Chapter 7: 22nd July 2016 -03:26-

Georgina "Gina" Stone (Girl #20) was annoyed.

With many of the other students falling into hopeless despair or a victimised anger, Gina's response could be viewed by many as relatively juvenile. Annoyance, of course, lacking a particular sense of scope and range. Insular in nature, annoyance belies a certain level of childishness. Instead of intense emotion smashing into her like a tsunami, the persistent lapping of waves weathered away at her patience. Emotionally stunted as she was, Gina turned her feelings inward, not yet having acquired the maturity to release them out.

Indeed, had anyone been able to see inside her head, they would have been shocked at her response.

However, that wasn't all. Something else about her reaction was particularly peculiar.

The nature of The Program, at its core, was designed to emotionally manipulate the "contestants" involved into playing. That much was true. However, the cause of her annoyance was less the result of her circumstances, but rather due to her present company.

Georgina was not feeling annoyed at having been included in her country's monthly "murder-contest". No, what she was finding particularly grating were the people that she found herself in hiding with.

Chelsea Wood (Girl #1), despite being her long time friend, was seriously trying her patience. The reason why was nothing particularly serious nor extravagant. In fact, it was something trivial: Chelsea had not stopped crying, for the past hour and a half.

Worse still was the presence of Girl #2, Taylor Time. Far from Gina's favourite person, she had been forced into bringing the other girl along by Chelsea.

"She's probably terrified! We can't just leave her!" she had said.

Had they stuck around the starting point longer, they may have even picked up more girls for their group. Gina was thankful that they hadn't. Lugging around two dead weights was more than enough.

After seeing Jonathan Schultz (Boy #3) leave the town hall, and start digging through his bag, they all decided to run. After all, what if he was planning on killing everyone as they left the building? Or worse.

It was an unspoken rule among the girls that they wouldn't let boys into their group. Boys did things. Things that would seem all the more viable as an option, given their ever-decreasing life spans. Things that the girls didn't even want to talk about.

It was for that very reason that Gina didn't try and reach out to Alex Kemp (Boy #1) or James Morris (Boy #2).

Well, that was only part of the reason, when it came to Alex. There was something about him that always left Gina feeling creeped out. He always seemed so vacant; sitting daydreaming to himself in class. Almost like no one was home inside his head.

Though now Gina was regretting not inviting James. The idea of having a boy on her side, so desperate to prove himself in some kind of faux-macho fashion, appealed to her far more than the whimpering of weak girls. At least then she could have wound him around her finger, to do exactly what she wanted.

The only benefit that she saw from inviting Taylor into their group was that the girl was packing. After digging through the other girl's bag, Gina had found three hand grenades. Combined with her own gun (a SIG-Sauer P230 9mm Short Semi-Automatic Pistol), this left them practically unstoppable. Even factoring in Chelsea's compound bow, Gina knew that anyone that tried to attack them was in for a rude awakening.

Any positive mood she may have felt, however, was soon diminished by the persistent mewling of her friend of ten years.

Chelsea had always been that way. Ever since Gina first met her, at the tender age of six, at one of her parents' garden parties, she had done nothing but drag her down. Sure they both came from money, but that shouldn't have obligated them to become friends. In fact, since Gina's family were the wealthier of the two, she justified their friendship as charity on her own part.

But still, despite Gina's gracious gift of friendship, Chelsea continuously let her down and ground against her last nerve. It didn't help that she was a crybaby. Even the smallest thing would set her off.

Gina could remember a time, back when they had first started highschool, when one of the guys on the basketball team had called Chelsea a dyke. She cried for at least three hours; most of which down the phone to Gina. But did she think that maybe there was a reason why she had been called that? Out-sprinting ninety five percent of the guys in gym, and always wearing those frumpy clothes did nothing for her image. At the end of the day, it was all her own fault.

The fact that she always decided to cry to Gina about everything was what really ticked her off.

But, as was the case with almost everything in her life, Gina fronted it out and put on a fake smile. She long ago found out that it was easier to catch flies with honey; though only if they had something of value.

Gina would never in a million years consider gracing the majority of her grade with even a fake smile. As far as she was concerned, they were little more than phlegm. She regarded them in the same way someone would look down on their own snot in a handkerchief, before disposing of it. So low was her opinion of her classmates, she very rarely paid anything even close to vague interest to them.

Taylor was one such classmate.

Before she stumbled across her at the start of the so-called "murder game", Gina would have been hard pressed to even remember her name. To her, she was just another nameless blur that passed her in the corridors.

The most Gina could even remember about Taylor was that she always wore bright red lipstick.

And even that isn't that exciting, she thought, making no effort to conceal the distaste etched into her face, as she watched the other girl.

Outside of her peripheral, she could still hear Chelsea crying.

Fucking hell, girl! Gina's mind shouted, bitterly. Pull yourself together! We all have this just as bad as you, but you don't see me crying about it!

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Gina closed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. She needed to keep everything level. Getting riled up over her own friend's patheticness wasn't going to do her any good.

However, the more she dwelt on the thought, the more irritated she became. And the more irritated she became, the more Gina's mind explored the possibilities of the "game".

How long would it be before the dead weight of her friend dragged her down, and she was murdered by someone — someone out to kill? And, for that matter, what benefit was there to keeping her around at all? Only one person could survive The Program; that was the single infallible purpose of the killing spree. If Gina let Chelsea live, just how long would she prove useful to her survival? Indeed, what if her friend got wise to her disdain for her, and decided to turn on her?

Swimming inside Gina's head, the possibility of murder soon began to appear very appealing. It had even begun to make sense.

The fact of the matter was that she needed to survive.

But...

The only problem was Taylor.

Killing someone when they are the only other person around could be considered relatively easy. Factoring in a third individual, however, tipped the odds substantially out of her favour.

Gina had a gun, but she was hard pressed to actually use it. Firing a gun would be like announcing herself to everyone who might have been close by. And, should someone be drawn to the shots, she would be immediately identified as a killer. Fair game to anyone overly cautious, or interested in self-preservation.

Still, she had all but made up her mind.

All she needed, then, was a plan.

Chelsea Wood sat hugging her knees to her chest, as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

A meek and unassuming girl, her freckle-dusted face was scrunched up and contorted from the sobs that wracked her body. The spots that dotted her cheeks stung with the damp bite of her tears, and her snaggletooth jutted unevenly from her wailing mouth.

Distraught was an understatement. The mere idea of having to kill her classmates — people that she saw every day — was so horrible that it was all she could do to stop her having a panic attack.

Harsh, strangled breaths shook her form, beneath St. Joseph's red and black track uniform, and her prized legs, having once carried her to so many victories, felt numb and useless.

Worse still than the idea of having to kill, and of being killed, was the sight of death. Having been sat diagonally in front of Jacob Silver (Boy #4), back in the town hall, she had been afforded an up-close view of the aftermath of his death.

The fact that he was someone she particularly liked only made it worse.

I mean, sure he was a bit awkward, she thought. But he always looked so cute when he was sat there reading. And now he's... He's...

Another fit of sobs spasmed through her.

Ordinarily the fact that she had a bit of a crush on him would have been inconsequential. However, flung into the overwhelming stress of The Program, everything had been dialled up to eleven. A myriad of emotions stormed through her and, as if clinging to every single past experience, a boy that she may have liked a little became someone whose death she was utterly distraught over.

The only thing that seemed to alleviate even some of the horrible pressure on her was the fact that she had found Gina.

While it was true that sometimes their relationship was strained (owing in no small part to Gina's bristly temper), they had been friends so long that merely having her around was enough to calm Chelsea's nerves.

She remembered a particular time, when they had first started highschool. Looking back at it, anyone else would have found it inconsequential, but to her it meant everything. One of the jocks in the grade above had called her a dyke, in front of almost everyone in the school. The jeers and looks she got after that were hell, barely dying out of public memory even currently. Back then, Gina had listened to her cries and stuck by her. And that meant the world to Chelsea.

So realising that her friend had waited for her, outside of the town hall, left Chelsea reeling with gratitude.

But that didn't do much to dispel the despair that gripped her. Knowing that, sooner or later, she would die. Those, after all, were the rules. If twenty four hours passed without anyone dying, then everyone would die.

Again trembling, she hugged her knees even closer to her chest and swept her tear-filled vision around the dark room. Taylor was sat in the corner, in a position extremely similar to Chelsea's own. Every so often, her eyes would turn suspiciously around the room, as if expecting either Chelsea or Gina to attack her. Gina was sitting with her legs stretched in front of her, crossed one over the other, fiddling with the zipper of her assigned duffle bag.

Closing her eyes and burying her head back into her knees, Chelsea again tried in futility to stop the tears.

"Hey," suddenly came a voice, restrained and level.

Chelsea opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the voice. It was Gina.

"Hey," she said again, her well spoken upper class voice slipping through the darkness. "Don't you... Don't you think we should try and find some food? I mean, the bread in our bags is something but... I don't think it will last very long."

Still trying to swallow her tears, Chelsea nodded out a feeble reply.

"Come on," Gina said, rising to her feet and making for the kitchen of the house they were hidden inside. "It'll help take your mind off of it." She turned towards Taylor and cocked her head to the side. "You stay here and keep watch, okay?"

The other girl muttered something in response, but Chelsea couldn't tell what it was.

Chelsea stood and began to make her way over to the doorway, wiping her eyes as she went. The steady stream of moisture running from her eyes began to dry. The fact that Gina was concerned enough about her to try and take her mind off of the situation touched her.

Following her friend out of the room and into the kitchen, Chelsea retched out her thanks. "It... It means a lot to me that you're... T-trying to h-h-help. I'm s-s-s-sorry I'm crying so much... I j-j-... Just don't know how to d-deal with any of t-this..."

Gina merely hummed, beginning to pace and potter about the kitchen. As she went, she opened cupboards and drawers, starting her search for long life goods.

"It all j-j-just feels so ou-... Out of control," Chelsea sobbed, again starting to cry. "I c-c-can't... I can't cope..."

Finishing opening another of the drawers, Gina sighed. "It's okay," she said softly, making her way across the kitchen towards Chelsea.

As her friend moved within arms reach, Chelsea flung her arms around Gina and nestled her head into the crook of her neck. Still crying her eyes out, she spoke into her friend's collarbone. "Thank you... Thank you..."

At first she didn't quite register the pain between her shoulder blades.

No, the first thing that she felt was a heavy restriction on her lung, as they filled with blood. Then the burn of pain came at her, smashing into her like a truck and assaulting her nerve endings. The knife that Gina had stabbed her with must have been extraordinarily sharp. Indeed, it had managed to pass through her skin and muscle tissue with barely any resistance.

So preoccupied with the harsh sensation ripping through her body, Chelsea didn't even consider why her friend had stabbed her. All her mind could focus on was the pain.

Opening her mouth, she was about to scream when Gina smothered her with one hand. A curious thing to focus on, Chelsea realised that the palm of her friend's hand was clammy with a nervous sweat.

Blood flooded her other lung as Gina stabbed her again.

Chelsea couldn't breathe. Starved of oxygen, her brain began to grow cloudy and before long she blacked out.

The last thing she felt was the agony of her lungs filling with fluid, as she drowned on her own blood.

Taylor Time didn't trust people.

Similar to how leaves fall in the autumn, and flowers blossom in the spring, this was just an irrefutable fact of her very nature. Mildly anti-social, and with a glancing touch of paranoia, she didn't relate particularly well to many of her fellow students.

Least of all Georgina Stone.

Something about the little princess rubbed her up the wrong way, bristling her hairs with unease whenever she saw her. Confused by the mere fact that the girl was even enrolled into a public school, rather than their resident private academy, Taylor always regarded her with an air of caution. The last thing she wanted was to get swept up into all of the unnecessary drama that seemed to follow Gina around the school like a bad smell.

The only reason why she had joined her group, after the commencement of The Program was because of Chelsea Wood. She was a nice girl; someone genuine who was always there to offer a friendly smile if anyone needed it (at least before being drafted into The Program). Why she even hung around with Gina in the first place was completely lost on Taylor.

When Gina had beckoned Chelsea to the kitchen, Taylor made sure to keep her wits about her. For all she knew, the stuck up girl could be trying to turn her friend against her.

Anything was possible.

At times Taylor wondered why she always expected the worst of people. She figured that it was because of her parents. Not bad people, by any stretch of the imagination, but their respective occupations did more than enough to expose their children to the worst sides of the human condition. Her mother a writer of horror, both psychological and otherwise, and her father a child psychologist, their frequent stories and discussions did little to quell the growing paranoia that afflicted her formative years. Rather they served to enhance it.

Because of that she had always held a vague air of resentment towards her parents. But now that she was enrolled in their country's annual murder game, she had never been more thankful. Suspicion was the nature of the game, and being too trusting could get her killed.

So when the two girls disappeared into the adjoining kitchen, she made sure to keep her attention focussed on the door. Ears pricked and nerves razor sharp, Taylor's hearing was honed into a needle point.

At first she only heard the muffled sound of Chelsea sobbing. That was normal enough. That she could deal with.

It was when the silence came that she grew uneasy.

Silence was suspicious. While it wasn't too large a stretch of the imagination for the others to be searching for food in silence, Chelsea's distress shouldn't have allowed for it.

Her eyes darted over the floor, coming to rest on Gina's bag. That was where the gun was. When all three had joined forces, she had all but refused to give it up. But now it lay abandoned in her designated bag.

Did that mean that she really wasn't intending to kill Taylor? Or was it all part of some clever ruse?

Her theories were interrupted as Gina slowly walked back into the room. Her pace was steady and her face a calm melancholy, but nevertheless something about her seemed off to Taylor.

When Gina finally reached the middle of the room, Taylor realised what it was. She had blood on her hand.

"Gina..." Taylor said, her voice purposely low, so as to hide her unease. "Where's Chelsea?"

She didn't have to respond, though. Taylor already knew.

And it was for that very reason that she was already moving across the room, towards the bag with the gun. Supposedly for self-defence, Gina had already loaded it earlier. Whoever managed to get hold of it first only needed to slide off the safety and pull the trigger.

The two girls dived for it simultaneously. Ripping through the fabric, their hands clawed in search of the grip.

All hands and feet, they struck out at each other, fighting desperately for control of the weapon.

Taylor managed to lay hands on it first. Fumbling with the gun, her thumb slipped clumsily over the safety. Angling it towards Gina, her finger squeezed against the trigger.

Gina's hands clamped down on her wrists and wrestled with her.

In the confusion, her hands were pointed downwards.

The dry pop of the gunshot cracked through the sill night air of the house, reverberating off of the walls before escaping through the poorly insulated glass and rolling through the arena.

Pain screamed through Taylor's body as the bullet ripped into her foot. Blood doused the floor and the recoil of the gun sent the firearm spinning from her grip, through the room and underneath the couch.

Ripping herself from the tangle of limbs, Gina dashed across to the couch and stuck her arm underneath it, desperately searching for the gun.

As she did so, however, Taylor was already on her way out of the door. Limping through the frame, she threw herself out of the house and disappeared into the night.

-37 Students Remaining-