"It takes ten times as long to pull yourself together as it does to fall apart." -Finnick Odair
When the hovercraft's gone, with it the bodies of three tributes, Declan sits next to James, gripped in his hands the backpacks of Tybalt and Olivia; James didn't touch Violet's bag. Together the two sit for a long time, James quietly crying to himself, Declan with an arm around James' shoulder. Their weapons lay on the ground in front of them.
Two Careers have been felled today, and the other seriously wounded. They won't be fighting today, so why have their weapons on them?
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, James wipes his eyes and says, "We...we need to go."
Declan looks over at him. After a pause, he asks, "Are you sure? We can...sit here awhile longer if you want."
James shakes his head. "No...No. We should get moving. It'll be dark soon. Let's go."
Declan nods somberly, and lets his arm fall from James' shoulder. "Alright. Let's get a move on."
James takes Tybalt's bag, a small combat backpack, and Declan picks up Olivia's bag, a small canvas hunting pack, and together they start moving away from where three tributes died, the only signs of them ever being here the trampled grass and the bloodstains.
"Where are we going?" Declan asks once they break free from the bush-ridden part of the forest and enter a clearer part.
"Where have you been living?" James asks.
"Nowhere," Declan says as they push on. "Trees, mostly. Where have you?"
"Me and Violet found a cave on the second day," James replies. For a split second, he looks around, waiting for Violet to reaffirm this with a snarky comment, but none comes, and James' brain reminds him that Violet's dead. He chokes back tears. "It's about an hour's walk west from here."
"Sounds like home to me," Declan says.
They walk in silence for the better part of the journey, the two boys grunting as they march, crunching over twigs and leaves. James has one of his hatchets out, the other one snugly tucked into his belt; Declan has a long machete, he think it's called a kukri, in his hands, and his bow remains strapped to his backpack. The hatchet in James' hand is coated in blood and bits of bone from when he hacked Tybalt to death, which just upsets James because it reminds him of how much of a failure he was.
They're nearing the last five minutes of the journey when Declan says aloud, "I wanted to be a beekeeper."
The statement is so strange, so out-of-place, James almost stops in his tracks. "What?" he asks.
"A beekeeper," Declan repeats. "You know, someone who keeps bees."
James rolls his eyes. "I know what a beekeeper is, Declan."
"Just in case," Declan says. "Anyway, I was just about ready to be a beekeeper. Had my own little hive in our backyard. Even spent half my earnings at the goat farm I worked at to buy a beekeeper's suit." Declan kicks a rock. "Those damn bees stung me all the time."
James smiles. It's not a laugh, but it's a smile. "I hate bees."
The smile fades only a second later, but it's something and James feels a small warmth fighting back against the depression he's felt himself start to fall into. The shock from seeing his district partner killed is starting to fade off, replaced with a deep sadness starting to root within himself. James doesn't say anything to Declan about this though. He can't have his friend, his only friend in the arena so far, worrying about him, but James is sure Declan already has reserved worry.
James finds the cave, and pushes aside the branches, leading Declan inside. Once inside, James doesn't pull over the bushes and fallen tree to conceal themselves. With Violet gone, he has no real incentive to be careful.
If the Careers want to go looking for a fight, they'll get one.
They set down four backpacks in the cave: James' bag, Declan's bag, and the packs of both Careers killed earlier in the day. Declan has a meager supply of dried pork and some water, and James has an unhealthy amount of berries and some water, but the Careers' backpacks hold the silver lining in the mournful day.
Olivia has very little food in her backpack. This is typical of a Career, who often carries little food on them because they have so much at the Cornucopia. A small pack of saltines and half a bottle of water is all the food Olivia's bag holds. On the bright side, Olivia seems to have been the doctor of the Careers, and has several first-aid kits filled with gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and sewing kits with needles and thread attached to them. If either of them is hurt in a fight, odds are they can be healed if it's not too serious.
Tybalt, however, does not share the same arrogance as Olivia. The boy from District 1 has a huge amount of food, from crackers and jerky to cans of fruit and meat. Inside his pack is a small deck of playing cards. As James sorts through the cards, which are pristine for the most part, he finds one lone card, with a huge 'X' scribbled in pen.
The ace of spades is crossed out.
James would smirk if he could, but instead he just exhales through his nose in a huff and sets aside the pack.
"Alright, so," Declan starts, "We have, as follows: Four packages of dried beef and pork, two packages of saltines, three fully-stocked first-aid kits, one pack of matzo crackers, two cans of peaches, one can of tuna fish, and two cans of chicken noodle soup. Not counting the water, weapons, and the deck of playing cards. Or your berries."
"Good haul," James muses to himself.
"Good haul indeed," agrees Declan, right as the national anthem of Panem starts to boom across the arena. "We can probably sit tight for a few days, try to recover from, uh...from what happened today. Then we can go out and try to get some food after."
James nods. "That sounds like a good plan."
Together, the two of them sit near the entrance to the cave, and watch as the anthem ends, and the dead tributes flash up on the sky.
Tybalt. District 1.
Olivia. District 4.
Violet. District 7.
James can feel tears brimming when Violet's innocent face flashes up on the screen. He's failed her. He's failed Iris. He's failed himself. Declan reaches out and gives him a pat on his shoulder. "It's not your fault, James." Declan's thick Cajun accent helps to soothe James a bit, but not much. They sit in silence after Violet's picture disappears from the sky for a few minutes.
"Nine of us are left," Declan says, breaking the silence. "Nine."
"We've almost made it into the top eight," James says. Normally this would be good news, but James doesn't care. Violet isn't here with him.
"Almost," Declan sighs, sitting up in the cave. "Kristina's still out there. I wonder if she's okay."
James is conflicted on what to say next. On the one hand, he wants to tell him to shut up because his district partner died just an hour ago, but the other part of him wants to reassure him that Kristina is probably okay. Eventually, the latter side of him wins, and he tells Declan that Kristina is probably doing alright for herself. She's not dumb.
"I hope she lives a bit longer," Declan says. After a pause, he mutters, "Both our friends from District 12 are dead."
"It's my fault Amelia died," James replies, remembering that first night in the arena, hiding in the tree with Violet. "I was hiding in a tree, with Violet, on the first night when Oxford chased her into the tree. He laughed in her face and then killed her."
Declan raises his eyebrows, and then he furrows them and frowns. "Romeo's dead, too. My fault."
"It's not," James says. "It's nobody's fault." Except the Capitol's.
"It is," Declan says, his voice full of sorrow. "That girl from 2, Ontario I think, was guarding the supplies. My dumb ass thought I could take her. I couldn't." Declan rolls up his sleeve to show his bicep, covered in a bandage. "I passed by Romeo, he was in a tree I think, and he started throwing rocks at her. It...it stopped her long enough to let me get away."
"That's how he died?" James asks.
Declan nods. "Yeah. I should've helped. I could've saved him."
"He could've let you die, but didn't," James says. "It would've been a waste if you went back and Ontario hurt you fatally. Romeo was from 12, and I didn't think he had any resemblance of courage at first." James thinks of what to say next. The people in District 12 are certainly watching him. "During training, though, turns out he did have some gall to him. I figured he died fighting, but didn't know he saved you."
"He did," Declan says. "He saved me and I would've died if he hadn't. Romeo was a hero and he deserved so much better."
"Then let's win it," James responds. "For him. For Amelia. For Violet. And let's donate part of our earnings to their families."
"It's a deal," Declan says. After a moment, he says, "You should sleep."
"I can take first watch," James dryly insists.
"Yeah, but you won't," Declan says. "You just lost your best friend today. You need some rest."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," Declan replies. "Now go sleep."
James nods, slinking back to the corner of the cave and snuggling into a corner. His windbreaker as his blanket, James feels quite snug in the cave, and for a few minutes his brain allows him not to blame himself for Violet's death. For a few minutes only.
James fades into the welcoming grasp of sleep with Iris' necklace clutched in his palm.
.
.
That night, James has a pleasant dream. Instead of dreaming about Violet, though, James dreams about the first time he met Grant.
James was in the fifth grade, in his third year of football, and he'd been forced to run almost eight miles without stopping, in full football gear. Almost a quarter of the team dropped out due to exhaustion or due to heat stroke. By the end, James was drenched in sweat, his breathing was ragged, and his skin had turned a shade red.
Grant, who'd also made it through the grueling afternoon, was vaguely aware of James. The same was true for James himself; He vaguely knew of Grant Vocatus, left guard for the District 7 Paladins, but hadn't said much to him other than a greeting in the hallway.
James was entering the locker room when he saw Grant, standing outside the locker room, already dressed in his school clothes, a duffel bag by his side. James shrugged as Grant started talking to Edsel Coy, their wide receiver, and entered the locker room. After changing, he'd forgotten about Grant and opened up the locker room door only for Grant to collapse backwards into the locker room.
Grant had been leaning against the door, so when James pulled it open, he fell backwards.
Grant crashed to the ground, quickly getting to his feet. His face was laced with confusion and a tinge of annoyance, and then he locked eyes with James. The two didn't say anything for a second, before they burst out laughing.
From that moment on, James Henderson and Grant Vocatus were inseparable.
.
.
For the entire day, James sits in the cave.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Barely blinking.
Barely breathing.
Declan sits, across from the cave, his bow against the wall and his kukri in his sheath. James notices when he wakes up that his weapons were moved away from him. Two hatchets. Violet's knife. Well, one of the hatchets was actually Caesar's.
He won't be needing it anymore, James thinks. Because you killed him. You monster.
When James notices the relocation of his weapons, he chuckles a cold, cruel chuckle to himself. "Think I'm gonna off myself?"
"I'm just making sure," Declan says quietly.
"You could kill me," James says. "Kill me right here." That's no way for a tribute to be talking. Such words would jeopardize his chances of a sponsor, but he doesn't care.
Declan shakes his head. "But I won't do that. By the end of next week, you or me or both of us will be gone. If I have to kill you, I'm not going to do it here."
"Might as well," James grumbles. "Get it over with."
Declan shakes his head again. "I won't."
And they don't speak for the rest of the day.
By day's end, nobody has died. Declan, munching on a can of peaches, motions for James to eat, and judging by the look on his face when James reaches over and opens a can of chicken noodle soup, he's nothing short of surprised. The soup feels cold in James' mouth. Two murderers eating the food of two murderers. The irony of it all amuses James, even if just a bit.
After the anthem plays, Declan drags over the bush and fallen tree this time, shrouding them in safety. All he says is, "sleep," and that's all James needs.
Just like last night, he clutches the necklace in his hand. He whispers apologies to the necklace, to Iris, until he falls into a dreamless sleep.
When he awakes, he feels better. His body is still slow, sluggish from Violet's death, but the horrific depression he was locked in yesterday. He remembers his mother, bedridden, barely responding to anything before finally killing himself. Once the image of his mother's grave pops into his head, James forces himself to eat a pack of matzo crackers, washing it down with water. Declan notices this, and smiles a small smile to himself.
"Let's...let's go out," James suggests. "Stretch our legs. Kill a rabbit or...or something." His voice is heavy, but he's speaking.
Declan nods, and kicks over his weapons. "Good idea. Crowd's gonna be gettin' bored anyway."
Together, the two of them push aside their cover, and step out into the morning. James doesn't know what day it is. Six? Seven? ignores it. Nine of them remain. Lepus, Pollish, Kaylana, Mick, James, Declan, Kristina, and Oxford and Michaela.
They venture further out from their shelter, a mile maybe, towards the Cornucopia, and then Declan suggests lighting a fire.
"A fire?" James asks. "Why?"
"I've been thinking," Declan starts. "We're six days in, and nine of us remain. The way I see it, the nine survivors probably have some sort of food stash going on, so the only thing that can kill them is either mutts or tributes, not like, natural causes. Right?"
"Right," James says.
"So if we light a big-ass bonfire," Declan says, a glint in his eye, "Then they'll come right for us."
James hesitates. "What if the Careers come?"
Declan shrugs. "So what? Pollish is the only real threat. You cut Lepus real bad. She could be dying right now. Everyone else is scattered."
"Oxford and Michaela?"
"Oxford is jacked," Declan replies. "You don't think Michaela will actually trust him?"
"I dunno," James responds. "Maybe. I'd stay with him until the numbers were looking slim, then I'd leave."
"Well the numbers are looking slim," Declan says. "One more dies, they'll start interviewing our families. I'd run away with Oxford if I had to."
James considers this a moment. Oxford's strong, and Michaela isn't weak, either, but with their weapons, at least one of them would be dead before they even got close. He looks at Declan. "How many arrows do you have?"
"Five," Declan replies, the quiver hanging behind his waist. "I can shoot straight. Shot Olivia in the neck when she was running." His face winces with guilt for a moment. "I could probably hit at least one of 'em."
"Then let's build a fire," James says. Declan grins, and they set to work.
They sit in a fairly flat area of the woods, with very few shrubs and only a few small trees. Tall oaks, dozens of feet high, tower around them, and are unable to be cut quickly with just a hatchet, so James tosses Declan one of his hatchets and they set to work cutting the smaller trees.
It's grueling work, and after only a few minutes his biceps begin to ache. James tells himself to man up and keeps hacking at the tree.
Within the hour, they have an impressive stash collected, and pile it up. Declan looks at the pile. "Do we have matches?"
James curses to himself and then says, "No. You know how to start a fire?"
"Nope," Declan replies. "You?"
James snorts. "Absolutely not."
Declan's brow furrows before his eyes light up. The boy digs into his pocket and retrieves a firestriker. "Oh! I found this back at the cave. Figured it was yours."
James eyes the firestriker for a moment. It was in Amelia's pack, and Violet tossed it to the cave floor when they first arrived. He decides to ignore the history of the object and just says, "Oh, yeah, that's mine. Came in my pack." A lie, but better than explaining that he looted it from a dead girl.
Declan crouches down to light the fire, and then he pauses. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" James asks, and then he hears what Declan's referring to.
Scurrying. It sounds like something, a dog maybe, scurrying through the grass. Multiple dogs, based on the amount of noise it's generating. Declan stands up, and retrieves his bow, notching an arrow. "It's loud." He tosses James' hatchet to him. James catches it, and pulls out his second hatchet.
He's right. It's getting closer. Louder. James feels his grip on the hatchets tighten. "What the hell is it?"
"I dunno, but it's coming right at us," Declan says, pulling the arrow all the way back. "Be ready."
And then James sees it, and his heart plummets.
Bugs, huge bugs the size of dogs, are scurrying towards them. Beetles and cockroaches and spiders. Travelling right at them, clearly intending to attack.
James feels his throat tighten.
The Gamemakers have released their first mutts.
Hey! I'm still alive! This chapter's a bit short, too, but Chapter 11 will be much longer and odds are it'll involve most of James' time in the arena. I already have the ending fully plotted out, so all I need to do is write it out. I omitted lengthy author notes in chapters eight and nine to elicit some form of shock factor. Why kill a little girl and then have the author talking about it right after?
Anyway, this chapter is sort of focused on how James recovers. Obviously, he'll still be scarred, like all of the victors, but he'll try to pull it together during the rest of the Games. The first mutts, giant bugs, have been released, too. When I first wrote this story, I wanted there to be some form of giant bugs attacking them. Why, I don't know; I think I watched a movie where they fought giant bugs recently and that inspired me. Anyway, that's that, and I'll see you all next chapter!
-C