Shuya wanted to remain sitting there for a while, but he knew that wasn't an option. Instead, he opened his daypack. Behind what felt like a water bottle, his hands brushed against a long, thin, and firm object.
Shuya pulled it out. He felt a leather sheath and a leather-wrapped grip sticking out of it. A combat knife. Sakamochi had said a weapon would be inside. Was this it? He groped around the inside of the bag but felt only a flashlight and what must have been a bundle of bread rolls. Nothing else that seemed to be a weapon.
Shuya popped open the snap and withdrew the knife. He noted the length of the blade—fifteen centimeters—and that it was in usable condition, before returning it to the sheath, which he then fastened, clasp open, around the belt of his school slacks. He undid the lowermost button of his jacket so he could reach the handle at a moment's notice.
Without asking permission, Shuya pulled over Noriko's daypack and opened the zipper. Peeking into a girl's things was taboo, but it wasn't like she'd packed it herself.
Inside, he found something unusual. It was a stick, about forty centimeters long and curved into a V, wooden, and firm and smooth to the touch. Was this what a boomerang looked like? A throwing weapon of primitive hunters and warriors, an Aboriginal village's champion huntsman could send it flying through the air and bag a kangaroo, but what were kids supposed to do with one? Shuya sighed and returned it to Noriko's bag.
He had finally caught his breath, no longer sounding like an invalid wheezing on his deathbed.
"You want some water?" Shuya asked.
Noriko nodded and said, "Just a little."
He took the plastic bottle from his daypack, twisted open the lid, and sniffed at its contents. He poured a little of the liquid onto his hand and tested it with his tongue. He then took a sip, and when nothing unusual happened, he passed the container to Noriko. She took it and drank only a small mouthful. She must have understood how precious water might become over the coming days. The bottles only held about one liter, with only two provided to each student. Sakamochi had said the phone lines wouldn't work, but what about the water pipes?
Shuya said, "Let me take a look at your leg."
Noriko nodded and stretched out her right leg, unfolding it from under her skirt. Shuya took the flashlight from his daypack and, wrapping his palm around it to prevent light from spilling out too far, used it to get a look at the wound on her leg.
It was on the outside of her calf, a vertical gash about four centimeters long and one centimeter deep. Blood was still trickling from the edges of the exposed pink flesh. She would need stitches.
Shuya switched off his flashlight and pulled over not the daypack but his own gym bag. He took out the flask of bourbon and two clean bandanas he'd packed for the school trip. Uncapping the flask, he said, "This is going to hurt."
"I'm ready."
When he tipped the flask and poured the bourbon to disinfect her wound, she let out a small gasp. He placed one of the folded bandanas directly over the gash, then spread open the other before refolding it into a long strip and wrapping it firmly around her calf. Not a proper bandage, but it would stop the bleeding for now.
As he pulled the two loose ends tight and tied the bandana in place, Shuya muttered a curse.
Softly, Noriko asked, "Thinking about Mr. Nobu?"
Shuya gritted his teeth. "Him, and Akamatsu, and everyone. This sucks. This really sucks."
While his hands worked the knot, Shuya studied her face until he had to look down again to finish the tie. She thanked him and pulled her leg back.
"Mayumi," Noriko said. "She . . . Did Akamatsu . . ." Her voice trembled. "He killed her, didn't he?"
"Yeah. He was above the doorway. He fell when I threw the crossbow bolt at him."
Thinking back to what had happened, Shuya realized that he'd left without dealing with Yoshio Akamatsu. At the time, he assumed the boy had been knocked out cold, but Akamatsu might have quickly regained his senses. He could have climbed back up to the roof, crossbow in hand, and continued his slaughter.
Was I too naive again? Should I have killed him then and there?
Shuya held his watch up to the moonlight. The finely crafted old model K. Hattori diver's watch (a gift, like most of his possessions, with him living in an orphanage) read just past 2:40. Whatever had happened to Yoshio Akamatsu, nearly all of the students would have left the school by now, save for two or three. Shinji Mimura would already be gone by now. At least, Shuya was almost certain, Shinji would never let himself be killed by Akamatsu.
Shuya shook his head, thinking himself a fool for still believing he could get his classmates to band together.
"I never thought he was that kind of guy," Shuya said. "Willing to kill everyone just so he could survive. I mean, I understand the rules of the game. I just didn't think anyone would actually go along with it."
"I don't think," Noriko said, "that's quite how it was."
"What?" Shuya looked into her face. Her expression was hard to read in the moonlight.
"It's like . . . You know how Akamatsu was such a timid boy. I think maybe he was scared. I know he was. You have no idea who's going to turn on you out here. I think Akamatsu was convinced that everyone was going to come after him. That had to be terrifying. He thought that if he didn't act, he'd be . . . killed."
As Noriko had done, Shuya leaned back against a tree trunk and stretched out his legs.
He himself had seen the logic—fear could turn a student into a killer—but he also thought that by nature, the scared ones would just hide. Yet maybe it was true that extreme terror could drive them into taking the initiative.
Shuya asked, "You think so?"
"Yeah." Noriko nodded. "Still, to not even give her a chance, that's awful."
They remained silent for a time. Then a thought came to Shuya, and he said, "Do you think if he saw the two of us together, he wouldn't have attacked? With us together, that would prove we weren't participating."
"Yeah. Maybe."
Shuya considered what she'd said. If indeed Akamatsu had merely been taken by paranoia, then . . .
In that moment, Shuya thought, I thought some of the others were going along with this. That's why I ran. But maybe I was wrong. Killing your own classmates—who could do a ridiculous thing like that? Then . . . shouldn't I have waited for the others, even if that meant I had to deal with Akamatsu?
Either way, what's done is done. Even if we went back now, everyone will have already left. But was Noriko really right about Akamatsu? Had he simply been afraid?
Shuya didn't know what to think anymore.
"Noriko."
She looked up.
"What's your take on this?" he asked. "I was worried we'd be in danger of someone else like Akamatsu, so I thought that whatever else we did, we had to get away from that school first. But... if he was just afraid ... I mean, do you really think anyone is going to play this game? I mean, I was hoping that if I could get everyone together, we could escape this damn game. What do you think?"
"You mean everyone?"
"Yeah."
Noriko fell quiet. Gathering her pleated skirt, she pulled her knees in to her chest. Then she said, "I must be a terrible girl."
"What?"
"I could never do that. Maybe Yukie," she said, meaning Yukie Utsumi, the class leader, who they'd both known since elementary school, "and some of the other girls I'm always with, them I could trust, I think. But not the others, no way. I couldn't be with them, not at all. Don't you think that? I can't know exactly what Akamatsu was feeling, but I'm afraid of everyone else. I didn't realize it until now, but I don't really know anything about them, or what kind of people they are, really. You can't see inside a person's heart."
"I don't really know anything about them," she had said.
She's right, Shuya thought. What the hell do I know about the other kids? They're just people I happen to be with during the school day. Shuya suddenly found himself again wondering if some of his classmates
were enemies.
"And so I'd suspect them," Noriko said. "Even if they were with us, if I didn't really trust them, I'd suspect them. I'd suspect that they were . . . they were trying to kill me."
Shuya sighed. As horrific as this game was, it was extremely well designed. In the end, he couldn't let any and all join up with them, not unless he was absolutely confident they could be trusted. What ifz what if, someone were to catch him off guard? It wouldn't be just him he'd be endangering but Noriko as well. That the kids who'd left the school ahead of him had immediately vanished was natural. They were just being pragmatic.
Shuya's thoughts were interrupted as his mind made a new connection.
"Wait a second," he said. Noriko's eyes flashed up to him. "That means that just because we're together, that doesn't prove we don't mean harm. They still might suspect that I was planning to eventually . . . kill you."
Noriko nodded. "That's right. And I'd be suspected too, the same way. With the two of us together, one of the others might not attack us. But if we asked any to join with us, I think they probably wouldn't. It would depend on who we asked."
Shuya gulped. "Scary, isn't it."
"Terrifying."
Maybe running from the schoolyard had been the right choice after all. What mattered most to Shuya was getting Noriko Nakagawa, the girl Yoshitoki had loved, safely out of here. And right now, she was safely at his side. Shouldn't he have been satisfied with that? He had taken the safest approach. But. . .
"But," he said, "I at least wanted Mimura with us. He'd come up with some brilliant plan. You'd be fine with him, right, Noriko?"
"Of course," she said with a nod. Given how much time she spent with Shuya at school, she'd had plenty of opportunities to talk to Shinji Mimura.
Shuya recalled how Shinji had stood Noriko up and signaled him to calm down. He realized that if Shinji hadn't done that, both he and Noriko may very well have remained frozen in place and been shot just like Yoshitoki.
Noriko lowered her head, possibly having the same thoughts, remembering the events that had led them here, and whispered, "Mr. Nobu . . . he's gone, isn't he?"
Quietly, as if he didn't quite believe it himself, Shuya answered, "Yeah, I guess so."
The two were again silent for a time. They might have talked about memories of their friend, but this wasn't the time or place. Besides, what had happened to Yoshitoki weighed far too heavily on Shuya for superficial reminiscences.
"What should we do?" he asked. "From here."
Noriko tightened her lips and tilted her head in silent question.
"I was just thinking," he offered. "Maybe we could find Mimura or some of the others. The ones we feel we can trust."
Noriko said, "That's ..." but the word trailed into contemplation, and she never finished the sentence.
Right, Shuya thought, neither of us knows how to find them. At least not for now.
All Shuya could do was sigh.
Between the branches overhead, the moonlit sky was dim and gray. Shuya felt he now understood what they meant by "Damned if you do, damned if you don't." If it didn't matter who they joined up with, the two could have simply walked around and shouted. But that would have been an open invitation to any would-be opponent to come kill them. Shuya hoped that no such enemies were out there, but still, he was afraid.
The thought led to an idea, and Shuya turned to Noriko and asked, "Weren't you afraid of me?"
"What?"
"You never worried I might try to kill you?"
He couldn't see it very clearly in the moonlight, but he thought Noriko's eyes went wide. "You would never do anything like that!"
Shuya thought about it a little, then said, "But you said it before, 'You can't see inside a person's heart.'"
She shook her head. "I just know that you of all people would never do anything like that."
Shuya looked her straight on. He must have looked dazed. "You know?"
"Yeah ... I know," Noriko said. She hesitated, but then continued. "I've been . . . watching you for so long."
The sentiment probably deserved to be delivered with more formality. And would it be asking too much for a situation that was at least a tiny bit more romantic?
Shuya recalled the anonymous love letter, written on pale blue stationery, that he'd found inside his desk one day in April. As the former ace shortstop in Little League and the current self-proclaimed (and occasionally acknowledged) rock star of Shiroiwa Junior High, Shuya had received love letters before. But this one had made something of an impression on him, and he'd held on to it. He thought it was because he liked the poetic writing:
Be it only a lie, be it only a dream, please turn back and look at me
Not a lie, not a dream, your smile that day
But maybe my lie, but maybe my dream, that it was sent
my way
It won't be a lie, it won't be a dream, on the day you call my name
Never a lie, never a dream, that.
Shuya had wondered if she had written the note. The handwriting was similar, and the poetic style would have fit. Had it really been her?
Shuya briefly considered asking her about the letter, but decided not to. This wasn't the right time, and he had no right to bring it up, since he was utterly smitten by Kazumi Shintani, a girl who, to borrow from that pale blue love letter, would never "turn to look at him." Not that girls, or the matter of that love letter, were of much concern anymore. What was important to him now was protecting the girl who Yoshitoki Kuninobu had had a crush on, not worrying about who might have a crush on him.
Shuya thought back to Yoshitoki's bashful expression when he said, "Hey, Shuya, I. . . kinda . . . got a crush."
"Shuya," Noriko was asking him now, "aren't you afraid of me? No, I should really ask . . . why did you rescue me?"
"Well. . ."
Shuya considered telling her about Yoshitoki. My best friend was in love with you. So I have to help you. That's the way it is.
He discarded that thought also. That was a discussion best saved for another time, when they could really talk. If such a time ever came, that is.
Instead, he told her, "You were hurt. How could I leave you like that? And at the very least, I trust you. Hey, not trusting a cute girl like you would bring some serious bad karma."
The glimmer of a smile flashed across Noriko's face, and Shuya did his best to return it. Even in these dire circumstances, working his muscles into a grin made him feel a little more at ease.
Then he said, "Well, I'm glad that we're together, even if it's only us two."
Noriko nodded and said, "Yeah."
But what were they supposed to do now?
Shuya began repacking his bags. Even if their next move was to stop again to rest and think things out, they needed somewhere with good visibility. He reminded himself that he had no idea what the others were planning, but he knew he had to be careful. He needed to be realistic, even if he hated what that meant.
He kept out the map, compass, and flashlight. The world's worst orienteering meet, he thought.
Shuya asked, "Can you walk some more?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Then let's keep moving a little longer. We'll find a place we can rest."
38 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Mitsuru Numai (Boys #17) carefully advanced from tree to tree, where the woods met the beach, moonlit and narrow, with only a few dozen meters of sand until the water. Over his shoulders, he carried his personal gym bag along with the daypack he'd been given, and in his right hand he clutched a small semi-automatic pistol. (A Walther PPK 9mm, the gun was one of the better weapons issued to participants. Most of the other weapons used in the Program were imported on the cheap, and in high volume, from neutral countries not aligned with either the Republic or the American Empire.) Mitsuru had seen a hobbyist replica version of the Walther and understood how to use it without having to read the included manual. He even knew he didn't need to cock the hammer before firing and had been able to
load the firearm from the supplied box of ammunition.
The weapon felt reassuring in his right hand, but something far more important was in his left: a compass. It was the same cheap, tin model as Shuya had received, but so far, it had done the job. Forty minutes before Mitsuru left the classroom, his personal Great Leader, Kazuo Kiriyama (Boys #6), had handed him a note that read, If this really is an island. I'll be waiting on the southern point.
Of course, in this game, no one is your ally. That's the rules. But the Family—the Kiriyama Family—had a real bond. When others labeled them as thugs, they didn't mind it. It only strengthened their ties.
And Mitsuru Numai and Kiriyama shared an even more special connection. In a way, Mitsuru had made Kazuo Kiriyama who he was today. He was fairly sure about something that Shuya Nanahara and the rest of those typical kids would have no way of knowing: before junior high, Kazuo Kiriyama had been no delinquent.
Mitsuru could remember clearly the day he had met Kazuo Kiriyama. It was a memory so vivid he could never forget it if he tried.
Ever since elementary school, Mitsuru had been a real bruiser, though as the school bully, his rule was not that of a tyrant. To him, born to a family of no real worth and a poor student with no talents to speak of, fighting was the only way he could prove himself. He measured worth in toughness—a standard to which he held himself and never failed.
Naturally, on his first day of junior high, Mitsuru did his best to subdue any would-be competitors ("bitches," to him) coming in from other elementary schools. From what he saw in the kids he met in what amounted to the entertainment district for his town, he didn't have much to worry about. But there might have been some, coming from the other schools, who hadn't heard about him. One king was enough; that was how order was preserved. Of course, he never thought of it in exactly those terms, but he understood how it worked.
Sure enough, among his new class were a few such "bitches." After the entrance ceremony and the subsequent orientation back in the classroom, school was let out, and Mitsuru was finishing up the last of them when it happened.
In the secluded hallway outside the art room, Mitsuru grabbed the kid by the lapels and shoved him against the wall. The boy was already bruised above an eye that brimmed with tears. He'd been no problem at all. Just two punches, and it had been over.
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