Chapter Eight: Armour and Sword
The sounds of fighting grow fainter as I move away from the Cornucopia. I ran between the houses, trying to make myself less of a target. I wished I could call out my brother's name but I knew to do so would be the death of me.
I paused at the side of a house that looked like a stiff wind would collapse it. I ran one hand through my short hair as I listened to the distant cries and shouts and clang of metal on metal.
Should have grabbed a weapon, I admonished silently, now you're a sitting duck.
Sighing I prepared to keep going, as far away from the Cornucopia as I could get, when a small form dashed out from the edge of the forest behind the house and hit me. I cried out and tried to shove the threat away before realizing it was Sam.
I landed hard on my backside as my brother wrapped his thin arms around my middle and buried his head agains my shoulder.
"Sam!" I hissed under my breath, trying to pry him off.
"I didn't see you," Sam mumbled, resisting my attempts to extract him from round my middle, "And I heard the fighting and I thought…"
I smiled grimly and carded my fingers through my brother's hair, "I'm fine, Sammy. I was worried about you."
Sam looked up at me, his green eyes wide, "You know how fast I am."
I nodded, "I know you are."
"Look!" Sam exclaimed- a little too loud for comfort- and slipped the backpack he had grabbed off his shoulders, "I got this! I didn't open it yet. I wanted to find you first."
"Okay," I peered up over my brother's head. I couldn't hear the sound of fighting anymore and was concerned the other Tributes were creeping among the houses, silently moving closer and closer.
"Let's find someplace to hide and then we'll look in the pack," I suggested and Sam nodded standing and slinging the backpack over his shoulder again. I put on hand on the back of Sam's neck- to guide him and yank him behind my body should one of the other Tributes show up- and we crept silently away from the side of the house I had stopped at.
We moved deeper into the abandoned town, farther away from the Cornucopia. Sammy and I moved as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves. I kept my eye out for someplace safe to stay for the night. I did not want to venture into the forest; the black trees were leafless and I could hear the distant rusty cawing of crows. There would be nowhere to hide amongst the skeletal trees.
Across the old dirt street that was the main road of the village, I spied a house with its roof half-collapsed. Perfect.
Looking to my left and right, I didn't see any of our fellow Tributes. Moving my hand from Sam's neck, I gripped his upper arm tightly.
"Let's go, Sammy," I whispered into my brother's ear, "Quick."
We jogged across the road, gravel crunching beneath our shoes and I cringed at the sound, and towards the side of the house I had my eyes on. The front door was hanging off its hinges, the lintel posts looking like they would fall down if I even so much as breathed on them. I guided my brother around the back and smiled in triumph when I saw a set of cellar doors. They were closed but not locked. Bending over, I carefully lifted one of the door and held my breath. There was a thin screeching sound and dust floated down from the wooden door and I froze. Sam glanced up at me, his green eyes wide. He looked over his shoulder, clearly anxious.
Normally I would have first taken the time to explore the basement and make sure there was nothing dangerous down there but there was no way I was leaving Sam alone.
"C'mon Sammy," I motioned with one hand and Sam climbed down the rickety wooden stairs down to the dirt floor. I closed the cellar doors quietly but tightly and turned to my brother.
He was already sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him with the backpack open between them. I couldn't help but smile. We were in danger and could possibly be dead within a few days and Sam still managed to look like a little boy again, happy and carefree. Like he rarely was.
I sat down on the floor across from Sam and glanced around. The dirt floor was cold and damp, as was the air in the cellar. There were spiderwebs covering the wooden ceiling and support beams. The small square window that faced the road had no glass inside it.
"What's inside?" I asked Sam as he dug his small hands inside the bag.
Sam pulled out a blanket made of the same black material as our jackets. That would be useful. I took the blanket from my brother's hands and wrapped it around his shoulders.
My little brother chuckled and for a moment I almost forgot that we were in the middle of the Games.
"What else do we have, Sammy?" I asked and he pulled out a silver metal water bottle. I snatched it from my brother's hands and unscrewed the black plastic cap. Sam watched expectantly as I tipped the bottle up towards my mouth and frowned. No water came out.
"It's empty," Sam whispered sadly.
I set the bottle aside and shrugged.
"We'll get some water later," I told Sam and he nodded, glancing down like he usually did when he was told he couldn't have something because we were too poor.
There was also a small tin container of matches, a length of thick rope and a large blue square of plastic in the backpack.
Two of the items was really useful to us right now. I spread the tarp on the floor so that we wouldn't have to sit directly on the dirt and put the tin of matches and rope back into the backpack. Sam snuggled right up against me, trying to drape half of the blanket over me so that I would be warm as well.
"Dean?" Sam whispered but I shushed him. My brother stared up at me with large eyes for a moment before wrapping his arms around me and resting his cheek against my chest.
W
Night fell slowly. The cellar grew darker and the shadows lengthened to swallow up the wan light we did have. Sam and I huddled together on the tarp, wearing our jackets with the blanket folded around us. We didn't speak in the intervening hours. We both knew that the other Tributes were out there somewhere and if they heard us we'd be in trouble. Sam slept on and off, whimpering occasionally from a nightmare. I comforted him quietly and fought my own desire to close my eyes and rest. While I kept an eye out I thought about what Sam and I were going to do. I knew it was more than likely that only one of us would make it out of the Arena alive. I was rooting for Sam. If I could get my hands on a weapon I could defend my brother against the other Tributes. I knew we needed water and the old well in the middle of town with the broken bell above it seemed like a good place to look. On route, I could check out the Cornucopia again, see if there were any weapons still inside.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight. I wrapped an arm around Sam's middle and pulled him tight against me. I felt him go stiff with fear.
"Shhh," I whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible.
Footfalls crunched on the gravel and dirt road outside of the house and a peal of laughter was brayed out, far too loud in the quiet night.
Standing up as silently as a shadow, I moved to the window, dragging Sam along with me. I peaked out at the very edge of the window, squinting in the moonlight to try and catch sight of who was out there. Pinning Sam against me with on hand on his chest, I slapped my other palm over his mouth when he started to ask a question.
Narrowing my eyes, I caught sight of Glamour's blonde hair. I could see Vanity walking along beside her. There were two boys with them, one I recognized as Casey and the other I didn't know.
I jumped- and I was pretty sure the Tributes outside did as well- when the national anthem began to play and high in the sky, above the tree-line, Archimedes De Soto's face appeared.
"And so concludes the first night of the 125th Hunger Games," he announced loudly, grinning like a madman, "Our Quarter Quell. We hope you've all enjoyed today's action and will stay tuned for more excitement tomorrow!"
I glanced down and saw Sam's green eyes wide and terrified, as if the man would alert the Tributes outside to our location. Looking up at the sky again, I saw the faces of the boys and girls who'd died today.
I recognized Persephone from Eleven, first, her name written in golden lettering underneath her picture. Than there was Sheaf from Nine; the girl Glamour had hacked at with that battle-ax. Velda from District Five, Jonah- Casey's fellow Tribute from Four- and finally both girls from Three; Brindley and Justwell.
The national anthem played once more and everything grew quiet again. I lowered my gaze to the road but Glamour and the others had vanished into the night again.
Stepped away from the window I sank back down onto the tarp. Sam landed heavily beside me.
"Dean? Do you think Dad was watching?" he asked and I nodded. I could just imagine our father sitting down on his bed, exhausted and covered in coal dust from head to toe, staring at the television screen, hoping and praying that our faces wouldn't show up those of the dead.
I drew the blanket around Sam's shoulders and laid down on my back. My brother curled up against me and sighed quietly, falling asleep.
Six were dead. Eighteen were left. Only one would make it out of here alive.
I really didn't like those odds but didn't have much choice. Sam and I couldn't do what Katniss and Peeta had done all those years ago. The Gamemakers wouldn't let that sort of rebellion slide again. It had been a miracle the two of them and even been allowed to leave their Arena. All I could do was make sure I stayed alive long enough to see Sam announced the Victor.
W
Sam stretched against me the next morning as he awoke. I blinked tiredly and knuckled the sleep from my eyes. I had stayed awake all night long. Afraid to fall asleep in case Glamour and the others found us.
"Dean?" my brother asked in a whisper.
"Yeah, Sammy?" I mumbled and grabbed the blanket, began rolling it up so we could put it in the backpack.
"I'm hungry," Sam answered as though he was afraid to say so. I frowned. We weren't unused to going without food. Sometimes we went for two or three days without anything to eat because the supply train had been delayed on its way to Twelve. Sometimes Dad got mad at Sam if he complained about being hungry; yelling at Sam that there was nothing he could do about it so he had better shut up if he knew what was good for him. I knew Dad always felt bad for getting angry at Sam. I think he just hated feeling so powerless, not being able to give us food when the Merchants never wanted for any of that.
"We'll find something to eat this morning, don't worry," I told Sam confidently and began rolling up the tarp.
"Let me help!" Sam exclaimed and together we packed up our meagre possessions. I let Sam carry the backpack since he had been the one to find it and carefully crept up the stairs to the cellar doors.
It was still very early- the sun wasn't even over the treetops yet- so I decided that we could go and scope out the Cornucopia and the well. I opened the cellar door and poked my head out, my gaze eye-level with the ground. A thick mist hung close to the grass but I didn't see any of the other Tributes. I heard the caw of crows in the forests surrounding the town but no sound of voices.
I stepped onto the grass and scanned the area more thoroughly, smiling. Sam scrambled up from the basement and stood beside me, his hand slipped into mine.
I squeezed my brother's hand and we slipped behind the house. We were not going to stroll down the street.
My stomach growled loudly and Sam looked up at me.
"We'll find something soon," I whispered as we headed back towards the centre of town.
I could see the Cornucopia, a dull golden colour against the dull grey sky and made a bee-line towards it.
Snap!
Sam and I froze at the sound of a twig breaking somewhere off to our left, behind one of the houses. I put a finger to my lips and Sam nodded, his hand slipping from him to hold onto the backpack's straps in case he needed to run for safety.
I squinted through the carpet of fog, trying to decide if we were in danger. A large bird appeared around the side of the mouldering, its feathers grey-and-brown speckled. It was the size of the turkeys I'd seen hanging up in the butcher's shop in the Merchant's area of Twelve. The bird didn't seem to notice my brother or I, its short yellow beak pecked at the grass as it searched for bugs. It made a soft clucking sound as it walked and ate.
My stomach gave a long whine of longing and saliva flooded my mouth. Although we had no weapons right now, I was heartened by the fact that we wouldn't starve here.
I tapped Sam's shoulder and he reluctantly moved forward. The bird- a groosling- I realized, simply turned around as we began to move and walked leisurely around the side of the house again.
The rest of the walk to the Cornucopia was uneventful. We saw no one and I counted that as a blessing. I made Sam walk behind me as we approached the large conical shape of the Cornucopia. We were approaching it from behind and I didn't want to surprise anyone inside- or be taken by surprise. I frowned. Most of the weapons were gone- the backpacks were all gone. There were wooden crates still left untouched though. I motioned Sam to follow me and we stepped inside the Cornucopia. My brother picked up a slingshot that looked as if it had been discarded, nearly hidden beneath another sheet of plastic. Sam slipped the backpack off his shoulders and set it down on top of a crate. He grabbed the tarp and began struggling to fold it.
"We might need it if it rains," Sam grunted an explanation as I conceded and helped him fold the large sheet. I nodded, thinking of the lean-to Dad and I had built out of rubbish from the Heap. These plastic sheets were not dissimilar to the canvas we used to keep rain from seeping through the cracks in the roof. Although Sam had been far too young to remember such things, it had taken a while for our house to actually look like something more than just a pile of garbage. Sam and I had often spent hours in the Heap after school, searching for abandoned items that we could use.
Curious about what was inside the crates, I knelt in front of one and tried to lift the lid- it was nailed shut- and swore. Glancing around I caught sight of a spear that had been broken in half. Grabbing the end with the blade still attached, I slipped the flat of the spear underneath the lid and pushed up with all my strength. There was a loud cracking, wrenching sound as the nails were forced from the wood and the lid lifted up. Once I had enough leverage I pulled the lid off the crate and stared down at what was inside.
Apples.
"C'mere Sammy," I whispered happily. Sam dragged the backpack over as I reached into the crate and picked up a piece of bright red fruit.
Tossing the apple to Sam, I chose another one for myself and eagerly bit into it. The sweet juice flooded my mouth and I gratefully crunched the white meat. Sam grinned at me as he ate his own apple.
We both ate one more each, leaving nothing behind- eating even the cores- Sam and I stuffed as many apples as would fit in the backpack. I hefted the broken spear. It wasn't the best weapon but it was the one I felt most comfortable with. The others would we too heavy or unwieldy to bring along. Sitting back on my haunches, I stared down at the crate, there were still a good amount of apples inside and I knew that if we left it as it was, another Tribute would profit. I didn't like the idea of sabotaging food- coming from a District where every morsel is cherished as though it was gold- but I knew that we couldn't have anyone else finding the apples.
I looked over my shoulder to where our pedestals had been- to where the grenades still were hidden- and realized what I had to do. It was dangerous but what wasn't in this Game?
"Stay here, Sammy," I stood and pushed experimentally against the crate, it moved, "I'll be right back."
I wasn't sure it would work. I knew that a clever Tribute would remember where the bombs were hidden and get the apples but I was hoping that hunger and desperation would make at least one fellow competitor reckless.
Sam watched as I pushed the crate out of the shadow of the Cornucopia, towards the bombs.
"No! Dean! Stop!" Sam cried out and grabbed the back of my jacket. I paused and looked at him, "We have to do this. We can't let the others get the apples."
"I know," Sam said, his green eyes frightened and determined, "Let me do it. I'm lighter than you and faster."
I shook my head. No way was I going to put Sam in danger like that.
"Can you even push this?" I indicated the crate. Sam nodded and I knew that without a doubt whether he was strong enough or not, he was going to place those apples in the trap.
"You don't even know where the grenades are!" I hissed and pulled my jacket out of my brother's grasp.
Sam just gave me a secretive smile and I realized that while I'd been standing on my pedestal, searching out Sam, my brother had been paying attention to the location of the bombs.
Stunned, I didn't say anything as Sam zipped his jacket up halfway and began stuffing apples inside.
"Make sure no one comes by, okay?" Sam smiled and carefully moved forward, shoving the crate with one hand while holding the apples hidden inside his jacket with the other.
My mouth grew dry as coal dust and my heart began to pound. All I could picture was my baby brother being torn apart by an exploding grenade, never knowing what had hit him. My grip on the handle of the spear tightened as I worried.
It's too late to stop him now, I told myself, so just keep watch.
I tried to divide my time equally between surveying the area and keeping an eye on my brother. My heart was hammering in my chest and even though it was still fairly cool out- the sun had yet to appear and burn off the mist and dew- I felt sweat begin to bead on my face and drip down my spine.
Sam moved towards the grenades carefully, taking each step gingerly. He paused as he set his feet down before putting his full weight on the ground. Even though he had his back to me I could see his shoulders were tense and could just picture his face scrunched in concentration, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.
Sam pushed the crate ahead of him, seeming to calculate each move before he made it, well aware that the weight of the wooden box was more than sufficient to trip one of the bombs.
After what seemed like ages Sam finally stopped, he'd probably reached the centre of the circle of bombs. Reaching inside his jacket, Sam pulled out one of the apples. I tore my gaze away from him for a moment to glance over my shoulder suspiciously, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps.
When I looked back at Sam he was ever-so-carefully placing the apple on the ground as if the fruit was made of glass and would shatter if he handled it too roughly.
What was he doing? I wondered.
As I watched Sam take out another apple and place it on the ground a few feet from the first one with the same cautious gentleness I suddenly realized what Sam had in mind. He was setting the apples on top of the buried grenades!
I couldn't help but smile at how brilliant my little brother was. He may only be twelve but he was one of the smartest people I knew.
I had only wanted to position the crate in the middle of the circle of bombs and hope for the best but Sam was going a step further. The grenades were triggered by weight- that's why they'd explode if a Tribute stepped on one before the gong sounded- so Sam was putting pressure on them. If a hungry kid picked up one of the apples, he or she would trip the bomb and be blown to smithereens. I noticed that Sam wasn't putting apples on all twenty-four grenades. He put some in between the bombs so that it wouldn't be so obvious what he'd been trying to do.
After placing all the apples in his jacket, Sam turned back to the crate and grabbed a handful more of the fruit, setting them beside the wooden box temptingly.
Slipping easily past the grenades, Sam returned to my side, smiling.
I wrapped an arm around him in a one-handed hug.
"Can we see what's in the other crates?" Sam asked, his face flushed with excitement.
I nodded, "We should get some water first."
The well with that busted bell wasn't too far from the Cornucopia and I wanted to make sure we had drinking water if we had to leave the area in a hurry. Although we hadn't seen any other Tributes since last night, that didn't mean they weren't on their way to this very spot right now.
Sam nodded and dug the water bottle from the backpack.
I hoped the well wasn't dry. If it was, I wasn't sure where we were going to get water. I really didn't want to go into the surrounding forest.
The crumbling well didn't look very inviting. As we approached, I couldn't tear my gaze away from the bell with its carving of a tree etched into its rusted metal. Sam climbed up on the wall and peered down into the depths of the dark well. There was a tin bucket suspended above the well and I quickly untied the fraying rope and began lowering the bucket down slowly.
I smiled at Sam when I heard the bucket splash at the bottom. We had water!
My brother unscrewed the black plastic cap from the bottle and held it ready.
I stared into the bucket as I brought it up. The water was brown and murky but it was the best we had. I set the bucket down on the edge of the well and Sam collected some water into the bottle and taking an experimental swig of the liquid before I could stop him. He grimaced and held the bottle out to me. I took it cautiously and sipped at the water. It was ice cold and had an earthy taste like dirt and dead leaves. Bits of sand and gravel crunched between my teeth as I swallowed.
I shrugged. It would have to do.
I handed the bottle back to Sam and he filled it up completely before putting the lid back on and stuffing it into the backpack.
For a moment I thought about cutting the rope to prevent the other Tributes from accessing the water but didn't. If I did that, Sam and I wouldn't have any water either.
"Okay Sammy," I whispered and lifted the spear, "We should go."
I didn't want to stay out in the open longer than I had to. It made me nervous.
I began guiding Sam away from the well, back towards the houses to find a new place to hide- I didn't want to stay in the same location more than once- when my brother cried out as he was wrenched away from me, his ankles tangled in a bola; a length of rope with a round weight on each end.
"Sam!" I cried and hurried towards my struggling brother. I lifted my spear, knowing that whomever had thrown the weapon would be nearby and held it with one hand while I tugged at the rope wrapped around my brother's legs.
"Dean! Look out!" Sam cried and I just had time to turn around and raise the spear to block the blow of a sword. The weapon cut into the wooden handle of the spear but didn't break through it- thankfully- and I shoved forward, trying to take this fight away from my brother.
The kid with the sword- a boy from Eight, the textiles producing District- snarled and yanked the sword out of the spear's handle. I had to keep his attention focused on me and not on Sam, who was fumbling away at the rope still, trying to untangle himself quickly.
I thrust the spear at the boy but he jumped back, slashing at me with the sword. I dodged the blade, but only just.
I realized that I was edging the kid towards the crumbling well and pushed forwards again, stabbing at his chest with the spear.
He brought the sword down and I wasn't fast enough to block him; he cut my arm through my jacket and I hissed in pain. Not in the mood to carry this fight any longer, I jabbed at his eyes with the spearhead and he backed away, his foot catching one of the stones that had fallen from the well as it slowly decayed. With a startled cry, the boy fell and landed heavily on his back, his sword dropping to the dusty road beside him.
For a moment, the boy stared up at me, looked me in the eye and I was surprised to see no resentment on his face. He, like the rest of us, knew the stakes. And like most of us, knew that we'd never be leaving this place alive. I didn't want to do it but I had to. If I let him live he would come after Sam and I again. I nodded once and brought the blade of the spear down into his chest, directly into his heart to make his death as quick and painless as possible.
The boy instantly went limp, his eyes growing dark and dull. I yanked the spear out and dropped it, staggering back.
That was the first time I had killed. I continued to back up until I bumped into something and I jumped.
"Dean!" Sam cried and wrapped his arms around me. I relaxed, feeling drained.
Bang! Sam and I both startled at the sound of the cannon- the sound announcing the boy's death- and I stared dumbly at the sky. I suppose there had been cannon fire yesterday during the fight at the Cornucopia but I hadn't noticed because of the sounds of fighting drowned it out. A hovercraft would come once we were gone and pick up the boy's body to take it back to his home.
"We gotta go," my brother reminded me and I nodded dumbly. I turned to Sam, visually checking him for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice sounding shocked even to my own ears.
Sam shook his head, "I scraped my elbows but I'm-"
"You're bleeding!" he cried and grabbed at my arm.
Looking down I saw a gash running almost the length of my forearm; it was indeed oozing but it didn't look too deep.
"I'm alright," I muttered and moved towards the boy's body again. I grabbed the spear and stepped on the wooden handle, breaking it so that only about an inch of the wood protruded from the blade- we could use a knife- and picked up the sword, hefting it.
"Dean, let's go," Sam cried, clearly scared.
I nodded and turned to follow my brother wherever he led, still in a state of shock and not really thinking straight yet.
We said nothing to one another while we walked. I carried the sword in one hand and what was left of the spear in the other, seeing nothing in front of me but that kid's eyes right before I killed him.
The boy had been young- thirteen or fourteen- and I had killed him in cold blood.
No, I thought, not cold blood. He attacked Sammy. He was going to kill Sammy. You were protecting your brother.
Still, the knowledge didn't make me feel better. The boy had been only doing what he was supposed to do. He likely didn't want to hurt anyone but he knew that if he didn't kill his fellow Tributes, they would get him.
"Dean, in here," Sam's voice brought me out of my morbid musings and I looked up to see my brother standing in the doorway of what looked like an old cow shed.
Before I could stop him, Sam ducked inside and I had no choice but to follow.
Yes, this place had most definitely once been a home for animals. Although the smell was faint, I could still catch a faint whiff of manure and there was ancient straw scattered on the concrete floor.
Sam walked to the back of the shed and sat down with his back against the wall.
"Come on, Dean," he encouraged and I followed his instructions, feeling like I was the little brother.
"Take off your jacket, okay?" he slipped the backpack off and rummaged through it before taking out the bottle of water and an apple.
I did as Sam asked, wincing a little as I pulled at the fabric starting to stick to the gash on my arm with dried blood.
Carefully, Sam poured some water into his hand and brought it towards my arm. With his free hand, he manoeuvred my arm so that it was resting in his cupped palm, the water feeling cool against my skin.
"I know I'm not Missouri," Sam said, "But I don't know what else to do."
I closed my eyes as Sam tried his best to clean the cut on my arm. We had gone through the healing station during training but we had no alcohol or bandages to disinfect or cover the wound with. I was just thankful it wasn't deep- the blood was already starting to clot- or we would be in trouble.
Once Sam was satisfied that the cut clean enough, he put the water bottle back, wiped his hands off on his jacket and handed me the apple.
I smiled and took a large bite of the fruit, coming back to myself more and more as I ate. When I was finished I sat back against the wall and sighed. Sam curled up against me and stared up into my face for a moment.
"Dean?" He murmured quietly.
"Yeah?" I peered down into his candid face.
"Thanks for that."
I frowned. Sam shouldn't be thanking me for killing someone. That just felt… wrong. Besides, Sam already knew I'd do anything to protect him. Back in Twelve I wouldn't have hesitated to go against Increase Grim and his Peacekeepers if he'd threatened Sam and here, in the Arena, I guess I'd kill to keep my little brother safe.
I wrapped my uninjured arm around Sam and pulled him closer, into a hug.
I hoped I could continue protecting Sam, even if it meant killing again.
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from a Rush song of the same name. The previous chapter's title came from a Megadeth song of the same name.
2. Thanks to SPN Mum, MysteryMadchen, missingmikey, L.A.H.H, and Liza Halliwell for reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who favourited or followed this story.
4. A groosling isn't a real bird. It is one of the animals encountered by Katniss and Peeta in the first Hunger Games novel.
5. Please let me know what you think!
