Jax returned fire instantly. A stream of blue paint whipped past Leo’s ear, one ball clipping a pine branch and showering him in a fine mist of blue liquid. Leo rolled behind a fallen oak, his heart hammering against his ribs. He checked his hopper—maybe twenty shots left.
Leo hunkered down behind a stack of weathered tires, his breathing loud inside his fogging mask. Across the clearing, his best friend-turned-rival, Jax, was pinned behind a rotting wooden crate. This was the final round of the regional tournament, and they were the last two standing. PAINTBALL
Leo rose slowly, dripping with mud like a swamp monster. He raised his marker and took a steady breath. "Hey, Jax." Jax returned fire instantly
The air in the "Graveyard" smelled like pine needles and old plywood, but mostly it smelled like sulfur and anticipation. He checked his hopper—maybe twenty shots left