Found

Holland (D8)

"Is she moving?"

"Breathing. Barely."

"Well, obviously. Should we walk away, or what?"

"Sounds good. Girls are trouble. She doesn't have any food. I checked."

Skiff is standing with his arms crossed, looking a little annoyed at our discovery. The girl from District Ten is lying in a damp, prone heap at the base of a tree. Her head and neck are mottled with ugly dark bruises. She looks very small, wearing barely any clothing, spidery blue veins showing through a membrane of skin that looks like it affords little to no protection from the world.

"She'll be dead in a few days, without supplies," I argue, with very little conviction.

"Maybe less," Skiff suggests. "So much the better. Let's not get involved. In case you hadn't noticed, unless we get some supplies of our own, we'll be joining her in the hovercraft."

"Leaving her wouldn't be right."

"Nothing about this scenario is right, Holland," says Skiff, exasperated.

"If she and that girl from your district had found you, you would have wanted them to help you."

"Why are you defending her? All she's done is to fall in a heap, and suddenly you're jumping to keep her alive."

He is growing irritated with me, and I with him.

"Well, maybe it's because she's managed to get just as far as we have. She deserves a chance, too."

"She's had a chance! And look where it got her!"

I am getting upset. My face is burning red, and my clothing feels tight. I almost want to hit him, because he is being so thick. We're all from the last four districts. We're bottom of the barrel. We have to look out for each other. We are the underdogs.

The girl takes that prime moment to open her eyes.

You always expect that when someone wakes up from a faint, or being knocked out, or whatever happened to her, it will be gradual. But, no, her eyes snap open, and she has rolled into a fighting crouch before Skiff and I have time to react.

For the first time, I notice a bloody knife clenched in her right hand.

Skiff and I take a step back, enmity forgotten. We are allies again. She is a threat. A wild animal. The look in her eyes is vaguely feral. She is cornered, in pain, and disoriented. She has a weapon. She scored about as well as the two of us.

Right now, the wrong move could get all three of us killed.

"Where is he?" she rasps. "You aren't with him, are you?"

I shoot Skiff a glance, and he shrugs.

"…hi," I stutter, the first thing that I think of. "My name is Holland. What's yours?"

Inwardly, I hit myself. The introduction is far too ingrained in me. I never expected that any other greeting would ever be called for. It seems to work, though. She has been caught off guard, and eyes me warily. Even more so than before.

"Holland…" she growls, as if she is testing its safety. "I'm District Ten to you."

Skiff doesn't introduce himself. I don't blame him.

"Ha, so… umm… would you like some water? I mean, no offense, but you don't sound too good," I blurt, my mind racing furiously. Kindness seems to disarm her. And I really want her to put down the knife.

She quivers a bit in her crouch, looking from me to Skiff. One of her legs gives in, and, startled, she hits the floor.

'Weak', Skiff's eyes say. 'Let's leave. Now. Before she gets up. You've screwed this up enough already.'

"Here," I say, ignoring him, bending down and extending what remains of my last cup of water, though a knot tightens in my stomach as I do so. Last cup of water…

After forcing herself back into a sitting position, she reluctantly takes the water, not letting go of her knife and not taking her eyes off of my face. The little brown irises dart back and forth over my expression. She takes a slow sip of water, gagging as it goes down. Her eyes water.

"Are you okay?" I ask, and Skiff rolls his eyes. When she answers, her voice is still rough, part of which I can attribute to her District Ten accent. The rest must be a result of the bruising around her throat.

"No," she says, but she leaves it at that.

"Okay, its fine if you want to, but, um, unless you're planning to kill someone, could you, um, put down the knife for a minute?"

One half of her mouth tightens in a lopsided smile as she raises her bloody right hand, knife and all. Skiff yelps and takes a further step back. She hisses- no, really, hisses- at him, and unclenches her hand with what looks like a lot of effort.

The knife doesn't fall.

"Stuck there," she explains, her voice like sandpaper. "Tell your friend to calm down."

Skiff looks more frightened than I would expect him to be, as I am usually the one labeled 'wuss' for being afraid of something innocent. District Ten is no bunny rabbit, but I don't think she's crazy. And I think she has just as much of a sense of debt as we do, probably more, than me, at least.

The water I gave her is what will, hopefully, keep me alive.

"Can we talk?" he hisses, dragging me away. "Holland, this is a bad choice. It's hard enough getting along with you all the time. I have a vote in this too, and I say we leave. Now. I'm in here because of a girl, and I will not die because of one, too!"

"Skiff, you're being absurd. She's hurt. We win points by helping her. And I don't think I can back out of this. I don't want to. It will be easier with another person."

"Easier for her to stab us in the back!"

"She won't do that. She already owes us for not killing her or walking away. We stayed."

"You think I don't understand that? Holland, I don't trust her. Please. Don't be an idiot. Just this once, be a little less… female."

I punch him in the stomach. It probably doesn't hurt him much, but the surprise is evident on his face. All of this has been building, building, building since we came to this stupid arena.

"You owe me, too, Skiff. I could have let you fall. Don't call me an idiot. If anything, stop being one yourself."

Without looking back at him, I turn around and rejoin the District Ten girl. She is picking at the congealed blood that bonds the knife to her hand, but she looks up at my approach.

"I'll kill him," she rasps. "Just as sure as he'll kill me."

"Give Skiff a chance," I say, sighing. "He's got his own problems. Will you travel with us?"

"I won't sleep while he guards."

"You have every right to be suspicious. But please, just give him a chance. You'll die without us, though you may well die with us. You have the most to gain."

She is weighing her options, giving me a cold stare.

"I was doing fine before you came."

"Auroch will come back. You've been out for at least a day, by the look of that blood. The three of us have a real chance against him, one that you don't have alone."

"I was doing fine before you came," she repeats.

"This will benefit all of us."

She looks angry at being given such a choice, and she rips the knife from her right hand with a grunt and a little gasp as some papery skin comes off with the weapon.

"You don't have a plan, do you?" she sighs, looking resigned to her fate as our ally. I smile thinly.

"No, we don't," says Skiff, walking up from behind me. He still looks resentful. "We're just walking. The Careers are faster than we are, and they'll be following us by now. We need supplies, or we'll dehydrate within a day or so. Holland gave you the last of our water."

"I think I have some sponsors," she admits reluctantly. "But I lost all my supplies back when Auroch-" She stops herself before she finishes the thought. "We can't go back for them now. I didn't kill him. He'll recover fast."

Skiff and I exchange glances.

"How far behind you was he?"

"Less than a mile. Maybe more. I don't really know. But we need to move. He got hurt worse than me, but he'll heal faster, too."

Her face is deathly grim and serious. Come to think of it, I've never seen her with any other expression. She and Skiff are two of a kind. Must be why they get along so poorly already. There's only room for one emotionally challenged ally…

"Then let's go," says Skiff, trying to regain authority.

"After you," rasps the District Ten girl.

-x

Chalice (D1)

"We need to kill him," Diele says simply. "Before he wakes up."

"I agree," says Dylan, looking warily at Auroch, spread-eagled on the ground and covered in his own blood. "It's the kind think to do, I guess."

His eyes flutter occasionally in his sleep, and I get the sense that he is waiting for one of us to step forward and try. But I don't say anything. They would think I was too weak just to end someone so obviously hurt's suffering, and they'd get rid of me… I know they don't want me with them, and it would be a very good excuse.

"D'you want to do it?" Diele asks Dylan. He shrugs.

"Be my guest. I've already got blood on my hands," he sighs. "Golden opportunity for you to join me in the murderers' club, no?"

Dylan sounds funny when he talks. Diele asked him, once, why he does but Rippel and Gull don't… didn't. It's because he's from another sector then them, and people talk differently in it. He showed her a language they speak, too. Her, not me. I am too disposable, I guess, to waste breath on.

"Okay," says Diele. She tenses her jaw, like she always does under stress, and holds her golf club like a sword.

She's extending it, about to deal a quick, killing blow to his head, when his arm shoots out and grabs hold of the club. He is too fast her to dodge a blow to the shin, and she squeaks a little bit, in pain.

I can't watch this. She crumples to her knees as her leg gives out beneath her, and Auroch, still prone, now has a height advantage, raising his arm for a killing blow. I am frozen, watching her… Diele… they would have killed me from the start without Diele. Dylan may just kill me now if she dies. Maybe she is the only thing keeping me alive…

Before I can act, though, Dylan has thrown himself over her, knocking her on her back, taking the bone-crushing hit to his lower ribcage and groaning. The club swings up again, and I can't stand it anymore.

I can't let him kill them. Either of them. He can't kill them! He can't!

My thoughts run together into a lightning-paced river of shrieking. My vision starts turning red around the edges. For years, I have watched them die, and done nothing! My brothers! My friends! I've been hiding from them!

I'm running faster than I've ever run, club raised, in an imperfect stance, and I am going to kill him!

One, two, three! With a vindictive sense of- almost enjoyment- I do it. I swing the club, I crush his skull, I do it again, and again! For my brothers! For my allies! For me!

I'm not thinking 'Die, Auroch, die!' or anything, I just want him to stop hurting them! And he won't! He won't stop! So I hit him again, and again, and again…

"Chalice!" Diele calls. "Chalice, he's dead!"

Oh, yes. There has been a cannon. And I killed him! I killed him, the monster! The one with the eleven! I've killed him! I feel… exhilarated? Terrified? Confused?

…strong?

"Are you… okay, Diele?" I ask, trying to bring myself out of the red haze. It feels wrong, suddenly. I've killed someone… Oh, God, I've killed someone…

"Broken leg," she answers. "It's Dylan I'm worried about."

I suddenly remember that I am supposed to be a healer. Someone who knows what they are doing. Someone who would never, ever kill…

He deserved it, says the vindictive part of my brain, the part that I gave in to, the part that I doubt will ever be silent again.

"What's wrong, Dylan?" I ask, keeping my voice measured. "Can you point to where it hurts?"

I lean over him, and, where he points, I roll up his shirt to take a look. Bad, definitely. At least one rib broken… whether all the way through or not, I don't know. Slowly, gently, I inch up his ribcage until I feel the break and he cries out.

"It's not a full break," I tell him. "That's good. If it breaks all the way through, it could puncture a lung, or something else vital."

The next one down is not as badly broken, but… badly enough.

"You're lucky to be muscular," I tell him. "The ribs are surrounded by muscle, and it's harder to break one on someone with more of it.

"Are you going to tape them up or something?" he sputters, looking as though it hurts him terribly to talk.

"No. Taping ribs constricts the ribcage, and it'll make it easier for you to get pneumonia. I can't help pneumonia at all, and it could cause you to break even more ribs, or more completely break the one's you've already hurt."

He nods reluctantly, which seems to hurt him as well.

"Will he be okay?" Diele asks, concerned. "Should he be able to move?"

"He can walk, but it won't be good for him. Ideally, he'd be resting for a week and on a mild training schedule for the next seven."

"I should have just killed Auroch when I had the chance. Dylan, I'm so sorry," sighs Diele, scooting next to him.

"We would have both been toast without Chalice," he says, grinning at me, wincing as he takes a breath. Not everything in his eyes is happy, though. There is a flicker of uncertainty as he looks at me. I can't and shouldn't blame him. I'm a little worried about myself, as well.

The little inner monologue has nothing to say about the matter, though, and neither do I.

"How soon will we be able to move?" I wonder aloud, feeling bad for asking.

"You and I are the only ones in any condition to fight," says Diele, giving Dylan a sympathetic look.

"Can you walk?" I ask her, and she stands experimentally, wincing when she puts weight on her leg.

"It's definitely broken. Could you wrap it up and set it? I don't know how. I've never broken a leg before."

I nod and set in with my first aid kit, pulling out a few supplies that really aren't what I need to set a leg, but are better than nothing, I suppose. It's a fracture, as I feel when I go over her leg. Very close to the ankle. Little to no splintering of the break. Auroch got a very good blow to her leg, very concentrated on one place.

It isn't easy to hurt her, but I have to, to set it so that it will heal correctly.

"There," I say, as I finish. "You'll have a job getting that dressing off, too. Just be careful. I'll try to make a crutch from a few of the fallen branches."

That's easier said than done, as I have no knife and no bonding agent. But eventually, I come up with a crude sort of crutch for Diele, and she thanks me.

"I don't think I'll be able to carry the cots anymore," Dylan says, tentatively feeling the rest of his ribcage to ensure its intactness.

"I'll get it, then," I say, trying to feel confident. After all, I left them to get hurt. I could have run in earlier… killed him… uggh.

"Don't think about it," Diele advises me. "You'll rip yourself to pieces if you think about it."

She knows what is going on in my head, somehow, though I doubt she's ever killed anyone herself. Maybe it's something people in training just know.

"Are you ready, Dylan?" Diele asks.

"Yeah, don't worry, I can walk," he says, standing up with a lot of effort. "Let's go. But… slowly."

We nod, and pick up our supplies and such. Diele balances her share with more difficulty than I do mine, though she is wounded, of course, and I am not. Dylan looks uncomfortable at letting me carry the cots, but, the more I think about it, the less of a load they seem.

Walking side by side, we continue down the road, away from Auroch's body. And I realize something.

I'm not scared of my allies any more.

-x

There is a face in the sky that night.

Auroch Vachel, District Ten

Dead.

This update's question: You've just won the games. What is your reaction?