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I unscrewed the top of the water bottle and poured it out, not caring where it spilled. Then, after laying two gauze pads over the mouth of the bottle, I gently strained the alcohol through the gauze.

The smell was already overwhelming, and my eyes began to water.

The cayenne pepper was supposed to infuse with the alcohol-that’s what I’d seen on TV. It seemed to be working, because as the water bottle filled with reddish rubbing alcohol, all of the bits of pepper remained on the gauze and the liquid below hardly had anything floating in it.

From somewhere in the distance I heard the pops of a few shots.

I dipped the syringe down into the alcohol and drew back on the plunger.

The sound of paintballs hitting the perimeter buildings was coming from two different sides of the city-loud, resonating thwacks. I peeked out my window but didn’t see anyone.

Carefully, I turned the syringe to the first grenade, refilling the paint canister. I spilled a little on my hand, and it stung and burned the tiny hangnails on my thumb and index finger.

I gingerly replaced the pin and then hurried to fill the other two.

There were shouts, people calling for the medic. They were close.

I attached new air cartridges to the grenades.

They were done. Three pepper spray grenades.

It wasn’t a gun, but I suddenly felt much more in control. I had weapons. They wouldn’t stop an android, but they’d stop an idiot Society kid.

I wanted to try one now, throw it out the window when I heard someone coming, but there’d be no way to not get caught. It was better to know that I had the grenades-that they might work-than to risk being caught.

There were no cameras out here. The school had no idea.

I gently put the grenades back in my pants pockets, picked up my gun again, and looked out the window.

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

I stood and positioned myself at the window, trying to get my mind back on the game. I couldn’t see anyone, but from the noise I could tell that our forward defenders-the guys at the streambed-hadn’t been very successful.

A thought suddenly popped into my head. A deep streambed cut through this paintball field. There was no way that the origin of that stream was contained within the walls of the school; it had to pass through the wall somewhere.

Noise came from the first floor of the building-muffled voices-and I instinctively turned to aim at the stairwell. A moment later a grenade skittered across the floor. It hissed and spun, spraying a mist of blue around the room that splashed across my mask.

I called, “Hit!” and stood up to leave, wiping my mask. Out the window I saw Becky enter the city protected by five others.

There had been no way to hide from that grenade. I imagined throwing one of mine into Isaiah’s dorm room.

I laughed as I left the building.

I headed off the field, my gun pointed toward the sky to show I was dead. A few refs lingered in the forest, but most of them were following the action into the plywood buildings.

When I got to the streambed I followed it uphill, walking casually and not trying to hide. I’d gone only a few hundred feet when Mason appeared at my side. He had at least seven neon green hits on his arms and chest.

“You’re not running now, are you?” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re going the wrong direction.”

“I just want to see where this stream goes,” I said.

He nodded and walked next to me in silence for a while. As we plodded along the dry bed I wondered whether it had ever had water in it. Maybe it was dry because the wall blocked it.

The cold stung my fingers, now that the excitement and adrenaline were wearing off.

“Is it December yet?” I asked.

“No idea. I don’t keep track.”

Near the base of the wall, the stream disappeared into a culvert pipe, about two and a half feet wide. As we neared it, standing in the well-worn tracks of the Society’s four-wheelers, I bent over to look through.

“It’s clear all the way,” I said, confused. “You could crawl straight through, be out in a minute.”

“No,” Mason said. As I stood back up I saw him pointing. There were two cameras flanking the pipe, about forty feet to either side. They were both pointed at us.

“Oh,” I said, and gave a little wave to the cameras. “Well, that’s that, then.”

It didn’t dissuade me. If I was going to escape, I’d have to do it fast anyway. And maybe these cameras were like the ones back at the hospital where I’d worked-they weren’t being constantly monitored. They could just be recording, in case someone had a question later.

“What do you think’s on the other side?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Guards.”

“You’d think we could hear something. Those four-wheelers are loud-wouldn’t the guards on the other side have those, too?”

“They have campfires. You’ve seen the smoke.”

“Or maybe those are actually campers. Maybe it’s a campground.”

Mason snorted. “Well, if I ever get out of here, I’d rather take my chances in the forest than walk into a group of guards.”