PART ONE: The Trident Games
The Arena - Day Five
"It's Eleanor," Spring says with some surprise. I don't know who Eleanor is; I only know the girl who emerged from the trees as the female tribute from District Eleven. She is a massive beast of a girl, taller than me and twice as broad in the shoulders. She doesn't seem to be injured, but that doesn't surprise me; there is something strangely feral about her, something that suggests she wouldn't have any trouble in a fight. Why haven't I noticed her before, when she is such a huge threat?
Because before the Games, despite her size, she looked kind.
I remember her from the training: always at the plant station, chatting animatedly with the instructor, or tying knots, or starting fires. She never once picked up a weapon. I was sure back then that if her mindset was anything like her childish, clumsy fingers and her slow, fumbled speech, she would be to afraid to even pick up a knife. There is no fear in her demeanor now as she clenches her fist around the heavy spear at her side.
Spring also picks up on this change of character. She is less surprised, more vigilant. Eleanor has spotted us, but has made no attack. Somehow, we know that this will end in a fight. Because there is only four of us left, and no one can really be trusted anymore. No alliances can be made.
"You look like you've had a rough time," Eleanor says, addressing Spring.
"You don't," Spring retorts.
"I have though," Eleanor objects solemnly. Her voice is deep and smooth, nothing like the flustered mumblings of the District Eleven girl I knew before. "You don't know how hungry I am, Spring. I haven't had anything to eat for days."
"That shouldn't be a problem for you," Spring says.
"Do you think you two were the only ones the Gamemakers were trying to move along?" Eleanor asks, taking a slow step to the side, which Spring and I mimic. "They eliminated all of the natural food supply in the swamp. I've been searching for days, with no results. You don't know how hungry I am." She eyes our packs with longing.
It's a tense moment, where I think blows are about to be exchanged. My grip tightens on my trident, slick with water and blood. The movement catches Eleanor's attention.
"Quite the expensive little gift, there," she says, nodding at my trident. She narrows her eyes at Spring. "What are you doing, hanging with a Career, Spring? You know they can't be trusted."
"I've been pretty trustworthy so far," I say, a tad offended.
Spring doesn't say anything.
"Let's take him down," Eleanor says, sneering at me. "The two of us, Spring. Let's take down the last Career. He doesn't deserve that shiny weapon. He doesn't deserve anything but death."
Spring shakes her head. "You've got it all wrong. Finnick's okay. A Pretty Boy, but he's still okay. He hasn't betrayed me yet. But you, you've had me fooled from the very beginning. I thought you were innocent."
"You thought I was stupid," Eleanor snorts. "That's why you thought you could ditch me in the middle of the swamp with no provisions. You thought that I was too stupid to find anything to survive. You had planned to let me starve to death, to get me sick from something in the water. You left me there to die, even after I saved you from the jabberjays!"
"That's not how it was," Spring says.
"It was too! You left me there to die! You ran off with my supplies!" Eleanor says, her voice rising with each word. "What were the jabberjays screaming, hm? Was that Mason's death you were hearing, Spring? Well, the Careers killed him! Your best friend! They killed him like he was nothing, and you're helping one right now!"
"Shut up!" Spring shouts, her face screwed up with pain.
And that's when I throw the trident.
Eleanor is fast. She dodges it; it sails past her head and into the water. Spring is frozen with shock, and so am I. My trident was my only weapon besides knives, and Eleanor still has the spear. With her brute strength, there's no telling how well she can throw it.
Spring gets the idea out first.
"Run!"
We wheel around and bolt in the opposite direction, towards our old island, zig-zagging as we go. I hear Eleanor growl and follow, her feet thumping heavily on the ground. The murky water of the swamp slows us down. When we're deep enough, I grab Spring and dive under, swimming as fast as I can while she tries not to drown on my back. Eleanor senses her disadvantage and finally throws the spear.
Spring screams and I feel her let go of my shoulders. I stop and clear water out of my eyes to assess the situation. The spear has sailed entirely through her left arm, leaving a ragged, gaping wound. There's no way that Spring can hold on to me with that kind of injury, which is probably exactly what Eleanor wants.
Eleanor know she's hit her mark; I hear her sloshing towards us. There's little chance that we can beat her great gape, but we have to try.
"Come on," I say holding my arms out to Spring. I know that the logical thing to do is leave her; she injured, can barely stand, and is probably going to die of blood loss if I don't do something soon. The little human part of me that is left is screaming that leaving her here is wrong. Besides Mags, she is the only friend I have ever had.
Spring doesn't have any choice by to let me carry her through the swamp, sticking close to the trees where the ground is more solid and the hanging moss provides cover. Eleanor's splashing is getting closer and closer. I don't know where to go; Spring knows this swamp better than I do, and she is almost unconscious.
I can barely breathe. My whole body is throbbing with pain, no matter how much adrenaline pumps through my blood. Spring, who was once no trouble at all, as suddenly gained fifty pounds. My skin is on fire; my shoulder smarts with every step; I can't breathe.
I come to a screeching halt, my nose inches from a strip of cloth tied to a branch. I can see Eleanor's dark silhouette emerging through the trees, getting closer and closer; there is no way that we can run around the flesh-eating bugs in time.
But perhaps I can trick her into running through them.
I quickly snatch the strip of shirt and take off into a run, staying as close to the bugs as I dare. Eleanor clambers on behind me, wheezing. She must be nearly as weak as I am. I hear her coming closer, and closer, and closer. Her breath is near. I can feel it on the nape of my neck.
A large fist hits me from behind. The air escapes my lungs, leaving me breathless. I loose my balance and fall forward, doing my best not to land on top of Spring. She groans and folds into her arm, gasping at the pain. Eleanor is looming above us, menacing despite her hacking cough.
"Get up," she says harshly to me and Spring, grabbing us by the collar of our shirts and pulling us into a standing position. Spring can't stand on her own. She lurches into me, looking pale and sweating profusely. When I touch her skin, it's cold as ice.
Eleanor observes Spring with distaste. "That spear was dipped in poison," she explains. "That's why you're like this. You're going to die, Spring, no matter what you do. Probably within the next few minutes. What do you have to say? Anything?"
Spring glares at Eleanor through clouded eyes. Her eyelids flutter closed, and her face softens into a look of the purest, sweetest sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Eleanor," she says.
"You should be," Eleanor says mercilessly. "Leaving me in the swamp to die was an underhanded, heartless thing to do. It's no better than a Career. You deserve what you're getting." She takes a spearhead from her pocket, glaring at me. "You're next, Pretty Boy."
When Spring said it, it was teasing. When Eleanor says it, it's an insult.
Spring starts shivering violently. Her face is strained and white as a sheet, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. She grips my arm tightly; her hand is clammy and cold. It's the same iron grip that Ivory had.
"I'm s-s-sorry, F-Finnick," she manages to get out. Her grip tightens even further on my arm, and she summons the last of her clarity to pierce me with her dark eyes. Her teeth are chattering too much for her to get out anything more than one word, an inaudible whisper, but it's the only thing I need to hear.
"Win."
And she hurls herself at Eleanor.
Eleanor isn't expecting it, and I imagine that Spring's pure determination alone is enough to knock them both down. They tumble over the roots, Spring thrashing and fighting with everything she has, Eleanor doing everything she can to get Spring off of her. They fall into a deep well of murky water, and immediately their splashes aren't the only ones present.
A thousand tiny ripples flicker through the water, converging on the tangled forms of Eleanor and Spring. Eleanor starts screaming, thrashing about the water wildly. Blood seeps out from behind her, where the flesh-eating bugs are entering her body. They wiggle out and around her skin like stubby black serpents, leaving tunnels in their wake. Deranged, she completely forgets Spring and tries to dislodge them, but it is too late. They are peeking out of her mouth, her nose, her ears. She drops into the water, dead or dying, as the bugs pick her bones clean.
Spring is not flailing. I hear a cannon go off, and somehow I know it's her's. I can't take my eyes off her lifeless body, even as the bugs are mutilating it so severely, even as her flesh is being ripped from her skeleton. I wish I could do something to preserve what is left of it, but I know that the risk is not worth it. Her family will not get a body to bury.
I'm not sure if the thought makes me angry or sad. For fear of the lump rising in my throat, I decide on anger. It bubbles up in me, swelling into my fists. I need to punch something. I need to hit something. Now.
The tree is a silent victim, unyielding to my furious fists. I punch it again and again, until my knuckles are stinging from the impact and blood is smeared on the bark. The last of Spring's corpse is the only witness, mocking me with empty eye sockets and a wide skull grin. I know that a hovercraft will not come; there is nothing left to take.
Eventually my anger dies and I'm left with a sense of abandonment. I slide down to the ground and clutch my head, closing my eyes against the pain - the pain of Spring's death, the pain of my own failing body, the pain of spending one more minute in these wretched Games.
And then, my eyes open. There is only one way to get out of this arena, forever. One way to make Spring's death mean something, to fulfill her last wish.
I have to kill the boy from District Six. My last enemy.
The next thing I know, I'm making my way back to the place where Spring and I took refuge from the acid rain, where Eleanor attacked us. My trident has sunken to the bottom of the swamp, but after several minutes of feeling around the mud my fingers brush against it's cool metal surface. I pull it out of the water and rinse it off. It's a symbol of power, a steely resolve that floods from my hand through my entire body.
Then I notice the strong, thin vines sweeping from tree to tree. I gather as many of them as I can and begin tying knot after knot like my life depends on it, as though I will completely fall apart if the net is not there to catch me and hold me together. I don't stop until the net is complete and my fingers are sore and stiff.
By then it is night, and the Capitol seal is blazing in the sky. I don't check to see the faces; I don't need to. I don't want to see their faces ever again. The thought makes my stomach lurch violently.
I want to start looking for the boy from Six now, but I fall right back down when I try to stand. My whole body is throbbing with severe, agonizing pain, and I can only lay there for a few minutes in anguish before I build the will to sit up again. I don't know when I've last eaten, or had anything to drink. My stomach twists again, and my mouth becomes dry.
The pack is soaked, but the packaged food is still good. I take a cautious sip of the water and sigh in relief; none of the rain has infiltrated the canteen. When my stomach is full and the water is gone, I attend to my injuries. The Capitol ointment works fairly well on the burns from the rain, so I rub it all over my body. I get rid of my shirt entirely; it's practically rags, and I'm more likely to get sponsors with my muscles exposed anyway. However, I don't feel comfortable walking around without my pants, no matter the condition, so I keep them.
My shoulder is pretty gross at this point; the acid rain did nothing to help it, and what was once just a large scab is now a huge black blister. I smother it in the last of the Capitol medicine and wrap it up tight in bandages. I wrap my arms and stomach up in bandages too, hoping to preserve the ointment for as long as possible and have some protection for my burns.
I think about hoisting myself into a tree to sleep like Spring had once suggested, but decide that it won't be possible in my condition. Besides, I know that I won't sleep very deeply; I dare Six to try and get me in my slumber. So I lay myself on the ground, using the pack as a pillow, clutching my trident in my hands like I saw Julianne do that first day. It's not so much a precaution as a comfort.
I'm bone tired. It only takes a few minutes for my eyelids to start drooping. As they do, a chilling thought runs through my head: how, exactly, has the boy from Six survived this long?
A shiver goes down my spine, and it isn't from the cold.
Recap: Finnick and the boy from Six are the last tributes that are still alive.
RIP: Spring and Eleanor.
Short but very eventful chapter. I'm aware that the time span for the Games is kind of abrupt, but I can't draw it out for much longer with only two people alive.
Questions? Comments? Concerns?
