Vol 8 Chapter 4 (1/2)

CHAPTER 4

For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia

For more than a thousand years her sweet madness

-Arthur Rimbaud, ”Ophelia”

A dull impact hit his chest. Nezumi had fallen on him. s.h.i.+on caught the boy's weight and heat in his arms. Suddenly, the black-and-white screen regained its repulsive colours of reality.

Nezumi collapsed in s.h.i.+on's arms, letting his whole body weigh down on them. The stench of blood a.s.saulted s.h.i.+on's nose.

Nezumi...

But no voice came out. He could not understand what had happened. He just could not. What is it? What just happened? Soldiers were pointing their guns at them. Rifles. The bayonets attached to them shone starkly white. One of the soldiers let his tongue peek out from between his lips.

A new wave of prisoners came in a torrent down the stairs. They formed a blockade between the soldiers and s.h.i.+on. Of them, a bald, gigantic man gave a short cry. He staggered, clutching his chest.

”d.a.m.nit... you've done it now.” The giant took two, three steps towards a soldier and suddenly let out a great roar. ”G.o.dd.a.m.nit!”

The giant lunged at the soldier. At the same time, there was an explosion. Smoke and flames burst from the monitoring room near the stairs. s.h.i.+on saw the soldier being flung to the wall by the blast. White smoke rapidly filled the corridor. Like a giant white snake, it slithered up the stairs and crawled down the hall.

s.h.i.+on hoisted Nezumi up, and made for the end of the hallway. In regards to the movement of the smoke, the typical way to escape was probably downstairs. But down this hall was the Hygiene Management department.

The Hygiene Management Department. From the layout, s.h.i.+on guessed that a simple medical examination room had been built adjacent to it. He stepped in through the door, which had been left flung open. He closed it to prevent further smoke and flames from filtering in.

He tripped. Nezumi's body nearly slipped from his grasp. s.h.i.+on attempted to catch him, but fell down with him in a tangle. He instinctively thrust his palms out, and noticed they had left red hand prints on the floor. His palms were dyed with blood―with Nezumi's blood.

”Nezumi!”

He couldn't help but raise his voice. Words were tearing through his throat and streaming forth.

”Nezumi, can you hear me? Nezumi!”

Nezumi's eyes remained closed, and he remained unresponsive. The blood had spread from his shoulder, stained his chest, streamed down his arm, and was dripping from his fingertips.

”No, how―how can this―” He knew that he could not lose his wits. He had to be rational. He had to calmly carry out what he had to do.

I know. Of course I do. But I can't move. My mind and my body are frozen still.

”Nezumi, Nezumi. Please, open your eyes.” He gritted his teeth.

You dumba.s.s. He heard a scolding voice. You're a helpless idiot. Useless, good-for-nothing. You're bigheaded and slow and cowardly.

Inukas.h.i.+? Is that you?

Can't you even protect your most precious person? Can you only cry without even trying to save him? What do you have to show for being with Nezumi all this time, then? Are you still the same spoiled elite as you were in No. 6?

He could not tell if it was Inukas.h.i.+'s voice or his own, but someone was giving him a severe reprimand.

s.h.i.+on, are you sure? Would you be indifferent if you lost Nezumi? Would you even be able to bear it?

s.h.i.+on drew a deep breath. The smell of blood reached all the way into his chest. He brought his ear close to Nezumi's lips and checked his breathing. He took Nezumi's pulse by placing his fingers on the boy's wrist. He felt blood throbbing against his fingertips, but it was a faint pulse that seemed close to disappearing anytime now.

s.h.i.+on stood up and glanced around the room. Thin flames and smoke issued from the instrument panel in the centre. There was a cabinet against the wall beyond with gla.s.s doors. The gla.s.s had been broken, and plastic bottles lay tipped over. Some had loosened caps, or the bottles themselves had been damaged, for the contents were leaking. s.h.i.+on drew closer, but smelled nothing strange. Hand-written labels were fixed to each bottle with the name of the drug. s.h.i.+on would perhaps have smiled at the rounded handwriting if he had seen them in a normal situation. He would have smiled unwittingly at the idea of someone handwriting labels in such an inhuman-like place like the Correctional Facility, instead of using printed labels.

But now, he had no room in his thoughts for that.

s.h.i.+on went through all the labels one by one. He suppressed his agitated heart, and told himself to calm down over and over, like a mantra.

Disinfectant; hemostatic agent; painkillers; purified water; general syringe; hemostatic clamp; gauze; absorbent cotton pads... in a corner of the shelf, there was an emergency flashlight tipped over on its side. As he expected, there was an adequate range of drugs and apparatuses for simple medical treatment.

Would he be able to manage something with these? A minor injury would have been no problem; but would he be able to treat a wound so severe it had caused the patient to suffer ma.s.sive blood loss and loss of consciousness?

Most of s.h.i.+on's medical knowledge was theoretical. He had almost no practical experience. In this situation, furthermore, how well could he give emergency treatment? Could he do it? He felt like the bayonet he had seen just now was being held to his throat.

Can you do it?

I've got to. There's no time to hesitate. I can't just sit idle and trouble myself over it. I can't let Nezumi be stolen from me so easily, without a struggle. I won't hand him over to you.

”Nezumi, you can hear me, right? I know my voice is getting to you.”

There's no way you can't hear me. There's no way my voice won't reach you. No matter when or what situation, you always caught my words firmly, You heard me through the noise, you grasped my words, and you answered me. You came back to me. This time, I'm going to bring you back. I'll take you back by force.

”Nezumi!”

s.h.i.+on tore the other's clothes. The bullet had pierced him below the left shoulder through his upper arm. If the shot had been a little further inwards, the bullet would have pierced his heart and he would have died instantly.

Live. Cling onto life. Heaven left that possibility for you. I won't let it go to waste. First things first, I have to stop the bleeding. My priority right now is to stop this blood. Then, I have to take him to a place where he can get proper treatment. Quickly, even a second sooner. Just that.

He illuminated the affected spot with a flashlight. He sprinkled disinfectant on the wound. He washed the wound from the inside outwards, and he examined the inside with his naked eye. The artery was not severed completely. He applied pressure on Nezumi's collarbone and temporarily controlled the bleeding. His fingertips were trembling.

Calm down calm down, calm down. I have to calm down. Banish all your emotions, and focus only on the bullet wound that's penetrated him.

He pinched the artery with the hemostatic clamp, placed gauze on it, and pressed over it with an absorbent cotton pad. He wrapped a bandage tightly around it.

This is the best treatment I can give him right now.

He had broken into a sweat, which formed droplets and streamed down his face. They seeped into his mouth, and left a bitter taste on his tongue.

How long will he last with this? Three hours―no, more like two, considering how much he's bled. If Nezumi doesn't get proper treatment within two hours from now, he won't make it.

Time limit: 120 minutes.

”Ugh...” Nezumi groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered slightly.

”Nezumi! Can you hear me? Nezumi!”

”...s.h.i.+on...” he mumbled.

”Just a little longer. I need you to bear with me. I'm taking you to the hospital. Hang in there, and stay with me.” He instilled as much strength as he could into his words.

”...s.h.i.+on... I can't... move...”

”No problem. I'll carry you.” I'm here. I'm right here. So you'll be alright. s.h.i.+on slung Nezumi's arm around his neck, and hoisted him up. He circled his arm around the boy's waist to secure him, and stepped out into the hallway.

The smoke stung his eyes. He dissolved into a fit of coughs. Pain raced through his throat, and his airway clogged up.

He had no survival knowledge, but he had the will, and his heart was prepared to do whatever it took. Nezumi had taught him plenty about that.

s.h.i.+on crouched, and dragged Nezumi almost at a crawl. Heat and smoke swirled around them on the stairs. It was too dangerous to jump into this. But there was no time to survey other escape routes. If they dallied here, they would be engulfed by the smoke, and die of suffocation.

What do I do? What should I do​?

His mounting agitation and the smoke that crept into his body almost made him lose his calm. Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't panic. There is always a way.

”s.h.i.+on...”

Nezumi s.h.i.+fted his body. ”Get out... through the garbage chute...”

His voice reached s.h.i.+on in fragments. He could tell that Nezumi was clinging desperately onto his consciousness. Once he lost it, it would be more difficult than ever to wake up again; Nezumi knew this all too well.

Garbage chute. Right, there was that option.

In the lower floors like the first to third, a garbage chute was installed in the middle of the hallway on each floor. It looked like small apparatuses were discarded there along with everyday waste, for the chute was quite wide. The first time s.h.i.+on had found this out, the idea of using the chute to infiltrate the Facility had crossed his mind. But the idea was short-lived. It was impossible to climb up a chute almost perpendicular to the ground with no footholds whatsoever. Also, the chute was programmed to sense and set alarms off at any strange objects protruding from the openings. Infiltration was impossible. But it was possible to use it as an escape route.

He and Nezumi had talked about it before. It was―two days before the Hunt.

The day of the Hunt had been a cold winter day with a bl.u.s.tering wind, but two days before, it had been sunny with milder weather. A blue sky spread out above the West Block instead of snow clouds, and the rays that shone down were so warm that it was hard to believe it was winter. People seemed to be making the most of this short bout of pleasant weather, and strolled down the marketplace at a leisurely pace. Old beggars and starving children still overflowed in the streets as usual, but they seemed to breathe easier than most days. The shopkeepers, who would usually drive them away in a spiteful and unforgiving way, narrowed their eyes at the sun and let their faces relax. They didn't go so far as to give hand-outs, but they seemed to be willing to turn a blind eye to the beggars as long as they didn't steal any of their goods. Some even joked with familiar beggars.

Out of them, how many could have foreseen the h.e.l.l that unfolded two days later? How many could have escaped the inferno of the Hunt?

Nezumi and s.h.i.+on had been dining on hard bread they had bought at the market, soaking it in hot water first. Perhaps Nezumi's smile had done the trick; the female head baker had given them some cheese for free. It was superb cheese, free of mould.

There was no sound in the bas.e.m.e.nt room except for the voices of the two boys. Strangely, even the howl of the north wind which had begun to blow around sunset did not find its way here. Had the wind died down during that time? Or had s.h.i.+on been so engrossed in the conversation that his ears had refused to catch anything other than Nezumi's voice?

”s.h.i.+on, the garbage chute could be an escape route. Is it doable?” Nezumi asked, turning his cup of hot water in his hands.

”The garbage chute, huh... I see, it's like having a road that leads straight from the third floor to the meeting place in the bas.e.m.e.nt.”

”Yeah. From the blueprint, I'm guessing the entire chute apart from the openings probably isn't integrated into the object-detection and disposal system. Heh, seems like No. 6 is lax all over the place when it comes to its waste disposal facilities.”

”You're right,” s.h.i.+on had replied. ”And it's bigger than a typical chute. Technically, we should be able to get through.”

”Exactly. Aren't you glad we both happened to be skinny? If any of us had been around old man Rikiga's size, we'd get stuck in the middle. Oversized garbage, indeed.”

”That sounds a bit severe.”

”You're welcome. I'm just telling the truth. You tell me if you can imagine that beer-bellied geezer hurtling down the chute like it's nothing.”

”Well―I guess you're right.” The image of Rikiga with his fleshy underbelly rose in s.h.i.+on's mind, and he almost burst out laughing. He swallowed it back down, and pursed his lips. Nezumi's question was not the kind he could answer with a smile.

Was the garbage chute a plausible escape route or not? After some moments of thought, s.h.i.+on spoke.

”To tell you the truth, I have no idea if we can really do it. But there's a possibility. All theory, just saying,” he answered. Nezumi put his cup down, and sank deeply into his seat.

”Possibility, huh.”

”Yeah.”

”There is a possibility, then.” Nezumi crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. s.h.i.+on also leaned back against the bookshelf and hugged one knee. It was then that s.h.i.+on noticed the sound of the wind for the first time. It was a raspy sound, similar to an old woman's hushed weeping.

The room dimly lit by a lamp; Nezumi's meditating profile; the low rumble of the wind―he felt like he was looking at a scene from a play.

s.h.i.+on was sitting in the audience, eyes fixed to the silent tableau on the darkened stage before him. A fulfilled comfort, a wistfulness, and an emotion close to awe, along with others he couldn't name, mixed, tangled with each other, and filled s.h.i.+on to the brim.

If only this moment could last forever. If only time would stop right at this moment. If only my entire world consisted of the things right here. The wish rose suddenly in his heart.

”Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player.” A line from Macbeth suddenly rose in his mind.

”Out, out, brief candle.”

”Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player.”

Nezumi opened his eyes. His gaze tangled with s.h.i.+on's own.

”What?”

”Huh? No, nothing...” s.h.i.+on s.h.i.+fted his body, and backed away slightly from the lamplight. He did not want Nezumi to see his cheeks, which were probably flushed red.

”s.h.i.+on, do you know what I was thinking about just now?”

”You? Well... the garbage chute, probably?”

”Of course not. I'm not gonna trouble myself over trash forever. Besides, we solved that problem. It's possible, which means it's worth a shot. So far so good?”

”Right.” It didn't matter if it was only theory. No matter if the idea was nothing more than speculation; if it's possible, you have to drill it into your mind― that was what Nezumi was telling him. s.h.i.+on nodded slowly as a sign that he understood.

”Good. But if you ask me, I'd rather make my gracious exit at the front door, complete with all the accompaniments. But that's a luxury I probably won't have.”

”Probably not. I'd warn you not to expect VIP treatment. So, if you weren't thinking about the garbage chute, what were you thinking about? Other ways to escape?”

Nezumi re-crossed his legs, and let out a doleful sigh.

”I was thinking about food.”

”Huh?”

”Food. F-o-o-d. I was thinking about what I'd order if I could stuff myself with whatever I liked.”

”―Materialistic of you, huh?” s.h.i.+on commented.

”Food is important. Sometimes, a roll that an old baker man has slapped together is much more meaningful than an eternal truth discovered by an esteemed philosopher. That's the nature of life. Anyway, right now I'm so hungry I'm starting to feel sorry for myself. I probably won't be able to sleep if I went to bed now.”

”You just ate. You ate two rolls.”

”Rock-hard, withered bread, hot water and a piece of cheese is not nearly enough.”