So we can’t breathe inside this bus? Ladies and gentlemen, this bus will be making an emergency landing due to engine trouble. Like, please fasten your seat belts, wear your oxygen masks, and follow crew member’s instructions? Yeah, right.
He heard a scratching sound on the right. Shuya had to struggle to catch a glimpse over there. His body felt so heavy. It was as if he were immersed in transparent jelly.
Shogo Kawada was standing up and struggling to pry open a window. But whether it was jammed shut from rust or a broken lock, the window refused to budge. Shogo slammed his left fist against the glass. He’s trying to break the glass. Why all the fuss?
But the glass didn’t break. The fist ready to strike the glass all of a sudden went limp and clumsily dropped. His body collapsed into the seat. Shuya thought he heard that low voice he’d only recently familiarized himself with faintly gasp, “Damn.”
Almost immediately Shuya fell asleep too.
At approximately the same time, students’ families in Shiroiwa were visited by men in black sedans. Alarmed by the late night visit, the parents must have been shocked when the visitors presented them with documents stamped with the government’s official peach insignia.
In most cases the parents would silently nod as they thought of their children whom they most likely would never see again, but there were those who frantically protested, in which case they would be knocked out by an electroshock baton, or in the worst case, be pummeled by fresh bullets spat out from a submachine gun, one step ahead of their children in departing from this world.
By then the bus assigned to Shiroiwa Junior High School’s Third Year Class B’s study trip had long since branched off from the rows of other buses and taken a U-turn towards the city of Takamatsu. After returning to the city it wove its way through various roads before it finally stopped and quietly turned off its engine.
The man in his forties whose hair was peppered gray looked like a typical nice bus driver. Still wearing the oxygen mask that was digging into his slightly sagging chin, he turned towards the Class B students with a faint look of pity. But as soon as another man appeared under the window, his face stiffened. He gave the Republic’s idiosyncratic salute. Then he pressed the switch to open the door. Shuya glanced outside as the masked men in battle gear came rushing in.
Under the moonlight, the bluish-white concrete pier gleamed like bone, and beyond the pier the ship that would transport “the players” was swaying sluggishly in the wide open black sea.
1
For a moment Shuya thought he was in a familiar classroom.
It wasn’t the usual Third Year Class B classroom of course, but there was a lectern, a worn out blackboard, and on the left, a tall stand with a large television. There were rows of desks and chairs made of plywood glued onto steel tubes. On Shuya’s desk someone had carved anti-government graffiti into the corner with a pen: “the Dictator loves women in uniform.” Then he noticed everyone at their desks, the boys clad in buttoned up school uniforms and the girls in their sailor suit school uniforms, all forty-one classmates who’d only moments ago (at least that’s what it felt like) been riding the bus together. The only thing was—-either sprawled over their desks or slouched back in their seats—they were all completely asleep.
From beside the frosted window on the side of the hall (assuming this building had the same layout as his school), Shuya surveyed the rest of the room. He seemed to be the only one awake. In front of him to his left and towards the middle of the room was Yoshitoki Kuninobu. Behind him was Noriko Nakagawa, and beyond Yoshitoki was Shinji Mimura. They were all sprawled on their desks, sleeping deeply. Hiroki Sugimura surrendered his large body to his desk (that was when it finally dawned on Shuya that the seating assignment was identical to the one they had at Shiroiwa Junior High School) by the windows on the left side. That was also when he began to realize why the place felt odd. The windows beyond Hiroki’s body appeared to be covered with some kind of black board. Steel sheets? They provided an icy reflection of the dull light from the rows of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The frosted glass windows on the side of the hall seemed to be draped in black. Maybe they were boarded up too. It was impossible to determine the time of day.
Shuya looked at his wristwatch. It read one o’clock. In the morning? In the afternoon? The date read “Thurs/22,” which meant that, unless someone had tampered with his watch, either three or fifteen hours had passed since he had that strange attack of drowsiness. All right, let’s just assume that’s the case. Still…
Shuya looked at his classmates.
Something felt off. Of course the whole situation was strange. But there was something in particular that disturbed him.
Shuya immediately realized what it was. Face down on her desk, Noriko had above her collar a silver metal band wrapped snugly around her neck. Because of his buttoned up collar Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s band was barely visible, but Shuya managed to see it. Shinji Mimura, Hiroki Sugimura, everyone had one on their necks.
Then the thought occurred to Shuya. He reached for his own neck with his right hand.
He felt something hard and cold. The same thing must have been wrapped around his neck.
Shuya tugged at it a little but the fit was so tight it refused to budge. The moment he became conscious of it, he felt like he was suffocating. Steel collars! Steel collars as if we’re dogs, damn!
He fidgeted with it for a while with his fingers, but then gave up. He wondered instead what happened to the study trip? Shuya noticed his sports bag sitting by his feet on the floor. Last night he’d casually tossed his clothes, towel, school field trip notebook, and a bourbon flask into it. Everyone else also had their bags by their feet.
Suddenly a loud noise erupted from the front entrance, and the door slid open. Shuya looked up.
A man came in.
He was stocky but well built. His legs were extremely short, as if they served as a mere appendage to his torso. He wore light-beige slacks, a gray jacket, a red necktie, and black loafers. They all looked worn out. A peach-colored badge was pinned to the collar of his jacket, indicating his affiliation with the government. His cheeks were rosy. What stuck out most though was the man’s hairstyle. He wore it down to his shoulders like a woman in her prime. It reminded Shuya of the grainy Xeroxed tape cover of a Joan Baez tape he’d bought on the black market.
The man stood at the lectern and surveyed the classroom. His eyes stopped at Shuya, who was the only one awake (assuming this wasn’t a dream).
The two stared at each other for at least a full minute. But perhaps because the other students were waking up, with their nervous breathing gradually spreading through the entire classroom, the man looked away from Shuya. Their voices woke up other classmates from their deep slumber.
Shuya looked at the rest of the classroom. As they woke up their eyes remained out of focus. Everyone was clueless. His eyes met Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s as his friend turned back. Shuya pointed at his collar, tilting his neck slightly. Yoshitoki immediately touched his neck. He looked shocked. He shook his head left and right and turned to the lectern. Noriko Nakagawa also looked at Shuya with a dazed look. Shuya could only shrug in response.
As soon as everyone seemed awake the man spoke up in a cheerful voice, “All right, everyone awake? I hope you all slept well!”