Page 28 of Brighter Shades of Light
Boundaries were set, too, indicating the size of the playing area. We played in the woods on the other side of the green to give it a more realistic combat feel, but we had to be sure not to go outside the set perimeters just in case civilians were hiking nearby.
Tristen was on my team and had been assigned the team leader. Me and the other four squatted behind him, awaiting his instruction.
Paintballing was common for us, and each time, someone else was made leader to give everyone the chance to show their skills. We were all training to be officers in the Marines. Playing paintball was fun, but there was a bigger picture. A deeper meaning to it all.
The pressure seemed to be taking a toll on Tristen. His face paled as thepingsfrom the guns sounded. More shots whizzed in the air, hitting tree trunks and whishing through leaves. Some hit bodies. We hadn’t moved from our initial position yet.
“Tristen?”
“I’m okay. We should—”
One group rushed from one cluster of trees to another, and the girl at the back was shot in the head, red paint splashing her helmet.
Tristen fell backward, dropping his gun as his ass hit the ground. He violently shook and clutched at his chest like he was having a damn heart attack. His eyes were wide and he wheezed. His mask fogged as his breathing grew heavy. Frantic.
“Tristen, what the hell’s going on?” I asked, panicked.
“Throat’s closing up. Can’t…breathe.” His eyes watered, and his body continued to shake.
The other members on the team surrounded him, and that seemed to make him worse. I was fucking terrified; he’d never been like this before. I called out for a ceasefire, but as I stood up, I was shot at. There was too much noise. People laughing and calling out when they were shot. People shouting orders. Morepings.
“I think he’s having a panic attack,” Patrick, a guy on our team, said. “My brother has them a lot, and this is how he acts.”
Tristen started hyperventilating. His neck turned pink as a rash spread along his sweaty skin. His hands shook. He grabbed at his helmet, trying to take it off.
“You have to keep it on,” I said, grabbing his wrists to stop him.
“Get it off!” he cried out. “I can’t breathe! Fucking get it off me, Cody!”
“Fuck this,” I growled after calling out for help and getting no response. No one from the other teams could hear me from all the chaos.
I slid an arm under Tristen and hauled him up onto my shoulders.
“Need us to cover you?” Patrick asked, standing beside me. But just then, someone shot the back of his helmet, splattering blue.
The rest of the team started returning the fire.
I carried Tristen from our position among the shrubs and ran behind a tree. He was heavy, but I didn’t register the weight. I just wanted to get him to safety. The dead zone was several yards away. Shots whizzed past my head, painting the bark right in front of my face red.
It wasn’t just a game anymore.
Someday…this could be real. I would be carrying a comrade as the enemy fired at us. It could be my best friend or someone I’d just met. Maybe they’d be bleeding out everywhere, limbs missing.
I wondered if that’s what made Tristen panic in the first place.
The guest speaker from the previous week, plus what we had learned since then, had brought to life a reality many of us hadn’t considered yet. Well, I was sure most had considered it…but not truly felt the weight of it. As part-time participants in the program, we still lived a largely civilian lifestyle. It was easy to get blinded by all the talk of honor, courage, and commitment and forget the price that many before us had paid. One day we’d be fulltime active duty Marines and not just college kids.
One day the paintballs being shot at our heads would be live rounds.
By the time I made it to the dead zone, Tristen had calmed down a little. I laid him on the grass and took off his helmet. His face was red, and so were the edges around his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Cody,” he said, his hands shaking in front of him. “I…I don’t know what happened back there.”
“Pat said you had a panic attack. Have you ever had one before?”
“Never.” Tristen shook his head. He raked a gaze over me. “Wow. You weren’t hit.”
“Huh?” I looked down at myself. Completely paint free. “Oh.”
