Nick James - Skyship Academy

A detonation ball whizzes past my shoulder, missing me by a fraction of an inch. I hurl my body behind a crumbling brick wall and slow my frantic breathing. An eerie quiet falls over the battlefield. Then several detonations puncture the stillness. Someone swears. It’s nobody on my team, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe.

Nine a.m.

I’m not sleeping. I’m not eating breakfast, either. No, I’m up to my ankles in sweat and frustration. It’s Bunker Ball time. Mr. Wilson said he wanted to see how some of us Year Nines worked as a team. I’m convinced he just wants to punish me.

The joys of Bunker Ball should be reserved for convicted felons. Instead, the teachers gleefully strap up two teams of teenagers with detonator pellets and set us against each other. It’s a full-blown war zone without the casualties, unless loss of dignity counts as a casualty. It’s all good for Mr. Wilson, though. He gives us the whole war experience without the danger.

“Fisher!” Wilson’s voice reverberates through the speakers in the ceiling. “Move your butt!”

I groan. He’s perched up on the balcony, watching our every move. Worse yet, he’s pitted us against Year Sevens. Thirteen-year-olds. And it’s a testament to our supreme suckability that we’re still losing.

One of the Year Sevens slumps over to the bench at the border of the training field. We’re finally even.

Manjeet and Paulina, two kids in my year, sit beside him. I’m happy not to be the first one out today, but those two are pretty much super-geniuses, so it’s not like they’ve gotta be good at this combat stuff. Besides, I’m only alive because I’m a good hider. The whole “battlefield” of sand dunes, brick walls, and bushy trees they’ve constructed is supposed to make things more challenging. I just use it to hide. I’m not completely without my merits.

I pass behind a massive boulder, drawing my arms inward to become less of a target. The training landscape changes each time we’re in here. Sometimes it’s a dense forest, other days a demolished cityscape. Today it’s something in between. I think they were going for a desert theme, but there’s also random walls and trees and stuff. Kind of impractical. I’m not exactly sure what this is supposed to be teaching us.

Skandar rushes past me, grabbing my arm and half-yanking me to the ground before I regain my balance and run alongside him.

“Wilson told you to move, mate,” he says through labored breaths. “Gotta get your head in the game.”

Before I can respond, he climbs up onto a sand dune, gives a mass ridiculous battle cry, and chucks a detonator at Asha Mutombo. She dives out of the way. The detonator sails past her shoulder, landing somewhere in the sand.

“Frag it.” Skandar frowns before retreating behind the dune.

I unhook one of the seven remaining detonators from my belt and cradle it in my hand, wondering if I should go after someone or just let myself get hit. Only the fear of pain stops me from surrendering altogether. The plastic feels cold in my hand. I roll the thing along my fingers, a wicked, silver baseball of death.

“Hey, Fisher.” Skandar breaks from his mad pursuit. “Mind if I borrow one of your detonators? I’ve only got two left.”

“Knock yourself out.” I toss him mine and pull another from my belt.

“I saw that, boys!” Wilson’s voice rains down on us.

Skandar cups his hand around his mouth and shouts up to the balcony. “It’s teamwork, sir!”

Wilson doesn’t respond. We’re each supposed to register a certain amount of “kills” today. Skandar’s good at this sort of thing. I’m the one who needs the practice.

“Follow me,” Skandar whispers as we sneak around the dune.

“Where’s Eva?” I whisper back.

“On the other side of the field. Asha and Chan are somewhere in the middle. If we all sneak up and surround them, it’ll be three against two.”

“What about Alexis?

“To hell with Alexis.” He leads us farther around the dune, out toward the open. “She’s no threat to us.”

I’m about to argue when a detonation nearly deafens me. For a second, I’m convinced that I’ve been hit. But there’s no pain. I glance over at Skandar. The expression on his face says it all.

“What the hell?” He spins around. “Who hit me?”

I turn to see Alexis White standing behind us, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. The smallest girl in their year and she managed to knock Skandar Harris out of the game.

“Jesse, don’t just stand there! Hit her!” Skandar shouts.

I hurry up and throw the detonator. It strikes Alexis’s right leg just above the knee. Her face winces with pain as the shell explodes, but it’s not enough to completely wipe away her smile.

“It was worth it,” she says.

“You cheated,” Skandar mutters.

Alexis shakes her head. “It’s not my fault you two were having a little tea party back here. Watch your backs next time.”

Skandar holds up his last detonator to hit her again, but remembers the rules and stops himself before doing anything stupid.

And with that, it’s Eva and me. And I don’t even know where she is. Some teamwork.

“Rush them from the sides,” Skandar whispers in my ear before pacing off the field in disgust.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and hold down the button on my earpiece. “Eva? Where are you?”

Her voice comes in all fuzzy. “South end of the field, Fisher. What’s up?”

“Skandar just got hit.”

“Skandar? You mean you’re the last boy standing?”

“Trust me,” I say, “I’m as shocked as you are. We got Alexis, though.”

“That leaves Asha and Chan.”

“Skandar said we should rush them from the sides.”

“Where are you?”

“Um… ” I look up at the ceiling, hoping to judge my position from the light fixtures and the familiar water stain at the northwest corner. I spot it almost instantly. “Northeast, I think.”

“Fine,” she says. “Move inward slowly. Keep your head up and if you see anything move don’t hesitate to attack. You can’t hesitate, Jesse.”

“I know.” I roll my eyes. Like I haven’t heard that tired line about a million times.

Then, it’s on.

I shuffle forward, careful to keep behind boulders and walls whenever possible. The silence is unbearable. Someone could jump out at any moment. My gaze darts around, scanning the landscape for signs of movement.

Suddenly I’m into it, like I really want to win this thing. Seeing Skandar get taken out, I realize that being the weak link might have its advantages. People forget about me, underestimate me.

I venture farther out, keeping an eye on the horizon. A detonator explodes somewhere in front of me, rumbling the walls. It’s impossible to tell if it was a hit or a miss. I pray it’s not Eva.

Then she answers my prayers. “I got Asha,” her voice comes over my earpiece. “Now it’s just little Chan, all by himself. Move in for the kill, Fisher.”

I stifle a laugh. She takes this crap so seriously. Then again, maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I don’t take it seriously enough.

Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s two against one. Forgetting that these are thirteen-year-olds, it still makes me feel pretty accomplished. It’s a power position. Finally.

“I’m moving,” I mumble into the earpiece, gripping the detonator.

“If he knows he’s the last one, he might try something crazy,” Eva says. “So don’t hesitate.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. You’re like a broken record, you know that?”

“Just trying to save your butt, Fisher. Again.”

I grab a second detonator, just in case. If I get the chance, I’ll throw the whole blasted belt at the kid. Even with bad aim, at least one’s bound to hit.