Hour 20

33 Contestants Remaining

It was a miracle that the church hadn't burnt to the ground. Well, maybe. Considering the bodies that lay piled beneath a sheet in the middle of the church, Rene Foucalt, a.k.a. Girl # 25, wasn't so sure that fire wouldn't have been the merciful way to go. They had died badly, and by the looks of it not all of them bought it quickly. What happened to them... took time.

"Tabernac," the girl muttered under her breath, slipping back into the familiar Quebecois profanities that rolled so well off the tongue. It seemed the only word capable of describing such horrors in the midst of holy ground. There were boys in the pile. Three of them. Without their faces it was hard to tell who was who, but given the announcement she had a fair idea of who they were. No one who concerns you. No one who would have come to your rescue if they heard you screaming. If they are dead, they are dead. You are alive. Who's to say they may not even have had this coming?

Coming to the church had seemed like a terrible idea, but like most, she had a hard time avoiding the sound of such a conflict. Partly holding a morbid curiosity, partly believing there was a chance to pick up a stray gun that had gotten lost in the battle, she had headed toward the sounds of the conflict. Every so often she had seen people fleeing through the town. When there were boys, she would hide. Not again. Not going to let that happen again. Never again. When there were girls, she made no special efforts to hide. If they saw her and wanted to be friendly, she would humor them, for a few minutes at least. If they wanted to try something... well, she no longer feared her ability to kill another human being. If something terrible needed to be done, she would have to do it.

"But as terrible as this? Could you be that bad?" she asked idly, looking to the shrouded bodies on the floor. The air was rich with the stench of their blood and shit, no matter the cold air that seemed to be pouring into the building. She would not be so terrible. Though CJ would probably say otherwise, wouldn't he?

"Yes, I'm sure," she muttered again. The dull weight of the claw hammer in the pocket of the new, violation-free parka she had liberated from a house on Ridgemont Street comforted the girl. It was not the most impressive of weapons in the game. Certainly it would do no good in the middle of a gunfight. But, the weapon did not matter. The person wielding it did. What they were capable of doing with the weapon, that mattered. She had done more with an old claw hammer than many who had been assigned guns could have. The bits of hair, blood and skin still stuck to the claw were more than enough to prove that. If she had to, she knew she could be merciless. She knew she could kill. She had what it took.

But she wouldn't enjoy it. There was no way she could enjoy the game. She could hate, but she could not enjoy. Enjoyment would involve a certain amount of love, and there was no way she could love the game. Let the hate consume you. Let the hate help you survive. It will allow you to make the difficult decisions needed to survive. But never become part of the game. Never become part of the system that allows people to do whatever they please, to remove that one filter that keeps us from totally giving into their animalistic instincts. Never do that.

In a strange way, the thing that angered her the most was that Chad had been wrong. There was no hope for humanity. CJ had proved that in spades. He attacked her. He meant to kill her. In this game, she could understand that in an abstract sense. You are supposed to kill, you are compelled to kill by the rules of the game, you need to kill. He didn't need to rape her. What he did, he did for fun. What he did had probably been beneath the surface of his brutish exterior all along, it just took the game to let it out. In a world without consequences, he had raped her. He had destroyed her virginity, he had soiled her. And he laughed. He loved doing it. He probably loved every minute of it until she thrust her fist into the stab wound in his stomach. And these bodies... whoever did this enjoyed doing this.

"We are fucked," she muttered gloomily into her microphone, "as a species, we are fucked. God help us all."

Shaking her head, the girl made her way toward the front of the church. There were no guns here, only death and destruction. She would have to move before any other scavengers found their way around.

Swinging open one of the church's massive front doors, she was greeted with the sight of a slender figure standing just twenty feet away. With the heavy winter clothing, it was hard to tell it was a girl or a boy by body alone. Looking to the figure's face, all she could see through the blue balaclava was a pair of sympathetic eyes.

"Rene, is that you?" Frank Luczak, a.k.a. Boy # 14, asked calmly.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Rene practically shrieked back to him. Part of her mind had a hard time reconciling the image of kind, handsome Frank with the horrors of this game. That was the only thing that allowed her to respond. Frank was one of the more decent guys at school. But that's just the surface. What's underneath that cover? Could he have some of CJ in him?

"Please," Frank said, reaching out one hand pleadingly, "it's very cold out here Rene, I would like to get warm. It is warm in there, right?"

That remark threw her for a loop. He didn't know that the church had been broken into. Does that mean he is good? No, that just means he doesn't know what happened here, if he's even telling the truth.

As if to prove a point, he pulled down the front of his balaclava with his outstretched hand and flashed a million dollar smile, "Come on, it's me, Frank. It's very cold. I think my bottled water might even be frozen."

His voice was pleasant. Silky. But... he never removed his left hand from his parka pocket. It's a trap.

Rene slammed the door shut just as the boy twitched his arm out from the pocket. She ducked out of the way seconds before one of the massive bullets from Frank's Colt Anaconda blew a fist sized hole in the door.

There was little time, and no way to lock the front doors. She couldn't fight him, not with that cannon he carried. She had to run... but where?

The snow that carpeted the land around Grover's Mill glowed a brilliant white under the harsh light towers that dotted the landscape. There were some parties behind the game who had worried that they would interfere too much, saying they would make it impossible for people to hide in the dark outskirts of town. Those voices were quickly defeated by practicality, as the probability of a snowstorm made night vision impractical. The light towers would make it impossible to hide, but at the same time they would give the audiences back home the best show possible.

The show they got just south of Hunter's Lake was of Lakisha Childs, a.k.a. Girl # 3, on the verge of death. She had had asthma attacks before. They had been bad before, it was difficult for them not to be living up in Michigan (which seemed like the goddamn Antarctic for about half the year as far as Lakisha was concerned). This one was, bar none, the worst. She knew better than to be running. She knew better than to be out at night. She knew a lot of things. It was hard to grow up with the condition and not know all the things notto do. But, those considerations had gone by the wayside when she entered the Battle Royale. You could try to live life like you would in the real world in the Battle Royale. For a time at least. But there was no way to avoid it entirely, not when there was the constant pressure of a neck bomb to keep you company. You had to have what it takes to survive, and Lakisha was beginning to doubt that she had it. Just let your lungs close up. Let the asthma take over, close off the lungs, close off air to the brain. It will hurt, but you'll lose consciousness in a few minutes, and maybe die a few minutes after that in a slumber. Not too bad as things could go in here, right?

"No," she practically whispered through racking gasps. Reaching into her pocket, the girl pulled out her inhaler and took a hit off of it. The steroids opened up her bronchials, and everything relaxed. Mostly. Of course it wasn't perfect, but it would get her by long enough. Long enough to figure out what the hell was going on.

That much, at the very least, she felt fairly capable of. Though she was not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination, Lakisha wasn't willing to let that worry her. She had always been, and would always be, a brain. For some reason her blue-collar parents could never understand, Lakisha had always tested through the roof on aptitude tests and had been, admittedly, a little odd. While other little girls had played with dolls and dressed up as princesses, Lakisha had learned to take apart and reassemble old computers just out of curiosity by age six. By age twelve she had become a fairly (although not brilliantly) accomplished hacker, and though she never really cared to do much with it, it was fun to know that, if she wanted to, she could find out pretty much whatever she wanted to with a little dedication.

She was a nerd, and damn proud of it. Now if only you didn't look like one. That had always been the problem. It was one thing to be a nerd, it was another to look the part. If it weren't for the braces, the acne, and her nearly skeletal frame, she might have been cute. Maybe even cute enough to get Isaac's attention? Unlikely. But a girl can hope, right? Well, could hope. We shouldn't have lost Isaac.

Things would be tough without Isaac. He had been able to organize a distinct sense of security that even Lakisha could not have anticipated. He had gotten the people together. He had even given her enough information that made it seem possible, no, even plausible to remove the collars without killing themselves. And, with just a little luck... she was convinced that she could still pull it off. It would take some time, some tools, and more than a little privacy, but she was fairly convinced that she could still remove her collar.

And then... then things would change. Fast.

But she couldn't do it in town. The town was liable to be a war zone in the wake of the church massacre. Hell, she didn't know who she could or could not trust in the clusterfuck that was sure to follow. She would have to keep an ear out. Remove the collar, call up any of the surviving people in what Isaac considered to be his inner circle, and then play things out from there. There were a few million things that could go wrong with the plan at any point, but Lakisha was willing to risk them. She had no other choice.

Looking at her watch and shivering in the cold, the girl grimaced. It would take some time to trudge up into the outskirts, but if she kept wrapped up she would probably be able to avoid any frostbite by the time she reached a cabin by the northern end of the lake. If they've got a furnace or a gennie, you've got heat. You get heat, you can rest, and take the time to take this damn thing off.

With that thought, Lakisha allowed herself to smile.

Had she known she was being followed, perhaps she would not have felt so free to do so.

Frank kicked the door to the church open with only the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Though it was hard to feel much of anything regarding the fates of his fellow classmates, he was beginning to understand the thrill that everyone else seemed to get from the competition. He was beginning to understand his potential. After all those years of curiosity and wondering what he had in him, he now knew that he was what the rest of the world would probably consider a maniac. A psycho killer. One sick son of a bitch. That is what they would consider cool, isn't it?

Swinging his pistol with his line of sight, Frank made a quick survey of the church. Nobody. The charred remains of many of the pews littered the room. Cold air filled the room from the stained glass window they had broken out to make their escape. But, no Rene. Curious.

"Hello?" Frank called pleasantly as he walked across the room, "I'm really sorry about that. You startled me when you slammed the door, I didn't mean to shoot. Heck, I barely know how to use this thing."

Pulling up the edge of the bloodied sheet with his foot, Frank looked briefly at the mutilated remains of the victims of the church massacre with distaste. So crude. No finesse.

Letting the sheet down, Frank surveyed the options. Really, there were only two places that Rene could have gotten to. She either made it out the broken window, or she had escaped to the back room. Between the two options, he knew what he was willing to bet on. With a flick of the thumb, the boy cocked the hammer to his pistol.

"Come on Rene, stop playing around, you're scaring me here," Frank called pleasantly again, "I've been so lonely... I just need a friend. Please, please be my friend?"

Even Frank had to admit surprise when he saw the girl come out of the church's back room. It was too easy.

The gunshot rang clearly in the night air, causing Lakisha to yelp sharply in surprise. It was close. Too close. Not that big (in the past day she'd become quite adept at understanding the different sounds that firearms made), but still fairly close. Chancing a look over her shoulder, the girl saw a sight that made her blood chill.

The monster was on her tail. It was still a good half mile away, but the ground out here was fairly flat. There was no chance of losing it, nor was there any doubt that it was following her. It had to have followed her footsteps out from the church. Stupid. Stupid. You should have been on that. He plodded across the snowy plains slowly, but swiftly enough that he was gaining ground. Why'd it take a shot? He should know that he can't hit me at that range.

She had to act fast. Difficult at even the best of times, damn near impossible with it feeling like her asthma wanted to rip the lungs from her chest one at a time. And unarmed. And running through almost knee deep snow. You've got your work cut out for you.

There was a small hill up ahead. Looking at it gave her hope. If she could run to the top of it, there was every chance she could disappear over the other side of it. It would be difficult to wipe out all traces of her footprints, but there had to be a way. I'm not going to die here. Not like this.

Cold air tearing at her lungs, Lakisha fought her way to the top of the hill. Her heart was pounding, and it felt as if she was going to have another attack at any second. But she fought on. The monster was gaining ground, and the girl looked around quickly enough to see him raise his hand above his head and fire off another shot. Warning shots? Why the hell is he doing that? Just making me run faster...

Clambering to the top and hoping for a chance to escape, Lakisha felt her heart drop. The massive expanse of Hunter's Lake mocked her as she looked don upon it. Although not very far across (she would have reckoned it a good hundred and fifty feet from the southern to the northern bank), it was wider than three football fields. She could try making a run around it, but by the time she hit the edge, the monster could easily catch up and kill her. Looking to the dark ice as it lay illuminated by the massive light towers, Lakisha didn't know what to do. She could try to make a run for it, but there was no guarantee that she could beat the monster. There was always trying to make it across the ice, but there was no guarantee that it didn't thin out in the middle. Trying to make it across the ice was as dangerous as standing still. So that's what he was doing. Herding you. Firing off shots, seeing that you were heading toward the lake, knowing that you'd have your back to a wall with it up there. Predator behavior.

Could she fight? Not convincingly. Hide? Not counting the sparse trees, the only thing close to her was an old wooden dock that went about twenty feet into the lake. Its edges were lined with icycles that hung precariously over the water. Could you...? Yes, with a little effort.

Running for the dock, Lakisha knew what she had to do.

Frank was surprised when the girl walked out from the church's back room. He was even more surprised when he saw who it was.

Madison Holland, a.k.a. Girl # 14, exited the church's back room rubbing sleep from her eyes. Though she looked like hell, and since it didn't appear that the game had improved her general disposition all that much, it was very bizarre to see her face turn to one that almost portrayed gratitude.

"Frank?" the bleary-eyed girl asked, "God am I glad to see you."

Frank would not normally have said the same. Though it was true that they had often traveled in similar social circles back in the world, he had always found Madison to be a fairly unpleasant little trollup. Apparently he wasn't the only one, she had a rather nasty reputation amongst pretty much everyone in Amberlaine High School.

He smiled back at the girl for a moment before raising the pistol. Her look of shock was probably priceless to the viewers back home. She didn't even run. It was easy to line up the shot.

Frank never saw it coming. In a flash, Rene jumped to her feet. Covered in blood, gore, and the white sheet that she had been hiding under with the bodies from the church massacre, she ran toward Frank without making so much as a sound. With the head of the claw hammer bunched up in her fist, she punched Frank in the back of the head. Hard. He didn't even let out a grunt as he fell to the ground, smashing the side of his head against one of the few remaining pews. Blood flowed freely from his scalp as he lay on the floor.

In a flash, Rene dove for the gun on the floor, training the ungainly weapon on Madison.

"Don't make a fucking move, bitch," Rene commanded, "or I'll blow your ovaries out your asshole, so help me God."

With her heart pounding more than she wanted to admit, Rene made a cursory search of Frank's pockets, pulling out all the loose bullets they held and forcing them into her own pockets. She would have been more thorough, but there was something about Madison that made her nervous. It's just nerves. You've killed again, you got a gun, you want to figure out what you're going to do from here. It's all right. You're OK. You weren't the victim this time.

Sparing one last glance at the bewildered Madison, Rene could only feel disgust. This girl was going to let it happen. She was just standing there like a sheep led to the slaughter. She would have bought Frank's act, hook, line and sinker, and she would have died for it. And her manners! Ungrateful petite pute.

"You're welcome," Rene said sarcastically as she ran from the church.

She was not going to be a victim anymore. She didn't need to hide.

She had hidden. She was freezing, and would almost certainly die if the beast stayed in the area too long, but she was alive. Lying on top of the ice beneath the dock was a tight squeeze, and doing so in such a way that would prevent the breaking of some of the hanging icicles was damn near impossible. But, it did the job. As far as the monster would know, she had walked onto the dock, but not off. Perhaps she had taken off across the ice, and by some sheer miracle of momentum had actually made it to the other side. At his size, such a move would be impossible for the creature to accomplish. He would have to give up. It's the logical choice, but who the hell said that that monster was a logical being? Just pray. Hope. He's a beast, not a thinking thing. You can outsmart him if you stay hidden.

Staring up through a crack in the slats of the dock, Lakisha could only see a sliver of bright light shining through. It was just empty sky beyond that, darkness that the occasional flakes of snow would obscure. That sliver of light was all the access to the outside world that she had. Breathe softly, breathe slowly. He cannot find you, he cannot...

Heavy footsteps in the snow. Close. Coming closer. Pausing. He's reading the snow, he's trying to find out what you did. Where you went. He's coming closer.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD. The wood creaked heavily.

THUD.

He's on the dock. Walking out. Snow falling in your face, he's closer. The light is gone, he's directly over you. God, the stench. Even in cold like this, he smells like death. Like rot. What the hell is this thing? The slats are bending, the dock isn't sure it can hold its weight. Please hold, please keep his weight just long enough. Let him be tricked. He's looking at the ice. He thinks you went out that way.

"Hurn," she heard the beast grunt. He's confused. Frustrated. Walking back down the dock. Can see the light again. He's moved past. He's walking away.

The thudding sound moved down the dock. She could hear him crunching through the snow again. He's walking away. Just give him a few minutes. Wait, wait just long enough for him to get away. Just hold out, breathe easy, don't freeze to death... no tall order, not under these-

She could hear the heavy plodding in the snow coming back. The footsteps sounded purposeful. Shit, he knows! What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?

His footsteps heavily landed upon the dock, and there was a pause. She thought she could almost hear the heavy, breathy chuckling of the man with the potato-sack mask. There was the sound of something heavy swinging through the air, and the shattering of old wood. He's using his ax, tearing up the dock. Have to get out, have to run.

But how could she run? She was on ice, and he was getting closer. She looked around, the sliver of light above her no longer offering protection, no longer offering a connection to the outside world. If she was going to make it out alive, she would have to-

CRASH! More of the dock torn up, he was only a few feet away.

Lakisha looked to the vertical beams that anchored the dock in the lake. With a little effort, she could reach out and push herself across a good portion of the ice. How far is it? Maybe a hundred feet? A hundred and fifty, right? Something like that? If the surface is smooth, and you get enough of a start, you could give it a try...

Despite being a stereotypical nerd in most respects physically, Lakisha was quite strong. Having not found most of the clubs in school that mentally stimulating, she decided to take a more physical approach and instead joined stage crew. She wasn't one of the greatest set designers in the world, but God knew that she was good enough at hauling it around and putting it together once it was designed. The work had always wreaked havoc with her asthma, but it had felt good otherwise and given her a fairly decent upper body.

Reaching out one arm to each beam, the girl braced herself. Pushed herself back and forth tentatively. Just like curling.

The beast tore into the dock once more. He should have been able to see her feet. Bracing every muscle in her upper body, Lakisha pushed herself across the ice. The ice was indeed smooth, and with enough force she was able to see the dock rocket by above her. She slid across the ice on her back, looking toward the monster as he sped away. It watched her slide across the ice with a cock of the head that she had taken for a sign of stupidity. She had eluded it. She had tricked it. She was indeed going to get away...

...well, about fifty feet away. Though her push was mighty, it was not nearly strong enough to get her all the way across the lake. Realizing this as she slowed down, Lakisha whipped her arms and legs out and tried to push herself across the lake. The frozen surface was smooth and allowed her little traction. It was impossible to take her eyes off the beast, who stood calmly on the edge of the dock. Reaching to his belt, he pulled free the Glock 18C pistol that had once belonged to a certain Aziz Haddad, formerly Boy # 8. Calmly, he pointed the weapon at the girl.

She screamed in fear. She screamed in despair. But most of all, she screamed at the unfairness of it all. I had made it! I was going to make it! I was going to beat the game, I was going to be a hero! I was going to make Isaac proud!

He fired one shot. It hit her in the stomach, agony exploding through her body like a fireball. The bullet traveled through the girl and crashed into the ice, shattering it and sending spiderwebs of cracks out in every direction. Lakisha thrashed about in pain with blood flowing freely from her mouth and stomach. In a moment's time, her death throes were too much.

The ice shattered.

Cletus Carrington Atlas, a.k.a. Boy # 26, watched as the dying girl sank into the frozen lake. Bloody water began to seep beneath the icy surface in an almost beautiful, Rorschach test-like pattern. They'd shown him plenty of those damn cards in the months of physical therapy after he'd won the Battle Royale, though he never found out what they were supposed to say about him. Either way, the beast had little time to consider the art of his kill, but more than enough to lament the conditions. If the little bitch hadn't gone out onto the ice, he could have made her like the rest. Was it possible that she had done it on purpose? More than likely. She was supposed to be a smart one after all, and she did follow after that other rabble-rouser. Damn her. Her teeth'd make a good bracelet.

Sighing inwardly, Cletus pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number he knew so well. The Brit picked up quickly on the other end.

"Took care o'the whore," the beast said simply.

"Excellent, excellent Cletus," Sir Banastare Tarleton said back in his warm hideaway, "now that little rebel movement doesn't stand a chance of disrupting our game."

"Good," Cletus responded, even though he didn't give a damn what The Brit had to say, "You'n I, we're done now. This here's ny gane now."

Throwing the phone into Hunter's Lake with the rapidly sinking body of Lakisha Childs, Cletus Carrington Atlas smiled his lipless grin. He had been working at the whims of the producers for too long, making sure the game moved forward, making sure the rebels they knew would break apart before they could do anything constructive. Taking out Lakisha, their tech expert and last possible threat to the sanctity of the game, was the last thing he would do for that damn British faggot. From then on, he was going to play the game on his terms.

Turning his smile to the spreading blood beneath the ice, the creature watched its designs spread out into a blooming, sweeping design that looked all too much like a bird. Like a phoenix risen.