Kathryn Pickford’s entire body hurt.

She had more or less jumped with something like style, but then the terror had set in. Falling like a rock had set her arms and legs flailing, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop. But as the ground rushed toward her, she had finally summoned an ounce of courage and flipped onto her stomach just as the gauge indicated she would soon pass the point of becoming a bag of gore. She yanked her cord, and that’s when she had been pulled upward with a tremendous wretch. She was closing in on forty, and she hadn’t exactly taken great care of herself in prison.

She regretted it now as her body reminded her how much this was going to suck in the morning.

“Idiot.” Kathryn frowned. “Like I’m going to live that long.”

Kathryn had landed next to a farm, complete with a barn and a long field that ran the color gamut from yellow, to putrid, dead brown. She ran for the barn first, which, as she pounded over the ground, seemed like a stupid idea. It would have an open entryway and if someone had landed before her, managed to find a weapon and settle in, it could mean her death as soon as she opened the door. An old Ford truck with two half-deflated tires rusted next to the wooden building. She was tempted to get inside and make a run for an area that was a little more populated, but she had no way of knowing if the vehicle even worked and wasting time fiddling with it could be dangerous.

The double doors were cracked open, but not all of the way. Shadows played over the sliver of an opening as she crossed the ray’s path, and she cursed her stupidity. It was too early to worry about people yet, because she had just hit the ground, but that was the kind of thing that would get her ass killed.

She crept toward one door and put her ear against the wood. After a few seconds she slipped inside, but it took some work to push the huge entryway open. When she didn’t get her head blown off she carefully closed it so it was just as she had found it, in case anyone was nearby and had already scouted the area.

She glanced at her watch as the display changed to indicate that another player had just bit the big one.

One more down. Great, just a few dozen more and she might stand a chance. Maybe she should just head out, wander around with her hands stretched out, and hope someone put a quick bullet in her skull.

That would be stupid. If she could manage to survive long enough, skirt the active zones, get a few weapons, well, she might not be a classically trained killer like the military, but she knew a thing or two about taking lives. Kathryn would be patient, and play the game to the best of her ability. This was her life on the line, and even though the odds were very much against her surviving for the next four hours she’d be damned if she didn’t at least give it her all, because she had to face facts; this was her all. Even the slightest mistake would get her killed.

She poked around the barn and found stalls for livestock, but they were long deserted. One had a pile of old shit in the corner. Another one had been filled with hay. The last stall on the right was a veritable treasure trove.

She ducked inside and lowered herself to look over the supplies.

A Mule Punch energy drink sat on top of a pile of clothing. A vest that weighed enough to make her grunt as she shifted it to the side told her she had found some body armor. Underneath, a long rifle waited. She pulled it out from the hay and brushed it off. It was old, the stock was wood, and the barrel was longer than her arm. There was a scope, and when she turned it over and lifted it to her shoulder she peered through, and the world leapt back at her.

She dug around in the hay and located a small cardboard box. As she lifted it the clink of bullets put a smile on her face. Kathryn pulled out a handful and shoved them into her jeans pockets, and tried to ignore the harness strap running under her pants. Damned thing rubbed against her thighs like sandpaper. She would have a rash for sure, or worse, blisters.

Or she would be dead and wouldn’t give a fuck about anything. And if there was a Hell, she was surely headed to fire city feet first. She’d killed, a lot, and not just Mr. Addison. The one that ended up getting her arrested had been worth it.

Brady Learner, a nineteen year-old college shithead, had brutally raped a young woman outside of a bar in San Diego. She’d had a few drinks, but the woman hadn’t deserved to be harassed, taken outside, shoved into Brady’s Mercedes S-Class (a rich shithead, at that), and repeatedly raped. He had claimed she’d asked for sex. She had claimed she was raped. In the end, the kid had gotten off with a slap on the wrist. Six months in prison, and all because Brady’s father had enough money to buy his son’s freedom.

Brady had done six months in a minimum security facility, and had strolled out with a wave, and a smile for the camera. So Kathryn had come for the smug son of a bitch. When he died, with a knife shoved between his legs, and another in his neck, Kathryn had watched the life fade from his terrified eyes. Christ, she had almost gotten off on it. But before she could find another rapist asshole to kill, the cops had caught up with her.

She wondered if any of the male convicts on the plane were guilty of similar crimes, and if so, what the audience would think. But she didn’t have any way to research the other players. She didn’t even have a way to ask them questions. As soon as one of the other players spotted Kathryn, they would be out for her blood.

Kathryn didn’t have time to screw around with the body armor. She found an opening and slipped the heavy gear over her head. It settled over her shoulders, and reminded her of the lead vests they used to use when you got an X-Ray.

But she ran into a problem. The body camera pressed against her chest and created a lump. Well, the hell with it. It wasn’t like they were going to be able to see anything anyway if she wore the vest.

She found more crap, including a sharp knife, a coat hanger, and a small bottle of ibuprofen.

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“Well, hot damn,” she muttered and popped a couple of pills then chased them with warm energy fizz that smelled like cough syrup mixed with Pepsi. But it was liquid, and she had realized how much she needed to drink something, anything, even if it made her want to gag.

Kathryn struggled with the body armor to make it fit comfortably, realized it was on backwards, and spun it around.

Kathryn slipped her shirt off with the body armor. Then she fumbled with it as if she had made a mistake.

“Oops,” she whispered as she turned the camera around and pointed it at her chest. Let them get a peek; it would distract them for a few seconds. She wore a bra, but she also had the stupid harness strapped tightly across her body, so it was like double porn for the streaming nerds.

She fumbled with the shirt, dropped it, and used the time to pick up the hanger. Kathryn carefully worked the shirt back up and then pointed it up as if she were looking for the collar. She folded the garment and quickly slipped the hanger in the shirt. It might not fool them for long, but it would give her a break from prying eyes.

She held the hanger at about waist height as if she were still kneeling. Then she rose, slowly, and moved toward a four by four with a nail driven into the post. She slipped the hanger over the nail. Then she pointed it at the front door, and slowly backed away free of the camera for a few minutes.

It might not last long, but frankly, she didn’t believe they would shock her if she left her body camera. What kind of maniac threatened physical torture these days?

The kind that throw you into a game of life or death.

She slipped back into the body armor but not before she inspected the harness. It looked like long vinyl straps, but when she touched one it felt like some kind of thin metal. Wires, barely visible, ran along the straps. The fastener attached in back. She looked over her shoulder but could barely make out the shape of the device.

The harness would have to wait. For right now, she settled on putting the body armor over her head and sliding it over her shoulders.

She drank more of the energy drink and gave her shirt a little nudge. The fluid and the bubbles played havoc with her sore throat thanks to screaming her head off as she had plummeted toward earth.

Nothing to see here, just me, standing next to a pole, waiting for someone to show up so I can drill them with the rifle.

She backed up and her foot brushed something. Kathryn spun and found a dark shape in the hay. She shifted the long brown strands around until she uncovered the item.

The dark helmet didn’t bear any markings, but it was heavy, and might just protect her head. Kathryn slid it over her hair, and then adjusted the straps to get a tighter fit.

Kathryn shifted the gun off the ground as she shoved more shells into her pockets. She got down on one knee and held the rifle aloft, and then stared into the scope as she placed the stock against the crook of her shoulder. The world leapt back at her so she looked away. When she tried it again she kept her eye trained on a little shack a few hundred feet away. Long grass and wilted yellow flowers moved in the soft breeze. She put the crosshairs right on one, and wondered if she could hit the small target. Probably not much chance, since she had never handled a rifle like this. She had a feeling there was more to it than simply “point and shoot”.

It wavered to the left, and right. Up, and down. The heavy gun tugged at her arms, so she lowered it. At least it had a sling so she could carry it over her shoulder. Things were looking a lot better than they had a few minutes ago. Not only that, but she was free of the streaming camera for a few minutes and that allowed her a little privacy to drop her pants and relieve herself.

A gun boomed nearby just as she stood up.

Kathryn scrambled out of her spot, backed up a couple of feet, and ran right into a ladder, as she tried to simultaneously stand while yanking her pants up. She might not have been trained by the military, but she knew for a fact that having the advantage of height would allow her to see a good distance around her.

She reached the top level and located a shuttered window. Kathryn knelt, placed the gun on the ground, and then pushed the shutter a few inches to the side. She stayed in shadow as she looked for the shooter.

Another pair of gunshots, this time closer. The watch came to life as the number once again decreased.

A man ran across her field of view about fifty yards away.

He carried a handgun and a bag. The guy turned, aimed his pistol in the direction he had fled, fired a few rounds, and then made straight for the house.

For a second, Kathryn froze. She gulped as the person advanced on the house because if they reached it they would be out of sight.

She lifted the rifle and placed the barrel on the windowsill as she lowered herself to a squat. Kathryn pointed the gun at the man and then looked into the scope.

He dashed out of sight behind a tree and then reappeared. A gun fired again and the man staggered. He reached for his leg and then collapsed. He rolled onto his back, aimed, and fired off three shots between his splayed legs. A second gunshot and the guy looked surprised for a second, then stopped moving. His handgun fell next to his body and his head turned to regard Kathryn’s hiding spot, but there was no longer life in his eyes.

Kathryn kept the dead man in her sights as blood leaked out of his forehead from a bullet wound.

She scanned the area he had run from until a figure came into view. He carried a military-looking machine gun and he had a swagger in his step. The guy approached his victim and leaned over to poke him with the barrel of the gun.

He was a big son of a bitch with a shaved head, and had the look of someone who knew what they were doing. Kathryn centered the sights on the man’s chest and pulled the trigger, intent on blowing him off his feet.

The gun clicked but the recoil against her shoulder, as well as the boom, never arrived.

Kathryn stared dumbly at the gun that had betrayed her.

The shooter must have heard the click. He ran toward the house, but he trained the gun on the direction of the barn.

Kathryn rolled the rifle over and checked the slide. She pulled it back and that’s when she realized she hadn’t bothered to see if it was loaded. Shit! She dug a bullet out of her pants pocket and slid it into the breach. Then she rolled the lever up and slid the bolt back until it was snug.

But when she got back in position to shoot at the guy he had completely disappeared. Kathryn guessed that he must be next to the door, so she aimed at about waist height to the left of the door, and fired.

The gun boomed, and the stock slammed back into her. She quickly loaded another round, and fired into the house. She had at least twenty bullets, and intended to keep firing until she got him.

Kathryn scanned the area for the man as she moved the rifle from left to right. She pointed at the lower windows, and then tried the other side of the home.

There!

A shadow moved across the floor. Kathryn trained the gun and aimed at the dark patch. As soon as the man moved again she was going to take him out.

Then the shutter next to her head exploded, and sent shards of wood flying. The retort of the gun arrived a split second later. More rounds struck the wood as she scrambled back in fear.

Kathryn rolled out of the line of sight as her stomach muscles tightened, and her palms grew sweaty.

She had been so careful, but now the big killer had gotten the drop on her.

Kathryn froze with indecision. She could flee down the ladder, or she could wait the man out. If she showed herself again a bullet would probably end her life right then and there.

She moved into deep shadow, pointed the heavy gun at the front of the barn, and hoped like hell she could take out the target if he came inside.

Kathryn didn’t even hear the approach but she felt all of someone’s weight fall on top of her body.