Read The Terminals for Free Online Page B

taller than him, with a chest and abdomen like a rippled wall. His body was smeared with dirt, and he held a pole with pads on each end. He shook a drooping plant off his head, an ornament that had helped him blend into the hillside.
    â€œPretty good shot, huh?” camouflage said. “I’m Donnie, and you’ll want to remember this. Now stay down and tap out, and I won’t have to tag you.” He raised the other padded end of the pole. It was red and glistened in the sun.
    â€œWhoa … okay,” Cam said, stuffing his hands into the sand and trying to rise to one knee.
    â€œYou have to tap out,” Donnie said impatiently. “Three times on the ground so Ward can see.”
    â€œJust a sec. You hit me so hard. I’m loopy. Is this really…?”
    Cam threw two fistfuls of sand in Donnie’s face and rolled hard to his left. The pole came down with incredible speed and force on the sand where he’d just been, but he was already up and running. There was a short pursuit, but the guy was still rubbing his eyes and stopped at the first hut. He barked a single profanity and gave a loud whistle.
    One down , Cam thought, but the whistle sounded an awful lot like a signal. There would be others, perhaps eight of them. He stayed away from the bluff. He had barely started toward the next hut when he felt something was wrong. Nothing was happening. No one emerged to stop him. No one leaped from the bluff. It was a wide open space. Too easy. He glanced left and right. Only the shadow of a bird moved on the beach, drifting toward him. He looked up. A shower of red paint rained down, and he barely had time to duck back under Donnie’s hut to avoid being splattered. It hit the beach like a red bomb. Cam guessed that getting painted red ended the game.
    The shadow turned away, and Cam peeked out. Hang glider! He broke for the bluff as the triangular aircraft maneuvered for another pass. Cam arrived and hugged the wall as the glider dove after him. There was nowhere to go. He’d trapped himself. But the glider couldn’t operate near the bluff. Still, it came on. He’s crazy , Cam thought. He could see the guy now. He was red-haired and grinning maniacally as he flew headlong toward the wall, getting another bucket ready. At the last moment, he swerved, but it was too late. One of the fabric wings clipped the rocks and dirt, and it crumpled, sending its freckled rider to the beach. He tumbled three times and came to rest in the sand, where his second tagging bucket slammed into his back and covered him in red paint.
    It was a hard landing, and Cam almost ran to offer help, but he heard the unlucky pilot utter a loud whistle and realized the game was still on.
    Cam ran past the second hut. He didn’t stop, but instead zipped to the water side of the third structure and kept going. There was movement inside. He twisted sideways, zigzagging into the white fingers of surf groping up onto the beach. A sharp prick in his upper arm told him he’d been right to dodge. He glanced. A dart hung there, its point buried in the flesh of his shoulder.
    â€œFriggin’ oww!”
    He tried to shake off the dart as he ran, but his arm wouldn’t move. A tingle ran through the flesh of his bicep and forearm, but they refused to respond. The entire limb had gone limp and numb, like a cold summer sausage. He grabbed the dart with his other hand and yanked it out, wondering what might have happened if he’d been hit in the neck or face.
    His next challenge was sitting on the steps of the fourth hut. Another guy his age, maybe a year younger or older. He stood as Cam approached, rising higher and higher as his long legs stretched out, until he stood at least six and a half feet tall. He was also thick, with heavy apelike arms. Two giant steps later he’d planted himself directly in Cam’s path.
    With his size, Cam figured he couldn’t run. Cam altered his angle and