Chapter Eight

9:00-10:00 AM Day One.

As Ike hoisted the two supply bags over his shoulder, he checked his map for their location. He examined a nearby building at the base of the hill him and Ryan stood atop; it was a lone farmhouse in a field. They saw a shadowy figured dash from the beach of C1, quickly scamper into the house and vanish. Ike sighed as he unfolded his paper map. Ryan, meanwhile, gently let Dante down against a tree. Dante's face remained the same as it had when he lost consciousness; it was drenched with sweat, his face in a sort of frown.

Ryan sighed as he examined the scenery cast about below him and Ike. The farm and it's general vicinity looked tranquil, though who knew what was going on inside the house. Sure, it wasn't as if there were a massive gunfight inside the house, but there could still be a fight. Ryan figured that there MUST'VE been someone inside that house, and with that other person dashing inside, it was almost guaranteed that there would be conflict. As Ryan watched, another shadowy silhouette slowly ambled from the beach to the house. It walked awkwardly as if it were carrying a heavy load. Or… perhaps, they had gone insane and were, just, well, out of it, Ryan thought. The figure crept slowly to the farmhouse, oblivious to Ike and Ryan's presence. Though they were several hundred meters away, this person could easily catch them. With two bags and an incapacitated, 145 pound load with them, they would be slowed down rather immensely.

As Ike examined his map, he deduced that the three of them must be at about D2. They had about 4 zones horizontally left to travel, which was still a long way away. He sat down, crossing his legs and knitting his brow. He, too, sighed as he contemplated how tough the journey ahead will be. They had to travel across a river, which, thankfully, had a bridge spanning it. However, Ike figured that traveling across a bridge would make them quite vulnerable. Once again, the factor of weight came into play and they would most likely be very slow if they were to be attacked. Also, people were likely to use a bridge for transportation. It wasn't as if they'd be the only ones using the bridge.

Ike ruffled his hair as he sat. His hands ran painfully through his auburn colored hair, which was dotted with knots. Personal hygiene was a trivial factor in a game as deadly as this, though it was persistent enough to be considered quite annoying. Both Ike and Ryan smelt bad, and they knew it. Normally, they'd laugh at this.

Ryan continued examining the scenery below. The hill descended at about a 45 degree angle, coated in emerald grass until it leveled off at its base, which was also blanketed with grass. The farmhouse stood like a sore thumb in the middle of the field, visible from all angles for long distances. Its field of custard-colored corn stood out remarkably against the green grass, and the ocean beyond completed the terrific ensemble of the earth's hues. Around the hill, which curved northward at an L to the west of Ike and Ryan was a suburban residential area. Along the ocean was a sandy coast, in most parts, though in others small cliffs lifted the grass against the tyrant waves of the ocean.

What sounded like a shrill, unreal bird call sounded throughout the valley.

Overall, though the game was basically a bloodbath, it took place on an island that contrasted the two moods oh-so-well. One, a twisting spiral of lies, deceit, and betrayal, and another, a terrific display of Mother Nature's prowess, a wonderful, beautiful display of peace and tranquility. Ryan marveled at the surreal contrast the two images provided.

"Okay, let's get moving." Ike stood up, shielding the sun from Ryan's eyes. The sun was now almost completely above them, followings its western path across the sky. Ryan then stood up, and, with Ike's help, hoisted Dante onto the back of his shoulders. Ryan then embraced him in a piggyback sort of carry, and Ike lifted up the two heavy supply bags. They now had to travel down a hill and to the peninsula that hosted the clinic. Little did they know what was going on inside the small farmhouse. At this time, a small shadow emerged from the building, still walking awkwardly. He walked as though he were carrying heavy objects… or as if he were insane.


Jennifer Penray, (Girl Number Three) and her two best friends, Hayley Campbell (Girl Number Four) and Whitney Sabourin (Girl Number Seven) walked through the streets of the residential area spanning zones F5 to F6. Jennifer led the group, as she always did. Her right-hand girl, Hayley Campbell, was oddly enough, following slightly behind her on her right side. The girl who only tagged along to be different from the rest of the class, Whitney Sabourin, followed several steps behind the both of them. She figured that hanging a unique crowd would further emphasize a sort of self-independence, which Whitney sorely lacked. However, joining a self-proclaimed "independent" social class was like following the latest fad. It seemed as though at Cochrane High the latest trend was to be independent and follow ones own values. This was of course, quite a contradiction considering the latest trend was to avoid the latest trends.

Jennifer had, as stealthily as she could in the strictly observed classroom, passed Hayley a note telling her to meet her at D6, an area that was dotted with residential as well as inner-city areas.

The island which played host to the city was big, though the city was miniscule. In fact, it couldn't exactly be a city. For an island only 2 kilometers in diameter, a city could only be so big. Therefore, it must've been a town. It was located in the southeastern part of the island, with a road dividing the two sections. To the north was of course, the suburban area, though that was about 1.5 kilometers, according to Jennifer's map. Nearby, there were more residential areas, some with smaller houses than the one that Jennifer and her cronies currently inhabited, which were located closely to the main part of the town, just a little to the north.

After Jennifer and Hayley met up, they had tried to find themselves a place to stay for a while, until they could manage to wait until things cooled down. Their idea of "cooled down," however, was when most of their classmates were dead. However, Whitney had tried her utmost to find her two friends, which, she pretty much relied on. Whitney was small, shy, and weak. On top of this, she was unintelligent and lacked common sense. However, Jennifer was intelligent and rather intimidating with her looks. Hayley was basically a clone of Jennifer, though she wasn't as good as Jennifer when it came to inner-city deals in Calgary…

Whitney had taken a gamble and had taken to the north, though, she quickly doubled back after realizing that the north was small. Of course, most others would realize that with a smaller area, it would be much easier to locate someone than in the vast south of the island. However, for once, Whitney's intellect, or lack thereof had paid off.

"How much further?" Whitney, who was about 10 meters behind the two of them whined as her heels throbbed with a dull pain. They had been walking since daybreak, trying to find a place to stay. Although they were in the midst of a vast residential area, which, being a residential area, was obviously host to dozens of houses. However, the three girls couldn't agree on where they would stay. This was mostly because of their paranoia. It was obvious that it would make no difference wherever the stayed, but they could not decide because of their fear for their other classmates.

"Not much…" Jennifer said as she sighed, holding her pistol which was her weapon. It was a Beretta 92, a standard model which, in the Coalition nation is the basic weapon of firearms. Everyone who owned a gun had wielded once in their lifetime a Beretta 92. It was a basic, strong, gun with a vertically tilting locking block system and an external trigger bar.

Hayley's weapon was a bottle of Potassium Cyanide. Though Hayley didn't know it, this mixture was highly deadly. Even the smallest of dosages resulted in a painful, agonizing death. She had left it in her supply bag after assuming it was useless. Whitney's weapon was extra bread. The rest of the class received two pieces of bread, though with this additional surplus Whitney received six.

Jennifer's beautiful complexion sagged as she sighed. Hayley, meanwhile, sighed to copy Jennifer.

While Jennifer was original and independent, Hayley did her best to be just like her. This didn't annoy Jennifer, though, because Jennifer was always looking for attention.

The three of them scanned the surrounding houses, looking for a place where they could hide. This was of useless, however, as all of the houses looked almost identical.

"They all look the same!" screeched Whitney. "Why can't we just hide in one now and get it done with? We've been at this for hours!"

"Shut up, bitch! You know you're just tagging along! I'm making the decisions here! Shut up!" Jennifer glared at Whitney, who cringed. Hayley, meanwhile, duplicated Jennifer's glare towards the petite Whitney and commented, "Yeah."

Jennifer relinquished the piercing stare and continued forward. Hayley, the mirror, did the same; and Whitney continued moments later, after deciding she was far enough away from Jennifer, afraid of her freaking out again.

The three continued walking for another 15 minutes, until finally Jennifer stopped in her tracks. Hayley quickly reacted and did the same. Whitney, meanwhile, staring at her feet, continued forward several paces, catching up to Hayley and Jennifer. As she continued staring at her feet, she bumped into Jennifer.

"Ow!" Jennifer stumbled forward.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Shut up!" Jennifer turned around and raised her fist at Whitney. Whitney cowered and stepped backwards until she was once again a safe distance from Jennifer. Jennifer scanned the surrounding area, which portrayed an almost identical setup of houses, the same as the many sets of residential complexes they had seen earlier.

"Let's hide out in there," Jennifer flicked hair out her eyes and pointed towards a small house which was marked 1896. It stood low to the ground, with a roof of red shingles and an exterior of a slight peach color. It's red door stood proudly upon the concrete steps leading up to it. The grass on the lawn was green, and the gate behind the house could be seen leading into the backyard.

"Looks good," commented Hayley. Jennifer smiled at her minion's compliment and beckoned the two girls to follow her into the house. The two girls followed Jennifer up to the front step. Jennifer opened the door, and slowly ambled into the house's confines. The sitting room was small and quaint, with a traditional sort of feel to it. Through the doorway in the sitting room, they could see a small kitchen, with a dull yellow from the outside sun illuminating it. Perpendicular to this doorway was another hallway.

Jennifer didn't bother to take off her shoes, though Whitney and Hayley both took theirs off. Jennifer walked into the kitchen, taking in it's modern appearance. A fridge stood just outside the doorway through which she had just entered; a small table was opposite it against the wall. Further along the wall was another doorway, which led into a small dining room. The floor was decorated with tiles that were a beige color with slight grey lines running across them in X's.

Whitney explored the hallway to the right. It had photos all along the two walls. In each of the mahogany frames were pictures of a young family. The mother and father, who looked as if they were in their 30's, stood embracing their two children who looked like they were still just toddlers. All of them had loving smiles on their faces, grateful for each other's just being there.

Whitney remembered her family… her father, who always looked out for her. While she was small and frail, he was large and strong. He had always cared for her, even after all the instances of trouble she had gotten in with the delinquents. Her mother had died when she was young. She had been involved in a car accident with Whitney's father; they had been T-boned at an intersection by a drunk driver. Her mother, who was in the passenger side, was hit directly and was killed almost instantly. Meanwhile, her father escaped with only a minor injury or two. However, it scarred him forever… That's why he always protected Whitney.

She also had an older brother, who was like Whitney in the sense that he was small. However, they had opposing personalities. Whitney was timid and shy, while her older brother, Tyler, was rambunctious and outgoing. He was always into fights, though he was strong. He was always fun to be around… he, too looked out for Whitney.

A tear rolled down Whitney's cheek as she remembered them… She may never see them again… Wait… who was she kidding? She WILL never see them again!

Whitney sobbed silently as another tear rolled down her cheek… She had given up hope.

"Hey, Whitney! You're tagging along, so give us your fucking bread!" Jennifer screeched from the kitchen. She laughed as she belittled poor Whitney.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Whitney's state of mind had changed in a mere instant upon hearing Jennifer's voice… that bitch. How dare she…? No. She wasn't going to give up that easily… She'll honor her father for teaching her so well. She'll fight back. She'll win this game.

Wiping the tears off of her face, she smiled as she said, "Yeah, sure!"


Michael Lees, Boy Number Fourteen ran across the grass foothills of E2. According to his map, there was a farmhouse at the west end of a cornfield located in the same zone. Michael needed some water; he had pretty much inhaled all of the food he was given for the game. As soon as he started, he had traveled to the easternmost part of the island, a small bulge in I4. However, it had been announced as a forbidden zone, coming into effect at 9:00.

Therefore, as 9:00 drew near, Michael attempted to find a place to stay. He decided not to stay in the suburban or residential areas because of the over abundance of students that may be trying to hide there. Michael had decided to try and stay in the farmhouse; though it was basically in the middle of everything. However, Michael assumed that the rest of the students figured it was so blatantly obvious that staying there would result in conflict, so they most likely wouldn't have taken up residence. Michael figured that because of this, he'd be able to stay there without running into anyone.

His weapon was a 12-pack of batteries. Fucking useless! He discarded them long ago.

Michael slowed from a run to a walk as he became a little fatigued. Without water to wet his throat, he was parched and his breaths were erratic. Michael had run too much for such a small amount of water.

Michael scratched his scalp as he walked, and as he walked over the hill in front of him, the cornfield and farmhouse came into view. The farmhouse stood tall over the low cornfield, its massive bulk looking as though it were a massive battleship, sailing across a sea of golden waves. Now that the farmhouse was in view, Michael began to run again. His short hair shook slightly as the wind rippled his face, his loosely worn clothes billowing like parachutes. Michael grunted as a slight, dull pain emerged in his right calf.

After reaching the farmhouse, Michael wiped the sweat off his forehead. He squinted, trying to focus. The farmhouse was indeed looking normal; hopefully there was no one inside who had used the same mindset as Michael.

Michael walked forward, proceeding to climb the back steps into the house. The door creaked open as he opened it, and the inside of the farmhouse came into view. It was plain and grey on the interior, which was the opposite of the farmhouse's beautiful exterior. As Michael entered the house, the door creaked shut behind him. He could see that the backdoor entered a sort of hallway which was perpendicular to the door. An odd smell drifted into Michael's nostrils; it smelled vaguely like blood, though there were other, more predominant aromas floating about, such as the smell of corn, the ocean, and dust.

Michael took the route to the right and walked slowly down it. He was cautious. The smell of blood was an odd thing to be in a house… Someone may have been here. Or, on the other hand, are still here. He entered a sort of dining room, which was connected to an ivory-themed kitchen. The dining room table was coated with a thick layer of dust. Michael coughed as the thick smell became more potent. The kitchen was empty, the counters and tables left dusty and bare. Michael opened the fridge hoping to find some sort of water or food which wasn't perishable. When he opened the fridge, he saw a few kinds of food; a package of meat, a tray of sliced cheese and a carton of milk. As the disgusting smell of sour milk floated into the air, joining the brigade of the several other present aromas, Michael noticed the meat and cheese were layered with filthy green hairs. He then grunted and closed the fridge.

On his left was a metallic silver sink, which had a large, dank, yellow stain running from the top of the rim to the drain. Michael turned the tap on. The smell of blood destroyed the other smells, flaring into Michael's nostrils. The sudden reflex cause Michael to gag, and as he heard the sound of splashing liquid against a metallic surface, he turned around to see a slightly yellow mixture pouring out of the faucet. Michael grimaced, contemplating whether he should drink this foul solution. The smell of blood remained in Michael's nostrils as he thought.

Thirst overcame Michael's bearing of common sense, and he thrust his hands out in front of him to cup the dank liquid. Pressing his damp hands against his lips, the taste of water cascaded into his mouth. However, it tasted odd, definitely not like normal water. Michael didn't care. He repeatedly cupped water into his hands and slurped from the makeshift bowl, over and over until his throat was cool and wet. Michael smiled and licked his lips. The water didn't sit right, and Michael wondered why. Knowing farms, there'd probably be a well somewhere around. The well was a source of the farm's water. If there was anything wrong with the water supply, it'd probably be something in the well. He decided to check it out.

Michael exited the farmhouse the same way he came, and as he did his stomach squirmed unpleasantly. Something was wrong with that water… was that blood he had smelled?

Speeding up from a slow walk to a steady jog, Michael searched frantically for the well. "Come on? Where is it?" Michael squirmed as his stomach frothed. Michael then panicked, and burst into a sprint. Racing around the outside of the farmhouse, Michael still couldn't see the well. His stomach felt as though it were pushing through him, desperately trying to vomit up the strange mixture he had taken into his system.

Finally, he saw, about 15 meters away from the place he had exited (in his panic, Michael's ability to distinguish certain objects from others had been impaired), a small, brown roof overtop of a stony basin. This was the well. Michael sprinted towards it, wondering what was in the water.

"Was that blood I smelled? What had happened? Why was their blood? What was in that water!" As Michael drew near, that same pungent odor of blood crept into his nostrils. The sudden reflux to vomit nearly overpowered Michael, though he managed to swallowed it back. Michael then reached the well, and as he looked in, he saw something that he knew would scar his memory for the rest of his days.

A mangled corpse had been thrown into the well, it's blood smearing everything on it's way down to the base. It's face looked up at Michael, the eyes slashed and the lower half of the jaw, gone, leaving way to a thick, fleshy tongue hanging out of the scarlet chasm that was once this person's mouth. A mixture of vomit and blood coated the left side of his body, which was host to a missing arm and a slashed ear. The empty socked which hosted the arm still oozed a steady flow of blood, though the arm which had been severed off was nowhere to be found. The right side looked fairly unscathed compared to the abomination that was the rest of this person's figure, hosting only a few gashes. Michael assumed that this person wasn't actually at the bottom of the well; their bulk must have been to big to fit all the way down and they had gotten stuck. He could hear the sound of the steady drip-drip of his blood splashing against the base of the well.

Sick. Michael was sick. Turning around, he clutched his stomach, and vomit gushed out of his mouth. He clutched at his forehead, trying to erase the image of the destroyed person. The flow of vomit steadily ceased, though Michael's stomach still squirmed disgustingly, and the image was embedded in his cerebral archives, so predominant that it was almost as though Michael was still looking right at it.

His slashed face…

More vomit. Michael threw up into the well, though as he did, he saw the abomination again. Its eyes stared right at him, the pink slug that was his tongue hanging like a rose stalactite. The pink and yellow mixture of bile and the strange mixture splashed onto the mangled person.

"I DRANK HIS BLOOD!" The awful thought burst into Michael's mind so violently it was as if he had just been punched in the face. "I DRANK HIS FUCKING BLOOD!" Michael's mind screamed in terror as a hideous state of paranoia rushed in. He vomited again into the well, and as he stared at the eyes of the mangled person, he realized who it was. The class artist, Clayton Petitclerc, lay mangled in the well. Who did it? "IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER, I DRANK HIS BLOOD!" Again, Michael threw up. How disgusting! All I can fucking do is throw up! Doesn't matter, I drank his blood!

Finally, the tension in Michael's stomach ceased, though Michael was still struck with raw terror. Thoughts ran through his mind… what was he going to do? Who did this?

All Michael could think of was Clayton… how… horrible. Where the fuck is his other arm? The smell of blood… how did it get in the house? Through the water system… I don't want to think about it.

Michael lost consciousness, and lay on the ground, soaked in his own vomit.

Little did he know, the killer was none other than our own foul friend himself, Sid Algar.

Sid's plan of action was to eliminate everyone he saw; so far he had fulfilled his plan. Kael, Lee, Clayton, dead. Even though he had initially let Clayton go, he decided that even the most timid and weak of players could be dangerous. After Clayton left, he assumed he had taken up fort in the farmhouse. After leaving the mansion, he snuck around along the road to the farmhouse as opposed to the beach where he killed Lee. After entering the farmhouse, he found Clayton cradling his broken arm on a couch. He had knocked him unconscious with a quick jab to the back of the head with the butt of his new rifle (previously Kael's). He then proceeded to take as much water as he could from the tap, filling up one of his empty bottles. He then picked Clayton up, took him outside, and over the well, he had mangled his body to death. Clayton had awoken after the first cut, and he had screamed in terror as he saw the face of Killer Sid. Sid cut off his left ear and arm, and then he proceeded to slash out Clayton's eyes with his hacksaw. Clayton then died after this. Sid then decided for an intimidation factor to carve out Clayton's jaw. He had used his hacksaw for all of this. After he was done with Clayton, he tossed his body into the well, so no one would be able to use its water, and as he looked around, he saw Clayton's arm on the ground. Lee had broken this same arm. Its elbow extended out at an odd angle, looking almost backwards.

Sid had taken this arm into the farmhouse. He knew that if he'd be able to play this game best, he'd have to shut everyone else down first. He took the arm and searched for the ventilation system in the house. He found it easily, a shaft in the roof of the dining room. Using a chair, he reached the shaft, opened it, and put Clayton's arm in the shaft. The whole farmhouse reeked of blood. Sid smiled to himself and left, struggling with the heavy weight of his arsenal of weapons.

This was how he would play in Battle Royale. Sid was a killer. To him, the rest of the class was just the killed.


Ike and Ryan were now at the west side of the bridge, facing east. The peninsula where the clinic was only three zone lengths away, and so far the two had encountered nobody else. However, that odd bird call they had heard earlier had some eerie tone about it…

"Not much further," Ike shuffled his hair as Ryan adjusted his glasses, the unconscious Dante on his back.

"Thank god," Ryan said, knitting his brows. "It hurts to carry this guy around, man." Ike laughed, and for once in the game, things were looking up. Aside from Dante being unconscious, they were about to finally get him to help and they were safe. They hadn't encountered anyone yet. However, Ryan and Ike were always looking for allies. In finding no one, no students at all, this of course also meant that they hadn't found any allies. The two were constantly wondering where their friends were… their enemies, too.

"Where do you think some of the guys are?" Ike asked as the two started walking across the bridge.

"I would think Cedric and Justin would try to find each other… Zachary's probably following Shane around everywhere, and, yeah. I would think pretty much everyone in this game is looking for someone to meet up with. It's like us; it's safer in groups than it is alone."

This bit of battle strategy talk from Ryan surprised Ike.

"Gee, I didn't think you were really that into this game… Are you looking for Alex?" The word Alex triggered something in Ryan's brain. Ryan quickly turned around, apprehensively eyeing Ike.

"Yes. I have to find her. I've got to protect her. I know she can't survive out here alone… neither can I."

The two continued walking until they reached G2, just two zones away from the clinic. Ike uncomfortably lifted the two supply bags further up on his shoulder, grimacing with the weight of the oddly-shaped objects digging into his shoulder. They only had a little further to go… then Dante would be OK.

Ruby Fetega, Girl Number Seventeen, finally reached the clinic. After nearly two hours of walking from the grave of Stephanie Mitchell, she had finally made it. She, too, hadn't encountered a soul on her journey, only the thick pollution of grief which filled the air of the island. Ruby, too, had been stricken with this grief, and she felt fear for her other students.

"What's happening to them?"

"Where are they?"

"What are they doing?"

She was always curious… She wasn't sure who she'd think would be a killer or not. She knew she'd never kill… it didn't even seem to be an option. It was redundant… Yeah, redundant. I'm not sinister. I'd never do anything like that.

The inside of the clinic was the dreary grey of a doctors office. Ruby could just imagine a child sitting in the waiting room, terrified of the examination she was about to receive. The impatient mother, meanwhile, sat beside her, flipping through pages of a tabloid magazine. At the desk, a young lady tapped away at a computer, receiving phone calls and sorting files. In came a doctor who was older, in his 40's it seemed. He carried a thin document, and a stethoscope was wrapped around his shoulders. He then summoned the young girl to enter his office. His voice was foggy and distant; as he spoke, the little girl stood up, anxious to get her appointment over with. She cautiously approached the doctor, and as she did, the mother watched her with loving eyes. The receptionist smiled warmly as the doctor handed her the file he was carrying, then the doctor disappeared down the hallway into a small room.

Suddenly, Ruby was returned to reality. This wasn't a peaceful clinic in an ordinary town… this was a… an abandoned doctor's office in an island of fear and hatred.

Ruby sat into one of the waiting room chairs, silently sobbing… When would she find someone? She was lonely. She knew she couldn't play this game alone… Where was Erin and Vanessa? Or… maybe Dante and Ike. She needed someone…

Meanwhile, the shadow of darkness crept along the northern beaches of the island, soaked in a victims blood, carrying an arsenal which would ultimately end the fire of humanity. His face was coated in ethereal hatred and fear, the bane of his victims being put into his palm.

There was also the shambling brigade of hopeless heroes, shattered and broken, but still managing to stay strong and resilient. They carried the sick hero, who had fallen ill from an injury. Light radiated from the three of them; not a light of heroes, but a light of a new hope.

BOY NUMBER 4, CLAYTON PETITCLERC DEAD.

44 STUDENTS REMAINING