There. Chris crawling along the left side, as expected.
Frank moved closer along the right side to get a better look at what was going on, keeping low, though, so people taking potshots at Chris wouldn’t hit him instead. Chris briefly aimed at him, and Frank wagged a finger. Shoot me, and there’ll be hell to pay.
Chris saluted him with two fingers.
Right behind Chris, a player appeared, marker low but ready, and crept up on him.
Holy shit, one of the reds must have walked straight through the blue camp, either evading the other blues who’d attempted to protect it, or maybe finished them off, and was now creeping towards Chris from the back. The way he moved gave away it had to be Brandon. Frank noticed another ref creeping up in the back. Mike, likely getting a huge kick out of watching Brandon playing counting coup.
Frank grinned behind his mask, but didn’t do anything. No nod or other signal that would have given away what was going on to Chris.
Just then, Brandon lifted up a bit, reached out with his marker, and tapped Chris on the shoulder. Frank could almost hear it: Dead.
Startled, Chris twisted around, coiled and ready to run, and Frank’s instinct told him the movement was all wrong before he saw Chris lash out with the marker. A pure reflex. Much, much too fast to be premeditated, completely fuelled by surprise and tension and a primal animal self-preservation, but those fuckers were heavy, solid metal.
In a movement that was equally swift, Brandon brought his marker up and defended against the blow that could have cracked his mask or even cost him a row of teeth if it had landed.
Frank was too surprised and shocked to blow the whistle, but he ran towards them.
Brandon and Chris stood facing each other, breathing so heavily their chests were visibly moving.
“You’re dead.” Brandon’s voice was muffled in the mask.
Chris growled. “Fucking arsehole.”
Lowering his marker, Brandon glanced at Frank. Mike was coming up from the rear.
“Bran— Stefan, you okay?” Frank drew closer. When Brandon nodded, he turned to Chris. “I did not just see that. Are you fucking out of your mind?”
“It’s all right.” Brandon lifted a hand. “He didn’t hit me.”
Chris tucked his marker under his arm. “He startled me. I wasn’t out to hit him.”
Frank and Mike exchanged glances. Mike shrugged.
“All right.” Frank inhaled deeply to calm himself. “Take it easy, all right? No one’s out for blood out here.”
Brandon laughed. Chris didn’t.
Mike gestured at the two of them. “You boys play nice.” Then he put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, and they started to walk back out towards the rest of the game.
“Don’t even think about it.” At Chris’s snarl, both Mike and Frank stopped dead in their tracks.
When Frank turned around, Brandon had both hands up in a show of defensiveness.
“Uh, what about the rules?”
“Fuck the rules.” Chris turned to go. “You can shoot me all you want, mate, but you’re not capturing me.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Mike turned and stepped in Chris’s way. “Hang on a minute.”
Chris faced him and Frank, his stance echoing the impatience that was visible even through his tinted visor.
“Chris, everybody wants everything to be consensual out here, but if you’re gonna play . . .”
“And I was fine with that.” Chris lifted his mask just enough to spit the words out. “Totally fine. And totally fine letting him capture me and do whatever he wanted to me.” He pointed sharply at Frank. “Until he started fucking him.”
Frank’s throat constricted and his blood turned to ice water.
Mike glanced at him, eyes wide.
“I’ll play paintball with anyone who can hold up a marker.” Chris adjusted his mask again. “But that? Fuck no. I’m out here to have fun and get laid, not get AIDS, thanks.”
Frank blinked.
Brandon looked at Chris. Frank. Chris again.
Then he threw up his free hand. “Fine. Whatever.” Brandon tore off the red armband and let it flutter to the ground as he stormed off.
Frank couldn’t move. Follow Brandon? Chew Chris out? What the fuck was he supposed to do now? And how did Chris know?
Mike put a hand on his arm. “Go make sure he’s cooled down. I’ll handle this one.”
Frank nodded. He jogged after Brandon. The kid’s strides were long and fast, and Frank had to break into a faster run to catch up with him.
“Hey. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Brandon put his barrel cover on with enough force that he almost snapped one of the elastic ties. “I think I’m done for the day.”
“Quite honestly, I think he’s going to be done for the day. Once Geoff catches wind of that, Chris is going to be—”
“That’s fine.” Brandon’s voice was softer now, not quite even. “But I don’t think I’m in the mood to play.”