Steven Strout froze because someone else had made a noise in the confined space.

The other must have thought he was invincible, judging by all of the noise the man (or woman) made. Probably a man since his cursory glance at the occupants of the plane had revealed about a seventy-five percent disparity between men and women.

Steve hefted the metal pole and stopped moving.

Indecision gnawed at him. He could stay here like a sitting duck and assess the threat, or he could keep moving and hope like hell he could get the drop on the other person. Maybe it wasn’t a person at all. Could be a car or dog. Maybe a wolf out on the hunt.

That’s what he needed to be if he were to survive the game. A fucking wolf. But he would prefer to be a heavily-armed wolf.

He hefted the metal bar and went to investigate the noise.

* * *

Colin couldn’t believe his luck. After wandering the upper floor he had come to a door that wouldn’t open. He put his shoulder against it and prepared to apply some weight. Then he heard the noise.

Someone on the floor below shuffled around. He immediately thought of all the zombie books he had enjoyed over the years, even though it made his skin crawl. Being in a dark building, scared for his life, and hearing a noise like a shuffling zombie, didn’t do much for his guts. They clenched up, but if he was quiet, the other might move on. Let them kill each other out there. He was content to wander this building until forced to move out. Smart players played the odds. They waited until the impatient had killed each other, then they crept out and killed from a distance. But that meant he needed to get his hands on some good gear, and the stuck door might be hiding an entire room of goodies.

At least he had the .357. The revolver, fully loaded, could do some serious damage until he had a long rifle.

Colin glided to the railing and carefully leaned over to get a look at the floor below. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and that’s when he saw the man creeping along next to a piece of machinery that looked like a water pump. The guy carried a long rod in one hand.

Too bad for him it wasn’t a gun.

Colin aimed down the barrel of the revolver until the sights settled over the guy’s lower body. He pulled the hammer back and put his finger on the trigger.

Someone moved near the back entrance. The person carried something in one hand, something he couldn’t make out.

He shifted the gun and aimed at the other player’s head.

* * *

Jethro peered into the darkness.

The shape moved a good thirty or forty feet away--a big guy with some kind of device in one hand.

Jethro put his finger on the trigger, double-checked his aim, and then counted to five. The man kept on coming like he was being drawn toward Jethro. The target ducked once, then straightened, and took a few more tentative steps.

Jethro pushed the butt of the gun against his shoulder, prepared for the recoil, and then squeezed the trigger.

The gun spit out a round, and the suppressor made it sound like a really loud cough. Really, the noisiest part was the bolt slamming back.

Suddenly, a gun boomed from above, and Jethro nearly shit his pants.

“Goddamn,” he whispered and hit the ground so hard it rattled his head.

Something metallic landed next to him and rolled over a few times. It let out a hissing noise but when Jethro realized what it was it was too late.

* * *

Barbara could barely make out the man with the gun in the dark room. She had approached the entryway in shadow and made sure she wouldn’t block out the sun when she entered the building. Then it had been a very painful waiting game. The seconds had ticked by and with each one, her ability to see in the dark had improved. Finally, the man had moved, and that had provided her with a target. There was at least one other player in the warehouse, but his whereabouts were a mystery. She stood up, lowered a grenade, found the pin, pulled it loose, and then tossed the hunk of metal.

Barbara ducked back around the side of the building and put her arms over her head, but not before something kicked her in the chest.

* * *

Colin dove back as the figure in the doorway threw an object into the room.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The explosion lit up the factory.

The only time he’d seen a grenade in use came from movies. When he was a kid, he had been addicted to black and white World War II flicks but he had always had the feeling that an exploding grenade was a little less exciting than what he had seen on the big screen. How wrong he was.

Someone screamed in agony, then another voice joined the chaos as they both howled. Then one of the voices went silent. Colin leaned over and found that the man had been blown practically in half. Part of his head was gore and pink brains, and his right leg was gone below the knee. He stumbled a half step and then went down on his face.

A second person stumbled into view with his hands pressed to his ears. Blood streamed from a wound on his forehead. Colin could try to put the man out of his misery, but he had other concerns.

The figure near the doorway came into view and Colin swung the revolver around and blew her off her feet.

* * *

Heat turned to cold and then crept outward from Jethro’s midsection. He took his hands off his head long enough to verify that his ears still felt like they were filled with cotton. Something dripped from his forehead and ran down his face. There had been a flash, a noise louder than anything he had ever experienced, and then cold slices across his body.

His head felt funny. Numb and frozen. He wanted to reach up and find the source, but his right hand didn’t respond. That’s when he realized it was completely missing. His left arm worked and he touched his midsection to verify what he had suspected. He had been hit, hard, and he bled.

He reached for the camera that had been on his right side, but it was gone. He couldn’t even get one last shot for his audience.

But Jethro didn’t get a chance to think about it for much longer as all-encompassing pain wracked his body. Mercifully, he went into shock. Less than a minute later, he was dead.

* * *

Barbara groaned in pain because it felt like she had just been kicked by a fucking mule. She rolled to the side and pulled herself away from the entrance.

Barbara touched her chest and then winced. Pain, like a spot that spider webbed out to her shoulders, arms, and lower extremities, radiated like hate. Someone else had been up high and they had shot her. The Kevlar had taken the bullet, but that hadn’t stopped her from taking the impact.

Another shot boomed inside and someone screamed in pain.

“Screw this place,” Barbara said and pulled herself to her feet.

But first a little surprise for those still alive in the factory.

“Ya’ll are going to want to watch this.” Barbara turned the camera upward to show her face.

She pulled another grenade out, faded toward the door, and then launched it inside.

* * *

Colin’s eyes still stung from the blast. Afterimages made it hard to make out anything in front of his face. He moved because panic had set in and he feared that with all the weapons in the building, he was about to feel a bullet. He closed his eyes and felt along the overhang until he thought he was near the first room he had explored. Sight returned in starts as he blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes.

There was still one below, the guy with the club, and one outside, if he hadn’t killed that person outright. He could stay here and hope the guy below ran away, but he might not be hurt and in the mood to hunt.

The harness against his chest thumped.

“Ah hell,” Colin muttered.

He needed to get out the tablet and follow the directions to the safe zone but what awaited outside of the factory?

Colin made for the stairs but kept the gun trained straight ahead as he blinked away the white flashes. Something swam into view and he pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked, and he fired again before he meant to. Then he realized it was just the remains of a door hanging open. He hadn’t even hit the damn thing.

Something whistled from below.

Colin leaned over and tried to scope out what had made the noise; that’s when a metallic object clunked on the ground near his feet.

“Son of a…” he managed before the second grenade exploded and sent his bloody body sailing over the railing to the floor below.

* * *

Steve Strout tried to weave out of the way, but the man above opened fire before he had a chance to even duck. The first shot caught him in the upper arm and spun him around. He went down in a puff of dust, and then rolled over in agonizing pain. Then a noise sounded.

The explosion shook the building, but lucky for him, he was already down, so any shrapnel must have missed him entirely.

The shooter above screamed in terror as he fell.

Steve touched his arm and then winced in pain. Using his good hand, he lifted the camera off his chest and turned it to face him.

“Christ. That was a close one, folks,” Steve said. “But I made it. Thank the stars, I made it.”

A noise creaked above. Steve lowered the camera to find out what in the hell had broken loose. It turned out to be the entire upper level including the railing and stairs. They crashed across Steve’s body and flattened him like a bug.

***

Barbara had a pair of grenades left, but they would be useless if she didn’t get her ass in gear. With her hand already useless, and now her chest a mass of pain, she spun around and staggered past the Ford Explorer. As she rounded the vehicle, a shape appeared.

If she’d had a gun, Barbara would have been ready, but all she had were a couple of portable bombs, and those required tactical thinking.

The guy looked like a mountain as he rose up. His hand lashed up and caught her around the throat. He had no hair and his face was ugly as sin. Barbara thought fast though, and even though her hand barely worked, she managed to lift a grenade and move her hand toward the pin.

“You think that will stop me?” the man asked in a deep and Eastern European accented voice. He slapped her wrist hard enough to make it go numb.

His fingers closed and crushed her larynx like it was made of plastic. She tried to catch her breath, but she could no longer suck in any air. The man took a handgun and shoved the barrel under her vest, and pulled the trigger a couple of times. It may have been a few more, but she lost count because she was already dead.

* * *

Miljan “The Enforcer” Vasić took the grenade and tossed it into the building for good measure. He had barely come to his feet when it exploded.

He sprinted away from his kill and didn’t stop until he had reached the end of the street. The warehouse might have been a great place to hide out for a few minutes, maybe gather a few more supplies, but he had waited and watched as a number of players had converged on the location. When the woman had become the last survivor, he’d moved in and taken care of her.

Now the count had decreased by four players, he had a full complement of weapons, and he now had a pair of grenades thanks to the corpse he had left behind. It was time to fade toward the next zone and then find some high ground.

Miljan grinned despite his demeanor. This was turning out to be easier than he had anticipated.