"I'm sorry," Yumiko repeated softly.
"It's all right. We did what... we had to do . . . didn't we, Yumi?"
She could tell from Yumiko's face that her friend was about to cry. She thought her own wounds weren't as severe, but she felt her consciousness rapidly slipping away. Her eyelids were heavy.
"Yukiko?"
Yumiko's voice pulled her back, and she managed to say, "W-what?"
"There's . . . something I couldn't. . . tell you . . . before."
"Hm?"
Yumiko formed a slight grin. "I also . . . had a crush ... on Nanahara."
For a moment, Yukiko didn't understand what her friend was saying. Whether that was because she hadn't expected it, or that her hearing had already started to go, she didn't know.
But eventually the words knocked at the door of Yukiko's heart and stepped inside. Oh, I see now.
As her awareness sank into the mist, a scene replayed in her mind. The two of them had just gone out shopping. They found a pair of earrings, some cheap things on sale for three thousand yen, but absolutely gorgeous. Though the two rarely shared the same tastes, they both wanted them. In the end, they decided they would each pay half and they would both get one of the earrings. It was the first time either of them had bought jewelry. Even now, that earring was tucked away at the back of her desk drawer in her house near the edge of town.
Somehow, Yukiko felt at peace. She found that an odd thing to feel as she was about to die.
"Oh . . " Yukiko said. "You . . . did . . ."
Yumiko faintly smiled again.
Yukiko opened her mouth one last time. Come on, she told herself. You can at least say one more thing, can't you? She wasn't very religious, but if the Halo Church had ever offered her one thing of beauty, it was Yumiko. They had been together since the day they met in that church.
"Yumi. .. I. . . I'm ... so glad we were . .
She had been about to say "friends" when the bang sound came and shook Yumiko's head. A red hole opened in Yumiko's temple, and those now hollow eyes simply pointed at her, seeing nothing. That far-off stare might have been unintentionally appropriate, considering she was on an observation deck.
Yukiko opened her mouth in terror and shock. She heard another bang and felt the impact of a blow to her head. Those were the last things she ever sensed.
Kazuo Kiriyama (Boys #6) was crouched so as not to be seen from outside the platform. He lowered Mitsuru Numai's Walther PPK and picked up the girls' daypacks.
27 STUDENTS REMAIN.
After the two single shots had fired, Shuya and Noriko remained frozen. A hawk cried overhead.
Kawada took a look around, then turned back to them and said, "It's over. Let's go back."
Shuya took Noriko's arm and looked up to the taller boy. His lips trembled. "It's over? There's gotta be a better way to say that."
Kawada shrugged just up to the base of his neck. "You'll have to excuse the way I talk. I don't know that many words. Anyway, I guess you understand now. Some of them are playing. And I'll go ahead and tell you that this isn't something Sakamochi and his boys did just to get us to fight. They don't want to die either, so they won't be leaving that school."
Shuya wanted to respond, but he held himself in check and began walking, supporting Noriko by the arm.
As they walked, Noriko said in a scratchy voice, "It's . . . it's so terrible."
When they reached their original spot, Kawada began packing up his things.
Shuya asked him what he was doing, and he answered, "Get ready. We're going to move three hundred meters. Just in case."
"But you said it's safest not to."
Kawada pursed his lips and shook his head. "You saw what happened. Whoever it was, that bastard is merciless. Even worse, he's got a machine gun. He probably knows where we are. If he does, we're better off moving."
Then he added, "Just a little. We'll move just a little."
27 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Yutaka Seto (Boys #12) was running frantically down the slope, or rather, crawling, since he was on his hands and knees, concealing himself among the bushes. The dry dirt had turned his size-small black school uniform almost completely white. His round, boyish eyes and class-clown face contorted with fear.
After Yutaka had left the school, he hid himself near the top of the northern mountain—in the bushes not fifty meters below where Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano had called out to everyone with their megaphone.
Although he had been at an angle from them, Yutaka had a clear view of the girls. He went back and forth and back and forth, hesitating, deliberating what he would do. He had just decided to come out and answer their call when he heard the two distant gunshots, and the girls turned to look that way—opposite from Yutaka. He reconsidered his move, thinking it would be a good idea to wait things out a little longer. Then not more than ten or twenty seconds later, that typewriter gunfire came, and as the megaphone amplified her cry, Yutaka watched Yumiko Kusaka fall. Right after that, Yukiko Kitano was also shot.
He knew that at that moment, the two girls yet lived. But Yutaka couldn't make himself come out to help them. After all, he was a born joker, never good in a fight. Even worse, his weapon, the one that had been supplied to him, was a single fork—a plain, ordinary fork like you'd use to eat spaghetti. Then, somewhere out of his sight, he heard two more shots, and he knew that the attacker had finished off Yumiko and Yukiko.
That instant, Yutaka scooped up his bag and took off, skidding down the mountainside. Whoever that is, he's coming for me next. I'm sure of it! I'm the next nearest one!
Suddenly he noticed the great clouds of dust he'd stirred up. Oh, no! No, no! This is bad! Worse than a slipper in your soup! Damn it, man. Forget the comedy and focus!
Doing the best he could not to lose his footing, he changed tack and scrambled down the slope on the palms of his hands (well, his right hand, gripping the fork, was more of a fist) and the soles of his shoes. He could feel the skin scraping off his hands, but he didn't care. Shit, I must look hilarious right now. I'm a human water beetle.
After proceeding like this for two or three minutes, Yutaka stopped. Furtively, he looked over his shoulder. The summit, where Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano had died, appeared distant beyond the trees. Nothing moved. Yutaka listened. Nothing made a sound.
Did I make it? Am I safe?
As if answering his unasked question, something dug into his arm.
Fear flooded his mind, and a shriek escaped his lips.
"You fool!" someone hissed. The pressure against his arm lifted, and a warm hand covered his mouth. Too disoriented to understand, he believed the killer had caught him, and in his panic, he swung the fork.
With a clang, the fork hit something and stopped. What happened?
But when nothing else happened, he fearfully opened his eyes.
The figure standing before him wore a school uniform. The boy's body was turned to the side, and he covered his face with a semiautomatic pistol (a Beretta 92F), blocking the fork. He held the gun in his left hand. Judging by their proximity, and that the boy's right hand was over Yutaka's mouth, the fork would have stabbed the boy more than a little deep had he not been left-handed. And he was left-handed. And only one boy in Class B had never had his left-handedness corrected.
"Watch it there, Yutaka."
The boy's hair glistened with whatever styling product he used to keep his bangs up off his face. Beneath it, he had straight, upturned eyebrows. And beneath those, his piercing, but humorous, eyes held Yutaka's gaze. Then there was that earring in his left ear. He was The Third Man, Shinji Mimura (Boys #19)—Yutaka's best friend in class. Shinji grinned and gently removed his hand from Yutaka's mouth. Stupefied, Yutaka slowly lowered the fork.
Then finally, overcome with relief, he shouted, "Shinji! Shinji, it's you!"
"You idiot!" Shinji Mimura whispered, pressing his hand back across Yutaka's mouth. When he let go again, he said, "Over here. Keep quiet and follow me."
Yutaka followed in a daze. Between the bushes and trees, he noticed how the island, which he'd gotten used to viewing from above, had leveled off. In those few short minutes, he'd descended a long way.
Yutaka looked straight ahead, glancing at Shinji's back, when suddenly, a grim hypothesis overwhelmed him, and for a second, his legs froze.
What if Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano's killer was . . . Shinji? What if he followed me here? No, then why hasn't he killed me yet? Well, that's because I think he's my best friend, and he knows it, and if he partners with me, he can, say, use me to keep watch while he sleeps. That way, he'll be more likely to survive. Then, when it's down to the two of us, he'll kill me. Say, that's a great idea! If this were a video game or something, that's totally what I'd do.
Stop it, idiot! What are you thinking?
Yutaka stamped out the thought. Shinji didn't have a machine gun—that's what that noise had been, no doubt about it—and besides, Shinji was Shinji. He was Yutaka's best friend. He would never kill a girl as if she were no more than an insect.
Shinji looked back at him and whispered, "What's wrong? Hurry up."
Yutaka followed after him, still in a daze.
Shinji slowly and cautiously walked ahead. When they had covered about fifty meters, he stopped, pointed down near his feet with his pistol, and said, "Step over this."
Yutaka squinted and saw the thin, inconspicuous thread that had been strung up taut and level.
"What's ..
"It's not a trap or anything," Shinji said from the other side of the string. "If you catch on it, the empty can all the way at the end of it will fall and make noise."
Yutaka's eyes widened as he nodded. Shinji must have been hiding out here, and this was a kind of tripwire alarm. Impressive. The Third Man is more than some big-shot basketball player.
Yutaka stepped over the thread.
About twenty meters further, they reached a thicket, and Shinji stopped and told Yutaka to sit.
Yutaka sat facing Shinji. Realizing he still clutched the fork, he placed the utensil on the ground. Sharp pain suddenly returned to his left palm and the outside of his right hand. His skin had scraped off, particularly on his knuckles, where red flesh lay exposed.
Noticing this, Shinji set down his gun and pulled his daypack out from under a nearby bush. He took out a towel and the bottle of water, moistened an edge of the cloth, and said, "Give me your hands, Yutaka."
Yutaka held out his hands, and Shinji wiped the wounds, taking care not to apply too much force. Then he tore off a couple thin strips from the dry side of the towel and wrapped them around Yutaka's hands.
"Thanks," Yutaka said. Then: "So you've been hiding out here."
With a smile and a nod, Shinji said, "Yeah. I saw you from here— caught a glimpse of you moving through the bushes. You were pretty far off, but I know you when I see you. I took a minor risk and followed your trail."
Yutaka felt a little choked up. Shinji put himself in danger for me.
"Going around carelessly like that," Shinji said, "that's dangerous too, you know."
"Yeah." Yutaka thought he might cry. "Thank you, Shinji."
"I'm glad." Shinji let out a deep breath. "If I'm going to die out here, I at least wanted to see you first."
Now Yutaka really did tear up. But he managed to hold back his tears, and he changed the subject. "Just now ... I was right near Kusaka and Kitano. I—I... I couldn't help them."
"Yeah." Shinji nodded. "I saw it too. That's how I found you. Don't be too hard on yourself. Hell, I heard them, and I didn't do a thing about it."
Yutaka nodded. The scene of Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano's deaths replayed, still vivid in his memory, and he trembled.
27 STUDENTS REMAIN.
By the time Shuya's group had moved about a hundred meters to the southwest, and Kawada had finished running the wire through the undergrowth, it was already past nine in the morning. The sun was high in the sky, and the verdant smells of May were in the air. The sea, when they caught glimpses of it through the tress as they moved, shimmered a brilliant blue, dotted with the scattered islands of the Seto Inland Sea. It would have been the perfect setting, if they were only hiking.
But they weren't. All passing boats steered far clear of the island, appearing as mere points in the distance. The only one close by was the gray guard ship in charge of the western shore. It too was quite far off—though close enough to make out the machine gun mounted atop its prow.
Now that he'd finished setting the wire, Kawada let out a deep breath and sat in front of Shuya and Noriko. He returned the shotgun to rest atop his legs.
After neither of the two said anything, Kawada asked, "What's wrong, you two?"
Shuya looked up at Kawada. He thought for a moment, then said, "Why do you think they did that?"
Kawada lifted his eyebrows. "Kusaka and Kitano, you mean?"
Shuya nodded. He hesitated, then said, "Didn't they know what would happen? At the very least, they must have expected the possibility. According to the rules of the game . . ." He let out a sigh. "We're supposed to kill each other."
Kawada withdrew a cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit it with his hundred-yen lighter. "They seemed very close. Weren't they part of some religious group together?"
Shuya nodded. They had been two entirely average girls but had always kept a certain distance from Noriko and Yukie Utsumi's group of mainstreamers. He thought their religion might have been why.
"Yeah," Shuya said, "the Halo Church or something—some Shinto sect, I think. Their church is south of the highway, along the Yodo River."
"Maybe that had something to do with it." Kawada exhaled smoke. " 'Love thy neighbor.'"
"No, that's not it," Noriko said. "Neither of them seemed passionate about their faith. Especially Yumiko—she made that very clear. She told me it was just a social thing."
Kawada mumbled, "I see," then his eyes dropped. He continued, "The good people aren't always the ones who get saved. The same goes for everywhere, not just here. It's the capable ones who make it. But I respect those who preserve their conscience even through rejection and failure."
He stared at Shuya and Noriko. "Those two decided to believe in their classmates. They must have thought that if they could gather everyone together, they'd have a chance to save everyone. They should be commended. They did what we were unable to do."
Shuya let out a breath and said, "I agree."
After a while, Shuya again looked up at Kawada and said, "I don't think you're our enemy after all. So I'm going to believe in you."
"Me too," Noriko said. "I can't imagine you as a bad person."
Kawada shook his head and grinned. "At the very least, I'm no good at lying to girls."
Shuya flashed him a grin. "So won't you tell us? I mean, if you don't want to share your escape plan, that's all right. Just tell us why. Do you think we'll let it slip in front of one of our classmates, and then something will go wrong? Is it because we can't trust the others? Or at least, you think we can't trust them?"
"Hey, don't ask me so many questions all at once. I'm not smart enough to handle more than one at a time."
"Liar."
The cigarette in his mouth, Kawada rested his elbows on his legs, cupped his chin, and looked to the side. When he turned back, he said, "Nanahara, the reason I can't tell you is just what you said. I don't want the others to know my plan. And even if you two never tell, I don't want the others even sensing that you know it. So I can't tell you."
Shuya thought about that a little while, then exchanged glances with Noriko. He gave Kawada a nod. "Okay then, I understand. We're going to trust you. But..."
"Something still bothering you?"
"It's just that, any way you think about it, there's no possible way. So I'm really..."
"Curious, is that it?"
Shuya nodded.
Kawada let out a deep breath and rubbed his cigarette on the ground. He ran his hand through hi
s short hair.
"Everything has a hole," he said. "Well, most everything."
"A hole?"
"Yeah, a weak spot. I'm going after that weak spot."
Shuya narrowed his eyes in confusion.
Kawada continued, "I know this game a lot better than any of you." Noriko asked, "How so?"
"Don't stare those pretty round eyes at me. I'm likely to get shy. ” She gaped at him, then formed a slight smile. "How?" she repeated-Kawada brushed his hair again while the two waited.
Finally, he spoke.
"Do you know what happens to the survivor of this game?"
Shuya and Noriko looked at each other. They both shook their heads. Each Program had only one survivor. Whoever made it through this absurd game was shoved in front of news cameras, with the rifles of Nonaggressive Forces soldiers pointed at their backs. ("Smile. Smile nice for the cameras.") But whatever happened to the survivor after that remained a mystery.
Kawada watched Shuya's and Noriko's faces as he continued, "They're forced to transfer to a school in a different prefecture. They're told never to speak of the game and to lead a normal life. That's it."
Shuya felt suddenly heavy, and his face stiffened. He stared intently at Kawada's face, and realized that Noriko was holding her breath.
Kawada said, "I used to be in Ninth Grade Class C of Kobe Second Junior High in Hyogo Prefecture. I'm the survivor of last year's Hyogo Program."
27 STUDENTS REMAIN
Softening his expression, Kawada continued, "I got the Leader's autograph too. Isn't that swell? His handwriting looks straight out of a nursery school—though I don't remember it all that well, since I tossed the thing on burnable trash day."
In sharp contrast to Kawada's lighthearted tone, Shuya didn't even breathe. Sure, the Program could come to any ninth grader. But to the same person, two years in a row? Not only would that require being held back a year, getting chosen for the Program was as likely as winning the lottery. But everything fit: Kawada's familiarity with the game, his noticing the knockout gas on the bus, and all those scars on his body. If what Kawada was saying were true, it was outrageous!
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