Battle Royale (13 page)

Instead he entered a small check mark by the names. He also included Yoshitoki Kuninobu and Fumiyo Fujiyoshi. Shuya felt like he was turning into the man in the black suit from the vision he just had. "Let's see, you, and also you. And you. What's your coffin size? It's a tight fit, but we can offer our popular No.

8 model to you at a specially reduced price."

Enough. In any case, three out of four of Kazuo Kiriyama's gang are dead. Hiroshi Kuronaga, Ryuhei Sasagawa, and Mitsuru Numai. The only ones who weren't mentioned were Sho Tsukioka—nicknamed

"Zuki." He was a little weird. And Kazuo Kiriyama himself.

He recalled Mitsuru Numai's smug face when Kazuo Kiriyama left the classroom. Shuya had assumed Kazuo would organize his gang and attempt an escape. So what did these results mean? Maybe, even though they'd agreed to meet somewhere, they turned suspicious and turned against each other? Then Sho Tsukioka and Kazuo managed to escape—would that mean Sho Tsukioka and Kazuo were still together? No, something completely different might have happened. Shuya had no idea.

Then he recalled the faint sound of guns going off. He'd only heard it once. If that had been gunfire—then which one of these ten did it kill?

His thoughts were interrupted all of a sudden by a rustling sound. Noriko's face stiffened. Shuya immediately stuck the pen and list into his pocket.

Shuya listened closely. The sound continued. In fact—it was approaching them.

He whispered to Noriko, "Be quiet."

Shuya grabbed his day pack. They had to be able to move at any moment, so he'd put everything he needed in it. He left some of his clothes in his sports bag, but it wasn't a big deal to toss it. Noriko had also packed her bags the same way.

He hoisted the two day packs on his left shoulder. He offered Noriko his hands to help her up. They waited in a crouched position.

Shuya pulled out his knife. His right hand held it in a reverse grip. I might know how to use a guitar pick, he thought, but I don't know a thing about how to use
this
.

The rustling became increasingly louder. It was probably only a few meters away.

He was overwhelmed by the same tension he felt outside the school. He held Noriko's shoulder with his left hand and pulled her back. He stood up and stepped back. The sooner the better. As soon as possible!

They made their way through the bushes and came out onto a foot trail. It winded up the hill. Trees loomed above them, branches bunched together, and the sky was blue.

Still holding Noriko, Shuya treaded backwards with her for several meters along the trail. The rustling sound continued in the bushes they'd just left. The sound grew and then—

Shuya's eyes widened.

A white cat jumped out of the bushes and landed on the trail. It was scraggly, and its hair was frayed, but in any case, that's what it was—a cat.

Shuya and Noriko looked at each other. "It's a cat," she said and broke into a smile. Shuya also grinned.

Then the cat turned to them as if it had finally noticed them.

It stared at them for a while and then ran up to them.

Shuya returned his knife into the sheath while Noriko crouched, cautiously bent her injured leg, and offered her hands to the cat. The cat jumped into her hands and nuzzled her feet. Noriko slipped her hands under the cat's front feet and hugged it towards her.

"Poor kitty. Look how thin it is." Noriko said as she pursed her lips towards the cat as if to kiss it. The cat responded enthusiastically, purring, meow.

"It must be a domestic cat. It's so friendly."

"I don't know."

The government had relocated all the residents of this island for the sake of this game. (Because the Program was a secret operation until it was over, they must not have been informed.) As Noriko said, maybe this cat had been owned by someone here and abandoned after its owner left. There weren't any houses in the area, so did it get lost in the hills? Shuya wondered as he casually looked away from Noriko. He turned…

…in shock.

There was someone wearing a school coat ten meters away, standing on the trail as if his feet were glued to it. Although he was of medium height, like Shuya, he had a solid build from his training on the handball team. His skin was tanned, and he had a buzz cut. His hair stood up at the front. It was Tatsumichi Oki (Male Student No. 3).

31 students remaining

16

Noriko followed Shuya's eyes and turned around. Her face suddenly grew tense. That's right…what was going on with Tatsumichi? Was he an enemy or not?

Tatsumichi Oki stood there, staring at them. Shuya felt his field of vision grow narrow from the tension—the way it might in a speeding car—but in the corner of his eye he could still make out the large hatchet in Tatsumichi's right hand.

Shuya reflexively raised his hand to the knife tucked in his belt.

That set it off. Tatsumichi's hand, the one holding the hatchet, twitched, and then he began running towards them.

Shuya shoved Noriko, who was still holding the cat, into the bushes.

Tatsumichi was already right in front of him.

Shuya quickly lifted up his day pack. The hatchet went right into it, splitting it open so its contents spilled to the ground. Water sprayed out of the bag from the broken water bottle. The blade reached Shuya's arm. A searing pain ran under his skin.

He tossed down the torn day pack and leaped back to gain some distance. Tatsumichi's face was so wound up the whites of his eyes formed circles around his pupils.

Shuya couldn't believe it. Yes, they were in a dire situation, and Shuya had been for a moment suspicious too, but how could he?…How could that cheerful, nice guy, Tatsumichi, do such a thing?

Tatsumichi quickly glanced over to where Noriko was, in the bushes. Following his gaze, Shuya looked over at Noriko too. Noriko's face and lips froze at Tatsumichi's glance. The cat had already gone off elsewhere.

Suddenly Tatsumichi turned to Shuya and swung his hatchet sideways.

Shuya met the blow with the knife he'd pulled out from his belt. Unfortunately it was still inside its leather sheath, but in any case, there was a locking sound. He managed to stop the blow about five centimeters away from his cheek. Shuya could see the blue ripple on the hatchet blade, probably formed when it had been forged.

Before Tatsumichi could swing back, Shuya tossed his knife out and grabbed Tatsumichi's right arm, which was holding the hatchet. But Tatsumichi forced a swing, which although slow managed to hit the right side of Shuya's head. Some of the slightly wavy long hair above his right ear fell, and a sharp tear ran through his earlobe. It didn't hurt much. A silly, inappropriate thought crossed his mind: well, it's no big deal, Shinji had his pierced, after all.

Tatsumichi switched the hatchet from his right hand to his left but before he could swing at Shuya again, Shuya swept his left leg under Tatsumichi's feet. Tatsumichi's legs swayed, all right now, fall!

But he managed to stay up, teetered, and then spun around. He fell on top of Shuya. Shuya moved back into the shrubbery. The sound of crushed branches surrounded them.

Shuya continued moving back. Forced by Tatsumichi's awesome strength, he was now practically running backwards. Noriko's face was vanishing from his sight. In this unreal situation, another absurd thought crossed his mind. He recalled Little League practice. Shuya Nanahara, backwards-running champion, yeah!

Then his feet felt funny.

He suddenly recalled how there was a steep slope towards the field with the shrine.

I'm falling!

The two of them tumbled down the slope covered with shrubbery. The clear early morning sky and greenery spun around and around. But he still managed to hold onto Tatsumichi's wrist.

He felt as if they'd fallen from a great height, but it was probably only ten meters or so. Their bodies crashed with a loud thump, and they were still. The area was bathed in sunlight. They'd fallen into the field.

Shuya was crushed under Tatsumichi. He had to get up before Tatsumichi could!

But that was when Shuya felt something strange. Although Tatsumichi had come at him with the force of an air compressor, the strength in his arms had completely gone. They'd gone limp.

His face under the lower part of Tatsumichi's chest, Shuya saw why, as he looked up.

Right above him, the hatchet was lodged into Tatsumichi's face. Half of the blade stuck out from his face like the top layer of chocolate on a Christmas cake. The hatchet had landed on his forehead, neatly split open the left eyeball (a gooey liquid leaked out with his blood), and a pale blue light reflected off the blade inside his mouth.

Tatsumichi still held onto the hatchet, but Shuya was the one holding his wrists. Shuya felt a horrible sensation running at the speed of light from Tatsumichi's face to his wrists.

As if tracing the course of this sensation, blood slid down the blade, flowing from Tatsumichi onto Shuya's hands holding Tatsumichi's wrists. Shuya let out a low groan, released his hands, and got out from underneath Tatsumichi's body. Tatsumichi's body rolled over, face up, his horrific dead face thrust into the morning light.

Huffing and puffing, Shuya felt a numb urge to vomit.

The incomparable horror of Tatsumichi's face wasn't a trivial matter, but for Shuya something even more important concerned himself. Yes. He had killed someone. Worse yet, a fellow classmate.

It was no use convincing himself it was an accident. After all—he had done everything he could to deflect the blade, and therefore direct it towards Tatsumichi by twisting Tatsumichi's wrists as far back as possible.

He felt incredibly nauseous.

But Shuya gulped and held back the urge to vomit. He lifted his head and looked up at the slope he'd just tumbled down.

He couldn't see beyond the shrubbery covering the slope. He'd left Noriko alone. That's right, the important thing now was to protect Noriko. He had no time to puke. He had to hurry back to Noriko, Shuya told himself as if these thoughts would calm him down. He stood up and stared down at Tatsumichi's face and the hatchet for a while.

He hesitated but then pursed his lips together and pried Tatsumichi's fingers loose from the handle of the hatchet that split his face. He couldn't just leave Tatsumichi like this. Of course he couldn't bury him—but Tatsumichi's hatchet face was just too much. He couldn't bear it. He grabbed the handle and tried to pull the hatchet out of Tatsumichi's face.

Tatsumichi's face was stuck to it though as it came up with the hatchet. The hatchet was lodged in so deeply, it was stuck.

Shuya took a deep breath. Oh God.

Then he thought about it. No. What's this about God? Ms. Anno was a devoted Christian but no thanks to her faith in God she ended up getting raped by Sakamochi. Ah, praise the Lord.

Shuya felt another surge of anger.

He clenched his teeth and knelt beside Tatsumichi's head and put his trembling left hand on his classmate's forehead. With his right hand he pulled on the hatchet, which made a horrible spurting sound as blood sprayed out of Tatsumichi's face, and the hatchet came loose.

He felt as if he were in a nightmare. Cracked in the middle, Tatsumichi's head was now asymmetrical. It looked too unreal. It looked like a plastic fake. Shuya realized for the first time in his life how malleable and fragile the human body was.

He gave up trying to close Tatsumichi's eyes. His left eyeball and eyelid was split, the eyelid shriveled and swollen so badly it couldn't be shut. His right eye was probably manageable, but who'd want a winking corpse? It was in bad taste given the circumstances.

He felt sick again.

But he stood up again and turned around. To get back to Noriko he'd have to take the long way around up the foot trail.

Shuya's eyes opened wide again though now because…

…there was a boy wearing glasses and a school coat in the middle of the field—the male class representative, Kyoichi Motobuchi.

And this representative was holding a pistol.

30 students remaining

17

Behind his silver-framed glasses, the class representative's eyes met Shuya's. His hair that was always so neatly parted at a 7:3 ratio was now a complete mess. The lenses of his glasses looked smudged, and the eyes behind them were bloodshot and wide open the way Tatsumichi's eyes were. His face was incredibly pale, as it was inside the classroom, once again resembling a Warhol print. It didn't look human anymore.

As the gun flinched, Shuya twisted his body and ducked backwards. With an explosive pop, the gun set off a small flame. Something hot grazed the top of his head. Of course he might have just imagined it.

Anyway, the bullet missed him.

Still on his back, Shuya didn't have time to think. He just tried to retreat. The tall grass made a rustling sound under his back.

He was too close. He couldn't escape. Kyoichi Motobuchi was only several meters away from Shuya, aiming directly at his chest.

Shuya's face grew as stiff as a plaster sculpture. More than protecting Noriko, more than anything, it was real fear that caught him now, welling up inside. The next tiny lead bullet that gun spits out will kill me…kill…me!

"Stop it!" Another voice yelled.

Kyoichi suddenly turned in a diagonal direction. Shuya also followed Kyoichi's glance—

A large figure stood in the shade of the shrine. Buzzed hair, no, the head was practically bald, the prominent scars above his brows, the tough face of a thug. It was Shogo Kawada (Male Student No. 5).

He held a pump-action shotgun (a sawed-off Remington M31).

Without any warning Kyoichi shot at Shogo. Shuya saw Shogo quickly duck. As he heard the explosion from the shotgun that Shogo held in his kneeling position, sparks flew from the muzzle like a flame thrower, and the next moment Kyoichi's right arm was gone. Bloody mist shot into the air. Kyoichi gazed blankly at the half-sleeve of his school uniform. The rest of his sleeve, from his elbow to the hand that was holding the gun, was now lying on the grass. Shogo quickly pumped the shotgun and loaded the next shot. A red plastic shell flew out to the side after spitting out its pellets.