With shaking hands, she flipped open the phone.
The device switched automatically from standby to dial mode, and the dial pad and tiny LCD screen sprang to life with a dim green light. In the glow, Megumi could see her own legs and skirt, and her bags too. But more importantly, there, on that screen, was that unmistakable icon, the antenna and bars. A signal!
"Please, God," Megumi whispered.
Impatiently, she pressed the numbers for her home in Shiroiwa. Zero, 8, 7, 9, 2 . . .
She pressed the phone to her ear. Silence. Then, ringing. Hope swelled up in her chest.
One ring. Two. Three. Hurry, answer. Mom, Dad, I don't care which. I know it's the middle of the night, but you know your daughter's in trouble. Hurry.
The receiver clicked to life, then the voice came. "Hello."
"Oh, Dad!"
Still cramped in the confines of the kitchen table, Megumi closed her eyes. She felt like she might go mad from relief. I'm saved, I'm saved!
"Dad!" Delirious, she shouted into the phone. "It's me. Megumi. Oh, Dad! Save me. Dad, come save me!"
But when there was no response, she regained her senses. Something is . . . wrong. What. . . Why isn't Dad.. . Wait, what's going on ?
Finally, the man on the phone spoke. "I'm not your dad, Eto. This is Sakamochi. Didn't I tell you that phones wouldn't work?"
With a yelp, she dropped the phone, then clawed for it on the ground, mashing the button to end the call.
Her heart pounded, and despair crushed her chest once more. It didn't work. Of course it didn't. I'm going to . . . die here. I'm going to die.
But the hammering of her heart was about to be sent leaping to a whole new level.
She heard the sound of breaking glass.
Her head jerked to face the noise's direction. The living room.
She'd checked it earlier to make sure everything was locked. Someone's here! Why? Of all these houses, why this one?
Hurriedly, she snapped shut the faintly glowing phone and stuffed it into her pocket. From atop her daypack, she drew her weapon—a double-edged diving knife—from its plastic sheath and gripped it tightly.
I have to run, quick as I can.
But her body remained frozen. All she could do was quiet her breathing. Please, please God, make sure they can't hear my heartbeat.
Megumi heard a window open, then close, and then the sound of cautious, quiet footsteps.
The footsteps seemed to wind their way through the house, until finally approaching right outside the kitchen where Megumi hid. Her heart pounded louder and louder.
A flashlight's thin beam pierced into the room. The light glided above the kitchen counter and the teakettle and pots.
The intruder sighed and said, "Good, no one's here."
The footsteps entered the kitchen, but Megumi had already been stricken with panic at the sound of the girl's voice. Gone now, smashed to pieces, was any hope that the intruder was one of her good friends and that she could talk her way out. The voice belonged to none other than Mitsuko Souma (Girls #11). The worst girl in the entire school, Mitsuko wore a lovely, angelic face but could make teachers wither under a single glance.
Even with all the rumors that surrounded Kazuo Kiriyama and Shogo Kawada, Megumi was most afraid of Mitsuko Souma. Maybe it was because Mitsuko was also a girl, or maybe it was because one of the girls in Mitsuko's clique, Hirono Shimizu, had picked on her when they became classmates at the start of eighth grade, tripping her as she walked past in the hall and ripping her skirt with a box cutter. Hirono had since lost interest in her—though Megumi had still been sad to learn that the same class would carry over to ninth grade— and Mitsuko herself had never bullied her. Nevertheless, Mitsuko was someone not even Hirono could defy.
Someone like Mitsuko Souma, Megumi thought, would enjoy killing me off.
Megumi's body began trembling again. No, of all things. Stop. Don't shake. If she hears. . . She squeezed her arms tightly around herself, striving to subdue her shaking.
From underneath the table, Megumi could see Mitsuko's hand holding the flashlight and an illuminated band of skirt near the girl's waist. Then Megumi heard the sound of Mitsuko rummaging through the drawers below the sink.
Hurry up. Please, just hurry up and leave. At least get out of this room. Wait, that's it. I could run for the bathroom. I can lock the door from the inside and escape through the window. Just please, leave the kitchen so I can—
Ririririri-ring! The sudden electronic chirp sent Megumi's heart leaping nearly to her throat.
She thought she saw Mitsuko Souma jump too. Immediately, Mitsuko's flashlight went dark and with it her skirt. Megumi sensed the girl retreating to the corner of the room.
When she realized the ringing was coming from her pocket, Megumi frantically took out her phone. Her mind went blank and she reflexively flipped open the phone and jabbed randomly at the buttons.
"Ah, this is Sakamochi," said the voice on the phone. "Listen, Eto, I wanted to add that you'd better turn it off. The phone, I mean. If I were to call you, it would give your position away to everyone, wouldn't it? Right? So you should—"
Megumi's fingers found the end call button, cutting off Sakamochi.
Silence, suffocating, continued for a while. Then came Mitsuko's voice.
"Megumi? Is that you, Megumi? Are you there?"
Mitsuko seemed to be in the corner of the dark kitchen. Megumi quietly placed her cell phone on the floor and clutched her knife. Her hand shook even more, and the weapon seemed a fish trying to wiggle free from her grasp. But tightly, tightly, she gripped it.
Mitsuko was taller than Megumi, but she couldn't have been that much stronger. Whatever her weapon was . . .
What if it's a gun ? No, if she had a gun, she'd be firing in my direction. And if it's not a gun, then . . . I have a chance. I have to kill her. If I don't kill her, she'll kill me.
If I don't kill her. . .
With a click, the flashlight's beam reappeared. The light shot in beneath the table, blinding Megumi for a moment. Now! Stand up! Stick my knife at that light!
But something unexpected interrupted her thoughts.
The beam of light fell low, and into it Mitsuko sank, dropping to the floor, gazing at her, crying.
From trembling lips, Mitsuko breathed out the words, "Thank goodness." She was sobbing. "I—I. . . was so scared."
She extended her arms toward Megumi, as if reaching out for salvation. She wasn't holding a weapon,- her hands were empty.
She said the rest in one breath. "It's you, it's you, I don't need to worry, right, you wouldn't kill me, you'd never do a thing like that, and you'll stay with me, won't you?"
Megumi was stunned. Mitsuko Souma—that Mitsuko Souma—is crying. She wants my help. Oh . . .
Her tremors melting away, Megumi felt welling up inside of her a lump of emotion that was hard to describe.
So that's it. Ah, that's how it is. No matter what names people called her, no matter what the rumors, Mitsuko is just another ninth grade girl like me. How could she ever do something so terrible as kill her own classmates? The girl was all alone, frightened out of her mind.
But—how could I? I thought it, didn't I? I thought to kill her.
I'm .. . I'm an awful person.
Emotions filled her, both self-disgust and, at the same time, relief at having someone with her, at not having to be alone anymore. Teardrops began to fall from her eyes.
The knife tumbled from Megumi's fingers. She crawled out from beneath the table and took Mitsuko's outstretched hands. As if a dam had burst inside her, the words spilled out, passionate. "Mitsuko! Mitsuko!"
She felt herself trembling again, but because of a different emotion now. But what does that matter when I. . . when I. . .
"There, there," Megumi said. "It's all right. I'm here now. I'm with you. We're together now."
"Yes. Yes," Mitsuko said, scrunching up her tear-streaked face. She squeezed Megumi's hands in return. "Yes
. Yes." She nodded.
There, on the kitchen floor, Megumi embraced her. She could feel Mitsuko's warmth, and as the girl's helplessly trembling body pressed against her chest, her feelings of guilt redoubled.
I thought terrible things. So terrible... I was going to kill her.
"Hey." The words came unbidden from Megumi's lips. "I. . . I. .." "What?" Mitsuko looked up at her with tear-filled eyes.
Megumi pressed her lips tight to stifle her own sobs and shook her head. "I'm so ashamed of myself. For a moment there, I was going to kill you. I thought I'd kill you. I was so scared."
Mitsuko's eyes flickered wide, but she didn't become angry. With her tears still running down her cheeks, she simply bobbed her head.
Then, with a grin, she said, "It's okay. It's okay, really. Don't be upset. It's not a big deal. It's natural, in a screwed-up situation like this. Don't be upset. Okay? Just stay with me. Please."
Mitsuko lifted her hand and gently held the back of Megumi's head, then leaned in until they were touching, cheek-to-cheek. Mitsuko's tears ran down Megumi's face.
Oh, Megumi thought, I was wrong about everything. To think, Mitsuko Souma has been so kindhearted all along. Here I was going to kill her, and she forgave me with two little words: "It's okay. "Isn't that what Mr. Hayashida, though he's dead now, always said? Never judge people by rumors. Only people with ugly hearts do that.
Again she felt emotions welling up inside her chest. She held Mitsuko tight. That was all she could do for now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was an ugly person. I really—
She heard a sound—slkkk— like a lemon being sliced.
It was a very pleasing sound, right out of a TV cooking show; a sound only the best, newest knife and the freshest fruit could provide. Today, viewers, we'll be making salmon with a lemon marinade.
It took a good two or three seconds before Megumi realized what had happened.
Just beneath her chin and to the left, she saw Mitsuko's right hand and the blade that extended out from it in a gentle curve, like the shape of a banana, casting the dull reflection of the flashlight's beam.
A sickle. Like for reaping rice. And the end of it... in my throat.
Her left hand still cupping the back of Megumi's head, Mitsuko drove the sickle deeper with another slkkk.
Megumi's throat felt fiercely hot, but it didn't last long. Unable to speak, she could only feel the incredible warmth on her chest as the blood streamed down, and then she didn't feel anything. She was gone before she could place any meaning to the blade inside her throat. Without a final thought of her family, or even Shuya Nanahara, Megumi died in Mitsuko's arms.
When Mitsuko let go, Megumi's body crumpled sideways to the floor.
Mitsuko didn't hesitate before switching off her flashlight and standing up. Annoyed by her tears, she wiped them away. (Mitsuko could cry at a moment's notice—that was one of her many special talents.) She held the sickle up to the moonlight that trickled in from the window and wiped the blood from the blade. The falling blood drops splattered softly as they hit the ground.
Not bad, for a start, Mitsuko thought. She'd intended to look for something easier to wield, a kitchen knife, perhaps, but this sickle wasn't as bad as she'd expected. She'd just been a little too careless inside that house, not knowing if someone else was there or not. The next time, she'd be more cautious.
She looked down at Megumi's corpse and murmured, "Sorry about that. I was going to kill you too."
31 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Part Two
The Middle Game
31 STUDENTS REMAIN.
The first night broke into dawn.
Shuya Nanahara looked up through the trees and watched the blue sky gradually take on white. Leaves and branches—of evergreen oaks, camellias, and some cherry trees and others Shuya couldn't identify— wove an intricate net concealing where he and Noriko hid.
Shuya had checked his map, which confirmed the island's rounded diamond shape and indicated two mountains, one to the north and one to the south. Shuya and Noriko were near the foot of the northern mountain's western slopes, and just a little south relative to its peak— zone C-4, according to the coordinate grid. The exceptionally detailed map included not only the topographic contour lines, but also each house in the village and around the island (these were marked with light blue dots), various buildings (only a few earned the commonly recognizable icons—a medical clinic, a volunteer fire station, a lighthouse—while the rest were places like the community center, the fisherman's co-op, and the like), and streets big and small. Between the lay of the land, the roads, and the occasional scattered house, Shuya had been able to find his bearings.
Moreover, while he was fairly high up on the mountain during the night, he had double-checked that the map was indeed a faithful representation of the island. The silhouettes of islands of many sizes dotted the dark black sea—and, as Sakamochi had said, the outline of a guard ship (due west) stationed with its lights off.
Directly to Shuya and Noriko's west, the thicket terminated at a steep slope. A small field opened below, beyond which the downslope continued toward the sea. Passing through the field during the night, they had found a building, almost a shack, which had been built off the ground. Shuya had noticed the weathered wooden torii gate ten meters away and figured it to be a small, very small, Shinto shrine. (The map confirmed this.) The front door stood open, and no one was inside.
But, as he had done with the other houses they'd come across on the way, he decided not to hide inside the little shrine. One of the others might have the same thought, and with only one entrance, if someone were to notice them, they'd be trapped.
When it was time to rest, Shuya found a place, relatively near the ocean, where the undergrowth parted with just enough space for both of them to lie down. Higher up the mountain, the greenery would have been thicker, but he had the feeling that many of the others would end up converging there. And if the two encountered someone who turned out to be an enemy, and they had to run, he figured it would be better to do so on more level ground—especially with Noriko's wounded leg.
Shuya was sitting against a tree about ten centimeters wide. Noriko was just to his left, also leaning against a tree, with her injured right leg stretched out in front of her. They had pushed themselves through exhaustion, and Noriko had closed her eyes.
Even after lengthy discussions over what they should do next, they hadn't come up with much.
His first thought was to find a boat to escape the island. But he quickly realized that would have been pointless. The guard ships were at sea, but more than that. . .
Shuya touched his hand to the collar around his neck and felt its cold surface. He'd gotten used to the feel of it against his skin, but the weight of it remained, an embodiment of the senseless fate that bound them.
That was right, the collars.
A specific signal transmitted by the computers inside the school would trigger the bomb inside the collar to explode. When Sakamochi had explained the rules, he said it would happen if any of them entered a forbidden zone, but nothing prevented the same from happening to students who attempted a seaward escape. Those guard ships weren't even necessary. Even if Shuya managed to find a boat, escape would be utterly impossible unless he could do something about their collars.
Then it followed that their only move was to attack Sakamochi at the school and disable their collar locks. But the school, in zone G-7, had been designated a forbidden zone directly after the game's beginning. Even if they could approach it, they were being tracked anyway.
Shuya was turning this over in his mind when he noticed the world around him had become bright. Moving about in the daylight would be dangerous. We just have to wait it out until the next nightfall.
But that thought led to another problem: the time limit. Twenty-four hours without a single death, Sakamochi had said. The death Shuya witnessed as he left the school had been more than three hours earlier. If the day passed with no more killings,
they all would die in a little more than twenty hours. Waiting until night to prepare an escape could be too late. Ironically, each classmate's death bought the others more time to live—but Shuya didn't want to think about that.
For now, damned if he did, damned if he didn't. They were all damned.
Shuya kept hoping he could somehow meet up with Shinji Mimura. A guy with Shinji's extensive knowledge, and the boundless wisdom to use it, would surely be able to find a way through this situation.
He also kept on regretting, despite the risk, that he hadn't waited for Shinji after Yoshio Akamatsu's attack. Did I really do the right thing? Had there really been any chance that some "enemy" would strike? Hadn't Akamatsu only been an exception?
No ... I can't be sure of that. There might still be trouble yet. I can't even tell who the bad guys are. Who's thinking straight, and who isn't anymore? But. . .in this game, maybe we're the ones who've lost our senses. Are we the crazy ones?
Shuya felt like he was losing his mind.
All that's left—for now—is to wait here a little while longer and see what happens. Maybe I'll think of something. If I don't, then we wait until night and find Shinji. But can we find him? Sure, this is a small island, only six kilometers around, but finding someone here won't be easy. And once night comes, how long will we have until it's game over?
Even in the—I hate to think it—one-in-a-million chance I find Shinji, or if Noriko and I escape on our own, we'll only be criminals. Unless we defect to some other country, we spend our whole lives on the run. And then, one day, some agent of the government guns us down in a deserted alley. A bloated rat comes out to nibble at my fingers.
Battle Royale (Remastered) Page 10