“The V’s have lost the hill, and their flag has been lowered,” the bullhorn blared. “The timer is off.”
Lily motioned for Mason. “Sorry, Benson. We can’t wait.”
I watched them leave. Mason seemed to know what he was doing—much more so than I did. But Lily was a pro, moving as quickly and deftly as a deer through the forest.
When they were far enough from me that I wouldn’t risk their position, I yelled again. “Medic!”
There was silence for a moment, the hum of a distant four-wheeler the only sound. The guy in the ghillie suit spoke.
“So, Benson,” he said, stretching his back and then leaning against a stump, “are you still happy with your choice?”
I looked over at him, trying to recognize his face under the camouflage. Isaiah.
“What choice is that?”
He pulled a tube of paintballs from his belt and began refilling his gun. “Your choice of gangs. Have the V’s been everything you wanted?”
I kept my gaze on the forest around me, waiting for Jane to appear. “It’s better than the others.”
He closed the plastic cap on the tube and then looked over at me. I avoided his eyes.
The bullhorn blasted. “The Society has raised its flag!”
Isaiah seemed to ignore the game. “Why are the V’s better?”
“Because you’re crazy. Isn’t that enough?” I cupped my hands and yelled again. “Medic!”
“I didn’t mean the Society,” he said. “But don’t you think you fit a little better with Havoc?”
“What does that mean?” I glanced at his eyes, which were still motionless.
“You seem like you’d fit in well there,” he said simply. “You’re aggressive, you’re more concerned about yourself than others, you’re—”
I felt my finger almost unconsciously slide onto the trigger of my gun. “I’m more concerned about myself than others?”
His voice was calm and even. “Isn’t that true?”
“If anyone in this place can be accused of being selfish, it’s you and your Boy Scouts. If you wanted to help anyone, you’d just call off security and we could all climb over that wall.”
Isaiah was completely cold—he didn’t seem to react at all. “So we’d be over the wall. What would that do? Getting over the wall hasn’t helped anyone in the past. Surely by now you’ve heard that no one ever escapes.”
“Has anyone ever tried with a big group? All seventy-two of us? The guards can’t kill everyone.”
Isaiah paused. “How many of us have to escape to make the deaths of the others worth it?”
“Huh?”
He leaned forward, setting his gun on the ground beside him. “Let’s say all seventy-two try to escape. What are acceptable losses? Ten? Twenty? If it means that you’re safe and free, how many deaths are too many?”
I shook my head and turned away from him. There were still shots in the distance, and the occasional yell, but the only movement I saw was a fat brown squirrel sitting in a tree, chewing something.
“You’re in the Society,” Isaiah continued, “whether you want to be or not. This school is a society, and we all have our roles. There are those who want to keep people alive, and there are those who want people to die.”
I shot him a look. “Did Walnut want to die?”
“He knew the rules. He knew the consequences.”
I cupped my hands again. “Medic!”
There was no sign of Jane.
Without looking back at him, I spoke. “So when does it end? How long will you keep people inside here and alive?”
“Until conditions require us to leave. I really don’t know what you’re fighting against, Benson. You have everything here you could ever want in a school. Food, education, recreation. I’ve even heard there might be something between you and Jane. And yet you’d risk your life—and the lives of those around you—because you just don’t like being surrounded by a wall? And you say I’m the crazy one.”
There was a sudden sound of footsteps, and I turned to see Dylan, his medic badge clearly displayed, running toward us.
“Everyone is angry when they first get here,” Isaiah said, raising his hand so the medic could see him. “Don’t do something you’d regret.”
Dylan’s hand touched Isaiah’s shoulder, and they ran off together.
I watched them go, darting between the trees as they headed toward the flag. I hated him. I hated that I hadn’t been able to respond. He wasn’t right—I knew he wasn’t right. His words made a kind of twisted sense, but I knew he was wrong.
Someone was walking through the forest, but with a raised gun—someone was dead. As the person got closer I realized it was Lily. She had two bright hits on her shoulders, but her head appeared to be clean. I wondered why she wasn’t waiting for the medic.
“Is Jane dead?” I asked, as she got close. That would explain why she hadn’t come to heal me yet.
“I don’t know,” Lily said. “I’m hit.” She didn’t look over.
I watched her leave, walking toward the ribbon.
As she moved out of sight another set of footsteps broke through the silent forest. Jane appeared, sprinting through the trees. Her head moved back and forth, scanning the trees until she saw me. She changed course, running past me like before, her fingers brushing across my back.
“Hurry,” she shouted. “Get to the hill.”
I jumped to my feet and set out. I ran, crouched down, gun forward, from a juniper thicket to a boulder, to a tall patch of grass. I was angry, and I could feel adrenaline pumping through my body. I hoped Isaiah was at the flag.
The shooting at the hill continued, and I could hear lots of voices calling for medics.
“One minute!” the bullhorn blasted.
I was in the same situation as before—all alone, hadn’t fired a shot, and now I needed to charge the hill.
I took a breath and then ran, ignoring cover. The hill was right in front of me, but I didn’t see anyone, and no one was shooting at me. I heard a voice at the top. “Medic!”
Charging forward, I crested the steep hill. Two people turned, looking surprised. One was Dylan. I shot them both—wildly, firing and screaming at the same time.
Dylan swore. He couldn’t see it under my mask, but I was grinning from ear to ear.
I dropped to my knees, waiting for someone else to shoot at me, but no one did.
Reaching for the flagpole, I wrapped my left hand around the rope.
“Game over,” the bullhorn yelled. “Society wins.”
“What?” I jumped to my feet, searching for the ref with the horn. Oakland was standing under a pine at the bottom of the hill, his hand holding a stopwatch. I scrambled down the rocky mound toward him. Curtis was already ahead of me.
“He killed the last two, didn’t he?” Curtis said. “Everyone in the Society is dead!”
Oakland shrugged, smug. “That’s not how you win. At the end of five minutes, the Society flag was still up.”
“That’s—” Curtis stopped himself, and then turned away, his hands balled into fists.
Mason appeared at my side. His camouflage was wet with white splatters.