Chapter 10
When you looked at Sheek, about six foot, wavy blonde hair, full figure, plump lips, you wouldn't see what I saw now: a killer. You wouldn't see a girl who had killed a defenseless boy without a second thought. But I did.
I was angry. Was she just being lazy? Did she simply have no desire to traipse through the forest after a boy she meant to kill? Or did she want to intimidate the rest of us? Both seemed reasonable, but wholly unnecessary.
"Why?" asked Blythe. Cleota and I nodded, we both wanted to know why as well.
"You saw how fast he was. There was a very good chance he would lose me. Not only that, if I didn't catch him, one of you would kill me, and if not you, Lex would for sure. It was safest for our group as a whole. We got lucky when we caught him the first time, and he surely wouldn't be as stupid the second time."
"Ok," I said. "At least you had a reason behind it. If you didn't, I'd probably have to kill you." The rest of the group laughed, including Sheek, but I saw the understanding in her eyes. She knew me too well to think that I was kidding.
"Well, now that the cannon has fired, and the kids tonight will be pretty jumpy, we should probably wait a while before we attack," said Cleota. "I'm guessing they're out hunting and gathering right now, but when they get back, they'll eat and probably stay up late. Once they're asleep, we'll attack from two sides. Blythe, you and Sheek go over and lay in the bushes on the far edge of their camp. Apollo, you and I will stay here. When you hear this," she did a perfect imitation of an owl hooting, "its time. Got it?"
We all nodded, and Sheek and Blythe walked a short distance, and concealed themselves in a copse of bushes. I walked all around them to make sure they couldn't be seen, and approved they're hiding spot after making a few improvements.
Cleota and I laid down side by side in a small ditch between a bush and a group of trees. It was very small, not a whole lot of room to move around in.
"Why do we have to do this?" Cleota asked.
"Do what?" I responded, not sure what she meant.
"Be in the Hunger Games? Stalk innocent kids? Kill them while they sleep? It isn't fair."
"I know it isn't. But the stalking and killing is the nature of the games. It forces us to become things we're not." I looked over and saw that her tear was streaked with silent tears.
"The whole game is unfair, some things more than others," she trailed off, and I thought that she might be hinting at something.
"Like what?" I inquired. I looked over and saw that she was staring at me. And when she saw that I was looking, she looked deep into my eyes.
There was a slight pause before she spoke. "Like the fact that I'm not supposed to love you." Before what she said had registered, she leaned over and kissed me. I leaned into her and wrapped my arms around her neck.
I felt evil. This was wrong. I shouldn't be doing this.
I didn't know how I felt about Cleota. But this was my one chance to make an infallible ally, and Cleota seemed like a perfect target. I could trust that she wouldn't kill me until she was forced to, so I knew that she would always have my back.
The same didn't hold true for me. While she was watching my back for enemies, I was watching her back for the perfect opportunity to put a knife in it. I felt terrible about it, but I knew that if I rejected her, she would only want me dead even more.
Who knew? Maybe I would keep her around for a while, but one thing was certain. I was not going to die for her.
The night passed with more passion between Cleota and I, (sorry, have to keep it K+) but nothing serious. We kissed, and I was tiring of it very quickly when Trevor and Raena returned to camp. Night had just crept up on us when we heard the anthem blaring and the picture of Art in the sky illuminated everything around us.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Raena. "Art's dead." Trevor, who hadn't been looking, turned around and saw for himself that his ally was no more.
"No wonder he didn't show last night," Trevor said calmly. "I'd bet he had either been captured or caught in something." They seemed to be sad about Art. I wondered if they considered the fact that Art had betrayed them.
As darkness fell around us, I became tenser, and I could tell from Cleota's breathing and jumpy movements that, she, too, was nervous. Eventually, Trevor went to sleep, and Raena was left to guard the camp.
Raena, who I recognized from District 7, was not heavily armed. She had a short-bladed knife that would not defend her in the slightest. She wasn't looking at us. She couldn't possibly see us until it was too late.
I caught Cleota's eye and nodded at her. She gave the signal for us to move in, and we heard the smallest of sounds that meant that our noises had registered with Blythe and Sheek. We began to crawl on our stomachs towards the camp.
When we were only a few feet from the hole, Cleota jumped to her feet and let out a scream. I, too, jumped up and charged the defenseless children.
Trevor, who had been sleeping, was up in an instant, armed with a club. He batted off Cleota's first strike with her mace, but she redirected it and it hit him in the ankle. I could tell from the odd angle it jutted out at that it was broken.
Meanwhile, Sheek was attempting to wrestle the knife out of the girls hand while trying to strangle her simultaneously. It wasn't working so well, so I decided to lend a hand.
I initially tried to hold the girl's wriggling body still, but she kicked at me so forcefully that I had to stop. I then moved to the knife. Whenever I reached in to grab the blade, she swiped at me with it. She didn't connect the first few times, but I didn't disarm her either.
The fifth time I reached in was my downfall. I lunged farther in than I had so far, daring myself to face the pain that would come. I didn't prepare myself for what would come.
As my hand soared closer and closer to her hand, the blade moved closer to mine. When the metal connected with my hand, it sliced through it, flesh, sinew, and eventually, bone. My index finger fell to the ground, a lifeless, bloody, mass.
I wasn't prepared for the pain and the anger that welled up inside me. I just wanted to cause that girl as much pain as possible.
With my left hand, I grabbed a knife from my back pocket and threw it at her. It hit her in the shoulder, though I was aiming for her neck. She grunted but didn't cease her battle with Sheek. I was about to throw another one when it became apparent that I wouldn't need to. Blythe launched an arrow into her neck, ending her life in less than five seconds.
I heard the cannon, sealing her fate: she was dead. At first, I was mad at Blythe. I was going to kill her, and she was going to hurt on the way out. I was planning on breaking just about every bone in her body before finally slitting her throat. But then, I realized that I wasn't mad at Blythe, I was grateful. She had spared me from my fate of becoming a torturer.
Still pondering this, I hadn't noticed that Cleota had met her match in Trevor. He moved his club with speed that was almost inhuman. He could never hit Cleota, and she had hit him numerous times with her mace, but he refused to be phased.
None of us stepped in to help. It was apparent that she didn't want help. She wanted this fight for herself.
Slowly, Trevor began to slow down. His movements became jerkier, and he grunted a little after each swing. Cleota had worn him down, and he was beginning to lose his strength. Finally, after slowly deteriorating, he swung his club up a moment too late.
Cleota's mace ripped through his stomach, stopping halfway through his abdomen. The blood gushed from the wound, pooling at his feet. She pulled the mace back, and he crumpled to the ground. He was emitting a horrible gurgling sound as he struggled to breathe.
I was happy to see Cleota's mace sail through his neck, finishing him off. Not because he was dead and I was that much closer to going home, but because he wouldn't have to suffer and die alone, in pain, and scared.
We looked at each other. Only Sheek and I had sustained injuries. She had been cut around her arms and shoulders. I had lost my right index finger, and the stump was still bleeding heavily.
We searched their camp, and we found a large pile of berries, half of a wild duck, already cooked, and a few potatoes. We took their food but left their weapons. We had all the clubs and knives we wanted back at camp. And the sooner we got those weapons out of the arena, the better, for there was no chance for them to be used against us.
We began the long trek back to the base camp at the edge of the rainforest. It was very late, we were bruised, scratched, bug-bitten, missing appendages, and to make things even worse, it was raining.
My finger hadn't stopped bleeding when we were nearing camp. When we saw the fire, we let out a collective breath of relief. We would be warm and out of the rain. I was extremely happy when we ran into camp and I saw the pile of supplies. I ran over to them and grabbed a first-aid box.
I tried bandage after bandage but none of them staunched the bleeding. This went on for at least an hour before Blythe finally offered up a suggestion.
"We could cauterize it," she said. This didn't appeal to me in the slightest, even if it would stop the bleeding and light-headedness.
"No way, no how," I told her. She shrugged her shoulders, and turned back to the rest of the group. My refusal at cauterization came crashing down around my feet when a silver parachute fell from the sky. It was my first gift from a sponsor. Attached to the parachute was a box of matches: a clear message from Jasper.
He was telling me what I didn't want to hear. Cauterization was my only option.
I walked over to Blythe and asked her if she would help me do the deed. She nodded, rather excited, and told me that she had done it many times before.
I walked over to the fire and sat down. I expected to find Blythe behind me, but when I turned around, she had disappeared. A few moments later, she reappeared from the rainforest with a long, thick branch in her hands.
She sat down beside me and stuck the branch into the flames. After a few minutes, she pulled out the branch. It had a small, menacing flame on the end.
"Hold out your finger," she instructed. I did as she said. She was about to administer the flame to the stump when she thought of something else. "Stay here," she told me.
She walked over to the pile of supplies and pulled out a thick blanket. She pulled a knife from her back pocket and cut a swathe of the fabric from the rest. After folding it many times over, she returned to me, and told me to put this in my mouth so I didn't scream, and so I didn't bite my tongue.
We had gathered a crowd at that time. The rest of the group was sitting around the fire, watching intently, as if I were some show. I realized then that this had to be great television in the capitol. Things like this came second only to fighting. Who wouldn't want to see a sixteen year old who had lost his finger burn the tissue to stop the bleeding?
She took the branch and slowly brought it up to my hand. I could feel the heat from a few inches away, and I was thankful that Blythe had thought of the blanket. Slowly, she took the flame and put it to my finger.
The pain was at least five times worse than the actual cutting off of the finger. It was so intense that I could only try to pull away, but, try as I might, Blythe held my hand steadfast.
She finally released my hand, and I yanked it away. The stump where my finger had been was black; however, it was no longer bleeding which was a plus.
After thoroughly soaking it in water, I went to sleep with my finger wrapped in a bandage. The pain had started to recede, but it was still tender to the touch. I was glad that Blythe had had the idea to cauterize the wound, and glad that Jasper had convinced me to do it.