Alice gasped in fright and turned to face the voice. Graham did so, too, but he held his bag in front of him, like a useless shield.
"Who's there?" Alice pulled her torch out and shone it at where the voice was coming from. She was unnerved, unaware at how far her voice must have travelled. "Me," said the voice again. It was gruff and masculine, yet breathy at the same time. Alice's torch finally struck the man's chest, and she moved it upward. It was David Drake. He was wearing a cream-coloured coat, and appeared to be struggling to walk. Alice reacted automatically to his pain.
"Dave!" She darted forward and as she neared him, saw his shoulder was dark and bloodied. "What happened to you? Who did that?"
Dave seemed to find it hard to follow what she was saying. He asked her to repeat it.
"Tom Clarke," he muttered the second time round. "Watch out for him."
"You got lucky," Alice said after a pause, in which she examined the wound. "He only hit your shoulder."
"I don't feel very lucky."
"But at least you're alive," she argued. "Do you know what your weapon is?"
"Uh..." Dave was kneeled on the ground with Alice, who was using some of her water to clean out his wound. "No. It's in the... in the bag."
Alice looked at Graham, who promptly took the bag and started looking inside it. The girl was thinking about how she would treat the wound; though she was no doctor, she thought that the bullet might have passed through him, as there was an apparent exit wound on the other side. There wasn't much she could do for him other than wash the wound and stop the bleeding. She asked him to stay where he was and went back to pick up her personal bag. She had also been one of the pupils who missed the examination (albeit through illness), and so did not have her school bag. She did, however, have a small green handbag on her person when she had been taken, and it was a bit of luck that she had this currently. She had been ill with a cold, and so she had a packet of paper tissues in her bag. She opened it and held a couple to Dave's chest.
"Found it," Graham called from behind Dave, holding a small can of pepper spray. "Now what?"
"Give me your scarf," she said, looking at his neck. Graham took the long, yellow tartan-patterned thing from around his neck, and threw it at Alice, who caught it, and tied it firmly around Dave's body, holding the tissues in place.
"There," she said with concern. "Can't do anything else now until we find somewhere where we can dress it properly. It's not sterile, but it should do for the time being."
Dave looked at his saviour, loving her altruism. He thanked her, and the three of them rested for a couple of minutes, now aligned as a group of three.

Another group of three were sitting near the east coast. Edward Jones had found his girlfriend, Chrissie Saxon, and the two of them were on the floor, snogging each other in mutual consolation. Nearby, Katie Smethwick sat awkwardly, not knowing exactly where to put her eyes. She was close friends with Chrissie; the pair of them had met up shortly after Katie's departure and both hurried out to find Eddie. With no idea of where they were going, let alone where to find him, it was a minor miracle that they did so in just over one hour. While meeting her boyfriend comforted Chrissie, Katie was not, and sat nearby feeling awkward. Her weapon was totally useless; she had been issued a glass paperweight. It was shaped like a round crystal, and when she shone her torch into it, dozens of prisms of light sparked off in every direction. It was pretty, but useless. Quite like her friend in fact. Chrissie had looks, and her frizzy blonde hair and sexy figure were undoubtedly attractive, but it was quite apparent that in spite of her sparkle, she was a bit dim. Katie wondered how Chrissie would fare in the Battle, seeing as she was certainly too much of an indoor girl to handle herself in the tough warzone around them.
Eddie was a bit disappointed. He had never slept with Chrissie, and knew now that he never would. The two of them were intimate, but had never crossed that line. This was unusual for Eddie, as he was not usually patient enough to control himself. His character weakness was his impulsiveness. Yet ironically it was this that won him his girl in the first place; she was being mugged by a stranger outside the school gates, and Eddie had intervened quite recklessly, getting hurt in the stomach, but successfully protecting his innocent.
"What's the time?" Chrissie asked, pulling away slightly. Eddie flicked his wrist and told her it was about quarter past three. Katie looked at the two of them, her hands around her knees. Neither of the girls had been entirely sure what Chrissie's weapon was, but on meeting Eddie, they were told that they were smoke canisters. This was a little more comforting, knowing that Chrissie's weapon could perhaps be used in an emergency to provide either an escape route or to force a person into getting disorientated. At any rate, Eddie had received a Calico M960 9mm sub-machine gun, a powerful-looking weapon that would undoubtedly save the three of them.
"I don't know what to think about all this," muttered Katie. "I feel a little confused. Can we honestly be expected to kill our classmates?"
"Well, what I think is going to happen isn't that pleasant," Eddie replied. "Either we live or die. That much is already predestined. It's not as if we're going to end up slaughtering the entire class by ourselves. But I can't see any other alternatives."
Chrissie was sitting still, thinking about their options. Eddie's hand was still in her hair; its warmth gave her an idea.
"There is another possibility," she said to her companions. "We kill ourselves right now, before the game gets ugly."
Eddie and Katie looked at her, horrified.
"What the..? You can't be serious!"
"I'm not saying it's a nicer alternative," she said, standing up. "What I am saying is that if we don't want to have the burden of committing murder upon ourselves, and we don't want to be killed by other people, then maybe we should just throw ourselves off that cliff over there!"
She thrust her hand sideways, to indicate the nearby precipice. Both Eddie and Katie looked over there and voiced their unease.
"If I'm honest, I don't really like the idea of killing myself any more than I do being killed by someone else," Katie said.
"I agree with that," said Eddie, standing up as well, speaking with authoritative words that didn't match his tone. "While we're alive, I think we should make the most of it, and try to survive for as long as we possibly can."
"Do you really think that that's possible?" called Katie from the ground.
"Well, yeah so long as we can..." Eddie's voice trailed off, and he looked to his right. "Did you hear that?"
Katie got herself up, and turned to face the same way her two companions were. She had heard some indistinct male voices coming from nearby. Eddie noticed that there was an unnatural silence coming from the void.
There was a sudden flash, and a blood-curdling scream.

Ben and James had been moving east exceptionally slowly. It seemed to be taking James a very long time to believe Ben's words. If anything, the story about Samantha and the bloodbath outside the doors had somehow made him even surer that this was all a wind-up. Samantha wouldn't do anything so stupid. She would not get herself killed by that man, Jeyes, in such an idiotic way. It wasn't in her nature to lash out at people like that; she always preferred the more diplomatic routes. And the bit about the bodies, though maybe believable in the context, was another dimension of the hoax that James was not going to fall for. Saying that, he was a little confused about why this joke was going on for so many hours, and exactly how many of his classmates were in on it.
The two boys were still in H-6, but were now nearing the coastline. There were a few shrubs scattered around, many of which emitted a strong smell of pine. Both boys had turned their torches off, and were ambling their way toward the coast; Ben hoped that Harry and Melissa would be able to find them there. Ben shuddered at the feeling of the cold sea air blowing in, and he buttoned up his coat. James decided to stop and finally see what his weapon was. He dropped his bag on the floor and examined its contents. He saw the map was attached to a length of string, so he put it around his neck. He felt the soft crust of the bread, his half-empty bottle of water, and...
Ben was scanning the horizon. He wondered where his friends were. A dull part of his heart was assuming the worst for them. He looked at his watch, which read 03:15. Every minute he spent away from them felt like a week. He was pained to think it, but there was every chance somebody may already have taken them out. But who on earth would want to hurt Harry?
James was flashing about a gun. It didn't look like a real gun; it was bright orange and very light in weight. James was even more puzzled. It had 'Orion' written on the side of it, but the gun itself seemed to be neither genuine nor replica, nor toy. Ben saw it and his eyes widened.
"That's a flare gun." Ben fumbled around in his bag for the torch. He was dimly aware of voices coming from nearby. He clicked the button and shone it on the tool's orange body, which fluoresced slightly under the bright light. "Jesus, that's scary."
"It's not real," James said confidently. "I reckon it'd just issue a few sparks, tops."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ben hissed, but stopped as he turned his head to the right. He had heard a boy's voice.
"Did you hear that?"
Ben turned his torch off, and clasped his hand to his mouth, imploring James with his eyes to be quiet. His companion chuckled, and pointing the flare gun into the darkness toward the other group of voices, he squeezed the trigger.

The explosion from the end of James' gun screamed across the air before them and hit Katie square in the face. She screamed as the white-hot sparks burned into her face, destroying the skin in an instant. Her limbs flailed helplessly, but she had no control over them, as her whole brain was taken over by the torturous pain that was killing her. Chrissie and Eddie screamed at her.
"Katie!"
"RUN!" Ben was tugging on James' arm, desperate to get away from the scene. James was staring at the squealing white firework, as it fell to the ground, along with the body mass it was illuminating. He was being pulled backward, away from the screaming voices, but he couldn't take his eyes off the girl. Ben gave up and started to run by himself. Nearby, Eddie had dived to the ground and pulled out the torch; he shone it into the darkness, in the hope of verifying the identities of the assailants he saw momentarily when the flare first issued from the gun. The light fell across a stunned face with glasses and ginger hair. James Aldridge. The bastard. There was a rage burning deep within him now, his skin pricking as much from anger as from the heat of the flare: he wanted vengeance. The torchlight seemed to bring James back to his senses slightly, as he picked up his bags and hurried after Ben. By the time Eddie had pulled out his machine gun and started firing rounds into the darkness, the two attackers had already gone.
Chrissie was trying to help her friend, but didn't know how to; the flare was still sparkling, still burrowed into Katie's face, and the heat was keeping Chrissie at bay. As Eddie's gunshots filled the air, Chrissie squealed and dived to the ground, her hands over her head. When she braved looking up again, the scene was dark and quiet once more.
Girls #22 Smethwick, dead. 39 remaining.
Chrissie began to sob at her friend's feet. Eddie returned by her side, the gun limply by his side. He put it down and hugged her. The couple rocked slowly from side to side, lost for words at the demise of their companion. Neither of them could see her face properly in the darkness, but due to what had just happened to her, neither really wanted to. Instead, their imaginations made all sorts of horrible constructions, each with varying degrees of accuracy.
"I can't believe that just happened," Chrissie said, burrowing into her boyfriend's chest. "I can't believe she's gone. How could he do that?"
"I don't know," said Eddie, looking up to avoid seeing the body, but instead getting a nose full of the smell of burnt flesh. "I really don't know."
"Who was it?" she whispered. "I saw two people."
"I don't know who the one was," Eddie began, his heart filling with hatred once again, "but I certainly saw James."
"James..." Chrissie gulped back her tears, her boyfriend confirming what she thought she had seen. "Do you really think he could have done this?"
"I saw what I saw," came the reply. "He's a killer."
Neither of the two spoke for a few moments. Then Chrissie looked over her partner's shoulder, into the black.
"How dare he," she uttered from between bared teeth. "He killed Katie. HE KILLED KATIE!"
She screamed and scrambled to her feet, screaming profanities into the darkness. Eddie ran to her side, alarmed.
"I want him to pay," she said finally. "I want him to suffer, the way he made Katie suffer."
Eddie said nothing. He was interpreting Chrissie's words. Something had changed inside of her, a transformation that scared him slightly.
"Are you saying that you want revenge for Katie?"
"Yes, I am."
"Then let me help you."
Eddie snatched his bag, gun and torch, and wheeled to face Chrissie. She picked up her bag, the smoke canisters clinking inside. But as grabbed the greyish bag, her eyes fell on Katie's bag once more. She turned to face the corpse, the remnants of its carbonised face still covered in shadow. Her mood shifted again.
"Go ahead," Chrissie whispered. "Go ahead of me, Eddie. I need some time alone. I need to get my head round this. Please leave."
Eddie said nothing, puzzled, but looked at his girlfriend and obeyed her request like a soldier. He turned and left, leaving Chrissie with nobody to talk to but her dead friend.

Harry and Melissa had veered slightly off their original trajectory, and were now heading on a more northerly route. They did not have a clue about where they were any more, nor did they know anything about the events that had unfolded thirty minutes before, surrounding Katie's death.
The two of them had run out of small talk. Melissa now just wanted to find the boys out of sheer comfort; she felt particularly vulnerable walking without weapons. Harry's mind was on Ben. What would he do if he survived, but Ben died? How would he be able to go through life, knowing that he was incapable of stopping his friend from dying? They had known each other all their lives. Their mothers had been to school together and their fathers (when Harry's father was still around) were old friends with one another, too. He could not remember a life before Benjamin Portwood, nor could he imagine a life after him. They had always been there, side by side, and he had always assumed it would stay that way, as well.
Melissa was guiding the pair of them with her map and compass, but she seemed to have lost her bearings slightly; she thought they were heading to H-6, but in truth they were much closer to H-4 now. Just as she was wondering how far off-route they were, and whether or not they should turn back, they heard footsteps running towards them. Harry looked pale. Not already; it was too soon! They were going to die. Someone had spotted them, and was about to kill them. 'Brace yourself', he thought, as the person came into view. It was Edward Jones, but he seemed to have changed. He was carrying a machine gun of some sort, and had a wild look in his eyes, a look that made the whites appear to be bulging from the sockets.
"James Aldridge," he demanded of the couple. "Have you seen him?"
The two students shook their heads, wondering what had happened.
"Shit," muttered Eddie, who paid them no further attention, and ran to the north-west.
"Wonder what that was about," murmured Harry a few minutes later, as the two of them walked further to the east. They could see the sea. The coast was coming nearer with each step. As they acknowledged it, they both became aware of two boys yelling at one another. Melissa grabbed her torch and shone it toward them, and recognised Ben's flushed face, contorted with rage.

Dave Drake's face had regained much of its colour, and after eating a few morsels of bread, he seemed slightly better. His colleagues were glad that he was still alert, and the three of them continued to amble about in the middle of the island. They were walking east, trying to find somewhere to redress Dave's injuries, when they noticed somebody calling their names. Graham recognised the voice first, and wandered over cautiously to see Dominic Thomas, who looked fearful.
"How are you guys?" Dominic asked the troupe. Dave moaned in reply. Dominic looked concerned.
"What happened to his shoulder?"
"Little Tom happened to my shoulder," grumbled Dave. "Keep an eye out for him."
"No need: he's dead already." Dominic said this with a hurried tone that was so unlike his usual thoughtful dynamics. "I saw him as I left the building. Which means that someone else must've killed him."
"Dominic," said Alice, interjecting here because she was unsure about where the line of conversation was going, and she was worried for their safety. "Have you got a weapon?"
"Of course," he said, again with no tone. "But it's not a good one. It's a breadknife. Not the sharpest one I've ever seen, at that. Why?"
"It doesn't matter really," she replied. I'm just worried about our safety. I wondered if you would be willing to stay with us for a bit."
"Well, I might as well," said Dominic, his stocky features moving toward his classmates. "But I have a message from Francis if you're interested. He and Steve are going to try and round up a few of the class, people who refuse to fight, and they're going to shack up together. If you want to find them, they're going to be in the docks until six o'clock, then they're heading over to the lighthouse in the west."
"Sounds a bit fishy to me," muttered Dave, who was now suspicious of everybody. "Are you sure their motivations are legit?"
"Can you seriously imagine someone like Steve wanting to kill someone?"
"Can you imagine someone like Francis not wanting to kill someone?"
"Well," Dominic began with an upturned nostril, understanding Dave's point but not particularly liking it. "I was with Lisa and she seemed to believe them. She went with, at any rate."
Graham frowned. "What about you?"
"I wasn't so sure. I wanted to find somebody beforehand, at any rate."
"Who?" Graham pressed.
"If you must know," came Dominic's reply, a little irked, "I'm looking for Kavinder."
Graham didn't push the issue any further. He wondered whether they should start moving again. Alice, who had become the unannounced leader of the group, seemed to be thinking the same thing, and in a matter of minutes, they were all on their way once again.

"What's going on?" Melissa ran toward the two boys, Harry close behind. "Saw Eddie Jones just now; he was looking for you. What's happened?"
Ben had been looking forward to seeing Harry and his girlfriend, but now he wished they had not come at all. He pointed at James, face twisted furiously. "Ask him! Ask him what he's done!"
"Oh, I haven't done anything," James said, seemingly fed up with the charade. He had decided that an assortment of pyrotechnics could have created the effect he had witnessed.
"What are you on about?" Harry asked, totally nonplussed.
"James," Melissa asked, suddenly understanding something. "Have you killed someone?"
"N--"
"Yes he has!" Ben screamed over the voice of his former friend. "He killed someone! I think it was a girl. Katie. K- k- he killed Katie!"
Both Harry and Melissa felt a pang of horror on hearing this news. James chuckled pleasantly, which seemed to enrage Ben even more. He had liked Katie. She was a really nice girl, and well liked by many of the boys. But all that was history; she was dead, dead by James' hands, and he was refusing to stand up to his crimes.
"Are you sure she's dead?" Harry said, hoping to encourage some doubts that would calm Ben down. It seemed to have the opposite effect; Ben's rage was now towering, his voice carrying on the night air.
"OF COURSE SHE'S DEAD!" he bellowed. "SHE TOOK A FUCKING FLARE GUN TO THE FACE! WE SAW HER FALL DEAD. SHE DIED AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Ben had spun round and grabbed James. The two of them were travelling dangerously close to the cliff-top. Harry pulled his friend off James, whilst the girl milled around anxiously.
"Benjy, Benjy..." Harry panted as he pulled his friend up. "Are you sure it wasn't an accident?"
Again, these words seemed to exacerbate things. If it were possible, Ben's eyes would certainly have been glowing red with rage by this point.
"Who the fuck do you think you are! Get off me, you prick!"
Ben gave Harry a shove, and he toppled backward onto the ground.
"Hey!" Melissa interrupted, horrified at the turn of events. "Get a grip, Ben! Calm down!"
"Why are you always defending him? I've had enough of this," snarled the boy, whose face was now deep purple. He walked over to his abandoned bag and picked it up. He opened the zip partly, and grabbed a handle. The bag fell to the floor, revealing a large, brutal-looking flail.
"This ends here," he growled, looking at Harry and recalling every bad trait about him. "This will end now."
"Benjy..." Harry said, edging backward, Melissa squeezing his one arm, the frying pan grasped in the other. "Think about what you're doing. Is this the way you want it to end? This doesn't have to happen like this."
"What is it with you and your constant need to justify means? I don't care about the means; I only want the ends."
Melissa saw James looking at the whole situation curiously. He did not seem to fully understand the situation, which, considering he was the root of the problem, was unfortunate. She looked at Ben, who was jangling the chain of the flail menacingly. There was a gleam in his eyes, a look of madness. He was beyond reason. She diverted her eyes once more to look at James, who had an odd expression on his face. Unfortunately, Harry did not seem to realise this, his view clouded by his friendship.
"Look, I don't know what you want," he said desperately, his hands forward defensively, "but I'm sure we can work this out."
Ben grinned. "I don't want to know, Harry. You annoy me too much. Take this!"
He lifted the flail and swung it with both arms directly at Harry's face. Harry ducked, stunned at his friend's violence. He heard a crack above him. Melissa had still been tagging on his arm. Her gaze diverted toward James, she had not ducked like her boyfriend, and the full swing of the flail shattered the side of her skull. She crumbled, her face bloodied and mangled. Ben howled again. He had lost all sense of civilisation; he had turned into a monster. Harry paid him no heed; he was calling his girlfriend's name.
"Melissa! Melissa!" He felt a painful blow, and realised that Ben had brought the spiked ball of the flail down on his collarbone. It splintered beneath the flesh, Harry yelped in pain and fell back, his eyes gazing into Melissa surprised face, whose beautiful features were ruined by the blow.

Harry was re-energised.
"MURDERER!" He screamed at Ben, who seemed to misunderstand the words.
"That's another thing I never understood about you, Harry," Ben said, readjusting his stance. "You always take the moral high-ground. How can you pretend you're better than everyone else, when you live in shit?"
"You evil piece of crap! Fuck you."
"That's exactly what your mother did. And to every filthy old man who paid her dirty money to do dirty acts so she could feed her dirty, pathetic kid like you!"
"Don't you dare talk about my mum like that." Harry's voice was shaking, his temper now also on the verge of breaking.
"You know it's true," Ben said, seemingly enjoying the psychological warfare he was waging against his classmate. "You know she could have got a job anywhere, at any time. But she didn't, and you know why? It's because she loved it. She loved whoring herself out so people could fuck her brains out for cash!"
"GO TO HELL!"
In one fluid movement, Harry had leapt up, dropped his pan, and was grappling with Ben with all the force in his body. Ben staggered backward, surprised by the sudden backlash; the flail was held in place by Harry's hand. The two spun around, shifting sideways. Being slightly taller than his companion, Harry nutted Ben hard; the latter fell to the ground, his flail rolling away near the cliff edge. Ben was prepared to fight hand-to-hand; he mustered all his strength and rammed himself into Harry's stomach like a battering ram. Harry was propelled backward, and fell to his knees. He grabbed Ben's hair and shoved him to one side, forcing him to bang his head against the ground. Harry repositioned himself so he was on top of Ben, forcing his wrists against the boy's throat. He wanted Ben to die as retribution for his killing Melissa, and for destroying the most important person in his life.
But Harry's arms were weak from the flail's blow, and Ben was able to lift himself up and put his own arms around Harry's throat. He wanted Harry to die for not wanting to understand about Katie, and for always coming out on top. The boys deadlocked, both wrestling in a stalemate. They both took steps to one side, and shunted further in that direction. Ben tried a lot of shoulder wriggling, understanding how much it was hurting Harry. Harry was pinching hard on Ben's neck, hoping that the collar would help cut the blood flowing to Ben's brain. Again, they both took another step to the side, and after a few moments of further wrestling, both boys felt the earth crumble beneath their feet and their furious eyes changing to mutual surprise, both toppled over the edge, and plummeted into the abyss.
Boys #16 Portwood, #21 Smith, dead.
Girls #25 Williams, dead. 36 remaining.
There was silence. James stood on the top of the cliff, realising suddenly just how alone he truly was. His mouth was pursed, and he rocked from side to side, not entirely sure about what had happened. There weren't many things up here on the cliff, he thought. The frying pan was on his right, and the flail was near the edge still. There were a number of bags, and also...
James moved over to Melissa's body. He picked up an abandoned torch and shone it into the girl's face. He hoped that this stunt would have been the end of it all, but as he looked into her face, he suddenly realised it truly was the beginning. Her face was disfigured; the force of the impact and pushed her left eye socket back into the head. The dent went upward toward her brain, with her nose barely recognisable as being anything other than a protrusion from the middle of the face. Cracks were creeping across her face, like it had been made of clay. A few chunks of muscular flesh were dislocated, exposing whiteness underneath that James realised with revulsion to be bone. The head injury was shining with red, the smell of it was clinging to Melissa's otherwise fine black hair. The smell was familiar. He had smelt this just hours before. Lindsay's blood. Lindsay had emitted a similar sickly smell when she was murdered.
Because that's what this was. Murder. James could not deny it any further. It was all for real, and he had been stupid to think otherwise, for so long. He edged near the sheer drop, and looked down to the two bodies, lying side by side. He shone the powerful torch on Ben, and saw that he was sprawled creepily over some rocks. Over to Harry, who was on his back, eyes staring blankly into the stars. The tide would wash the two boys away in a matter of hours, and they would be lost to memory. James gave the nearby flail a good kick, too. That was something else that should vanish into history. He heard a faint thud as it hit the ground way below. James, both a killer and a survivor, returned to his bag, and fearing the impending few days, left the scene of the battle, and was soon enveloped in the blackness of the night.