Miss Smith eyed the enormous screen in front of her – it could barely fit inside the small classroom in which the woman sat. The display was actually made up of sixty four smaller screens, each one designating a numbered zone in the playing field. At that moment, only one screen was tinted red – square 28, the square that held the school, and the headquarters for The Program.
The monitors resembled the maps that the contestants were given, but Miss Smith had more information at her disposal with the massive screen. The randomly chosen areas that would become danger zones in the next six hours flashed red before returning to a neutral greenish tinge. On and off. Even more informative than that, however, was the figures that were scattered all over the giant display, numbers preceded with either a "B" or a "G". All the numbers were white and blinking, except for the few that weren't flashing at all – they were a solid black.
Miss Smith sighed as she counted the black numbers. A poor start. The first six hours were always known as the bloodiest (often referred to as "First Blood" by BR fans), when the contestants took advantage of the initial paranoia of the weaker players. When the true contenders were able to strike before the rest found shelter or allies.
The blonde woman turned her head, stared at the digital clock that slowly counted down the seconds. The official clock of The Program – the same time device that all the pocket watches were synched with. In three minutes, she would have to make the first set of announcements.
"How many confirmed deaths?" Miss Smith said, as she tilted her head upwards. She didn't turn to face the numerous soldiers that occupied themselves behind her back.
"Four," a young man said in reply, "Six if you include the two that you…I mean, that were eliminated prior to the official game start."
Miss Smith spun in her chair, turning to face all the subordinates. Some young men played cards at a small table in the corner, away from the rest of the equipment. A few paced the floor, glancing at technical equipment they didn't fully understand. A small group smoked cigarettes together, chatting quietly about something or other. Others were seated in front of the computer monitors, watching the figures dance before their eyes.
"Any contestants currently fighting?" she said.
"None, ma'am," a different soldier replied as he turned away from the screen to face her, "They will all be able to hear you, loud and clear."
Miss Smith nodded, her eyes drifting off to the side, glazing over as she slipped inside her own mind. One of the soldiers playing cards rose from his seat, and cautiously approached the woman. His fiery red hair was unkempt and he nervously ran a hand through his mussed locks.
"Ma'am?" he said, waiting for her eyes to rise and meet his face. His cheeks reddened as his pulse quickened. She seemed to realize just how terrified of her he was, but she made no indication. She blinked twice, waiting for him to speak again.
"Permission to be excused for a short time?"
She scowled at him, angry that he had disturbed her with such an unnecessary question. It wasn't his fault, though. He was simply one of the men that were required to be present at the school in case something…unfortunate happened. He would remain inactive and, most likely, bored for the next three days, just like the other soldiers that weren't assigned to monitoring of The Program.
Formalities had to be followed, however, and instead of getting angry, Miss Smith dismissed him with a nod, without even speaking. The young man bowed slightly and turned away, leaving the room.
Miss Smith took another glance at the clock. Less than a minute. She took a deep breath, moving close to the microphone, her eyes once again returning to the massive screen that blinked various data at her. She glanced down at the contestant files that she kept close by at all times for quick reference. Miss Smith eyed the sheet on which she had written the numbers and names of the deceased.
The seconds ticked away, and right on cue, a bell rang throughout the playing field. The sound ripped through the empty silence of the village, echoed through the forest, and was crushed under the noise of the waves against the cliffs to the east.
"Rise and shine, boys and girls," Miss Smith said into the microphone, her voice carrying out the loudspeakers set up around the playing area. "It's time for your first set of announcements. For those of you who don't remember, this is when I'll inform you of which contestants have died. Following the broadcast of the expired, there will be the upcoming danger zones, the first of which will become active one hour from now. So pay attention, because this information is very important."
Miss Smith took a breath.
"Some of you may notice that I don't appear to be in a particularly good mood. There are a few reasons for this, but the first and most important is this…"
She paused.
"FOUR?" she screeched into the microphone. The soldiers in the room cringed at her shriek, hearing her voice echoing from the speakers outside the school. Some men edged away from the woman, although no one dared to move too drastically in case she noticed. They all held their breath as they waited for Miss Smith to continue.
"FOUR deaths?" she said, her voice still high and angry, "Six people have died in the last six hours, and two of them were killed by me! That is UNACCEPTABLE!"
There was a long exhale, although it was only from Miss Smith. The rest of the soldiers in the classroom still refused to breathe, worried that any one of them would incur the wrath of the deadly woman.
"I'm very disappointed in all of you. What kind of season will this be if you don't take the initiative? Mark my words – step up your performance, or else."
A few seconds passed as Miss Smith collected herself, pushing around the papers in front of her. The monitors continued to flash, the information still pouring in. The soldier sitting in front of one particular screen watched as the heart rates of a majority of the contestants rose significantly.
"I suppose it's time to announce the dead, so here goes. The first to go, as all of you are aware, was Boy #9 – Mike D, or as I called him, The Homo." She smiled to herself. "It's a fitting code name, I feel. I've given one to each of you, because numbers are so easily confused, and your names are, well, boring. They don't reveal anything about you. My nicknames are much better, and they help me keep track of all of you."
Miss Smith paused to rifle through the contestant files, as if to make sure they were all there.
"I've gone over your files more times than I can remember, little warriors. The nicknames help me recall you better. I understand you all better than you know each other, even better than you know yourself."
"Then why didn't she know that there were two contestants named Mike?" one man whispered to another at the far end of the room. There was a screech as the microphone dropped to the floor, and a collective gasp as Miss Smith dashed across the room. She stood before the poor soldier before he even realized what had happened, before he knew that he had spoken just a little too loudly. Her ice blue eyes tore into his mind, into his soul.
"Did you say something?" she said, her voice soft and menacing, like the quiet hiss of a snake about to strike.
"No, ma'am," the soldier replied at once, his eyes staring straight ahead, his hands shaking at his sides. The other men tried to tear their eyes away but found themselves unable. They wondered if Miss Smith would really kill one of her own, just because of a remark. They all wanted to know, and they were thankful they weren't that unfortunate individual cornered by one of the deadliest people on the planet.
"Are you sure?" Miss Smith said, taking a tiny step closer to the man. The soldier opened his mouth to repeat himself, but discovered that he could no longer speak. He shook his head vigorously, his eyes falling to the floor. A full minute passed before Miss Smith spun around without a word, and walked back to her seat, picking up the microphone from the floor.
"Boys and girls, I was just graciously reminded that, earlier this morning, I was unaware of two contestants with the same name. Who am I to come up with appropriate and fitting code names, you may ask? Because you belong to me now. Everything else that came before The Program, you have forfeited. I can do whatever I like to you now – including rename you. So, if you impress me, I may be inclined to give you a name that reflects your performance."
She took another breath, letting her shoulders relax slightly. The men in the room appeared to become slightly calmer as well, all except the one who had spoken out of turn. His eyes remained glued to the floor, his hands clenched into fists, although they continued to shake.
"In any event, the second death was again performed by yours truly, and The Faculty Whore was eliminated, although the rest of you knew her better as Girl #20 – Nina. The rumors about this girl were confirmed to be true – she really was sleeping with members of the faculty at your high school. I feel bad for her, personally. Not because she's dead, but rather that she actually had sex with some of those disgusting excuses for men that taught you math and history and the like. The things we do to keep control – am I right ladies?"
Miss Smith glanced behind her at all the men in the room with her and flashed a smile that was probably meant to be mischievous, but instead sent chills through the spine of all the soldiers present.
"Well, I suppose we can move on to the deaths that few of you are aware of. The first true elimination was Girl #8 – Maya. I had trouble picking a code name for her, because none of them fully caught her essence. In the end I settled with The Sociopath, because that's what she was. A wolf in sheep's clothing. A predator that would have been a major contender for victory. In fact, she was one of the contestants I placed a wager on this season."
Miss Smith laughed out loud, but it sounded empty.
"I've actually placed five bets. One of my wagers may be lost, but there are still four of you out there! It's against the rules for me to say who I expect to win, but I don't think there's a problem mentioning my bets once the player has been killed. So come on people! Win me some money!"
She giggled again, although she cut it short and stared back down at her paper.
"The next name on my list is The Mouse, Girl #12 – Noelle. I hope none of you are too broken up over the loss of this girl. As you can tell by her code name, she was merely a rodent – prey for a bigger threat. No one really expected her to make it too far in this game. Following her demise, we had the first true death of a male in this season, and that was The Aroused, Boy #16 – Oliver. His name is appropriate simply because he was constantly trying to satisfy himself sexually, just like other sex addicts. At least he didn't die a virgin. Well, I don't think he did." Miss Smith paused, turning toward the soldiers. She faced them, still speaking into the microphone, "What do you think, men? Would you consider our young friend a virgin?"
The soldiers all glanced at each other, afraid to speak. They had all seen what happened when words were offered without being asked for them. But it appeared that Miss Smith truly wanted some input.
"Our cameras captured the whole event, we all saw it," one man said, speaking softly at first before raising his voice, "The boy didn't finish inside of the girl. It's the same as masturbating, then."
Miss Smith grinned, and the soldier appeared to be satisfied with his answer.
"He wasn't a virgin," a voice announced out loud. The entire room faced the soldier, his fists still shaking at his sides, but his eyes had risen off the ground, and stared at Miss Smith, unwavering. "If coming inside someone else is necessary to lose your virginity, then there are married people who could still be called virgins, and men who pick up prostitutes, too."
For a moment, Miss Smith said nothing until, finally, she nodded and smirked.
"Well said, soldier," she said, spinning in her chair and once again facing the giant screen. "That settles it for me, then. Let's move on to the last name on this list. It is Boy #19 – Mike R, or as he was appropriately named, The Piss Pants." She paused, tapping a finger against the table to her side, while still speaking into the microphone. "Maybe…maybe the wrong boy died first."
A minute passed before Miss Smith took an audible breath. It looked like she had more to say, but decided against it. She shook her head from side to side. Still tapping her finger. If there were any lingering doubts about her methods earlier in the game, it appeared she didn't feel like dealing with them.
Tap, tap.
"Those six contestants are the only ones who have been eliminated. That means that there are still forty four of you inside the playing field. Hopefully we'll have plenty more names at noon today. In any event, here are the three zones that will become danger zones at seven am, nine am, and eleven am, respectfully."
She waited a few seconds for the students to produce their maps and ready their highlighters.
"The first zone is 20, located exactly north of the school danger zone. At nine, sector 21 becomes activated, and this should be apparent, but zone 21 is the area east of block 20. And wrapping it up, block 33 all the way to the west in the mountains region becomes active at eleven."
Those three areas continued to blink red on the massive display before her. The whole mountain area to the west appeared to be almost completely vacant, except for a few contestants scattered here or there. In fact, there was only one player in zone 33, and she would probably move immediately following the announcement. Areas 20 and 21 had a few contestants each, but they wouldn't stick around too long, provided that they realized they were inside a pending danger zone.
"That's all the information I have to offer now," Miss Smith said with a sigh. She continued to tap her finger against the table, and at some point her foot had joined the rhythm.
Tap, tap.
"Before I sign off," she continued, "I would like to…apologize for my outburst at the start of this announcement."
The soldiers reacted in various forms of surprise, glancing nervously at each other, lowering their jaws in shock, eyes drifting off to the sides or down to the floor, shifting weight from one foot to the other.
"It wasn't fair for me to get angry at all of you. The Program is a difficult game, and a lot can happen in a short amount of time. I know that some of you out there are trying your hardest, and to undermine your efforts is wrong. Please, forgive me."
Miss Smith stopped tapping her finger, her foot. She took a deep breath, letting her shoulders sag.
"I don't like wishing people luck, because it isn't something you work for – it's just something that happens to you. So, instead, I'll wish you all good skill. Your skills, your abilities will see you through this. I will return in six hours. That is all."
The microphone was switched off, and another bell rang throughout the playing field, informing everyone that announcements had ended. Silence reigned supreme through the classroom, as the soldiers attempted to return to their activities without drawing attention to themselves.
"Ma'am?" The voice sliced through the tranquility of the moment, shattering any hope for peace. It was him again. Miss Smith slowly turned and gazed at the man who apparently didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
"Isn't it illegal for government officials directly involved with The Program to place bets on the game?"
The fury returned to Miss Smith's face and she jumped up from the chair, but before she could get a word out edgewise, the soldier continued.
"The reason I ask," he said, "is because I'm a gambling man myself."
Miss Smith stopped, let her face relax. A curiosity crept into her eyes, and she placed a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to her back leg. The powder blue blouse revealed a modest bosom, but no man was brave enough to stare at it for long.
"I was wondering if, during The Program," he said, walking towards her, "you would be interested in placing a few small wagers here or there?"
She stared at him, although her eyes weren't as hard as they had been. The hint of a smile crept along her cheeks, and she placed a hand on the back of her chair, swiveling it towards her.
"What is your name, soldier?" she said, her eyebrows rising slightly.
"Most of the guys just call me Thumper," he said. Miss Smith tilted her head, as if she wanted a better explanation. Thumper reached into her shirt and pulled out his dog tags, but with a rabbit's foot also attached to the chain.
"Don't leave home without it," he said, as he held it up for Miss Smith to see. She smirked and Thumper placed the tags and rabbit's foot back inside his shirt.
"Fine, Thumper," Miss Smith said with a nod, "What kind of bets were you thinking of placing?"
"Anything, really," he said, glancing at some of the other soldiers who appeared to be relieved by the light banter, "We could bet on the next contestant to die, or which one will survive a fight, or something as simple as the next contestant to enter a certain zone on the map."
"It sounds like there are a lot of things to bet on," Miss Smith said, glancing back up at her giant map.
"Got to keep the game interesting," Thumper said in reply, "We could use items like matches or toothpicks to represent money, so we wouldn't have to worry about bills switching hands so often." He paused, gazing around him. "And it would allow everyone to take part if they wanted."
Miss Smith glanced at the other soldiers, some of which immediately averted their eyes, while others met her stare and nodded with a smirk of their own.
"Sounds like fun," Miss Smith said, "Any suggestions for our first round of betting?"
"Something simple," Thumper said, "How about the next contestant to claim a kill? It allows for a wild card win, but there are also plenty of safe bets too. And we can have other, smaller wagers in the meantime."
Miss Smith stared up at the large screen, watching the numbers slowly move from place to place. She knew which contestants would be most likely to kill, either for their first time or not. The trouble was trying to pick the right one. Her eyes flew over the numbers, until they settled on one in particular. Miss Smith frowned, watching the figure "G13" flash inside zone 33. She had expected that girl to carry on soon after the announcements. The other students in blocks 20 and 21 were already on the move.
The woman gazed over at her contestant files, her mind bringing up the information she needed. The soldiers were already arguing about who was most likely to claim the next kill, but they seemed to quiet as Miss Smith turned, her eyes scanning the room. Her gaze fell on an empty chair by the card table, and immediately, her eyes widened.
"Boys," Miss Smith said, the entire room silencing, "All of you can hammer out the details of our betting system. Thumper, I want you to watch the screen for a few minutes."
"Ma'am?" Thumper said, a confused look crossing his face.
"I shall return shortly," the woman said, heading for the door, "It appears I am needed elsewhere, briefly."
-B-A-T-T-L-E-
Selene (Girl #21) couldn't move. She was seated beneath a random tree inside the forest region, while the sky above slowly lightened. The sun hadn't officially risen yet, but it would soon. And with the sun in the sky, all the shadows of the night would be chased away, and there would be no place to hide out in the open – for both predator and prey alike.
20, 21, 33.
Her mind repeated the three numbers on autopilot, because she knew she couldn't allow herself to forget them. A part of her needed to check her current location, to make sure she wasn't currently inside one of the blocks that would become a danger zone. But she remained frozen.
The yellow highlighter was in one hand, and the student roster was in the other. Five names were crossed off her list, but the sixth remained uncrossed, and the highlighter was making a large blot where it met the paper. Her eyes remained focused on the name, unable to comprehend it, refusing to cross it off the list.
20, 21, 33.
"No," Selene said out loud as she continued to stare at the name. "It's a mistake." She put the highlighter down on the ground next to her, right by her designated weapon, and then reached up, twirling some of her hair around her fingers. She took a deep breath, and then another. She still stared at his name, at his number. The voice of Miss Smith continued to echo around the trees, floating along the wind.
"Let's move on to the last name on this list. It is Boy #19 – Mike R…"
"A mistake."
It had to be an error. That was the only explanation. There was a malfunction or the collars were switched. There was no way that Mike R was dead! Sure, he had seemed scared back in the classroom, but Selene's boyfriend was smart, and fast! There was no way that someone had found him, had managed to kill him. The only explanation was that it was a mistake.
Selene stared at the spot on the student roster right before Mike R's name. She wouldn't cross off his name because, deep down, she knew she was right. Mike R was alive and out there somewhere in the playing field. She would prove it to herself and everyone else! She would find him and show them all that just because he was short…and frail…and…and…couldn't really fight…and tended to get lost in his own imagination…and…
"Maybe…maybe the wrong boy died first."
Selene bit her lip, shaking her head. She wouldn't believe it! Not ONE WORD! She knew, inside her heart, that…that…
A hiccup.
Selene could no longer see the name on the student roster list, as the tears blurred her vision. She tried to inhale, but it wasn't smooth, instead coming in gasps. Her cheeks burned, and she grit her teeth together until her jaw ached. She wiped the tears away, staring at his name, at the spot the highlighter made on the paper. Her vision blurred again. Selene tried to keep silent, continued to twirl her hair.
A sob escaped her lips. She gasped, using her hand to cover her mouth, and she bit into her own palm, trying to force the tears away. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was his face. He was smiling at her, and the grin broke her heart in two. Selene grabbed her shirt and pulled it up and over her head to muffle her noises. She wept, her shirt quickly becoming wet from her tears. She tried to keep her cries as quiet as possible, but the grief was already wrapped tightly inside her chest, and it seemed that nothing would loosen the grip.
20, 21, 33.
She needed to write down those numbers before she forgot them. Selene extended a hand, reaching for the highlighter, but instead lightly touched her weapon. She stared down at it, the nail gun looking bulky and difficult to manage. Her finger lightly traced the rubber handle, the metallic shaft.
It reminded her…of him.
-R-O-Y-A-L-E-
What a bogus assignment! Did anyone even realize that there was a Film Appreciation Club at the school? And even if the majority of students were aware (which they weren't), would any of them care to read about such a boring topic?
Selene sighed. It wasn't her fault, or her editor's either. Gossip was just slow. No recent break ups or hook ups of any real interest. And that fender bender in the school parking lot that had ended with two teachers in a fistfight had been interesting last week, but no one seemed to care anymore.
That was the problem. No one cared. How could Selene do her job of eavesdropping when no one was saying anything? The hallway chatter had been dull, full of empty words and generic comments that could have been about anything.
That brought Selene to her current predicament. The editor going through the "slop pile" looking for something to write about. And, apparently, that included the so-called "Horror-fest" that was being sponsored by the Film Appreciation Club, and promoted by its president.
Selene walked into the room in which they had agreed to meet. It was empty, save for the desks aligned into rows, and the teacher's podium at the front. He was sitting in one of the seats in the first row, and he rose when Selene entered.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello," Selene replied, "You are…"
"Mike R-," he said, nodding his head, "I'm the president of the Film Appreciation Club."
Selene was surprised that a freshman was leading the club – usually only upperclassmen received that type of position. The boy clearly had to be a freshman – he was short and thin, and it looked like he couldn't grow a single facial hair yet. He looked young, really young. Perhaps he had skipped a grade and entered high school early.
Selene took a seat at one of the desks and turned it to face him, and Mike R mirrored her. She pulled a notepad from her backpack, and prepared to write down the information she needed. Selene had some questions she had prepared, and she got ready to ask them. She glanced up at him, only to see that he was eyeing her a little strangely. The girl was a little taken aback, unsure what it was, exactly, that he was looking at.
"What is it?" she said. The boy blinked, as if realizing that he had been staring, and he stumbled over his words briefly. He glanced off to the side, pretending to read the writing that had been left on the blackboard.
"You…look like this girl I just saw in a movie last night," Mike R said. He looked like he was about to say more, but then closed his mouth and stared down at his hands, folded and resting on the desk in front of him. Selene tried to shake off the uneasiness creeping over her, and she leaned back in her chair to relax slightly. Her eyes scanned the questions she had written down prior to this interview. However, when she stared at him again, only one question seemed to matter in her mind.
"What movie was it?"
Mike R swallowed, and it looked like it was difficult for him. He met her gaze before returning his eyes to his hands. Voices echoed outside the classroom, as students slowly made their way to their destinations.
"It was a horror flick," Mike R said, "I doubt you'd care about it."
The truth of the matter was that he was right – Selene didn't care. But there was something about his reluctance that was drawing her in. She was curious by nature, and she wouldn't be satisfied until she had pulled more information out of the boy. It was the reporter in her.
Just the facts, please.
"What was it about?" Selene said, folding her arms across her chest.
Mike R took a breath. "Just a standard slasher movie. Kids in the woods, no one around for miles. Slowly they start to die – you know, same old suspenseful stuff."
"And I look like one of the characters?"
He took another look at her, as if to verify his first thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, and nodded. She wasn't sure why, but Selene was smiling. There was something so natural about the conversation, almost like it wasn't an interview. The two of them could have been anyone, chatting about a scary movie at any location. It was a nice feeling for Selene, who always trying to listen to other people talk, trying to disappear into the crowd, and never really having a conversation of her own.
"What happened to her?" Selene said, and then after, "in the movie, I mean."
"She died," Mike R said with a shrug, "close to the end."
Selene's smile disappeared. "Oh," she said.
"Yeah," Mike R said, clearing his throat a little and glancing off to the side again, "The killer nailed her to the wall with a nail gun and then he-"
Selene's face must have twisted in disgust, because when he saw her, he stopped talking. Mike R bit his bottom lip, and nodded, releasing a sigh from deep inside. Selene still hadn't said anything, and the two of them sat there, not looking at each other for a minute or two. Finally one of them spoke.
"It's actually a pretty entertaining movie," Mike R said, "Maybe sometime you'd like to watch it?"
Selene still didn't reply, but she felt her face relax. She took a breath, remembering the ease she had felt earlier, and the comfort she had had with just sitting and talking. Selene stared at him, this youthful-looking boy, and wondered how anyone who appeared so innocent could actually enjoy something so dark and twisted.
"Maybe you'd like to come to Horror-fest?" Mike R said, "Or maybe…I don't know…watch it with just me sometime?"
Selene stared down at the questions she had prepared, and she tapped her pen against the notepad. Her lips were closed, and she took long, slow breaths through her nose. She glanced at him, and noticed that he was staring back, meeting her gaze head on.
"I don't think so," Selene replied.
-B-A-T-T-L-E-
"She was killed with a nail gun," Selene said softly aloud. She took a long, deep breath. She'd been too hard on him then. She hadn't even given the boy a chance, and she remembered how shocked she had been to discover the Mike R was a junior, just like she was at the time. In fact, Selene had learned, Mike R was older than she was.
The girl smiled softly. If she had known then, if she could have seen how things would have played out, she would have taken him up on his offer. But she hadn't known. Selene couldn't have imagined the boy who was hidden just beneath the surface. How imaginative he could be, how he would get lost inside his own mind for a while, and the things he could come up with! Mike R always received average grades, but Selene would say that his ingenuity was worth much more than any letter plastered to the cover of his ten-page paper.
He was intelligent and creative and had a great sense of humor and…and…he was lost to her. Selene's memories raced through her head – the horror flicks they watched together, the warm conversations that could go anywhere. The way that Selene would close her eyes when Mike R held her close and she knew, she could feel, that he was seven feet tall and strong enough to protect them both. The time in between, all those occasions he had spent trying to woo her. It all felt like wasted time, moments that she could have enjoyed his company. Days, weeks, months that she could have been with him, been happy.
But she hadn't known.
Selene slowly reached down and gripped the nail gun. Her instructions said that it was pneumatic, which meant that it used compressed air to fire. The instructions also informed her of how to switch in new nails, and new cartridges of compressed air. The safety latch had been removed, apparently, so that the nail gun could fire like any regular firearm.
The girl held up the nail gun, pointing it at a nearby tree, before pulling the trigger. There was a hiss of air, and a whir as the mechanisms all sprang to life. There was a considerable amount of recoil, and a soft thunk sound that drifted from the tree. Selene slowly rose to her feet, walking over to the bark, searching for the nail. She found it, eventually, embedded in the tree almost all the way to the head.
She was killed with a nail gun.
Selene stared down at the weapon.
It would be relatively simple. It was just like any other gun. Just hold it up to her temple and pull the trigger, and the nail would sail right through her brain, destroying everything in its path. And then she could be with Mike R. That was what Selene wanted more than anything. Not to go home, not to live, but instead to be with Mike R.
She started crying again, although it was an unwelcome feeling. She didn't want to hurt anymore, didn't want to grieve. She just wanted the fear to leave her body, and she wanted to hear Mike R's voice again, and to see his smile.
Selene brought the nail gun up to her head. She closed her eyes, searching for Mike R's smiling face behind her eyelids. She wanted him to be the last thing she saw before…it was all over. His face returned to her, just like it had last time. But the smile was gone, and instead all she could see was a blank expression and blood splatter covering his cheeks. She remembered him as he had been, standing in the front of the classroom, a body lying at his feet.
What was the point of it all? If Mike R was just going to die in the first six hours of the game, then what was the point of that whole debacle in the classroom? He hadn't been saved – Mike R had still died! It only delayed the inevitable. That was what they all were doing – only one of them would live. The rest were just postponing their deaths.
So go ahead! End it!
Selene squeezed her eyes tight, and she let out a pained gasp, telling her hand to close, to pull the trigger. Her hand refused to comply. She emitted another sigh, full of anguish and hurt, telling herself to end it, to stop delaying the unavoidable, that she didn't stand a chance at winning, that she was as good as dead. That he was waiting for her, that there was no one else that she could trust, that she was doing herself a favor by quitting at that moment instead of waiting for some psycho to slice her up instead.
DO IT!
With a cry of agony, the girl dropped the gun. She brought her hands to her face, weeping into the small space created by her fingers. Her long hair cascaded around her like a mosquito net as she squatted down, curling into a small ball.
"I can't do it!" she said as a wave of failure swallowed her up. The tears continued to fall, and it seemed nothing would make them stop. Selene tried to see his face again, to picture the grin that would make everything better, but it was still the same blank expression, still the aura of fear that surrounded him.
I don't want to die.
"Please," she said softly, trying to end the pain that circled around her, "Please, Mike."
More sobs. She tried to say it, but found herself unable.
"Please…"
…forgive me…
-R-O-Y-A-L-E-
Noah (Boy #18) sat inside the hut like he had for the past six hours.
In a daze.
He remembered stumbling out of the school, terrified and mourning and still a little sore from his encounter from Miss Smith. He could recall shambling his way through the village, trying desperately to find safety. He had chosen one at random, one he hoped would have been inconspicuous. Fatigued, both mentally and physically, the boy had collapsed inside the shack.
And cried.
He wept for hours, stopping every once in a while to drift into unconsciousness. But he would eventually wake, and see the shanty surrounding him, and smell the sweat resting stagnantly on his body, and feel Mike D's blood still staining his skin. And he would realize that it wasn't a dream, that it was real, and that Mike D was dead. It would continue from there.
The tears.
The sobs.
The curses.
And the cycle would repeat. However, announcements appeared to have broken the boy out of his circle of misery. He sat upright, legs tucked in close. Dirt was smudged on his face, and his eyes stung from the constant act of crying. But he felt decidedly better. Not good, no chance of that. But better than he had been. It was almost as if the announcements had given Noah a sense of closure. Mike D hadn't been the only death. Others had died too, including that other boy with Mike's name that had been allowed to live.
Noah felt it was almost poetic. He hadn't wished any real harm on the other boy, but it made the pain a little more manageable. The other Mike hadn't gotten away scot-free – they were both dead. It just seemed a little fairer.
"The first to go, as all of you are aware, was Boy #9 – Mike D, or as I called him The Homo."
Now that hadn't been fair. Reducing Mike D – a person with deep, intellectual thoughts and strong personal convictions and plans to rework the whole damn country when he became President – to a simple code name was bad enough. But to rub salt in the wound, to degrade him into nothing more than homophobic slang term, that was just…
Noah wanted to get angry, wanted to kick and scream and go running into that school and just kick the shit out of that horrible bitch for killing Mike D and for dishonoring him like that. But the boy didn't move. He remained in his daze, staring at the far wall as the shapes blurred together. Far inside his head, a voice that belonged to Mike D whispered a small phrase.
"I told you so."
It created a pang of guilt inside the boy's chest. That wasn't how he wanted to remember Mike D! He wanted to remember the private study sessions they had, that would always turn into something else. He wanted to remember their secret rendezvous at places around town. He wanted to remember the way Mike D's eyes twinkled when he smiled, or the smell of that deodorant he always wore.
But still the phrase continued, and Noah couldn't help but agree. Perhaps he had been naïve, or maybe he had just hidden the truth away from himself. But Noah knew the truth, which was that he expected to be accepted by his peers and by authority, regardless of his sexuality, simply because he was smart. The conceit involved in that thought, the arrogance of it all, made Noah angry at himself. And it made him feel guiltier.
Mike D had been more of a realist, apparently. He had known that prejudice against homosexuals still existed, perhaps not to the degree that it once had, but it was still out there. To be confronted with it so blatantly, it felt like a slap in the face. Back in the classroom, for the first time in his life, Noah had felt ashamed of being gay. Being different. Being…himself. He knew then that Mike D had been right all along, that going public about their relationship would have been social suicide, at least to a certain degree. The world wouldn't have collapsed, like Mike D said it would have, but Noah realized that it would have been close enough. And since that was the argument that forced the boys apart, that tore them from each other's arms, that sent them on different paths, Noah could only sit and wallow in his misery. Because he had been wrong.
The break up was, therefore, his fault.
I'm sorry, Mike.
The boy waited for an answer, but all he received was the same soft phrase.
"I told you so."
The boy stared up at the ceiling of the shack, rocking back and forth only slightly. He took a long breath, lacing his fingers together. The room was slowly getting brighter as the sun rose higher in the sky. Soon, the last remnants of night would be gone for good. Noah took another long breath.
"Please, Mike," he said aloud, "Please, forgive me."
The door crashed open, and before Noah even knew what was going on, he was on his feet, his weapon pulled from the duffel bag and gripped tightly in his hand. A feminine figure stood in the doorway, the sunlight shining from behind her, hiding her face in shadows. In one hand was a long, silver object, obviously her weapon.
"Who are you?" Noah said, his voice cracking as he resisted the urge to throw up. The fear pounded inside his head, especially as he got a better a look at the girl's weapon. He eyed his own, a shiny silver fork, looking less and less menacing in his fist.
"My name is Tonya," the girl said, stepping inside the shack. Tonya (Girl #7) had an air of indifference surrounding her. Her expression was almost completely blank, her eyes uninterested and dull as she met Noah's stare. She brought her weapon, a katana, up and rested the dull side on her shoulder.
"You're that FLA," Tonya said, "The gay one."
"My name is Noah," the boy said, his green eyes narrowing.
"Oh," she said with a shrug. There was a moment of silence, as Noah took in the situation. He didn't have many options. Her weapon was a hundred, probably a thousand times better than his. There was a window off to the side, but there was no way he could get through it before she sliced him to shreds. His only hope was to dodge her initial strike and run for the door, hoping with all his might, that Tonya didn't have an ally waiting there as a backup.
"So," Tonya said, "Do you want to fight?"
Noah frowned, unsure what she meant. He took a step to the side, hoping to get a better angle on the door. He replied with, "What?"
"Do you want to try to kill me?" the girl said, "Yes or no?"
"No, I-" Noah started, but after his initial response, the girl shrugged and turned away.
"Okay," she said, leaving the shack and closing the door behind her.
Noah's mouth dropped open. He slowly lowered his fork, although his mind screamed that this was some sort of trap. That Tonya was expecting him to follow her outside, where she would make quick work of him. But that didn't make sense – if Tonya had wanted to kill him, she could have easily done so.
The adrenaline was slowly leaving his system, and Noah felt fatigued all over again. He let himself collapse to the floor, the fork getting knocked from his hand and clattering on the cement. He wanted to be happy, to say that he had managed to survive his first encounter with another contestant, but there was something gnawing him at the back of his thoughts.
You're that FLA. The gay one.
That's what she had said. It all came back to that in the end, apparently. Just like Mike D, Noah would be known only by his sexuality, be judged solely on that characteristic of himself. By complete strangers…and his friends. He had wondered, sometimes, what the other FLAs would say if he and Mike D told them, and only them, about the boys' relationship. He wanted to say that he expected nothing to change, and prior to The Program, he would have thought that. But Noah wasn't sure anymore. A few of the FLAs weren't too happy about Kristy (Girl #6) dating that guy Raymond (Boy #11) – they said it brought down the integrity of the whole group. Noah could only imagine what they would say about a same-sex relationship.
The boy bit his lip, feeling the tears well up inside him once again. He had lost Mike D, and in the process, had been pulled out of the closet, which had cost him his group of friends, the FLAs. He wanted to believe that they would still trust him, that he could rely on them. But Noah wouldn't delude himself anymore. Maybe if they were all back in school when things had been normal, maybe he could count on them to do the right thing. But in The Program, trust was too hard to come by. He couldn't place faith in the belief that his friends would continue to stick by him.
Not anymore.
He pulled his legs in close, letting himself roll sideways, so that his head rested on the cement floor. He closed his eyes, feeling the loneliness wearing him down, rotting inside his chest. He felt the urge to cry again, but it seemed that his eyes had finally run out of tears. The anxiety bore down on him, pushing him into the floor. Noah sighed, letting the exhaustion take control.
He closed his eyes, hoping for a comforting dream in which to escape.
-B-A-T-T-L-E-
She spotted him almost immediately – a sight for sore eyes. It was the hair that had given him away, like a raging inferno sitting atop his skull, so very much like her own. The sun was slowly rising in the distance, and the sky held colors of oranges and red as the day gained momentum. She watched him glance one way, and then the other. Waiting was torture. Hidden in the receding shadows, she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to thank him for everything. But she would have to wait for his signal.
The piece of paper was still clutched in her hand, and while she stood there, she took another look at it, quickly rereading it. No matter how many times she scanned the words, they still filled her with relief – a beacon of hope in what was otherwise a torrent of misery. A smile tore across her face, and she sighed, hugging the note close to her chest. Her free hand traced its way down her cheek, under her chin, before scratching the side of her neck.
Her bare neck.
It had been tough, never mind terrifying, but she had followed the instructions to the letter.
"Your collar has a malfunction…"
That's how the note had started. She was confused, at first, but as she continued onwards, things became more and more clear. Her brother, Victor had come through for her – had saved her fucking life! He had taken more risks than anyone in his position would dare, but he had avoided detection. Victor had found the collar, the one that would still report as normal, even when there were no vital signs to monitor, even when it wasn't locked around a contestant's throat. He had found it, and he had made sure she was wearing it.
He'd even come up with a brilliant plan – first she would travel as far west as possible into the mountains, and drop the collar there. Then, she would return to the school, and meet up with Victor. When the soldiers realized something was wrong (which, eventually, they would), they would investigate, only to discover a collar buried in the dirt. They would assume that she had escaped her collar somehow, and travel further west, out of the playing field, looking for her. Meanwhile, she and Victor would have already escaped on the opposite side, hijacking one of the government-assigned boats, and leaving undetected. Sure, the two would be branded traitors, and they would never be allowed to live, should they ever be caught.
But it was all worth it, for both of them to remain alive.
It was almost time to leave. She had to hustle back down the mountain to reenter the school danger zone by the first set of announcements, but it was necessary that she do that, according to the letter Victor had written her. There had been a few close calls, as well. Wandering out in the playing field, she'd almost stumbled across Zeke (Boy #22) once, but she had slipped away before he noticed her, which was a good move, based on the menacing way the boy held his axe.
The confrontations that almost happened – they weren't important anymore. She had managed to navigate the playing field, as planned, and she was currently standing inside a danger zone – there was no way that a contestant would be able to attack her. All she wanted was to leave. Soon, very soon, she and Victor would be running for the cliffs to the east. It was dangerous, once again, to venture back into the playing field, but Victor would have his government-issued weaponry, a SIG P228 semiautomatic handgun. He would protect the both of them, and they would be able to escape.
One whistle, short and high.
She held her breath, waiting…waiting…...waiting…...
A second whistle tore through the silence, and then she was off and running. Her sudden appearance seemed to surprise him, but when Victor saw who it was, he sighed in relief, smirking at his little sister, as she ran towards him. Her tears blinded her briefly, but she was too anxious to get to her brother to wipe them away.
"Joy!" Victor said, raising a hand in greeting. Joy (Girl #13) tried to respond, tried to say something to convey her unbridled happiness, her gratitude towards her brother. It was almost too much to handle. When she thought back to those initial feelings of fear, of complete terror – she never thought that she would feel happy again. And even as she read the note that Victor had tucked away inside her duffel bag, it was only a taste to the…joy…that she was currently experiencing. She had been to the gates of hell, and she had been given a second chance at life. Joy knew she was one of the lucky ones, that the rest of the contestants would, most likely, be eliminated once her escape became known. And she felt bad for them, she really did – Joy knew that the guilt would be difficult to endure, but…damn it, she wanted to live. And she knew that she didn't stand a chance otherwise. This was the only way she could possibly win The Program – with her brother's help. Did she want the other students to die? No! It was just…
Victor was her advantage. Some contestants were smart, and some were strong, and some had better weapons, but Joy's advantage was an older brother in the military! Why shouldn't she use that? She wanted to live just as much as anyone else – and maybe, just maybe, the rest of the contestants wouldn't be killed immediately. Perhaps the game would continue, with just one girl short.
But there was plenty of time to think of the future at some other time. Joy just wanted to hug Victor, to feel completely safe and secure for just a minute or two. And then the two of them could leave, for places unknown. They could rebuild their lives, away from their parents, who would rather work twenty-four hours a day, instead of reading a bedtime story. Or going to a school play. Or staying for the entirety of their child's birthday party. Joy and Victor would be there for each other, just like they always were. Things would be different! They would be better.
"Treason," a voice said as the shadows shifted behind Victor, "is a very serious crime."
Joy froze in mid-step. Her lips quivered, as, suddenly, her tears took on a completely new meaning. Miss Smith was shorter than Victor, but the presence she possessed made it appear like she towered over the man. She held a revolver to the back of his head, and Victor held his hands up at his sides.
In defeat.
The girl collapsed to her knees, a dull ache quickly forming inside her chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Victor's plan was flawless, brilliant even. How was it that Miss Smith put all the pieces together? It wasn't fair! Joy and Victor were supposed to escape together, to start over as a family!
"Girl Number Thirteen," Miss Smith said, and it took Joy a minute to realize she was being addressed. She tried to swallow, but it made her feel like throwing up. Her head swam, feeling the last glimpses of hope slowly slip through her fingers. Miss Smith didn't wait for the girl to respond.
"If you want this young man to stay alive," Miss Smith said, "You will come over here and put on this replacement collar I've brought. I will assure you that no harm nor discipline will come his way, but only if you accept your new collar and reenter The Program."
Joy stared at Victor through tear-filled eyes, watching as he attempted to glimpse at Miss Smith out of the corner of his eye. His hands were still raised, but Joy could see that he wanted, very much, to grab the SIG P228 at his hip. Any such movement, however slight, would most likely cause Miss Smith to pull the trigger at once. Victor wouldn't stand a chance, and even if he did, Joy couldn't justify why he should have to put his life on the line for her again. He had done all he could – probably more than that – to save Joy. As much as it bothered her, terrified her, made her feel more like a burden than a little sister, she would join The Program. Refusing, at that moment, was suicide – both of them would be executed and left to rot.
At least Victor would be able to survive if Joy accepted Miss Smith's offer.
She could see Victor staring at her, slowly shaking his head from side to side. They both knew that if Joy went back into The Program, she wouldn't make it out alive. But it was better to give herself a chance at victory than to condemn them both to death. If it came down to it, Joy would play, if only to reunite herself with her brother.
That would be difficult, however. Her designated weapon…
Weapon…
Joy's eyes widened, and her stare met Victor's. A message passed between them, something only the two of them could understand, that only they could comprehend. Joy could either fight all the other contestants alone, or they could both do battle with Miss Smith. One against forty-three, or two against one. Together, they had a better shot at surviving. With Joy's weapon in hand, they could stand a chance.
Together.
Slowly, Joy shifted her weight, starting to climb to her feet. She watched Victor's eyes, as he waited for the precise moment to reach for his gun. While Joy was moving, she deftly slipped her hand into her duffel bag, making it appear that she was rising to her feet against her own wishes. Her hand closed around her weapon and…
The air horn ripped through the silence. Joy held down the button, letting the noise erupt from her bag, shattering the quiet moment around them. Miss Smith visibly jumped and Victor was ready, starting to fall forward, moving his head out of the line of fire from Miss Smith's revolver. One hand reached his gun and he spun, firing a quick shot at Miss Smith. It struck her chest, and she cried out in pain as the woman toppled to the earth.
Victor yelled something, but Joy's ears were still ringing, so she couldn't make it out. The two of them took off, sprinting east, toward the cliffs, toward the boat, toward freedom. The two of them met, linking hands and taking another few strides, before Victor cried out and collapsed to the ground. Joy's eyes quickly focused on the bloody mess that had been Victor's knee, and she wondered where the damage had come from. Victor turned his body as far as it would go, aiming his SIG back where they had come, but before anything could happen, there was a humming noise, and suddenly part of his head burst outwards.
Joy screamed in horror as her brother collapsed at her feet. She continued to shriek, even as Miss Smith strolled over, staring down to make sure the man was dead. She stuck her finger through a hole in her powder blue suit, gritting her teeth in frustration. She gingerly felt the Kevlar vest she was wearing, just to make sure it was still on correctly. Once all that had been completed, she reached out and smacked Joy with the broad side of her revolver, knocking the girl to the ground. This stopped Joy's screams, but her eyes were still wide in terror, her breaths coming in short bursts.
Miss Smith bent over, snapping a collar over Joy's neck. The girl blinked a few times, letting her fingers rise and examine the foreign object.
"No," Joy managed to squeak out, her hands gripping the metal ring and tugging slightly, "No, no, no!"
"I will give you twenty minutes to leave this area," Miss Smith said, returning her gun to its hiding place on her body, "After that amount of time, I will activate your collar, and if you're still in this zone, it will detonate."
"No," Joy said again, her voice low and hoarse from her cries.
"You will die, if you don't leave," Miss Smith said, lifting Joy's face to meet her own. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, as if to drive the point home, and then Miss Smith stepped back, letting the girl close in on herself. Joy wept for a solid minute before she could bring herself to look at Victor.
"Victor," she said, "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. Please, please forgive me." The girl spoke as if she were alone, as if her brother's murderer wasn't still in her presence.
Miss Smith watched in silence, before checking her watch.
"I don't know why you care so much about him," Miss Smith said, turning her back on the girl, "If I had a step-brother, I would find it hard to relate to him as if we were true siblings."
"What?" Joy said, her eyes lifting off the gory mess that had once been Victor. Her mouth hung open as the girl gazed up at Miss Smith. Her face contorted into an expression of confusion, at both the woman and her words. She blinked, pulled a lock of hair in front of her blurry eyes, as if to verify that it was the same fiery red that Victor's hair was, and then brushed it out of her face. Joy stared down at the boy, her head suddenly filled with questions. The grief receded as disbelief took over.
"We weren't really a brother and sister?" Joy said.
"That's what your file says," Miss Smith said in reply, slowly beginning her trek back to headquarters.
It's a lie. She's a fucking liar!
But Joy couldn't stop the doubts from coming, couldn't prevent her mind from asking the questions. She stared down at Victor's face, pleading for an answer. Was it true? If so, had Victor known? Why would Miss Smith lie about something like that? Even if it was true, that didn't make their relationship any less special, right?
Right?
-R-O-Y-A-L-E-
Miss Smith entered the room, and all of the men (except Thumper) immediately came to attention. She told them all to relax, which they did instantly. They watched her from the corner of their eyes as she walked over to the massive screen, and tapped Thumper on the shoulder.
"Anything to report, soldier?" she said, to which Thumper rose and shook his head.
"Nothing ma'am," he said, his eyes tracing down her shirt, stopping on the fresh bullet hole in her blouse. He glanced back at her face, and then down to the hole again. He opened his mouth to speak, but Miss Smith shook her head, and so Thumper sealed his lips, and returned to the other end of the room. The woman sat down, her eyes returning to the flashing "G13" inside zone 33.
It hadn't been completely fair for Miss Smith to lie to the girl. In fact, it had been downright cruel. But that wasn't why she had done it. The girl was clearly going to stay inside area 28, mourning the loss of her brother, until her collar detonated. At least with the deception, Miss Smith had forced the girl out of mourning, and into doubt. Grief would get the girl killed, but uncertainty, well, that could be the one thing to motivate Girl #13 to keep fighting for another few hours.
"Who knows, maybe she has what it takes to come out on top?" Miss Smith whispered to herself.
A pause.
If anything, Miss Smith was relieved that the whole fiasco had been avoided. If she hadn't been so thorough with those contestant files, she would never have remembered that one of the soldiers present was the brother to Girl #13. Those responsible for the preparation of The Program were obviously too lax, to let this kind of thing even be a possibility – a contestant had almost escaped. But despite all that, Miss Smith had recalled the information, had eliminated a traitor, and most likely returned a contestant to the battlefield, where she belonged. At then end of the day, that was simply Miss Smith's job.
And damn, if she wasn't good at it.
"Soldier, I want you to deactivate Girl #13's collar," Miss Smith said.
"Ma'am?" the man replied, his voice high and shocked.
"Instead, use this serial code as her new collar frequency," Miss Smith said, and rattled off the number. The soldier, slowly, hesitantly, did as he was told. Miss Smith watched, waited, in expectation, to see where the signal would emerge. The old figure disappeared, and almost immediately, "G13" appeared elsewhere, white and flashing inside zone 29. Miss Smith chuckled to herself, watching the figure continue to move eastward.
"Ma'am, what just happened?" Thumper said from the back of the room. The other men paused and waited for an answer.
"Nothing to concern yourselves with, gentlemen," Miss Smith said in response, before swiveling to face the soldiers. "So, has everyone chosen someone as their bet for the next confirmed kill?"
The men all began to talk at once, and Miss Smith smiled and nodded, but slowly her mind drifted elsewhere, back to the giant display. She began to absentmindedly tap her finger on a nearby table.
Tap, tap.
"I wonder," the woman said quietly to herself, "I wonder if she remembered to take her brother's gun…"
Tap, tap.
Current Danger Zones: 28
Pending Danger Zones: 20, 21, 33
(44) Contestants Remaining
