Page 112 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The loudspeaker began the countdown. Markers clicked, compressed air hissed, and everyone settled into ready stances.

“Five!”

Jackson caught my wrist.

“Four!”

“At least stay where I can see you.”

“Three!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

He looked like he was debating physically dragging me behind him. Apparently deciding against it, he settled for glaring instead.

“Two!”

I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“One!”

The horn blasted and chaos erupted. Players scattered into the trees and through the structures as paintballs cracked through the branches overhead.

I sprinted left without hesitation. Behind me, Jackson swore my name.

My cat surged awake the instant the adrenaline hit.

God, I'd missed this.

I slipped low through the trees, weaving between barriers as shouts echoed deeper in the field.

“I'M HIT ALREADY?” The yell came less than thirty seconds after the start.

Paint splattered across the plywood beside me as I ducked behind a stack of barrels. Two players traded wild shots from opposite sides of a wrecked jeep, neither of them noticing me.

Unfortunate for them.

I leaned out once. Two quick shots. Orange paint exploded across one player's shoulder, then another burst splattered the other's chest half a second later.

“Oh come on!” one of them yelled.

A paintball whizzed past my mask, close enough to make me jerk sideways. Right. No lingering.

I moved deeper into the mock-town structures. Somewhere to my right Jason screamed, “I HAVE BEEN BETRAYED,” followed by Rick’s laughter and someone yelling, “Pink got Jason!”

I climbed onto a narrow platform overlooking the center of the field. From there I had a clear view of the field: players darting between cover, paint streaking through the air, alliances forming and collapsing in seconds.

Then I spotted Jackson. Even geared up, he stood out. He moved through cover with practiced efficiency, and people instinctively gave him space.

A random player tried ambushing him from behind a wrecked car. Jackson spun, tagged him without breaking stride, and kept moving. Show-off.

Then his visor tilted upward toward me. Damn it. Even across the field, I knew exactly what he was thinking. Stay where I can see you.

Absolutely not. I disappeared before he could relocate me.

By the time only ten of us were left, I had found a concrete barrier with a clean sightline. That was when I spotted Lia crouched near the treeline behind stacked tires, marker braced against her shoulder. Jackson stepped directly into her line of sight. She hesitated briefly, then fired. Pink paint exploded across the center of his vest.

Silence.