Battle Royale (Remastered)

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Battle Royale (Remastered) Page 40

by Koushun Takami, Nathan Collins


  Still leaning sideways, Hiroki pulled out a gun with his other hand. (Here was something else Toshinori didn't know: Hiroki was originally left-handed—though unlike Shinji Mimura, he'd had it corrected.) If you had a gun, why didn't you use it in the first place, you idiot? But he hardly had time for the thought to cross his mind before he saw the tiny flame.

  The gun vanished from Toshinori's hand. Then excruciating pain exploded in his ring finger. With a shriek, he fell to his knees. He pressed his left hand to the source of the pain—and discovered that his ring finger was gone. Blood spurted out. Even with his bulletproof vest, and even with his helmet, his fingers had been unprotected.

  Ah . . . he . . . my finger! On the hand that exquisitely guides my bow. It can't be. Nobody's fingers get blown off in the movies!

  Hiroki approached, pointing the gun at him. Toshinori held his right hand and looked down at it through the visor with wild and terrified eyes. Suddenly, he was sweating, and beneath the helmet, his face was clammy.

  "So you're really into this, huh?" Hiroki said. "I don't want to kill you, but I don't have a choice."

  Toshinori didn't understand what the boy meant, and despite his terrible pain, he still felt confident. Hiroki's gun was pointed at his chest. That was to be expected. Toshinori had taken the helmet not because of its actual ability to protect against projectiles, but because it would lead his opponents to aim for his chest instead—where, under his uniform, he wore his bulletproof vest. As long as his vest stopped the bullet, he could wait for an opportunity to take back his gun—his trigger finger was still there—and he'd win.

  His gun had fallen at his feet.

  Toshinori glared up at Hiroki Sugimura, who waited a few seconds . . . but then pressed his lips together and calmly squeezed the trigger. Right up until that moment, Toshinori had been thinking back to his fight with Hirono Shimizu and considering how to make his death convincing.

  But it ended much more simply than he'd expected. Hiroki's gun only made a small metallic click.

  Hiroki looked confused and hurriedly recocked the pistol and squeezed the trigger. Another click.

  Hidden behind the visor, Toshinori's mouth twisted into a smile. You karate bastard. It's a dud. That's a semi-auto—you'll have to rack the slide and reload the chamber if you want to shoot.

  Toshinori dove for the revolver at his feet. For a moment, Hiroki seemed about to swing the stick in his right hand—but perhaps judging the distance to be too far, he turned on his heels and ran toward the mountain beyond the house.

  Toshinori picked up the gun. His hand throbbed with pain, but he managed to take hold of the weapon. He fired. With his weakened grip, he missed the center of mass, but he could see Hiroki get hit in the back of his right thigh—near his ass. Did I only graze him? Hiroki lurched forward—but didn't fall. He kept on running.

  Toshinori took off after him and fired again. This time he missed. Each time the previously pleasurable sensation of the revolver's recoil stabbed through his maimed hand, Toshinori became more and more enraged. He fired yet again. And missed yet again. Even with a bullet in the leg, Hiroki was still the faster runner.

  Hiroki vanished into the tree line at the foot of the mountain.

  Fuck!

  For a few seconds, Toshinori debated whether he should chase after Hiroki—but decided not to. His opponent was wounded, but so was he. Blood pouring out from what used to be his ring finger slicked the revolver's grip. And now that Hiroki had entered the woods, he might be able to reload and return fire. For that matter, Toshinori was perilously exposed out in the open. Hurriedly, he ducked.

  I have to get to that house—where I was first going. And I can't let Hiroki see me go inside.

  Toshinori clutched his right hand, which still gripped the revolver. Enduring the pain, he staggered toward the house. As he crossed over a ridge between two fields, he began to feel dizzy from the intensifying, excruciating pain.

  First is my hand. I have to treat this wound. Then I need to come up with a different battle plan. Ah, but damn it, even if I go through physical therapy and am able to play the violin again, everyone's going to notice my missing finger—especially when I get a close-up during televised performances. And I'll be lumped in with the handicapped. Find grace through overcoming adversity, and all that bullshit.

  He was approaching the house. He looked over his shoulder again. He peered into the darkness and saw no sign of Hiroki Sugimura. I'm clear. He's not following.

  He turned his head back to the house.

  A boy was standing on the ridge at the end of the field, only six or seven meters away and directly in front of the house. He hadn't been there before; he seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. He had slicked-back hair, a little too long at his neck, and cold, gleaming eyes.

  By the time he realized it was Kazuo Kiriyama (Boys #6) (another of the sort Toshinori couldn't stand—category [1]: the good-looking), flames burst from the loathsome boy's hands with a brattattattat. Several bullets slammed into Toshinori's torso, knocking him backward and off balance. Because of the pain in his right hand, he didn't have a good grip on the Smith & Wesson, which now tumbled out of his grasp. He heard it clatter against something to his right. His back skidded across the dirt, and his helmeted head landed on the ground.

  The gunfire's echo subsided, and silence returned to dominate the night.

  But Toshinori Oda was not dead. He held his breath and lay there without even the slightest twitch of movement, resisting the impulse to chuckle. Between this wicked glee, the intense pain coming from his right hand, the irritation of having let Hiroki Sugimura escape, and the anger at being suddenly attacked by a Category 1 vulgarian, the part of his brain presiding over his emotions—the limbic system— was in a total mess. But just as when he'd been attacked by Hirono Shimizu, his body remained completely unharmed (save for his ring finger). Wearing that helmet had indeed been the right decision. Kiriyama had aimed for his chest, where the bulletproof vest protected him. And just as Hirono Shimizu had done, Kiriyama would assume him to be dead.

  He slitted his eyes, and at the edge of his widescreen view, he saw the Smith & Wesson reflecting the dim moonlight. He could feel the firm, uneven shape of the kitchen knife (he'd taken this from the house where he'd killed Hirono Shimizu) tucked in the back of his pants. In less than a second, he could pull it free from its makeshift cloth sheath.

  As the cold sweat—the one thing he was unable to control— trickled down his face, Toshinori thought, Now come take my gun. I'll tear out your vulgar windpipe with my knife. Or are you going to turn around and leave? Will you go after Hiroki Sugimura next? In that case, I'll pick up my gun and blow a hole in the back of your vulgar head. Come on. Take your pick. Just hurry up and do it.

  But Kiriyama didn't move toward the Smith & Wesson. He walked toward Toshinori.

  He kept coming straight to him, staring at him with those cold eyes.

  But why? Toshinori asked himself. I'm dead, aren't I? Look, have you ever seen anyone so dead?

  Kiriyama didn't stop. He kept on approaching. One step more. Two steps—

  But I'm dead! Why are you coming to me?

  The sound of his footsteps on the soft earth grew louder. Kiriyama's figure filled Toshinori's field of view.

  No!

  Overcome by panic and fear, Toshinori lost control, and his eyes flung open.

  Aimed directly at Toshinori's helmeted head, Kiriyama's Ingram flashed once more. Some of the point-blank bullets ricocheted off the reinforced plastic surface, sending out colorful sparks. Others perforated Toshinori's skull and bounced around inside the helmet. His head shook about, and the helmet along with it. His body danced a bizarre boogie—a vulgar dance he doubtlessly would have despised.

  By the time it was over, Toshinori's head had been pulverized within the helmet.

  His body was still—only this time, he wasn't pretending to be dead. Blood dripped from the neckline of the helmet, which was now more of a b
owl of soup or perhaps a sauce.

  Having overestimated the value of his bulletproof vest, and underestimated Kazuo Kiriyama's levelheaded nature, Toshinori Oda, the foolish boy who detested the vulgar rabble, died an ignoble death. Had he paid better attention to Yumiko Kusaka's and Yukiko Kitano's deaths the previous morning, he would have recognized the possibility of his opponent delivering a coup de grace.

  But Toshinori had never been a particularly good student. What's more, he died completely unaware—not that it mattered anymore— that his killer, Kazuo Kiriyama, had some time ago, from the terrace of his mansion—the largest in Shiroiwa and larger than Yoshitoki's— played the violin with far more grace than Yoshitoki ever had.

  And then tossed the violin into the trash.

  16 STUDENTS REMAIN.

  Of all the sounds Mitsuko Souma (Girls #11) could have heard— voices talking, for example, or the sound of someone moving, or even faint breathing that couldn't quite be fully suppressed—what she heard was liquid splattering onto the grass. Very close, in the nearby grove, someone was peeing (unless a dog was on the island). Dawn was approaching, and when she glanced overhead, she saw an inky black sky that had begun to take on a tinge of blue.

  After she'd managed to escape from her encounter with Hiroki Sugimura, Mitsuko's first thought was that she needed a gun. Her first run-in with Megumi Eto had been an accident, but when she heard Yoshimi Yahagi and Yoji Kuramoto fighting, she followed the sound, killed them both, and got her hands on a gun. (If only she'd started with a gun. Then she could have returned to the school and taken everyone out as they left one by one.) With a firearm, she was able to safely move about the island with little caution. And killing Takako Chigusa after that girl's fight with Kazushi Niida had been simple. (She did, however, regret just leaving Chigusa to die rather than finishing her off immediately. She'd have to be more careful from now on.)

  But now Mitsuko was unarmed. She'd even lost Megumi Eto's knife. All she had now was that rice sickle provided to her at the start.

  Mitsuko needed to get a gun, whatever it took—because she wasn't the only one playing the game. That machine-gunner who killed Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano was still out there. She'd again heard its gunfire only thirty minutes ago.

  At least that meant she didn't have to push herself whittling down her classmates. She could leave that to this other player and take the easy kills when they presented themselves. In fact, when she heard the machine gun going off after midnight, followed by that explosion, she decided to stay away. She decided to watch from afar, and on her way to a vantage point, she saw Hiroki Sugimura and followed him instead. And that should have been one of those easy kills . . .

  Regardless, she would likely have to face that machine-gunner in the end. If she were unarmed when that time came, she would be at a severe disadvantage. A handgun versus a fully-automatic machine gun would be bad enough—a sickle wouldn't stand a chance.

  Mitsuko felt confident she could have again followed Hiroki undetected, but she sensed that stealing back her pistol would have been difficult. He hadn't trained in that kempo or whatever for nothing. Her right arm still stung where he'd hit her with that pole. And if he saw her again, he probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

  So Mitsuko followed the east-west road to the west, and from there moved north into the mountainside in search of someone else. Around three hours had passed.

  And now at last she'd heard something.

  Following the sound, she made her way into the thicket—but cautiously. She couldn't let herself be heard.

  The grove opened into a small clearing not even eight square meters in size. More of the thicket lay ahead and on her right and her left—but there, at the edge of the clearing, a boy in a school uniform stood with his back to her. He looked nervously to either side as that pitter-patter sound continued.

  He must have been worried about getting attacked. From his profile, she saw he was Tadakatsu Hatagami (Boys #18). He was on the baseball team and was an entirely unremarkable, average boy. He was on the tall side, with an athletic build, and his face was, well, average. His hobbies were— Gosh, I wonder if he even has any. He never mentioned any. No point in asking him now.

  But what caught her eye was the object he held tightly in his right hand as he did his business.

  It was a gun—fairly large. A revolver. That fallen angel smile returned to her lips.

  Tadakatsu was still going. He must have been holding it in for quite a while. He repeatedly looked left and right as he waited for his bladder to empty.

  Careful not to make a sound, Mitsuko slowly drew her sickle with her right hand, and then she waited. When he went to pull up his zipper, Tadakatsu would probably need to use both hands. And if he made himself struggle with zipping it up one-handed, she'd have her opening.

  Either way, that'll be the end for you—just like I saw in that one detective show, where the guy got killed while pissing.

  The sound became sporadic, then stopped. Then came another drop, then the flow stopped for good. Tadakatsu looked around one last time, then quickly moved his hands around front.

  By then, Mitsuko was already sneaking up behind him. The back of his head, with its short-cropped hair, was right before her eyes. She began to raise the sickle.

  Someone behind her said, "Whoa," and Tadakatsu gave a start and turned around. Mitsuko jumped a little herself. She lowered the sickle (of course) and turned in the voice's direction.

  Yuichiro Takiguchi (Boys #13) was standing there. He was a size smaller than Tadakatsu and had a cute, boyish face. Holding a metal baseball bat lowered in his right hand, he gaped at Mitsuko.

  Seeing Mitsuko, Tadakatsu also said, "Whoa," and then, "Shit," and he raised his gun, aiming at her. Since he didn't show surprise at seeing Yuichiro, the two boys must have been together. Mitsuko cursed herself. Tadakatsu had only stepped away from Yuichiro to go take a piss. How stupid was I not to check first? Come on, you're both boys—you can piss in front of each other!

  But this was no time to argue. Not with the barrel of Tadakatsu's revolver (incidentally, a .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 19) pointed straight at her chest.

  Yuichiro cried, "Tadakatsu, stop it!" His voice was shrill, either from general confusion or from dismay over seeing someone about to get killed before his very eyes. Tadakatsu seemed like he would shoot, but his trigger finger froze a fraction of a millimeter before the hammer would fall.

  With his revolver still aimed at Mitsuko, he glanced at Yuichiro.

  "Why should I? She was going to kill me. L-look! See that sickle? She's holding a fucking sickle!"

  Mitsuko squeezed her feeble voice from the back of her throat. "Y-you're wrong." She made her voice high-pitched, trembling at the end, and didn't forget to cower. Here was another chance for the star actress, Mitsuko Souma, to shine. Keep your eyes open—you don't want to miss this.

  "I-I..." She considered letting go of the sickle but decided it would appear more natural if she appeared to have forgotten she was holding it. "I was only trying to talk to you. B-but then, I saw you were, ah, peeing." She lowered her head a little and made herself blush. "So I—"

  "Don't lie to me!" Tadakatsu didn't lower his gun. "You were trying to kill me."

  The revolver was shaking in his hand. He probably only hesitated because he dreaded actually shooting another human being. The moment he saw her, he might have shot her purely by reflex, but Yuichiro had stopped him, and he'd had time to think—and time for hesitation to surface. And that meant. . .

  You've lost, Tadakatsu.

  "Stop, Tadakatsu," Yuichiro pleaded. "Didn't you say we needed to join with the oth—"

  "You've got to be joking." Tadakatsu shook his head. "Us, with a girl like her? Do you know what she's like? She could be the one who killed Kusaka and Kitano."

  Mitsuko summoned tears. "N-no ... I would never . . ."

  Desperately, Yuichiro said, "But Souma doesn't have a machine gun. She doesn't have any gun at all."


  "How could you possibly know that for sure? She could have run out of bullets and ditched it!"

  Yuichiro was quiet for a while, then said, "Tadakatsu. You shouldn't raise your voice."

  His voice was calm and gentle now, not at all like before. Caught off guard, Tadakatsu looked at him with his mouth hanging open a crack.

  Well now, Mitsuko thought. Yuichiro sounded rather brave for being Ninth Grade Class B's resident anime geek.

  Yuichiro shook his head. "And you shouldn't be so suspicious when you don't have any proof," he admonished. "Think about it. Maybe she tried to talk to you because she trusts you."

  "Okay, then." Tadakatsu raised his eyebrows. He still kept his revolver aimed at her, but his trigger finger had relaxed. "So what do you suggest we do?"

  "If you absolutely can't trust her, we can take turns watching her. I mean, even if we told her she could leave, that wouldn't settle your anxiety, right? She could just wait for another opening."

  Mitsuko was growing more and more impressed. Where'd that come from? Not bad, kid. You're being logical and persuasive—well, ignoring whether or not you're making the right call. (You really should shoot me now.)

  Tadakatsu flicked his tongue across his lips.

  Yuichiro pressed on. "Come on. We need more people on our side. And we have to find some way to escape. Once we spend some time with her, we'll know whether or not we can trust her."

  Finally Tadakatsu nodded, though he still eyed her suspiciously. Sounding weary, he said, "Fine."

  Mitsuko acted relieved. She rubbed her teary eyes with her left hand. Yuichiro let out a sigh of relief too.

  Tadakatsu said, "Drop the sickle." Mitsuko acted flustered, then quickly threw the weapon down. Nervously, she looked at Tadakatsu and then at Yuichiro.

 

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