I fingered the pair of plain tan sweatpants that hung next to my uniform and then glanced back at Mason.
“Why do you have better clothes than I do?”
“I spent some of my points on it. And you’d better do that, too, when you get some.” His serious face broke into a smile. “You’re going to get slaughtered out there.”
I picked up the gun. It was powered by a canister of compressed air, and a large kidney-shaped hopper on top held the paintballs. “This is crazy.”
“I know,” Mason said. “Some people think that they’re training us. Like, this school is some kind of breeding ground for super soldiers or something.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” he said, sitting down to lace on a pair of boots. “Because they don’t train us. If the government was in charge of this and wanted us to be learning tactics or something, wouldn’t they sit us down and teach us how to do it?”
“I guess so.”
“Rats in a cage, Fish. Rats in a cage.”
At ten minutes to ten, we left the building, heading out to the woods. It looked ridiculous—more than seventy kids, all in varying degrees of camouflage, trotting out of a school. A few of the outfits were plain, like mine, but some were elaborate. Not only did they have camouflage, but some had fake sticks and leaves attached to their clothes, and a few looked almost like Bigfoot—long hairy grass hanging from almost every inch of their bodies.
“I’m saving up for one of those,” Mason said, admiring a Society kid. “It’s called a ghillie suit. Snipers use them. If you’re wearing that and you crouch down in a patch of grass, you’re invisible.”
In a way, the walk was exhilarating. I’d never actually played a school sport. And, even though this one was bizarre and fit right in with all the other random crap at Maxfield Academy, it sounded like fun.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Curtis.
“Welcome to paintball,” he said cheerfully, as though nothing had happened yesterday—to me or him. “We’re the smallest team, so everybody plays.”
“The teams are split up by gang?”
“Yep,” he said. “Well, technically we’re just supposed to divide up into teams. But a while ago everyone agreed that this is the best way, and we submitted team rosters to the school. They approved it.”
I had to laugh. “The school endorses the gangs.”
“You should have seen this place before the gangs,” he said, shaking his head. “Anyway, we can only use as many players as the smallest gang, so now that you’re here each team gets eighteen.”
“I’ve never played before,” I said. My grip was tight around the butt of the gun, and my finger rested anxiously on the trigger.
A knot of students had formed about a hundred yards into the woods, and I noticed a bright pink ribbon strung from tree to tree, stretching for a hundred yards in either direction.
“I’m forming a new squad,” Curtis said, taking me by the arm and leading me forward to a group of V’s. “You, Mason, and Lily.” Mason was already following, and Curtis motioned for Lily. She was wearing more camouflage than most of the others, like the ghillie suits we’d seen earlier, but it only covered her upper body, like a poncho. The mask she held in her hand had grass and sticks tied to it, and she’d applied green and black paint to her bare legs. Even though she was probably as old as I was, Lily was short and skinny and looked hilarious in the massive suit, like a kid dressed up for Halloween.
“New squad,” Curtis continued when she got there. “Lily’s got front. Mason, you’re in back, and we’ll put Benson in the middle. Lily’s the boss.” He turned to me. “She’s the best. She’ll teach you what to do.”
He left to organize the rest of the gang, and I wondered for a minute how he got to be in charge. I’d have to ask Mason later.
I turned back to Lily, who was sitting on a rock, tightening her shoelace. She was the best? Maybe it was her hair pulled back into pigtails or her bare legs sticking out from the bulky mass of her ghillie poncho, but she looked more suited for a tea party with her dollies than a paintball game.
“You ever play before?” Lily asked.
“Never.”
She pointed to my mask—it had wide, clear plastic covering my eyes and a slotted mouth guard. “Always keep that on. Paintballs hurt, even through your clothes. You could lose an eye or a tooth.”
Lily explained how the gun worked, showing me where to load the paint and how to install a new air cylinder.
“Usually the game is something like Capture the Flag,” she continued, “but they like to switch things up.” She frowned. “Like that crap with the doors last night.”
“Right.”
“In a minute one of the Society guys will read the game rules, and then we’ll head to our positions. We might not even play today—two teams play and one refs.”
“They let Havoc ref?”
She rolled her eyes. “Havoc’s goons know that we’ll be their refs later, so everyone is fair. Usually.”
I nodded. There were no cameras out here, and I wouldn’t have been surprised by anything that Havoc did. Or the Society.
“What did he mean about you being up front and me being in the middle?”
“Those are our positions in the squad. The front person moves up fast and scouts for the other two. Mason’s playing back—he should be doing most of the shooting. When you and I are in front of him, we’ll be taking most of the fire, and that gives him a little more freedom to move and shoot.” Lily’s eyes lit up while she talked—the first time I’d seen something approaching happiness from her.
“You’re in the middle,” she said, “which means you do a little of both. You also cover me. You know how to cover someone?”
I shrugged, smiling at the strangeness of the question. “I guess so. I’ve seen movies.”
“We’ll work on it during gym sometime,” she said. “I wish we’d known about this change yesterday. We could have been practicing all night.”
The bullhorn squawked, and Isaiah called everyone over.
“Sorry I don’t have time to explain everything,” Lily said as we walked up the slope to where the teams were congregating. “If we end up playing today, stick with me and Mason. Try not to get shot.”
“It’s just a game, right?” I joked.
“Not exactly.” She pointed up front.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but all the students were loosely arranged around a large boulder, which Isaiah was now climbing.
Havoc was on the far side. Even in their paintball gear they were recognizable. Many had new tattoos on their faces, almost like war paint. Mouse was at the front of the group, wearing a black suit that reminded me of the Special Forces I’d seen in movies. The material was thin and formfitting, and her face was dark and serious—like she was really going to war. Oakland stood beside her, and when he caught me looking he pointed his gun and laughed.
Isaiah held up his minicomputer and gestured for everyone to quiet down. As a hush fell over the forest, he opened it and clicked a few keys. “Search and Rescue,” he read. “Havoc is defending and Variants are attacking. The Society is the ref. The winning team will be invited to a party tonight in the trophy room. The losing team will not receive food for two days.”