Maybe I'd be better off insane.
Then Shuya thought about Yoshitoki Kuninobu. He was saddened by Yoshitoki's death, but maybe the boy had actually been incredibly lucky to have been spared this mad reality—mad, and without hope.
Should we just kill ourselves? Would Noriko agree to a double suicide?
Shuya turned his head and, for the first time, studied Noriko's profile in the soft, burgeoning light.
He noticed her well-shaped eyebrows, the gentle curve of her eyelashes on her closed eyes, and her lovely nose with the rounded tip, her full lips. She was a very cute girl. He thought he understood how Yoshitoki had liked her looks.
But now that face had been smeared with sand, and her hair, hanging just below her shoulders, was in tangles. Then there was that collar. The ugly silver band coiled around her neck like she was a slave in some long ago time.
This bullshit game is spoiling her beauty, Shuya thought, and with that he felt a sudden surge of rage that brought him back to his senses.
I won't let this beat me. I'm going to survive, and I'm going to make these fuckers pay for dumping us into this game. And not just pay. You come at me with a right cross, and I'll smash you with a fucking baseball bat.
Noriko's eyes blinked open, and she met his gaze.
For a while, they stared at each other. Then quietly, Noriko asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing . . . Well, I was thinking ..." Being caught staring into her face had taken him off balance. He blurted the first thing that came to him. "Okay, this might sound weird, but you're not actually thinking of killing yourself, are you?"
Noriko looked down. Her ambiguous expression might have held the hint of a smile. He could see her clearly now; the sun was rising. Then she said, "Of course not. Although ..."
"Although?"
She appeared to think for a moment. Then she continued, "Well, if we were the last two alive, I might want to kill myself. That way, at least you would—"
Taken aback, Shuya shook his head. He shook it hard. He'd just brought up the subject on impulse, never expecting that kind of answer.
"Don't talk that garbage," Shuya said. "Don't even think it. We are in this together until the very end. No matter what. That's final."
Noriko smiled and reached out her hand, touching his. "Thank you."
"Look, we're going to survive this. Don't you even think about dying."
Again, she gave him a little smile. Then she said, "You haven't given up."
He shook his head, putting a little force into it. "Of course not."
With a little tilt of the head, Noriko said, "You know, I've always thought of you as having a positive force about you."
"A positive force?"
She grinned. "I can't explain it very well, but it's like you have this drive toward living. Right now, it's your determination to survive. And," she said, turning her soft smile to him, "that's what I really like about you."
Embarrassed, Shuya replied, "I think that's just me being an idiot."
Then he said, "If we find a way off this island, well, it's not like I have anyone. I mean, I don't have any parents. But you—you have your mother and your father, and your brother. You won't be able to see them. Can you handle that?"
Another smile. "I'd already accepted that—as soon as this started." After a moment, she added, "But what about you? Will you be all right?"
"All right with what?"
"That you won't be able to see her2.1’
Shuya gulped. She knew all about him. She'd said it herself: I've been watching you for so long.
He'd have been lying if he said it didn't hurt. For so long he'd thought of no one but Kazumi Shintani. And now he'd never see her face again.
But he shook his head. "That's—"
He had been about to say that it was just a one-sided crush, just his own delusion, but he was interrupted. The sudden blare of Salamochi's voice resounded all around.
31 STUDENTS REMAIN.
"Good morning, everyone!"
It was Sakamochi's voice. Shuya couldn't tell where the loudspeakers were, but the words came loud and clear, if distorted and metallic. The speakers must have been distributed throughout the island.
"This is your instructor, Sakamochi speaking. It's now six a.m. How are you all doing?"
Shuya grimaced, though only after he'd recovered from being dumbstruck by Sakamochi's cheerful tone.
"All right," Sakamochi said, "I'm now going to announce the names of your dead friends. I'll start with the boys. First, number one, Yoshio Akamatsu."
Shuya thought that Yoshio Akamatsu hadn't been dead when he left. So after that, he wondered, did he try to kill someone else, and then get killed himself? Or—could it be—had he remained lying there, unconscious, until that first forbidden zone activated, and his lovely little collar blew him to bits?
Since Shuya had been the one to knock him out, the idea didn't sit well with him..
But the names of the dead piled into a heap that buried these thoughts.
"Continuing on, number nine, Hiroshi Kuronaga; number ten, Ryuhei Sasagawa; number seventeen, Mitsuru Numai; number twenty-one, Kazuhiko Yamamoto. And, let's see here, the girls. Number three, Megumi Eto; number four, Sakura Ogawa; number five, Izumi Kanai; number fourteen, Mayumi Tendo."
The list of names of course meant that the time limit would be postponed for the near future, but such thoughts were far from Shuya's mind. He felt dizzy. The faces of the classmates whose names had been read formed and vanished in his mind. They were all dead, and for each one, there'd be a killer. Unless, that is, they had committed suicide.
This game is happening. There's no stopping it. Shuya saw in his mind a long funeral procession, a crowd all dressed in black. A man in a black suit with a somber, know-it-all expression said, "Oh, it's Shuya Nanahara and Noriko Nakagawa. That's right, you two haven't gone yet, have you? But look over there, those are your own graves that you just walked past. We already carved in your seat numbers, both fifteen. Don't worry, the carving's free. It's on special."
"That's a good pace," Sakamochi said. "Your teacher is very proud. Right, next up are the forbidden zones. I'll be giving the sectors and times. Take out your maps and follow along."
Still in shock at the number of the dead and still disgusted at Sakamochi's tone, Shuya nonetheless took out his map.
"First, an hour from now. That's seven a.m. From seven, zone J-2.
Get out of sector J-2 by seven a.m. Got that?"
J-2 was located just to the west of the island's southern tip.
"Next, in three hours. From nine, sector F-l."
F-l was on the same western shore as Shuya and Noriko, but much farther to the south.
"Next, in five hours. From eleven, sector H-8."
H 8 included nearly the entire village on the eastern shore.
"That's all for now. Now, I want you all to do your best today!" Sakamochi's broadcast clicked off.
None of the forbidden zones were near the pair's current location. Whether or not the areas were, as Sakamochi had said, selected at random, it seemed Shuya had made the correct choice by not escaping into the village. But this place might be included in the next set.
"He mentioned ..." Noriko said, and Shuya turned to her. "He mentioned Sakura and Yamamoto."
"Yeah." Shuya's voice caught in his throat. "Do you think they killed themselves?"
"I don't know. But I'm sure they were together to the end. Somehow, somewhere, they were able to meet."
Shuya had himself seen Sakura leave Yamamoto a note. But anything after that amounted to nothing more than wishful thinking. They could have been killed in separate places by separate crazed classmates.
Banishing the lingering image of the two lovers' hands touching as the note was passed, Shuya took out the class roster from his pocket. The sheet had been in the daypack along with the map. Though it seemed vulgar, he had to keep track. He took out a pen, intending to strike through the names. But he couldn't do
it. It's just too.. . it's just too . . . Well, it's cruel.
Next to the names, he drew a small checkmark. He did the same next to Yoshitoki Kuninobu's and Fumiyo Fujiyoshi's names. Shuya felt as if he had become that black-suited man in his vision. "Okay, you, and you. And you there. What size coffins are you? If you can make do with a model eight, it's a big seller, so I can give you a steal."
Be that as it may, Shuya noticed that of Kiriyama's four lackeys, three were dead. Hiroshi Kuronaga, Ryuhei Sasagawa, and Mitsuru Numai. The only one left was Sho Tsukioka—kind of a weird kid who went by the nickname "Zuki"—and Kiriyama himself.
Shuya thought back to Numai's smug expression after Kiriyama left the classroom. Shuya had assumed that Kiriyama would surely assemble his gang to escape. But what did their deaths signify? Had they gotten together, only to be possessed by paranoia, turning their meeting place into a battleground? And had Kiriyama and Tsukioka managed to flee? And were Tsukioka and Kiriyama still together? Shuya had no idea; something completely different might have gone down.
And there was that faint noise, sounding like gunfire, that had reached his eardrums. If it had been a gun, had it taken the life of one of those ten kids?
Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound. Noriko's expression had gone visibly tense. Shuya stuffed the pen and paper back into his pocket.
Shuya listened closely. The sound continued—and it was approaching.
Under his breath, he told Noriko, "Quiet."
Shuya gripped his daypack. Thinking they needed to be able to move at any moment, he had gathered up all of his things into the backpack. He'd left some clothes in his gym bag, but those could be left behind. Noriko had done the same with her possessions.
Shuya hoisted the two daypacks over his left shoulder. He lent Noriko his hands to help her stand up, and they crouched side by side.
Shuya withdrew his knife. He held it in a reverse right-hand grip. But then he thought, Sure, I knowhow to use a guitar pick, but will I be any good with this?
The rustling grew louder. How close is it now—within meters?
The anxious impatience he'd felt in front of the school again gripped his mind. He grabbed Noriko by the arm and pulled her back. They stood and backed into the underbrush. Faster! We need to move as fast as we can!
They came out of the bushes that had shielded them and emerged onto a trail. The footpath wound up the mountain's slope. Overhead, treetops sandwiched a ribbon of blue sky.
Shuya shielded Noriko behind him as he retreated several meters up the path. In the bushes, the rustling continued, growing louder, until. . .
Shuya's eyes widened.
A lone white cat popped out from the undergrowth. Filthy, scraggly, and with matted fur, but nevertheless, a cat.
Shuya and Noriko looked at each other. Breaking into a grin, she said, "A cat." Shuya returned her a chagrined smile. As if only just now noticing the two, the cat looked their way.
It stared at them for a while, then pattered up to them.
While Shuya was putting his knife back into its sheath, Noriko crouched down slowly, on account of her injured leg, and offered her hands to the cat. It jumped into her hands and nuzzled her feet. She cupped its front legs and lifted the little animal.
She puckered her lips into a kiss and held them out toward the cat. "You poor thing. You're so skinny."
The cat opened its mouth into a happy meow.
"I wonder if it belonged to someone," Noriko said. "It's so friendly."
"I wonder."
The government had evicted the island's residents to stage this game. (Since each Program operated in secrecy until its conclusion, the locals probably hadn't been given a reason.) Noriko might have been right, and this creature might have been left behind without its owner. No houses were nearby, but could it have wandered all the way up the mountain?
As Shuya thought about this, his eyes drifted from Noriko and the cat. He turned his head.
Then he recoiled.
A mere ten meters down the path, a figure in a school uniform stood as if glued to the spot. He was roughly Shuya's height, with a muscular build that had been forged on the handball court, dark suntanned skin, and short, spiked-up hair. He was Tatsumichi Oki (Boys #3).
31 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Following Shuya's eyes, Noriko turned. In an instant, her expression went tense. Which was he, Shuya wondered, an enemy, or not?
Tatsumichi Oki stood there, staring at them. Shuya sensed his field of vision narrowing in response to the threat—as it did when he rode in a speeding car—but at the periphery of his awareness, he perceived the large hatchet in Tatsumichi's right hand.
Almost without a thought, Shuya reached for the knife in his belt.
That set it off. Tatsumichi's arm jerked—then the next instant, he was charging straight at them.
Shuya shoved Noriko, cat still in arms, into the bushes.
Tatsumichi was already within reach.
Shuya quickly raised the daypacks to catch the hatchet's blow. But the bags split open, spilling their contents to the ground. The blade struck Shuya's bottle, sending water spurting out, and continued through to Shuya's arm. His skin felt ablaze, sizzling.
He discarded the sliced-up bag and jumped back to create some distance. Tatsumichi's expression had turned hard, and his eyes were wide open, the whites forming a full circle around his black pupils.
Shuya was in disbelief. I knowhow things are here—for a second,
I suspected him too, but why? Tatsumichi was always so cheerful and carefree. Why would he do this?
Tatsumichi glanced to the side, where Noriko had fallen into the bushes. Following his eyes, Shuya looked over at Noriko. Her face and lips had frozen under the attacker's gaze. The cat had already bolted into hiding.
Tatsumichi suddenly turned to face Shuya, and the hatchet was swinging sideways.
Shuya jerked the knife free from his belt, taking it in a reverse grip, and met the blow. Unluckily, the weapon hadn't left its leather sheath. Even so, he halted the hatchet's strike with a resounding clang. Its edge stopped five centimeters from his cheek. Shuya could make out the blue ripples on the blade's surface, formed when the steel had been tempered.
Before Tatsumichi could swing again, Shuya dropped his knife and took hold of his opponent's hatchet arm. But Tatsumichi powered through another slash. Though slowed, the hatchet made contact with the side of Shuya's head. Several strands of his long, wavy hair tore loose and fluttered in the air. He felt his earlobe tear open. It didn't hurt much. A blithe and incongruous thought ran through his mind: Well, all kinds of guys get their ears pierced. Shinji did.
Tatsumichi switched the hatchet to his off hand. Before he could ready another swing, Shuya kicked the inside of his leg. Tatusmichi's leg dropped. Yes! Down!
But Tatsumichi didn't drop. He staggered into a half turn, then fell against Shuya, backing him into the undergrowth on the seaward side of the path. Branches snapped all around them.
Shuya kept moving back. Pressed by Tatsumichi's brute force, Shuya practically ran backward. Noriko's face was disappearing into the distance. In this unreal situation, another inappropriate thought entered Shuya's mind, a memory from a Little League practice. Let's hear it for Shuya Nanahara, the backward-running champion!
Suddenly, the ground felt different.
Then Shuya remembered that steep slope down to the field with the tiny shrine.
I'm falling!
The two tangled boys rolled down the bush-covered slope. The clear morning sky and the green foliage spun around and around. But he had both hands around Tatsumichi's wrist, and he didn't let go.
Shuya felt like he had fallen an incredible distance, though it might only have been about ten meters. With a thump, he came to a crashing halt. He was in bright daylight. They had tumbled all the way into the open field.
He was flat underneath Tatsumichi. I have to get up, Shuya thought, before he does!
But instead,
he hesitated. Something didn't feel right. Tatsumichi's full-powered machine press of an arm now lay limp and motionless.
When Shuya looked up from his position under Tatsumichi's chest, he saw what had happened.
Directly above his head, the hatchet was lodged exactly halfway deep into Tatsumichi's face. The half of it outside his face looked like a wafer of chocolate garnishing a Christmas cake. The blade entered through his forehead, split his eyeball cleanly in two (blood and some viscous fluid were pouring out), and its steel glimmered pale blue in the cavity of his gaping mouth.
And while Tatsumichi's hand held the hatchet, Shuya was gripping that wrist. From Tatsumichi's face to Shuya's wrist, a terrible and creepy sensation raced at the speed of light.
As if tracing along the course of that sensation, Tatsumichi's blood oozed all the way down the hatchet to Shuya's hands. With a low yelp, Shuya released the boy's wrist and scrambled out from underneath him. Tatsumichi's body flopped over, face up, his face gruesome in death, soaking in the morning sun.
Shuya gasped for air, his shoulders heaving up and down. Dull waves of nausea came swelling up from the pit of his stomach.
Though the unrivaled horror of Tatsumichi's death visage had certainly had its effect, Shuya was far more distressed by himself. He had killed someone—and not just anyone, but someone who had, until yesterday, been a fellow classmate.
Shuya tried to tell himself it was an accident, but he didn't believe it. After all, during their fall he had done everything he could to deflect the blade from himself—by twisting Tatsumichi's wrist back as hard as he could.
He felt like he was going to puke.
But Shuya swallowed, holding it down. He lifted his head and looked up the slope he'd tumbled down.
Shrubbery covered the slope, blocking his view. He'd left Noriko behind, alone. More than anything else now, he needed to protect her. This was no time to throw up. I have to hurry, he thought, trying to calm himself down. I have to hurry back to her.
Shuya stood. For a moment, he looked down at Tatsumichi's face and the hatchet that had split it in two.
After a brief hesitation, he pried Tatsumichi's fingers from the weapon's handle. No matter what had happened, he couldn't leave Tatsumichi like this. A burial was out of the question, but leaving that hatchet buried in his face would have been too cruel. Shuya couldn't physically bear it.
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