Paintball

A paintball tournament turns to panic.

Malerie peered around the corner in the bright sunshine, the glossy green hedge leaves tickling her nose. Another "Pop!" split both the silence and a leaf just above her head. Although no terrified scream accompanied this shot, the projectile was clearly not a paintball. And it was much closer than the last one.

"Shit!" she croaked, yanking her head back behind the protection of the hedge. She barely had time to catch her breath and register her pounding heart when another shot fired through the air. This bullet tore straight through the foliage, just to the right of her ear. Her wispy bangs fluttered in the breeze of its passing.

"Shit, shit!" she cried, losing all control in her panic. Malerie fled down the row, turning left at the next T-intersection, tears blinding her eyes to the path. She turned to the left, and then to the left again, only to find herself trapped in a dead end. Malerie whirled around and dropped into a crouch, aiming her paintball gun at the empty space in front of her. It might not fire lead, but it was the only weapon she had.

"Oh, dear God," she whispered, thinking again of the boys. How would she find them without alerting the shooter to her presence? She held her breath, listening for any sign of movement in the passages around her.

Nothing.

Still crouched, with her back to one wall, Malerie crept up to the main passage, peeking carefully back around the corner to the right, the direction from which she had come. The passage stood empty. She turned left, standing full and running away from the shooter, turning left again into the next opening. This passage trailed away in the distance, possibly running the entire length of the hedge maze.

The entryway, then.

She peered down the length of the passage, past yards of manicured hedges fluttering in the light summer breeze. Sure enough, the end of the passage opened to the parking lot, indicated by the glint of sunlight off windshields and mirrors. Safety was a mere hundred yards away.

But the boys were still in the maze.

Another "Pop!" disrupted the perfect silence of the afternoon, and Malerie was sure she heard several gasps from various points in the maze. Where were the boys? Where were the employees? The other patrons? Were they all hidden in the maze, terrified of the shooter? Had anyone called the police?

As if on cue, a cell phone went off somewhere deep in the maze, its tinny electronic ring tone revealing the position of its owner. Malerie held her breath through two, three, four cycles in the ring tone's melody before it finally stopped ringing.

"Pop!"

Silence. Malerie licked her lips and backed into a side passage, looking both ways down the length of the entryway, and then behind her into a shorter path that ended at a right turn.

The police. She should call the police. She reached into her shorts pocket and withdrew her phone with her right hand, holding the paintball gun erect with her left hand while she dialed. After four tries, her shaking fingers finally managed to successfully type the 9, the 1, the 1, and the green "call" button.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"I'm at the paintball tournament in Dublin," she whispered as softly as she could, her head jerking in every direction while she spoke. "There's a shooter. A real one."

"Ma'am? You're breaking up. Did you say the paintball tournament?"

The most painful frustration Malerie had ever felt tried to explode out of her chest.

"Yes," she hissed, "in Dublin. There's a shooter in the maze. With a real gun." Malerie broke into sobs, her voice climbing despite her efforts to silence it. "Please! Please come help us. My boys are in here."

"Pop!"

Another scream followed this shot, and Malerie recognized its voice.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, still into the phone. "Bobby!"

"Ma'am..."

But she didn't hear the rest. Malerie tore through the maze, blindly following the sound of the voice.

"Bobby!" she screamed, turning corner after corner. "Bobby, where are you!?" She turned another corner to the left...

...and found herself face-to-face with the gunman, who was actually a gunwoman. In that moment, all she saw was the woman's eyes, haunted and piercingly green, deeper than the deepest sea, and more troubled.

"Pop!"

The heat filled her chest, bubbling out, releasing the frustration so recently trapped there. Malerie sank to her knees, dropping the phone and the paint gun to the ground. She looked down slowly and found the front of her white tank top blooming scarlet. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the gunwoman running away, turning a corner, but she just stared at the growing crimson blossom. She held her hands to her chest, trying to hold in the blood, but it oozed out over her hands, under her hands, all around her hands.

"Bobby," she whispered one last time before the world went black.