Enemy Agents Read Free Page B

stairways. Finally, there was a shadow in the stairs to the left. He lined up his sights and waited. Inhaled. He’d fire on the exhale. A shoulder poked around the corner. A shoulder dressed in the green and brown camo of the defending team. Could be one of his own. Could be Hershey in another stolen jersey.
    “Sing out!” shouted Quarrel.
    “It’s a trap.” Gibbons’ voice. “He’s behind me.”
    Then she jerked forward and up the stairs, revealing her wrists tied together in front of her with a plastic cable tie. Hershey was behind her, using her as a human shield. He was just small enough that he was safely hidden behind the slim woman. He kept her in place with a hand gripping the back of her collar. He held a small paintball pistol that Quarrel hadn’t seen before. It would be terrible at range but considering that Gibbons was only six inches from the muzzle, it would hurt like hell. Worst of all, Hershey had stripped Gibbons of her mask so her head was exposed. A paintball to the face would cause an injury, regardless of who fired, and in the wrong spot (the eye) that injury would be permanent.
    “Just let me lower the flag and she’s fine.”
    “Or I could just shoot her and have a clear line of fire at you.”
    “You’d have to shoot her in the head to make she’d drop that quick.” He spoke to Gibbons, gloating, “You don’t want Chrissy to shoot you in the face, do ya?”
    “Fuck off,” she muttered under her breath. She was clearly embarrassed to be in this position, but they were supposed to act like there were real guns in play.
    “Walk to the flagpole. Slowly.”
    She took a step. Quarrel watched her face for any sign. He could see a few inches of Hershey’s grinning face, but dared not fire. Paintball guns aren’t as accurate as the real thing. A minuscule dip in air pressure could throw the ball off course and hit Erica in the face – break her orbital bone or nose, or one of those big brown eyes – no, he couldn’t risk it just to beat Hershey in a game. He could feel himself sneering in frustration , Hershey gets another feather in his cap at my expens e , but made effort to hide his seething.
    They were at the flagpole now, and Hershey had a problem. He needed one hand to hold his human shield in place, and another to hold his gun. He couldn't lower the flag unless he grew a third hand. He jerked Gibbons’ collar. “Lower it.”
    Gibbons nodded, but before reaching forward, she slipped her fingers under the jersey, fumbling at the waistband on her pants.
    “Lower it, or I shoot Chris,” Hershey sneered, turning his gun on Quarrel.
    Erica seized the moment. Spinning hard out of Hershey’s grip, she dropped her body while raising her hands, now holding a white object that registered only as a blur to Quarrel. She slashed her hands at Hershey’s face and fell away, stumbling.
    There was a bright red line slashed across Hershey’s neck. She had slit his throat.
    Above them, Hall blew the whistle. “Defenders win.”
    “What the fuck?” Hershey shouted, wiping at his neck and smudging the ink from Erica’s Sharpie.
    Jack jumped down from the elevated chair and smiled. “Now that was exciting. Usually it’s the same-old, same-old. Hostage situation. Entertaining at least.”
    “No way does she win. There are no knives in paintball!” Hershey’s voice went up an octave as he whined.
    Hall patted Erica on the shoulder. “There are also no pistols in the attacking team’s loadout. You changed the rules, so don’t complain when she follows.” Hershey gaped, but had no comeback. Whining to Jack Hall was one thing, but even Hershey knew not to piss him off.
    The four of them waited for a few seconds, listening to the suddenly loud forest as the other players and referees came back to the platform. While they were still alone, Hall turned to Quarrel.
    “You should have shot her.”
    “He took her mask off.”
    “This flagpole might represent a nuclear weapon. You can’t