Recoil (5 page)

Chapter 6

A Small Square Inch of Flesh

Juan emerged from behind a dark doorway down the street
perpendicular to Bruce and
Leya’s
corner of the
alley. He had a green paint smear on the right side of his chest. Bruce had a
black splatter on his left thigh.

“Good shot,” Bruce said grudgingly to
Leya
,
as the “dead” instructor walked past us down the alley, back in the direction
of the entrance.

I used the moment of distraction to cross the gap of the road and
pressed up against the alley wall again. Graham trailed behind me, tripping
noisily over a cola can and sending it spinning down the cross-street. A round
coming from straight ahead hit the spinning can and sent it bouncing down the
alley.
Sarge
?

We edged up alongside the brick wall for another block, all the
while scanning the buildings and alley for possible hides, and came to the
small pile of rubble where the rat had been shot. It had stopped jerking now.
It lay on its side, the red hollow of its oozing eye turned to the deepening
pink of the false sky. Beyond it, just behind the oilcan, was something far
worse. A dead rat, split open along its middle as though by a knife, lay
decomposing on top of a couple of broken bricks and cement chunks, its stiff
feet sticking into the air. Flies buzzed around the corpse, and the putrefying
flesh seemed to be moving. I looked closer and saw that it was riddled with
stirring maggots. The disgusting smell — horribly sweet with an acrid sharpness
— caught at the back of my throat.

Majorly
squicked
out, I pulled back
instinctively. Not Graham, though. He leaned forward, tearing at his mask. For
one crazy moment I thought he wanted to study the rat up close, but then he was
bent over and puking, adding to the stomach-churning sights and smells. I heard
a crack at the same moment as a black splat appeared in the dead center of
Graham’s helmet-top.

Swinging my rifle up in the direction of the rifle report and
bullet trajectory, I focused in on a movement in a window in the main
cross-street, and took one shot. Then another.

“It’s a kill. I’m out,” came Fiona’s shout. “Hold your fire while
we clear the field.”

She emerged, a few moments later, from one of the buildings in
the main street at the end of the alley. I was pleased to see, as she came
closer, that the blue splash of my paintball had hit squarely in the middle of
her protective vest, directly above her heart.

“Nice shot,” Fiona told me. “Come on, Graham, you’re out, too.”
She marched up to where Graham still stood, bent over and retching, grabbed him
under an arm and hauled him off down the alley. As they reached the exit, she
called out, “Resume play.”

“We’ve only got to get
Sarge
now, and
maybe there’ll be a few more rats. Let’s split up and go in three different
directions to maximize our chances,” said
Leya
.

“Yeah, I’d like to get him,” said Bruce.

I nodded and slipped off down the side street to the right.
Leya
took the left, leaving Bruce to continue down the
alley toward the main cross street. I moved faster now that I was without
Graham, slipping between the cover of parked cars and doorways, carefully
studying darkened windows, doors, and small holes in walls behind which a
sniper might lurk. My eye was caught by a fluttering curtain, and a low
movement which might have been another rat, but I saw nothing that could be
Sarge
. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t well-hidden
somewhere with the crosshairs of his scope trained on me even at this moment.
My back itched as if sensing an incoming hit, but I made it to the end of the
block unscathed, only to scare myself stupid by bumping straight into Bruce as
I turned the corner.

“Hey, if you want me to hold you, you only have to ask me, Blue,”
he said, opening his bulky arms wide as if to embrace me.

“Don’t call me that.” I righted my balance and stepped back from
him.

“So, it’s just the two of us at last.”

“It’s not just the two of us.
Sarge
is
out there somewhere, probably taking aim at us right now. And so is
Leya
.”

No sooner had I said her name than I heard her scream.

“Help! Help me!” The yell came from behind us, down the main
street.

Bruce swore. “Are we supposed to help each other?”

“I guess. We’re supposed to be a team of soldiers on the same
side.”

I stepped around him and made my way along the main avenue, in
the direction from which Bruce had come. He was quieter than Graham and stuck
close to my shoulder as we ducked behind parked cars, trash cans, tall trees
and whatever other cover we could find until we saw them.

At the end of the avenue, about sixty or seventy meters away, was
a traffic circle with a statue of a cavalryman astride a rearing horse in the
center of it. Easing himself around the base of the statue was
Sarge
. With one arm, he held
Leya
tight up against his body as a human shield, with the other, he aimed his rifle
in our direction. We didn’t need our scopes to see that much.

“I have taken your comrade hostage. I know you’re out there, so
lay down your weapons and step out slowly, hands behind your heads,” he shouted
at us.

Now what? I glanced at Bruce. He shrugged. Neither of us
responded to
Sarge
. I hadn’t expected this to be part
of the game.

“Surrender or she gets it!”

Crap. I had no choice. I would have to put my rifle down on the
ground, kick it out into the street, and step out from behind my cover to stand
beside it. If this was real, no way would I risk
Leya’s
life, and we were playing this game as if it was real, weren’t we? I began
bending to lay my rifle down, already feeling the sharp disappointment of how
the game had ended.

“No effing way!” Bruce whispered fiercely. “She got herself into
that position, she can get herself out. I’m not losing because she was stupid
enough to get herself taken hostage, no way.”

“But —”

“You’re too soft-hearted,
Blue
. You win
the game by surviving, not surrendering.”

“But if we don’t surrender, he’ll shoot her.”

“With a paintball, Blue. Just a paintball,” he said. “You do what
you like, I’m out of here.”
          

And with that, he melted away into the lengthening shadows of the
avenue, leaving me alone, crouched down behind a rusty, old-model Ford.

Should I follow him? That was the smart course, probably what we
were supposed to do. But it didn’t feel right to leave
Leya
behind. It would be like leaving a friend in danger, or a fellow-soldier behind
on the battle-field. A betrayal of sorts.

I should surrender. Maybe as
Sarge
released
Leya
, Bruce would be able to take a shot. It
meant I would lose the game, of course, and Bruce would win, but at least we’d
have gotten
Sarge
.

But there was no guarantee that Bruce would get
Sarge
. No guarantee, even, that
Sarge
would release
Leya
if I surrendered. I could just as
easily see him shooting me as soon as I laid down my weapon, then taking out
Leya
at short range, grinning maniacally all the while. Maybe
he’d only captured her to lure us in. What had he said about the rules before
we started playing?
Drop us before we drop you … the aim of the exercise is to take
as many of our lives as you can, while keeping your own.
Oh yeah, he
would drop us both, alright.

“I’m going to count to ten,”
Sarge
called from behind
Leya
. “If you haven’t surrendered
by the time I get to ten, I’m going to add another kill to my count.”

And if I did surrender, he’d add two kills to his count.

I lifted my rifle, rested it on a spare tire leaning up against
the Ford, and studied him through the scope. I found myself running
calculations through my head, even though there was no possible way to take him
down without hitting
Leya
.

“One … two …”

He held her so that her body covered the whole of his, with his
head tucked behind hers. The hand holding the rifle was the only part of him
not protected, but a shot to his hand wouldn’t be a kill-shot. Even if I could
hit him there, he’d just take out
Leya
immediately.

“…
three
. You’re beginning to make me
ma-ad!” he called, in a sing-song voice.

The hand was exposed. And a small area of skin where the side of
his neck protruded beyond the edge of hers. Damn these goggles — they did more
to obscure my vision than protect my eyes. I yanked them up onto my helmet,
locked my cheek against the stock, aligned my right eye with the eyepiece, and
found that spot again.

“Four … five … six …”

It was a scant square inch of flesh, the tiniest target I would
ever have aimed for. An impossible shot. And if I missed, I would
either hit bare air and
give away my position to
Sarge
, or I’d hit
Leya
and be
instantly disqualified.

“Seven …”

But if I hit? If I hit that nickel-sized target directly above
his jugular, it would be a kill-shot for sure. We’d have taken out all the
instructors, while we three would have survived. And I would win the game.

“Eight,”
Sarge
called, his voice rising
high. “Poor little girl, she’s running out of time.”

So was I. I needed to make a decision. But it seemed my body had
already made it for me. My breathing had slowed down, my shoulders moved down
into their relaxed position, the pad of my forefinger was on the trigger, and a
freckle in the exposed patch of my target’s neck was at the dead center of my
cross-hairs. My finger tightened on the trigger until I reached the point of
resistance. I breathed in, held it, breathed out slowly.

“Nine …”

As gently as though I was touching a raw wound, I squeezed back
on the trigger.

The recoiling rifle stock slammed into my shoulder. A vicious
expletive from down the avenue told me I’d hit something. Quickly, I lifted the
scope. An arm in a green jump-suit. Up.
Leya’s
stunned eyes and open mouth. Down a bit. Her neck, a small splash of blue on
the side. To the right. A neck above a black jump-suit — a neck splattered with
blue paint. A hand moving to touch it. Up. Eyes above a mask, looking down at
the hand. Then lifting to look down the avenue in my direction. Eyes livid with
anger.

Uncertainly, I lowered my rifle and stood up behind the Ford.

“
Uhm
… Man down?” I called out.

Sarge
cursed again, violently. Then the
game-over siren sounded loudly through the arena.

Holding my rifle at my side, I walked toward the pair in front of
the statue. The sound of running feet behind me on the road meant Bruce must be
jogging to catch up with us, but I kept my face neutral and my eyes on
Sarge
, not sure of how he was planning to react to me. He
didn’t look too sure, either, as he nodded silently at me, then shook his head
as if in disbelief, then nodded again. I shot a glance at
Leya
as I drew near. She was grinning from ear to ear and had both thumbs raised in
the air to me, but she stood to the side and behind
Sarge
where he wouldn’t be able to see the congratulatory gesture. Bruce caught up to
me.

“What the hell did you do, Blue?” he said. His voice was a
mixture of amazement and accusation.

“I took the shot,” I said, closing the distance of the last few
meters to
Sarge
and
Leya
.

“Well, damn me if that isn’t a first,” said
Sarge
,
rubbing a hand over his gleaming head. “I don’t know whether to shake your
hand, Blue, or kick your ass into next week.”

“That was an ace shot!” said
Leya
,
coming to my defense.

“It was if it wasn’t dumb luck,” said Bruce.

“I could never have made that shot,” said
Leya
,
“I would have retreated.”

“That’s what you’re
supposed
to do in this game.
You’re supposed to be smart enough not to be lured in, and tough enough to walk
away. Keep yourself safe and hope for another chance. Like Bruce here did,”
said
Sarge
.

Beside me, I could just about feel Bruce preening under this
endorsement of his actions. But
Sarge
didn’t spare
him a glance. He was too busy studying me. He pulled his mask down, looped it
back under his chin and flashed that sudden grin that was more intimidating
grimace than reassuring smile.

“But you, Blue, you are one cool customer. Detachment under
pressure — that’s an asset in the battlefield. No surrendering for you.”

I’d very nearly surrendered; it had been my first instinct. And I
hadn’t taken the shot because I’d been cool or detached, I’d taken it as a last
resort. It was something I’d never have dreamt of doing if we were in a real
battlefield with live rounds. But I didn’t correct his misapprehension. Already
he looked like he was walking a fine line between admiration and severe pissed-
offness
. That shot must be stinging like a mother, right
now.

The two other instructors jogged up then, with Graham trotting
behind. He had a fraction more color in his face, but he looked deeply
embarrassed.
Sarge
ignored him as if he wasn’t there.

“Well done,” Graham said to me.

“Thanks.”

Juan and Fiona were staring at the side of
Sarge’s
neck in amazement.