"It's just you and me now eh?" Kawada didn't bother to wait for an answer across the sea of faintly lapping fronds that parted them. It would be forever coming as the boy watching him intently seemed to have no will to speak or perhaps no voice that would obey anything more than the diseased whispers in his head. Even now as he regarded his foe from under teased and tortured strands of nutmeg with eyes uneasy in the bright sunlight the sixth fighter seemed almost overwhelmed with the tedium of their situation. They were at an impasse. Attrition on the Battle field had finally been reached.
Day 2 1:00pm precisely.
Forty bodies lay strewn over the island grave. They would not be laid to rest until the victor had been decided and that seemed in this moment a long way away. Kawada mused to himself in earlier hours of solitude that this was a haven of disturbed souls, the perfect playing ground for his psychopathic adversary. It pained him not to know more of this mysterious Kiriyama, to look into his past and discover what it was that had driven him to insanity and a delicious glee in slaughter.
Neither of the remaining fighters showed signs of injury or weakness at least to the naked eye. It was essential to their battle plans that the other considered them a worthy opponent. At least Kawada assumed so; but who was he to second guess that madman's motives? Anyone who joins a despicable campaign such as the BR act just for kicks couldn't exactly be considered stable. And yet deep down Shougo found himself nurturing a measure of respect for the only other survivor. Even if he was a heartless murderer there was something to be said for his skills.
As if shattering a fragile mirror when the first shot rang out everything imploded. A sudden rush of panicked wings in motion arose as a flock of birds fled. Ignorant that they were not the prey of this hunt. Of course Kiriyama had avoided the deadly shotgun round and was already on his feet again, running at Kawada proceeded by a hail of bullets that kicked up the ground inches from his legs. Shougo chambered another round threw himself sideways in an awkward shoulder roll, the sharp bite of grit peppering his exposed skin. On instinct alone he fired, dragged back to the ground by the blowback.
For a moment all was silent and Kawada raised his head, only to find that he had indeed missed again and Kiriyama stood a way off jamming another clip into his expended machine gun. This was it; his last round. Kawada's breath quickened to the pounding pace of his heart and he scrambled up. His opponent even had the audacity to flash him a lopsided smile as he snapped the clip home and levelled his weapon at Kawada's face. They both fired at the same time.
*Click* *BOOM*
It was ended. Kiriyama stood as a human scarecrow, his lanky limbs slackened by surprise as his precious gun failed to produce the fatal stream of bullets he'd relied on these past hours. Kawada's shot caught him on the shoulder and he twisted sideways, hitting the ground with a satisfying thud. Shougo followed the arc of his abandoned gun as it came to rest several feet away. The stillness and serenity the island had possessed before its invasion returned like an iron curtain falling.
A deep sigh wrenched itself from Kawada's chest and he turned away, just about ready to collapse and reflect upon his illicit dealings. But before he could take more than one step a faltering murmur caught his attention and drew it back to the spot where he'd laid Kiriyama to rest. He discerned muffled words and warily approached, his shotgun raised in anticipation.
In his bed of verdance Kazuo lay, his eyes flickering up to meet Kawada in silent desperation. It was like finding a wounded animal who could not bear the shame of injury in another's gaze. A wreath of crimson blotted the dark material of the boy's jacket and despite his obvious pain he even now tried to turn away from Kawada's sight.
"Going for your gun? You never give up do you?" A sneer discoloured Kawada's lips and he planted one booted foot on Kiriyama's chest and forced him back to the grass. The tiny strangled cry that his punishments were rewarded with made him hesitate. And when Kiriyama's gaze returned to his own, pleading mutely in a way that Shougo would never have believed he was capable of he eased the pressure entirely and slung his weapon over his shoulder, sitting down at Kazuo's side.
"I don't even know why I'm doing this shithead, but I'm your guardian angel today." He rummaged around in his pocket and found a single, crumpled cigarette, lighting it up eagerly. After a long drag which served to calm his tattered nerves he offered it to Kazuo who declined wordlessly as usual. The other transfer's chest heaved with shallow exertions of breath and his skin had paled to a waxy pallor. With a sigh Kawada stood again and ground the smoke beneath his heel, hefting Kiriyama up and supporting his weight with sure hands.
"If you stab me in back or something I'll haunt you I swear." He growled as they took the first, laboured steps towards the clinic.
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It was almost un-nerving to traverse the island in this state for Kawada, not because of the formerly unstoppable menace who now hung limply as a ragged doll over his back as he staggered through the broken gate to the abandoned ramshackle that passed for a clinic. This uneasy feeling stemmed more from complete lack of the noises he'd become accustomed to over the last few hours. Without the constant soundtrack of piercing screams and gunfire it felt hollow and hushed. Shougo supposed he should be glad that the other students' suffering was over, but still a chill spread over Shougo and he was relieved to enter the clinics relative shelter.
Every surface in the dank room was covered in disarray, scattered tubs of salve and the remnants of someone's desperate search for a decent defence or perhaps just something to heal a wounded friend, for all the good it eventually did them. Even a lone candle sat still alight, its weak flame extinguished by Kawada's sudden entrance. But its death went unnoticed by Shougo as Kazuo stirred, emitting a weak murmur and began to shift in his aching arms. Kawada looked for a place to deposit his semi-conscious foe, finally settling on a grimy stretcher bed that had been carelessly wheeled into the corner of the main area. It felt as if the weight of the world and not just a slender boy had been lifted from his shoulders, but he could not take a moment to rest. Already Kiriyama was opening his eyes and though feverish they didn't try to hide his pain.
"If you survive this yer gonna owe me big." Again he asked for no reply and received only silence, punctuated with laboured breathing. Mostly the cupboards in the clinic were filled with useless junk; empty boxes, cooking implements and laxatives, but eventually he happened on the drugs cabinet and selected the right types of painkiller along with a hypodermic needle, some old towels, a fresh cloth and a roll of gauze. His medical knowledge wasn't exactly comprehensive, but he'd received enough gunshot wounds in the past to know how to treat Kiriyama.
Kazuo shifted fitfully, a grimace twisting his face through the fever rapidly taking hold as he jostled his already aggravated wounds. His struggles soon ceased and he lay still as Kawada applied a cool compress to his forehead and pulled up a threadbare chair to tend him. Hesitation stilled Kawada's hands and he studied the boy before him with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. He wondered vaguely how long it had been since Kiriyama had been this exposed in front of anyone. Did he have a family waiting with bated breath for his return? Friends? A special someone? A bitter laugh caused Kazuo to force his eyes open again and he watched as Kawada chuckled.
"Hmm, I can't imagine you're the caring, sharing type." He continued to smile to himself as he slid the ruined fabric of Kiriyama's jacket from his shoulders with a careful touch and tore away his shirt that was barely a barrier to the night air any more. The wound was jagged and still oozed a thin trail of scarlet down over Kazuo's overly prominent ribs. Without even considering it, Shougo ran his hand down the bones, a faint rush of breath expelled from his lips and he muttered, "You're skin and bones. A scarecrow..." Kazuo merely turned his face away.
Kawada bit back a redundant apology and shook his head, focusing on patching the wound and administering the injection which would hopefully stave off further feverishness and infection. He hadn't even begun to tackle the why and wherefore--the how and when. As the last two survivors they should be tearing each other to shreds still on the battle field outside, but instead they were here and Shogo's desire to leave him to die had faltered. A tight knot of disgust festered in his guts, but it still would not be obeyed and he carried on regardless to tend the young man who'd wanted him dead so fervently only an hour before.
It was only when Kiriyama suppressed a cry badly that he realised his foe was injured in more ways than the one he'd inflicted and with mechanical precision that covered any embarrassment he felt down Kiriyama's cloth covered leg. Again the boy flinched at a spot just above his left knee. "Sit up, We'll have to get these off." Kazuo started, pulling himself up the stretcher until it nearly overbalanced, but Kawada was faster and stronger and soon coerced him into removing the dirtied garments. Again he was mildly shocked by the gauntness of Kazuo's limbs as if he had been denied proper food and shielded from sunlight for a long time. Self-inflicted-- the assumption stirred in his mind and he regarded Kiriyama inquisitively again, but he'd lapsed into unconsciousness once more.
As Shougo piled Kazuo's trousers onto a nearby table something fell from the pocket and he leant to pick it up, another jolt of curiosity running through him. It seemed innocuous at first glance, a small navy blue pocket-book with a mess of dog-eared pages bound by a single clasp. Despite a burning need to rifle through it's secret pages Shougo knew that patching up his wounded adversary was the first priority and set about cleaning the many scratches and bruises that mottled his pale arms and torso. A purpled blossom of swelling had erupted over his left knee and Kawada worked carefully around it, drawing a thin covering of gauze around the obviously fractured bone and splinting it as best he could with only a rough hewn chair leg. It was gonna hurt like a bitch when Kiriyama awoke, but somehow Kawada thought it might not bother him; he seemed no stranger to anguish.
Finally, when he was sure Kiriyama was settled and would sleep for at least a few hours, maybe even through the night Kawada sat back down on the far window ledge and pulled the book from his combats pocket again. The answers lay in here he was sure of it.
Dear diary, Today I turned fifteen (It was dated three years ago in June) I waited all day, but no one mentioned my birthday. In fact Mom barely spoke a word and as usual Dad is away at work. Sakura smiled at me, but she doesn't know today is any different, how could she? Babies have no memory of anniversaries. I'll celebrate hers I swear, even if Mom and Dad forget. I have no one else to tell. Happy Birthday Kazuo.
Shougo narrowed his eyes slightly, groping for his flashlight as the light had already begun to fail. It cast a weak circle of amber over the book and he carried on reading.
Dear diary, (A week later) The school trip is next week. Dad said I can't go, but I've been working for the grocers across the street on weekends when him and Mom are too busy to notice. I run errands around the neighbourhood and deliver groceries to old ladies. It's a good distraction. Anyway, I've saved enough to go and I copied Mom's signature from one of the tax demands. It'll be so nice to get away from here for a few hours, I might even find some new friends. I have to pack my bag now, so oyasumi.
Dear diary, (Eight days later) I was so wrOng. This is HeLL. They Said they'd toLd our pareNts....thEY knew and they LET me get awAy with It. I UnDErstanD Now...they Never wAnted me. I wAs a mistaKe and Now I'm payinG. I stayED witH anotheR studeNt last nigHt and when I wokE up He'd beeN shoT. I never saw thEir faceS,but It HURTS so much. I can't even Cry....they Bound me for HoUrs Until i coulDn't moVe anD I was leFt for deaD. S'funny, buT they Never lookED in my Bag....
Without even realising it, the flashlight was trembling in his grip, but the passages urged him on and Kawada could only read further, ignoring his mounting disgust.
DiAry...
GonE noW. TheY'rE gone. MaMa , DAD and SakurA will BE so prOud. It'S so ReD...and everYone is Quiet.
As he turned the next few pages they were blank, only smeared with a thick, congealed layer of crimson smudges. A thin sliver of paper fluttered out onto his lap and Kawada held it up to the light. Blurred tea stains obscured the edges of the crumpled photo, but the people in it's centre were plainly visible. A woman with a weary, but contented smile sat cradling a bundle of cloth, flanked by a taciturn and stoic looking Japanese man in a cheap suit. At the woman's side a teenage boy in an anonymous school uniform smiled brightly for the camera. His dark hair was combed neatly down over one eye, but still seemed unruly and matched the mischievous glint in his gaze. On the back a faint message was scrawled; Tadashi, Megumi, Sakura and Kazuo- New Year.
Kawada rarely gave in to shock, it was as dangerous an enemy as any human, but they were alone now and he couldn't suppress a tiny gasp from escaping. So Kiriyama was a survivor too, their common bond was not one just made of respect, but a hellish nightmare they'd both endured and from the sound of Kazuo's diary his experience had been far more sickening that Kawada's. The loss of Keiko still ate randomly at his tightly closed heart, but at least he hadn't been tortured by the people he should have called friends. And he had no family to forsake him.
"Shit..." In the silence he felt a pair of eyes on his back and turned to see Kazuo watching him with mild surprise. "I'm not gonna ask fer an explanation, but I understand now. Hell, if you weren't after me too I'd say you had some kinda right to go mental." He pursued his monologue as he returned to the seat at Kiriyama's bedside. In the dulled candlelight where every edge seemed indistinct and a fuzziness lingered on contours Shougo blinked a little as he was sure he saw a smile cross Kazuo's lips.
It fairly floored him when the boy uttered, "I'm not insane."
Kawada's chair scraped back like a screeching harpy and he instinctively reached for his Smith and Wesson, remembering in hindsight he'd left it on the kitchen counter. "You sure could have fooled me."
Kazuo smiled again, a hint of sadness lurking in the expression, "I was dragged back too."
He paused and Kawada dared not break the silence.
"We are two of a kind."
Shougo sat down reluctantly, his words edged with spite, "I kill because I have to and I put them out of their misery quickly. From what I've seen you're enjoying this. You get some sorta sick thrill right? You can't be sane."
"Why did you save me then?" The vague idea of shooting him right then and there tugged at Kawada's conscience, but he found himself unable to look away from the other survivor or find a reason why beyond, "It seemed like the right thing to do."
A bitter little laugh rang out into the stillness, "Your morals are as twisted as mine ne?" Kawada stilled a resentful reply, "I don't agree with the way you fight, but I still respect it....and now I know you had no choice either...."
"What?"
Shougo sighed, "I want to get out of here together. Sick as you are, you're the only one who understands what it feels like to survive one of these games and I don't want to lose that."
He waited for a jovially sarcastic response and found only Kazuo's dark eyes upon him again, heavy with surprise again and only the faintest ghost of a smile still remaining, "Alright. I never wanted to be the governments' puppet again anyway."
He quieted down, the conversation obviously drawn to a close by his agreement and left Kawada to ponder if he'd just gone straight from the frying pan into the fire.
~TBC~
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