As our luck would have it, the security systems in place were fully operational, and we had exactly zero key cards in our possession.
We couldn’t make our way down to the lower floors, let alone exit the building.
Things weren’t looking pretty.
As a last-ditch effort, I sent Otoha back the way we came to inform Shino and Tetsuko about our predicament. The girl showed no signs of waking the entire time.
Must’ve been really tired, I thought.
“There’s nothing I can do.” Tetsuko’s muffled voice spilled out from the walkie-talkie I had set on the windowsill at max volume.
Apparently, we’d had a pair of walkie-talkies that’d once been used for hunting trips stashed away in the car. Otoha had brought one back with her.
“The security systems are military grade—nigh impenetrable. You’ve likely stumbled across a top-secret research facility, if I had to guess.”
“Sounds about right.”
What business does an elementary schooler have in a place like this, though?
“On the bright side, at least you made it in time. How’s she doing?”
“She’s sleeping,” Otoha answered. The girl was still passed out in the wheelchair.
“Keep an eye on her. She’s clearly not thinking straight.”
“Really now?” I muttered.
Suicide’s a quick and easy out. It’s perfectly understandable why you’d want to go down that road; there’s not much to live for. Not anymore, at least.
“Her name’s Shiiko Katsura, by the way,” Otoha added.
“And you know this... how?” I asked.
“That’s what it says.” Otoha pointed to the palm-sized name tag pinned to the girl’s chest, which read “Shiiko Katsura, Lab #2.”
So, she’s from a laboratory. Seems like Tetsuko was right.
“Maybe she works here?”
I gave her a look. “This pipsqueak? Get outta here.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
You win this round, Otoha.
“Mmm?” Suddenly, the girl stirred and rubbed her eyes.
Look who’s up.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
“Huh?” She pried her eyes open, blinked twice, and sat there absentmindedly for a few moments. “Noriko? Keith?”
“Who?”
As Otoha and I were busy exchanging confused glances, she squinted her eyes, blinked a few more times, and then said, “Do I know you?”
“I’m Hiroaki Dewa, and this here’s Otoha Judou.” She continued to glare at us without saying a word. “You’re Shiiko, right?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t just wandered in here and slapped on a random name tag.
She didn’t reply, but the slight facial twitch was all I needed to know that she was the real deal.
“So, uh...”
It’d be awfully silly to ask “Don’t you know that suicide is bad?” and act all high and mighty when I have no idea what her story is. Let’s just hope she doesn’t hit me with the classic “Why’d you do it?” question. I don’t know how to answer that one.
“Why’d you stop me?” Shiiko asked, her tone sharp.
Crap.
“You know, because, well—”
“Let me guess: ’cause suicide is bad? Seriously, why?”
“What kind of question is that? If you’d gone and done the thing, erm, you would’ve hurt all your family and friends.” Without thinking, I’d blurted out some generic, anti-suicide talking point, which appeared to rub her the wrong way.
Thankfully, she didn’t start straight up yelling at me, but she did look visibly ticked off.
“Unlikely. My family sold me, and my friends abandoned me.”
“Huh?” That was the best response I could manage given the bombshell she had just dropped on us.
Sold by her parents, abandoned by her friends...
“Was this after the zombie apocalypse?”
Shiiko gently shook her head in response to Otoha’s question. “The latter, yes; the former, no. Much like a disillusioned pet owner, Mom couldn’t be bothered to keep this eyesore around anymore. Rather than have the courtesy to put me down, she chose to sell me instead.”
“Are you serious?”
It’s like she thinks of herself as a household pet or an old tea kettle. Jeez, I can only imagine how badly she must’ve been treated for it to come to this.
“If she’s not gonna do it, I may as well do it myself,” Shiiko spat. “Try not to get in my way next time. I have a right to my own life, and by extension, I also have a right to do with it as I see fit. That includes stripping it away. What right do you have to take that away from me?”
Yes, you’re free to do what you please with your life, and we can’t make you reconsider, but still—
“We don’t,” Otoha said flatly, derailing my train of thought.
“Are you trying to make things worse?” I protested, though I myself had no idea what to say to this girl.
With Shino, I’d had ample time to think and the added benefit of being fairly close friends, neither of which applied here.
To make matters worse, her dread seemed to be rooted in misanthropy, meaning idealistic babble would do little to persuade her.
In that case...
“We’re looking for a safe place to stay. There’s currently four of us, and we wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands. We stopped you because it serves our pragmatic interests. So, what do you say?”
A post hoc rationalization, to be sure, but true nonetheless. I figured that if a moral argument was doomed to fail, I should opt for a rational one instead.
“I’m nothing but a burden,” Shiiko said, lowering her gaze down to her legs. “Without this wheelchair, I’m nothing. Do you really think it’d be a good idea to take me with you?”
“I, erm...” Shiiko had a point, seeing as we were struggling to do something as simple as leave a damn building.
Say she had a key card in her possession, and we managed to escape. What then? Again, say we somehow managed to fit the wheelchair inside the G-Wagen. What then?
“Don’t worry about me.” For the first time, Shiiko smiled. “I’m used to it.” Her tone was soft, as though she were consoling us.
Used to what? Being disposable?!
“She couldn’t be bothered to raise me, so she sold me like merchandise. Zombie apocalypse happened, and everyone abandoned me. I lost contact with Keith and even Noriko...” Her voice began quivering toward the end, and a stream of tears followed, as though something had burst inside of her. “Even Noriko...”
“Shiiko, I...”
Call it a hunch, but this Noriko person must’ve been the last thing keeping Shiiko from plunging into the depths of misanthropy. With Noriko out of the picture, Shiiko lost all faith in humanity.
“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” Shiiko said again, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. “Go on without me. I’ll do what I have to do, just... stay out of my way.” The strength in her voice faded, reduced to a whimpering plea, providing a brief glimpse into the true depths of her grief.