The Assassin Game Read Free Page B

I’m flippin’ freezing.”
    Tesha jumps over and flops down beside me. “What do I do?”
    â€œFeet in this trench,” I show her. “Then stretch out on the ground on your back.”
    She plants herself on the sand reluctantly. “Now what?”
    â€œNow I climb up you.” I lean against the extent of my bungee. “Martin, more slack!”
    He hefts my rope and I feel the bungee slacken a little. I kneel and lean forward until I’m lying lengthways on Tesha. She’s tall and meaty. A good launching pad.
    â€œHey!” she shouts from under me. “What the hell?”
    Despite her protestations, I squirm up her using her body for traction. We must look like two slugs bumping bellies. I manage to get all the way up her and put my feet against one of her shoulders, pushing myself the rest of the way across the sand to the pile of poo.
    â€œOw-ee!” Tesha shouts. “You’re killing me!”
    â€œI’ll swap with you if you like,” I say, straining my head over the ominous pat. “In a heartbeat.” There’s a lump in the middle of the crap. The pruning shears.
    â€œActually, you’re all right.” Tesha is looking at the cowpat too. Suddenly she’s realizing she has the better deal in all this. I give myself one more push and, hands stuck behind my back, I’m cobra-ing over the pile of stinking mess. Oh God.
    â€œHurry up!” Martin shouts. “My arms are burning.”
    â€œSometimes you’ve just got to suck it up,” I mutter.
    â€œWhat did you just say?” he shouts.
    â€œSuck it up.” I shudder. And then before I can stop myself, I plunge face-first into the dark-green gloop. I screw my eyes up and push the horrible stuff out of the way with my face, like a kitten with a ball of wool. Except this isn’t wool. The smell is horrendous, but the worst part is that it is warm. It actually steams. It covers my mouth, goes up my nostrils, gets in my eyes. I splutter, blowing the stuff off my lips as best I can. I want to scream, but I have to go down again. I nuzzle the plop until I can feel something hard and cool against my cheek. I shove at it, and the handles stand up a little. There’s a loop of metal between the handles. I try to hook it with my nose, but my nose is not pointy enough. There’s only one thing attached to my head that is. My tongue.
    â€œNo!” I splutter, but then I go for it. It’s only grass, it’s only grass, cows just eat grass and it’s only grass and festering bacteria from four stomachs and flies’ eggs and heaven knows what else oh help oh help oh help.
    I snag the loop. A handle falls toward me, and I bite it, and jackknife the hell out of there. Martin’s muscles must give way, or maybe Tesha’s shoulder dislocates, but I am catapulted out of hell and scraped along the sand, all the way back to my peg. I spit out the pruning shears at Martin’s feet. And spit and spit and spit. And suddenly with a snip my wrists are free, and my ankles too, and I can stagger off to the front row of the amphitheater and throw my guts up, tearing at my mouth with my wet pajama top to try and rid myself of the warm, stinky goo.
    Job done.
    The Game is afoot.

Chapter 2
    I have a very long shower the next morning.
    Too much of a risk to shower in the dead of night. In the morning, however, I scrub at my body like I’m Little Miss OCD. You can bet that I wash my hair more than once, thanking my stars that it’s short and shaggy but wishing it was not the kind of dishwater blond that picks up a hint o’ green from being dunked in dung. And yes, I brush my teeth three times, trying to erase the remnants of taste and the memories of texture. Mouthwash, floss, the works. Once done and dressed in my usual outfit of don’t-care jeans and oversized checked shirt, I don’t think I’ve entirely shifted the smell. So what? I’ll