Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.
Life Through Sea Green Eyes
Chapter Eleven
It's dark when my eyes open, so I naturally assume it's still night time. But then I peer out through my branch door, and I see that the sun is high in the sky. The cave is just very good at blocking ambient light. I guess that it must be around noon. What day am I on now? Four? Six? I can't keep track, so I stop trying.
My arm feels a thousand times better. The bone must have re-set itself sometime during the night – I can move my arm again without blacking out – but the muscles must still be knitting back together because they ache terribly. Knitting reminds me of Mags, and then I can't stop thinking about those addicting sugar cubes she never seems to go anywhere without.
Reminisce later, I tell myself sternly. I consider heading back out into the woods, now that my arm is relatively healed, but I missed Templesmith's last two announcements so I don't know who's left to track down. I'm still feeling exhausted, though, so in the end I lie back down and go to sleep.
I wake up the next day, just in time for Templesmith's morning announcement. He says that a girl from District 11 is dead, then tells us that there will be a feast at the cornucopia at sundown. This means that there are very few of us left, because the Gamemakers are trying to herd us together – could it just be me, Orion, and Rock left? It wouldn't surprise me at all, and if they know I'm still alive they might still be working together.
If Templesmith's offering a feast, then it's for a good reason. Judging by the extravagance of my own gifts, I'm guessing that Orion and Rock aren't getting much for themselves. And if they lost their packs in the avalanche, they must be freezing at night – could there be some sort of heater at the cornucopia, like the one I have? But that still gives me no reason to go.
I hear something swooshing through the air outside my cave, and then a heavy plunk as it hits the hard ground. Curious – what could Mags possibly be planning? – I crawl out, noting as I do that my left arm is more or less completely healed. Amazing, this Capitol medicine. If only they made it available to the Districts, rather than hoarding it all for themselves. Maybe mother wouldn't have needed to die.
I force the depressing thoughts away and focus on the silver package. It's long and thin, except for one end that's wide and flat. I get an inkling of an idea, and soon I'm proved right. I hold the gift up in the air, admiring its shiny silver coating and deadly steel tips. Mags has sent me a trident – without a doubt the most expensive gift anyone has ever received in the arena. But what does she expect me to do with it?
The answer comes a moment later. Kill Orion and Rock with it, of course. And I even know where they're going to be – the cornucopia, at sunset. Templesmith's feast isn't a feast at all – it's a death trap. And if I pull this off right, Orion and Rock will be dead by nightfall, and I will be the victor.
But first to give thanks where thanks is due. I heft the trident up to the sky and give the Capitol audience the most brilliant smile I can muster. You won't regret this, my eyes say, and I don't doubt that they can hear me even if I've spoken no words.
The next order of business is to get a net of some kind. Spearing sharks is a lot easier if they can't move. I find some serviceable vines that aren't nearly as good as a decent length of rope, but I think that they should work. They're frozen solid, but I drape them over my little heater and they warm up pretty quickly. My morning, and most of the afternoon, is spent weaving dozens of lengths of vine into a large net – six by six feet, big enough to trap even a kid as huge as Rock.
Sundown is approaching, though, so I head in the direction of the mountains, which I can just make out over the treeline. It's not nearly as accurate as using a compass, but I know that the cornucopia is in between the trees and the mountains, so it seems as good a plan as any.
The sun is almost set now, and the cornucopia is in sight. There are already figures approaching the horn – but there are more than two. I can make out Orion and Rock coming from the mountains, a scrawny girl dashing in from the woods a few hundred yards away from me, and a tall, gangly boy wielding a scimitar coming in from the cliff.
This is obviously supposed to be the end of the 65th Hunger Games, and I decide to oblige my captivated audience. They gave me this magnificent trident, after all – they must want to see me use it. Maybe someone leaked my training tape.
I decide to take out the girl first. As I converge toward her, she glances at me but doesn't seem particularly frightened. I realize why a second later – she's one of the girls I made sure to smile at during training. She must not understand that I'm in it to win – maybe she can't comprehend that someone who looks so good could do something so bad as kill an unarmed girl. Because I can't see any sign of weaponry on her.
But this is the end, and I don't have time for mercy. They're sharks, I remind myself, and with a grunt I fling my makeshift net toward her. The girl goes down in a heap, struggling to find a way to pull the net off of her. Then I see her pull a dagger from her belt and start to hack at the strands. Her escape attempt is short-lived – I let the trident fly, and it goes straight through her neck. A cannon shot rings out.
Orion and Rock are at the cornucopia now, and they seem to be having a standoff with the gangly kid carrying the scimitar. None of them seem to have noticed me, or my little altercation with the girl I just killed. They must have decided that scimitar boy is a viable threat, because they keeping muttering to each other and keep their distance from him.
I decide to break the stalemate. I pull the now-bloody trident from the girl's corpse and jog up to scimitar boy's side, stopping a few yards away from him. "How's it going?" I say, as if I was running into him in the school hallways and just making polite conversation.
He half-turns to me, and when he sees who I am, his face relaxes into a smile. "Finnick," he says, and the scimitar lowers half a foot. My amiability in the training room paid off, just as I hoped it would. And now to take advantage of his naivety by sending him home in a body bag.
"Never trust a pretty face," I tell him, and then throw the trident. The impact of the blow takes him clear off his feet, and he's dead before he hits the ground. I pull the trident from his chest with a sickening slurp as another cannon shot rings out.
Orion and Rock are sizing me up, and for once they actually look nervous. I realize how I must look to them – carrying an insanely expensive weapon that could only have been sent to me as a gift, stained with the blood of my fellow tributes, rosy-cheeked, well-fed, and ready to do battle. Whereas Orion and Rock have definitely run into some troubles – the bloody rips in their suits suggest mutts, and Orion is breathing so harshly that his lungs might be damaged.
"So you're the one to beat," Rock says, eyeing me up and down. "Gotta say, pretty boy, I never would have guessed it would be you."
I shrug nonchalantly, because I know the Capitol will get a laugh out of it. Since they've obviously picked me to win the day, I might as well give them what they paid for. Not that I give a damn if they enjoy themselves or not, but I'll be spending the rest of my life among them – best to start off in their good books, especially if I plan on eventually bringing their entire, tyrannical society down on their cosmetically-altered heads.
"I never would have guessed it either," I say, rotating the trident so its three metal prongs gleam in the fading light of the sunset. "But apparently someone out there wants me alive."
"Nice fork," Orion rasps, then doubles over, coughing up blood. Rock gives him a disgusted look, and I can tell that he's contemplating killing him while Orion is completely helpless. It would be the smart thing to do, considering there's only three of us left, but I think he knows that if he takes his eyes off me for even a second, he'll have a trident imbedded in his chest.
Rock sneers at me. "What happened to Gemma? You stick her with that thing too?" His eyes widen maliciously. "Or did you stick her with something else first?"
Something in my mind snaps. The hand holding my net thrusts forward of its own accord, crashing down on the surprised heads of Orion and Rock. Orion starts coughing again, but Rock abandons his flail and digs a dagger out of his boot to saw through the vines. While he's occupied, I grab a knife from my belt and chuck it at Orion's hacking form. My aim is true – although it's difficult to miss a stationary target – and Orion goes down. The cannon fires a few seconds later.
But this has given Rock the time to free himself from the net. We square off against each other, circling, probing, trying to find each other's weakness. I have my trident, and he his flail – right now, it's hard to say who will win this. Then my eyes drift over to the cornucopia where, sure enough, a small electric heater is perched on a glass table.
My lips curve into a smirk. "A heater?" I say. "There must have been a couple of chilly nights."
"We managed," Rock grunts.
We continue to circle each other. "Really?" I say, smile widening. "They say that body heat is a good way to keep warm, but sex is even better. Did you two start rutting like hogs right away, or did you wait until Orion was injured so he couldn't fight you off?"
Rock loses it. Just like his taunt made me crazy not a few minutes earlier, I too manage to strike at whatever tenuous grip he still has on his sanity. But unlike him, I manage to restrain my bloodthirsty impulse, whereas Rock gives a howl of rage and lunges at me, flail swinging.
I leap backward, and the spiked ball barely misses my abdomen. It tears through my suit, though, and the cold starts to seep in. I don't look up in time, and Rock's second swing glances off shoulder. My left arm erupts in agony again, and in the part of my mind not screaming with pain I think how unlucky it is that the same arm gets hit twice. Bad luck, or fate's way of punishing me for having received so much help in the arena?
Rock comes in for a third swing, but I'm ready this time. It's all over in a second. The flail swerves toward my head and I duck down to avoid it. Rock's arms are now extended, completing the swing, and I find myself with a clear shot at his torso. Sharks, I hear my father telling me. They're all sharks. And then I thrust the trident upward.
