Paintball Direct

Jax returned fire instantly. A stream of blue paint whipped past Leo’s ear, one ball clipping a pine branch and showering him in a fine mist of blue liquid. Leo rolled behind a fallen oak, his heart hammering against his ribs. He checked his hopper—maybe twenty shots left.

The air in the "Graveyard" smelled like pine needles and old plywood, but mostly it smelled like sulfur and anticipation. PAINTBALL

He needed a flank, but the open ground between them was a death trap. Then he saw it: a low, muddy trench overgrown with ferns leading toward the back of Jax’s position. It was a messy, miserable crawl, but it was his only shot. Jax returned fire instantly

"Victory is messy," Leo grinned, wiping a streak of mud from his mask. He checked his hopper—maybe twenty shots left

When he reached the end of the trench, he was ten feet behind Jax. Jax was still focused on the oak tree, waiting for Leo to peek.