The War Game by Crystal Black Read Free Book Online Page B

night. Then we, as silently as possible, made our way over to the octopus.
                  “It’s up there,” I pointed.
                  John stared at the dead woman sitting in the cart where my stuff was hidden. “Which one did you hide it in?”
                  “Take one guess,” I said coyly.
                  “You surprise me sometimes, you really do.” John shook his head.
                  John, instead of shimmying up the tentacle like I would, hopped into one of the cars that was off the ground by a foot. Then he hopped into the next highest cart beside that one. He kept jumping from car to car until he was just one jump away from getting my stuff. There was a considerable amount of space between his car and the woman’s car, not to mention the thirty or so feet of space below him.
                  “Do you think I’m gonna make it?” he asked me, probably scared and just teasing me so I wouldn’t notice him hesitating.
                  “I think you’re gonna miss, fall, and land on your chin,” I assured him.
                  “How much are you willing to bet?” he asked, like anyone here had money.
                  Then I thought of something, “I’ll bet you five tickets that you won’t make it!”
                  “All right, then. You’re going to go down,” he squatted into a jumping position.
                  “No, you are!” I yelled as he leaped and crashed his arm into the side of the door. Then he pulled himself up like it was nothing.
                  I remembered what he told me earlier about Camp Z. He must have developed about a million different survival skills just to stay away from the hunters. Jumping was probably the same to him as tying a shoe was to me.
                  He started looking around in the cart and gave me a puzzled look. Then he disappeared for a few seconds and came right back up.
                  “Um, are you sure you hid it in this one?
                  “I’m positive.” I started freaking out inside. The thought of ketchup sandwiches made my stomach turn. Then I realized someone must have been watching me closely earlier. “Damn it!” I found myself saying out loud.
                  “Don’t worry, we’ll find it and get it back.” He stood on top of the cart and turned around to jump.
                  “Don’t!” I screamed. I was no longer afraid of someone hearing us. Obviously, they (whoever they were) could hear and see everything. He landed on his feet, just like a cat.
                  “And I’ll kick their ass for you. Okay?”
                  “Okay,” I said, not that I really thought he would. He seemed like to the type to steal it back, no doubt.
                  “And you owe me five of your tickets,” he sneered.
                  “Go ahead, take ’em.”
                  “Nah, I was just kidding. You keep them,” he insisted.
                  “What could I possibly get with them? A key chain or some stupid snow globe?”
                  “Don’t knock snow globes, they’re cool,” he laughed.
                  We walked around, snooping and half-hoping we would come upon someone’s stashed goods. We found absolutely nothing. Not even a smear of ketchup.
                  “Fuck,” he loudly lamented. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna kill that bastard that took our stuff.”
                  Our stuff? Were we together now, like a team? Or was he just mad that he couldn’t get to it before the thief did?
                  “Well, we could always check out that store people are setting up. If it’s done now.”
                  So we went inside and I came upon the key chains that I saw