Page 122 of Kingmakers, Year One

Professor Howell stands in the center of the triangle, starter pistol raised to the cloudy sky. The raindrops shatter as they hit the unyielding surface of his poncho, and his pistol looks slick and shining. He fires, signaling the start of the match.

Immediately, almost all of the Seniors and a third of the Juniors rush toward our corner. They’ve obviously collaborated ahead of time, planning to take us out before they attack each other.

I assume Pippa had to agree to send out the bulk of her force and allow Calvin to keep most of his people on defense, becausehe wouldn’t trust her otherwise. It won’t matter—if they work together, they’ll run train on us.

They converge in the center of the triangle, charging at us in one mass, planning to overwhelm us with their superior size and numbers.

“Tighten up!” Leo bellows, shouting for his group of Freshmen to form a phalanx.

Instead of giving into the temptation to run at the other teams, Leo orders his team to hold their ground, tightly bunched together.

“Aim and fire!” he shouts.

The Freshmen at the front of the spearhead start firing at the onrushing Juniors and Seniors. Because the aggressors are running and the Freshmen aren’t, Leo’s team has better aim. And because the Freshmen are in a close formation, the Juniors and Seniors can only shoot at the Freshmen on the exterior of the pack.

Leo’s positioned some of his best sharpshooters right at the apex of the phalanx. They’re wreaking havoc on our aggressors in tandem with his snipers. Paintballs smash into their chest, limbs, and even their faces, leaving garish spatters of bright red paint that drips and runs as it mixes with the rain.

Subtly, Pippa’s Seniors fall back, allowing the Juniors to take the brunt of the hits. A dozen Juniors stumble and fall, and the rest falter, looking to Calvin for direction.

“Keep going, you fucking idiots!” he shouts.

He’s got his bomb in his hands, and he looks like he plans to plant it in our corner. But I notice that Liam Murphy, Pippa’s right-hand man, is likewise carrying their bomb. I have the sneaking suspicion that Pippa will make sure to detonate hers first, no matter what else might happen.

Sure enough, Pippa gives a sharp whistle and her Seniors split off, trying to flank Leo’s phalanx. Leo takes the opportunityto charge right through the center, his group staying tight and swift with Leo at the head of the spear, the bomb protectively cradled under his sweatshirt to keep it out of the rain.

I expect Leo to try to cross the field to the Senior’s side instead—it’s barely guarded. But Pippa has been careful to force him the other way toward the Juniors’ corner.

It’s a fool’s errand. There’s no way Leo can make it through. I expect him to turn, even if he has to cover more ground. Instead, he continues sprinting right at the wall of Juniors, thinking he can bash his way through.

As Leo passes center field, the rear portion of his phalanx splits off, huddling down and raising their rifles to provide cover for Leo as he charges. I see Anna, Ares, Chay, and Zoe far off on the pitch, trying to clear a sideline for Leo. They’re out of position and not doing much good.

Leo barrels forward with his remaining soldiers, ducking and dodging, trying to avoid as many of the defending Juniors as he can. It’s not working. Leo is hit with paintballs again and again in his chest and legs, almost all the shots aimed at him as his Freshmen do their best to shoot, tackle, and pummel as many guards as they can.

Meanwhile, Pippa and Calvin’s teams are still attacking our corner. I shoot a couple of incoming Juniors, just for the fun of seeing them jolt and stagger as the oversized paintballs explode, staining their shirts with garish scarlet spatter.

I steer clear of the Seniors because I don’t fancy making enemies amongst the upperclassmen. I’m perfectly happy to let Pippa set her bomb. I’d help her pull the pin myself if nobody was watching.

I can see her stealthily creeping along the sideline, right behind Liam.

Calvin Caccia is plowing down the middle, thinking he’s got a clear shot at our goal. Like Leo, Calvin is carrying the bombhimself, but he’s not as willing to take shots from our defenders. For that reason his progress is slower as he’s forced to huddle in the center of his knot of protectors. Still, he advances on us steadily in a straight line.

I continue firing now and then just for appearances, barely aiming. I don’t particularly care whether Calvin or Pippa makes it to the corner first. All I want is for Leo to fail.

I keep my eye on him as he continues his mad, desperate onslaught on the Junior’s corner. He gets shot again and again in the shoulder, in the thigh, then right in the gut. He doubles over, stumbles, almost falls. He takes a paintball to his right leg just above the knee, and this time he does fall.

The Juniors are laughing and jeering at him, taking great pleasure in firing at this cocky little shit who had the audacity to think he could beat the whole school. Even some of the few Seniors guarding their own corner have drifted closer so they can watch.

Leo lurches up once more, but he’s facing a veritable wall of Juniors. There’s no possible way he can make it to the corner. He should just give up.

With a roar, he charges at them anyway. They raise their rifles and fire their paintballs en masse.

The barrage drowns out the shouts from the other side of the pitch. In the pounding rain, the thundering rifles and the jeers and yells, I don’t realize what’s happening. Until one high-pitched scream cuts through the noise:

“THEY’VE GOT THE BOMB!!!”

In slow motion, we all turn to the Senior’s corner. Ares is sprinting for the vertices, carrying the bomb tucked under one arm. Anna, Chay, and Zoe are right behind him, firing at any remaining defenders. They’re aiming for the Senior’s hands, hitting them right in the fingers so they drop their rifles, howling and shaking their paint-splattered hands.

In disbelief, I look back at Leo Gallo sprawled out on the soaked grass, covered almost head to toe in red paint. He groans and rolls over on his back. He’s grinning as he pulls a wadded-up sweater out from under his shirt.

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