Battle Royale Page 2
Nothing makes sense. I suddenly start looking closely at everything around me. Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Maybe this is some kind of a test to see if I have the skills to be the next action movie star! I look up at the sky and point toward the clouds. No sound comes out of my mouth, but the message in my eyes is saying, “Hey! You up there! You don’t know who I’m yet, but you will soon. I’m THE star who’s going to make it all the way to the top. Oh, yes.”
That little inner rant felt good. At any rate, it’s not like I had a choice, and staying here feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t change a thing. As long as I’m here, I might as well try to find some help inside the factory. At that exact moment, I hear the same sound I heard at the temple. A strange buzzing. This time it sounds like it’s coming from a dump truck parked close by. By the way, I love those trucks. I had one when I was little. It could carry everything: my stuffed animal, my old 3DS, even my little sister.
What’s weird is that there’s a bright light coming out of the dumpster. I would need to climb inside to find the source, but at the same time, I’m afraid someone will catch me snooping. What a terrible first impression that would make! I’d better not.
The closer I get to the building, the clearer it becomes that the place is completely deserted, just like before. How crazy! What’s happening on this island? Still lost in my own thoughts, I jump when I see someone appear out of thin air on the factory roof. She’s wearing a pink bear costume, her automatic rifle pointed directly at my head. I don’t move, frozen in shock. You don't see that every day. A teddy bear, armed to the teeth, with guns aimed right at me. There’s not enough time to find out if it’s one of those toys laying around at the bus airport, is it . . .
BRrrrrraAAAaaa BRrrraaaAAAA BrrrrrAAAaaaaa . . .
I slowly open my eyes. I feel fine. I look around me, and . . . NO WAY!! I’m back at the landing strip. Not again! What’s going on?? Not only did I faint again, but I’m back on the small island.
In a moment of panic, I run up to the people around me, one by one, hoping to see someone with an understanding gaze, hoping to find some reassurance. It’s worse than ever. In return, I only get danced at, shot at, or totally ignored. With one last effort, I put my drama classes to use. I do everything that I can think of to imitate being in a mental prison: walking in circles, then backward, and crouching down. No success. I burst into tears.
Bawling, my head in my hands, I sense a presence. Slowly peeking between my fingers, I see a pair of shoes a few inches away from mine. I pull myself together and try to put on a brave face. A boy about my age is standing there, almost touching me, not moving. Instinctively, I take a step back. Then, and nothing could have prepared me for this, he executes a series of frenzied dance moves—dabs. That’s it. I’m in the middle of a living nightmare. There’s no other tangible explanation for all this. No one would do that in real life—no one. My mind must be playing tricks on me. This has to be some kind of stress-induced hallucination. Like on the first day of school, imagine I’m on the playground missing a shoe, even my pants. This must be the same kind of thing, because of stress. I’ll wake up RIGHT NOW!
“The combat bus leaves in ten seconds!”
Nothing is happening like it’s supposed to. I’m going crazy. I jump into the vehicle without thinking. No more Mr. Nice Guy. You want to play this game? Let’s play! The bus starts dropping off nut jobs, as usual. Once the first half have jumped, I gather my courage and, with about ten other people, I jump out into the open.
YEAHHHHHHHHHHH
Clearly, I’m acting like everything is fine, even though I don’t know what’s happening. All around me, I notice that some people open their glider right away. How’d they do that? I start running my hands over my chest and . . .
CRUNCH . . . WHOOSH . . . ZIP
. . . Oh, wow, it worked! There’s a button somewhere that opens this thing! Aaahhhhh!
CRUNCH . . . WHOOSH . . . ZIP
Noooo! I don’t know what I did, but the whole thing just closed up and I’m falling at top speed again, zig-zagging between the soldiers.
CRUNCH . . . WHOOSH . . . ZIP . . . AAAhhhh . . .
Near the ground, the crazy ride finally stops, and my glider stays open and stabilizes. Phew. I’m above a big town. There are buildings, a basketball court, and . . . I don’t have time to take it all in before I hear whistling all around me. Underneath me is an anthill of sharpshooters firing at anything that moves. What on earth is happening on this island? Is this part of the blockbuster? Are they filming without telling us? On the sets I’ve seen (just on TV), there were lights, cameras, and technicians. But here, I don’t see any signs of that.
One on my right, one on my left, and two above me. The bullets start flying at me. When I lean forward to try to dodge them, I realize that it’s changing the trajectory of my descent. OK, so there has to be a way to steer this thing. Ow! I think I’m hit. I start feeling tired like the other times before I passed out. Hurry . . . turn, adjust, swerve. The shooting becomes more hectic, and I do everything I can to get away from the danger zone. I twirl around to dodge the bullets as gracefully as a plastic bag caught in the wind. I’m about to land several feet from a garage with a half-open door. I’ll have to crawl underneath it. I’m trying to reach it when, once again, night falls and . . . curtain.
I slowly open my eyes. I feel perfect! NO! I’m back on the small island and nothing has changed. Everyone is acting like before, like this is normal! Why the heck are they firing tranquilizers at people, without saying anything? Hey, guys! My vaccinations are up-to-date, no need to put me under. Plus, I got all my boosters before coming here, so isn’t it time to change targets? And if you think you’re going to tame the wild beast sleeping inside of me, SPOILER ALERT, you’re doing exactly the opposite!
Five times, ten times, thirty times, I’ve climbed in this awful bus. No matter where I land, whether I run or walk, I keep getting shot down, riddled with bullets, impaled on hidden spikes in walls, and even blown to bits with rocket launchers. Whether I fall into the sea, or jump from a bridge or from a mountain, the outcome never changes. No matter the location and length of my excursions, it’s always the same story. Right back to the small island. Don’t pass Go. Don’t collect two hundred dollars. I have to figure this out; I’m locked in this prison! This means that what’s true for me is also true for the others. If only I could talk! I’m going crazy . . . I need to talk to someone.
3
Which Way to the Exit? (Small Island)
I don’t sleep. I don’t dream. I’m officially being held captive on two islands that I’ll now call. Small Island and Big Island. It makes me feel a little better to name things and people I don’t know well, or at all.
What day is it? How long have I been here? A week? Two? With all this chaos, I haven’t even counted how many days and nights have passed. Let’s think. There are always two sides to every coin: if I got into this, I can get out of it. I just need a plan and some discipline. I’ll start my search here, on Small Island. That’s how I got here, surely that’s where I’ll have the most luck finding an exit.
It seems this place has very strict rules, and they aren’t written down anywhere. Some apply to both islands, but each has its own unique characteristics. Here’s what I’ve learned so far: I can’t talk. I don’t know how, but my vocal cords are obstructed. The days go by and I don’t need to eat, drink, or sleep. So there’s no waiting in line at the bathroom. Why dedicate a factory to them then? It must be because all the buildings are just movie sets. That would explain why all the sites are empty and deserted. Could it be temporary? If I investigate, I’ll eventually get to the bottom of it.
“The combat bus leaves in ten seconds!”
In my window seat, I think long and hard. Anything that gets destroyed reappears every time, in the same place. Small Island is the starting point. Anything goes here without any consequences for anyone. This is
where we regain consciousness, and fainting here is absolutely impossible. But when the bus is ready to take off, everyone has to get onboard, without any exceptions. That forces me to go back and forth constantly between the two islands. I’ve tried every way of cheating, but the tough guy on the bus always finds me and grabs me. He also always throws me out if I refuse to jump.
As for Big Island, all I know so far is that we quickly lose consciousness there. Why do we have to go there? What’s over there? Why are all those people fighting? So many questions that are still unanswered. I’ll tackle that island and its problems later. First, I’ll focus on Small Island. It won’t take me long to see the whole thing, and hopefully I can find something to help me. In the meantime, I leap out into the open.
Now, I’ve come to like opening my glider right after jumping. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s true. Soaring at that altitude is one of the only times when I feel almost peaceful. The wind carrying me, the beautiful island below me, and the slow descent when I can go wherever I want; it all gives me a sense of freedom that means more and more to me. During these moments, I find the energy to keep going.
I slowly arrive above the largest city. In a few seconds, I’ll be under fire. I’ve discovered that landing in such a popular place is the most effective way to faint. That’s it; I hear the first explosions. It won’t be long before I lose consciousness. Cool, I can’t wait to start exploring Small Island!
I slowly open my eyes to see the usual hustle and bustle at the landing strip.
It’s time for the grand tour. Due to the bus’s constant departures, I’ll need more than ten round trips to get an accurate picture of Small Island. Not much vegetation, trees scattered everywhere, some uninteresting hills. There is an abandoned airfield with discarded cars on it, a few random buildings and hangars, and a shipping area with empty containers. The army must have used it before. You can tell by the wooden training course and obstacle course made of tires.
I love tires! The exercise consists of finishing the course without falling on your butt. You have to run across it, being careful to step in the center of each tire, where the rim would normally go. Like a trampoline, the fun part is being able to bounce up when you jump on a tire! Who knows what purpose it serves, but it’s really fun.
It feels good to laugh a little, because this place has been stressing me out. It seems like life disappeared in a split second, like a curse took it away. But I can’t think about that. As for the access routes, reaching the sea on foot is impossible. Not only is there no path leading to it, but some kind of unusually powerful magnetic field also keeps everything from getting too close to the cliffs overlooking it. I also looked for a tunnel entrance—but again, no success. No trapdoor in sight, even though I carefully inspected every building. I also took the time to search the bushes and other vegetation, hoping I might find an underground entrance.
Only the airways are left to explore. That’s where things get interesting. In addition to the landing strip used by the bus, there is a helicopter landing pad. So far, I haven’t seen or heard anything arrive. Who knows though? I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.
At first glance, my assessment seems pretty grim, but this research has taught me all kinds of things about the people here. First, the ratio of boys to girls is pretty even. Quite a few of them wear masks and helmets, making it hard to identify them. Also, I don’t know where they got them. Do they have a use? A purpose? I can see that I still have a lot to discover here . . .
Anyway, there are five big groups of people. Obviously, that’s an average because there are always exceptions and special cases:
the trigger-happy psychopaths: Small Island is filled with fake guns. Just bend over and pick one up. These objects are noisy and harmless to people, but they destroy the environment. These people empty magazine after magazine, even though it doesn’t do anything. It’s their way of killing time (great!).
the clearers: They’re like the trigger-happy psychopaths, but more effective. They work with tangible materials. They like to wipe everything out, producing a clearly visible result. They want to clear everything, get rid of it all. They’re the environment’s worst nightmare. If I ever want to do some home remodeling, I’ll turn to one of them.
the builders: They’re the opposite of the clearers. They use every second they have to build structures. They work with wood, stone, and metal. Very fast and very effective, they like to gather and recycle raw materials to invest in new things. Their guilty pleasure is scaling the structures they build as fast as possible. If they could open their arms and shout “I’m the king of the world!” from the top of their structure, they would do it every time! The builder’s worst enemy is the clearer. As soon as a single wall appears, war breaks out. Both groups are extremely stubborn, resulting in surreal scenes in which the one group rebuilds nonstop in the same spot, while the others do their best to destroy it (perfect!).
the partiers: At first glance, they’re the most fun. They strike funny poses, dance, and do graffiti. But look a little closer, and you’ll see they’re the scariest. When you think about the context, you wonder what could be so thrilling to a normal person, especially when that person is stuck in prison and can’t say a word! Who would do that? Crazy people.
And, speaking of crazy people, the last category is just about as bad:
the standstills: They don’t move an inch. They’re real statues. It’s kind of like having a pet rock. They have no interaction with the rest of the world. To the point that trying to move one has become a sort of game to the “residents.” It’s impossible. You can pull on them, build on them, paint them, but nothing affects them. It’s like they’re completely resigned to their lot in life. It’s fascinating and frightening at the same time.
I’ve noticed that certain standstills believe in rituals. They don’t just stand around randomly. Most go back to the exact same places over and over again.
I noticed it the second or third time I ran past the helicopter pad. She was standing up straight, not arrogantly, but with her feet planted firmly on the ground, with her shoulders back. She didn’t exactly stand out either. I wondered how long she had been there before I noticed her. I stopped short to watch her. Clearly, she did not move. She was right in the middle of the circle, her feet placed perfectly on the horizontal line of the H painted on the tarmac. I couldn’t imagine that this very unusual position was just a happy accident. So, I kept exploring, keeping that in mind. I was reminded of the walking sticks you see in aquariums. The insects that look like wood and camouflage themselves. Once you see one, you start to see all the others. The same thing happened to me here. Almost all the standstills I saw were in specific locations in specific stances. Incredible.
Once again, the question is: are we all human beings? Or, are we surrounded by clones and robots? No one bleeds, sneezes, or spits. There is no liquid anywhere, and that thought scares me to death. One more reason to find the exit ASAP!
In any event, I know one thing for sure: my salvation is not here. Small Island is only a transportation platform; the exit’s over there, on Big Island. I’m going to keep exploring and I’ll find a way out of this mess!
“The combat bus leaves in ten seconds!”
4
Where’s the Exit? (Big Island)
From the bus window, I scan Big Island’s topography. It’s somewhat disk-shaped with irregular features. It looks like a messed-up pancake. Like someone dripped the batter in the pan without paying any attention to the results. In the center of the island, a large lake is easy to spot. It feeds two rivers that flow into the sea. One goes north; the other goes south. I’ll use that line to guide my exploration.
To the west is a mountainous region with extremely high peaks. The largest towns are located there. The east consists of vast plains and appears to be the agricultural sector of the island. This rundown wouldn’t be complete without
mentioning the small desert region in the southeast. Explaining its presence is hard. Is the surface different down there? Maybe it’s a micro-climate? If I had spent less time drawing on my desk during geography, I might understand it better . . .
Where should I start? My priority is to avoid losing consciousness as much as possible. The less I faint, the more time I’ll have on the ground, and the more effective I’ll be. So I have to become invisible and blend into my environment. I have to become a chameleon, a role made just for me. The bus route is very simple, a straight line from one end of the island to the other. The “residents” throw themselves out of the bus as soon as possible, so I’ll jump at the last minute every time. Once I’m outside, I’ll aim for an isolated spot along the coast. I’m sure no one will arrive by sea, so that limits the chances of someone sneaking up from behind to surprise me. If I see any potential threats in the distance, I’ll have time to figure out a solution.
Everyone else has already jumped out. I surprise the tough guy on the bus when I leave my seat. I look him in the eyes and give him a knowing look. Don’t waste your energy, buddy; I know my way out. “Hasta la vista, baby!” I know he didn’t hear me, but I like to think he did. I leap out into the open.
I dive head-first toward my fate. Even though the odds of being shot down in the air are almost zero, I would rather not stay there for too long. The hunt is on, and target shooting is one of the most popular games here.
CRUNCH . . . WHOOSH . . . ZIP
The day is almost over. In the distance, I can see the sun quickly setting behind the island. The light casts a golden sheen over the landscape. Caught up in its beauty, I forget who I am and why I’m here for a brief second. It’s amazing. I would love to share this moment with someone. Not necessarily holding that person’s hand or looking into her eyes but just to have her next to me, enjoying the same thing as me. I’m a fool! I just need to post an Instagram story! Next thing I know, I’m overcome with heartache, sharp and intense. This is no time for “sharing your life.” Instead it’s “escape if you can.”