"Hey, is there anyone you like?"
Hiroki's eyebrows moved a little, and quietly, he said, "There is."
"It couldn't be me, could it?"
A smile crossed his sad expression. "It's not."
"Oh. Well, then . . ."
Takako took one deep breath. Her body felt strangely cold and yet hot at the same time. She felt poison welling up within her.
"Hold me tight, just for a little while. It'll be over soon."
Hiroki's lips tightened. He sat her up, took her in his arms, and squeezed her close. Her head felt limp, tipping backward, but he held it up.
She felt she could say one more thing.
"Survive, Hiroki."
God, can I get away with one more?
She gazed deeply into his eyes and smiled. "You know, you've become a fine man."
"And you're the greatest girl in the world."
She smiled faintly. She wanted to thank him, but she could no longer push enough air through her vocal chords. She just stared into his eyes. She was grateful. At least I won't die alone. And I'm glad the person to be with me in the end is Hiroki. I'm really glad.
Thank you, Kahoru. I heard you.
Takako Chigusa remained there like that, in his arms, and died around two minutes later. She kept her eyes open through the end. For some time, Hiroki held her limp, lifeless body, her full weight entrusted to his arms, and wept.
23 STUDENTS REMAIN.
"Duck," Kawada said.
He raised his shotgun and carefully surveyed the area.
Carrying Noriko on his back, Shuya obeyed. They were in the shade of a large elm tree, its trunk just wide enough to fit their arms around. Shuya figured they must have made it two thirds of the way to the clinic. On the map, they'd be somewhere around F-6 or F-7. Unless they had gotten turned around (and with Kawada as their guide, they wouldn't have), they would soon see the building down to their right.
The three had followed the shore, passing through C-4, where they had first met Kawada, then followed the base of the northern mountain eastward. Traveling in broad daylight did turn out to be no easy task. They would move a little, then quiet their breaths, and when they had no choice but to pass through thick vegetation, Kawada threw several small rocks ahead to find out if anyone was there. It had already taken them half an hour just to get this far.
Noriko's pained breathing persisted on the other side of Shuya's head.
Like a mother with her child on her back, he turned his head partway around and said, "Noriko, we're almost there."
She mumbled in reply.
Kawada said, "Okay, let's move. We're heading for that tree next, got it?"
"Okay."
Shuya half rose and proceeded along the soft, grassy soil of what seemed to have once been a crop field. Kawada, carrying all of their bags in his left hand and holding the shotgun in his right, attended his flank. As Kawada turned his head in every direction, the shotgun swiveled in perfect tandem.
They reached the next tree, this one a little narrower, and halted again. Shuya caught his breath.
Kawada asked, "Are you getting tired, Nanahara?"
Shuya displayed a grin. "Nah, she's light as a feather."
"If you're tired, we can take a break."
"No." Shuya shook his head. "I just want to get there."
"If you're sure," Kawada replied.
But a doubt began to well up inside Shuya. He felt like such an idiot. He was always making snap judgments, forgetting to check the important details.
"Kawada."
"What?"
"That symbol on the map—do you think it's really a clinic?"
Keeping his back to Shuya, Kawada chuckled. "I recall that's what you said it was."
Flustered, Shuya said, "No, I just—"
"It's a clinic. I've seen it myself."
Shuya's eyes widened. "You have?"
"Yeah. I was going around the island last night until I met up with you two. I wish I'd had the foresight to grab some more powerful drugs. I didn't think I'd need to."
Shuya sighed in relief. But inside his head, he gave himself a solid thwack. Get it together. You're going to get not only yourself killed, but Noriko too.
During this exchange, Kawada had continued searching for their next destination.
"All right—" Kawada was saying when the gunshot rang out.
Shuya stiffened. Then he quickly crouched and looked around. Had he been too optimistic in thinking they'd be able to reach the clinic without incident?
No one was in sight.
He looked at Kawada, who had stretched out his arm to shield them and was looking ahead and to the left, where a row of tall trees ten meters away—Japanese cedars, maybe—blocked their view up the gentle slope. Did that gunshot come from the other side?
Shuya let out the breath he'd been holding.
"We're fine," Kawada whispered. "Looks like we're not the targets."
Keeping his pistol tucked away and still carrying Noriko on his back, Shuya said, "They're close."
Kawada nodded. Then the gunfire continued. Two shots, then another three. The last three sounded a little bigger. Another shot echoed. That one was smaller.
"A gunfight," Kawada whispered. "They're really going at it."
Shuya felt relieved that they weren't in danger for the time being, though unknowingly, he chewed at his lip.
Two of his classmates were trying to kill each other—and just over there. And here he was, just trying to keep quiet, waiting for it to end. This was just like . . .
Again Shuya pictured that man in his black funeral suit. "All right, it's your turn. And then you next. Oh, Shuya, it's not your time yet. Good for you."
Still facing away from Shuya, Kawada said, as if reading his thoughts (after all, he had said something silly about being good at that when the weather was nice), "You're not thinking about going over there to stop them, right, Nanahara?"
Shuya gulped, then muttered, "No."
Kawada was right. Their top priority was to get Noriko safely to the clinic. If he stuck his nose into other people's battles, he'd be inviting danger.
From his back, Noriko said, "Shuya ..." Her fever was hot enough he could feel it, her voice only a whisper.
Shuya looked over his shoulder and saw her narrowed eyes.
"Let me down . . . have to see if someone ..."
Her words cut off into ragged breaths, but Shuya knew what she wanted to say. What if someone who wasn't playing the game— someone innocent—was about to be killed? That could have been either of the two—or both—who were exchanging bullets right now.
They were almost due south of the northern summit where Yukiko Kitano and Yumiko Kusaka had been killed. But none of the gunshots they'd heard belonged to that machine gun. Neither of these two was likely the one who killed Yukiko and Yumiko. But whoever that was might hear the shooting and appear at any moment.
Again the bullets crossed, and again silence returned.
Shuya gritted his teeth. He let Noriko off his back and set her to rest against the trunk of the tree where they hid.
Kawada looked back at Shuya. "Hey, you're not..."
Ignoring him, Shuya told Noriko, "I'll go check it out." Pulling the Smith & Wesson from his belt, he told Kawada, "Look after her."
Shuya heard Kawada say, "Wait—" but he was already running.
Looking in all directions, he went up the slope, then passed through the tall coniferous trees.
Thick bushes carpeted the other side. Shuya waded into them. He dropped to the ground and weaved through the long, razor-sharp needles.
He heard the gunshots again. Finally reaching the edge of the thicket, he gingerly popped out his head.
Ahead stood an old wooden house, single-story with a tall, gabled roof—your typical farmhouse. An unpaved driveway went off to the right. Fencing in the far side of the grounds was an escarpment, atop which deep forest extended up the mountainside. Far above, Shuya could make out the o
bservation deck where Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano had died.
The farmhouse was to Shuya's left. Hirono Shimizu (Girls #10) was crouched against the fence on his side. She was looking across the yard at a storage shed beside the driveway. A figure—another girl— peeked out from the side of the shed door. When she looked up, Shuya saw that she was Kaori Minami (Girls #20). Both girls were armed. Not even fifteen meters separated the two.
Shuya didn't know what had caused them to start shooting at each other. Either could have attacked the other. But Shuya didn't think that was what had happened. They had probably stumbled into each other, and in the panic and confusion, neither had trusted the other, and the gunfight kicked off.
His belief may have been founded simply on his partiality for girls, but either way, he couldn't stand there and watch in silence. No matter what, he had to stop this.
Even as he gauged the situation, Kaori popped her head out from the shade of the doorway and fired once at Hirono. She handled the weapon like a child might a squirt gun, but this was no squirt gun. The proof came when the gunshot resounded and the brass shell spun into the air.
Hirono fired twice back at her. Her stance was much more regular, and her shells didn't go flying. One shot landed in one of the shed's vertical beams and kicked out a burst of splinters. Kaori quickly ducked her head back inside.
Hirono was almost completely visible from Shuya's position. She opened her revolver's cylinder and ejected the empty cases. Shuya noticed her right arm was drenched in red. Maybe Kaori had shot her somewhere in her arm. Still, her hand worked quickly as she inserted fresh rounds. She returned her aim to Kaori.
This had all transpired in a few seconds. Before Shuya could act, he was struck by that now-familiar feeling—this was a nightmare. Kaori Minami was into pop idols, always chatting with her friends about their favorites, and would get all bubbly when she'd found a new photograph. Hirono, on the other hand, was one of Mitsuko Souma's girls and had a bit of a wicked streak . . . but despite everything, they were both cute ninth graders in junior high. And they were shooting at each other. They were really shooting at each other, with real bullets. But of course they were.
This is no time to think about that.
Shuya purposefully rose. He pointed his Smith & Wesson into the air and fired. A stray thought crossed his mind: Who are you, the sheriff? But without hesitation, he shouted, "Stop!"
Hirono and Kaori froze stiff, then, in unison, turned their heads in Shuya's direction.
Looking from one to the other, Shuya said, "Stop it! Stop it right now. I'm with Noriko Nakagawa." He thought it would be best to leave Kawada's name out of it for now. "You need to trust me."
Even before he finished saying them, he realized how damn trite his words must have sounded. But he couldn't think of any other way to say it.
Hirono immediately looked away from Shuya, her eyes on her opponent, Kaori. And Kaori was standing there, stupefied, watching Shuya.
In that instant, Shuya noticed Kaori had left herself halfway exposed outside the shadows of the doorway. Defenseless.
What happened next reminded Shuya of a car accident he'd once witnessed. It happened one autumn evening shortly before his eleventh birthday. He was walking home from elementary school, a short distance behind a younger girl also on her way home. Maybe the semi driver had fallen asleep, because he lost control, crashed through the guard rail, rode up onto the sidewalk, and hit the little child. Unbelievably, her backpack came off her shoulders and went sailing on a completely different trajectory than the girl. She landed first, coming down on her shoulders, sliding along the concrete wall on the inside of the sidewalk, until she stopped, and blood poured out. She'd left a trail of it a meter long along the base of the wall.
He'd seen the whole thing as if it were in slow motion—particularly from when the truck left the road until it struck the girl. He knew exactly what was going to happen, what he was about to witness, but he could do nothing to stop it. That was how it felt.
Kaori had completely let her guard down. Hirono aimed her gun at her and fired. She fired again. The first shot hit Kaori in her right shoulder, twisting her halfway around to her right. The second shot caught her in the head. As Shuya watched, part of Kaori's head—from her left temple up—exploded.
Kaori collapsed into the open doorway of the shed.
Then Hirono glanced at Shuya and turned on her heels and ran off to his left, westward, from where Shuya's group had started. She plunged into the undergrowth and vanished from sight.
"Shit!"
Shuya let out a low groan, then, after some hesitation, he emerged from the thicket and ran toward the shed where Kaori had fallen.
Kaori's legs jutted out from the door of the shed, a structure barely large enough to house the old and rusted tractor within. She was on her side. Her body had twisted. Blood flowed from her mouth and joined with that from the wounds in her head and shoulder and began to form a pool beneath her face on the concrete floor. Motes of dust from the floor floated atop the pool of blood. Kaori's open eyes vacantly stared up. A delicate gold chain hung from the chest of her sailor suit onto the floor, and the locket at its end seemed a tiny island amid a lake of blood. Inside it, a male pop idol was sending out a cheerful smile.
Shuya was shaking as he knelt beside her.
Oh, man, what the hell? Now she can't gossip over her idols or go to their concerts, and. . . if I had handled this just a little better, would she not have had to die?
He heard a noise and turned around. Kawada and Noriko, supported on the boy's arm, looked out from the thicket.
Leaving Noriko there, Kawada jogged over to Shuya.
Kawada's expression looked as if he wanted to say, See, I told you so, but he didn't. He calmly scooped up Kaori's gun and daypack, then as if by afterthought, squatted down and closed her eyelids with the side of his hand.
All he said was, "We're going. Hurry up."
The danger was obvious. Someone—that machine gunner, in particular—could have heard the gunfire and might show up at any moment.
But Shuya remained frozen, staring down at Kaori's corpse, until Kawada tugged him away by the arm.
22 STUDENTS REMAIN.
The clinic was an old, single-story residence. Its wooden walls had blackened, and the black tiles of its roof showed their age, having weathered white around the corners. Much like the farmhouse where Kaori Minami had died, the building was nestled against the northern mountain and located at the end of an unpaved driveway. Shuya's group had come across the mountainside, but that driveway likely led down to the paved road that followed the island's eastern shoreline. A white compact van—the doctor's, maybe—was parked in front of the clinic. Beyond the van, Shuya could see the sea.
The water sparkled in the afternoon sun. Its beautiful color here, a brilliant blue tinged with green, shared no similarities with the murky waters that broke against the concrete seawalls of Shiroiwa's harbor. With scarcely a wave, the sea's surface placidly reflected the sun's light in twinkling specks that grew ever more dense into the distance. The silhouettes of the other islands floating in the Seto Sea seemed unexpectedly near. Shuya had once heard that on the open water, the lack of objects to provide points of reference caused perceived distances to shrink. Shuya figured the closest island was probably still four or five kilometers away.
In any case, they had arrived. Only by luck had they made it there unharmed. They had immediately left the area where Kaori had died, and no machine-gun fire had followed them. According to the map, they had traveled a mere two kilometers, but Shuya had carried Noriko on his back, while under the pressure of a possible attack at any moment, and the hike had exhausted him. He hoped they could quickly make sure the clinic was clear of any other students not only so that Noriko could rest, but so that he could as well.
But something had caught his eye.
On the sea's peaceful surface, a ship floated. It was, no doubt, one of the guard ships of which Sakamochi
had warned them. But beside it were two more. Sakamochi had said one patrol would be in each cardinal direction, and off the western shore, Shuya had seen only one vessel. Had something happened?
With Noriko still on his shoulders, Shuya peeked his head out from the shade of the leaves and said to Kawada, "There are three ships."
"Yeah," Kawada said. "The smallest is the guard ship. And the big one there, that'll transport the soldiers in the school back home. The middle one will carry the winner off this island. It hasn't changed. They're the exact same ships from last year."
"So the Hyogo Program last year was on an island like this?"
"Yeah." Kawada nodded. "Hyogo borders the inland sea too. Apparently all the prefectures along the sea have their Programs take place on an island, pretty much without exception. After all, there are more than a thousand islands in this narrow sea."
After that, Kawada instructed them to wait. With his shotgun at the ready, he descended the slope that led toward the clinic. Crouching down, he inspected the van first, even checking underneath the vehicle. Then he darted over to the building and circled it. When he got back to where he started, he looked around the front entrance. The sliding frosted glass door was apparently locked, so he flipped the shotgun and smashed a hole in the glass with its sawed-off stock. He ducked and waited. Then he reached his hand through the triangular opening he'd made, opened the door, and went inside.
Having watched over this whole process, Shuya turned his head to check on Noriko. Her head limply rested on his back.
"Noriko, we're here."
Noriko responded with only a short moan. Her breaths still sounded painful.
After five full minutes, Kawada appeared from the front door and waved Shuya over. Careful not to lose his balance, Shuya climbed down the two-meter drop onto the clinic's property.
A thick wooden sign hanging beside the entrance bore weather-faded, hand-painted lettering that read oki island medical clinic. Kawada stood in the doorway, holding his shotgun level, looking out in every direction. Shuya slipped past him and through the entrance. Kawada followed him in and slid the door all the way shut.
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