Fortuitous || Jack Steele [1]

twenty seven

Excitement pumps through my veins as Jack and I crouch behind a raised concrete block. I survey the open area of grass and around the pool, scanning for targets. I don't see any of the other teams. I duck back down and look to Jack.

"So what have you gathered up about some of the players?" I want to get an idea of who we're up against.

"Hilly relies on speed to openly shoot at someone because he knows he can get away, same with Butts although he's pretty sneaky too. Your brother has to rely on stealth because he can't run and duck under quick. That goes for Dougs as well." I snigger and he smiles before continuing. "DMAC is very uncoordinated so he'll be eliminated pretty quickly. Jimmy and Timmy are loose cannons who don't calculate their shots. Hunts, Coff and Sincs are smart and like to ambush. Jonesy is reckless and Gigs doesn't know what he's doing."

"Very observant," I say, impressed. "Taking a page out of my book, are we now?"

"Don't be so sure," he chuckles light-heartedly, no sign of awkwardness lingering in his expression. There we go.

In the far distance there's an echo of a few shots which are then followed by some yells. I peek over the concrete block, only the top of my head visible like a crocodile surveying its prey.

I watch as DMAC trips on a rock and clatters to the floor, a bullet having hit him square between the shoulder blades. The foam bullet sticks to his shirt, making its mark. Fatality.

Butts' head emerges from between the trees, a victorious and triumphant smirk clear on his face as he watches DMAC star-fished on the grass, unmoving. He grips the bill of his cap and swivels it around from front facing to backward before then slowly disappearing from view. It's like he wasn't even there minus the DMAC's 'dead' body flattened against the floor.

"You weren't wrong. He legit tripped on the smallest of pebbles," I comment, my eyes narrowed at where Butts once was.

"Good footballer but not great at being coordinated in day to day life." I nod.

"Butts will be a challenge to take down," I state with awareness. "He's elusive." Jack nods, agreeing.

"Come on." Jack offers a friendly hand to help me up. I grin slightly and take it. "Stay light on your feet and be alert."

"Got it, Captain." I salute and he just sniggers lightly, letting go of my hand and encouraging me forward.

We move from our current position stealthily, noting to keep out heads low as to remain undetected. Jack leads us through the gardens and to the outer parts where the buildings are located. I'm at his back, constantly looking over my shoulder with ears open and gun ready to fire. My eyes stay focused and my muscles hold tense, alert and on edge for anything.

A rustle suddenly sounds from our left, not far from Jack. My gun in my arm shifts upright in a split second.

Instinct spurs within Jack and alarm bells ring in my head. In an instant Jack grabs my arm in an urgent way and roughly tugs me down behind cover. He ducks just as a bullet flies past his head. St Kilda's number 9 doesn't waste another second before exposing himself, standing straight, taking aim and firing into the moving bush. It's silent for a moment before his bullet hits its target.

"Fuck!" The hit opposition yells in frustration. Fatality.

"Gotcha!" Jack cheers, recognising his teammate's voice.

Coff reveals himself from his hiding spot, grumbling at his loss and holding a putrid look on his face.

Jack barely have time to celebrate when another bullet is shot from somewhere else.