Disclaimer: Don't own the Hunger Games.
Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I did not expect a single review as it's my first fic. Thanks to Indyracer715 and CoffeeWriterGirlLovesClato who reviewed chapters 1 and 3 most recently. The old rule continues. As long as I get at least one review on this chapter, I'll continue writing. So Please R&R!
My pants shift over my legs as I walk. I raise my fingers to brush my braid from my shoulder, but all I feel is nothingness as my short, brown, uneven hair wipes off the dirt from my face with every step. My medicine bag slung over my shoulder, I keep my eyes on Daniel's boots, knowing Willow's right behind me. Chances are she'll just walk straight into me if I stop, her blade will slip and then- I force myself to gulp down some air. Keep walking, Primrose.
Instead, I let my eyes sweep the scene. The soles of my sneakers sink into a mixture of uneven sand and rough, muddy soil, then propel it backwards behind me as I make the effort to rip my foot from the earth. On my left is a beach, but it isn't like those nice ones I've seen on television when they show district Four. This one is muddy and knotted, littered with rocks and twigs. On my right is a vertical pine wall, the thin trees playing with the shadows and casting them over everything. During storms, when I was very small, Father used to light a candle and make shadows of animals, birds, people, even recognisable profiles such as me and Katniss with his hands. His fingertips would be glossy from the dripping wax and his skin engulfed in delicate smoke, but it made me laugh.
The sun is well above our heads now. I wonder what's going on in thirteen right now. Do they know we've crashed? If so, I'm probably believed dead. Katniss must be in hysterics. I close my eyes trying to send her a telepathic message. She knows me so well. She'd find Primrose Everdeen anywhere. My eyes snap open and focus on my training feet. Except you're not Primrose anymore, are you?
Finally I can't take it anymore and I collapse onto my knees. "Can we rest? Please?" I beg. Daniel turns and looks at my sympathetically, then nods and helps me to my feet. Willow is a little more sceptical. "We've only been walking for four hours!" She snaps at me. Although she doesn't resist when I get out some canned food from my pockets.
Daniel pops a lid open and divides the food. But all I can see in his every move, the tearing of the metal foil, the careful and exact division of survival, is Katniss and Gale dividing the spoils to keep me alive. I've seen it so many times, by the edge of the woods. They came back laden with turkey and squirrels and rabbits. I wondered how they got them. Only once, curiosity got the better of me, although adventures are a struggle for me and I'm the sort of person who wants to grow old, stiching socks by a fire with a loving, normal, warm family. I climbed under the fence and went out into the woods about two hundred meters from the district. I still didn't see anything. Not a single flash of fur or the blink of a beady black eye. Not that I'd want to. Because that animal could end up in my soup the next day.
My hands take a slice of bread. Every single little thing reminds me of someone today. I take a bite of bread and I see Peeta Mellark sitting beside me, smiling and laughing with my sister. He's so much more than she thinks he is. I can't help but trust him. He has a sense of knowing right from wrong in the world. Knowing that fighting fire with fire will only create a bigger fire, and to extinguish fire you need water. Calm and steady and crystal-clear. Peeta. He risked everything to save District Thirteen, Katniss, and me. I hope he's alright.
Willow's hair blocks the sunlight as she smears spoil-proof butter on the bread, her hands moving gently but being able to throw that disk so quick. I'm not sure what to make of her. Better not to think about it when my head is aching from the blazing heat.
My fingers have just wrapped around the bread when I hear it. The snap of a gun on a shoulder. The shout. And as I catch a glimpse of deadly white through the shadowy trees I'm on my feet, Willow's already climbing and Daniel is just turning his head.
I try to climb but my muddy boot slides off the foothold I've invented in my terrified mind. Willow swings down, balancing dangerously, and her fingers close tightly around my wrist. I manage to grab hold of a thin, shaky branch with the other hand and pull myself up just as Daniel makes it to the tree.
The Peacekeepers run onto the beach, the muddy water lapping their toes. Bewildered for a moment, they look around, they spot him disappearing into the thick foliage. I scream but I feel a hand clamped tightly over my lips as the gun fires.
With some surpreme effort, Willow pulls Daniel up into the tree as the Peackeepers wait below. I'm shaking now. They don't know me and Willow are here. Do they? So what will they do? I break into a sweat as I realise what I would do. Wait us out till morning. And Daniel, heavily wounded from what I can tell from a distance, probably won't make it that long without treatment.
In my hazed mind, the sound of the gun still echoing in my heart, I hear another sound. The whizz of metal against air, and a thin flow against my cheek. I throw myself against the trunk, rustling leaves, and shut my eyes as the disk slices the Peacekeeper's neck and he falls to the ground. Dead. There's a sound of boots. I can't quite tell because my eyes are still shut. But I feel Willow lean over, take something, then hard pressure against my shoulder. I nearly fall from the tree at the gunshot. Safe for the moment, unless we had more on our tail for this long and they heard the gunfire.
My eyelids peel away and I stare at the two Peacekeepers, lying on top of each other in a pool of blood. My legs slide off the branch and I manage to swivel and land on my feet, ignoring the sharp pain of impact. I can see Willow carefully descending, helping Daniel down, blood staining his shoulder blade. As she lays him down on the greasy, rocky sand I quickly assess the damage. There doesn't seem to be a break or bone damage, but he's losing a lot of blood and I can't leave the bullet in his flesh, either. My fingers work fast, zipping off the back of the uniform and folding it against his lower back. I feel myself wince at what I have to do. This is harder than it looks. But if Katniss could deal with worse, I can do this. I'm going to be a doctor if I make it out of here alive anyway, won't I?
"Hold him still," I say quietly. It feels odd to see Willow following my orders. As I glance up I see an expression on her face that I haven't seen before. No, I have. On my sister. Twice. But I couldn't imagine it on this determined, precise girl with her matted tangle of red hair.
I take a knife from the kit and cut his flesh slightly open at the break. I can feel his body tense and hear his gasp of pain, but I can't stop. My fingertips dive into the opening. I've disinfected my fingers, of course. As I search for the bullet as fast as I can, I can hear the tickle of Willow's voice as she soothes him, tear tracks on his cheeks. "I'm sorry," I think. "but it's necessary."
I finally find the bullet and pull it out gently before disinfecting the wound and placing a few bandages to halt the flow of blood. His head is in Willow's lap and I can't help but wonder. Why is she like this? Does she know him for a long time? Has he helped her, besides leading her out of the district?
Exhausted, I wash the blood from my skin and under my fingernails. I lay on my back, making myself comfortable in the soil, watching the sunlight dance in circles across the treetops. 'Don't fall asleep, Autumn," I think, my hand reaching for the water. Then I feel my elbow drop and my eyes close as I'm propelled into a blur of color.