Variant

The crowd was a little quieter than usual and more somber. This was the first game we’d played since everything had happened-the teams had changed, and key players were missing.

“The game today is Bodyguard,” Isaiah announced through the bullhorn. “Society on offense, the V’s on defense.”

Curtis patted me on the back and gave me a smile. I’d be able to defend somewhere without a lot of running around. That wasn’t what I planned on doing, but I gave him a nod.

“The Society will designate one player as the VIP,” Isaiah continued. “That player has to touch the flag in the center of the town square. The offense will also have five more players than the defense. Both teams have a medic, but the VIP cannot be healed.”

I turned to look at the V’s, gathered together in a group behind Curtis. Everyone seemed hesitant, like no one wanted to take Jane’s place. I could see her in my mind, standing right with us, cheerfully raising her hand.

She’d said it was because she liked being alone. Someone had programmed her to like that, I guess.

Timidly, Carrie volunteered. “I’ll do it.”

A few in the crowd nodded their heads in approval, but no one looked very enthusiastic.

In some ways, I think that I was getting over Jane faster than any of them. They hadn’t seen what I’d seen. To them she was still their good friend who was brutally murdered. To me-well, I didn’t know what she was. But every time a good memory of her appeared, it was followed by one of her sitting on that table, her torn ear in her hand, and a voice that didn’t belong to her.

The Society’s medic was Vivian, someone I didn’t really know, but Becky was chosen as the VIP.

Isaiah made sure the medic sleeves were handed out and then read the rewards and penalties for the game. He raised an eyebrow and stared for a moment before reading the words aloud. It was obvious he didn’t approve. “The team that wins today will receive decreased punishments for any rules infractions that take place this week. The team that loses will have increased punishments.”

There were murmurs among the crowd, especially in the V’s. “This is bull,” Mason said. “The defenders always lose here.”

Isaiah looked at his watch and announced that we had fifteen minutes to get in place before the game started. I lifted up the ribbon and let the others go under.

“Okay,” Curtis said as we all walked together. “We don’t have everyone we used to. Mason and Benson, take up defensive positions in the town. Joel, you’ve got front perimeter, and Hector, you’ve got back. John, I want you guys to split up and work independently as snipers on the streambed. Anna, you’re with them. Find cover and wait for them to come to you. Carrie, stay in the city and heal defenders as they get hit. Society outnumbers us, and they’re probably going to hit us from all sides at the same time.”

He clapped his hands and wished us good luck, and we split up. Mason and I headed for the city, walking slower than the others for my sake. My chest hurt.

With the buildings of the city in sight, we had to drop down into the deep, dry streambed that Curtis had mentioned and then climb back out.

The city was even bigger than I expected-maybe thirty or forty small buildings made of plywood, a third of which were two stories tall, and one a skinny three-story tower. They were clustered together and stained with old paint splotches.

“It’s a mess,” Mason said. “They always give the offense more people here. We get slaughtered.”

“What do they do when the V’s are offense? The other team would only have ten or twelve guys.”

“We’re never the offense here. Always defense. We always lose. Which, I guess, means that we’d better not break any rules this week. I want to eat.”

Mason placed me in a good defensive position on the second story of a plywood building with two windows-one facing the woods and the other facing one of the main entries into the town.

“Good luck, man,” he said, and gestured to the paint-splattered walls. They were coated with layer after layer. “You won’t last long.”

With that, he turned and left, hurrying deeper into the city.

As soon as he was gone, I pulled supplies from my pockets and set them on the floor in front of me: the bottle of now-red alcohol, the syringe, a stack of gauze pads, and a bottle of water.

From another pocket I took out three paintball grenades. I hadn’t used them before, but they looked simple enough: a canister of paint and another of compressed air. I pulled the pin on the first and threw it down the stairs, and then did the same with the other two.

There was a loud hiss, and the sound of skittering and scraping as the pressurized grenades spun and sprayed the room below. When the noise stopped I hurried down the steps. The room was streaked and speckled with neon green, white, and yellow.

I picked up the grenades and ran back to the second floor.