[[ the 24th hunger games ]]
Ages ago, the land formerly known as North America was wracked with devastation. Natural disasters, disease, and war broke out in sickening harmony, effectively bringing the continent to ruins. From the ashes of this defeat rose a new world: Panem, a glistening Capitol ringed by thirteen loyal Districts, pledged to work together to common advantage. Yet peace could not be maintained. Wrath exploded from District 13, crushing the tranquility in a fit of flames and fury. After long years of discordant violence, the Capitol triumphed, and in its victory instigated a new tradition, a reminder of its absolute power; a ritual sacrifice, the offer of one boy and one girl from each remaining District to battle to the death in a televised arena.
Now, twenty-three years after District 13's defeat, Panem finds itself immersed in one of the most trying Games yet. Eighteen of twenty-four tributes have been destroyed, leaving only the strongest alive—and just barely. The slaughter is coming to an end, and its final hours, the goriest of them all, will pale in consequence beside the actions soon to follow.
xxx
The blast of sound blazed through the sky, caused birds to squawk out before taking flight—a noise that caused Jean Valjean's heart to lurch within his chest.
The sharp crunches under-toe were dangerous; Jean knew that, and tried to quiet every step as much as he could, but there was only so much he could do while in such a hurry. A cannon blast spurred his step, signaling death in its wake. Voices whispered in his head, hissing the possibilities that the cannon could be referring to, but Jean forced himself to ignore its call and continue onwards at his fast pace. The woods that he traversed were thin, and he knew that if any other tributes lurked in the trees' skeletal shadows, they'd have a clear shot. But all he could do was continue on his journey, trying to block all of these venomous thoughts from his mind. Despite all this, he managed to step through the underbrush without being detected, reaching his campsite without anyone else spotting him. The clearing that he found once exiting the woods was very small, unremarkable besides the crevice in the ground that Fantine had found as the perfect place for them to camp in. Fantine, Jean thought in one breath, imagining his one ally that he possessed in this insanity. Where was she? He slid down into the small cavern, gazing around the area. There was nothing there besides the backpack of supplies they had tucked away in the corner. No Fantine; she was gone. Perhaps this wasn't something that should have frightened Jean; she was probably simply out attempting to find food, as he had been doing. Alas, the cannon had set his nerves on edge, and when he gazed around to see her missing, it was only with her possible death in mind. He had to get to her, make sure she was fine and he was just being stupidly careful.
He came back up from the ground, his eyes searching the dusty soil for tracks. Indeed, they were there, showing the path she had taken, still fresh in the ground. She had left willingly, and that was a meager consolation. For the ninth time yet, Jean cursed the stupidity of separating at all. She had just been so peaceful when leaving, and they had been in such need for food. Stupid, stupid; a vice that he paid dearly for now. He followed her footprints, thinking forlornly of how easy it was to track her, how so many others could have done the same as he was doing now...how easily that cannon could have been her. He passed through the clearing and back into the woods, stepping through the brambles that dug into his calves, which already possessed a thick layer of scratches and dirt that barred most of the branches from adding to the misery.
"Fantine?" He spoke her name into the silence, his head raised and alert, ready for anyone who managed to hear him with a knife concealed beneath his sleeve. However, to his greatest relief, there were no intruders—to his greater disappointment, Fantine didn't reply to his response. Jean attempted to push down the emotions that were stirring inside him and pressing in around him, fogging his judgment. What if she's dead? Her death would be on your hands, you left her, you left her... He continued on his journey.
Jean was still over ten feet away when he spotted the huddled lump lying on the path before him. It was just a back, turned away, its shoulders jerking ever so slightly. Even so, Jean recognized the form as the figure of dear Fantine, and raced to her side, only looking away from her to make sure that they were still alone.
"Fantine!" he breathed, barely managing to keep his voice at the measured whisper that was so necessary. He knelt beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder while his other hand felt at her pulse. "Fantine, oh dear God, be alive and breathing."
"J-jean?" she whispered weakly, turning towards him, her normally beautiful face marred with largely swollen stings. The breath vanished from his lungs as he identified her marks as those of a trackerjacker's; every bit of showing skin was blanketed in the deadly stings.
"How did this happen?" Jean breathed, clasping her hand in his.
"District Four member...lead him away from our...camp, to the nest," Fantine panted, a painful smile creeping up on her lips. But, as quickly as it had come, the happiness vanished, and she attempted to lift her head from the ground, her neck straining as she whispered. "Jean, the cameras...my child can't see me like...this."
"Hush now, Fantine," Jean soothed her, lifting her from the ground, no longer caring that he wouldn't be properly at the ready to defend himself if needed. "Do not fear for that now; everything will be alright." The two of them fled from the woods, rushing down the forest path he had come from with great speed. They were far too harried by Fantine's pain to really take in the fact of how lucky they were to still not have any more visitors. They sped away with grace, barely disturbing the rest of the woods as they fled. He managed to carry her all the way back to their campsite, forcing the two of them through the crevice and into their safe cavern.
"You're safe in here," Jean promised, looking over her state with a white face. He knew how deadly this much trackerjacker venom generally was, but knew little beyond the need to retrieve the stingers in terms of helping her. Jean reached down into the backpack he had retrieved at the very beginning of the Games, pulling forth a pair of tweezers that he had previously thought to be completely useless as a tool in this madness. As she sat there fretfully, he took some water from his pouch, using some of their precious supply to wash away the grime from her wounds, before taking the tweezers and gingerly pulling the stingers out, one by one. She twisted and gasped out in pain as he did this, on the very brink of consciousness.
"Hush now," Jean repeated, taking his free hand to pin her to the ground at her shoulders so she would sit still. "You can't let Cosette see you like this." It was a dirty trick, really, to use this truth against the ailing woman, but it worked and she stopped stirring.
As they did this, Jean's mind went elsewhere, to days that had gone by, and to the one time that he had seen the child Fantine was so worried about. The two of them being from different districts, it wasn't a surprise they hadn't run into each other before; Fantine from District Eight, and himself from District Six. So the first time he spotted her was while watching over the reapings before arriving to the Capitol, a sight that he would never forget.
As the ceremony started, and the Capitol representative of that district took his merry time in handpicking the fate of this year's tribute, Fantine had stood out in the crowd of girls waiting with bated breath. She was one of the older ones, but still at the ripe age of seventeen. What had been so striking about her was that she had held a small child by the hands. Not only was this child beautiful in every sense, clinging so readily to Fantine's hand, but she was Fantine's daughter. Such a little woman did not rightfully deserve a world where her mother was to be televised in a ring of life and death. And yet the slip of paper had brushed against the representative's fingers, held tightly in his plastic grasp, the name slipping from his lips.
"Fantine Tholomyés."
As she knew she must, Fantine gave her daughter, Cosette, one final hug, before allowing the Peacekeepers to lead her up to the stage. No one took pity, or at least enough so to spare both the mother and daughter this painful separation. Perhaps that wasn't altogether true, because Jean Valjean had found pity filling his heart and spilling out through his lungs after watching Fantine's reaping. Despite his mentor's warning of how she was a hopeless cause, Jean had agreed to be Fantine's friend and ally from the very beginning. Neither of them had been seen as formidable foes—Jean's high scoring in personal training was the only thing that got them any sponsors at all. Through their meager support though, they had lasted a long while, and as Jean knelt beside her now, they were two out of the remaining six tributes left in the arena. This had not been an easy task, obviously, but one that had proved to the watchers that they were a good enough team to survive, this far anyways. However, it was doubtless that any who had put their money or their hopes into Fantine, and Jean now watched with tears in their eyes, knowing how hopeless her case was at this point.
"Jean, I must survive," Fantine whispered frantically, only her sheer determination keeping her awake and words audible at that point in time. "Cosette... Cosette needs me. Jean, I must see Cosette once more."
"Yes, Fantine, and you will," Jean assured her, biting the edge to his own lies. He worked diligently, carefully picking out every stinger from her puffy skin. "Just hold on. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Cosette?"
"Yes," Fantine responded, her voice barely more than a breath. "For Cosette and for you... oh, how I long to see her smile, her cheerful face grinning up at me. She is quite beautiful, as I'm sure you saw."
"Indeed I did," Jean nodded, plucking another large stinger from below her neck. "Save your breath, save your strength."
"No, Jean, you do not understand..." Fantine whispered, the smallest of smiles on her lips. "Speaking of my beloved Cosette strengthens me... with every breath. I can feel her here beside me, her presence stirring life through the pain."
"That is well, Fantine," Jean agreed. "But it is also true that rest is the best thing you can do for your recovery; to move in the direction of seeing Cosette before you once again."
"I suppose you are right," Fantine murmured, wincing back at he pulled a stinger from her arm. The worst ones lived on her neck and face, but he dared not try to pull those out until she was fast asleep. Sleep was very important, and Jean hoped that she could claim it before the venom started to play tricks on her mind, building nightmarish fantasies that swam before her as clear as reality. He wanted to spare her that pain. "Be assured, Jean, I will rest. When I awake, it will be to a dawn that is closer to my beloved child, Cosette."
"Yes," Jean sighed in relief, as Fantine's eyes flickered over her eyes, masking her pupils so that only the dream world stirred beneath them. "Sleep well, Fantine." With those words, he arched his neck downwards and kissed her feverish brow. Speaking no more, he took up his tweezers again, and worked away at the stingers that had nested into her cheeks and neck. How he wished he knew plants better, so that he could find some sort of herb that would help him tend to her wounds. Some sort of medicine from sponsors was a wistful thing to hope for at this point in time, since sending anything in would be far too expensive at this point in time. All he could do was take out as much as the venom as possible and sit by her side in protection. He had been blind in the necessity of getting food, and hadn't realized how stupid it had been to split up from the side of Fantine, who had been the complete opposite in mindsets, and who had been clever enough to take out another tribute, but not fast enough to get away herself. Hopefully it wasn't as bad as he feared, and she would be fine. But perhaps, in this awful game, it was better to slip away to death instead of through some bloody wound that sapped away her strength; for, truly, there wasn't much chance for either of them in the Hunger Games.
