Rain pelts my face; my feet slam through muck. I love this. I’m alive. My confusion waits for me back at the comm tent. It makes no sense to worry about the BSA now, or about what might happen once we reach Taiwan. What matters now, is to win the race, to hunt Runner and not be the hunted.

I left my ghillie on my bunk and he must have noticed it, probably frowned at it in disapproval. How can a sniper ever leave her camouflage behind? Surely, Micka is not made for this job, being so frazzle-brained from recent developments.

I grin, my nerves are taut with exhilaration. 

The dimly lit woods slip past me. Scents of blossoms fill the air, of wet earth, and fruits at full ripeness and the rain washing them and making their aroma lighter. I love the hardness of my rifle against my side. Today, my marker will hit its target.

Although my sandals slow me down and create a slop-slop noise, I keep them on my feet. They are part of my plan to get a clean shot at Runner. The swamp is near and the trees begin to change from gnarled to slender and smooth. One of the thickest of them is standing close to the swamp’s edge and I slow my run, slither, zigzag across the mud and fall close to the large tree’s trunk. I rip out a few strands of my hair, stick them to the cracks in the bark, and make sure the new membrane is tightly sealing my rifle’s muzzle — making my weapon water-proof.

I lie down and run my hands over the mud, then stand, just to fall over again. I leave one sandal at the edge of the swamp, take one large step forward and begin to sink. Before the muck can suck in my leg, I bend my upper body flat against the surface and push into the swamp. The heavy mud is brushing my arm while I propel myself forward. My other arm presses the rifle against my side. After a few strokes, I shake off my other sandal, then swim a semi-circle to reach the edge far from where I entered the water. I pull myself up a fallen tree, grab a handful of muck and rub it into my face, my hands, wrists, and feet. Then I scale the nearest upright tree, arranging twigs and leaves so that the foliage provides a thick cover.

I can barely keep my heartbeat calm. The view is wonderfully dramatic. Sliding tracks of poor Micka falling, bonking her head on a tree, and oh, look at this! — the impact was so hard, it ripped a few strands of her orange hair out. Oh no, she must have been knocked half-unconscious what with that sliding and slipping dangerously close to the swamp’s edge. Her sandal — why did she lose her sandal in the muck? Is that a footprint leading into the swamp? Did she…is that her sandal floating in the water? 

I have to keep myself from grinning. White teeth flashing in muck-covered face wouldn’t do now. It might be cruel, but there’s no other way to trick Runner into carelessness. 

I can’t hear him, but I know he must be very close. The few minutes head start weren’t all that much. When the tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin to raise, he steps into view like a large cat stepping out of the shadows. He, too, doesn’t wear his ghillie. 

Are you feeling superior today, my friend?

I take aim and watch. Unmoving, he takes in the scene for a moment, then creeps toward the tree, centimetre by centimetre, and brushes the bark with my hair stuck to it. He stands, his rifle sagging a fraction and that is when I know I got him. I see his gaze sweeping to my sandal stuck in the mud, then the one floating like a dead leaf on the murky surface.

When he cocks his head, I know he finds the scene suspicious. I put the crosshairs right over his heart and squeeze the trigger. 

Click. Plop.

He freezes, doubles over, and falls face down into the mud. He doesn’t move. Shit! Shitshitshit! I scramble down the tree, drop my rifle, and run up to him. I grab his shoulder and yank hard in an attempt to turn him around so he doesn’t suffocate. I barely register the flash of metal.

His knife is at my throat.

I snort. ‘Sorry to break the news, but you are dead.’

‘I’ve sucked up bullets before,’ he hisses. ‘As long as there’s life in me, I use it to kill my enemy.’

I point at the green paint blurred with mud. ‘Here. Shot through the heart.’

‘What if my heart is on the other side? There are people who have their heart on the right side.’

‘In that case, I would tell you I don’t give a shit just before I chop off your balls.’ I nod down to where my knife rests against his crotch. ‘You are a crappy loser.’ I let go of him and stomp away.

‘Micka, I’m being serious. A single bullet doesn’t necessarily kill. What happens when you are shot? Will you fall and give up? Or will you try to take down as many as you can?’

‘How would I know? I’ve never been shot.’ Fuck. I don’t even want to think about it.

‘Will you pull the trigger when I tell you to?’ he asks.

That stops me in my tracks. He wants to know if I can kill a man. ‘I don’t know,’ I say.

‘Hmm.’ He nods and lets it go. ‘I underestimated you today. When we return, you have to show me how you crossed that swamp without drowning. But the sandals were a tad over-dramatic.’

‘Shut up, you are dead.’ I’m walking faster. He has a point there, but that just makes me angrier. ‘You believed I couldn’t think, because I’m nervous because of what happened back at the comm tent and us going to Taiwan and possibly running into the BSA. You underestimate me because I’m a girl.’

The slop-slop of his boots in the muck are approaching. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you fucking did!’ I turn around and point my finger at his nose. ‘You think women are soft and need protection. That’s why you told me to get the toxic implant. That’s why you don’t tell Yi-Ting you’re in love with her. You protect her from yourself, the professional killer. And now it’s too late.’

Wow. That came out bluntly. Sometimes I speak like an axe in the woods.

‘Why would it be too late? This mission is low-risk. Besides, I can see how you are looking at her. Like a very lonely puppy. But you’ve never said anything either. Why?’

My chest contracts. ‘Because she likes you.’

‘She likes you, too.’

‘Bullshit!’ I stop and point my rifle at him. ‘If you keep annoying me, I’ll plop my second marker in your crotch.’

He lifts an eyebrow. ‘You turn into some kind of very prickly thistle every time someone offers you a friendly gesture. That might be a good method if you want people to treat you like shit. On the other hand, some people refuse to turn into assholes no matter what.’

My mouth wants to drop open, but I don’t let it. I set my jaw. ‘You’ve been a cold bastard ever since we arrived here.’

Runner just grins and walks past me. ‘Briefing in one hour. Well done, by the way.’

I can’t believe my ears. Since our training began, he’s never complimented me for anything.