A/N: So I feel like I should probably warn you guys now, that I've developed a serious fondness for cliffhangers in the chapters that take place during the Games. Not all of them end in one, but a bunch of them do. So I'll make you guys a deal - I promise to update quickly, if you guys promise not to yell at me too much for them, okay? :)
Thank you again to everyone reading and reviewing!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Hunger Games.'
Chapter 20 - Out of the Frying Pan…
It's not long before we hear the approaching footsteps break into a run. Gale tightens his grip on his knife and I pull the string on my bow just a bit tauter.
But the attackers aren't heading towards our tree - instead we hear them come to a stop near the person who started the fire.
The firestarter is a girl, we learn, when she begins begging for her life. She must have dozed off, and now they have her surrounded. Her pleas are answered only by cruel laughter and soon even that is drowned out by her agonized screams. I cringe at the heart-wrenching sound, but force myself to remain steady. They could be coming for us next and I can't be distracted by whatever pity I might feel for this poor, dumb girl.
I run a quick inventory of the female tributes in my head, to block out the sounds of torment. (I'm sure Cato must be involved in this - he seems like the type to enjoy dragging the pain out.) The girls from 3, 6, 7, 9 and 10 are already dead. Glimmer, Clove, and the girl from 4 are probably among the torturers. Foxface, from 5, wouldn't have been foolish enough to have lit that fire; neither would Rue. That only leaves the girl from 8.
The screams cut off abruptly, and the cannon booms a moment later. She's dead now. I'm oddly relieved - no one should have to suffer the way she was.
The pack erupts again in laughter and shouts of congratulation. Someone, Glimmer I think, cries triumphantly, "Twelve down!"
Gale flinches, no doubt remembering how he had made a similar remark to me during the interviews. The two situations don't really seem comparable to me.
The voices get close enough for me to start recognizing individuals. Marvel and Cato are arguing over what direction to go next. I hope fervently that they pick one away from Gale's snares. Those are a dead giveaway that there's someone else nearby, since it's unlikely they'd think the girl from 8 who was careless enough to light a fire in the middle of the night would know how to set effective traps.
I pick out Glimmer mocking the unfortunate girl's stupidity, and even though I agree with her in principle, it still gets my hackles up to hear the callous way she speaks of the dead. She seems to be talking to Clove, who doesn't sound interested in the trash talk, but does complain about the lack of worthwhile supplies the girl had. Vultures, I think disgustedly.
My heart is in my throat as the pack comes to a stop less than 50 feet from where Gale and I are perched, just at the edge of the willow clump that, along with the lingering dark of night, is the only thing shielding us from their view. I peek quickly at Gale - he's crouched tensely, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Through the branches I can make out the odd limb here and there and I shift carefully, trying to get a good enough look to determine how many of them there are. They have flashlights and torches, which helps illuminate them. Hopefully their light isn't powerful enough - and I am well-hidden enough - to catch me in their glare.
The whole group is now arguing about which way to go. They're looking for us, I realize, when Marvel sarcastically comments that they should try "looking in the dirt; where else would a couple of Seam rats hide?"
From my current vantage point, I actually have a pretty clear shot at him, and I'm so angry that I almost take it. Gale's hand closes over my wrist as though he's read my mind, stopping me in time. If I fire I'll give away our position, and we know they outnumber us at least two-to-one.
Make that three-to-one, I discover a moment later when I'm finally able to get a good view of the group. The girl from 4 is with them as well, unsurprisingly. But I'm shocked to see Foxface, the torchlight reflecting off her bright red hair, standing amongst the Career pack.
She had always been quiet during training, watching everyone and everything with a keen, calculating gaze. However, she had also been one of the first to join our table that third day at lunch, when all of the regulars sat together, and I never saw her look at the Careers with anything but disdain. I wonder if this had been her strategy all along, or if she was only with them now as a matter of necessity, to ensure her own survival a bit longer. She seems cunning enough to have made it on her own - if anything I'd think working in the pack would be more difficult for her. There's also the question of what they're getting from her, to make it worth keeping her alive.
Coming from District 5, she can't be doing herself any favours with the audience back home. If they're anything like the people in 12, they despise the Careers for being overly vicious, arrogant, better-fed Capitol-lapdogs. Something extremely peculiar is going on here; that's the only thing I'm sure of.
I glance again at Gale and I'm sure he's seen her too, based on the way his features are twisted in confusion.
The pack stands around arguing for a couple more minutes before finally deciding on a course; one which will take them away from Gale's snares, much to my relief. They head off at a run, passing the willow clump on the opposite side from where we are situated. They're gone not a moment too soon, as the sky finally begins to lighten with the first rays of dawn.
Gale and I wait a few more minutes, making sure they aren't planning to circle back, then we retrieve our backpacks and load up our supplies. We're preparing to climb down when suddenly all the birds fall silent, just like that day in the woods when we saw the Avox girl get captured. One of the birds lets out a single low note, a warning to the others of approaching danger. I know the incoming hovercraft is not there for us, but I still feel a rush of irrational terror.
The hovercraft materializes and a set of large metal teeth drop down. They close gently around the dead girl's body, then lift her up inside. It vanishes and the birds resume singing a moment later.
I breathe deeply, steadying myself, then look over at Gale. His expression is calm, but there is a haunted look to his eyes that takes longer to fade. There are so many things we can never unsee; unhear; undo. And there will only be more before this is over.
We can't linger here any longer. "Ready?" he asks me, and I nod.
Our position among the trees, combined with our dark clothing and the black of night, will have made it difficult for the cameras to get a good shot of us. But they'll be tracking us now, and the second we hit the ground, we are guaranteed a close-up. The audience will be beside themselves, knowing that we were in the tree and only narrowly avoided a confrontation with the Careers. They will know that we now know we are being hunted by the pack. We cannot appear rattled or frightened by the near-miss; that'd make us seem weak. Instead I school my features into a calm, but determined expression. Gale does the same.
He climbs down ahead of me, taking a cautious look around before waving me down. Rather than drop right to the ground as I normally would, I pivot on a low branch, just about the same height as Gale's head and brace my hands on his shoulders. He grabs my waist and I hop lightly down as he holds me steady, then leans in for quick kiss for the cameras. I imagine the people in the Capitol, fluttering with glee at our little show.
As we step out from the cluster of trees, I can't help but glance in the direction of the spot where the girl from 8 died. Tendrils of smoke are wafting up in the air from the remains of her fire. The grass is trampled where the pack ran over it. Blood stains the ground where they tortured her. I'm glad my stomach is empty, because it turns violently at the sight, her screams echoing in my head.
Gale squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present. I turn away from the gruesome scene. Gale's looking at me sadly when I meet his gaze. I cast one last unhappy look at the murder site, wishing there was something I could do; knowing there isn't. Then I force myself to shake it off, and take Gale's hand, ready to leave it behind us.
We decide to check the snares Gale set up last night. It's a bit of a risk with the others nearby, but we saw them leave in the opposite direction, and the possibility of fresh meat is too much to pass up. All four traps are full. We end up with one squirrel and three rabbits, enough to tide us over for the day.
We have our catches cleaned and gutted before we remember that we can't possibly set a fire now. The pack is still too close, and they'd be sure to see the smoke on this sunny, cloudless day. But eating them raw isn't really an option either - if either of us got rabbit fever, we'd be sick for days. We definitely can't take that risk. Gale points out that the girl from 8's embers might still be hot enough to cook them. I don't want to go back there, but we don't have much choice, so I reluctantly agree.
It seems that the Gamemakers have some means of cleaning up the mess after a tribute dies violently, because the grass around the fire is free of blood when we return and a fresh layer of pine needles covers the area. Fortunately they haven't disturbed the remains of the fire, and the embers are indeed still hot enough. We cut up the game into small pieces so that the meat will cook faster, fashion two spits, and set them over the coals.
When the meat is ready, I insist on moving away to eat. I can't stand to be at this spot any longer. I reapply a layer of charcoal to my backpack, then we hide the evidence we were here. We head back under one of the willows to have breakfast. Gale cuts off two pieces of the plastic square in his backpack and wraps up the leftovers in them when we're done, to save for later today.
We allow ourselves a few sips of water, but not too much - we'll need it more later in the afternoon, when the sun is high in the sky and the air is at its hottest.
When we're ready to head out, we realize we have the same problem that the Career pack did - we have no idea which direction to go, other than away from the one that they did.
"We need to find water. Today," I state from where I'm sitting on a thick root of the tree we ate next to. We probably have enough to last us until tomorrow morning, assuming we don't have to go on any long runs. But if we run into the Careers or wander into some trap of the Gamemakers and have to sprint for safety we'll be out of water by tonight - assuming we survive that long, of course.
"I know," Gale replies, standing a few feet from me and surveying the area around us with his hands on his hips. He glances back at me. "Any suggestions on how to do that?"
"Water flows downhill," is all I have to offer.
He kicks a rock in a random direction, and I watch it roll down and away from us. "So does every other damn thing here," he grumbles irritably.
"Well there has to be water somewhere nearby. All the snares were full - that's too many animals in one spot to be surviving without a water source," I point out reasonably. "If we could find a trail…"
"With the stupid pine needles covering inch of the ground? Not likely," he interrupts dismissively, looking off in the distance again as though the answer will magically appear somewhere on the horizon. If only it were that easy.
"Well then what do you suggest we do?" I ask, more peevishly than I meant to. I don't have the answer any more than he does, but at least I'm trying.
"I don't know!" he huffs. "Try a rain dance?" I roll my eyes at that one, and he deflates a bit, but is still obviously frustrated. "What do you suggest we do?"
I sigh, and get off the root, striding over to stand in front of him. He looks at me in confusion as I grab onto either side of his jacket and pull him down to me. I press my mouth to his, softly at first, then more insistently, running my tongue along the seam of his lips until his mouth opens to me. I feel the tension leave his body as he sinks into the kiss, pulling me firmly against him, and for a few moments there is nothing in the world but the two of us.
Eventually I pull back and Gale looks at me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and murmurs, "What was that about?"
"It was a reminder," I answer softly. He quirks an eyebrow questioningly and I go on: "Out here the only things we can count on are our instincts and each other." Recognition flashes in his eyes, remembering his words on the roof from the morning before training started. "So forget about everything except us. Now what's your gut instinct telling you to do?"
He smirks at me for a split second and then his lips are colliding with mine, kissing me fervently. I moan as his tongue strokes mine and fist my fingers in his hair, forgetting about the cameras and the Careers and everything else except the way Gale tastes and feels.
I'm breathless when we finally separate. Gale eyes me happily me as I pull myself together, flustered but clearly pleased with himself. After I minute a manage to mutter, "I don't think your gut had much to do with that." I try to sound annoyed, but I know my pleased blush gives me away.
Gale chuckles and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I lean my head against his chest for a moment as he takes another look around. When he releases me, he inclines his head in a direction somewhere between where the pack originally approached from this morning and where we had set up the snares. "Say we try going that way?" he suggests, holding out a hand to me.
"Say we do," I agree wryly, slipping my hand in his and letting him lead the way.
As the afternoon sun beats down on us, I'm beginning to question the wisdom of my trust-our-instincts plan.
We've been walking for hours - about eight, as far as I can tell - pausing only a couple of times for short rests, and still there's been no sign of water. Just the same damn forest, with the same damn downward slope that somehow never seems to end. I'm starting to wonder if the intense heat isn't from the sun at all, but because the Gamemakers have somehow constructed the Arena to go down into the Earth's molten core.
Gale and I shoved our jackets into our backpacks hours ago, and have our pants rolled up to the knees to get some measure of relief. We're rationing our water as carefully as we can, but with this heat, we'll be out by nightfall.
We're trudging along through a cluster of trees that looks just like every other cluster of trees until it suddenly opens into a small clearing. After a few steps, I stop in my tracks.
Gale looks at me in alarm. "What? What's wrong?"
I shake my head, and inhale deeply. "Do you smell that?"
He stands still and does the same. "It smells like … flowers?" he answers hesitantly.
Gale's never been as good at recognizing plants as I am. My father had a book, that contained pictures and detailed descriptions of all types of plants - flowers, herbs, berries, shrubs, and the like. When I was young, we'd bring it to the woods with us sometimes, and he'd teach me how to recognize all kinds of different species: by sight, by touch, and by smell.
"Lilies," I correct, smiling as I look around hopefully, trying to find the source of the scent.
"Oooookay," Gale says slowly, his eyes tracking my movements curiously as I start walking quickly along the edges of the clearing. "And that's good because…?"
I find what I'm looking for about ten yards from the point where we first entered the clearing, on the opposite side. My feet sink gently into the soft ground. A couple feet further and the grass and pine needles give way to actual, honest-to-goodness mud. I push apart some tangled plants and there it is - a small pond, beautiful yellow pond lilies in bloom along the surface.
Gale approaches me, and his whole face lights up when he sees what I've revealed. "Because lilies mean water," I grin triumphantly, if unnecessarily.
Gale laughs and sweeps me up in his arms, planting a quick, victorious kiss on my mouth. Then we set to work. We finish off the rest of the water in our bottles, since we're both thirsty and can actually afford to do that now. Then we fill them with pond water and add the appropriate number of iodine drops to purify it, setting them aside to wait the necessary half hour for the iodine to do its job.
My next task is to camouflage my backpack's day-glo orange colour. I smear every inch of it with mud, and set it out in the sun to dry.
Then I wade into the water a ways to dig up the roots of some of the pond lilies - they're edible and actually don't taste terrible when roasted. Meanwhile, Gale's fashioned a spear out of a long, narrow branch and uses it to catch a few fish from the pond.
By the time we're done, the sun is hanging low in the sky. We gather our stuff and leave the clearing, going back in the direction we came from. Once we've traveled about half an hour, we build a small fire and cook the fish and roots. When we're done eating, we take care to destroy any evidence of our presence and head back towards the clearing, looking for a spot to spend the night.
We find a tightly packed copse of solid oak trees about 20 minutes from the pond on the opposite side of the clearing. They don't offer as much coverage as the willows did, but the trees grow taller and the branches are sturdier, even higher up. We settle on a thick branch about 40 feet off the ground.
We strap ourselves in, the same as last night, although this time we only bother with one of the sleeping bags on top of our legs. There are no nearby branches to hang our gear on, so instead we belt our packs into the rope around my waist, resting them on top of our legs. The bow stays in my hands, as tonight we've decided to do alternating guard shifts. Since Gale let me sleep longer than he should have this morning, I insisted on taking the first watch.
The Capitol seal appears in the sky once darkness falls, and the anthem begins to play. There is only one face to show tonight, the girl from 8, and the black of night returns quickly.
"'Night Catnip," Gale murmurs against my shoulder, then falls asleep almost instantly. It never ceases to amaze me how easily he can do that - I swear he could fall asleep in the middle of a brush fire.
A few hours later I'm forced to wonder in horror if the Capitol hasn't developed some sort of mind-reading technology and has decided to put that theory to the test, when a wall of fire suddenly lights up the night.