Chapter Thirty-One.
The atmosphere had changed.
Britta sat atop a crate, picking the mud from underneath her nails, and looked out at Linnea and Neviya. Both were opposite sides of the supply pile they'd made. Neviya rummaging through an assortment of weapons, Linnea looking down at a little bit of paper she had in her hands, rolling it back up and putting into her jacket pocket.
She'd been honest enough to show Britta and Neviya what it said. Neither girl had much to say in response. The words were true but they had hit Britta more-so than it seemed Neviya or Linnea. Maybe it was lack of beauty sleep, or lack of much of a vibe, or whatever, but Britta found herself shaky atop the crate. Her nerves biting away at her. The sword in her hand slick with sweat that trickled from her palms and wrists.
Ugh. Fuck this.
"Hey guys!"
Britta's voice rang out and both Linnea and Neviya turned to look at her. She tried a smile – the go-to response for Britta – but what came out was a weird spasm of her lower lip and she gave up. Her sword waved in the wind as she gestured towards her.
"Come over here a sec."
Linnea and Neviya wandered over.
"Everything alright?" Linnea said, eyes shifting left then right.
Linnea had felt it her duty really to let the girls know what the sponsor gift had been. They'd heard the ding, awoken from their sleep, and the bond they shared seemed to compel Linnea to at least show that she was aware of the elephant in the room. Or Arena. They might have been friends in another time or place but Linnea knew Ailsa's words were correct.
Neviya did too. That was why since she'd woken up from a horrible sleep, she hadn't really said much to either of them. And then two more cannons had sounded and the quaking of the Arena floor, the shattering of the idyllic sunlight that shone from a beautiful sky; it all just looked sour and twisted and didn't sit well with Neviya. So, she thought, right now, best to ignore her fellow friends. Allies.
Both Linnea and Neviya were reminding themselves of that.
Britta just sighed and twirled a piece of her hair awkwardly. "You don't need to treat me like the ditzy blonde I know I am," she said, only half-joking. "'Fess up girls. Things are different. I don't want to be looked at like I don't understand what's going on. I do, ok. I make jokes about wanting a cocktail, emphasise on the first syllable, but I killed just the same as you. Altia's face is burned into my retinas just the same. I see her every time I close my eyes."
Neviya shifted uncomfortably. "We're not supposed to care about them."
"And yet, boo-hoo, we do. Maybe we aren't the monsters we were supposed to be but fuck that. Hopefully, Roarke will turn up soon with Destan, and we'll have another kill to our names," Britta said.
Her mind thought of her fellow District partner and felt nothing but resentment. Maybe he would be a lot easier to dispatch of than the poor girl from Twelve. When did I start putting names to their ratty, dishevelled selves? She'd been raised in Four to believe anyone that wasn't a Career was nothing; pointless. Yet it was true that she couldn't close her eyes without seeing Altia. She hated it.
Linnea understood exactly what Britta was getting at and felt the paper like a lead weight in her pocket. She placed a hand over Britta's knee and tried to smile, but just like Britta's attempt, it fell flat. "We're in this together, I promise. Until we can't be any longer."
"Then can we at least try and talk. We don't even need to laugh," Britta said, seriously, looking between Neviya and Linnea who couldn't meet her gaze. "And if me cracking jokes offends you so much, then I'll try and stop."
Linnea just nodded meekly and sat down on a patch of grass. Her patience was wearing thin, if she was being honest. Whether Roarke appeared or not, she couldn't feel herself being up for waiting much longer. The sky was still blistering hot and all she felt was the rays beaming down on her and making her feel more and more antsy.
Britta didn't know Linnea was feeling similar, but she looked at the treeline, both of them did, and wanted to just abandon the plan they'd made. They could find Destan by themselves. Get rid of him. Join up with Roarke.
The waiting seemed to be something Neviya wanted to do out of loyalty for Roarke that even Neviya knew was stupid. The situation was growing more and more fragile by the second. Neither girl wanted to make the first move, to call this plan quits, but neither girl knew they'd be able to wait much longer.
"I see something."
Neviya's voice shattered the cool, crisp air that was permeating between the girls and all eyes fell on where her finger pointed in the direction of the northern treeline. Breaking through from the natural growth, a solitary figure stumbled forwards, hunched over with a dusty, moth-eaten shawl that hid its face from view.
"That's not a tribute," Linnea said, heart in her throat, holding her spear firmly in her hand. "What the fuck—"
"Wait," Neviya said, raising her hand for silence.
All three girls just watched as the figure shuffled forwards. In its hand swung a lantern, its dim glow lit by a candle behind the glass. Wisps of grey hair fell from its forehead, dangling in front of its hidden visage. Underneath the shawl, Britta audibly gagged at the protrusion of ribs poking from warty, swamp-coloured skin.
The girls looked at each other.
"Yeah I ain't fucking with that," Britta said. "No one told me I'd be facing some scary old bitch. Give me Chancellor any day of the week."
"Would you shut up!" Neviya snapped.
Britta gawped at her. She closed her lips and nodded, embarrassed, guilty.
When the crone looked up, the shawl fell from its face to reveal two milk-coloured eyes, a bulbous noise and thin, bloody lips. A twisted smile rose from its face and a knobbly finger rose, pointing straight at Britta.
A whisper scratched its way from the figure's throat and what happened next made all three girls cry out and scramble for their weapons.
A swarm of rats scampered from the bushes, ran over the woman's feet, and headed straight for the Career girls.
"Well it seems like we're coming across a bit boring," Britta shouted.
I knew we should have left! Linnea thought bitterly. She raised her spear and threw it, skewering the crone in the chest and she slumped to the ground, hopefully dead.
The rats didn't stop, however. Britta was the first one to pick up a belt of knives she had and threw one straight into the fray. There was a squeal but the tidal wave of rats overwhelmed its corpse and Britta knew her action made no impact.
"Up here!" Linnea shouted.
She grabbed another weapon from the pile they had, this time a hatchet, and led the girls to the side of the Cornucopia. When they realised what she was doing, Neviya nodded and helped Britta up, pushing her onto the golden horn and jumped up herself, grabbing hold of Britta's extended hand. As the rats finally reached where they'd just been standing, Linnea leaped upwards and both girls held her, pulling her up with ease and all three stood side-by-side, watching the rats squeal below.
"Anyone got the number for pest control?" Britta said.
Neviya just looked at her. Linnea couldn't help but smile which only made Neviya's annoyance quickly subside and immediately she too just grinned at their ally. Maybe the Games were taking their toll on their friendship, but neither girl could deny what the other two's company did for them. Even with mutts trying to get their way up the Cornucopia and slipping down; as a team, they still felt undefeatable.
It was that kind of confidence that helped them as Britta continued to throw her knives, Neviya crawled onto her stomach and sliced at the rats, decapitating several, and Linnea did her bit with the hatchet, killing as many as she could get her hands on.
The rats did not seem to pose as big of a threat as they did a warning.
All three girls knew what it meant. As the squeals slowly dulled down and the final rats realised this was useless, running off to the forest and leaving the girls a sweaty, breathless heap, they looked to the sky and silently cursed the Gamemakers.
Roarke, hurry the fuck up!
They all shared the thought.
For now, they would be allowed to wait. But not much longer.
If the Capitol deemed their plan to be a failure, or it was taking too long, then this was their consequence. Next time, a twisted old lady and some small rats would be half of their problem.
Things had to change, otherwise shit would most definitely go down.
The two girls looked up in awe of the tower.
"Rest up there?" Maisley asked.
Carys nodded and Maisley extended her arm, wiggling her fingers as a gesture of kindness. Carys shook her head and stepped in front of Maisley, leading the way into the tower, gazing at the staircase that wound up and up on the side.
Maisley stood outside and sighed, kicking a lump of mud, hoping Carys wasn't looking back at her. She knew what Carys was going through right now but she couldn't blame her for it. Castor and Ponche dead on the first day. Half of their alliance – the two people Maisley had roped in first of all – gone like that.
She loathed Destan. She hated whoever had killed Ponche. It wasn't as if Maisley hadn't actually liked them. Especially Castor. When she thought of a joke he'd crack, or the smile that could settle anyone's nerves, she wanted to cry. Maisley felt lost in this Arena. She felt lost with Carys who hadn't spoken to her since Castor's death. The only reason she stuck by Carys was because in those trees by herself she was as good as dead.
She needed Carys.
She hated that she felt so useless without someone around her.
Carys heard Maisley's delicate footsteps and didn't look back over her shoulder as she led her ally up the staircase. She quickly lost her breath about halfway but didn't stop to rest. Truthfully, Carys just wanted to be left alone. Opening herself up had gotten her nowhere. The walls that were solidified by anger and hatred at the world had slowly started to ease because an alliance of good-natured people had allowed her in. Now two of them were dead. Perhaps the brightest of them all; his flame snuffed out by a single knife.
She'd tried the nice, open thing and it had come to bite her in the ass. But she couldn't shake Maisley because she did not have the heart to tell her to go. And because she really, deep down, still longed for the feeling of companionship. Maisley gave her that. She was just a little girl – small, dainty, fragile. The torment in her mind did nothing to quell Carys' rage and anguish.
"This is pretty," Maisley remarked as they finally reached the room at the top of the tower. "Would you like the bed? I don't mind the floor."
Carys looked at the four-poster bed and at Maisley's polite smile. Then her eyes fell on the floor – the cracks in the wood, the dust motes swirling, the cobwebs and spiders and shook her head. "We can share, Maisley. There's more than enough room."
It did Maisley a world of good to hear Carys' voice again. Even if it was barely above a whisper, it was progress. She needed progress. If they ever stumbled upon another tribute again, she needed Carys to be strong enough to fight. Not this brow-beaten, soul-crushed version of the girl that had knocked the shit out of several dummies back in the Capitol.
"We can share then!" Maisley said. "We did this a lot back home. Sleepovers and all."
"Yeah, sleepovers. Cool."
Maisley frowned when Carys flopped onto the bed. Instead of lamenting over her ally, Maisley moved towards the window of the tower and leant against the wall, looking out at the beauty of the Arena. She could see thick black billows of smoke rising in the forest from somewhere not too far away. If there had been a fire, it had now gone.
Although the sun was still bright in the sky, the day had been long and Maisley knew that surely evening would soon hit them. It had been a mind-fuck what the Gamemakers had done and she was expecting the same thing to happen once more. Night-time to replace the day.
Carys looked at Maisley as trumpets blared into the sky and moved closer to the edge of the comfortable silk sheet. She played with her fingers in her lap, twisting them awkwardly, biting her bottom lip as a horrible, unforgivable thought went through her mind.
Push her.
She didn't know why that thought latched itself to her brain. Maybe it was Castor's pale, dead face in her mind. Or the absence of Ponche so quickly. Or the fact that she was just here, in the Games, with a liability now attached to her. Carys just wanted out of this Arena. The quicker the better. She hated how much it was getting to her. She absolutely detested it.
When she stood up, Maisley gasped, and Carys fell back consumed by guilt and felt incredibly ashamed of herself that such a thought had dared to even be considered. Then she caught Maisley's face, horror-struck, and she wondered if Maisley had somehow realised what she was considering doing.
"I'm so sorry, Carys."
What?
She ran to the window and looked up at the fading face of Shual. He had a rigid sort of smile across his jaw. Not quite happy to have his picture taken but he was doing his bit for the camera all the same. It was a stab to the gut. Grief tore through Carys and she slumped backwards, punching the floorboard, anger splitting her open as all Maisley could do was watch her continue to pummel the planks.
"I'm sorry," Maisley repeated.
She was scared of Carys, she realised. Scared of these emotions that she couldn't keep in check. She'd obviously known Carys was a bit of a loose cannon but Castor had always seemed to be able to help her with that. What good can I do? She was torn between knowing if she left her only defence she was dead, but concerned that Carys was useless now anyway.
The fact she thought feeling grief over the loss of a District partner made her useless made Maisley herself feel just as guilty. These Games are fucking me up.
As Damon's face disappeared from the sky, Maisley's expectation came to become reality and the clouds were replaced with glittering stars, the sun now the bright, full moon in the sky. Maisley decided she preferred the night-time. It wasn't as scary as it was tranquil. Something about the fireflies that now stood out amongst the trees and the grass hill below made Maisley feel that she could sleep tonight and not worry.
Or at least do her best not to.
Carys watched Maisley sit by the window and she crawled back over to the bed. Shual was now dead and there was nothing she could do for him. Carys could have easily given up there and then – Ponche, Castor and now Shual. Spelt. Her mind could have gone towards shutting down and Carys wouldn't have blamed herself for it.
But it wouldn't be fair on those that had died for her to give up the life that they'd had taken from them. She looked at Maisley and all thoughts of leaving her left Carys' mind. She would do her best. Channel this anger into something useful.
She no longer felt as connected to Maisley as she had done, but she didn't hate the little girl either for saying no to Destan and Nikos. Both were just doing their best to survive.
At this point, that was they all they really could do.
Carys had tried her best to be someone that she really wasn't and it hadn't worked. So, she would try to be a stronger version of the girl she did know. And Maisley – she would have to die eventually.
That was just the way it had to be.
"I hope he's alright," Bryce said.
Thinking of Celestin as they walked through the night-time forest, Bryce was doing everything in his power not to break down. He was exhausted – not just tired at this point, but exhausted. Every joint pulsed with agony, every muscle spasmed with pain and his eyes felt so heavy his head was pounding. It was the end of the day, maybe even past midnight, but they didn't stop walking.
He hadn't asked Sheridan why. She seemed so focused on where they were going that he couldn't find it in him to argue with her, or suggest otherwise. He was so glad for her steadfast presence. Even though seeing Sheridan at the front, where he genuinely believed Sinta would have been, left him feeling torn apart at what had gone on so far with his friend from home.
"She's still there, right?" Sheridan asked.
Bryce looked over his shoulder at Sinta who was a few short paces away, trailing just slightly behind them so she couldn't hear Sheridan's question. Ever since losing Celestin a few hours back, Sinta hadn't even tried to catch up with the two of them. Bryce wanted to go back over and check she was alright but even he was beginning to feel that maybe space was what she needed right now. He couldn't be there the way that she needed because he didn't understand what that actually was. He hated this. And he hated Chancellor even more – because in death, he had ripped this poor girl apart.
Bryce nodded and tried to smile at Sheridan.
She looked at her ally and couldn't hold back the surprise she felt that out of everyone, Bryce was the one that was up at the front, still surviving, and trying to do everything he could to keep his mental strength as fixed as possible. She wanted to tell him how proud she was of him but she didn't want to come across patronising. She'd never been good with niceties like that. It had always come out awkward, sarcastic or sometimes even mean. But she was proud of Bryce. This strength he was starting to convey at least seemed to be holding him together much better than Sinta was coping.
"Should have seen it really. Fireflies," Bryce said, trying to laugh but it feeling forced and silly. "At least it's stopped now."
Sheridan nodded. Her arm had caught some of the inferno and hurt a lot, but she was dealing with the pain as best as she could. "I hope Celestin is okay. Least his face wasn't up there gracing us with his lovely smile."
"That's sarcasm, isn't it?" Bryce asked.
Sheridan chuckled. "Yes Bryce, it was sarcasm."
She missed Celestin too, which struck her as odd because she hadn't really said much to the guy back in the Capitol. Maybe it was just the grounding sense of realism that he brought to this. He was part of the vomit-up-rainbows alliance but seemed to have his head firmly on the ground rather than up in the clouds. A kindred spirit of sorts.
I genuinely hope he's okay, Sheridan thought.
The trees were pretty much the same as they had been this entire time. Bryce longed for the pond again, a sense of familiarity and calmness. Maybe it was what Sinta needed, back there, her footsteps dragging. When Bryce looked over his shoulder at her and finally she caught her eye, she smiled and his heart fluttered just a little. It was the same smile he'd come to know Sinta for but it didn't reach her eyes. They seemed dark. Staring straight ahead, barely registering Bryce was there.
She seemed to drift, not walk. I hate Chancellor. If I could, I'd kill him again, Bryce thought.
"We'll find somewhere soon, I know we're all tired," Sheridan said.
"It's alright, I'm tired but the safer we are the better."
"I'm worried about her, you know," Sheridan confessed. "Very worried."
"I know."
"I don't think she's going to make it, Bryce. I know how hard that must be for you to hear. I hate saying it, but—"
"—I agree, Sheridan."
He wanted to cry as he said that. Because this was the girl that had pulled him from the darkest of his thoughts and made him somewhat believe in himself. This was a girl made for light and colour and love. But these Games had taken their toll and if he wanted to live – which he did, he'd give anything to see Zoya again – then Sinta was potentially an obstacle in that goal.
Sheridan noticed a tear in his eye and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We don't need to hurt her. We could just leave when she's asleep?"
Bryce winced and wiped the first tear that rolled down his cheek before the dam burst open again. No more water-works! "I think, right now, we are the only two things keeping the final fragments together. If she's alone, I hate to think what might—"
"—I know."
Sheridan hated herself just as much as Bryce hated himself at the thought of leaving her. She was so determined to be a better person that she had been drawn by Sinta's presence and with everything Sinta did, she saw Saraya. If Saraya had been cracking in the Games, bloodied hands because they'd taken the life of a monster, Sheridan would have done everything or hoped whoever was with her would try to piece the girl back together.
This torment was ripping her to pieces. It was doing the exact same to Bryce as they continued walking, both unsure of their next step.
Sinta, meanwhile, didn't mind the walk through the woods. Somehow, she'd stopped her mind from all those horrible thoughts and was doing her best to smile when Bryce looked over, and keep up with the determined presence of Sheridan that she so admired. She missed Teak, Altia and now Celestin, but they were simply background noise to the spiralling of words going through her mind.
She wanted to become whole again, but was finding it difficult to bring the shards together into a full shape. Hopefully, with Bryce and Sheridan, she would manage to find that connection again. She hoped and prayed she did but part of her also didn't care that much. Sinta just wanted out of this Arena. Alive. She didn't want to die.
Chancellor had looked so scared. So absolutely terrified in his final moments. She didn't wish it on anyone.
"I'm tired," Sinta finally said aloud, the first words she'd spoken since what had happened to Celestin.
Neither Bryce nor Sheridan seemed to hear her which made Sinta look around their surroundings, surveying what was nearby. Through the treeline, she caught sight of something that wasn't just green and natural, but what resembled something like a rock or boulder.
"Hey guys!" she called.
Sinta ran towards it. As she broke through the trees, she saw the wide-open entranceway to a cave embedded into a hill that continued deeper into the forest. It was pitch-black and she couldn't see or hear anything. Her eyes felt heavy, though. Her mind foggy. Her hands twitchy by her side.
Sinta yawned. "Guys?"
When she turned around, she couldn't see anyone. Oh… oops… Sinta squinted to try and see what was inside and took a tentative step forwards. She stopped suddenly as a new emotion twisted her gut. Fear. She was terrified of this unknown variable and suddenly panic struck through her. She was alone, now. Suddenly, fearfully, unapologetically alone.
Maybe this is good, Sinta suddenly thought. Maybe she would no longer be dragging down her allies into the dark caverns of her mind. If she was going to continue falling, then at least she wouldn't be taking them with her.
Maybe it was—
"Sinta!"
Bryce and Sheridan suddenly appeared. Sheridan's face was bright red and she grabbed Sinta by the shoulder, shaking her angrily. "Don't do that! You can't just leave, Sinta. You could have—"
"—I'm sorry," Sinta said, shaking her head, closing her eyes. "I didn't – I don't – I—"
There was a noise from inside the cave that caused Sinta's throat to clamp tight. All sets of eyes – Bryce, Sheridan and Sinta – looked into the cave at the sheet of pitch-black that obscured the inner-depths.
Sheridan took a step backwards. "Guys. I don't think—"
Sinta took a step towards the cave. Bryce watched her with horror as something moved near the edge. All thought of leaving Sinta, of letting her dwindle so he could survive, left his mind in an instant and he was reminded of the girl that had hugged him, held his hand, and made him into the person he now felt that he was becoming for the better.
He yelled and pushed Sinta from the cave's entrance just as the paw broke from darkness and dug its razor-sharp claws into his forearm. Flesh tore apart into a bloody pulp as Bryce was dragged into the cave, screaming and kicking and crying and… and…
Sinta stared into the darkness. "Bryce?"
The silence of the night-time was replaced with the agonizing screams of Bryce and the ripping, the tearing, of her best friend. There were hungry roars and growls and a snarling as Bryce's screams became gargled chokes and then—
BOOM!
Sinta looked up at Sheridan. "Bryce?"
Sheridan's face paled completely and she felt her knees go wobbly. She shook her head. Sinta's eyes closed, and her head hit the floor. Sinta had fainted.
"Bryce…" Sheridan echoed, staring into the cave. Another roar and she saw movement. Sheridan didn't waste a second. She scooped Sinta onto her back, struggling under the added weight, and scampered into the forest as fast as she could.
With tears pouring from her eyes and Sinta limp against her shoulders, Sheridan did everything she could to keep going, not give up, and put as much space between them and… Bryce.
A broken sob ripped from her throat and she stopped herself from allowing the next one to break free.
Bryce.
He was gone.
Half the light from Seven, now nothing but darkness.
Destan looked at Nikos wearily, rubbing his eyes.
"Not sleeping?" Nikos asked, lip half-curled into a grin.
"Not a chance," Destan replied, yawning with a stretch of his arms and legs. "You?"
Nikos laughed. "After what you did to that kid from Eight? When pigs fly."
Destan didn't reply to that. He just stared at Nikos from where he sat, slumped against the tree-trunk, the spear resting ever so closely to him and the belt of knives still round his waist. One of them was tipped with red – an ever-present reminder of what he'd done.
Destan could feel his mind slowly unravelling. Where there had been patience, there was now nothing but irritation. In the moment of meeting the other alliance, he had felt a blossom of hope in his chest that maybe as a group of five, they could genuinely kill the biggest threats in the Games. And then he had felt stupid and silly and hated that glimmer of doubt over his own strength. Destan was a Career. He was trained. He was supposed to be able to fight for himself. He was supposed to able to do this – the Games, the killing, the everything.
The fact he needed more people both annoyed him and upset him. And then they'd said no and those emotions had just come to boiling point. However, in the Games, shouting and stamping a foot in frustration was not how he had settled things. A bloody knife was now clasped round his waist. Proof that he could do what needed doing in this Arena.
Nikos met Destan's gaze and refused to let it drop. Seeing Castor's face in the sky hadn't seemed to scratch at all against this armour Destan had up. Nikos wouldn't admit it to anyone vocally, but that had worried him. Scared him, even. Here he was with someone that moments before killing another kid, he'd been ready to stab him in the back.
Now, Destan wasn't even sleeping, giving Nikos no opportunity to do anything but stick with the plan they'd made. Part of Nikos was happy that he hadn't been forced to take a life, and part of him was also content with waiting to see what this plan would birth. But another part of him just wanted to leave Destan to his own unravelling and let him deal with the consequences of his actions alone. Because there were consequences.
Not even a Career could kill someone and walk away unscathed.
It stayed that way for another ten minutes. Destan and Nikos dreary and sleepy and on edge but neither relenting, just watching the other in silence. From the corner of his eye, Nikos saw something blue wrap a faint, ethereal limb around a tree branch and he felt embarrassed at the sudden fear spike in his chest.
"Uh, Destan."
Both boys looked at the wisp that hovered not too far from where they sat. Whilst Nikos felt silently fearful, Destan was aggravated because he was so tired, his legs were beginning to feel heavy and he didn't want to have get up just yet.
"Do we follow?" Nikos asked.
"Paths are open both ways. Which means—"
"—oh."
Both boys raised their weapons as Roarke appeared. He looked at the wisp as it popped out of existence and then his eyes fell on Destan and Nikos.
"Shit," he said.
Nikos just watched Destan. He knew from watching in the Capitol that Roarke had been his ally. But then the shit-show of a bloodbath had happened and Destan had been left alone. Nikos would not make any first move unless he absolutely had to. He found it oddly amusing watching Destan's eyes narrow, then widen, then relax as a smile curved onto his lips. As if he was trying to choose the mask he was going to wear for this particular interaction.
He was an open book to Nikos. Even if Destan believed himself to be unreadable.
"Roarke, how lovely to see you."
The boy from Two just stared at Destan as he slowly stood up. Nikos noticed his eyes flit over to Destan's spear but he made no move to grab it, only stepping towards his old ally and clapping him on the shoulder.
Destan was surprised that Roarke wasn't flinching, or grinning that silly lopsided grin he'd always wore in the Capitol, or averting his eyes from Destan's. He met Destan's eyes with steely resolve and Destan felt something in his stomach like he'd felt back when he'd realised Chancellor was dead.
Still, he didn't let anything show and just smiled. "How have you been?"
"How have I been?" Roarke echoed, incredulous.
Oh Destan, Nikos thought, almost with pity. He looked so silly.
"Seems like you found those blue things. Looks like they've led you to us."
"Oh yeah," his eyes then fell on Nikos and Nikos now realised that Roarke held a bow in his hand, an arrow slack in the string. "Us."
"After what happened to Chancellor, I realised that if I found someone to join up with and then come and find you, we could take out the girls. Provided that's still your intention?"
If he was supposed to be threatening, Roarke didn't seem fazed. He just sighed, awkwardly held a hand against the back of his head, and nodded. "I saw them kill quite a few in the bloodbath and just ran for it. Been trying to find you since."
Destan wondered if Roarke had used any of those arrows on someone. He couldn't imagine the Roarke that he'd seen crack in the Capitol being able to kill anyone, let alone the three Career girls he'd been like a puppy towards. But a plan was a plan and Roarke seemed into it.
Destan clapped him on the back again and motioned towards Nikos. "Seems like things are finally coming together."
"Yay," Nikos said.
Roarke just looked at Nikos. There was a three-second delay between their eyes meeting and Roarke trying to smile. It didn't fool Nikos but he attempted his own smile back. "Three against three, then. Seems like the odds may finally work for us."
"You volunteered, didn't you?" Roarke asked.
Nikos nodded. "Yeah."
"Then maybe we do stand a chance," Roarke said.
Destan looked at his little group, having finally found Roarke, and felt some sense of control working its way back into his mind. Where there had been strings unravelling inside his head, they were slowly starting to come together again. He now felt that he could attack the girls and come out alive.
Whoever this Roarke was that he now looked at, maybe he'd be a bigger problem than he'd anticipated, but he could deal with that later. And Nikos, as untrustworthy as he seemed, was not a trained Career.
The board was finally set.
Destan's game was about to begin.
Albie hadn't stopped walking since Roarke had left.
It had been hours since Shual had died, leaving Albie completely alone, and she knew exactly where she was headed. Whatever Shual had been trying to do to calm her, and whatever Albie had been attempting for his sake, she'd given up.
The anger was like electricity under her skin. She relished in its source of motivation that drove her on through the woods. In each step, there was the grief she felt for Armina and Shual, but that grief was what gave her drive and that drive is what led her towards her destination.
Occasionally, the trees would claw into her skin and a trickle of blood would splash against the grass. The fireflies seemed to accompany her as she moved silently through the forest. She enjoyed their presence. They reminded her of what she'd been planning with Shual, their glittery glow a comforting companion. If she was going to win these Games, then the logical mind that she knew was still there underneath layers of these unbottled emotions, told her that Shual and Armina had to die anyway. Their deaths were paving stones towards victory. The callousness of those thoughts only made her guilty which only continued to fuel her anger.
As the trees slowly grew thicker and became more densely packed together, Albie realised she was nearing the end of her journey for the time being. She had her knives. Her backpack of food and supplies. Back in the treetop village, she'd hidden some of Shual's supplies for when she returned, not wanting to be weighed down too much. The knife was, like the fireflies, a companion she needed to keep her mind focused.
Between the foliage, she slowed her pace as the clearing came into view. The black-tipped grass was ghostly in its appearance, the light breeze of the night-time air swaying the blades this way and that. She could see the golden tinge of the Cornucopia and took another cautious step forward.
Albie was not going to be an idiot about this. Maybe she was feeling consumed by so many emotions, but those emotions would not kill her. She refused to die when Armina and Shual had fallen. She would win for them just as much as she would for herself.
The next footstep snapped a twig and she winced but nothing seemed to be happening. She was still too far away. Inch by inch she crept closer until through the treeline she could just make out two figures sat side by side, one of them which looked asleep, the other's hand buried within a backpack, rummaging for something.
Two of them.
She hadn't seen a Career's face in the sky since Chancellor and unless something had happened, Albie's pulse began to quicken, her heart-beat escalated, and she surveyed the area around them until they fell on the solitary figure nearer to the treeline.
She hadn't expected herself to feel such hatred towards these three that hadn't actually done anything, but Linnea, Neviya and Britta were just as bad. They stood for the same ideals that Roarke did. In Albie's mind, they were the same person. The same monster that she refused to be scared by.
In the girl's hands, she saw the reflective glint of some sort of weapon and knew she had to be careful. Albie moved backwards and slowly edged round the circular treeline, towards where the Career was but far enough back so she wasn't spotted. The knife seemed to almost twitch by her hip as she put together the idea of what she could do if she played her cards right.
If she weakened the pack, then her plan would work even better. She would fulfil what she and Shual had been committed to.
Another step, and another, until something different caught Albie's eye. She furrowed her brow in confusion until her eyes registered the milky-white glare of some figure in the grass, a shawl wrapped round it, a lantern smashed by its side. She gasped and then clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to stop her heart from beating, or the fear that wrapped its horrid hands round her throat.
Stop, Albie. Whatever it is it's dead. Gone. Focus!
She took a deep breath away from whatever the old woman had been, most likely an attack against these girls that of course they'd overcome, and focused in closer on the Career girl as she came into view.
Linnea.
Albie could feel the sweat on her forehead and didn't bother wiping it away as she inched closer and closer. She thought back to the old woman behind her, the knife at her hip, and the plan cemented itself in her mind. With a snap of a twig, a rustle of the leaves, Linnea's eyes met Albie's and she scampered backwards.
Please don't call your friends. Please don't. Please—
The footsteps were quick behind her as Linnea gave chase but Albie was already in place. The woman's body was heavy with death, rot creeping in, ribs poking her as she threw the muttation over her still self. Albie held her breath as she heard the footsteps, peeking out from under the wisps of grey hair as Linnea stood, only a few inches from where she was.
She'd come alone because no matter what a Career might tell themselves, they were arrogant fools, who in the moment couldn't deny the thrill of personal victory. Whether Roarke's arrow had been meant for her or Shual, it did not matter. Whether he'd meant to kill Albie or Armina in the bloodbath. None of it mattered in the slightest.
The Careers were as vile as the corpse Albie was hiding under. She would take down a monster.
Albie lunged forwards, grabbed onto Linnea's legs, and the Career girl tripped with a yelp. Before Linnea could do anything to stop Albie, she crawled up her back, took out the knife and stabbed, over and over.
Over and over and over and over and—
The blood gushed forth and even when the BOOM shook the Arena, Albie continued stabbing, feeling the anger course through her veins and channel out into the blade that was covered in red. Her hands were drowned in Linnea's blood as she finally stopped, sweat-sodden hair dangling in front of her face, panting to catch her breath.
In the night-time glow of the moon, Linnea's still body seemed oddly peaceful.
Her back was a complete messy slab of meat and muscle. Albie felt nausea in her stomach but did not allow herself such weakness. Roarke had said a simple sorry to Armina and that had been it. Instead, Albie just ignored Linnea and crept slowly back into the forest.
It wasn't time just yet to draw the other girls in, but soon it would be.
One down, four to go.
She hadn't forgotten about Roarke or Destan.
They were the villains in this story, and Albie would do anything in her power to stop them from claiming victory.
Anything.
Linnea's dead body proved that.
15th: Bryce Hayfield, District Seven Male.
14th: Linnea Halvard, District One Female.
Dayum son. This chapter was fun to write.
I don't want this to seem like some silly, deus ex machina kinda thing that tributes meet quite easily in this story, but honestly? The answer simply is that the Arena is smaller than they've realised. The wisps are a Gamemaker intervention to bring together potential conflict if things get stagnant. Mutts are sometimes thrown in to show cracks in alliances, or bring them together. There's always a reason behind what I try to do and I hope you're enjoying these Games as much as I'm enjoying writing them!
Again, check out my newest SYOT. All the details are on my profile.
Question!
One more death until final twelve, who do you think it will be?