Yuko and Yukie Utsumi had come perilously close to a big fight, but Haruka and the rest of the girls interceded, saying that whatever the case was, they couldn't leave someone to die. And so they brought Shuya in. As the others carried the bloody boy, Yuko watched from a distance, her face ashen. It was like welcoming into their house some unfamiliar monster from a childhood nightmare. Exactly like that.
But as the hours passed, Yuko had managed to calm herself down. Shuya Nanahara is nearly dead. With those injuries, he won't wake up. Even with him near death, she was still upset, but she had somehow been able to control her emotions—though she had insisted upon locking his door.
Haruka continued by asking a question she'd been repeatedly asked the day before. "You said you saw Nanahara kill Oki. But couldn't it have been in self-defense?"
That was true. She'd been hiding in the bushes only a few meters away when she heard the dull thud. When she looked out, she only saw Shuya Nanahara pulling the hatchet out of Tatsumichi Oki's head. She immediately left.
What Haruka meant was (and Yuko had said it herself) that Yuko had only seen the aftermath. Shuya may have acted out of self-defense.
But no matter how many times Haruka or Yukie told her this, her mind couldn't fathom the idea—or rather, she refused to accept it.
W&at do you mean, "May have"? I saw it with my own eyes— that cracked-open skull; Shuya holding the hatchet; the blood running down the hatchet; the dripping blood.
The memory took hold deep within her mind. She was no longer capable of rational thought, at least regarding Shuya Nanahara. Her fear was like a flood, or a tornado—a force of nature that swept away all lesser thoughts, leaving only a single and almost palpable theorem: Shuya Nanahara is dangerous.
But this was not entirely without reason. Yuko didn't like violence.
In fact, she couldn't stand it. One time, she heard her friends talking about some slasher film in their old classroom and got so sick she had to be taken to the nurse's office. (She thought it was Yuka Nakagawa who said, "Sure I was laughing, but come on, it was pretty tame. You gotta have more gore than that. Spill some organs, ha ha.")
Memories of her father likely played a role. Her father—and not even a stepfather but her biological father—was a drunk who physically abused her mom, her older brother, and Yuko herself. She was too young at the time to understand why, and to this day, she'd never asked her mother. She didn't want to remember. Maybe he didn't have a reason to hurt them in the first place. She didn't know. When some gambling trouble got him stabbed to death by a yakuza—this would have been when Yuko was in first grade—she was more relieved than sad. And after he was gone, her mother, her brother, and she lived in peace. She could even start to have friends over. Without him, their home felt safe.
But even now, she sometimes dreamed about when he was around. She dreamed of her mother, her head bloodied by a golf club (even though they were poor, that was the one extravagant item in their house), and of her brother, nearly blinded by a thrown ashtray, and of herself, too terrified even to scream as the lit cigarette pressed into her flesh. (Her mom had intervened and was struck again.)
Maybe this was why, or maybe it wasn't, but right now, all she could think was, Shuya Nanahara is dangerous.
"Right?" Haruka prompted. The word reached Yuko's ears, but not her awareness. A chill came upon her as she saw a vision. All six of the girls, including herself, were dead. All of their heads were split open. And Shuya Nanahara, with hatchet in hand, smiled.
No. No. It's all right now. Shuya Nanahara will never leave his bed again.
"Yeah." Yuko lifted her head and nodded. She had no idea what Haruka was talking about, but since Shuya Nanahara would never awaken, she didn't need to upset the harmony of their group. She searched for something to say that would satisfy Haruka. Then she said, "Right. You're right. I don't know what was the matter with me. I was just so tired."
Haruka seemed relieved. "Nanahara's a good guy. I don't think there are a lot of boys out there as good as him."
Yuko stared at her as if she were looking at a mummy on exhibit at a museum.
Until the day before, Yuko had thought much the same thing. Though he had his quirks, Shuya Nanahara was on the whole a very likable guy. She'd even thought he was a little cool.
But now her mind had shed any memory of ever feeling that way about him. Or rather, the memory had been blotted out by the sight of that split-open head.
What? What was that, Haruka? He's a good boy? What are you talking about?
Again Haruka regarded Yuko with a puzzled expression. Then she said, "So if he wakes up, don't cause any trouble, okay?"
Yuko shuddered. Him, wake up? Impossible. But if he does . . .
But she utilized the remaining functional portion of her thoughts to nod and say, "Don't worry. I won't."
Haruka returned the nod. "Okay. That's a relief." Still seated, she turned to Chisato and said, "That smells good."
White steam and the smell of stew wafted from the pot atop the range.
Chisato looked over her shoulder and replied in her gentle and delicate voice. "Yeah. I don't think it'll be half bad—maybe better than last night's soup."
Though she'd cried for a long time over Shinji Mimura, Chisato seemed to be doing all right for the moment. Even Yuko in her current state could sense that much.
Then the door to the hallway opened, and Yukie Utsumi strode in with her back held straight and her steps brisk. After Yuko had arrived, she saw Yukie act as an admirable leader, but the girl had seemed in a way dispirited. After they had taken in Shuya Nanahara, her expression had become increasingly clouded. (In reality, her expression had been one mixed with happiness over reuniting with Shuya, and with worry over seeing him near death—but Yuko hadn't thought of that possibility.) She hadn't seen Yukie this lively in a long while. But more than that, Yukie's face was bright.
Yuko felt as if a hairy caterpillar were creeping up her spine. This couldn't be good.
Yukie stopped on her heels, put her hands on her hips, and sent her gaze across the girls. Then she jokingly cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone, and she announced, "Nanahara has awoken."
Haruka and Chisato cried out in surprise, and Satomi sat upright on the sofa.
And Yuko turned pale.
14 STUDENTS REMAIN.
"Really?" Haruka asked. "Can he talk?"
Yukie nodded. "Yeah. And he says he's hungry." Her eyes went to Yuko. "It's all right. I locked him in his room. I didn't want to worry you."
She wasn't being snide. From the tone of her voice, she had done what she thought was necessary as the leader.
But skipping past Yukie's demeanor, Yuko immediately began to think about what she would do—though over the past night, she had already thought about it, over and over. She was certain he would never wake up, but what if he did? How would she respond? And then the smell drifted to her nose.
Perfect timing. It's almost lunch. And who would think anything of a gravely wounded boy suddenly taking a turn for the worse?
Yuko contrived a smile (and impeccably so) and shook her head. "I'm not worried at all." Then she said, "Sorry about last night. I was a little crazy. I don't suspect Nanahara anymore."
Looking relieved, Yukie let out a breath. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have had to lock the door." She gave Yuko a smile. "He told me it was an accident—what happened with Oki."
Hearing Tatsumichi Oki's name again caused the scene to replay in the back of her mind. Another chill ran down her spine, but she managed to keep her smile in place as she nodded. An accident. Well, that was a pretty serious accident for Tatsumichi Oki, wasn't it?
To Haruka, Yukie said, "Hey, would you go get Yuka? There's something I want to discuss while we eat."
"Is it okay for us to go without anyone keeping watch?"
"Sure." Yukie nodded. "We've got the building sealed off, anyway. And it'll only be for a little bit."
Haruka nodded and dis
appeared into the tower room. Her footsteps clanged up the steel staircase.
Satomi and Chisato asked Yukie, "How is he?" and, "Can he eat the same food as us?" Simultaneously, Yuko quietly stood and approached the sink.
White, deep ceramic dishes were stacked beside the steaming stewpot. Chisato and Haruka had found them in the cupboard.
Yuko slipped her right hand into her skirt pocket and gripped the object inside. A telescoping tactical baton had been the weapon provided in her daypack, but this little number had been in there alongside it, labeled extra bonus. She hadn't expected to find a use for it inside the game. And when she was welcomed into this group, she hadn't seen any point in mentioning it. Then when Shuya Nanahara showed up, she'd had this idea and had kept the item a secret.
Once upon a time, her father's tempestuous violence had vanished from their home suddenly and by chance. Her family had found peace again.
Now Yuko found herself in the presence of another specter of violence. This time, it fell upon Yuko to put it to an end. Only then would she find peace again. She would no longer need to fear.
She had no reason to hesitate. Strangely, she was calm.
Inside her pocket, Yuko furtively removed the cork from the tiny little bottle with one hand.
14 STUDENTS REMAIN,
"Hey," Yuko said to Yukie.
Yukie, who was still talking Satomi and Chisato, turned to her.
"Shouldn't we bring Nanahara his food first?"
Yukie beamed. "Yes. Let's."
Yuko added, perfectly casually, "The stew looks ready. How about I serve us up?"
She was holding onto the plate. The plate.
"Sure," Yukie said. Then, seeming to remember something, she added, "Oh, right. The first aid kit's in that desk, right? I think I saw some some painkillers in there. Would you get it for me? We need to bring him some with his meal."
"Okay." Yuko set the dish down. It clinked against the lip of the sink. "Hold on, I'll find it."
Yukie had meant the writing desk, with the computer and phone, in the far corner of the room. Yuko swung around the table and headed for the desk.
The clanging of footsteps on metal stairs echoed in the room. Yuka Nakagawa and Haruka appeared. Slung from Yuka's shoulder was a gun that looked like an oversized pistol with a stretched-out back end and a short barrel. (It was an Uzi 9mm submachine gun. The weapon had been Satomi Noda's, but since it seemed the most potent of their weapons, they decided it would remain with whoever was keeping watch.)
Yuka set the Uzi on the table and asked in her usual bright voice, "I heard Nanahara's awake?"
She was a little on the chubby side, and her time on the outdoor tennis courts had given her a deep tan. Even in these circumstances, she hadn't lost her good cheer.
Yukie nodded happily. "He is."
"Well, good for you, Class Leader," Yuka teased.
Yukie blushed. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on now. Look at how happy you are."
Yukie made a face at her and shook her head. But then Yuka looked at Chisato and fell silent. Having just lost the boy she liked, Shinji Mimura, Chisato was standing there with her head down a little.
Paying little attention to this exchange, Yuko rummaged through the desk drawer and pulled out the large wooden first aid kit. She placed it on top of the desk and opened it. The box had been jam-packed with a variety of pharmaceuticals, gauze, and poultices and the like. All that was missing were the bandages, which had been almost entirely used on Shuya Nanahara.
The painkillers . . . where were those painkillers? Not that it matters, of course. It didn't matter. Because . . .
"Wow, that smells great," Yuka was saying. Her attempt to brighten the mood was obvious even to Yuko, barely paying attention.
Painkillers ... Ah, here. This one. Used to temporarily relieve headaches, menstrual cramps, toothaches. I do have a bit of a stomachache, now that I think about it. I'll take some of these later—after it's all over. Yes, after it's all over.
"So what do you want to talk about?" This was Satomi's slightly husky voice. She must have been asking Yukie.
"Oh, right," Haruka said. "I want to hear this."
"Oh, yes, about that," Yukie said. "Where should I begin?"
But when Yuka said, "Which one's mine? I want a little taste," Yuko's head snapped up.
She looked over her shoulder. She saw Yuka standing at the sink, holding a dish of stew up to her mouth. If all she wanted was a taste, she could have used the ladle. But instead, she had to put that dish against her lips. The dish sprinkled with that semitransparent powder.
The blood drained from Yuko's face. She started to speak out—but before she could, it happened.
Yuka dropped the dish. The plate crashed to the floor, shattering noisily, and the stew splattered. All eyes were on her.
Yuka gripped at her throat and coughed up the stew she'd just swallowed. She coughed harder, and more came spraying out onto the white table. Only now it was bright red. The radial splattering of round, red droplets resembled the flag of the Republic of Greater East Asia. Then, not even a second later, she crumpled to the stew-covered floor.
"Yuka!" they all shouted—all save for Yuka herself, who could no longer speak—and the girls rushed to her.
Curled on her side, she coughed up blood again. Her tanned face turned pale as they watched. Red foam spilled from the edge of her mouth.
Yukie shook her. "Yuka! Yuka! What's wrong?"
But all that came from Yuka's lips now were the bubbles of dark red. Her eyes were open nearly as wide as could be, as if they could pop out at any minute, and their whites were turning crimson. Whether from a sudden rush of blood or her capillaries bursting, several dark red spots appeared on her face, transforming it into a grotesque monster mask.
But something else became evident. They could tell just by looking at her.
Yuka had stopped breathing.
Nobody said a word. Yukie touched her trembling hand to Yuka's throat. Then she said, "She's dead."
Behind Haruka and the kneeling Yukie, Yuko stood still, palefaced. Her entire body shook.
Oh, how could this happen? A mistake, it's a mistake! She only had a tiny sip... I didn't know it would be so strong. . . I killed her. . . killed her... by mistake... I didn't mean for this . . . Yukie said, her voice quavering, "This . . . couldn't have been because the food had gone bad, could it."
Chisato responded, "I tasted it a few minutes ago. It was perfectly fine. But this . . . this . . . this is . . ."
Haruka finished for her. "Poison?"
That set everything in motion. All of the girls (to be precise, all of the girls except for Yuko, though the other four didn't notice) looked at one another.
There was a clatter. Satomi Noda had grabbed the Uzi and pointed it at the others. Reflexively, the other four—including Yuko—moved away from Yuka's corpse.
Satomi's eyes were wide and hard behind her round glasses. She shouted, "Who was it? Who did this? Who put in the poison? Which of you tried to kill us?"
"Stop it!" Yukie yelled. Yuko saw her immediately begin to reach for the pistol tucked in the back of her skirt. (She had a Browning Hi Power 9mm. The weapon had been hers from the start, and since she was essentially their leader, she'd kept it). But Yukie resisted the impulse and brought her hand back to her side. "Put down the gun," she said. "This has to be some kind of mistake."
"This is no mistake." Satomi shook her head. She had always kept her cool but was in a blind fury now. "You heard the last announcement—we're down to fourteen of us. That's not that many. The timing's right for some game-playing traitor to show her true colors."
She glanced at Haruka and said, "You were the one cooking."
Haruka hastily shook her head. "Not just me. Chisato—"
"That's horrible," Chisato said. "I would never do something like that." She hesitated, but then said, "Anyway, Satomi and Yuko had the opportunity too."
"She's right," Haru
ka said, turning back to Satomi. "You seem too upset. You're acting funny."
"Haruka!" Yukie cut her short, but she was too late. Satomi's face turned red with anger.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me," Haruka said. "You haven't slept at all. I know you haven't. I woke up in the middle of the night and you were awake. What, couldn't you trust us? That proves it!"
Again Yukie pleaded, nearly shouting now, "Haruka, stop! Satomi, put down the gun!"
Satomi pointed the Uzi at Yukie. "Oh, please. Stop acting like you're in charge. Or are you just doing that to trick us after you blew your plan to poison all of us? Is that it?"
Yukie's jaw dropped. "Satomi. . ."
Yuko raised her hand to her mouth and took three dazed steps back. With this all happening so suddenly, her body had gone numb. I have to say something. I have to explain the truth. If I let this go on . . . something awful. . . something dreadfully awful is going to happen.
Then Chisato moved. She ran for the sideboard table against the wall to the right of the sink. There they had left the only other firearm the girls had been provided—a Czechoslovakian CZ 75 pistol, originally Yuka's.
The thmpthmpthmp of automatic gunfire rang through the room. Three holes opened in Chisato's back. She slammed into the sideboard and slid down, hugging its edge, and then fell facedown on the floor. No one needed to check her—she was dead.
Yukie's eyes went wide and she shrieked, "Satomi! What are you doing?"
"What's the problem?" Satomi said, glaring at her and still holding the smoking Uzi at the ready. "She went for the gun—because she was guilty."
"You went for your gun too!" Haruka yelled. "Yukie, shoot her! Shoot Satomi."
Satomi whirled the submachine gun on Haruka. Satomi's expression had darkened. She seemed ready to pull the trigger at any moment.
Yuko saw Yukie's face in profile. She seemed to anguish over something, but then in the next instant, her hand was on the Browning in the back of her skirt. After her hesitation, she must have decided to aim for Satomi's arm or somewhere less fatal.
Satomi whipped the Uzi to the side and pointed it at Yukie.
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