Lia fired. The water arched for Abby, perfectly on target. Omelet, a big Alaskan malamute, rose to his hind legs and lunged for Abby’s face, tongue lolling. Water splattered against his side. Startled, he pushed hard on her shoulders. Abby leapt back.
“Good start,” Devon whispered.
Lia groaned. “Crap.”
A sickening crack silenced them all. Abby teetered on the edge of the bridge, her arms thrown back, and plummeted through the railing. She vanished beneath the bridge.
Omelet yowled. The gun slipped from Lia’s hand. Gem inhaled sharply, their hand brushing Lia’s arm. Lia sprinted for Abby, the others crashing behind her, and wove between the old posts leading to the bridge. She ducked under the bridge and nearly tripped over Abby’s sprawled legs.
“Abby!” Lia crouched down next to her. She lay faceup in the mud. “Are you okay?”
Abby turned her head to stare at Lia and then glanced down at the old fence post right next to her side. “I think so?”
“Abby!” Devon stumbled to a stop, Gem and Ben at his heels. “Is she okay?”
“Can you sit up? Wait, can you move your legs? Did you hit your head?” Lia gently touched her shoulder. The post had torn through her coat and shirt, leaving a trail of splinters from Abby’s elbow to her wrist. Lia winced. “Your arm—”
“Yeah,” Abby said, gaze stuck on it. “That could have been really bad.”
“But for real.” Devon knelt on Abby’s other side and checked the rest of her for cuts. “Does anything else hurt?”
“My pride?” Abby frowned and wiggled her feet. “I think I’m fine. Did you shoot Omelet?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lia said. “And this.”
Abby shifted, and Lia helped her sit up. Ben dug through his pockets and handed Devon three bandages, some tweezers, and hand sanitizer.
“Thanks,” Devon said, “but doing this ourselves is probably a bad idea.”
Lia swallowed. “How mad are your parents going to be?”
“It’s not that bad, so a little mad maybe.” Abby turned her arm over, and above them on the bridge Omelet whined. “I’m okay, buddy. Sit.”
Omelet sat, and Ben scrambled up the slight embankment to grab him.
“Well,” Abby said, “this is an exciting start to Assassins.”
“Do you think they’ll cancel it?” Lia asked.
Devon eyed her with a look that said Seriously? “Priorities, Lia. Priorities.”
“Sorry.” She sighed. “I’m just saying that would suck.”
And it would all have been for nothing. She would have nothing left. Nothing after what happened last year.
“Sorry,” Lia repeated. She stood and picked up the bridge railing that had given way. The push had yanked a handful of nails free, but it hadn’t broken when it fell. The nails glittered in the grass around Abby. Lia moved one away from where she was sitting. The wood looked worn down around the holes. The nails must have been loose. “But it’s not like the game is why she fell.”
“It sort of is, though,” Devon said. He helped Abby move her torn sleeves out of the way. “It’s not that deep.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Abby said slowly. “I definitely need it cleaned, but I don’t want to be the girl who got Assassins cancelled.”
Lia sighed. “I am really, really sorry you fell.”
It wasn’t that Lia wasn’t sorry—she was—but the idea of the game being canceled over something even moderately her fault broke her skin out in goose bumps.
She sat next to Abby. A few broken fingernails were around her feet. Okay. Lia was sorry about that. That had to hurt.
“Gem, can you pull your car up as close to the park entrance as possible?” Lia asked.
“Yeah, yeah.” Gem took off.
“Do you think if you move, it’ll get worse?” Devon asked.
Abby shook her head. “Don’t let Omelet jump down here.”
“You good, then?” Ben asked, peeking over the bridge. “I can walk him to your house and meet you there?”
Lia texted Ben the address to Abby’s house. She helped Devon pull Abby to her feet, taking care of the injured arm. Abby hooked her good arm over Devon, and Lia helped support the other. Her hands shook softly, but Abby didn’t seem to notice. Abby wrinkled her nose at the bridge as they passed it.
“I always grab that railing to stretch,” Abby said. “I tie the leash to it, too. Good thing I didn’t today.”
“The nails looked loose.” Lia squeezed her hand. “I am sorry.”
Abby laughed. “I know. Let’s just not make this a habit.”
They got her to Gem’s car and tucked her into the front seat, maneuvering the seat belt for her. Devon and Lia crawled into the backseat.
“So,” Abby said, looking at each of them. “I don’t want to get the school involved—everyone would hate me—but you owe me.”
Lia leaned back in her seat. “Yeah?”
“Technically, what just happened was property damage,” Abby continued. “You could get disqualified if the Council found out.”
Lia opened her mouth but couldn’t form the words. Gem winced.
“Yeah,” Abby said, dragging it out. “If I told, you could get disqualified, and that would really be terrible.”
Fear clamped Lia’s mouth shut, so Devon was the one who had to break the silence.
“Are you trying to extort us?” he asked. “You already had the upper hand.”
“I almost had no hand.” Abby hummed. “Oh my God, Prince, lighten up. You take this game way too seriously. I won’t tell anyone about this if you all agree to not kill me for a week.”
They would be so far behind the other teams if they waited to go after Abby until next weekend, but she had a point. The game would still be on. If they were disqualified, they were done for in the game and in real life.
“That seems fair?” Devon said, pitching the statement like a question.
Gem nodded. “I would like to not be disqualified.”
“And being the people who got adults involved with the game seems less than fun,” Devon said.
Lia had shot Abby’s dog and sent her tumbling off a bridge, and bore part of the responsibility for hurting her. It was fair. A week was more than enough time to figure out their new plan of attack.