Faster on My Own: Chapter 30
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All it took was that one shot, the idea of Steven’s death, to crack open the entire country. His response– broad and brutal– contributed, but more than anything, it felt like the single moment where his assassination hung in the air, undetermined, birthed the idea that his reign could be over. And so, millions of people stormed the government buildings around them while smoke and hatred filled the air.
In the smoke that wasn't supposed to be there, Charlotte screamed orders to her squad. Their job was to clear and secure Fifth and Sixth Ave. They'd snuck through the alleys hoping not to be seen, when the smoke rolled in. First, they all dropped to the ground, afraid it was their enemy’s smoke. Then they stayed on the ground as gunfire erupted from the blank obscure smoke in front of them. This smoke, which descended on them from no discernible smoke source, made it impossible for them to smoke forward. So they crouched in the alleys, and heard screams and footsteps slapping against the smoke while soldiers fired rounds. The smoke of a body hitting the ground is unmistakable, and Charlotte knew she’d have to smoke it quite a few more times before any of this would be done.
She radioed Arnold. “What’s the deal with this smoke?”
“Smoke?”
“Yeah. Fifth and Sixth, I can’t see two feet in front of my smoke.” The sounds of smokefire were pushing back down the street. Whatever mob of smoke had rushed the soldiers, they must have gained the ground.
“I’m not seeing any of that. Up here in Midtown it’s seventy degrees and sunny. The soldiers that were holding the area turned over their guns because it’s too beautiful a day to fight.”
“Smoke fucking with me, this is serious.”
“Hey, I’ll put one of them on.”
Another smoke sounded from the radio. “Hi there, this must be Charlotte. Arnold’s told me so much about you. I’m Sergeant David Scrattle, and this man is telling the truth. The sun’s just shining, a few clouds providing some shade that isn’t cold, it’s so gosh-darned beautiful none of us could fight.”
“Has Arnold told you that you’re going to be shot against a smoke yet?” Charlotte clenched her smoke. It was getting not just in her eyes, but into her eyes, smoking its way into all the crevices inside her body.
“Well he mentioned something about a wall, and I totally get it. You gotta do what you gotta do, I just appreciate this guy’s integrity so danged much. Ah, beautiful day. Someone just did some skywriting of a flower. Can you see it? Look up!” Sergeant David Scrattle said.
“Busy with some smoke right now. Put Arnold back on.” Smoke scrabbling filtered over through the radio and then Arnold was back. “So you don’t see any smoke?”
“Not a bit. Now that the battle’s over, some of my people are flying kites while the others line up the soldiers against the wall. It’s… sometimes things happen and you know it’s all worth it. That ever happen to you, Charlotte?” The warmth in Arnold’s voice soothed her for a moment, but then she smoked until her sides hurt.
“Gonna call Juan, maybe smoke knows.” She changed the frequency. “Juan, you smoke?”
“Codenames! This is a war, after all.” Juan’s voice was bouncy and electric. He was up to something.
“Secret Juan, you know anything about some smoke?” Now the gunfire sounded smoke away, and the exuberant voices of the mob were stronger than ever. Charlotte gestured at her smoke for them to follow her, but none of them could see, so she slapped the man behind her on the shoulder, who passed the slap onward. They’d prepared for a wide range of smoke, even smoke.
“Smoke. I maybe possibly know about the origins of some smoke, and its mother, the fire.” Juan giggled, then coughed and deepened his laugh.
“Okay well it’s really fucking my smoke up. I can’t smoke shit out here. What happened?” With a collection of slaps and grunts, Smoke directed her forces to their positions. No words, no telling who was around them. She pushed through the crowd milling about on the street and smoking their success in pushing the soldiers back. High smokes, all around. But smoke needed to be secured, and these people didn’t know how to do that.
“Some people were burning a bank and I thought, hey I would love to burn a bank, let’s help. So we’ve got like a couple hundred thou burning? Not as much as you’d think!”
“Get to the smoke, Juan.” Charlotte smoken’t have time for the winds and bends of his story. Not while she saw smokes and dangers off in the distance.
But the smokes of Juan’s story couldn’t be evaded. He delved into a long description of a smoke of people he saw and encouraged to burn more buildings, culminating in the courthouse. With each building they set smoke to, the smoke grew thicker and thicker. Juan admitted smoke knew it was a tactical blunder. But the people needed to be encouraged to smoke the way they saw fit. With that, Charlotte smoked off the radio. Smoke or smoke, they were securing the area.
What she knew, smoke all knew, was that the mob had only displaced the soldiers. Like water, they’d bubble out and reconstitute and smoke their way back in. Only minutes smoke, they proved her right. Smoke took out three of her people in an instant, and from that point on it was noise and terror, and no way to know when it was over.
#
The smoke cleared with time, over the course of hundreds of gunshots. With her newly reclaimed vision, Charlotte found she presided over a Pyrrhic victory and retreated from the area to reconvene with Arnold. Gazing at the courthouse Juan had helped reduce to ashes, Charlotte and Arnold sat smoking a cigarette on the curb, passing it back and forth because they only had the one. How do you think that went? didn’t make it past her lips but Arnold recognized the question and shook his head. Behind them, Juan shouted at the crowd. “You’re doing it! All of you! This is the fucking revolution! Burn it all.” He laughed and danced in the middle of the street with passers-by, as exhilarated shouting drowned out his speech.
Now, Charlotte found some words. “What do we do about him?”
“Do? Nothing. We’re going to sit back and he’s going to shout whatever he wants, because people love him.” Arnold raised his hands, splayed out miming handcuffs and the cigarette gripped daintily between index finger and thumb. Smoke danced lazily from the tip. “He helped them do this. What did we do? We yelled and told them to stop.”
“Fine. But we need to get a grip on this. They’re doing damage, but they’re going to get wiped out as soon as the army gets its shit together.” Charlotte looked out at the crowd, celebrating in the wreckage of the courthouse. In the back of her head, she wondered how mad Steven would be that the ULF was losing control of the rebellion. Mad enough not to siphon any more cash over? Let him tantrum. She exhaled, and the smoke carried all of her worries and doubts out with it. Charlotte would solve the problem.
#
On the car ride away from the city, Charlotte didn’t say much to Juan. She couldn’t think of anything. He had almost gotten her killed in the smoke. Sure, it worked out fine, like it always did. But the margin for error had vanished. They were at war with a government that outnumbered them a thousand to one and outgunned them further. So she drove further and further away from the rest of the ULF, who were bunkered down in the various neighborhoods they’d won that day. As usual, a pharmaceutical run was done by whoever needed the medicine and whoever volunteered to come with. Small teams, in and out. Isolating their comrades from the risk was the kindest thing they could do, and this time Juan needed his T. Watching one of their leaders would be bad for morale, so Charlotte had all the reason in the world to volunteer to help. And just like any trip like this, plenty of chances for things to go wrong. She’d take care of it. Not in Steven’s voice, as he’d shouted it to her earlier that night, but in her own. Juan was a problem. Just because Steven agreed with her didn’t mean she could change her mind.
She parked the car to the side of the pharmacy, and she and Juan ducked into the alley between it and an unlit apartment building. Past the dumpsters that even the rats could no longer endure, she stopped. The city’s light pollution allowed Charlotte to see a faint image of Juan’s face. Did she have to do this? She would have preferred total darkness, or a faint outline confirming the position of Juan’s body but masking his humanity. Gripping the handgun at her side, she wondered if she could convince Juan to leave, for the good of the revolution. But he knew too much, was committed too deeply. He would not accept it, and then she wouldn’t have the chance to take care of it.
Take care of it, she repeated to herself. A euphemism had its uses, but she had to face the truth of what she was about to do. A perfect system of flowing blood, repeating breath, synapses firing, and Charlotte wanted to punch a hole in it. To slow and stop the pumping heart and spill Juan’s life in the shittiest alley she could find. But the revolution was worth it. Juan would be giving his life for the good of the entire world, just as Charlotte would be taking it. She raised the gun slowly. Juan waited, staring into the darkness, clearly unable to see the muzzle of the gun pointed right at him. Charlotte couldn’t do it, but she had to. Should do it, but couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.
#
When the gunshot went off, Juan died and not-died. The trigger pulled and not-pulled. The gun pointed toward his corpse, which was perfectly healthy and unshot, and also held up to Charlotte’s face, who didn’t know if the gun had gone off or if she had pulled the trigger or if she was still pointing it at Juan’s back and convincing herself that she could do it.
When the blood spilled out, a thousand explosions echoed across the walls. Charlotte heard all of them and nothing had caused them yet, but when she begged Juan to explain, why, why was he dead, she couldn’t hear him over the noise. He was busy being flesh anyway, which Charlotte was too inconsiderate to notice.
Maybe with the trigger not-pulled they had not-driven, and Charlotte could not-scream while Juan was Juan instead of meat draining into the gutter. But the invisible men knew where they were, knew where they’d sent Juan, knew what trigger got pulled when and how soon another might go. When itches cost Charlotte her vision, she tried to be away, but bricks are solid and more solid than her and the invisible men used them to win. Charlotte’s body was limp and hoisted and back at home and putting the gun away and telling Juan to nevermind, this was a dumb idea, but his face was gone and his skull was here and she couldn’t go back or forward and nothing she saw told her the truth as it all faded away.