Endgame: The Calling by James Frey, Nils Johnson-Shelton

Nabataean’s grip. He blindly jabs his thumb behind him, hoping to land it in Maccabee’s ear. He scores a direct hit, and there’s a pop as Jago pulls his digit free, like a cork coming from an old bottle.
    Maccabee lets go and wails. He grabs the side of his head with one hand and wildly swipes at the air with the other. First an arrow in the thigh and now a dirty blow from this hideous Olmec. Maccabee is not used to so much pain, so much humiliation. It infuriates him.
    Before he can collect himself, Sarah steps around Maccabee and kicks him in the thigh, right next to his wound. He collapses to the floor.
    Sarah and Jago have a clear path to the stairway leading down, out of this funnel of Players, this bottleneck of murderers. Sarah wonders if they’ll have time to finish off Maccabee, or if it’s even worth it.
    Jago doesn’t have the same concern. His knife flashes into his hand, ready to find Maccabee’s throat.
    “Watch out!” Sarah shouts, as Aisling Kopp appears in the room.
    Aisling’s short red hair is wild, her face covered in soot from the fire in the woods. She was forced to double back for the pyramid after An lit the trees on fire. She’s feeling panicked and hemmed in, which is why she doesn’t ask questions. Aisling raises her small crossbow and fires.
    Sarah’s warning is just enough to get Jago diving out of the way. The bolt sails over his head.
    Midair, Jago flips the knife, catching it by the anodized blade, and hurls it at Aisling. The Celt drops the one-shot crossbow, claps her hands, snags the knife out of the air, and smiles. She’s proud that move worked; her grandfather taught her well.
    As Jago and Sarah turn and run down the stairs, Jago’s knife flies over their heads and imbeds itself in the far wall.
    In seconds they emerge into the large room near the top of the pagoda. Jago moves to keep running, but Sarah sidesteps the doorway and grabs him by the arm. She points up. Rafters. Between the rafters and the underside of the roof is a foot of space.
    Jago nods. He understands. Side by side, he and Sarah jump up, silently grab the rough-hewn timbers, and twirl their bodies around them. They eye each other intently and stop breathing and will their hearts to slow, slow, slow.
    Aisling bursts into the room and runs toward the stairs that lead farther down. But just before exiting, she stops. She smells something in the air, cocks an ear to the empty space. She makes a half turn in their direction, and for a second Sarah wonders why they are bothering to hide. The Celt is only one and they are two. They could eliminate her quickly. As she looks toward Jago, all three of them hear Maccabee’s voice bellowing from the stairway: “I’m going to kill all of you bastards!”
    Without pause, Aisling spins and is gone. Maccabee stumbles loudly down the stairs. He grunts and moans, dragging himself into the room. He’s in bad shape: other than Marcus, dead-as-dirt Marcus, Maccabee has endured the most violence of the Calling.
    Maccabee steps to the middle of the room and looks in a circle, doesn’t bother to look up. His mind is clouded with injury, the suddenness of Endgame, and the clue implanted in his mind. He slides around the room for 22 seconds—only 12 heartbeats in Sarah’s chest—before the three of them hear another Player arrive in the room above. Maccabee spits on the floor and leaves, going down.
    They wait for three more minutes. Whoever appeared in the room upstairs must still be there, waiting. Without speaking, the Olmec and the Cahokian drop silently to the floor, walk to the stairs, and leave.
    “Too bad we couldn’t take at least one out,” Jago laments as they creep down the stairs. He rubs his neck where Maccabee’s fingers left a ring of bruises.
    “We’ll get our chance,” Sarah says. She can see that they make a good team, but she’s not sure that Endgame is the place for teams. Still, Jago has grown on her. And he has been helpful and, more