“Man dem wild,” he mutters, rolling up his jeans. I spot the swelling he’s rubbing on his bleached skin. He hisses, scowling.
“Watch mi and the bwoy Alex.”
I laugh low, but I hear footsteps approaching.
“A weh eh Don hide? How mi nah see the man?” Gutta’s voice rings out, laughing. He’s wearing red, enemy team.
…for now.
I tighten my grip on the gun. I position myself, listening as their steps draw closer. Rick signals me before he rolls out, opening fire. They scatter and I stand, aiming for Gutta while Rick chases Alex.
Gutta manages to duck out, but I still get a few good hits.
Mostly headshots.
“Weh dem gone hide?” Scar asks, joining me. He’s on my side.
“Behind the tire,” I answer, spotting red and firing. I know it’s Pops when he starts laughing. He fires back and I shift. Scar runs to another tire and starts returning fire.
I lean on an old bus, watching. A paintball hits me and I curse. Before I can even look, another one slaps me.
I’m cornered.
Gutta and one of the Unruly campers got me.
“This unuh a do?” I laugh, pulling the trigger as I move back. Realizing I can’t take them both, I grab the bus window frame and haul myself through it.
Yuh skill eeh?
“Dawg!” they’re impressed.
I crouch, smirking. I got the high ground now, perfect angle.
“Next side!” Gutta shouts.Blap!I shoot him.
They scramble for cover.
“Unuh betta!” I jeer. We keep playing. I spot Rick lighting up Gutta, who trips and falls. I jump down from the bus and walk over.
“Gutta, last words?” Rick smirks, his hands out like a movie villain. Gutta fans him off and hisses.
“Move with that,” and we all laugh.
Rick pulls him up and I look away, still firing at every red shirt in sight. By the time we’re done, it’s nearly 4 PM, we’d gotten there at 1.
I down another water bottle and finally take off my paintball vest and mask. Everybody’s eating lobster, except Gutta, who’s digging into mussels. I’m the last to take off my vest because I was on the phone with British.
“This bad enuh!” Scar says with a grin. The group chuckles.
“Mek me try that,” Milo says, stretching for a mussel. Gutta hands him one. Milo’s with Unruly. Gutta dives into his lobster, shaking his head in delight.
“Bredda…” he goes silent.
We laugh.
“Food mek yuh dumb,” I say, peeling off my gloves.
Laughter again.
