Is It Over Yet
Chapter Seven: For the Best
Gale's POV
Don't even think about it Katniss! I think as I watch her eying the bow and arrows. You heard what Haymitch said about water – you'll give your skill away if you take them now! Dammit, Katniss, why aren't you moving!? The countdown is over! MOVE!
I watch as realization washes over her face and she darts forward towards them, but those last few seconds of just standing around are paid for as the girl from District 1 scoops them into her arms with a satisfied grin. Shaking my head at her stubbornness I grab a few general provisions – two rope bundles, a small brown backpack, a water bottle and what looks like a well compact sleeping bag. I dart towards the woods while sliding the backpack over my shoulders and stuffing the rope's and water bottle into the side pockets. The sleeping bag I keep in hand - it being too big to fit elsewhere at the moment - and feel a quick thud! slam my backpack against my back, and look back briefly to see the girl from District 2 flinging knives at will. Thanks for the knife, I think with a grin as I enter into the woods.
My first instinct – and instruction from Haymitch, other than to stay alive – is to find water, and so I quickly scan over the woods to see where the plant life looks greener. Unsuccessfully I shake my head and push on, keeping a look out for any sign at all of water or potential footsteps to indicate if anyone followed me into the woods.
Then I see it.
Nothing prolonged, but a flash of red hair just visible enough to change my mind about my direction and I veer off slightly to the right. Foxface, Katniss and I had dubbed her after trying unsuccessfully to remember the girls' name. She must have heard me, or seen me too, because as I veer slightly to the right she changes her direction entirely and shoots off at a ninety-degree angle to the left.
How long have I been running? Ten minutes – twenty-five? I don't know, but the throbbing stitch in my side tells me it is time to slow down and catch my breath for a few minutes. I find a large log and drop myself beside it on the forest floor and decide it is a good time to look through my bag and rearrange everything to fit inside. I pull my water bottle from the side pocket, parched, and unscrew the cap to find it is bone dry. "Capitol bastards," I say as I screw the cap back on and shake my head while unzipping the bag. "You go to extreme lengths to make the rest of our days a living hell, and you can't take a few seconds to make it a bit more comfortable by filling at least a drop of water into the water bottles?" no, I think, that would make it too easy, now wouldn't it? Our suffering is your enjoyment.
I dig through the bag and set everything beside me on the ground: a water bottle - empty like the first, a small tube of matches, a strange looking pair of sunglasses and a pair of gloves. Sighing, I begin to replace the items into the bag, adding the two ropes, second water bottle and just barley managing to force in the sleeping bag. As I lean my head against the side of the log I think to myself that I can't stay sitting duck much longer, I need to find a source of water and a less obvious resting place.
Fastening my backpack around my shoulders my mind is quickly made up as I hear a single pair of footsteps coming my way, and I slide myself down to conceal my head from immediate sighting, hoping that whoever it is will just pass and not look back. But of course that is anything but the case as the person is drawn, like I was, to the log I hide behind and perches themselves atop it with a short, dry mouthed sigh.
And I thought I was a sitting duck…
As I ready myself to move away from the log I am stopped dead in my tracks to the sound of her voice: Katniss. She seems to have the same outlook on the empty water bottle thing as me. Every muscle in my body fights as I force myself to stay down and not show myself to her. True, we did always have each others backs while hunting at home in District 12, and truthfully we probably have saved each others lives more than a handful of times, but given the current situation and the fact that I probably would be able to pull myself away from her – let a lone my lips – it just seems to be in better judgment to stay down and silent.
It is easy to forget the current situation while so close to her presence and drift my mind back to our nights together in the Capitol – making love and holding each other as the dim moon light filtered in through the windows and blanketed our naked bodies. Kissing and touching and cooing while we whispered love and affections to each other. Running my hands over her skin and sealing every caress with a tender kiss…
"Katniss," I say aloud softly, forgetting myself - and the situation – as I am pulled deeper and deeper into the memory. The sound of my own voice calling to her forces my eyes to shoot open and I slam my hand over my mouth, forcing myself to banish the memory and focus on now. I am in the arena, I think firmly, I am boy Tribute from District 12, I am eighteen years old and probably going to die. I am not back in the Capitol and Katniss and I will never make love again, let alone do anything else that lovers do. I will never be able to hold her or kiss her again, and I need to stop lying to myself and face the truth, because frankly every second in this godforsaken place is a matter of life or death. And succumbing to my lust to be with her will only put us both in more danger. No, it is better if she doesn't see me again – safer.
I let out the steadiest breath I can manage while rolling myself onto my stomach and slowly pulling myself along the forest-floor. I crawl for about twelve feet before reaching a thick tree and pulling myself to stand behind it.
No, I think again as I hear her walking towards me and jump quickly to the side as to not be spotted, it is better for both of us if we just leave our goodbyes back at the Capitol. I watch as she walks on, seemingly unaware that I was anywhere nearby. I whisper as softly as I can - barley able to hear my own voice, "I love you Katnip," as I watch her walk away until deciding it is safe enough to move on myself.
The sun is beginning to go down, turning the sky from its original crisp blue to a bright orange, yellow and pink sunset, and I know I need to find somewhere to camp for the night, but know I probably won't make it through the night if I don't find some source of water and hydrate myself soon. It is getting dark fast as I run my tongue over my lips and swallow a minuscule amount of saliva. I am not dehydrated yet, but close, and know if I stop for even a moment I will be that much closer to desperation.
My foot slides over the ground and I have to reach out and grab onto a nearby shrub to catch myself falling. Moist ground means there is water nearby, and I pull myself back up and only walk a few more feet ahead before looking down at a small pond and smile. I pull my bag from my shoulders and unzip it, withdrawing both water bottles and disregarding the bag at my feet.
I crouch down and submerge one of the water bottles into the pond, pulling it back out and bringing it to my lips before giving it a chance to fill all the way. The water is cold and refreshing, and I quickly find myself dipping the bottle back in for more. As I raise it to my lips for the second time my attention is caught as the Capitol's anthem begins to blare overhead, and as I look up I see a clear image of the Capitol seal and know the eleven canons that fired throughout the day will show their victims' faces when the music has ended.
The first face to appear is the girl from District 3, indicating that all the Careers from District's 1 and 2 have made it, which is no surprise. The next person shown is the boy from District 4, which is a surprise. Normally the Careers hold out until the end, where they start killing each other for victor. The boy from District 5 is shown next, followed by both Tributes from District 6 and 7, the boy from 8, and both Tributes from 9. The last face to be shown is the girl from District 10. The sky returns to black.
Eleven dead in the first day, that leaves thirteen left.
I finish off another bottle of water before submerging them both and filling them to the brim. As I am screwing the lids tightly on a canon blast fills my ears.
Make that twelve dead and twelve left.
I pull out the sleeping bag and replace it with one of the water bottles, keeping one out to sip on throughout the night. I walk around for a few minutes, not putting that much distance between myself and the pond as I look for a place to sleep. I surprise myself by quickly finding a hollowed out long. Not having a death wish I begin plucking small, unnoticeable amounts of sticks and leaves from nearby plants and trees and arranging them at one of the ends of the log. Satisfied, I pluck a few more sticks and leaves and crawl into the exposed end of the log and begin arranging them to conceal myself safely out of sight.
I crawl myself to what I judge to be the center of the log and unroll the sleeping bag, sliding myself snuggly into it I let out a content sigh, happy with the amount of moss that has grown on the inside of the log, providing me with just the right amount of cushion. I use the backpack as a pillow.
I awake early the next day, the sun only just beginning to rise through the curtain of sticks and leaves, at the sound of two cannons being fired.
TBC
