Variant by Robison Wells

shots as Lily looped back and killed Mason’s attacker, but it never happened.
    The only sign of life was a Society ref, about forty yards away. I thought about making a break for the wall, but knew I couldn’t. The refs all had whistles, and my tan sweats stood out like a white light in this dim forest.
    If I couldn’t escape, I might as well play the game. I didn’t want two days without food.
    Clutching my gun, I jumped to my feet and ran to the cluster of junipers where Lily had been. I skidded to a stop behind a gnarled trunk and readied for attack. But there was no sound.
    I whispered her name. With her ghillie suit so convincing, she could have been ten feet away from me. No answer.
    Crap.
    I waited another few minutes, hoping to see some movement or hear a sound, but there was nothing.
    I still hadn’t fired a shot.
    Hoping that I wasn’t going to screw up Lily’s tactics—I assumed she was still alive since I hadn’t heard her call for the medic—I lifted into a crouch and prepared to advance. No one shot at me.
    I moved slowly, hunched down, ready to shoot if necessary. My shoes were loud in the rocky dirt, even as I tried to step around dry twigs and brittle grass. I went up the slope where I’d last seen Lily. There were no signs of her—no footprints, no fresh paint marks.
    There were more trees here, shorter but denser. I moved from trunk to trunk, watching anxiously. It had been a long time since I’d heard or seen anything, and I began to wonder whether the game was over and I’d missed the bullhorn.
    After a few minutes, the first bunker came into view. I dropped to the ground. There was no good cover, so I lay flat on my stomach, my gun aimed at the wooden fort. The front surface was splattered with a dozen different colors of paint, though I didn’t know whether that was from this game or a previous one.
    Where is Lily?
    I moved back to a crouch and headed for the nearest cover, a large stump. No one fired.
    Screw it.
    I jumped from the stump and ran toward the bunker, stopping at its base. I took a breath and then leapt up, pointing my gun inside.
    It was empty.
    I could see through it and out the back door. Behind it was a clearing, and the back of another bunker. I hunched over again, and moved around the side, trying to be quiet and failing miserably.
    The clearing was surrounded by five bunkers positioned in a circle, all facing out. Rosa sat cross-legged in the middle, about forty feet away from me, looking bored.
    This must be a trap.
    I watched the other four bunkers for movement, but didn’t see any. Rosa hadn’t seen me.
    If I remembered the rules right, I only had to touch her. I just had to get to her before I got shot.
    If she hadn’t seen me, then maybe no one else had either. If I made a run for it, they’d have to take a few seconds to react. Even if this was a trap, I had to have a few seconds.
    How fast can I run forty feet?
    I set the gun down in the dirt. I wasn’t going to need it. Either I got to her and won, or I didn’t get to her and I was dead.
    I took one last look for Lily. She wasn’t anywhere.
    I was on my feet before I realized it, running at full speed toward Rosa. I couldn’t see her eyes through the glare on her mask, but as I neared, she shielded her body with her arms.
    Gunfire erupted from everywhere and I felt the impact of dozens of balls hitting me in the chest, arms, and head. I tried to stop running and tripped into the dirt.
    “Nice one, Fisher,” said a voice I recognized. “Did you really think we didn’t hear you ten minutes ago?”
    I rolled over and saw Oakland standing at the door to one of the bunkers, his gun still trained on me. There were people in two other doors, and one in a ghillie suit in the tall grasses at the edge of the clearing. I’d never seen any of them.
    Clumsily, I stumbled to my feet, raised my hands over my head, and called out “hit.”
    Another shot slapped the back of my head, and the wet trickling paint