Day 1: Midnight Approaching

x

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love—
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry—
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

'Life is Fine', Langston Hughes

x

Dion Cayes, District 3

"…Dasheen, though? On the first day? Messed up," Bridget sighs.

I can't see her glum expression in the dark, but I can guess at it. The only real light left in the dark forest is coming from the tiny red flashlight we found in one of the two packs we grabbed.

One, the huge and heavy grey backpack that I've taken responsibility for, was just filled with bottles of water. Bridget's, a smaller white backpack that we've already smeared blackish brown with mud, contained a good-sized pocket knife, a chef's knife in a plastic sheath that I recognize from Xenita's cooking, though this one is a lot heavier and higher-grade, a roll of duct tape, a bag of orange crackers shaped like little fish, and a little bag of unidentified dried meat.

"She wasn't half bad," I say. "Messed up is right."

I've taken responsibility for the bigger knife, and Bridget is in command of the smaller blade and the flashlight.

"I thought she and Statice got away from the Cornucopia?" Bridget adds, musing. "Didn't we see them on our way into this mushy tree hell?"

The 'mushy tree hell', as Bridget describes it, has so far been suiting us pretty well. We haven't had any brushes with other tributes – which is probably for the best. We're both pretty on-edge, grimly determined but thrown a little off-balance by the reality of the arena. Made it out fast – got the sense we were getting tailed and went deeper into the swamp – and since then, our main challenge has been drying off our feet on the way out. Obviously, in an arena like this, water is eventually going to be a problem, but for now we're feeling pretty good about our supplies.

That, and our setup with other tributes. No news is good news, no encounters … good encounters.

Distance also helps make the whole thing seem a little less real – like, yeah, we're in sticky and damp kind of situation, yeah, not where I'd like to spend my evening, but not having crossed swords with anyone … not having contributed to the macabre memorial of faces in the sky … that feels pretty good.

Even if my stomach is a little sick, knowing that I was sharing a bottle of wine with Dasheen not twenty-four hours ago. She seems far away, picture projected in the sky. It's a little easier to think of her that way – all eight of them, really. Just gone. Helps keep my guts from tying knots around themselves, thinking how that could be Bridget, could be me.

There but for the grace of god go I, my dad always says, thinking about advantages gained through pure dumb luck.

Though our competence has a little more to do with the situation, I guess – we've been setting a back-breaking pace, covering our tracks as best we can, picked up enough supplies to keep us going a good while. All that's left to do is find some mild excitement to provoke sponsor interest without fucking ourselves up too bad.

"Is it just me, or is the ground getting drier?" Bridget asks, after a prolonged period of silence.

"I sure hope you're right," I say. "We're still pretty deep in the trees, though, far as I can tell."

I definitely feel less in the way of tugging at my shoes with each step, though – that's promising.

"Look up ahead," Bridget whispers. "Something big."

Something big, and something stationary, too. Not some massive mutt, but … rocks? An outcropping of rocks in the middle of the marshy woods?

"A cave?" she asks, shining her flashlight up ahead.

"Looks like it," I reply, squinting. "Weapons up, dunno what we're gonna find there."

She nods in agreement, holding her knife at the ready – I recognize her posture from knifework training, and stifle a smile. Bridget kept it under wraps, but she was proud – rightfully – of the seven she pulled out of her hat in there. As we've been running, I've caught her murmuring along the calls that accompanied the drills we were taught. She's worked damn hard to make herself the best ally – and strongest contender – possible. I'm proud of her the same way I'd be proud of one of my little sisters.

We come up on the cave, sort of gingerly approach from the side. The ground is fully dry up here. If it's vacant, this is a helluva find. If it's not, well… Bridget may get the chance to practice her drills sooner than she's expecting.

Exchanging looks, we edge closer – knowing this is a 'make or break' kind of moment.

I'm surprised it took so long to hit one of these crossroads. We've been mad lucky so far. Else, everyone else in the arena has just been having the worst day ever.

Bridget, without dropping her ready stance, leans down – l step in closer to cover her back as she picks up a rock, then makes deliberate eye contact with me, mimes tossing it. I nod assent, resume my defensive posture.

Slowly, so carefully, she winds up, then tosses the rock, underhand, into the cave – following it with the flashlight beam.

There's an echo – just the tiniest bit of one – then nothing. The night remains still and muggy.

The silence breaks abruptly as something massive – meat wrapped in scales – slips from the trees overhead and hits me like a sack of steaks on my right shoulder, knocking my knife clean out of my hand and sending me sprawling onto the ground.

Quick as I can, I roll to my feet – nearly trip on the fucking thing, it's practically slippery and I can't see for shit in the dark, Bridget's flashlight is no help – and immediately I feel another one of these creatures make impact with the side of my head, a smaller one, thank god, but still enough of a blow to have me swaying on my feet.

Bridget stifles a shriek – admirably, has managed not to drop her flashlight or her knife – as something massive collides with her, seems to roll down her chest.

"Dion!" she whisper-screams. "What the fuck are these things?"

I'm too busy trying to kick away from one that's started constricting my leg as I'm searching for my knife between scaly flesh – hold on, I know what these are!

"They're – snakes!" I grunt, finally dislodging my foot with a good kick, only to feel another one coiling around my other leg.

Still can't find my fucking knife.

Around us, I can hear more heavy bodies falling from the trees.

"These are some… bigass fucking snakes!" I exclaim. "Stab anything you can! Let me know if you find my knife, the first one knocked it out of my hand."

To her credit, Bridget gets down to business fast – better snakes than other tributes, I'm sure, and she's relieved to finally have an opportunity to put that knife in something after carrying it around all day. I smell blood in the air, heavy and copper, as I kick around through the massive, writhing bodies in search of my knife.

Finally, I step on something that feels just about right – just as one of the biggest of the enormous snakes gains purchase around my ankle. Too big to wriggle or kick my way out.

With a deep breath, I dive down to grab whatever it is my foot's connected with.

Not a knife.

A fucking rock.

But it'll have to do.

The weak beam of Bridget's flashlight washes over the snake holding me captive – just before another falls from the tree overhead, slamming into her arm and turning the beam away – but I've had enough time to figure out its location.

Already hating the sound the impact is about to make, I wind up with the rock and dive for the head – crunch. Like a nut cracking beneath a layer of meat. A big fucking nut. Fucking thing is the size of my head. I bring the rock down again for good measure – something stings my bicep, but I'm occupied with other things, namely making good use of my nice big rock to smash away at the coil still tightening around my leg. Another sting – ouch, fuck – to my calf.

Finally disentangling myself from the massive body, I turn to find two new smooth, evil-looking heads sunken close to my body – one lodged in my arm, the other in my lower leg, not quite so big as the one that was nearly cutting off circulation to my foot. With a noise of effort, I flex my bicep – ignoring the panic that builds at the sight of the beady eyes staring me down – and dislodge the fangs from my arm, then bring down the rock on the head still fangs-deep in my leg, knowing it'll drive the thing even deeper in as the blow kills it, but what choice do I have?

In the moment, it's all I can think to do, never mind the fact that I don't recognize the snakes – they could be anything, these fangs could be pumping pure morphling into my body for all I know.

Crunch.

Another one down. I whirl to find the snake that was all too recently biting me – recognizable by the blood on its muzzle, my blood – crunch.

"This is not how I fucking die!" I declare.

Seeing Bridget barely on her feet, stabbing her short blade as best she can at the two snakes wrapped around her legs, circling their way up her knees, I join in as best I can – "hold the knife back!" I command, hoping to avoid getting stabbed as I bring down the rock on another snake – damn, my improvised weapon is red with blood and tissue, can't think about that too much – crunch.

Bridget screams as one sinks its fangs into her thigh – I catch it at an angle with my rock, smacking its fangs out of her flesh before it meets its end with a sickening crunch against the very tree it fell out of.

"How many more can there be?" she pleads raggedly, finally stabbing the other snake into submission, freeing her leg, pressing up against me, back to back.

At least no more seem to be falling from the trees – with the benefit of Bridget's flashlight, I can almost see them coming now. Lightning quick, too fast for anything but a mutt snake. I can feel the beginning of a tingle where I've been bitten. Shit. Gotta keep it up while I still can.

A massive snake, the biggest so far, seems to fairly rocket towards us. I'm ready with a kick aimed square to its head – doesn't fully stop it, but stuns the damn thing, fangs still outstretched – with the wettest crunch yet, I bring my rock down on its head like a kick-ball player scoring a touchdown.

The writhing snakes seem to be abating – Bridget finishes off a few smaller specimens, but I'm starting to feel too dizzy to stand fully straight. She seems to realize it.

"C'mon," she says. "You can make it to the cave. We gotta risk it."

Kicking away fleeing snakes as she goes, Bridget – strong, stringy Bridget, bless her heart – half drags, half carries me into the mouth of the cave.

"Jesus Christ Dion," she declares, but I'm phasing in and out now – can't tell if the blackness closing in on my vision is my sight going out or just the darkness of the cave.

"No," I mutter, "can't die like this – Bridget, don't… don't let me…"

"You dumbass," she murmurs, "that stunt with the rock… you're lucky you're not hurt worse."

She doesn't seem to register just how badly off I am.

"Bridget, I'm… I'm not good, I'm not… good…"

"Shit," she whispers, and I feel her flashlight on my eye. "Shit. We need… anti venom? Something? I don't… I don't know how to help you. Shit shit shit."

"Check… check ousside …" I strain to make my voice audible as my chest constricts like the snakes did around my legs.

"Oh!" she says, realizing what I'm saying. "Sponsors… shit, couldn't get in the cave, I gotta…"

She leaves me – come back, I want to insist, but I can't raise my voice above a whisper and it's a fight just to keep my eyes open.

"Thank god," I hear her declare. "Oh thank god."

The sound of tearing paper. My eyes are drooping closed. She needs to move fast. It won't be long. I feel something cold – a pinch – in my upper arm.

"There's no instructions," she's whispering. "I'm just… I'm just praying they sent the right dosage, 'cause all I remember from survival station is slow bolas to a vein, I think I found one, I'm going slow as I can… focus on my voice, okay? You're gonna be okay."

It sounds more like she's reassuring herself. I think she realizes that, and her tone changes.

"Hey, didn't you just beat like ten giant-ass fucking snakes to death with a rock? You really think they're gonna let you die after that? You gonna die on me, you son of a bitch?"

I almost laugh – I try, but it comes out more like a deep cough that seems to worry Bridget more than it reassures her. The needle is still in my arm.

Some time passes. She's still pressing the anti venom – or whatever Capitol drug the sponsors decided I was worth – into my vein. I'm starting to feel my face again already. Shit works fast. No normal anti venom.

"Hey," she whispers. "You there?"

"Barely," I murmur. "You… shit, Bridget, didn't you get bit too?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "I'm just a bit woozy. You saved my ass, you know that? Got that fucker out before it could really shoot me up."

"Good."

She runs her hands over my bicep, finding the first bite – "was there another?" she asks.

I nod.

"Leg?"

"Right calf," I say. "Meat of it."

She scoots down, rolls up my pant leg – I hear her gasp. "Jesus fuck Dion."

"Jesus do what now?" I ask with a cough-laugh.

"You got two bigass fangs broken off in your leg… what did you do?"

"Killed… it." I say, still feeling groggy and kind of out of it.

"I'll do what I can," she says, and somewhere in the mass of numbness I can feel something slide out of my leg, then something else.

She's digging through the bag, finds the roll of duct tape.

"Sorry, man," she says, "it's all we got. Time to pray our sponsors haven't run dry and we can get you some antibiotics if you need, 'cause this dressing is the best I can do."

I can feel more of my body, now, but as my nerves jangle back to life, I'm suddenly feeling tired, for real.

"Can you keep … watch…" I slur, as Bridget rolls tape over my deep puncture wounds.

"Yeah, no worries," she says, crawling up and pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "Dream of Xenita, thanks to me you still just might see her again."

"Ahhhhh," I sigh. "Xenita."

"G'night, Dion," Bridget whispers. "God willing they'll let us rest a bit. Thanks for saving my ass back there. I'd call us even now, 'kay?"

"G'… night.." I mumble through the haze of exhaustion that's threatening to envelope me.

Doesn't feel dangerous, just … exhausted. I wonder where my knife ended up. I can still feel the rock clutched in my hand, muscles too seized up to let it go. I hope I didn't worry Xenita too much. Hope she knows I'm okay.

Saint Peter don't you call me just yet… I'll make it home if it fucking kills me.

x

Love a happy, if brief, ending. The night's not over yet, but Dion'll get to sleep it off. Not everybody tonight will be that lucky.

Though if you want to talk about bad nights, let's discuss my resounding second-place defeat to a guy with ungodly core strength in an impromptu poledancing competition this weekend and the accompanying bruisey hangover that knocked me off my writing schedule a good bit. Like icarus, I spun too close to the sun.