A/N: GUYS GUYS GUYS. We're nearing the end so sad, but I am so excited. Read and review. Oh, and a shout out to AnneSilverfire, GoblinDreamer, DJ shmitz, effmitch, cynicz and all of my other faithful readers. I love you guys so much! & please vote on the poll on my page! Thank you!
His footsteps are sunk into the soft ground, easy to follow. If it were anyone but Micah, I'd think they were too easy to follow. But he's not the smartest tribute in the game. He's proven that to me many, many times.
Each step I take brings me closer to the end. I'm sure that once I win, my book will be closed. They can move onto the next tribute, or the next rebellion. Then I can go home, with all my winnings, and live a somewhat normal life. It sounds so nice, so perfect. Two kills to go. That's the cost of my future.
If I'm lucky I'll find twelve on my way to Micah. But I am rarely ever lucky. That much is clear to anyone who's been watching the games. I think I may have been the only one visited by their nightmares today. No screams came from the forest, and I know Micah would have screamed from a visitation like that.
The tracks are everywhere. I hike for miles, past even the range I thought Micah could have travelled in that space of time. A few times, I find spots where he circled back to a point, then continued on into the forest. For all I know, he could be hiding in the bushes around me. I shiver at the thought. It's not like he's particularly good at ambushes, but I've had a growing sense of paranoia since I entered the arena.
I'm nearing what must be the edge of the arena when I find it. It's partially buried in mud, pushed down by someone's footstep. A bright red ribbon, the kid used to tie hair back. So now I know. Micah wouldn't have made it this far into the arena. I haven't been following his footsteps. At some point, I choose the wrong set of prints and followed the girl into the forest.
And she's close. I can hear it now, the snapping of twigs ahead of me. I've been so quiet she didn't hear me, but she's not taking the same precautions. Like Micah did, the girl from twelve circles back occasionally, possibly trying to confuse me. She's headed here right now.
I could hide behind a bush and ambush her. But that wouldn't be any fun. No, I want to play with her a bit before she dies. She didn't suffer through what I just did. So I find a nice, big rock and sit on it, to wait for her arrival.
I'm leaning with my back against a tree, popping some berries into my mouth when she arrives. Twelve isn't looking at me at first, she's watching her back. For me. Funny.
"Whatcha lookin' for?" I ask her as I closely examine a ripe berry that I hold between my thumb and forefinger. She starts at the sound of my voice, and whips out a small knife. This is cute, really. In response, I pull the machete from my backpack and start to clean it on my shirt.
She doesn't do anything. Frozen. I take the opportunity to examine her. Really nothing special. All the other times I've seen her she was covered in coal dust, or had a black veil over her face. Like she was a mourner at a funeral. Well, she's on the fast track to her own funeral now. There are smears of blood all over her face. Wonder if any of it's from the boy from five.
"You know, before I kill you, I had one little question," I say as I stand up and stretch. She gives me a wary glance but doesn't say a thing. "Oh, you know. How did you kill the boy from five?" Her lips part slightly. Confusion.
"I didn't know anyone knew about that," she says. "Why do you care?" Like I want to have a nice little conversation right now. I roll my eyes.
"Two things darling," I snarl. "One: everyone watching at home and in the Capitol knows you killed him. Cameras everywhere. Two: I just want to know. Personal reasons. Got it?"
"Don't call me darling," she says, equally vicious. "My name is Serita. And I really don't want to tell you, got it? Personal reasons." She mocks me. I expected as much from her. Everyone knows that the kids from district twelve run short on manners.
"Well, the longer your story is, the longer you get to live, okay?" I smile, probably looking like a bit of a psychopath. "And I'm Kai, pleased to make your acquaintance." The cherry on top. I'm actually having fun now. Twelve thinks it over for a few minutes. After I start to clean my machete again, she nods.
"Fine. So it was the fifth day. I think." She takes in a deep breath. "Five and I had teamed up. But he was getting unhinged. Talking to himself in his sleep. He even licked a tree once. I didn't know what to do with him. There was no point in keeping him as an ally.
"So I attacked him that day. I've never killed anyone before. He was asleep under a bush, mumbling to himself. I just slit his throat. At least I meant to. But he screamed just as I was going in. I panicked and stabbed him all over the place. Happy?" I shrug.
"Oh, doesn't matter either way. That story was pretty short. Sure you're finished?" I laugh. It's not like she has any say, and she know it.
"Whole story, no lies," she says, raising her little knife. "Sure you know how to use that thing?" She gestures to my machete and smirks.
"Of course I do," I say. "Why would I carry it around if I didn't?" To display my skills, I throw the knife into the air and catch it. Twelve bursts out laughing.
"Incredible," she says between snorts of laughter. "I'm sorry I ever doubted your impressive skills. Would you like to see what I can do with my knife? Oh wait." She stops and thinks for a moment. "You'll be dead soon, so it's a moot point, isn't it?"
"Don't be so sure of yourself, Seulita," I scoff. "I've killed ten people already. Any bye the end of the day, that number will be up to twelve." Her eyes narrow and she lifts her knife threateningly.
"It's Serita." She barks. "But you won't need to remember it. Dead people have pretty bad memories, or so I hear." Oh, how witty. This girl could have a stand-up comedy show. With her charm, she could easily replace Saamir Flickerman!
"Okay Conchita." I say. "Show me what you can do. I'm sure everyone at home would love to see this." She yowls like a cat when I get her name wrong again. Then she throws her knife, and misses me by a hair. Literally. I pull away from the tree that the knife stuck into, and feel a sharp tug at my scalp. The knife pinned a strand of hair to the tree.
Serita looks shocked, frightened, but before she takes off into the forest, I stop her with my machete. I'm not actually that skilled with it. It's much harder to throw than I anticipated, and instead of hitting her back, the blade sinks into her upper thigh. She falls to the ground as blood begins to pour from the wound.
"Now that I've got your attention," I begin, acting as though this was my plan form the beginning. "I wanted to let you know a few things before I slit your throat. I hate you, even though I don't really know you. Even if is the Hunger Games, and only one person can win, you never kill an ally. Part ways when you have to. Never kill them.
"See, there's nothing I hate more. I got revenge for Lehma, and once I'm done with you, I'm going to avenge Scarlett. I guess by killing you, I'm avenging the boy from five. You should have left him there, let another tribute kill him." I crouch down next to her. Serita's trying to get up, but her harmed leg keeps failing on her.
"Can't you at least try and die with dignity?" I hiss. "You're making this too easy. It's no fun at all." My hand flicks out and I grab her by the hair. She screams out in pain. I tug at her hair, ripping chunks out. Derick used to pull my hair, but not this much. It's pleasing to see her squirm. "Would you like to say anything to the folks at home?" I ask in my most charming voice.
"Shut up," she gasps. A whimper escapes from her lips when I pull the machete out of her leg. "You're a monster. I hope you win so you can see how much everyone hates you." Enraged, I press the blade against her neck, just enough for a small trickle of blood to escape.
"You don't know anything." I growl. "I think people could understand. Only one person can live. And it's not going to be you." In one quick stroke, I pull the blade across her pale throat. The light fades from her eyes slowly. They're locked on mine.
I'm gone before the cannon blasts. Now Micah knows it's down to just me and him. He'll be running. But I'll find him. And it will be the most satisfying moment of my life when his cannon blasts, letting the world know that I am the victor, and the cowardly child has died.
Well, that makes it sound less heroic than it will be. But I know that there is at least one person in the world that will be happy for me. Who will see it my way. And that's all I need.
Actually, I don't know how the Capitol will react to me. If they're as detached as I always suspected they were, they'll see me as a television star. Like none of this was really real. Maybe I can still make a life for myself in the Capitol. After all, I'm just doing what they wanted. Who cares if the kids I killed had a great future ahead of them? We're all expendable anyways.
I take a leisurely stroll on my hint for Micah. I'm taking the exact root left from all the footprints. If I don't find Micah, the Gamemakers will push us together. Now I'll have time to plan his death in full. There's a number of ways I could do it with my impressive arsenal of weapons.
Slitting his throat seems too…practical. Plus, I want to put on a nice show for the Capitol, and I'm fast becoming known for slitting throats. At least, I think I am. Throwing a knife could have the desired effect, but the chances of missing are too high. A memory of the training center flashes into my head and I laugh out loud, like a crazy person, in the middle of the forest. The first time that I threw a knife, and missed completely. But the Gamemakers thought it was pretty impressive that I got the head of another target. Too bad there's only one target left.
I begin to whistle as I wander through the woods. It's a nice, hot day. The sun's rays are drying the muddy ground, making it much less treacherous for a hunter like me. Still as dangerous for the hunted though. Perfect.
Home is just one kill away. One death left before I can sleep in my bed again, before I can lie on the beach again. Excitement bubbles up inside me as I imagine family outings. Even the prospect of working at the hotel again cheers me up. But, no, I won't need to work once I'm free of the arena. I'll be rich. I could buy the hotel!
Maybe I'll see Georgianna again. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time. There's something terribly wrong with that woman. So obsessed with her looks and superficial things. She's probably get her…everything done right now. Hair, nails, face, you name it, and she's probably getting it perfected.
So close to the end. I can taste freedom on the lift wind that tickles my nose. All that stands in my way is a thin, angry little boy. Easy enough. I think.
Finally I find the point where the paths crossed each other, and this time I take the one that I am one hundred percent sure was Micah. The footsteps are lighter, more hurried. Running as far away from me as he could. How sweet. He thought he could avoid me forever. Even if he could the Gamemakers would bring him back into my waiting arms.
It's as good a time as any to take a break. Killing people and plotting your enemy's death can take a lot out of a person. After finding a nice, clear spring, I lie down on the soft ground. A hint of the clear blue sky is visible through the foliage. Light filters down green through the leaves. Honestly, I've never felt safer in my life. I'm more likely to be killed by Khalia at home than I am to be killed by Micah. Still I don't dare sleep. Even a stupid child like Micah can get lucky sometimes.
Instead, I start to clean my weapons. The machete got a fair amount of blood on the blade, and I'm not even sure if that was all from Serita. Using the edge of my shirt, I buff the blade. My shirt's gotten pretty bloody too, and none of it is mine. At least I don't think so. I haven't had much time to think about my own injuries.
As the Gamemakers haven't driven us together by the time I'm done cleaning the weapons, I try to clean myself us a bit. The water that washes away from my face and into the stream is dirty, with streaks of red interspersed throughout. I can feel some tender spots on my face from all my recent battles, but not enough to justify all that blood. Maybe it's all from the Justice Building and its gruesome walls. I hope so. That way I didn't know the name of the person or thing it came from.
My hair, even chopped short by Lehma, is a mess. It's composed mainly of knots the size of my fist. I pull the clumps with my fingers, trying to separate it into manageable chunks, but to no avail. However, I have full faith in my prep team. They can fix it. I want to look beautiful for the cameras.
The fire begins around four. I've been wasting my time trying to get my hair in order, and cleaning off my clothes. At first I don't even notice the absence of bird song. I don't notice the crackle of the flames, or the hiss as wood burns. It's only when a deer darts past me that I look around.
Above me, the sky has lost its beautiful blue color. Grey smoke drifts lazily past, carried away by the wind. I push myself off the ground calmly and brush the dirt from my pants. Game time.
There's no point in bringing all my weapons. After a few seconds of careful consideration, I select just one, and throw the rest behind me, into the flames. They're getting close now, but I'm not worried. There wouldn't be much sport in me dying in the flames. There's still a showdown on the agenda.
I run in front of the inferno, treating it like my cortege. When I arrive in the city, I will not be scared girl running from certain to death. I will arrive like an angel of death, and take his life easily. He will run into the city a scared little boy, and die that way.
Before I reach the city, I slow my pace. Like I'm in control of everything. Fearless. The flames, which had licked at my heels only moments before, stop at some invisible barrier that rings the city. Maybe this final showdown was planned since the beginning of the games. Who really cared who got to this point? The effect of flames climbing at the sky behind the victor would be so memorable it's nearly laughable. I mean, I can see it in my mind now, and it hasn't even happened yet!
The only drawback to the situation is that Micah has so many places to hide here. There are dozens of buildings in the city. He could be in the Justice building, or the house where Lehma and I stayed. Well, I've waited this long. Searching for him for even an hour isn't that bad.
I start with the Justice Building. It seems most logical for him to go there. The building is empty though. I search every room, every hiding place that I can find. Absolutely nothing. When I go back outside, I begin to call for him.
"Micah!" I shout to the sky. "Oh little Micah! Come out and play! It's such a nice day for it!" Hopefully I can anger him into coming out from hiding. I really am too lazy to search at this point.
Of course he doesn't come out. I move on to the next building, even searching the second floor, which is mostly rubble. Knowing him, he'd be scared to go into one of the buildings which have been mostly demolished.
"Where are you Micah?" I scream as I wander the streets of the ghost town. "What's the point of running little boy? You'll die anyway!" In response, the fire inches further into the city, taking a few of the outlying buildings with it. I listen closely for the cannon, but no sound comes except for the roaring flames.
So he's still in here, somewhere. At least I won't have to search those buildings. I'm about to enter the hat shop on the street adjacent to the Justice Building when I see him. He steps from a fancy house into the city square. Bloodied, bruised, emaciated. He's pitiful. Too easy to kill. I turn to face him, and raise my bow.