking about a full retreat, Jesus shitting christ Will, Bigsby, and Nadine all cursed at the same time. Roland thought it was cute. It tugged

at his heart strings a little. He missed being part of a close knit team. Some of his stronger memory fragments involved really good times he'd had during and after the war. He remembered blowing up an armored school bus with a guy named Mike, throwing rotten oranges at a government sniper with Jim. His brain also brought up snatches of late night drinking sessions and watching cartoons on an

old projector in the desert. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the burning man's innita smoke of their camp fire. Payne tugged at his heart, but he was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of an explosion. It was big and close enough that everyone in the APC heard it, even though Roland's hind brain put the distance at over seven miles away. V. B. I, E. D. Bigsby, and as Amy said at the same time, real big one. As Amy nodded. Roland could tell that the explosives rigged

vehicle had been an E series Mercedes truck. But he didn't bring that up. No one liked to know it all. Biggsby's mouth opened and closed, the telltale sign of someone having a subvocal conversation through their deck. Roland could have read his lips, but that would have been rude. Instead, he looked over to Sardar. If the gig gets called on account of war, you want to get ship faced

in Austin with me? The kid blinked, then replied, I mean, of course, but I'm pretty sure boss Man's gonna want us to do the job, even if it's hot out there. Roland growled a little without thinking, and Sardar cringed. I did not sign up to defend against an act of invasion. I'm here to funk up property, not people. Jim says, that's still the plan. You funk up the property, Biggsby grunted. My fam and I are here to funk up the people. A red hot cherry of anger bloomed in Roland's heart.

That wasn't the deal, he said, and Jim knows it. One of you call him and loot me in on your screen. I'll set this right. Call him yourself, spat Biggsby he can't, Sardar pointed out, he's got a dead deck, no signal at all, true null. Why the hell would you go null? Asimee started to ask, Biggsby interrupted her, it doesn't matter why this ascopters null. I'm on with Jim and he says you're under contracts. Still, we'll make

sure you don't have to cack anybody. For a moment, Roland focused his attention outside the little a p C. His hindbrain coalated the bursts and vibrations that echoed out around the battlefield. It compared them with his peda bites of stored combat data and the last map of Dallas he downloaded before severing his deck. In a couple of seconds, he had what his hindenbrain assured him was an eighty percent accurate projection of the current fighting. It didn't look

good for the defenders. And what if it's too much for you guys out there? Rowland asked, you can expect my ass to murder a bunch of strangers to get you and your fam home safe. Biggsby rolled his eyes. It's a bunch of fucking martyrs. Maybe they caught the s D off with their pants down, but they'll loose steam soon enough. Those savages are all baseline sapien. We got chrome on our side, Roland shrugged. If you're wrong, I'm gonna take one of your nipples home with me.

Just a heads up. The other post human's face turned purple. It grew purpler still when Sardar laughed at the remark, Sorry, Beggs, it's fucking funny, man. It wasn't a joke. Roland has shared them both. They hit Dallas proper ten minutes later. Their arrival was heralded by the sounds of car horns, squealing brakes, and frustrated shouts, the songs of a city at war. Flashes of memory from this same city in

a different war shot through Roland's mind. They kept him occupied while Bigsby and his squad prepped their combat gear. There was something almost comforting about the sound of men and women arming for battle. He remembered the way Mike ran through the lyrics of Iye of the Tiger before every op, and the careful way Jim had loaded his pre battle meth pipe. The crump of mortar fire and

the boom of heavier artillery grew louder and outer. The sour sinse of gamma, amino, butaric acid, cortisol, and epinephrin filled the cabin. Bigsby's team had good game faces, but they were nervous. Biggs the driver's voice crackled over the intercom. I'm seeing a shipload of hostile drone activity. Sky is fucking angry right now. Might be best at dismountain hit. Roland smelled the fuel burning off in the wake of the hell fire missile roughly a second before it hit.

He knew the archaic munition didn't have the ability to penetrate a man as a PC, but he still warned his fellows missiles are common. What Sardar asked, and then it hit. The impact rocked the vehicle on its axles and bounced its hapless passengers into the hard metal edges of the cabin. Roland bounced with them, although for him the pain of impact was more curiosity than actual discomfort. The driver braked hard. Roland heard and felt as the APEC collided with what sounded like the outer wall of

a large concrete building. He smelled blood on Sardar and nadine from the sound of the blast and the resulting crash. He guessed the APC's front axle had splintered. Ryan, the driver was unconscious. He'd hit his head hard enough that the trauma nanites in his blood stream had knocked him out while they worked to stop the swelling in his brain. Out out, move it, motherfucker's, Biggsby shouted. There was a hiss as the rear inside exit hatches of the a

PC fired open light streamed into the vehicle. Biggsby was out first, his very large rifle at the ready. Nadine and Asime followed behind him. The former had a Juggernaut auto shotgun, the latter had an IM fourteen sniper rifle.

There were no infantry near by, not yet, but Rowland closed his eyes, concentrated, and after a second his hindbrain guessed that the nearest ground troops were about a quarter of a mile away, six men in Airy's pattern powered armor, followed by fifty unmodified human soldiers, a half dozen technicals, and two drone carriers. The men in the Airy suits

were the only thing that concerned him. Powered armor couldn't make an unmodified human into a true match for a god fucking monster engine like himself, but it could give a squad the firepower they needed to do some real damage. If they could hurt Rowland, they could kill Biggsby and his team. His hindbrain told him that the power armored soldiers would be in weapons range within two minutes, just enough time to roll a blunt. He grabbed a blunt wrap and a bag of ground weed out of his

backpack and started to roll. As he walked out of the abandoned a PC, Sardar and Pedro had taken cover behind the vehicle and started to administer basic first aid to their wounded driver. Will was a few meters ahead on overwatch, covering them all with his heavy M ninety four belt fed grenade launcher. The others were nowhere to be seen. Roland heard them though, About fifteen meters west of the stricken transport. He felt them take up firing positions.

Should I warn Biggsby about the armored guys, Roland wondered. He shook his head and said nah out loud. Sardar stared at him. The weed was dry and slightly yellowed with age. Roland had certainly smoked better, but he'd smoked worse often enough not to complain. He drizzled the crumbled herb into the blunt wrap and rolled it between his fingers. He licked the seam and sealed it. As he watched Sardar shoot a stem capsule into Ryan's neck, the driver

started to regain consciousness. Roland lit his blunt, took a hit, and offered it to the man. Welcome back to the land of the living, he said, with a cheerful grin pot. Sardar gave him a stern look. Is this really the time? The screech of a rocket propelled grenade filled the air outgoing fire? It must have been from a nearby SDF position engaged with the advancing martyrs. Of course there's time, said Roland. We got a solid ninety seconds until they're here.

Might as well get high. The kid rebuffed his offer. Roland would have been a little hurt if he hadn't secretly hoped they'd turn him down. It took a lot of pot to get him high. One whole blunt was about the right amount for where he wanted to be. Bigsby opened up with his heavy machine gun. A vague worry started to grow inside Roland. The armored martyrs had moved faster than anticipated. Am I going to have time to finish smoking. He was thankful that he'd at least

loaded up on pain killers before reaching the front. The machine gun was joined by the sharp crack of Nadine's sniper rifle and the rich bellow of Asime's auto shotgun. It sounded like she was firing tungsten core penetrators rather the explosive Dragon's breadth round she'd loaded during the assault on roland Shack. That was probably smart. Are you going to do something, Sardar asked. Roland could smell his fear

wafted off him like a fine mist. He heard the heavy hum of a suit mounted rotary chain gun, and then another incoming fire. A few rounds arced and ricocheted off the body of the a PC Stardar and Pedro dove for cover and pulled Ryan with them. Roland didn't move. His hindbrain had plotted the trajectories of the errand rounds as soon as they'd left their barrels. There'd been no danger, well, no danger to them. By the sound of it. The power armored martyrs had pinned a Biggs be down. Roland

could smell Medine's blood in the air. She was alive, but injured Will started to fire and pumped a steady stream of explosives out in a high arc in front of the martyrs. Roland felt as the men scattered. He also felt the footfalls of dozens of normal infantry two meters behind the power armored vanguard. He heard the rich thunk of Recoilis rifles being bolted into the ground. Roland puffed on his blunt as he considered the tactical situation.

Bigsby and his team seemed to have knocked out one of the armored martyrs, but they were alone and unsupported. The STF was in full retreat, and the small squad didn't have the firepower or the chrome to hold off what was coming. Roland did, but he very much disliked the idea of murdering several dozen brainwashed idiots. These kids weren't responsible for anything beyond buying into artful propaganda and

lofty promises. He didn't see them as worse than any other gaggle of armed eighteen to twenty two year olds in the history of war. Hey, Sardar, you got a wrench, Roland asked, what, Yes, Sardar replied, can I borrow it? Um? The young mercenary raised an eyebrow in confusion. It's not a sex thing, Roland has shared him. I never assumed it was, Sardar said, then can I have it? Sardar stared at him for a long beat and then said, okay.

He handed over his wrench. It was nice, more than two feet long and made from fifteen point four pounds of stamped steel. This is perfect, Roland told Sardar. Perfect for what Sardar asked, wounding, Roland replied, and with that he was off. Roland could break thirty miles an hour at a dead sprint, but with all the pain killers in weed he'd just taken, and that didn't sound super fun. So he strolled along at a brisk eighteen miles per hour, darted by will and zig zagged his way past a

few hundred errant rounds. The armored Martyrs fired to suppress bigsby squad. Two of the big recoilist rifles fired their giant explosive tipped munitions. Roland reached Nadine and Asame's position. The former was down, bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. Her lover fired from cover. Roland felt as one of the explosive rounds arched towards their position. The other was headed towards Bigsby. Roland's hindbrain guessed that Biggsby would survive the

hit Nadine and Asame wouldn't. He jumped forward and grabbed them both while still airborne, and the second before missile met masonry. He threw them back out of the blast radius. He knew the landing would hurt, but both women were chromed enough to survive. After he tossed them, Roland slid to a stop on top of the pile of ruined bricks they'd hidden behind. The rocket propelled munition hit Abou

up three feet below him. The seventy five millimeter round contained a half kilogram of hexagen, enough explosive power to tear a hole in the side of a small tank. It detonated and turned the pile of bricks into a shrapnel volcano. Roland hopped again. His hind brain made it clear that he wouldn't avoid all, nor even most of the shrapnel. Medlin brick tore through his biceps, his gut, his legs, and his pectorals. Most of the shrapnel stopped

at the subdermal carapace that protected his vital organs. A few pieces went further. They tore one kidney in half and pierced one of his hearts, But Roland had multiple redundant backups for every important organ. His medical nanites had already started to purge the foreign matter and repair the damage. When he hit the ground, the battle high rolled in, and roland synapses flooded with endorphins, serotonin, and enough morphine to kill a middleweight elephant. The chemical elation of imminent

combat filled his senses. Roland wasn't just high on war. He was tripping balls. Sweet shitting fox, I've missed this. Roland flipped a jaunty salute to Biggsby as he rented forward past the man. This time he let his legs pump as fast as they could and rushed towards the five advancing armored martyrs in the quarter second before contact, Roland had his first solid look at the enemy. Their suits were definitely some iteration of the basic Aries design.

They had the familiar insectoid helmet with its bulbous eyes and heavy nasal sensor blister. The shoulders, chests, growing thighs, and shin were all heavily reinforced. These were breaching suits meant to lead in advance and absorb an enormous amount of incoming fire. The armor was painted the dull yellow of a Texas grassland. Roland could see red and blue on the edges of the pauldron's Republic of Texas colors, but the suits had clearly been painted over repurposed by

their new owners. Two of the men had large white crosses daubed across their chests. One man had a cross painted over his face plate. The paint jobs seemed new. These suits had been captured or handed over recently. Their wearers moved like competent fighters who weren't used to the capabilities full powered armor. Two of the martyrs had shoulder mounted missile pods with angry looking rockets inside them. Three of them mounted rotary chain cannons between their targeting systems

and reflex augmentation hardware. They could have hurt him if they'd had their ship together, but they didn't, and he hit the point man like a bag of concrete thrown by a gorilla. Roland didn't even bother to swing the wrench yet, He just let his substantial body weight turn him into a post human battering ram. The first soldier hit the ground. Roland atop him with a whine of pistons and internal motors. He tried to bring his as salt cannon to bear on Roland, but the barrel was

too long. Roland slammed Sardar's wrench into the man's crotch eleven times in the space of a second. The suit's growing armor was rated to stop a fifty caliber rifle round. It caved in on the third hit. Stop, he shouted inside his own mind, Stop, you're going to kill him.

Roland pulled back with considerable effort. His brain wanted more in every impact fed a few more endorphins into the hopper, but he managed to stop himself before he did a reparable arm This hesitation made him a target, though One of the armored martyrs shot him four times and ripped deep gouges in his torso. Roland rushed the man and slapped his weapon aside. The drugs flooded into him again as he swung his wrench up underhanded into the poor

fellow's chin. Bone shattered on the first swing. Biggsby fired. Roland felt one of the other armored martyrs go down knee caps and throats, shot out. The two remaining martyrs opted to retreat, but it was a fighting retreat. They bounded backwards and launched a flurry of rockets towards Roland. Discover fire these he had to avoid. Roland could eat small arms fire all day. Rockets were not small. He shoved the wrench into his waistband and threw himself into

an elegant back flip. He may be wanted to impress Bigsby a little. He landed fourteen feet back from his prior position, and the same continuous motion he picked up two fist sized chunks of concrete off the ground, flipped back again, and launched both improvised missiles at the retreating martyrs. The rockets impacted one after the other and spaces Roland had been in the millisecond before. Shrapnel from the detonations tore at his skin and penetrated his less critical organs.

Roland's hindbrain registered at least thirty new injuries, none of them were serious enough that he felt actual pain. He backflipped again, definitely show boating, and landed eight feet ahead of the last rocket and right in front of Biggsby's fighting position. Right as he landed, the chunks of concrete he'd thrown impacted the face plates of both martyrs at

around eleven ft per second. That impact wouldn't be enough to kill men in Airy's armor, probably, but it was enough to break most of their suit sensors and shatter a lot of the bones in their faces. Roland fixed Biggsby with an evil grin as the last two power armored men staggered back, wavered on their feet and collapsed. Son of Biggsby started to curse in a low, odd voice, because I'll be taking that nipple now. Hey, everybody, Robert Evans here. I hope you just enjoyed the chapter you

listen to. I hope you enjoyed the chapters to come. If you would like to read the text version of this book either on the web or on your e reader as an e pub, you can find those on the website a t r book dot com. So again, the free ad free e pub and the text of every chapter will be on a t R book dot com. Thanks