“Nobu?”

He scooted forward, and confirmed that it was Yuka. Yuka Nakagawa, one of the girls in the main female clique in school. She was the one that had the same name as Noriko.

<i>Well done, genius,</i> an inner voice said, with withering scorn. <i?You’re on a remote island with your class in a deranged fight to the death, and the first thing that you notice is that she’s got a surname.</i>

Getting a grip, he swallowed. “Yeah, it’s me, Yuka. What are you doing here?”

<i>…And demonstrating the dazzling communicative skills of Class 3B, we have… Nobu, the boy scared to talk to girls!!!</i> He noted from a detached part of his mind that his voice had come out about two octaves higher than normal. He struggled to bring it back down with his next question.

“Well, stupid question, really,” he said. “I mean, are you playing?”

“Am I what? No, of course not!!” she said indignantly.

“Oh. Okay then,” he said uncomfortably.

“Are you?” she demanded.

“Me?” he yelped. “No fucking way! Here, this is my ‘weapon’!” he said, grabbing the pill bottle and tossing it to her. She deftly caught it out of the air and examined it, taking in the official looking lettering and the unbroken seal.

“How do I know you don’t have a grenade launcher in the bag and that you brought these with you? No offence, but a pill bottle? That’s just lame, Nobu.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said stiffly. “But that’s what it was.” Damn girls. Damn them to hell. If they weren’t running off, they were on their red week, and if they weren’t on their red week, they were questioning your every move. What the hell made them think that they were so special?

Yuka was talking, and he made an effort to tune back in and at least look like he was paying attention. He’d only missed a couple of words, so it was fairly easy for him to piece it together.

“…don’t, but it’s not like I can not trust you for the moment.” Great. She was convinced he had a machine-gun in the bag. He fervently wished that he did, just to shut up her endless yapping. All women seemed to do that.



<i><blockquote>Except one…



<blockquote>“Hello?”

“Is this the Jikeikan Orphan Care Facility?”

“Yes, it is.”

“May I please speak with Ms. Ryoko?”

“Yes, this is her. Can I help you, sir?”

“You can indeed, my dear. My name is Dr. Takeshi Oshimatsu. I have the results of young Master Kuninobu’s psychological evaluation.

Ms. Ryoko switched the phone to her other shoulder as she picked up the knife and resumed chopping the vegetables for that night’s meal. Running the orphanage was not easy at the best of times, and so she used time while the children were at school to do domestic chores like prepare food. Quick cooking was imperative, especially with some of the children in her care seemingly able to get into mischief in an instant.

“And what are the results?” she asked, cradling the cordless handset between her shoulder and left ear. The knife moved in a blazing pattern, slicing and dicing carrots.

“Not very good, I’m afraid. His personality disorder stems from the trauma he suffered as a child, and he has marked trust issues with females. He displays misogynistic tendencies, and refuses to even discuss the concept of family with me. That said, I feel that he may be able to overcome these issues and settle down after his teenage years. Is there anyone at the orphanage that he’s particularly close to?”

“Well, his best friend is a boy called Shuuya Nanahara. He arrived here after the death of his mother. They became close friends quite early on.”

“Oh, no, my dear, you misunderstand me.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone. “Any young ladies he seems taken with?”

Her short bark of laughter was answer enough to Oshimatsu’s question. “I thought not,” he said.

“Yoshi makes absolutely no attempt at interaction with the girls in the facility. He teases them mercilessly, but none of it is the usual young child-like foolery. He’s not sweet on any of them.”

“Hmm,” said Oshimatsu. “Then the problem may be more deep-seated than I first anticipated. I’ll need to have further sessions with him to try and help him overcome this…”

“Phobia?” suggested Ms. Ryoko, half joking.

“Yes, this phobia he has of women. I’ll call in a couple of days to schedule another appointment for him.”

“Thank you, Dr. Oshimatsu.”
</blockquote>


Yeah, the counselling is going okay, but I think he’s missing the point. Well, maybe the attitude has changed, from “hate all” to “tolerate them, for they are necessary”, but still. The admission that there is one female who is not detested was a major breakthrough.

Such a shame that nothing will ever happen there, though.
</blockquote>


<center>---</center>


"Ohhh, little warriors!"

“Jesus!” he muttered. “Six am already??”

Kamon’s voice blasted across the island over a concealed PA system. It was unfortunate for them both that they were almost directly under a speaker.

"It's six o'clock, and time for the first report! I am going to read out the deceased in the order that they died.”

There was a slight pause, allowing him and Yuka to dig through the kitbags and get pens and maps.

"Boy Number Twelve, Yutaka Seto! Girl Number Five, Izumi Kanai! Girl Number One, Mizuho Inada! Boy Number Nine, Hiroshi Kuronaga! Boy Number Eight, Yoji Kuramoto! Boy Number Eighteen, Tadakatsu Hatagami! And Boy Number Sixteen, Kazushi Niida!!”

There was a faint scratching sound as the two pens moved in almost perfect synchronization through the seven names read out in the cheerful tone of Yonemi Kamon.

“Congratulations! You're setting an excellent pace! Now for the danger zones! Mark the following zones down on your maps.”

“C-04, J-02, and I-06.”

Again, the pens moved as one in the motions of a cross, and kanji to note the time of the activation.

“These zones will soon become restricted. Evacuate them immediately or your collars will explode. I haven't ever had my neck ripped in two pieces, but I imagine it would hurt real bad!”

Nobu looked at Yuka. The girl was concentrating, her tongue slightly visible between her teeth as she carefully wrote down the information.

“Bravo for reaching the first hurdle! I shall speak to most of you again at the second. Good luck!"

There was a pop from the speaker as he signed off for six hours. He just sat there, looking at the names that were crossed through the list on his lap, and shuddered.

It was real. People were playing.

“Seven people,” muttered Yuka. She seemed torn between awe and sorrow at the losses.

For his part, Nobu’s thoughts ran in the direction of Yutaka. Being the first person on the list of the dead, he must have been killed first. He idly wondered who did it. Who had the sheer balls to murder the most inoffensive, unthreatening member of the class in cold blood. Who could live with that on their conscience.

She yawned loudly. He looked over at her, watching her surreptitiously as she rubbed at her eyes, opened them wide and covered her mouth to fend off another yawn, this one even bigger than the first.

“Yuka?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped irritably. A third yawn. “Really, I’m okay.” She leaned back against a tree, and her eyes fluttered closed. A fourth. “Nothing wrong here.”

Her voice was getting quieter with each forceful denial. She was on her way out, and Nobu found himself in a rather interesting position. This girl was about to go to sleep, and he didn’t have a clue what to do. Should he wake her up, and make her keep moving? Or should he just leave her, and let her sleep, and possibly get killed by someone walking round the corner (figuratively speaking, said his inner voice, you’re on the edge of a wood) with a shotgun? The fear, the comedown from (what he assumed was) an adrenaline spike, and possible effects remaining from the gas on the bus had all conspired against her to knock her off her feet. She was asleep against the tree in less than five minutes.

He decided, privately, that he would see if she had been issued a better weapon than him, and if she had, substitute them. After all, he wasn’t about to kill anyone with paracetamol, was he? The lid was child-proof, for God’s sake.

He moved over and pulled her daybag over. It was a lot heavier thank his was, so that was a promising start. Opening the zip, he peered inside, and gave a low whistle. She twitched in her sleep.

Inside, lying on top of everything else, was a pistol. The instruction manual was written in German, with a Japanese translation on the rear side. There were also three spare magazines, one in the butt of the gun, and a small box of ammo. He carefully removed them from the bag and sat down to read the instruction manual.

It took him a couple of tries to figure out the release mechanism for the magazine, and another five minutes before he was comfortable enough to stand up and aim it. Packing the magazines and ammunition into his day pack, he tucked the small bottle of painkillers into her daypack. He was fully aware that pointing a loaded gun at someone was a dangerous thing, and pulling the trigger was something else again. However, it didn’t stop him from aiming the gun at ground in front of Yuka and pulling the trigger twice.

The two gunshots echoed loudly around the area, and the two brass cases were still flying through the air when he saw what had happened. They both hit a tree root with a dull plink, and he gazed in horror at what he saw.

Her head had disappeared. The bullet had smashed into her face, destroying the top half of her head, leaving only the bottom of her nose and her lower jaw intact, save for the curtain of red speckled with grey covering the entire top half of her body. Her jaw was hanging open, and it almost seemed as if she were grinning at him, in a gruesome parody of her usual, bubbly self. As he watched in a numb daze, her body slowly toppled forward, spilling a large pool of crimson onto the ground in front of the tree.

“Well.” He spoke into the loud silence that followed the fading echoes of the shots. “I guess someone lost their head a little.”

And then he grabbed his daypack, and ran.

He was not a hundred yards away, when he had to stop, and was promptly sick in the bushes.