Battle Royale Maine---Chapter 9

Bishop's Gambit

Carrie White prowled along through the bushes, making sure to move as quietly as she could. Her eyes flickered around, never still, watching for enemies, while she strained her hearing for any noises that might betoken another person in the vicinity.

She smiled to herself---a rare occurrence; she seldom if ever had reasons to smile. The Program, so far, had been very good to her. She had been given a wonderful weapon, and now had protection against anybody trying to shoot her. Not that a bulletproof vest was absolute protection, but she knew that most of her classmates were not nearly good enough shots to aim for her head or limbs and have much of a chance of hitting them. They'd aim for her center-of-mass---her torso---and that was now well-protected.

She also had found that she enjoyed killing. She had often fantasized about taking revenge on all her tormentors, and in the Program, she had a chance to do just that---and, to top it all off, it was all perfectly legal, as she'd gleefully pointed out to the Thibodeau twins. Any of those sinners I see, any at all, are dead! she thought vengefully. While she was particularly interested in taking down the girls, she was by no means averse to shooting boys, if she got a chance; Momma had told her, many times, that all boys were disgusting, filthy sinners who just wanted to get her alone and "have their way" with her. What "having their way with her" entailed was a mystery to her. She had tried asking Momma about it once, only to set off one of Momma's fits of rage and end up confined to the closet.

Carrie hefted the Uzi. Its weight was a comforting presence, and she felt like it was already an old, dear friend. She wondered absently if they'd let her keep it after the Program. She knew that as a Program winner, she would be a privileged person, but she wasn't sure just how far those privileges went. If they took the Uzi, though, she still had the derringer, tucked down between her breasts. Not to mention the hatchet. After all, she knew that Lizzie Borden had solved a lot of her problems with one of those...

Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her mother forty whacks

When she saw what she had done

She gave father forty-one...

In Carrie's considered opinion, she couldn't blame Lizzie one bit if her parents had been anything like as disagreeable as Momma was. In the school library, she had read the accounts of Lizzie's exploits with considerable interest, but did not dare to check them out. Momma did not allow her to read at home, other than schoolbooks and religious tracts---and, of course, the Bible.

Reading the Bible was one thing that Momma never objected to, and she didn't check to see just what parts Carrie was reading. Carrie liked the parts about God smiting sinners---she had a long, long list of people she'd like to see God smite. And---heretical thought---Momma was high on that list.

However, in God's absence, Carrie felt inclined to do some smiting of her own, and her luck in drawing the Uzi meant that she could do it. She smiled carnivorously, and remembered the Thibodeau twins' astonishment and horror when she had shown herself. What did the sinning Jezebels expect from me, of all people? A big kiss and hug?

She heard voices ahead, and went very still. They were familiar enough---she could recognize Rhonda Simard's slightly nasal tones anywhere, and that had to be Jessica Maclean and Helen Shyres with her. Those girls were thick as thieves. Wary as any other hunted creature, Carrie bent down and peered through the bushes.

Sure enough, the three girls she had thought she heard were out there. They were standing in someone's front yard, tucking into some food that they had apparently stolen from the house they stood in front of. The front door had been kicked off its hinges, and hung awry, leaving the entryway open. Carrie shook her head disapprovingly. She knew that buildings, in the Program, were often traps for the unwary. She'd been lucky finding that shed to hole up in so she could calm down, but this far in, any building could hide deadly danger.

Of course, the girls she was watching hadn't been through the hard training she had inadvertently been given, back in Chamberlain. They hadn't had to watch, every minute, for enemies to leap out of the bushes or the woodwork and begin to mercilessly torment them. Too bad for them, Carrie thought grimly.

They didn't see her; they weren't looking around. Anybody at all could see them, standing there in the open, as unconcerned---at least on the surface---as though they were back in Chamberlain. Helen Shyres was carrying a hand-sickle, of all things. The other two girls had pistols. They were chattering and giggling, and Carrie strained to hear what they were saying.

Rhonda snickered: "Did you see Swope's face when we came out of the bushes and caught her? I thought she'd shit herself!"

Carrie's eyes narrowed. While she was bullied frequently, she was not the only one. Irma Swope was also a favorite target for those girls who enjoyed cruelty. With a mild facial deformity, she was different enough to draw their attention, and she wasn't assertive enough to fight back effectively. Carrie remembered that Chris Hargensen had once put a firecracker in one of her shoes, and it had nearly blown two of her toes clean off. Of course, Chris, with her lawyer father running interference, had avoided serious punishment. He had intimidated the Swopes, who were unable to afford a lawyer's services, out of suing somehow.

Helen chuckled reminiscently, "The stupid bitch thought she could bluff us with those grenades! It wasn't a bad idea, but she should have remembered to pull the pins, shouldn't she?"

Rhonda smiled. "When they didn't go off, she gawped like a hooked fish, just before I blew her away!"

Jessica shook her head. "You're not much of a shot, though. It took five shots to finish the stupid bitch off." She patted her pistol. "Lucky they gave me this Army pistol. It's got enough punch to take anybody down, first shot."

"It's good to have you with me," commented Helen. "With companions we can trust, we have a chance to beat this game and escape!" She laughed unkindly. "Too bad for the others!"

"Yeah, sucks to be them!" Rhonda agreed.

That was all Carrie needed to hear. She'd had to put up with more than enough of that kind of attitude---sucks to be you, Carrie!--- before the Program, and she was good and fed up. She felt a hot flush of rage run through her body as she stood up, racked back the bolt on the Uzi, and let fly from the hip.

The Uzi gave a chattering roar, and the girls shrieked in fear, but although they went down, they weren't dead; the Uzi wasn't terribly accurate at the distance Carrie was shooting at, and she'd only winged them. Rhonda and Jessica pulled out their pistols and fired back, making Carrie duck back into cover.

"Did you see that? Did you see who that was?" Helen Shyres' voice was full of pain and fear; she was clutching her side where a dark red stain betrayed a hit. "That was Carrie fucking White! Who does that crazy bitch think she is?"

I think I am your judgement, sinner! thought Carrie. Bullets whined around her, but most of them went high, and none came near enough to really worry her---the girls were by no means good shots. That's right, you filthy whores, waste your ammunition, and much good may it do you! She pulled the magazine out of her Uzi, just as it showed how to do in the manual, and slotted in a full magazine, thriftily returning the empty magazine to her bag. After all, she thought, I may well be able to lay hands on more ammunition for this thing...the manual had said that it took "9mm Parabellum," and even Carrie knew that was a very common caliber. The chances of finding someone else who was carrying the same stuff were good, and every round would help.

Out in the open, the girls had shot their pistols dry. "Damn! Did you hit her?"

"I don't know! Where are our bags? Rhonda, where are the bags?"

"I left them inside! Don't you remember, Helen? We found that food, and we came outside to eat it!"

"Well, that's just brilliant! We're out of ammunition, and that crazy Bible-basher's out there somewhere! If we get out of this alive, Rhonda, Helen and I are going to kick your ass!" Jessica's voice was full of pain and fear.

Carrie smiled. I'm not as far away as you think I am, you sinners! Standing up, she walked toward them, not bothering to conceal herself. She held the Uzi in the way the manual recommended, with the butt of the shoulder-stock against her shoulder and her finger off the trigger. The gun was cocked and off safety, ready to fire. She felt a broad, gloating smile spreading across her face.

"Hello, hello, hello," Carrie caroled. "Isn't it a wonderful day? At least, for me it is!" Her voice and manner were an imitation of their gym teacher, and now Program director, Miss Desjardins. The girls' eyes went wide with terror as she walked forward fearlessly.

"Carrie! Don't do this! Please! We can work something out!" Rhonda's voice was shaking with terror. "We're classmates! You can't do this!"

"Oh, but I can," purred Carrie. "This is the Program, remember? 'Only one survives,' and all that, right? You'd have shot me down like a dog if the situation was reversed!" She raised the Uzi and sighted down the barrel, savoring the look of hopeless terror in Rhonda Simard's eyes. "This is for me---and for Irma Swope, bitch!" She pulled the trigger, placing her shots carefully. Rhonda screamed more loudly than Carrie would have thought possible; Carrie's bullets had gone just where she wanted them to, and Rhonda had five rounds in her lower abdomen. Carrie had heard enough about hunting in passing to know that being gutshot was horrendously painful. Rhonda was dead---her body just didn't quite want to accept the fact yet.

Jessica Maclean was trying to lever herself up on her feet to run, but a thigh wound betrayed her, and she collapsed, sobbing pitifully. "Oh, God, please don't kill me, please, please, please...I want to live, I want to be married one day...please, don't kill me..." she moaned, all dignity forgotten in her pain and terror.

Carrie leveled the Uzi. "I am not God. My name is Carrietta White." She pulled the trigger. The Uzi bucked and gave a chattering roar, and Jessica screamed in agony. Like her friend, the wounds were not immediately fatal, but her pelvic area was shattered, and she couldn't last too long. Carrie bent over her, observing her writhing and convulsing with clinical detachment. "And I do think that being married is now right out of the question, isn't it?"

Carrie had been so diverted by seeing two of her tormentors begging her futilely for their lives that she had forgotten Helen Shyres. She heard a sound behind her, and turned just in time to save herself as Helen swung the hand sickle down at her head with every ounce of strength in her body. Instead of plunging into Carrie's skull, the sickle glanced down the side of her head, shearing one of Carrie's ears clean off, before the point cut Carrie over the collarbone.

"Bitch---bitch---bitch!" hissed Helen. Carrie, startled, fell backwards; the shock of losing her ear meant that the pain hadn't kicked in, and all she felt was a warm wet feeling down one side of her face and body. Helen cocked back the sickle to take another swing at Carrie, but it was too late---Carrie had brought the Uzi to bear, and when she pulled the trigger, she caught Helen right in the torso; Helen looked like she was dancing for a second as the bullets tore through her, before she collapsed bonelessly, her eyes rolling up in her head.

Just then, the pain hit and Carrie let out an anguished howl. She crawled over to Helen and tore her skirt off, holding it against her head with one hand while cradling the Uzi in the other hand and scanning the surroundings; all that shooting might have attracted the wrong sort of attention.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, all three of you," she whispered, clenching her teeth against the temptation to let out another scream. "Now, next thing to do is find some things I need..." With that, she scooped up the girls' guns and headed into the house. She figured that she could improvise some sort of bandages from what had to be in there.

END Chapter 09