Chapter 26.
I think one of the cruelest parts of the Hunger Games is that you don't have time to mourn or even think about what you've done. You're forced to keep moving, never questioning your decisions or sanity, because if you hesitate, you're dead.
That's how it is for Kev and I, at least. I'm drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it somehow still takes me hours to cry myself to sleep. But when I wake up, even though I'm just as exhausted as when I fell asleep, I know it's time for the fight to continue. Emotional for me—physical and mental for Kev. Bren's grip on me is as tight as ever, but his head's tipped back and there's a faint snuffling noise in the back of his throat that's not quite a snore. Janus is sitting there as well, but he doesn't notice I'm awake and I'm more than happy to leave it that way. On the screen, District 12—Devon—is trying to pull his team back into the Games.
"Come on, you two. We've got to move."
Neither of his companions wants to listen. Kev's acting like he's asleep, but I know him well enough to see he's faking. Chel, the blond girl, is sitting up, but her head's between her knees, long hair covering her shoulders and face like a blanket. That's right. She lost someone too—Iana, that older girl who was always trying to protect her. Before Devon can start shouting, though, she lifts her head and dries her eyes. He rounds on Kev instead, nudges him lightly with the toe of his boot.
"Kid, I owe it to your sister to take care of you, but if you keep laying around while the water's rising. . . ."
It's only then that I realize they're next to a bank of water that certainly wasn't there before. Apparently the Gamemakers have decided to step up that flooding idea. The stream doesn't look harmful, but Devon's giving it a large berth as if he doesn't want to test it. Kev's only a foot away from the edge.
"I'll get him." Chel scrambles to her feet and, without so much as flinching, gets between Kev and the water so he won't roll in, then squats next to him and shakes his shoulder. "Anyone in there?" Her voice is softer than her words.
Kev rolls his head, squints up at her miserably. The lantern Devon's holding is dim, but Kev hasn't had that much real light in over a week and he shades his eyes, glaring as best he can at Chel. "Go away," he mumbles.
"No. We've got to get going." Kev looks like he's on the verge of turning back over, but Chel leans close and mutters: "I don't think he's going to wait for you. And your sister wanted you to stay with us."
Slowly Kev uncovers his eyes, turns his miserable look on Devon. I see my brother gather his strength, and then Chel gives him a hand and hoists him to his feet. He straightens, and in that small movement he somehow swallows his grief, the pain and loss that I know have left him feeling hollow and brittle as a dry log. They aren't gone and he's not ignoring them, he's simply setting them down until he can afford to touch them again.
"How's your arm?" he asks Devon. The older boy looks surprised at the question.
"Pretty badly gashed. But it's my left, I can manage. Yours?"
"I've got medicines that helped. You can borrow some if you—" Kev stops on the verge of pulling his backpack off again. "Oh," he says in a very small voice, "I forgot. They were in Mareen's bag."
Chel bites her lip but doesn't say anything. Devon seems to be studying Kev. "Are you going to be ok?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The words sound like what somebody in denial would say, but Kev's tone is different. He knows what happened, knows and feels it more than anyone in that arena, he just can't talk about it right now because he'd lose control. And, in the Games, control is more precious than anything.
Devon shrugs and scoops up his own pack, shoved against one wall, well out of the way of the rising water. "The passages back and to either side have been blocked. I guess that means we can only move in one direction."
It's a very subdued group. Devon's still moving, but he and Chel are obviously depressed by the loss of their ally, and even though Kev's somehow finding the strength to work through it, he's even worse off. Their only discussion is when they realize they're all but out of the food from the Cornucopia, and that's only a bit of comparing notes before they all realize there's nothing to be done but finish before they starve, shrugging, and walking on.
The main camera alternates between shots of them and shots of the Career boy, the only other competitor. They're all finding it harder and harder to wend their way through the labyrinth, with the water not only rising but destabilizing and collapsing different sections of the arena. If it wasn't for Devon's guidance, Kev and Chel would probably be dead by now; I'm surprised that District 2's boy is doing as well as he is until I remember that his district also mines. He doesn't know what he's doing as much as Devon does, but he's clearly been trained for underground survival. Even if this sort of arena isn't the norm, things like avalanches or earthquakes have often been key to winning Games—it makes sense that they'd teach him something.
For a while, I can't do much more than them, forcing myself to trudge through this, to shelve my grief and focus on the here and now. I throw myself into watching Kev, tallying up the meager supplies of water and gear he and his allies still have in my head, figuring out what's left of the arena, anything that might help me find some way to give him an edge or predict what's going to happen.
Sanderson comes back in after a little while and tells me that there's not enough sponsor money for more than a small gift anymore. I see on the table's screens that every item's cost has an incredibly long trail of zeroes behind it. Despite my ferocious focus on living in the moment, ignoring everything else, I wonder how that fits with Catiline threat to force Kev's survival. I almost ask Sanderson to use what little he has for antibiotics, but then realize that they wouldn't do much good—Kev's in the end game now, and even if he does get infected, he'll probably be either dead or declared the victor before he needs serious treatment.
After nearly two hours of watching them, though, I manage to pull back from the immediate and start to look at the bigger picture. And what I see is pretty bleak.
Kev's in a three way alliance. There are four players left. No matter which scenario I look at, that sort of setup can't lead anywhere good. If the group ends up confronting the Career, Kev's the weakest one and will probably be the first to go—Devon's twice as big as he is and seems to be functioning well despite his wound, and Chel's a head taller and uninjured. Alliances this late in the Games are rare, so it's just possible that the Gamemakers might actually take out the Career boy for the novelty of leaving only members of an alliance to battle each other, but that's hardly any better. Kev would never kill an ally, probably wouldn't even fight one, and not only are Chel and Devon bigger and strong, they're also likely to unite against him since they've been together longer. When your allies turn on you, what can you really do?
Bren stirs a bit, his arm shifting, and then he opens his eyes and looks blearily at me, sketching the arena on a pad of paper and still leaning back against his chest. "Hey," he mutters.
"Hello," I say. The close contact felt nice last night, and while he was sleeping I didn't think anything of it, but now that he's awake I hop from his lap to my own feet, take a seat in another chair. No matter how I'm changing, I'm still not about to cuddle with him as if we were together or something. "Sorry. I bet your arm's numb."
"I've had worse." He turns to the screens and his voice becomes brisk, businesslike. "What did I miss?"
I fill him in on the water and the alliance, then take a deep breath and decide to do something I've never done before. I tell him and Sanderson my worries about where the Games will go from here.
Along with not being demonstrative, I'm also not a very talkative person, and normally I'd rather cut my hand off with a rusty saw than discuss my feelings. So opening up—not just to them but, indirectly, to whatever Capitol peon is watching on the cameras—is uncomfortable to say the least. And I can't say I feel much better just because I got it out there. This situation's too desperate for those childish solutions. But once I see Bren and Sanderson both frown, both turn to the screens to evaluate my predictions, I do feel slightly more optimistic. These are two of the most brilliant people I know, and they're on Kev's side. Surely, they'll come up with something.
Sanderson turns back to me after only a minute's study. "I think you've largely got the right of it, Liv," he says, "but there are a couple of things going for Kev too. You've never lived in the real poverty a lot of the people from the districts have, but you and your father accepted patients without money, right?"
He pauses, waits for my slow nod. "And didn't they almost always pay you back in some way?"
"Yes." I remember food showing up on our doorstep, and how our firewood pile never seemed to run out, even though Dad never chopped any. Sanderson nods as if he expected it, and I realize he must have come from one of those poorer families.
"I imagine District 12's following that same sort of code with his talk about 'owing.' And since Mareen gave her life to save his, he owes her a great deal. I honestly can't see a scenario where he turns on Kev, no matter how bad it gets."
That helps some, but not a lot, and I can tell Sanderson sees it. "The Games are also notoriously unpredictable, Liv," he adds. "And, to be honest, I think the kid's smarter than any of us. Just because you don't see anything now doesn't mean he doesn't, or that there won't be an opportunity eventually."
He pauses, glances at Bren to see if he has anything to add. Bren looks at me and hesitates. "Liv," he asks, "do you want Kev to survive? Given . . . the situation? We don't have much power as it is—but even if we could change the outcome, would you want us to? Even if he lost because of it?"
I frown at him and turn to the screen to give myself time to think, watch as the group works to navigate over a river that's flowing full force. "I want him to win," I say slowly. "But it would be ideal if he could both win and survive. And Kev's the sort of person it might be possible for."
Bren nods, opens his mouth, but whatever he's planning to say is drowned out by a trumpet fanfare. Instantly all three of us twist around in our seats, staring at the screen. We know that sound—Sanderson and Bren from their own Games, me from watching it happen on TV as a kid.
There's going to be a feast.
AMES! Hold on Ames, I'm coming!
I can't say the words but I scream them in my mind as if thinking them hard enough will help her, warn her, protect her. Dannis is taller and more fit than I am, but somehow I match him stride for stride as we sprint back down the canyon with its caves. Have to get there. The gift is thrumming through my veins like blood, and for once I embrace it; I need every edge if I'm going to save her.
We round a curve and there's Garnet standing at the mouth of our cave. She looks up. Sees me with Dannis. Looks confused for half a second, then gets it.
Turns tail and runs.
I take off after her, outpacing even Dannis, but then I hear him yell: "Caldwell! Drop!" and unthinkingly obey, bruising my palms on the hard fall.
Something whistles over my head, and I look up just in time to see Garnet's knees fold. Dannis's thin javelin is lodged halfway through her gut and just like that, it's over. A hit there might take a while, but there's no way she's surviving it without medical help. No way she's still fighting.
I pick myself up from the ground and brush myself off, feeling oddly empty. Unsatisfied. I didn't do it. I didn't even get close. It feels unsporting, almost, to watch her die when I wasn't the cause of it.
Maybe that's why the gift vanishes. I don't know. All I know is that before Dannis has even reached me, my desire to make her suffer, to watch her die, evaporates and the desperation takes over. Garnet was standing at the entrance to the cave. My cave. Ames's cave.
I turn back, dashing for the crevice, shouting at the top of my lungs. "Ames! Ames, it's Livy! Come out, come on, it's alright—"
A hand reaches through the small hole, then another, and Ames pulls herself out. I nearly bowl her over as I pull to a stop, grab her, try to check her for injuries before I've even regained my balance. "She didn't catch you? Did you take any falls or hit your head or—"
"I'm fine!" Ames looks calmer than I am, truth be told, but when she sees Dannis, and Garnet just past him, her face goes pure white even with its sunburns. "Livy. . . ."
"He's on our side," I say. But remembering that Dannis is there is like a shock of cold water in a furnace. I just swore to him that Ames meant nothing to me, and here I am losing it. He's still staring at Garnet so maybe he didn't see my little performance, but the audience sure did, and it'll take some work to convince them that this was faked for Ames's benefit.
"We're going to have to take care of that girl—Garnet," I tell Ames, my voice and attitude once again all business. "You can go back in the cave or you can stay and watch."
Ames hesitates, looks at the cave, then back at Garnet. Go, I plead silently, You don't have to see this. But I have to pretend I don't care or Dannis might very easily turn on us both. And I doubt either of us would survive that.
"We're a team, aren't we?" she asks quietly, "I think that means I need to be there."
I shrug as if it doesn't matter to me and we move up to where Dannis is standing.
Garnet's not dead yet, and from the angle, I think it might be a good half an hour or so before she finally bleeds out; the spear's still stuck through her, like a skewer, and the pressure from it's actually helping to staunch the blood. But Dannis doesn't want to get close enough to give her a mercy stroke, and when I look at Garnet—not her wound, but Garnet herself—I see why. Her face is murderous.
"You betrayed me for them?" she snarls. Talking should be an ordeal for her, but she's so full of anger and adrenaline that she almost shouts the words. "You were my ally! I trusted you! And you—you—"
The laughing, devious boy I know is gone. Instead, Dannis's face is solemn, just as if he was standing at the bedside of a dying relative. There's not a hint of guilt in his face, but unlike most of the Careers—or me—there's no sign of pleasure either.
"Liv?" he asks. "How well do you throw your knives?"
I look from him to Garnet, and her face seems to morph into that other Career's. Bahari, the one whose throat I slit as much for kindness as for strategy. Can I force myself to do it again?
She tried to kill Ames.
"I'm decent," I tell him. "But not fantastic. Honestly, I'm much better with a one on one fight than throwing them."
Dannis nods. "Make sure you hit perfectly, then," he says. As if I need reminding. I position myself carefully, trying to measure the distance, the weight of the knife, the angle. Like Dannis said, I can't miss or she'll pick up the weapon and fling it back at me. I hear Ames shifting uncomfortably, standing between us but a good five feet behind so that I can't see her expression—I don't want to think how her innocent illusion of me is about to be shattered.
Garnet's watching me, eyes narrowed, body tense. "He'll come after you too, you know! It'll be you eventually—and I'll be glad! Because you'll take him down—"
As I take the blade by its tip, pull my arm back to throw, she moves.
I freeze, barely stop the knife from leaving my fingers. I expect her to duck or dodge somehow, maybe even try to stand and run, but instead she grasps the shaft of the javelin and yanks. I'm too shocked to move, can only stare as she throws her head back and screams. But she keeps tugging, and then there's this horrible ripping sound and the weapon pulls free.
Blood gushes from her stomach, but she doesn't seem to care—there's a crazed glint in her eyes, and the spear's in her hand, and she lunges to her knees, flings her arm forward. I try to throw myself in front of Ames, but it's too late to react, the spear's already flying—
Straight into Dannis's thigh.
Garnet and he fall at the exact same moment, she gasping and choking, him holding his leg. For a little while, Ames and I are so shocked that we don't move, but then Garnet goes still and the cannon shot echoes through the canyon, so loud it may as well have gone off in our ears. It's as if the sound's a signal, because we both dash towards Dannis at the exact same moment.
"We were stupid," Dannis mutters as I crouch next to him, look at the blood. "Should have expected Garnet to fight."
"We'll talk about that later," I say. "Show me your leg."
I see him pause, a slight hint of fear crossing his face as he watches me, trying to gauge the risk. I haven't been exactly trustworthy around him—always waiting until the Careers are vulnerable, when they're least expecting an attack, and then striking. But we don't have time for this.
"I have some medical training," I say impatiently. "And you don't have much of a choice except to trust me and Ames right now, do you? Unless you want to do what Garnet did and pull that thing out yourself. I wouldn't recommend it though—if it hasn't nicked your femoral yet, it probably will once you start yanking a blade around in there."
I don't wait to see what his answer is. Dannis hasn't got a choice and he knows it. Instead I turn to Ames. "Go through his pack, find a blanket or something to make bandages."
She obeys and, still not looking at his face, I turn to examine Dannis's leg, slowly stretching it out, ignoring his hisses of pain as I do. It was a clean throw. Straight through the muscle and out the other side, no nicking the bone or anything like that. And, for all my dire warnings, it doesn't seem to have hit any major blood vessels.
"You, my friend, were very lucky," I say. "Once Ames gets the bandages made, I think I can pull this out without a problem."
As my hand brushes against the shaft again, he flinches. "Are you sure we can't just leave it in there? Sounds more comfortable."
I finally glance at his face, but now there's no sign of distrust. He's that same friendly, competitive boy who allied with me against the other Careers. I return his slight smile, but when I look down my heart is pounding for some reason, and I'm starting to doubt myself.
Why am I doing this? I can kill him right here. Right now. It'd be easy. In fact I should. Dannis helped me, true, but he also just helped kill his own ally. How do I know that he won't do the same thing to me, like Garnet said? I need to take him out before he can turn on me and Ames.
I don't know the answer to my own question. I just know that I've decided, and in these Games if you look back, try to rethink things, you're dead. When Ames finishes shredding the blankets and I've cut the shaft as close to his skin as possible, prepared everything else I can think of, I tell him to brace himself, pull the thing through as carefully as if he was a patient back home.
I'm going to regret this.
Author's Note: EStrunk and reviewers both deserve extra thanks for all their wonderful comments/critiques! I got past 100 reviews after last chapter, and that made me do an excited little happy dance around my room. So guys? Thanks.
Just in case anyone's wondering about the chapter count, I've got 29 total listed, although the last one might be split and there's a side one shot I'm thinking about posting. So anywhere from 3-5 more chapters before Legacy ends. Hold on, because the road's only going to be getting bumpier from here!