Kingdom Come

xviii. Give it the gun

I woke up with her name lodged in my throat.

Clutched my bedsheets closer, gasped for breath, and forced my wide eyes to soak in my surroundings.

Told myself, "See, there's your boring wallpaper, your old nightstand, and your phone. There is no train running off it's tracks with it's screeching metal wheels. No blurring crowd. No calls that keeps dropping. In this world, the line always goes through."

When the taxi jerks to a stop at the red light, my attempt to recollect my nightmare is interrupted again. Even without any interruptions, it's difficult to piece together.

I look out of the window and find myself adjacent to a large billboard of Emir. It's a video of him at a steel plant. One side shows its old ruined state and the other side shows how much it has improved under his term. I consciously avert my gaze and stare at my hands.

It's inescapable.

This city was built to reflect, and these past few days, that's exactly what it has been doing. It mirrors and it returns; trapping the apprehension, the frenzy, and the outrage. Both parties have sunk their teeth in, always waiting for the slightest slip in strategy to draw blood.

Yesterday, Wayne stood me up for lunch. I left the restaurant, trembling with fear, thinking, 'I'm sure, he knows. This must be it.' Until, he called to profusely apologize and sent me the front page of one of the most popular newspapers:

"Has the AFD finally met it's match?"

The taxi starts to move again.

Relieved, I sink further into my seat. The driver keeps humming a tune I don't recognize. Bopping his head to the rhythm, waving 'hello' to the other taxi drivers, and unfortunately trying to make conversation with me.

"Do you go to the shooting range often?" He smiles at his rearview mirror.

"No, I joined recently. My friend convinced me." Lie. My therapist did.

"Ah! I wonder what's so fun about it," He says, almost to himself. A moment passes before he glances at me in his mirror again, and asks, "Are you a gendarme?"

My eyebrows curve upwards. "No, I'm not," I correct him with a soft laugh. "I'm a reporter."

"No way!" he exclaims. I didn't think it was possible for his smile to widen but it does. "You can't help but keep up with the news these days. It's all we talk about at dinner."

I swallow nervously. He's right.

It's not just national news coverages, or advertisements, or banners on ATOM, or think-pieces, or snide soundbites, or poll predictions or that over-publicized debate between two rationalist societies over Cherry's candidacy; it's the group of friends sitting behind me at a restaurant, arguing sides, peeling back layers, talking about the election without pausing for anything else.

Like I said, it's inescapable.

But I have been longing for a break. Just for a while, I want to think of something else. Why does it feel shameful to admit this?

When we pull up near the shooting range, I mutter a half-hearted "thank you," and spring out of the taxi like it's contaminated.

-----

Chloe has the kind of smile that let's you know you're home. The familiar sight of her red-lipped look and her pulled-back ponytail is enough to ease the tightening in my chest. She's leaning against the receptionist's desk, watching me approach her. The glossy black access card rests between her fingers like a cigarette.

"I've checked us in," She says when I'm within earshot. "Let's go."

"Great. Is our booth ready?" I ask, eyeing the receptionist. He's a tall lanky fellow who doesn't seem to appreciate Chloe's elbow near his coffee mug. He's also too shy to point it out to her.

"Oh, you don't want to get something to eat first?"

"No." I shake my head. "Let's just get into it."

Chloe laughs at my eagerness. We start to move towards our booth when she suddenly turns to address the receptionist. "I had notified the desk earlier about a new piece I wanted to try out."

"It's all there. We've prepared it." He nods curtly.

Indeed, the new piece was waiting for Chloe in a glossy black box with a delicate bow stuck to the top. While I'm prepping to start my round, settling our water bottles on the counter nearby and logging into the interface, Chloe opens it. On hearing her soft ooh's and ah's, I turn my attention towards her.

She's rightly captivated by it. The ashy-silver exterior and the soot coloured handle gives the semi-automatic pistol a vintage look.

"It's light," She says, sounding surprised. She ejects the chamber, slides the rack back, and pokes every crevice. I'm not entirely sure what she's doing so I busy myself with my own gun. The clicks, snaps, and ratcheting sounds keep echoing in our booth.

The glass door of our booth opens, and the range safety manager walks in with a kind smile on his face. "Log in, Chloe," He says. "We are ready for you both to begin."

"Now, a couple of things." He begins his small speech, a part of the range's protocol, and I'm still amazed that Chloe seems to be listening to every word.

She must have heard the same speech a thousand times, but she never looks bored. A pesky question stubbornly reappears: Have I been neglecting her?

"...Do not step into each other's lanes. And finally, the targets are automated, if you opt for moving ones, only shoot when the light bordering the wall behind them is a bright blue. Otherwise, they're only moving for a technical reason. When the light is red, for whatever reason, do not shoot." He folds his hands and looks at us both. "Any questions?"

"No. Thank you." Chloe responds and the manager steps out with a polite nod. She puts on her protective ear buds and steps into her lane. The red light from the wall at the far end casts a warm glow on her face.

"Great! Let's start." I say, enthusiastically.

"Not before..." She draws out the last syllable and gestures to the wall dramatically as it lights up.

Beautiful, snow-covered mountains. An isolated cluster of luxurious stone-walled houses. A drone shot of a couple skiing. The video that has begun to play finally makes sense. It's promoting the new season of Miles Away; a story about a couple who try to build a new life in a gated community in the mountains after being exiled by their families for choosing to love each other.

"Unbelievable." I mutter under my breath.

"I know." Chloe responds, and I realise that she heard me. "I can't wait to see the scene of the skiing trip. I totally believe that the person who kidnapped Serena last season was from that gated community. Probably working with her parents. If she hadn't been having those paranormal visions, she would have recognized him at the welcoming."

A laugh escapes my lips before I can think twice. I can feel it in my ribs, as the trailer plays out and the wall turns back to normal. "I-I don't watch the show." I manage to say, in between my giggles. "I meant it's unbelievable that we have to wait this long in a booth we pay for."

"Oh, babe..." She grimaces, when another promotional video begins to play. "That was just the first one."

I almost curse out loud, when a very familiar face zooms into view. Fast graphics slide in behind her in distinct purple-blue AFD colours. Her tall figure, dressed in a pin-striped suit, stands before the words, "Vote for Sara Egerton. Vote for safety."

Chloe sighs as the screen finally fades to black. "I heard that the shooting range is endorsing her."

"Who isn't?" I ready my gun and hold it in position.

Boy, do I need to let off steam.

We don't talk much while we shoot. A couple of odd things here and there as we tread on eggshells around any word that might trigger a conversation about politics.

At the end of the first round, I cave. Putting my unloaded gun down, I lean against the glass panel separating our lanes. "She's actually blonde."

"I know. She's not brown-eyed either." Chloe laughs sardonically. "I went to school with her."

I do a double take of her casual expression. My lips part in surprise. "You never told me that. What was she like?"

"Popular. Dean's honor roll. Quiz champ. You name it," Chloe replies. "She was so perfect that if she spent too much time out in the sun, you could see the plastic start to melt off her skin."

I laugh, and my bangs fall forward into my eyes. Brushing them away, I ask, "Did you not like her?"

"I knew the type of person she would become, and I wasn't wrong." She shrugs. "Completely re-inventing herself for her political goals is just typical Sara. She's never half-assed anything in her life."

"There is no political motive behind dyeing your hair," I say, without sounding too sure. Chloe steps back from her lane and grabs her bottle from the stand.

"Nuh-uh. Lea was following this story for a while until Jordan told her that it 'was meaningless,' and 'just about fashion.'" Chloe uses her free hand to make air quotes. "AFD is trying to neutralize Emir's persuasive effect on the first and second gen demographic. They naturally relate to him. Find his features more comforting. It's all about non-quantifiable impressions."

"No one knows if Councilman Hamdi is an immigrant. We've been there before," I reply as she tilts her head back to drink from her bottle. She wipes the corner of her mouth delicately when she's done.

"Yeah, so? The fact that they couldn't prove otherwise the first time he tried to get his name on a county ballot, leaves enough room for speculation," She retorts. Throwing her hand in the air, she adds. "Emir claims he doesn't know, but he could easily be lying."

I nod my head, conceding to her point. Wouldn't it be stupid to still believe that he was a perfectly honest man?

"I don't want to talk about the fucking election." I sigh.

"Neither do I." Chloe's voice buzzes in my earpiece. "My mom has called me more times this past month than she has since I moved out. What do you think of Sara's policies? Do you think Emir winning could hurt us? What about this Jeremiah guy—'is all of this Nutrien stuff true?'"

I bite back a laugh. I have to make sure my hands are steady as I reach for my gun again.

"Oh, you love it," I tease her, turning my face to look at her through the glass pane. "This is her way of asking you if you're keeping well."

"I know." Chloe scrunches her nose and smiles widely.

At the sound of the buzzer, our heads turn towards the reception hall. Half of it is visible through the glass door. A young man in a well-fitted dark jacket, stands next to the receptionist's table, waiting to be checked in. He digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out his gendarme badge. The silver medal glints under the harsh light of the lobby before he puts it away.

Chloe doesn't bother. She busies herself again; cocking her gun and taking her stance. But the gun in my hand feels heavy. Knowing better, I take a deep breath in and unload it before putting it down.

My eyes feel dry. I peel them open, and for a while, my vision is clouded. White, blue, and spots of yellow. The flash of a medal zips through the floating patches. Slowly the fog begins to clear and I see them. A nurse, in scrubs, holding an injection in her hands as if she had just been interrupted. A young fresh-faced gentleman holding out a badge for the nurse to see.

"You'll be receiving a lot of calls asking you about the survivor," He tells them. "Don't mention that she's a reporter. It always gets out of hand when the media finds out a reporter was shot at one of these things. Remember, this is an open investigation. You don't want to be in trouble."

His lips move slowly. The visual incongruence strains my head. I try to move and a sharp throbbing pain shoots up my spine. I could scream but all I can manage is a short grunt.

The nurse catches it immediately. With a quick blurry movement of their hands, an injection pricks into the tube in my arm; dulling everything around me.

There is a small knock at our booth door and I almost jump. The young gendarme gives us a quick salute when he catches Chloe's attention.

My chest collapses in relief. He isn't here for me.

He slides the door open and leans against the frame. "We keep running into each other here," He says with a confident smile. "This must be the fourth time."

"Yes, it is." Chloe steps out of her lane, holding her cartridge in one hand and her gun in the other. "Sergeant...?"

"Thomas. Please, just call me Thomas." His smile widens. He glances at our screen. "Wow, six in a row."

"I'm a pretty good shot." Chloe shrugs.

"I wouldn't doubt it." He straightens up, pushing himself off the doorframe. My breath catches in my throat. Is he going to step in with us? No, Chloe would never allow that.

"We should get together sometime. Shoot a round together," He suggests.

"Maybe. Sometime." Chloe offers him a tight-lipped smile, her head tilting to one side.

Just the hope of it all seemed to be good enough for him. Much to my relief, he leaves a minute later with an obnoxious grin on his face.

I watch his figure disappear around the corner, feeling disconnected.

My breath fogs up my translucent mask. The nurse, fixing a new bag to my catheter, mutters to themself: "So you're a reporter, huh? It's always us—middle-men—in the line of fire."

The chilled air of the booth exaggerates the eerie silence that follows his departure. Chloe stares blankly at her target, her lips pressed into a flat line.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask once my senses settle. She takes a second to respond.

"Yeah."

She loads her gun again, in one swift motion. Then, flips it in her hand and racks the slide to load the chamber. "Young gendarmes treat this place like it's a speed dating forum. And of course, I get the worse end of that deal," She tells me, her voice dripping with disdain.

Training her gun at the target, she shoots. Once, twice, thrice. Bullseye, each time. There is a note of aggression to it and my brows pull together in concern.

It's in her nature to retreat, avoid, deflect, and I'm the opposite. Thus, despite the fact that the question sits on the tip of my tongue, I hold it down. I've learnt to follow her pace.

When she's done, I log out of my counter and walk into her lane.

"Hey, let's go back to my place." I say, putting my arm around her shoulders. "I'm going to cook you the best pasta you'll ever have."

"Lu, no offense. I've had your food." Her forehead creases with concern.

"Just trust me."

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[a/n]

thank you for reading this so far <3 next chapter is one of my favorites and was so fun to write.

this one was just hard. it breaks my heart to write chloe-related scenes because the friend she was based on and I are no longer friends :(