Free Reap by James Frey Page A

Every time you sighted down your gun at the range, you knew that you were preparing for war. You could have left at any time, but you didn’t. You stayed, and you trained right along with the rest of us. You delivered the invitations, and you killed the Minoan. You’re a part of this, Mike, whether you like it or not, so don’t act like you’re morally superior. Do what you need to do to get your head straight, but do it now, because we’re going to end this game.”
    I kept my gun on him for a long ten seconds.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Kat said, putting her hand gently on my back. “Let’s get it over with. When we’re done, we won’t have to see John ever again. We won’t have to think about this ever again. For all we know, the Players are killing each other right now anyway. We can do this, and get it over with, and leave. You and me. Together.”
    I let out a long breath and then lowered the gun.
    â€œCome on, then,” John said. “I think they went this way.”
    We ran to the left down the cross street. I was getting lost, not knowing which way was north or south, east or west. I just followed John and held Kat’s hand.
    How were we supposed to stay in this country? We’d spoken easily about forging papers, but it was Barbara and Douglas who had done all of that, and they hadn’t come back from their mission to kill theOlmec Player.
    As we walked behind John, I pulled the walkie-talkie out of my backpack. I sent a call out on our channel.
    â€œAnyone listening, this is Mike. Does anyone copy?”
    There was static.
    â€œThis is Mike,” I said again. “Anyone listening?”
    Nothing.
    â€œMaybe their walkie-talkie is turned off,” Kat said. “Or in a backpack, like ours was. We need to get back to the safe house.”
    We walked on, hearing sirens here and there but not seeing anything. These streets were so narrow that I wondered if John was actually following a real sound or just echoes.
    â€œDo we know who that sniper was working for?” I asked John.
    â€œI couldn’t tell. His face was dark, but I don’t know if that was because of his skin color or because of camouflage paint. He was doing a really good job of hiding on that roof.”
    â€œSo he could be either Nabataean or Harappan, right?”
    â€œOr none of the above,” Kat said. “Besides, he’s dead. Or she’s dead. I thought she looked like a girl when she fell.”
    â€œBut if she was, say, Nabataean, that would mean that the Nabataeans are cheating by bringing along extra combatants. There could be another up here somewhere, ready to take us down.”
    â€œCould be,” John said, and then he held up his hand and made a fist—the sign to stop.
    Kat and I froze, watching and waiting while John moved forward to look around the end of a building. He stopped, and his hand went to his gun. I grabbed mine, and Kat awkwardly took hers in her left hand. We slowly moved around the edge of the building, following John’s lead.
    I could hear the fight now, the scrape of metal on wood, the heavy breathing and grunting of exhausted combatants.
    And then I saw them.
    It was a wide avenue, with a wide island in the middle of the street.Among the trees, benches, and flowers, the Nabataean and Harappan were locked in an epic battle.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    We weren’t the only ones watching the fight. I could see faces in the windows up and down the street. And outside, there were onlookers watching from what they must have considered was a safe distance—but as soon as they saw our guns, they began to clear out. There was a siren coming from somewhere down the road, out of sight behind buildings and trees.
    The Harappan was whirling, a blur with his curved sword. The Nabataean was standing mostly still, parrying each strike with his spear—about two inches in diameter, and made of some very hard wood, it was hardly