Battle Royale Maine, Chapter Three---Carrie White

by Technomad

Carrie White crouched in a shed, her sides heaving as she shook with terror. She still felt a bit woozy from the effects of the drug they had given her to make her sleep, and finding that she, and her whole class, had been sucked into the Program made her want to shriek with fear.

Momma! Oh, Momma, where are you? Why do they do these things to me? All her life, she had been the butt of her classmates' cruel jokes---an unending parade of nasty pranks, cruel words, and mistreatment, starting from the day she had entered school. Her clothes had marked her as different, and when she had gotten on her knees to pray in front of everybody, the shout of laughter that had arisen had echoed on down through the years. Even now, ten years later, she had never shaken that first impression.

However, even the worst torments her classmates had put her through paled in comparison to what now faced her. Although she had not been allowed to watch TV (Momma said that it was the devil's invention) she had seen enough in passing to know all about the Program. Compared to being killed, or worse, raped and then killed, the sort of things her schoolmates had done seemed awfully insignificant.

Reflexively, she knelt to pray, begging God to help her---and found herself kneeling against her bag. She was struck with a sudden bout of curiosity, and decided to at least see what the authorities had issued her.

Let's see---six loaves of packaged bread, six bottles of spring water, a map of Matinicus Island, a list of my classmates, a pencil---and what's this? Carrie's eyes opened wide in shock as she saw the weapon she'd been issued. An Uzi submachine gun, with magazine after magazine after magazine of cartridges, and an instruction manual.

O Lord, thy handmaiden thanks thee! She had begged God to help her, and God had answered her prayers, albeit by the unlikely medium of the Program's random distribution of weapons. Carrie sank to her knees, giving her god heartfelt praise, before picking up the Uzi.

It was heavier than she had thought, but felt good in her arms. First, she extended the stock, then folded it again, deciding to leave it extended. Experimentally, she racked the bolt back, then pulled the trigger to send it forward. After doing that a couple of times, she tried fitting a magazine into the well in the bottom of the grip. Everything fitted together like a perfectly-put-together puzzle.

As Carrie looked down at the gun, she felt a smile twist her face. It didn't feel like a "nice" smile, but that didn't bother her one little bit. She knew that a lot of her classmates would have scruples---that they'd hesitate to kill their friends. She had no such problems. She didn't have any friends. What she had was a dark well of hate down deep inside her---a million and one old scores that were overdue for paying back. She had had to swallow her rage and resentment for too long. Now it was time to show those worthless sinners just who---and what---they'd been trifling with!

Make me an instrument of Thy vengeance, O Lord! Grant that I may mow them down like wheat before the scythe, in Thy mercy, I pray! Let them feel Thy divine wrath, screaming down to the damnation they so richly deserve like the children whom Thou caused to be torn into pieces by bears for mocking the baldness of thy servant, Elisha! The prayer rang through her mind, and she meant every word of it. There wasn't one---not even one---of her classmates for whom she felt the slightest pity or remorse.

Stepping out of the shed, she found that a fog had rolled in. She was quite grateful for the fog; it would make it a lot easier to creep up on her classmates unobserved. None of them were really aware of it, but she had long since learned to be very unobtrusive---moving silently and staying out of sight, in order not to be picked on. She had to acknowledge that in the Program, such a skill, no matter why it had been acquired, could be a literal lifesaver.

She was standing near a house, and she could hear voices. She crouched behind a bush, waiting. The owners of the voices hadn't noticed the sound of the shed door opening and closing; luckily, she hadn't slammed the door behind her. The fog muffled sounds, so at first she couldn't place the voices.

"---do you really think people will play?"

"I don't know, Mary. At least we're lucky enough to have each other. I could never kill you---you're my sister, after all!"

So that was who it was. Donna and Mary Lila Grace Thibodeau. They hadn't been foremost among her tormentors, but they didn't have clean hands---oh, no, not at all! The two sinning Jezebels had done their share of poking, pinching, tripping, hiding Carrie's things, and laughing at her.

The great day of His wrath has come…woe, woe, woe to the inhabiters of the Earth! It was a good line, from the best book in the Bible, Revelations. Oblivious to the danger, the two were strolling along, for all the world like it was a normal day in Chamberlain, with no Program and no classmates trying to kill them. The Lord hath delivered them into my hands, to do with as I will…

The sisters came closer, and closer still. Through the fog, Carrie could see them more and more clearly; she was standing behind a large bush, and they hadn't spotted her yet. They had weapons---Mary had a derringer and Donna had a hatchet in her hand---but they weren't really ready for a fight.

They were only about ten feet away when Carrie stepped out. Racking the bolt on the Uzi, she leveled it, pulling the trigger. The submachinegun bucked and roared more than she had thought it would; it pulled up and to the right, and she was so startled that she nearly lost control of it. More through instinct than anything else, she took her finger off the trigger.

Bad shooting or no, she had done what she set out to do. Mary was lying on her back, twitching convulsively; she was still alive, but from the look in her eyes, she wasn't tracking at all. Her chest was covered in bright red blood---brighter than any Carrie had ever seen---and more of it bubbled up as she watched, both through holes in her shirt and out of her mouth.

Donna, on the other hand, was in better case. She'd been hit a couple of times, but wasn't as badly hurt as her sister. She was trying to get up, and not doing well at it. As Carrie came closer, Donna's eyes went wide as saucers. "Carrie! Carrie, you---you shot us!" She paused to spit out blood. "Why?"

Carrie laughed out loud; when she had first realized that she was now in the Program, she had thought she'd never laugh again. Of all the stupid questions I ever heard, that takes the prize!

Donna had nearly gotten herself as far as sitting up, when Carrie fired another burst into her. She was getting the hang of controlling the Uzi, and every bullet went just where it wanted to; Donna flopped back with three 9mm Parabellum rounds in her gut. Carrie stepped forward and took the axe out of her nerveless hand, then turned and relieved Mary of her derringer, which she stuffed into her pocket. She grabbed both girls' bags and pulled them out of reach, to look through at her leisure.

Donna was watching her through pain-glazed eyes, disbelief writ large on her face. "Why?" she whispered. She was pretty clearly fading, with the blood flowing more and more slowly; she wouldn't last too long. It looked pretty painful. Carrie felt a rush of savage satisfaction. This was the first part of her revenge, but she vowed that it wouldn't be the last---not by any means!

"Why?" Carrie squatted on her haunches, watching curiously as the sisters died. "Don't you remember all the things you did to me, back in school? What in the world did you expect?"

"Didn't---the Bible teach---'thou shalt not kill?'" Donna spat up a big gobbet of blood; the effort of saying so much had clearly drained a lot out of her. "Murderer! You're a murderer!"

"No, I'm not," Carrie answered, as she consolidated the sisters' belongings and her own in a single bag, making sure to take the ammunition for the derringer as well as the food and water and maps. "The verse says, properly, that 'thou shalt do no murder.' Murder is unlawful killing. The Program's as legal as church on Sunday." She stood and cocked the Uzi again. "So this isn't murder. Think of this as repayment of a bunch of old debts. I haven't forgotten a thing, and now I can finally do something about it."

She looked at the sisters meditatively. Deliberately, putting all her strength into it, she kicked both of them in the head. When she kicked Donna, she heard a sickening crack, and Donna's whole body convulsed as though she had been hit with a jolt of electricity. After that, she lay very, very still, and her chest no longer rose and fell. Mary was out of it, but she was aware enough to groan when Carrie kicked her. The heavy, clunky shoes that Momma had insisted she wear gave her kicks some real authority. If she'd been wearing the sexy little high-heeled things that most of her female classmates favored, she'd not only not be able to kick, but she'd have a hard time traversing the sandy soil, or anything but pavement.

Turning from the dead and dying girls, Carrie surveyed the surroundings. The fog was still thick, but she was sure she'd heard shots from somewhere. Others were playing, it seemed. She stroked the submachinegun she now carried under one arm, its strap over her shoulder. The heft of it comforted her.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil---for I am the most dangerous thing in the valley! The blasphemous parody of the psalm was something she'd heard one of the boys quote once; it was something that he said his older brother had learned in Vietnam. Blasphemy or no, it fit her mood.

Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord---and I am his instrument, the chosen vessel of his wrath! Carrie threw back her head and gave a wild, happy laugh. She was looking forward to this!