Kawada slowed the truck a little and proceeded down the road. They had come down quite far now. The wide east-west road lay ahead.
Kawada cut across the fields, and then they were up onto the pavement. He cranked the wheel and cranked it back, and brought the truck to a stop in the center of the road, leaving the engine idling. Then he smacked the cracked windshield with his fist and the whole thing popped out and fell in front of the truck, shattering noisily on the pavement.
He put his hands back on the wheel, then said, "Check the map."
Shuya took his map out again.
"As I remember it," Kawada said, "we can take this road all the way east. Am I right?"
Shuya and Noriko looked at the map together.
"Yeah," Shuya said, "but F-4, just ahead, is off-limits starting at eleven."
"That won't matter," Kawada said, staring ahead. His gaze was as straight as the white lines on each edge of the black, rain-slicked asphalt. "So aside from that, we can take this road all the way to the village?"
"Yeah. We're fine until just before the road curves."
Kawada nodded.
Shuya put his head out the window and looked back. "Do you think Kiriyama will—"
Kawada only now looked at him. "He'll come. He has to come. Keep a good eye—"
Before he could finish speaking, a car appeared around the bend of the mountain road. Shuya recognized the old, faded yellow-green minivan from one of the houses they'd passed on the way down.
Kawada turned the rearview mirror to look and said, "See?"
The minivan was approaching fast, and the moment Shuya could see Kiriyama's face behind the wheel, violent sparks blossomed in front of that face. Shuya pulled his head back inside the window. The bullets hit the truck somewhere and clanged against the metal. Kawada put the truck into gear and the vehicle jolted into motion, speeding east down that wide road.
Shuya looked out the window again just as the minivan came onto their road. He held out the Uzi and squeezed the trigger. The van swerved right, taken over by Kiriyama's fast reflexes.
"Aim well, Nanahara," Kawada said.
But Kiriyama's van gained speed and closed in on them.
"Kawada!" Shuya said. "Can't you go any faster?"
"Calm down."
Kawada began slowly turning the wheel left and right—probably to prevent their tires from being shot out. Kiriyama fired again, and Shuya ducked back into the cab. The killer had knocked out his own front windshield in order to more easily shoot at them. Shuya leaned out again, aimed at Kiriyama, and squeezed the trigger. Kiriyama swerved again and dodged the gunfire. He hadn't even ducked.
The stream of ejecting empty shell casings ceased. The firing mechanism clicked, the magazine out of bullets.
Kawada reached in front of Noriko to hand him a preloaded magazine. But before Shuya could take it, Kiriyama's minivan was nearly upon them. Shuya drew the CZ 75 from the front of his slacks and fired. Undeterred, Kiriyama kept gaining.
"Damn," Kawada said with a faint grin. "If you think you can beat me driving, you're dead wrong."
Kawada flicked the wheel and yanked the handbrake. Shuya's body pressed against the door. Just like straight out of a movie, the pickup truck was doing a full turn inside the width of the road.
As they spun, Kiriyama's minivan came hurtling past. Sparks burst from the passenger window, accompanied by that familiar brat-tattattat. The rearview mirror shattered in front of Noriko's face.
"Duck!" Kawada shouted.
But Shuya was busy firing the CZ 75 at Kiriyama. That none of Kiriyama's submachine-gun volley had hit Shuya was a miracle, but Shuya didn't hit him either. As the truck's front bumper skimmed past the front-left side of the minivan, Shuya was close enough to see Kiriyama's eyes, as cold as ever.
The truck's tires screeched on the wet pavement, and Kawada pulled out of the turn—and now the hunter and the hunted had reversed. Kawada had evaded the minivan and pulled off a full three-sixty turn. Now the van was ahead. Kawada didn't miss a beat as he slammed the truck into gear and took on speed. The engine roared with a power it likely didn't even know it possessed, and the pickup quickly caught up with the back of the minivan. Kiriyama looked back at them.
"Fire, Nanahara!" Kawada said. "Give it everything you've got!"
But Shuya didn't need to be told. He had reloaded the Uzi and was firing on full auto. He knew the hot empty casings were being ejected toward Noriko, but he couldn't worry about that now. The van's rear window shattered. There was a pop, and the rear hatch lifted. Then the rear right tire burst. Shuya's magazine was empty, but the van listed, starting to drift toward the shoulder.
Kawada floored it. He brought the pickup alongside the minivan and flicked the wheel, slamming the truck's right side against the van's left.
The impact rattled them, but it did far worse to Kiriyama's van. He lost control of the vehicle and went careening off the right shoulder. The next instant, the van's nose was planted in the dirt of the low-lying roadside field. Cabbage leaves scattered into the air.
Then everything was still.
Kawada slammed on the brakes and brought the pickup to a stop even with the van, where they could look down on its roof.
"Give me the gun, Nanahara," Kawada said.
Shuya gave him the Uzi. Kawada replaced the magazine, held his arm out the window, aimed at the minivan with Kiriyama still inside, and squeezed the trigger. His arm shook up and down. Even from the passenger seat, Shuya could see the minivan was being riddled with holes.
Again Kawada replaced the magazine, and he continued to fire. He reloaded once more and emptied it again. Meanwhile, Noriko had loaded loose ammo into one of the empty magazines with her injured hand. Kawada took the magazine and fired it as well. Noriko kept on reloading. Shuya rose in his seat and looked from her to Kawada's hands and to the minivan below.
Noriko and Kawada repeated the process and repeated it again, and even one more time after that. The Uzi fired nine millimeter rounds, the same as Shuya's CZ 75 and Noriko's Browning, and by the end, Kawada had shot every loose round they had.
The Uzi's firing mechanism gave one last click. They were all out of spare ammo. Kawada curled his arm, holding the Uzi upright. Blue smoke drifted from the end of its short barrel, and the gunpowder smell filled the cab.
How many rounds did Kawada fire? Shuya wondered. That Uzi came with dive spare magazines and plenty of extra rounds—add the CZ-75 and the Browning to that, and you get, what? Two hundred and fifty? Three hundred?
What Shuya could see of the minivan—the roof and passenger side—looked like a honeycomb, or a net—or maybe a bizarre insect cage in the shape of a car.
The sky had turned a deep orange. Shuya didn't have time to look, but he supposed the western sky would be in a beautiful sunset.
"Did you get him?" Shuya asked.
Kawada opened his mouth, when—
The minivan moved. It was backing up. The vehicle crossed the edge of the field and climbed back up onto the road. It was behind them again.
Shuya was dumbstruck. Not only was the van's engine still working, but Kazuo Kiriyama was still alive—and driving it. Kawada had put all their ammunition on the line to make sure they'd won, but Kiriyama still lived.
On the other side of the bullet-ridden hood, Kiriyama popped up like a jack-in-the-box in the driver's seat. And he was holding the machine gun. With a brattattattat, the small window behind Noriko's head shattered, and two holes appeared on the metal panel to its side. Shuya was surprised the truck's flimsy, domestically produced body had remained unscathed for this long. But maybe it was because of the washer and fridge on the rear bed. And maybe Kawada had put them there in the first place, having foreseen this eventuality.
With a curse, Kawada put the truck into gear and started driving. "Shoot, Nanahara! Shoot back!"
Shuya aimed the CZ-75 at the minivan, now right on their tail, and began firing. Kiriyama returned fire. One shot landed right next to Shu
ya's head and sent up sparks from the truck's steel frame.
Shuya's pistol was already empty. He replaced the magazine and fired more—but as he did, he realized, This is the last of my bullets. Once this runs dry, all we have left is what's in the Browning and its one spare magazine.
While he hesitated, Kiriyama fired. Shuya heard that brattattattat, and with a twang, sparks flew from the refrigerator in the back. The small freezer door flew open and fell out.
Shuya yelled, "Kawada, I'm out!"
Kawada remained calm at the wheel. "He'll be running out too. He doesn't have time to reload his magazines."
Just as Kawada said, Kiriyama's next shots came one at a time. Next to Noriko's shoulder, the seat exploded.
"Noriko!" Shuya cried. "Get down!"
He stuck his arm out the window and fired at Kiriyama, who now held a pistol in one of his hands. Shuya ran out of bullets and took the Browning from Noriko. He fired again.
Ahead and to their left, a black husk of what seemed to have been a warehouse appeared between the houses and fields. It must have been the source of the explosion late last night that Kawada had mentioned. Not two hundred meters separated them from the curve in the road leading toward the village on the eastern shore.
"Hey," he said, "Kawada, that's the—"
"I know," Kawada replied. He yanked left on the wheel. Beneath Shuya, the left side of the pickup seemed to lift up. But when all four wheels were back on the ground, they had turned onto an unpaved road, another path winding through fields on its way up the northern mountain. Kiriyama skillfully steered the minivan after them.
Shuya took aim and fired. Kiriyama ducked, and then was upright again, returning fire. This time, a hole opened in the steel panel next to Kawada's head.
"Nanahara!" Kawada yelled. "Just keep firing until you're out. Don't let him shoot!"
Kawada was leaning over the wheel now. Shuya noticed blood oozing out of a tear in the left shoulder of his school jacket. Kiriyama had hit him.
Shuya nearly objected, but instead he leaned out the window and fired.
Is Kawada trying to escape into the foothills? Then I have to keep Kiriyama from shooting until we get there... or get lucky and kill him first.
He fired again.
The Browning locked open. It was empty.
The mountain drew near, and with it, a sight that seemed strangely familiar—a farmhouse with a concrete block wall. And a field. And a tractor.
This is where we first came up against Kiriyama, Shuya realized. Only we're looking at it from the opposite side.
"Kawada, I'm out of ammo," he said. "Are we going to escape into the mountain?"
Kawada was looking straight ahead. Shuya thought he saw a smirk.
"Oh, we have ammo," Kawada said.
Shuya frowned, not knowing what he meant.
The truck turned off the driveway leading to the farmhouse and took a footpath between the fields. They passed the tractor. The path ahead was too narrow for a vehicle.
But Kawada kept driving onward. Kiriyama kept a fixed distance behind them—only twenty meters. He fired at them again.
The pickup careened into the field and came to a stop with Shuya's passenger side facing Kiriyama's van. Kawada kicked open his door, yelled, "Get out—this way!" and jumped out of the cab.
Shuya prompted Noriko to move. They were crawling across the front seat when Shuya glanced over his shoulder.
Kiriyama's minivan was coming straight at them.
A loud gunshot came from somewhere near.
Kiriyama's left front tire exploded. He was only ten meters away.
The minivan slowly tipped, then rode up on the lip of the elevated field on the left like a surfboard catching a wave. Its front lifted into the air and the next instant was on its roof in the field.
But before the van came to a complete stop, a black blur leaped from the driver's side. It flipped in midair and landed in a crouch. Shuya saw it was Kiriyama, and he then heard two gunshots as sparks blossomed from the gun in the killer's hands. At the same time, that first loud gunshot blasted again.
Still inside the truck, Shuya had to crane his neck to see outside the passenger window. Kazuo Kiriyama was bent over and flying backward.
His back hit the field with a thud. He didn't move a muscle.
In the back of Shuya's mind, the memory of Kyoichi Motobuchi's death came to him—the boy's stomach transformed into a sausage factory slop bucket. At this distance, Shuya couldn't see what had happened to Kiriyama's stomach, but having been directly hit by what must have been a shotgun blast, he couldn't still be alive.
Shuya finally emerged from the truck, and there was Kawada, rising from behind the pickup's bed, holding the shotgun Shuya had abandoned when he ran from Kiriyama.
Oh, we have ammo, he'd said. Kawada had picked up the shotgun, swiftly loaded it with some of the cartridges he had kept with him (he'd likely only had time to load the two shells), and fired. And he took Kiriyama down.
"Right at the beginning," Kawada said slowly, "he missed his chance to surprise us. That was when he lost. He had to take on all three of us."
He let out a deep breath, then set the shotgun down beside the fridge in back of the pickup. He took the pack of Wild Sevens from his pocket, then got one out and lit it.
"You're bleeding," Noriko said, pointing at his shoulder.
"Yeah." He glanced at the wound and grinned. "It's nothing big." He exhaled smoke.
Ban#.
Kawada tipped forward. The Wild Seven fell from his mouth, and the languid smoke trail drifted in the air. His stubbled face contorted. His eyes seemed to be staring off somewhere near Shuya's feet.
Down in the field behind him, Kazuo Kiriyama was sitting up, holding a gun in his right hand. He's alive! But he was blown back by a shotgun blast into his stomach!
Kawada slowly sank to the ground. Kiriyama turned the gun on Shuya. Shuya realized that he too was now in front of the truck. And he was unarmed. He didn't even have any bullets. Too late to reload the shotgun on the pickup's bed. No, far too late now.
A good ten meters away, the little muzzle of Kiriyama's gun seemed a giant tunnel—a black hole sucking everything in.
Bang.
Shuya closed his eyes. He felt something pierce his chest, and he thought, I'm dead.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't dead.
Kiriyama stood in the orange angled light of the setting sun. A red dot had been carved into his cheek. The gun fell from his hand. Again his body tilted backward. He fell.
Slowly Shuya looked over his left shoulder. There was Noriko, holding the Smith & Wesson Chief's Special revolver in both hands.
While Kawada had been loading the shotgun, she must have picked up the revolver he'd also left behind and loaded it with the remaining .38 Special rounds.
Her hands were shaking.
Kawada grunted. He got back on his feet before Shuya could offer him a hand.
"Are you all right?" Shuya asked.
Without a reply, Kawada picked up the shotgun, loaded it with another shell from his pocket, and walked toward Kiriyama. He stopped exactly two meters away, aimed at the killer's head, and pulled the trigger. Kiriyama's head shook only once.
Kawada turned and walked back to Shuya and Noriko.
"Are you all right?" Shuya repeated.
"It's nothing big."
He approached Noriko. She was still holding the gun straight ahead. Gently, he put his hands around hers and guided her to lower the revolver.
Just above a whisper, he said, "He's dead. I killed him, not you."
Then he turned to look at Kiriyama. "He was wearing a bulletproof vest."
Now it all made sense.
"Kawada," Noriko said, her voice trembling. "Are you all right?" He grinned at her and nodded. "I'm all right. Thanks, Noriko." He again took out the pack of cigarettes. It must have been empty, because he looked around, then picked up the one that had dropped from his mouth. It w
as still lit. He put it to his lips.
Shuya turned to look out across the island in the light of the sunset. It was over—or at least this happy little game was. Scattered across the island, starting with Kiriyama directly in front of him, were the bodies of thirty-nine of his classmates.
Once more a feeling like dizziness came over him. A hollow feeling numbed his thoughts. What had this all been for?
One after another, faces appeared in his mind. Yoshitoki Kuninobu screaming, "I'll fucking kill you!" Shinji Mimura's faint smile when he left the room. Tatsumichi's bloodshot eyes as he raised the hatchet. Hiroki Sugimura saying, "I have to see Kotohiki," and then slipping into the darkness outside the clinic. Hirono Shimizu shooting Kaori Minami and then running from his sight. Yukie Utsumi, crying as she confessed to him, "I didn't know what I'd do if you died." Yuko Sakaki, prying his fingers loose as she said, "No, no. It's my fault they're all dead. "And Kazuo Kiriyama's cold eyes as he hunted them down until this very moment.
They were all gone. They'd lost their lives, and they'd probably lost much more.
But this wasn't the end.
"Kawada," Shuya said. Kawada looked over at him, shortened cigarette in hand. "Let's do something about those wounds."
Kawada smiled. "I'm fine. I just got grazed. Look after Noriko's wounds."
Then he said, "I'm going to get Kiriyama's weapons."
He took another drag from the stub of his cigarette and turned around and walked toward the minivan.
3 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Kawada led the way up the mountain. He'd stuffed his pick of Kiriyama's weapons into the daypack over his shoulder. He hadn't offered them to Shuya and Noriko. There was no need for that now.
Battle Royale (Remastered) Page 53