Kaminoa

4

I'm dashing up the stairs, taking them two at a time and holding my bags, knowing I might need them. I pass my floor and burst through the door of the eighth floor, running as fast as I can and not looking back. I hear the door close behind me then burst open, swinging on its hinges and slamming into the wall.

"Stop!" the man yells. I don't.

I round the corner in the hall, not looking back, just trying to put distance between me and the invader. I had gotten a good look at him, but I hadn't recognized him. I don't think he was from my building. There was more yelling, getting louder behind me. A sharp crack reverberated through the hall, impossibly loud. I rushed through the door to the stairwell at the other end of the hall and ran down, returning to my floor and rushing into my apartment, out of breath and sweating profusely. My heart is racing in my chest, and I drop my bags on the counter when I shut the door behind me.

Vivian is up from the couch now, trying to read my face, and I tell her to give me her phone and lock herself in the bathroom. I take her phone and check for a signal, there isn't one.

Moving to our bedroom, I reach down under the bed and pull the small black case out. I unlock it on the bed and pull out the matte black handgun, sliding a magazine in the weapon and pulling the slide. It's a nine millimeter, and it will do the job. With shaking hands, I flip off the safety and return to the living room, standing in front of the door in my apartment and waiting for any sounds. There's another gunshot from somewhere in the building followed by uncomfortable silence.

I stand silently, listening and trying to control my breathing. I send a text message to the Corporate Police, giving them my address and a brief account of what's going on. The gun is shaking in my hand, but I keep my finger off the trigger like I was trained to do in my lessons from corporate. Since I had initially signed on as a courier at Rogers Shipping, I was required to carry the weapon on my belt in addition to training to operate the security drones that rode on the side of the vans we drove. When I had been promoted to a desk position working logistics, they hadn't asked for the gun back. The blue logo of Rogers Shipping is etched on the side of the gun in anodized titanium.

'We're sorry, due to increased volume of messages and regularly scheduled outage of the phone networks due to the mandatory curfew in place, we're unable to respond to your query at this time. Our office will open to normal queries at 6 AM, and we'll follow up with you as soon as possible.'

I curse and drop my phone on the table, no one's going to help me, and I can't let this idiot hurt Vivian. There's a harsh knock on our door.

"I know you're in there. Open it up and give me your point chips and no one gets hurt," he calls.

"I've got a gun, if you try to come in, I'm going to shoot!" I yell back, my voice wavering as I work to stabilize the gun in my shaking hands.

"Pal, we both know you don't have a gun," he calls.

"I called the Corporate Police, they're on their way, so you better get out of here."

"Phone lines are out," he said, calling my bluff. He kicks the door, the thud and vibration of impact booming through my apartment, but the heavy door holds.

He kicks again, and appears in the doorway, holding his gun to the side still. I see blood splattered on his clothes, and it leaves no question of his innocence. He looks at me with surprise in his eyes, his weapon still not aimed. It looks like he really didn't think I had a weapon. Acting on instinct, I shoot three rounds into his chest before he can raise his weapon. Vivian screams in the bathroom, and I walk over to the body, kicking his weapon, a cheap Chinese concealable by the looks of it, out of the way.