She felt him instinctively close his eyes. He must have realized what she was about to do.
It was futile. Takako's right thumb and middle finger split through his clenched eyelids and plunged into his sockets.
"Aiiieeeeeeee!"
Kazushi screamed. He got up on his hands and knees, released his nunchucks, and tore at her arms. He thrashed around, trying to shake her off his back.
Wrapped tightly around him, Takako didn't let go. She pushed her fingers deeper. Her fingers sunk down to their second joints. Suddenly, she felt something jolt her fingers and realized his eyeballs had popped. If anything about all of this came as a bit of a surprise to her, it was that the human eye socket was smaller than she'd expected. Unfazed, she curled her fingers inward. His blood, along with some viscous semitransparent liquid, made for a peculiar form of tears as they oozed from his eye holes.
Kazushi howled, rising to his feet, flailing his arms. He scratched at Takako's hand and pulled her hair.
Takako sprang free, tearing off several strands of her hair—or even a bundle—in Kazushi's grasp. No use worrying about that now.
She hunted for her ice pick and found it quickly. She picked it up.
Kazushi roared and thrashed his arms as if fighting an invisible foe (which, in fact, he was). Then he fell back on his ass with a thud. His eyes were wide open, but pure red, from his eyelids in, like those of an albino monkey.
Dragging her right leg behind her, Takako approached him. Then she lifted that injured leg and stomped it down onto his unguarded groin. Her white sneaker with purple stripes (she also used them for warming up at track practice) had already been soaked red with her own blood. She felt something squish beneath her shoe, like a flattened little animal. Kazushi moaned, moved his hands down to cover his crotch, and curled into a fetal position. Now she stepped on his throat with her good leg. She put her weight on it. Kazushi reached out with both hands, thrashing at her leg, trying to push it away, feebly punching and clawing at it.
"Hei ..." Kazushi wheezed. With his throat crushed, the utterance came out like a draft of air through a door crack. "Help me ..."
Fat chance, Takako thought. She realized her lips had twisted into a smile. I'm not even angry this time. I'm enjoying this. I really am. Well so what? I never claimed to be Pope John Paul the Second or the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, so what's the problem?
She gripped the ice pick with both hands, knelt, and thrust it inside his mouth (she noticed he had a few fillings). Kazushi's arms, struggling to pry off her leg, suddenly jerked, and then went still. Takako pushed the ice pick deeper. It plunged wetly into his throat with little resistance. From his chest to his toes, Kazushi convulsed like a backstroke swimmer doing an underwater dolphin kick. Then it stopped. His albino eyes remained open, surrounded by a spiderweb pattern drawn in the sticky poured-out paint of his blood.
With a sudden surge of pain in her right leg, Takako collapsed on her back beside his head. Her breath wheezed between her teeth, like it did after she ran time trials for the two-hundred-meter dash.
She had won.
But she also felt let down—the fight might not have lasted but thirty seconds. She reminded herself that she wouldn't have been able to beat him had the battle been prolonged. In any case she'd won. That's what mattered.
Holding on to her blood-soaked leg, she looked down at Kazushi's corpse, with the ice pick coming up out of his throat like it was in some sideshow magic act. Witness, ladies and gentlemen, as I bring up what I just swallowed.
"Takako," said a voice from behind.
Still seated, Takako looked over her shoulder as she reached for the ice pick, plucked it from his mouth, and readied her grip. (When she did this, Kazushi's head lifted from the ground before flopping back down.)
Mitsuko Souma (Girls #11) was looking down at her.
Takako's eyes jumped to Mitsuko's hand, where delicate fingers held a large pistol.
Takako didn't know Mitsuko's intentions. But if she, like Kazushi Niida, was playing the game (and the odds of that were high—this was, after all, the Mitsuko Souma), Takako didn't stand a chance—not against someone with a gun.
I have to run. I should run. Takako pulled in her injured leg and began to stand up.
Her voice oh-so-kind, Mitsuko asked, "Are you okay?" She held the gun pointed away from Takako. But Takako needed to remain cautious.
Takako scooted back, then put her hand on the trunk of a nearby tree and managed to get to her feet. Her right leg was rapidly growing heavier.
She answered, "I guess."
Mitsuko studied Kazushi's corpse, then glanced at the ice pick in Takako's hand. "You killed him with just that? Wow. As another girl, I'm impressed."
She spoke with heartfelt admiration. She seemed ebullient, even. Her eyes twinkled from that lovely, angelic face.
Again Takako replied, "I guess." Having lost a substantial amount of blood from her leg, she felt woozy.
"Say," Mitsuko said, "I noticed something a while ago. You're the only girl who never sucks up to me."
Still unable to get a read on the girl's intentions, Takako stared at her. (The two girls vying for first and second place as the most beautiful in Shiroiwa Junior High stared each other down. It was just them, their jewelry, and a boy's corpse with crushed eyeballs. My, how lovely.)
Mitsuko was right. Takako would've rather died than be a toady. When she talked to Mitsuko, she was never timid like the other girls. She was too proud for that, and besides, she wasn't afraid of Mitsuko.
Then she recalled something an older teammate she'd had a crush on once (actually, until only a few months ago) liked to say. This wasn't like her faint and indistinct feelings for Hiroki Sugimura; she was in love with this boy. He even said it that time he showed up before one of their meets in rough shape, his friend having gotten him into some fight: "Don't fear a thing. There's nothing to be afraid of."
He was charming, and he didn't suck up to anyone. Takako had had her eye on him ever since she entered junior high. Much of her current style could be traced back to his influence. But he had had a girlfriend—a beautiful girl, a little like Sakura Ogawa, with this serenity like a lake nestled deep within a forest. But that was all in the past now.
Then she thought, If something made me remember this now, and not when I was fighting Kazushi, does that mean . . . I'm afraid of Mitsuko?
"It's been a little frustrating," Mitsuko was saying. "You were so pretty. You were a better girl than me."
Takako didn't say anything. Something felt off, and she quickly realized what it was. Is she speaking in the past tense?
"But..." Mitsuko's eyes twinkled playfully. She switched back to present tense for the rest. "I really like girls like you. Maybe I'm a little bi." She laughed. "That's why this is such . . ."
Takako's eyes widened. She spun around and took off running. Her right leg dragged a little, but it was a respectable sprint for the track team's ace runner.
"That's why this is such ..."
Mitsuko raised her Colt Ml911. Three times she squeezed the trigger. Deep within the grove, already twenty meters down the gentle slope and rapidly distancing, the back of Takako's sailor fuku opened in three places, and Takako dove forward like a baseball player sliding headfirst into base. Facedown, she slid along the ground. Her skirt flapped against her well-formed legs, the left one white and the right one red in vivid contrast, as they shot up into the air then fell right back to the earth.
Mitsuko lowered her gun and said, "Such a shame."
24 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Noriko's breathing was becoming ever more ragged. Kawada's cold medicine hadn't produced any apparent effect. Though hardly any time had passed—Shuya's watch read nearly two in the afternoon— her cheeks seemed sunken in. Shuya used up one of his water bottles to moisten Noriko's handkerchief, then wiped her sweaty face with it and placed the cloth back on her forehead. She kept her eyes closed, but nodded as if to thank him.
Shuya looked at
Kawada, who was still sitting cross-legged at the base of a tree, smoking. The boy's right hand rested near the grip of the Remington shotgun on his lap.
"Kawada."
"What?"
"Let's go."
Kawada raised his eyebrows and exhaled smoke. "Where?"
Shuya's lips tightened. "Come on, I can't take this anymore." He gestured to Noriko with his chin. "She's getting bad."
Kawada glanced at Noriko, who was still lying down with her eyes closed. "If it's sepsis ..." He paused. "Keeping her warm and letting her rest won't make her better."
"That's my point." Somehow managing to fight down his impatience, he continued, 11 There's a symbol for some kind of clinic on the map. If we can get there, we should be able to find some better medicine, right? It's a good ways north of the little town, and it's not in any of the forbidden zones yet."
"Oh, yeah. I guess I did see that." Kawada let out a languid trail of smoke from the side of his mouth. "You might be right."
Shuya repeated, "Let's go."
Kawada tilted his head, then took another drag and rubbed the cigarette into the ground. "That clinic is a kilometer and a half away. It'll be dangerous to move now. We wait until dark."
Shuya gritted his teeth. "If we wait until dark, and it ends up in one of the forbidden zones, what then?"
Kawada didn't reply.
"Hey," Shuya said. Whether out of frustration or the fear of alienating Kawada, his voice became a little shaky. But he had to go on. "I'm not saying that I think you're going to kill us. But are you that set against taking any risks? Does anything matter to you besides yourself?"
Shuya stared him down. Kawada's expression remained calm.
Noriko's voice came from behind. "Shuya ..."
He looked over his shoulder.
Noriko turned her head to the side to face Shuya. The handkerchief slid off her forehead and fell on the ground.
Her words broken between pained breaths, she said, "Don't. Without Kawada ... we won't survive anyway."
"Noriko." Shuya shook his head. "Don't you see? You're losing your strength. What happens if it gets too late for you by the time he can get us off this island?"
Then to Kawada, he said, "If you won't come, I'll take Noriko myself. Our deal is off. You're on your own."
Without bothering to hear a response, he began packing up his and Noriko's bags.
"Wait," Kawada said. Slowly he stood, then walked over to Noriko and took the pulse from her left wrist. While Shuya had remained at her side, Kawada had repeated this once every twenty minutes or so.
Kawada rubbed his stubbled chin and said, "You wouldn't begin to know which medicine to use."
Then he turned his head to Shuya and said, "Fine, then. I'm coming with you."
24 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Despite the more than thirty minutes that had passed since three bullets had been shot into her back, and despite the large amount of blood she'd lost from those wounds and the one from Kazushi Niida's crossbow, Takako Chigusa still lived. Mitsuko Souma had long since gone, though Takako was in no position to be aware of that.
Half unconscious, Takako dreamed. Her family—her father and mother and her sister, two years younger, waved at her from the front gate of their house.
She saw that her sister, Ayako, was crying, saying, "Goodbye, Sis, Goodbye." Her handsome father, whose looks she'd largely inherited, and her mother, whose round face more resembled that of her sister, were both silent, wearing sad expressions. Beside the three, her dog, Hanako, hung her head and wagged her tail. Ever since she had been a young girl, Takako had taken care of that clever dog.
Damn, Takako thought in her dream, what a waste. I've only lived fifteen years. Hey Ayako, take care of Mom and Dad, okay? I know you're used to everyone looking after you, but you have to be strong like your sister now.
What a waste, for real. I never even had an actual boyfriend.
The scene changed, and she saw the slender figure of Kahoru
Kitazawa, her best friend for seven years now and the only girl to whom she'd been able to vent.
And you, Kahoru. I guess this is goodbye. Wasn't it you who told me once that as long as you give it your all, not even hell would scare you? You were right, it doesn't scare me. And yet. . . it's still kind of hard, dying alone like this.
Kahom seemed to be shouting something. Takako couldn't hear what she was saying, but it sounded something like, "What about him?"
Him?
The scene changed, and she was in her track team's locker room. She knew this was the summer of eighth grade. The room had been torn down that fall, replaced by a new clubhouse.
This isn't a dream. This really happened. This . . .
An older teammate was there. He had short hair, spiked up in the front, and wore a white T-shirt with the words fuck off! across the chest and green track shorts with a black stripe. He had mischievous, yet kind, eyes. He was that older teammate. He was good at hurdling. Now he concentrated on taping up a knee he'd injured a while before. They were alone in the room.
"Hey, hey," Takako said, "your girlfriend is beautiful. I think you two make a great couple."
When I'm talking to him, even I turn into such a typical girl. How lame.
"Yeah?" He looked up at her and grinned. "You're way prettier."
Takako smiled back at him, but her feelings were mixed. She was happy hearing him compliment her looks for the first time, but to her mind, the way he had so casually said that she was prettier spoke to the strength and commitment he shared with his girlfriend.
Still smiling, he asked, "Are you seeing anyone, Chigusa?"
The scene changed again.
She was in a park. Her perspective seemed quite low.
Oh, this must be when I was a child. Second or third grade, maybe?
Hiroki Sugimura was crying in front of her. He wasn't tall like he was now—rather, Takako was taller. Some bully had taken his brand-new comic book.
"Hey, boys shouldn't cry. It's pathetic. You need to be stronger. Look, come with me. Our dog just had puppies. Wanna see?"
"Okay." Hiroki wiped his tears and came along.
Now that she thought about it, Hiroki had started martial arts school the next year. Around that time, he started getting tall, eventually surpassing her.
Until the end of elementary school, they often went over to each other's houses. One time, when Takako was feeling low, he said, "What's wrong, Takako? What happened?"
Takako thought about it, then said, "Hey, what would you do if someone told you they liked you?"
"Hmm. No one ever has, so I don't know."
"Hey, is there anyone you like?"
"Hmm. No. Not right now."
Takako thought a little longer. What about me? Nothing?
Well, whatever. "Huh. You should find someone to like and tell them."
"I'm too chicken. I don't think I could."
The scene changed again. It was the first day of eighth grade, and she and Hiroki had just been put in the same class. They were talking, when at some point, he said, "I heard one of the older guys in your club is pretty cool."
He implied the question: And you like him, right?
"Where'd you hear that?" she asked.
"Just somewhere. Do you think you have a chance?"
"Not at all. He has a girlfriend. What about you? Are you still single?"
"Whatever. Leave me alone."
We always remained at arm's length. I think we both liked each other, a little ... or am I just full of myself? I know I liked you a little. Liking my teammate was something different. I hope you can understand.
Hiroki's face appeared as she knew it now. He was crying.
"Takako, don't die."
Hey, come on now, that's not very manly. Don't cry. You might be a lot bigger now, but you haven't progressed at all.
Is God just messing with me now? She stirred herself awake and opened her clouded eyes.
In the soft afternoon light, Hir
oki Sugimura was looking down at her. Beyond him, and in between the treetop leaves, the fragmented blue sky made intricate Rorschach patterns.
Her first thought was that Hiroki wasn't crying. The disbelief came next.
"How—" Pushing the words through her lips was like trying to force open a rusted door. She realized she didn't have long to live. "— did you get here?"
All he said was, "It wasn't any trouble." He seemed to be kneeling next to her, cradling her head. She remembered falling facedown, but she was on her back now. Her right hand could feel leaves—Did he carry me deeper into the undergrowth? (Her left hand, no, her entire left side was numb and felt nothing—an aftereffect of Kazushi Niida's strike to her head, perhaps.)
Softly, Hiroki asked, "Who did this to you?"
Right. That's important information.
She answered, "Mitsuko." Kazushi Niida didn't matter for shit anymore. "Watch out for her."
Hiroki nodded. Then he said, "Sorry."
She stared up at him, not understanding.
He said, "I waited for you. I hid outside the school."
He pressed his lips together, as if he were trying to suppress something. "But. .. then Akamatsu came back—back to the school. I. . . was distracted, just for an instant. Then you took off running and I lost you. I ran after you, shouting . . . but you were probably pretty far off by then."
Oh no, Takako thought. She'd thought she heard a distant voice as she ran through the darkness. But she had been so flustered, she thought she had just imagined it—and if she wasn't imagining it, that meant someone was there, so she ran as fast as she could.
Oh no.
He waited for me. Just like I wondered, he risked his life to wait for me there. Sure, he said getting here wasn't any trouble, but I bet he's spent this whole time searching for me.
Takako felt like crying.
But instead, she did her best to work her face into a smile. "You did?" she said. "Thank you."
She knew she wasn't going to be able to talk much longer, and she tried to think of the right thing to say. She was weighing a few options when a strange question popped into her head, and she found herself asking it.
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