GOLDEN RAYS crept through the curtains. Surfacing from sleep, Kevin opened his eyes and felt beneath his bed. 7.45. The equipment that had appeared about a week ago was still there. It was almost time. 7.46. Kevin knew what he had to do.
Originally appeared in Locust #8. Splash image is a photograph by Richard Reilly of artwork by Tish Turl and Adam Turl.
He was the first up in his house. It’d been like that for a while now. His two housemates, Geraint and Thom had both been out the night before, probably to the rave on the common. It was all anybody had talked about for days. Kevin didn’t go though. It was just another small discipline he applied to himself now, cultivating order and eschewing hypergamy. Now he would wash. It was important to prepare but more and more difficult to do with growing dissociation. He looked down upon himself in the shower for several minutes, wondering if this was what going ghost meant. He didn’t get an answer though.
There had been lots of signs, pointing him in this direction, sunwheels in his cornflakes, adverts for soy milk on Youtube, the near miss with ‘Sarah’ last year in the SU. Kevin didn’t like feeling as if he had escaped, so now, he figured, he’d just leap into the trap. It was hard being Pilled.
“Haven’t you done it yet?” Someone asked Kevin as he brushed his teeth in the mirror.
“Today,” he said, then rinsed out his mouth. “I promise.”
Kevin stepped out onto the street, 8.23. It was cold, cloudy, the sky was now rust/grey. Even the air felt degraded. It was late, somebody would be sure to comment. Kevin slung the bag over his shoulder and marched down to the bus stop, sigma stride. No one had commented since the toothpaste.
He turned the corner onto Milkwood Road. Kevin thought that maybe the schoolchildren walking by would give him a clue, but nothing. They seemed happy enough, talking to themselves though Kevin knew they were all falling behind. He had his own ‘education’ to tend to though, an early lecture from Mr Middleton.
He’d tried to argue his way through lessons for a while now, against advanced theories of postmodernism that degraded objective truth. The world was real, tangible. Kevin knew that. It was tough to prove though. He wasn’t popular. He knew that as well. He was too honest, too real, awake amid the dream. No more arguing. It was time.
Kevin walked past a newsagents on Milkwood Road. A sign outside said: “Know your game…” At least he thought he did. There was a bus headed down the road. It was not a 68, his bus, a number, 68, an expression of liberty, or so he read once. This advert on the side said something about “eternals…” An internet cafe (did they still exist? It had to be a front for something) over the road had a sign outside: “Transfer money to Nigeria.” That fixed him. Kevin smiled slyly. “Know your game.”
It wasn’t until Kevin got to the bus stop and looked at his soft reflection in the shelter that Someone commented:
“Trust the plan.”
“That’s an American slogan,” Kevin muttered before instantly going bashful. It wasn’t often that he answered back.
“Where we go one…” They said.
Kevin rolled his eyes at this.
“Know who’s keeping you!” They said, firmly.
Kevin eventually raised his eyes, back to his reflection, and eked out, “I do…” before noticing an elderly black woman looking at him oddly. Kevin turned away, then looked at his phone. 8.37. It had almost been an hour already and it hadn’t even started yet. He felt humiliated.
The journey was too slow though. Kevin watched from the top deck, clasping his bag, nervous, tense. Too many people got on or got off or just got in the way. The traffic was building, the noise was pervasive, futility was everywhere. 8.48. Kevin tried to distract himself, contemplating the dichotomy of mascline order and feminine chaos, when a girl his age, blonde, buxom, short, clearly nordic, walked toward him. He thought he recognised her from campus perhaps. Kevin slipped back into an older mode, to a time when he tried to play The Game. “Know your game…” He smiled at her. She saw him doing this and looked… disgusted, or perplexed, almost horrified as she scuttled past, to the very back of the bus, probably. Kevin didn’t dare to look. It was just like when he tried to…
“You’re a limp-dick little bitch,” a Voice hissed at him, painfully close. “I’m not!” Kevin protested. “I’m not like that. I’m…” Heads turned to look at him. Kevin buried his attention deeper into his bag. Keep the equipment safe. Did they know?
“They know what you’re up to,” said the Voice. “You’re going to blow the whole thing. We should never have trusted you.”
“I can do it,” Kevin whispered as faintly as he could. He clutched his bag. “I will do it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the Voice said, “either way, there’s no going back.” “No going back.”
“Deus vult” said the Voice.
Kevin did not answer though. The people he had come to know were split on this issue. They’d argue a lot about it on Gab. Kevin wasn’t sure about it. There were more important matters. Things to do. That’s why they sent Kevin the equipment and hid it under his bed. Every night, for a week, Kevin took the equipment out in his bedroom, assembled it, disassembled it, learned all he could, applied the discipline of his mind and body. He wanted to please his comrades. They did important work too, taking on
subversives, trans-perverts, health-fascists, the Woke Stasi. He’d seen the videos. He knew Black Lives Matter hadn’t surfaced on campus this year. He heard: “They got the message” as the bus passed the statue of William Gladstone on Aldwych circus. 8.55. “Still standing…” Kevin nodded. Resolve building. He didn’t really know who Gladstone was. He figured probably wouldn’t agree with him but free speech was important. This was important.
He remembered guarding Winston Churchill last year. It felt good, really good, that day. It was good to stand up for history, good to defy the mask mandate, good to be among friends. Good, but, of course, he was alone in the crowd. He didn’t know anyone there. There was also the backlash. Kevin hadn’t been on good terms with his family for a while. Since that day he hadn’t spoken to his Dad though, a veteran, who should have been supportive but he couldn’t accept that the man who urinated on the memorial was not representative of patriots. “Leave them behind.” There was no chance now. “Do this now.” Time to break ties. “This is your stop.” 9.11. It was Kevin’s stop. He got up and rang the bell. He was late for his lecture. Deep breath in. No matter. He’d have to walk the rest of the way. Sigma stride. He had a job to do. He got off the bus. 9.13. Kevin’s golden hour had begun.
...
It was all over in a matter of minutes. The only reason I know was I looked at the clock at the back of the hall at the beginning and end. It’s stuck in my mind: 9.33 at the start, 9.36 at the end.
The lecture was started. Some people were struggling to stay alert but I was wide awake, awake in a dream. Other people I know, friends skipped class, they’d been to the rave on the common. They were lucky.
The door at the back clacked shut, closed, a few of us turned to look; that’s when I got that glimpse of the clock at the back of the room. It was Kevin. Kevin was late. The lecturer, Mr Middleton stopped, he stopped speaking, I think. We all knew Kevin. He was top of the group. No one really liked him. He was quiet, scowling. It was a bit of a surprise to see him late, but still; he said something like:
“Don’t mind me.”
Mr Middleton got back on with the class. It was all fine. Thinking about it now I can remember hearing this clicking and clacking behind my head. Kevin was setting up. I, uh, I like, didn’t give it a thought though, why would you? All was fine. Seconds later I saw Mr Middleton stop. He looked up from his text. He said:
“Kevin?”
And then there was these two zaps, first his chest, then his head blew open. It seemed to be happening in, like, slow motion. I couldn’t help but feel my senses tingle before the shock kicked in, it was astonishing, like turning inside out. I’ll never forget it.
Again, it was in this slow arc, I turned... You could see Kevin with this gun, this huge black machine in his hands and an incredible, inflamed look on his face. Then he just started letting off rounds, everywhere. I crouched down as low as I could. I don’t know how any of it missed me. There were bits of wood and metal and glass flying everywhere.
After a few seconds there was a pause. I could see Kevin through a gap in the seats. There were a few dozen people in the room, across different rows. Kevin started looking along the rows, methodically, for survivors. He found one woman, zap, dead, he finished her off. There was no screaming or crying, I remember, I don’t know why. It was very strange.
This happened a few times. It was so quiet and methodical. A couple of people bolted (we were all hiding, trying to hide). They must have been trying to get to the front door. Kevin shot them down. It was easy. They didn’t stand a chance. One guy used the distraction. He leapt up and tried to wrest Kevin’s gun away, grab it, take it away. He almost managed it too. Guthrie, yes, that was his name. I knew him a bit, see. They sort of wrestled. Then Guthrie got shot in the chest. I don’t know what happened to him. What happened to him?
I was down at the front of the room. There was a fire exit not far from the lectern. I figured we were all dead. I sort of thought it without thinking, if you know what I mean…? So I tried creeping toward it, the exit, while this all was going on. I got to the point where I had to make a run for it because there was a gap, the last five or so metres, just a running step over Mr Middleton. I almost got to the door when I felt this pop, this bursting sensation in my right knee and just collapsed, like my legs had disappeared.
I was on my front. I couldn’t get up but I could see Kevin approaching out the corner of my eye. I don’t know how I felt. It was all so strange. My heart was pounding, counting down maybe because my head... I couldn’t think. I had no thoughts.
Then there was this click. I closed my eyes... But then I heard this Voice. It was a man’s voice, coming from the back of the room. It said:
“That’ll do Kevin”.
I couldn’t see. I felt like I was going to black out. Then Kevin said, “I understand”. Then there was another zap. I was still alive, but when I managed to turn around Kevin was dead. 9.36.
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