/Haunt me
If you want me
But I warn you
If you ever step to me
I sometimes wish that I could fly
Hold me tight in your arms tonight
Sick of living inside a lie
A lie!
I can't count the times I tried
Stand alone just to lift you high
You're my answer to the question why
Why?/
(Thousand Foot Krutch: Step to me)
George was awoken from his quiet, but light sleep by a faint creak. Like the door of the shop opening… he picked up the MAC10, and listened tensely. He couldn't see who it was from behind the butcher's counter, for the shelves were hiding them from his sight. His nerves were about to snap; he couldn't just stay there while the mysterious person, like, eats some stuff, then walks away quietly. In the end, he had a machine gun. A pistol. A knife. Pepper spray. Whoever it might be, George would be the one to survive!
Nick picked up a mirror from among the cosmetics, and put some plasters he found in Martha's backpack on the hideous, bleeding wound where his left eye used to be. Damned lesbian whore! It still hurt, but not as horribly as before. He had just finished when he heard the noise of something falling from a shelf.
How could I be such a fool? Of course I wasn't the only one coming here!
He rose the pistol. He still had seven bullets loaded.
George heard motion from the cosmetics' shelf.
Is it a girl?
He pulled back, but moved too fast, and a packet of spices hit the floor.
He must have spotted me!
Nick knew it would be useless to ask who it was. He put down both the backpacks and slowly, very slowly moved towards the shelves.
George, not wasting any more time, simply jumped forward.
Nick! He's my buddy!
"Wait, Nick!" he rose a hand, and lowered the machine gun "it's just me!"
"Only one can remain" Nick replied coldly.
"But…" George stared at the plaster on the other boy's eye.
"Maybe… I can think again…"
He has an amazing weapon… I am to win for sure, if I manage to get it…
Nick focused on the MAC10.
George felt something wasn't right. He jumped to the side just in time to avoid the first two bullets.
So you're playing!
He leant out from behind the shelf and pulled the trigger. Nick dodged them, and hid from his sight.
He's coming the other way!
George almost immediately noticed Nick on the other end of the array of shelves. They began shooting simultaneously.
Nick felt some bullets hit his stomach, but his Kevlar worked perfectly. George didn't realize why seemingly all of his bullets missed; he slipped behind the next shelf.
Nick crept silently along the drink shelf, side by side with the butcher's counter. He had only one or two bullets left, and, if he walked back to the backpacks to reload, George could kill him. No matter the Kevlar, George had very powerful weapons, and seemed a truly dangerous opponent. He stopped and looked up at the shelf. He could shoot true it, but hitting George like that seemed out of the question, and he might also reveal his position. He had to think fast.
His eyes suddenly lit up. Yes, it must have been George to kill Maddie. He was the one he really had to fear, apparently the only obstacle on his road to victory.
Okay, I might not get the MAC10… but I have killed Rory. I can do this.
He looked first at the shelf, then at his muscles.
George looked around nervously; Nick seemed strangely silent. No footsteps, no shots, no motion. What was going on? He was really scared by then.
Then something creaked. Is Nick walking around? No… he looked up at the shelf. Suddenly a can of meat fell off, then another one. It took George a few seconds to realize what was actually happening, but by then all sorts of goods were falling towards him, as the heavy, full shelf tilted heavily, ready to tumble down on him.
My God!
He managed to avoid it as he slipped over, falling on his side. Was it safe already?
No! No! Impossible…!
The first shelf tumbling set off a chain reaction, and George heard the sinister creak again, now from both sides. He had no time to get up and run, or crawl away…
"Please, in case of danger, assume the following position…" George crouched down, as he knew what he had to do on airplanes, pulling his arms over his head, as the shelves crashed down on and round him, he felt things hitting and hurting his face, his hands…
Then… nothing.
Nick stood victoriously before the butcher's counter, watching the dust rise from the fallen shelves. He had done it, he had killed George. He didn't want to start looking for the machine gun, but who cares? He had eliminated his greatest opponent, he was sure going to be the winner. He exited the shop, and headed eastward.
Al watched apprehensively as Willie kept on pulling his hair.
"Do you want to go bald?"
The other boy stopped, and stared inconsolably at the piano's keyboard.
"Ah, forget it…" he stood up in the end "William Wosley, the undiscovered talent left only an unfinished fragment before his early death… well, this is how my story's gonna end. And give me that."
Al handed over the rifle without saying a word.
"I can use this one better. Take this instead" Willie handed his friend the small Colt Python.
Al knew what Willie was talking about. That he had accompanied his father on a hunting trip once or twice, and even held a totally different rifle one time, successfully hitting an innocent tinder fungus, while the deer he intended to shoot ran away. But at least he already saw how a rifle should be used…
Willie propped the rifle against the piano, and sat back. He hit a couple of keys, then leant back sadly.
Al felt it better to leave him alone. With the revolver in his belt, he walked to the adjoining room, where the large, full-length windows and the single French door gave a beautiful view of the garden. Standing in the sunlight, he didn't look outside this time. He had seen it already thousands of times: arid ground, flowers on the verge of death, wrought iron fence.
Nick noticed faint music, which stopped a second later.
What the hell?
He looked at the luxurious villa, and noticed somebody moving behind the full-length windows. Though he couldn't see them well because of the reflections, Nick knew of only one still living classmate who had to raise his hand at eye-level if he wanted to reach a door handle. And the glass door had a handle as well…
He didn't notice me yet.
Nick couldn't have climbed in, for the backpacks were pretty heavy, and his stomach and eye still hurt a little. Deciding to take the risk, he opened the gate, but luckily it made on sound. Apparently even Al didn't take notice of him.
He must have been the one playing. What an idiot! But hm, he's quite a small target…
Nick knew that even if he got noticed, none of his classmates would run for cover. He was a nice guy, after all. A great sportsman, and a cool person who had lots of friends, and apparently didn't hate anyone, as he even spoke to Lindsay a couple of times. But nobody seemed to observe that whenever he began to play any kind of sport, he never did it just for the fun of it or to keep himself in shape. He played to win. To be the best at anything he does, to let everyone know who he was. But on the outside, he was smiley and happy. Inside, competitive, cold, and calculating. Like with Mary. Not that she was ugly or stupid (he would have loved to get her laid, but not under such circumstances), but definitely not even worth considering, and bound to be eliminated anyway. And sure as hell she didn't deserve that sword.
Once in the garden, he placed the backpacks on the ground, and pulled out the harpoon and reloaded the pistol. Then he hung the sword on his side, along with the crowbar, just to be sure.
He crept near the windows along the wall, and took a peek inside. Al was standing in front of a bookshelf, with his back to him.
Perfect.
He jumped to the windows and pulled the trigger to shoot several bullets in a row.
What's that? Whoa, I got that book too!
Al knelt down to take a better look at the volume titled Lives of famous composers, when suddenly he heard shots, glass breaking, and heavy dust fell on his head from books on the upper shelves, by then full of holes.
What the…?
His eyes widened, and he turned around not even standing up.
"Nick!" he screamed "Nick!"
He must have confused me with someone!
"Nick!" he said "it's just me and Willie! Nick, what happened to your eye? Come in, we can help you…"
Willie? Big deal! That fool definitely isn't a threat…
"Nick…?" Al just kept on staring at him.
"Is it Nick?" Willie showed up "Nick! Come in, don't shoot, it's just us! Calm down Al, he must have confused us with someone…"
I have already thrown a javelin… and the window is already shattered…
"Nick…? Nick…?" the two boys couldn't believe that this nice guy was playing.
"Down!" shouted Al and threw himself over Willie "aaah!"
"Al! AL!"
"Owww…" Nick had thrown the harpoon swiftly, and now its bloody ends were stuck in the bookshelf.
Al's left elbow was severely bleeding.
"He's playing! And he's a complete arsenal!" Willie pulled the Colt Python from Al's belt, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
None of them had ever seen such a pistol, how should they have known it wasn't loaded?
Nick, having no bullets left, pulled out the sword.
I'm invulnerable and invincible!
Willie ran off, but Al seemed frozen in place. His sky-blue eyes stared wide at Nick, as he moved closer, as in slow motion.
But… he's our friend…
Willie picked up the rifle.
Where's Al?
He heard a crash and a scream.
No!
Al screamed, realizing just now he was about to die. Nick kicked off what remained of the full-length window, and stepped inside.
BANG!
Al felt as if he was going deaf, the loud shot being fired only centimetres from his ear. He looked dumbfounded in front of himself. As if the scar around the plasters on Nick's left eye had widened… Blood vapour rose, and Nick, who had only half of his head left, fell backwards as a puppet with its strings cut. He fell in the garden, his feet still inside.
Al looked to his right only a few seconds later, and the sight shocked him. It wasn't Willie's hands grasping the still smoking Silver Pigeon, nor the fact that his friend stood firm as a statue. It was his face. Al and Willie had been friends for several years, and he had already seen him happy, sad, serious, anything. But, in whatever mood he was in, there was still something grotesque in the class clown's expressions. But now… nothing. The face was serious, and somewhat bitter… it didn't seem Willie at all, more like a person he didn't know…
Willie's fingers slowly let got, and the rifle slipped out of his hands, until it clattered on the floor.
Al blinked and awoke from his daze. The frozen, silent moment was over. Willie ran off, and a few seconds later music was heard. From the door, he could see Willie wildly hitting the keys in helpless anger, his hair falling in his face, and at places picking up the pen and scribbling something in the music sheet. Al remembered what he once heard from the music teachers.
Wosley, right? Well… a quite unusual perosn, that's for sure. Crazy and a bit off in his own world… but undoubtedly a genius.
He could see this genius at work now. No, Willie didn't go mad, he just had to write his feelings out in music. This was the high point of the Training for him.
Al turned to Nick's corpse, and walked up to it feeling a little dizzy. Something weird could be seen from under the boy's shirt, slipped up. He remembered seeing something like that in crime series. But who would start stripping a corpse?
Nick…
His elbow hurt, but, gritting his teeth, he did it. Who could know how many others were out there with guns! But the two of them needed to survive… it took quite some time, as the shortest boy in class had even to turn the tallest and heaviest one.
The piano kept on playing the whole time, the single notes interweaving into one, monumental masterpiece.
It suddenly went silent, just the moment Al lifted the bulletproof vest.
"Willie…?" he looked inside shyly.
Tears were flowing from Willie's eyes, his face reflected horrible sorrow.
But his mouth showed an almost maniacal smile.
"I'm done."
Boy #14 Wallace, Nicholas – eliminated
6 contestants remaining