Silverwood: The Door by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781682105580
Publisher: Realm
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

• • •

Something hard slammed into Emilio’s hip. He winced and doubled over in pain. Despite his being packed in thick layers of clothes, that had still hurt. It probably hadn’t been a paintball at all. He looked down and cupped his wound. Pulling up his sweatshirt, he saw a terrible bruise, and his fingers came away bloody.

“Son of a . . .”

Another projectile whizzed past his face, missing it by mere inches.

That’s not a paintball, he realized, that’s a fucking rock!

Clenching his fists in anger and still wincing from the pain, Emilio pulled off his face mask and rose to his full height.

“All right,” he shouted, “who’s the joker taking potshots with goddamned rocks?”

“Hey,” someone shouted, “it’s one of those squad B fucks!”

“Get him!” came another voice he recognized from around the office but couldn’t explicitly place.

“Uh . . .” Emilio said, realizing that this was not normal paintball player behavior.

Two men in red vests were running toward him. These fuckers looked like they were out for blood. One fired his paintball gun again, and another rock glanced off Emilio’s ear.

“Fuck!” Emilio paused, wondering whether he should stand his ground. This was just a game, wasn’t it? And an asinine one at that, considering it was Devin Fischer’s idea. The screaming, primal, apelike, pollen-dusted faces of the men running toward him did not indicate that they thought of it as just a game.

What was he supposed to do? Ask for a timeout? Look for Devin or something? Call the cops? It had been a while since he’d felt this out of control of his own life.

Debra, an older woman whose job he was completely spacing on, came running, screaming at him. He jumped out of the way. Her face was covered with pollen, welts, and blossoming bruises.

“Fifteen feet,” she shouted. “No shot closer than fifteen feet! Why won’t anyone follow the rules?”

She turned and jammed her paintball gun under the face mask of one of the red vest team members and fired over and over again. The man shuddered at each shot, and Emilio hissed in sympathy. Even from a distance, paintballs could sting. From that close, he was probably blind, and possibly his face was mashed to a pulp.

The other red vest fired some rocks at Debra, felling her. Whether dead or hurt, Emilio wasn’t sure. While they were distracted, Emilio turned and fled, pursued by the sounds of shouting men and rocks pulverizing tree limbs.

He grunted as an errant branch slapped him. A black puff of powder went off in his face. He wrinkled his nose at the sickly-sweet smell and closed his watering eyes, balling his fists. He sneezed, and his thoughts clouded. Anger coursed through him. No, running wasn’t the right answer. He’d been running all his life. Now was the time to turn and face the demons of his past and . . .

KILL . . .

“Ah, shit!”

Startled by the voice, he’d lost control, and his leg slid across a patch of slick leaves, and he went sliding down an incline.

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