Battle Royale Maine, Chapter 12
By Technomad
Bishop in Play
Carrie WhiteAfter a half-hour's work, Carrie managed to staunch the blood from her ear---or, to be more precise, where her ear had been. Almost all of it had been severed by Helen Shyres' desperate swing with her sickle. Sshe knew that it could be re-attached, but that would not be possible until the Program was over, which wouldn't be for hours, if not days. That would be too late.
She peered into the bathroom mirror. The house she had entered had a second-floor bathroom, so there was a window to give her light, and she could see herself clearly. Of course, she had made sure the curtains were drawn. It would be silly to let herself be shot by someone prowling around outside who saw her through a window! She didn't think she had left a blood trail, and if she had, there was a chance that anybody seeing would also see the bodies of the girls she'd killed, and think that the blood belonged to one of them.
After all, she thought gleefully, groups in the Program can be counted on to turn on each other! She had heard more than enough about the Program, even without being allowed to watch TV, to know that the brutal logic of "only one can survive" ensured that much.
The house, luckily, had had a supply of first-aid supplies. From what Carrie could see, at least one of the usual residents was a devoted athlete, and pranged him- or herself up regularly. She had noticed hockey trophies and memorabilia about; hockey players injured themselves frequently. With the aid of several large gauze pads and a roll of first-aid tape, she had improvised a bandage for herself. Her hair was stiff with blood, and one whole side of her tatty sweater and blouse were heavily stained. She knew that she'd need liquids, and had been delighted to appropriate a quart of cheap orange juice she had found.
Looking at her reflection, Carrie smiled grimly. She looked like hell, but she felt all right, save for the ache and sting where her ear had been. If this means that people underestimate me, so much the better. Let those misbelieving sinners, heretics and unbelievers be dealt with as were the people of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Once she'd put herself to rights, she went downstairs, grabbing the half-empty box of orange juice and draining it in one big swig. Her Momma would have had a fit to see her acting so uncouthly---Momma was as strict about table manners as she was about everything else, and minor slips could see Carrie banished to the closet---but Momma was nowhere near. And if she had been---Carrie imagined Momma in the Program for a minute, and nearly laughed.
Momma would be one of the first ones gunned down! Even if she'd been issued a weapon as good as Carrie's Uzi---and Carrie didn't know but that there were even better weapons out there; not being allowed to watch television was a nuisance sometimes---Momma was, if anything, even less popular than Carrie was. Many a time, Carrie had been regaled with stories about Momma's day at work at the laundry, and Carrie was quite intelligent enough to see that Momma was as much of an overbearing, bullying tyrant to her fellow adults as she was to Carrie. She couldn't get away with as much with other adults as she could with her own daughter, but she'd been cautioned more than once by Chamberlain's town constable that slapping people might land her in trouble some day.
Carrie didn't mind the idea of Momma being hauled off to jail, not at all. The thought of having the house to herself, with no fear that Momma would suddenly return, was pleasant. And if I win the Program, I can make that happen! She imagined Momma starting one of her tirades, only to find herself staring down the muzzle of Carrie's Uzi, or the derringer she had concealed between her "dirtypillows."
That gave Carrie all the impetus she needed to get moving. The sooner she was out of the house, the sooner she could start winning. Then her blood froze, as she heard the door open and close.
"This looks like a good place to hole up," came a voice. Carrie recognized it as Jack Talbot, the son of one of the people Momma worked with at the laundry---and a prize troublemaker and hood. Terror ruled Carrie for a few seconds, and she scrambled into a walk-in closet, clutching her Uzi like the teddy bear she'd been forbidden as a little girl.
"Yeah, it does. Guess those crazy bitches outside must have started fighting. I can see blood in here." And that was Steve Deighan, another member in good standing of Chamberlain's greaser squad. Carrie wasn't surprised that they'd teamed up. They had always been thick as thieves---in the most literal sense. More than once, she'd seen them flashing cash that she knew they couldn't have earned honestly.
"Hey, while we're here, let's look around. There's probably some good stuff here, and those stupid bitches didn't have anything good on them." Carrie's eyes went wide. The third voice was definitely a girl. That meant, she figured, that it had to be Ruth Gogan. Momma had always called her the Whore of Babylon---but that was Momma's term for any woman she disapproved of. However, in this case, Carrie agreed wholeheartedly with Momma's conclusions.
Jack and Steve had not troubled Carrie much; they'd teased her now and then, but that seemed to be more a case of proximity combined with boredom. They had never particularly targeted her, if only because she didn't have anything they wanted. Momma didn't allow Carrie any pocket money, except what she could earn for herself by sewing for people, and she couldn't afford to buy any flashy toys with what she made, even if Momma would have permitted such extravagance.
Ruth Gogan, on the other hand, had been a terror to Carrie and most of the other girls. Hard-looking, with high-teased hair and too much makeup, she was just as unpleasant in her own way as Chris Hargensen. Perhaps more so---Chris, for all her cruelty and her nastiness, at least did not steal, while no girl's purse was safe anywhere that Ruth Gogan could reach it. More than once, she'd been caught going through another girl's purse, or flaunting something that another girl claimed to own. Punishments---detentions at school, mainly---had no effect on her. She had been the first girl in their class to take up smoking, and her left arm was covered in crudely self-applied tattoos, mostly the names of boys she claimed she'd slept with.
Having all three of those people in the same house frightened Carrie for a few seconds, before she remembered that she wasn't in Chamberlain any more. She was on Matinicus Island, and she had a gun! She smiled to herself, and decided to leave the results to God.
If God prompts them to go on their way, they may go with my blessings, Carrie thought. If, on the other hand, they're stupid enough to open this closet, they'll get the last surprise they'll ever receive! She patted the Uzi affectionately---she had, of course, replaced the magazine she'd shot up with a fresh one as soon as she got inside---and awaited developments much more calmly than she would have in Chamberlain.
"This feels like the times when we'd go into someone's house, and see what there was for us to cop," remarked Jack. "Those were the days, weren't they, Steve?"
"Yeahhh," Steve replied, his voice caressing the word as though it covered a whole bunch of very pleasant memories. "We sure got a lot of good stuff that way, didn't we, Ruth?"
"I liked the time we found all that booze. Some stupid asshole had stored it up for a party, it looked like," Ruth answered. "Well, it didn't go to waste, did it? I still remember just how shitfaced we got that night!"
"Yeah, and me and Jack both ended up puking our guts out the next morning!"
"I just wish I'd been puking! I had a headache like you couldn't believe!" Ruth laughed reminiscently. "And when Mom found all those empty bottles, she gave me such a licking! 'You selfish little bitch, couldn't you share with your own mother?' she was yelling, all the time she strapped my ass with her belt!"
Carrie felt a moment's unwilling empathy for Ruth. It sounded like she had it tough at home, too.
"My dad doesn't care what I cop, as long as I don't get caught," said Steve. "He figures it's cheaper than buying me things. That way, he can spend his money on things he likes---mainly booze."
"And my Mom," Ruth remarked. "He's been in her bed pretty regularly for the last few months."
"Oh, he'll move on. Ever since my mom walked out on him, Dad's been through more girlfriends than I can remember. Most of them, I don't pay any attention to." From the sound of things, Steve and Jack were opening drawers in one of the bedrooms. "Not much here, at least nothing we can use. And these clothes probably wouldn't fit you, Ruth."
"No matter. Let's check around a little more. I bet there's something I'll like in here." With that, Ruth opened the closet door right in front of Carrie.
For a second, Ruth was paralyzed by surprise, which was all the time Carrie needed. She leveled the Uzi, and pressed the trigger, and Ruth was slammed backward against the hallway wall, her white shirt turning red as it was pierced by ten bullets. At that range, even a tyro like Carrie couldn't have missed.
There was now no time to lose. Carrie stepped out of the closet, knowing that the factor of surprise had been lost. For a second, all was silence, then: "Holy FUCK! Did you hear that, Jack?"
"Something's gone wrong with Ruth! Let's go see what it was!" Carrie turned and saw both hoodlums coming around a corner, their eyes widening with shock to see their friend down and bleeding, and Carrie White standing over her.
"You bitch! You shot Ruth! What made you do that?" yelled Steve. He fumbled at his waistband for the revolver stuck through it. Quicker on the uptake, or just less verbal, Jack yanked out a revolver and leveled it. His eyes went even wider when it didn't fire.
"You stupid bastard! That thing's a single-action!" Those were the last words Steve Deighan said, before Carrie brought up the Uzi and riddled them both. They fell backwards bonelessly, their torsos torn by bullets.
Carrie watched them for a few seconds. Ruth was still breathing, but she was clearly hors de combat; she was no threat. Jack Talbot was trying to bring up his revolver and thumb the hammer back, so Carrie walked over and gave him another short burst, this one shattering his skull. He jerked involuntarily as the bullets entered his brain, and then he lay very still.
Steve Deighan was trying to play 'possum, but Carrie could see that he was still breathing. She walked over and watched him for a while, meditatively thinking about him and the way he lived. Finally, she sighed and said: "You know, Steve---you really shouldn't have stolen from our bungalow. Momma was really upset when those things went missing," and shot him dead.
Thriftily, Carrie gathered up the hoods' weapons. Jack Talbot had indeed been carrying a single-action pistol; Carrie recognized it from books she'd seen in the school library. It looked like a copy of a Colt Peacemaker. Experimentally, she thumbed the hammer back, before gently letting it fall on an empty chamber. Steve's revolver was more modern, and apparently took the same ammunition as the Peacemaker, so she kept it in preference to the Peacemaker.
Ruth Gogan's weapon, if that was what it was, was apparently one of the "surprises" that they had mentioned in the film at the school. All she'd had was a butcher knife, and Carrie wondered absently if she'd lifted it from some house or other, or had it issued to her. She used the knife to cut Ruth's tendons---even if she managed to recover, she'd be helpless. Then, after consolidating the hoods' supplies from their bags into hers, she turned to go.
As she stepped out into the evening, she watched around herself warily. Nobody seemed to be near, but she didn't really feel easy at heart until she was safely back in the trees. She had considered burning the house down behind her, but had decided that was a bad idea. It would attract attention to this area, which she did not want.
Also, the people who own that house aren't at fault and shouldn't be punished, she thought. She tucked into some bread and water, and made ready to hole up for the night, reminding herself to awaken at midnight for the latest reports on who was dead and what areas were off-limits.
