I return with another chapter that doesn't have a whole lot of action... that will be changing VERY soon. :) Still, I love this chapter a lot, finally we get to see some real interaction between Annie and Otto! Hope you enjoy! I was hoping to hit fifty reviews before I updated, but... forty-nine is close enough.
On a side note, I found out that this story is on forty-one people's favorites lists. FORTY-ONE. Not to complain, because I am SOOOOO thankful, but... WHERE ARE YOU ALL AT? If you read, please review!
Day 4… 7:32 AM
One hundred and three degrees.
That's what the reading from Otto's tracking device displayed for his body temperature this morning. One hundred and three degrees, and it's still climbing.
There's no point to screaming at the screen now, to saying I told you so, to breathing murderous threats over his head. Because he's reached the end of the line entirely without my help. I spent most of the night flipping through my catalogue for a remedy, but I have no idea what's wrong with Otto, much less how to help him. Mags always handled wilderness survival and health supplies. When it comes to this sort of stuff, I'm pretty useless. It's just about time to pack up and head home, because once Otto goes, Annie won't be far behind. I've accepted that, haven't I?
Failure. Maybe my Capitol fans can forgive me one more time. But District Four will never be able to. At least not the parents. The parents never let go. And then there's President Snow and his gigantic generous non-refundable check. For the first time in his life, he will lose the Games, too. And I will pay for it. Not me physically, because he needs me to carry on my work in the Capitol. But he doesn't need my old friends, my neighbors, my home in Four, the last traces of my dysfunctional family. And he definitely doesn't need his people's tax dollars sustaining Mags in the hospital.
Now I've failed her too.
My tributes were too angry to speak to each last night, so they never worked out their night watching schedule. They both ended up falling asleep, although Otto is restless with fever. He's tossing and turning and moaning, obviously in quite a bit of pain. But Annie lies still and quiet in her sleeping bag a few yards away, chest rising and falling peacefully.
She stirs just as dawn breaks through the trees, rolls over and stretches before an explosive cough from Otto startles her wide awake. Frowning, she sneaks to his side and studies his face in the dim light. The beginnings of red spots pepper his cheeks and neck. To my surprise, she just rolls her eyes.
Well, I knew she wasn't crazy about him, but I expected a little more concern than that. Yes, he's treated her poorly, but he also saved her life. Seems like that would count for something, especially for a naturally compassionate person like Annie. And even if she really doesn't care about him, I would think she would be panicking for herself, because we all know now just how contagious Otto is.
But she just calmly stands up and digs through her first aid kit. Pulling out a strip of bandages, she hurries down to the stream and wets them. Otto hears her returning and makes an effort to sit up on his elbows. He groans as the fog of sleep leaves his mind and the full force of the sickness hits him. She doesn't say a word, just gently presses the cloth against his face. He coughs again, painfully, and reaches out to grab her hand.
"Annie," he murmurs. "If I don't make it-"
"Shhh…" Her face immediately softens. "Oh, Otto, don't say that…"
"I want you to win," he whispers. "For Four. Please. Promise you'll try."
Annie shakes her head. "Otto, you're not going to die," she says, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't try to sugarcoat it!" he moans. "Annie, you were right. You were right about everything and now I'm gonna-"
"No, you really aren't going to die," Annie insists. There's a note of exasperation creeping into her voice.
He speaks in such a low whisper that she has to lean in close to hear. "Tell my family… that I love them," he says miserably, sore throat cracking. And his eyelids slowly sink shut, his breathing quiets.
Annie just stays there, knelt beside him as he drifts away, and starts twiddling her thumbs absently. She picks at a hangnail. He's dying, and she's cold. Absolutely emotionless. The whole time, she's opening her mouth and then shutting it again, as if debating whether or not to say something.
"Otto, you have the measles," she finally blurts out.
And just like that, his eyes fly open again. He's returned from the jaws of death in an instant. "What?" he mutters. "Isn't that a kid's thing?"
"Generally speaking," she admits, trying to hide her amusement.
"You're joking!" he cries, so loudly he brings on another coughing fit.
She flinches at his outburst. "I have three little brothers, Otto, I think I know the measles when I see them."
He moans and drops her hand like it's burning him, pulls the sleeping bag up over his head. "Can I get you anything?" she leans over and asks the lump in the fabric.
"No!" he snaps, obviously humiliated. "I'm fine!"
She shrugs and backs off. "I'm sorry. I thought you would want to know that you weren't dying."
Measles, of all things. Extremely dangerous to a starving kid from Eight, but for a strong, healthy Career like Otto, it's not life-threatening. I spend a moment relishing my relief before I start screaming and cursing at him. It's his own fault for being such an idiot and refusing to listen to Annie, who is clearly the brains of this partnership. And now my tributes' defense is compromised. If the Careers showed up, no, if anyone, even the little girl from Three, showed up, they're sitting ducks. Otto clutches his spear close to his side, but he can't fight. He can barely sit up without fighting off dizziness.
He may have been overdramatic this morning, but the kid really is sick. Measles is like a lot of childhood ailments, the older you are when you get it, the worse your case is going to be. Otto's clearly miserable but denies it and won't let Annie do anything for him. He keeps shooting her angry looks, as if he resents the fact that she spoiled his perfect death scene. She takes it all in stride, polishing her knives on the other side of the clearing, allowing him a few hours to nurse his wounded pride in peace. I don't really know whether I should be doing something to help. Annie seems to sense this, because after a while she begins to recite a few random facts about the measles.
"There's no medicine that cures it. We just have to wait it out. Don't worry about me, I had it as a kid. You can't get it twice. The fever doesn't usually last more than a few days." Otto's obviously not paying attention, so I think she's talking for my benefit.
"If the cough gets really bad, it'd be nice to have a suppressant…" She confirms my suspicions and glances upward once, raising her eyebrows. "Are you catching all this, Finnick?"
"You betcha," I answer.
"You might want to write it down." There's the old teasing edge returning in her voice.
I can't help laughing a little as I pull a sponsor's check out of the safety box and jot a few notes on the back of it. I've never had a tribute who carried on a "conversation" with me in the arena, but this is the sort of thing the audience eats up. Then I think of my last real conversations with Annie, in training, before the interview, in the penthouse the morning the Games started, and I have to swallow all of those feelings for her that I meant to get rid of a long time ago.
"I'm going down to the stream. I'll bring you a fish," Annie says after a long silence, to Otto this time. "Will you be okay by yourself?"
"Of course," he snaps.
"I'll just be a few yards away, in hearing range. Holler if there's any trouble. Don't fall asleep," she continues, gathering up the ropes and nets she made the other day.
He sneers at her. "I'll be fine, Annie, just go!"
She reluctantly leaves him and heads down to the bank, hiking her backpack up over her shoulder. It's not an ideal situation, but if they want to eat today without depleting our emergency sponsor funds, it's necessary. I can't help noticing as Annie disappears over the incline that she's still walking slowly, favoring her right foot. As soon as she's out of sight, Otto slumps back against a tree trunk and moans deeply. He quickly busies himself with fingering the end of his spear, trying to keep his eyes open. Shivering in spite of the humid air.
What a great situation we find ourselves in. Both of my tributes are debilitated in some way, and on top of that, they're still wary and distrustful of one another. This wonderful team I've constructed has quickly fallen into ruin.
Failure.
Well, we haven't failed quite yet.
I keep an eye on the other tributes on the alternating live feed. Matilda is directing Careers in chopping down the trees in the forest around her. She actually has these kids willingly hauling lumber, they are so convinced of the success of whatever plan she's hatched.
Their mentors are really tag-teaming now. They've all gone off to some fancy restaurant to eat lunch with sponsors, leaving Johanna and one of One's mentors, Cashmere, dutifully watching the screens. It feels so empty in the Mentor's Mansion now. Besides the two of them and me, the only ones that remain are Chaff and Seeder from Eleven, Haymitch from Twelve, and the fidgety, brilliant lunatic from Three whose name I finally catch. Beetee. It's only Day Four, but we're down to nine tributes. At the rate they're finding one another, though, we'll be here forever.
Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, there's an encounter. The boy from Twelve is making his way through a dense patch of woods. I'm surprised that he's hung on this long, considering Haymitch spends about half of each day sleeping and the other half guzzling white liquor out of his imported glass bottles. But the boy is obviously relying on something besides sponsor gifts or brute strength, because he doesn't have either. He's armed with nothing but a blunt tree limb when he catches sight of her dark form rustling the branches. The girl from Eleven, tall, slender, graceful. He stops short and calls out to her, waving his club threateningly. She answers back in a low whistle, a sort of bird call, and then hops to the ground a few feet away from him. They hold a whispered conversation that I don't catch a word of. I'm not sure what the point is. They don't seem to form an alliance, seeing as they never relax their defensive stances. The boy never lowers his club, the girl holds a little pipe up to her lips like a blowgun. But they never fight, either. They hurriedly part ways as if they've never seen each other.
I can almost hear the Gamemakers cursing under their breaths. The one opportunity for battle today has been blown. It's time for them to start flipping switches. I hold my breath.
They start on the other side of the arena, where the girl from Three has piled up stones three feet high around a vent in the volcano. I sure don't understand her brilliant plan for detonating this ticking time bomb of a landmark, but it requires her to search an ever-widening circle of ground for more smooth rocks for her wall. She's gathered up an armful of blacks ones streaked with purple and blue and is headed back toward the volcano when it happens. The dark coloring of the rocks makes it difficult to see the cracks appearing, but the little flash of a razor sharp claw in the sunlight is harder to miss. Then the glint of a tooth, the flick of a little reptilian tail, and the girl is screaming and dropping her load of stones, ripping the first lizard out of her forearm and flinging it away into the brush.
It's too late. The other "stones" have shattered on the gravelly ground and a dozen of the tiny monsters chase her. Dinosaurs is the word I register for them, although the creature in my mind is much larger and was considered ancient even in ancient North America. These things are so little and fast that they overtake her in a matter of seconds with teeth and claws bared. All of Panem watches the first trickles of red appear on her legs and arms.
I know right away that this will not be a quick death. But the cruel, sick, dominant part of me hopes that it will at least serve as a distraction from Annie and Otto.
Leave my tributes alone, I silently will the Gamemakers.I've already seen them suffer more than enough for one day. Otto's fever spikes again and he's bent over hacking up his lungs for most of the afternoon. Annie returns with fresh fish and offers him some, but he has no appetite to speak of. She limps away in search of another hot spring to cook her catch.
She's only gone for a couple of minutes before he's coughing again, a dry, barking sound that just gets louder and longer with each breath. Otto eyes the canteen that Annie left for him beside the fire pit, maybe ten feet away, and reaches up to grab a tree branch. He hoists himself to his feet and takes a few shaky steps before he stops and doubles over at the waist in another spastic fit of coughing. Reflexive tears squeeze out of the corners of his eyes.
Annie hears and hurries back into the clearing, and the worry is evident on her face when she sees him wobbling back to the tree trunk for support. "What are you doing? Sit down!" She grabs his arm and helps him over to his sleeping bag, but I can still see the effort he's making not to lean on her. He slides to the ground and tries to stifle the tickle in his chest.
"What's going on?" Annie demands.
"Water," Otto finally croaks, refusing to meet her eye. "I just wanted water."
Annie's face softens and she quickly grabs the canteen for him. He chokes down half the contents and then thrusts it back into her hands without ever lifting his gaze off the ground.
What a role reversal this must be for him. To be the weak one for a change. Annie sinks down beside him. "How do you feel?"
"Worse," he admits, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.
She studies him for a moment, taking in the blotchy rash that has spread over his face and neck and started to peek out from beneath his shirt sleeves. "Yeah, you look worse." She reaches out and presses her palm to his forehead. He gives her a dark look but apparently can't manage to resist any more than that.
Her low whistle doesn't bode well. "You're hot."
He quirks an eyebrow at her mischievously. "Thanks," he rasps.
I hate it when he tries to sound like me.
"You should have said something," she says with a little shake of her head. She grabs the first aid kit and digs around for a bottle of fever pills. Of course, she had them the whole time, if he'd only let on that he needed them so badly.
"Just rest," Annie tells him. "I'll keep watch."
He swallows the medicine and lays down hesitantly at her insistence. But he doesn't sleep. He just watches her for several long minutes. To shut his eyes now would be to place his life in her hands. Those nervous hands that fidget anxiously without anything to occupy them.
He just watches as she grabs a rock and starts sharpening her knives.
She could kill him now, if she wanted to. Otto and I both know it. But she won't. And I see in his eyes that this is the most humiliating thing of all.
It stinks to be Otto, doesn't it? Really enjoyed writing his embarrassing near-death scene... The real one... not looking forward to quite so much...
Enjoy, my pretties! Hoping all forty-one of you will review! ;)