Page 9 of Down to One
The First Battle
Blaze
Even though Titan is bossy and condescending as hell, I order myself to control my urge to call my new partner an ass. He’s hopefully my ticket to live through the next hour. Any port in a storm, isn’t that the old expression?
I start running with the crowd, hoping to beat at least a few of the others out the door. His meaty hand isn’t subtle as he grabs my upper arm and pulls me toward him.
“Are you crazy? Do you want to be the last one out?” I ask, wondering if he’s so buzzed he can’t think straight.
“Exactly.”
Shit. Really? He’s either stupid, a slacker, or too stoned to think clearly. I give him the benefit of the doubt and ask, “Why?”
“The first ones out will start a bloodbath out there. Let them thin the herd.”
“Did it occur to you that there are probably fifty of them waiting right outside the door? Clubs in hand?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m counting on it. We wait until most of them kill each other or move toward the flag. Meanwhile, we arm ourselves.”
While I’m rolling my eyes at the idiot—I mean really, does he think the fuckers who created this game left anything usable in this oversized gym—he runs to a set of antique bleachers. Taking the rickety steps two at a time, he leaps from the top seat and grabs hold of one of the steel bars in the rigging of the exposed rafters.
Within a minute, he jimmies loose a piece of metal and tosses it with a clang to the floor. When I walk to it, he barks, “NO!”
It doesn’t take him long before he throws down two more bars. Each one is about the length of a baseball bat. Better than nothing.
“Nice job,” I say, barely loud enough for him to hear me as I move toward the cache.
“Stay away!”
He makes his way down and picks what I assume are the best two for himself, then hands me one.
“What was that about?” I ask when I have the makeshift weapon in hand.
“Down to One, Slayer. I will not be the game’s first casualty. Especially to my own partner.”
“I… I wouldn’t,” I sputter. But it’s a lie. If I’d thought of it, I might have tried to hit a home run across his head.
Throughout Titan’s expedition to the rafters, the sounds of people clashing right outside the door drifted in to us. It’s a jungle out there.
“You’re right, Slayer. There will definitely be a contingent waiting for us out there. We’re going to burst through those doors on the count of three. I’ll take right and center. You take everything that comes at us from the left. Keep swinging until nothing is moving. Understand?”
I nod.
“Say it. I don’t want any communication problems.”
“It’s kill or be killed,” I say, more for my benefit than for him. “Keep swinging until nothing moves.”
“Then either help me if I need it or stab them all in the chest. Got it?”
“Yes. Got it.” I take a deep breath and choke up on my metal bat.
I was a sniper for our government. They trained me well, and then they trained me some more. I learned how to stalk without moving a leaf or a branch. I provided surveillance and could stay concealed for hours, sometimes longer. And yeah, I learned to shoot with pinpoint accuracy. Until I completed my first mission, I was the perfect trainee.
I hadn’t realized how killing that enemy sniper murdered my soul until they ordered me into mandated therapy.
I tried to convince myself I was doing it for God and country. But looking through a high-powered scope and seeing someone’s brains splatter, knowing you’re the one responsible? I couldn’t handle it.
I was awaiting reassignment to a different MOS, Military Occupational Specialty. My new training program on advanced computer programming was scheduled to start the next day when the boar-faced aliens beamed me up and took me to space.
