Morning 4
Levi feels like he's going to be sick as he stares down at the specks of black scaling his body. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of legs brush against the tattered fabric and the sensation of them touching his bare skin is enough to push away the shock. Levi swipes down at the tiny intruders, but the ones that his hands do manage to push away are quickly replaced by dozens more.
As the first couple reach his neck, Levi brings his hands up to cover his mouth. The last thing he wants is hundreds of spiders crawling across his lips but that seems to be exactly what they're heading for. Levi scrambles forward a couple of steps, tripping over a rock that he hadn't even seen. It doesn't matter, though, because the panic crawling up his body is enough to mask any pain from the fall.
Levi cries out as one of the spiders skitters across his eyelid, reaching up and managing to squish it against the skin of his cheek. He gags at the sensation of liquid dripping down his face before pulling his hand away and realizing that it's speckled with blood. He closes his eyes and launches himself down the hill, half-running and half-rolling across the mossy rocks until he lands in a breathless pile at the bottom.
His forearm screams for attention along with the rest of his bruised body, but Levi doesn't have time to think about that. He sweeps his hands over his neck and forces his legs to move again. He isn't sure exactly where he's headed, or even if there is anywhere to go. Levi just doesn't know what else to do.
Hundreds of tiny stings dot his body, but Levi doesn't slow down. He has no cares about being quiet, tripping across roots and rolling across the forest floor in several desperate attempts to get the spiders to release him. He slaps the ones that skitter against his face, but there are always more to take their place. They couldn't possibly be replacing themselves, but that's exactly what it feels like.
Levi doesn't think twice when he sees the murky stream open up ahead of him. Pain radiates up his knee as he slams his body into the water, splashing around like he might actually drown in the shallow bed. He takes a deep breath and plunges his head into the stream, just barely managing to suppress a gasp as the cold water stings his eyes.
He holds his breath until he feels like he might pass out. The dark smog swirls around him as Levi gasps and tries to strip the icy water from his face. Hiccups quickly fade into violent shivers as he pulls himself out of the stream, the weight of his now soaked clothes dragging across the mud. Levi checks his pockets and finds everything inside soaking wet but still intact- both guns, two energy bars that are squished but edible, and that's it.
Levi shrugs off his drenched vest and it flops onto the ground beside him. He hugs his arms around himself and allows a moment, just a moment, to feel sorry for himself. It's unclear whether there are tears streaming from his eyes or if it's just more stream water dripping from his eyelashes. He isn't sure whether he's frustrated, terrified, or just plain exhausted at this point. His mind flashes with the events of the last twenty-four hours but Levi doesn't get the time to reminisce.
As soon as he looks up, Levi can see thousands of black specks travelling down the face of the rock hill that's only a few meters away. It looks like a cascade of dirt flowing over the mossy slope, but Levi knows that they're not nearly so harmless. Not knowing what else to do, Levi picks his vest up off the ground and runs, the water is his boots squelching with every heavy step.
"Did you see them?"
Sinead's blood runs cold when she hears the low, growling voice from above her. The tribute's words hardly register above the terror screaming in her ears, but even as they do they offer little reassurance. Sinead lifts her face slowly from the ground, spirals of frizzy curls dancing over her eyes, but nothing can prepare her for the moment she realizes that a volunteer boy is sitting over her.
Sinead pushes herself away from him, scrambling on all fours until her back collides painfully with tree bark. Tears still drip steadily down her cheeks but it's almost impossible to recall why she had been crying in the first place. All she can do is stare ahead at the volunteer and wonder why she isn't dead yet.
Delias shifts his sword from his lap and presents two empty hands in her direction. He hadn't meant to startle the girl, but of course he should have known. He doesn't imagine she is much younger than him, but he's easily double her size. Delias can't blame her for being afraid, no matter how much he wants to show her that he is not here to harm her.
"You're safe," Delias whispers but the tribute just shivers in front of him. His words echo around his skull, the deep rasping sound that he's always hated becoming more sinister as the seconds pass.
"Get away from me," Sinead says with as much courage as she can muster. The volunteer flinches as though she's struck him, but he doesn't leave. He just looks at her with what Sinead can only assume is pity, and she hates every moment of it. The way his eyebrows crease into his forehead and his lips part open as if words might seep out; it reminds her too much of Jory when they'd found Chase's body.
"Go away!" Sinead calls more forcefully, all of her tears melting down her face but none are left behind to wet her eyes. Her boot catches the handle of the nearly discarded knife and Sinead reaches down to grasp it. It's almost impossible not to see Jory's reflection in the dusted metal.
Delias nods, but he can't find the voice to say anything else. He can see how scared she is; he wants so badly to comfort her even though he can't remember her name. The fear in her eyes makes his throat run dry and Delias can feel tears begin to rush to his own. He tilts his head down to the ground, wondering why he said anything at all when deep down he knew how this would go.
Delias keeps his palms up and open in front of him. Flashes of memory bite at the edges of his mind, of the children that crossed the street to get away from the terrifying trainee that could probably break them in two. Whispers spreading around the district like an infection no one even cared to try and wipe away when it was so easy to simply avoid.
He's stupid. He's just like his father. He's dangerous.
Sinead points the shaking tip of the machete towards the volunteer expecting him to reach for his own weapon. Even after several suffocating seconds, neither has moved. Sinead's knuckles are white at the handle, and Delias sits silently at the end of the blade. Sinead doesn't question his inaction any longer. She pushes herself up from the ground and takes off as quickly as she can, hardly able to feel her boots stomping against the caked ground.
Noemma knows that she should be waking Evi for her turn at watch, but sleep is so far away that doing so feels pointless. She reaches up to wipe away another tear that has joined the many streaks on her cheek. Everything around her is so still, but Noemma feels anything but. Her chest feels like it has been shredded open and her eyes burn from being awake so long. Every inch of her body aches for attention, but all Noemma can concentrate on is the steady breathing from across the clearing.
Another tear splashes onto her hand before she can stop it. Noemma didn't realize how loud her mind used to be until all the thoughts just faded away. Where there used to be worries and plans flowing around her skull like downhill streams, there is now only silence. Noemma isn't sure that this is a bad thing; all she knows is that it's different.
Noemma hears a sound from the right and decides to investigate, not exactly sure where that courage is coming from anymore. This rustling could be the last thing she ever hears- a tribute coming to snap her neck, a mutt running to devour her- but suddenly none of that seems quite so terrible.
Do I want to die? Noemma asks herself, but of course there is no answer. A shiver of dread crawls down her spine and it's almost comforting to feel every hair stand on end again. A small sign that some part of her still cares, even if the rest of her has fallen apathetically silent.
She walks until she reaches the stream they stopped at earlier, but nothing jumps out to claim the rustling. A splash of cold water on Noemma's face only compounds with the stinging in her eyes but it's enough to wake her slightly from her stupor. Her sleeve takes on water as Noemma leans towards the stream as she offers a weak smile to her rippling reflection.
If she hadn't seen the girl's lips turn up in time with her own, Noemma would not have recognized herself.
As she re-enters the clearing, Noemma makes the choice she hadn't realized she had been considering. She looks at Evi, asleep with the spear tucked against her legs, and can't help the anger that boils up inside of her. It feels stupid to blame Evi for the emptiness in her chest and the throbbing left behind in her head, but that's the only thought that bleeds through. Noemma has spent days defending her ally, believing that Evi was just trying to protect them both even though she was so hard on her.
She wanted to believe that Evi was good because that's what Noemma always wants to believe.
You're fucking useless. The words ricochet through Noemma's mind and dig deep into her skull. The only thing clearer is the image of Evi standing over that boy, spear buried in a pond of blood on his chest, and her eyes turned away like she didn't even care.
Noemma stands at the edge of the clearing for far too long, especially knowing that Evi could wake up at any time. It will be better for both of them if Noemma is far, far away by the time she opens her eyes but it's hard to make the first step to leave. That choice is made even harder when Noemma realizes that their spear is still resting against Evi's leg.
Does it matter if I leave it? Noemma wonders but answers her own question almost immediately. She should feel more afraid as she steps towards Evi, but her paces are firm until she is standing over her sleeping ally. Curled up against a twig of a tree, Noemma can almost remember Evi's comforting grin when they first met at training. Thankfully, the wind quickly blows that image away.
Evi groans when she feels the nudge on her shin, shifting to pull herself away from the source. The permanent knot in her neck is the least of her pains as Evi tries to shake herself awake. Her dreams had been anything but sweet and she can't even count the number of times she had been woken up by the screaming that still radiates from her mind. Still, the realization of where she is never fails to clear the grogginess from behind her eyes.
Evi half-expects to see Noemma, but she doesn't expect her ally to be standing over her. Evi gasps and pushes herself up to sitting, her eyes immediately flying down to where Noemma is attempting to retrieve the spear. Evi doesn't bother to ask what's going on, to her it's obvious. Noemma somehow figured out that Evi was planning to kill her and she's trying to jump the gun on her first.
Evi uses both of her hands to shove Noemma away, but the spear rolls along with her. Evi lunges for it, but Noemma catches it before she is even halfway there. Not willing to give it up so easily, Evi continues and throws herself at Noemma with every bit of strength her exhausted body can give.
Noemma doesn't expect the hit and both girls tumble to the ground, the spear clattering to the ground between them. Each of them grasps an end, and neither are willing to let go. Fingers slip and regrip as they attempt to pull it away from the other.
"Let go!" Evi snarls.
It takes Noemma a moment to find her voice, but when she it doesn't come out nearly as uncertain as she feels. "No."
"I'm going to kill you," Evi growls and pushes the spear down into the ground before Noemma can adjust. She gasps as the tips of her fingers are pressed against the hard ground, but Noemma couldn't let go even if she wanted to.
"I don't want to hurt you," Noemma shouts, finally managing to pull her hands away as Evi releases the pressure on the spear.
"Bullshit," Evi says. She isn't stupid; this isn't going to end with the two of them kissing and making up. This is the Hunger Games and obviously Noemma knows all about that. Evi should have killed her yesterday when she had the chance. If she hadn't woken up when she did, Evi knows she would have already been dead. The anger in her cheeks only burns brighter at the thought.
Evi doesn't wait for Noemma to attack; as soon as she has a firm hold on the spear she lunges at her ally and the back of Noemma's head smacks against the tree where she'd been sleeping. Noemma cringes at the impact and both arms flail out in front of her as pain shoots across the back of her skull. Evi clumsily tries to bring the weapon towards Noemma, but she clearly isn't used to the mechanics and the end drags reluctantly against the ground.
The second Noemma feels the metal handle brush her wrist, she snaps both hands out to grasp it. Noemma uses all of her strength to push the spear handle forwards, knocking Evi onto her back and forcing her to let go of the weapon. There is a moment of stillness as Noemma pulls the spear back against her chest. The sound of her heavy breaths from both sides is all that reaches her ears.
"Walk away," Noemma says slowly, her eyes unwavering as she stares across at Evi.
"You wish," Evi snarls, kicking her leg out to collide with Noemma's knee. The spear tip momentarily drops and Evi seizes the opportunity to regain control. Evi doesn't even reach Noemma before tearing pain rips across her chest. She hadn't seen Noemma raise the weapon again, but she had felt the blade as her ally forced it further into her lungs.
Evi pushes herself away from Noemma as the pain spreads through to her back. Her eyes lock with Noemma, whose hands still clutch the weapon now smeared with bright red. Anger demands that Evi stand up, that she strangle the ally that was supposed to protect her, but not a single inch of her body cooperates. Every breath brings another wave of agony, but Evi refuses to lie down and allow this. She's not a quitter. She chooses herself. She chooses to fight.
As Evi tries to push herself forward, Noemma resists the overwhelming urge to go to her. She hadn't meant to do this. She had meant to leave, to take the spear and go so that Evi couldn't hurt anyone else. She shouldn't have pointed the spear at her, Noemma knew Evi was going to come at her again.
Did I want to do this? A small shout from the back of her mind says no, but the overwhelming silence from the remaining parts say more than Noemma wants to hear.
"Evi," Noemma whispers.
"I hope you die," Evi says between pained breaths. Noemma can't take her eyes off the blood that drips through Evi's fingertips. The spear falls to the ground beside Noemma before she can stop it. She hates to think that bloody colour matches the tip of her spear.
Evi slips to the ground soon after, but she can make no movement towards the weapon. Every breath seems to cave her lungs in more and more, the tightness in her chest building until she feels like it might explode. Panic begins to bubble into her throat as she realizes that she can't breathe. No matter how much air she tries to bring past her lips, none of it comes close to reaching her lungs. Evi wants to shout for help, but even now the word feels too foreign to pass her lips. Besides, even if her lips could form the word, Evi is sure that no one would come running. No one ever has.
After so many days of darkness, the bright lights of the Cornucopia burn into Chiara's skin even after her eyes have adjusted to the new view. They need supplies, Chiara has no argument for that fact and she was even the one to bring it up, but the unnatural brightness feels somehow more sinister than the night. She lets out a slow breath and plunges her hands into a crate, hoping that they will find what they need and get away from this place.
She can see the caked blood under her feet, burned into the grass by the constant light, and Chiara doesn't want to think about whose it could be. If she looked around, if she tried to remember, she would be able to find the indent where Emilia fell. The thought of that only makes Chiara more eager to leave.
"Look."
The sound of Doran's voice still makes her jump and Chiara wonders if she will ever get used to having him around. It's not like she ever felt comfortable with Emilia or even with Fitzroy, but their words never made her skin crawl like his do. Maybe it's the fact that she can still see his hands reaching out to strangle her; maybe it's the anger that he's only just stopped trying to burn into the back of her skull. She isn't scared of him, but it's like her body knows that she can never be too certain.
Doran turns the weapon over in his hand, not bothering to care how frigid the metal feels against his skin. The gun had been at the bottom of the last crate he checked, and Doran almost hadn't picked it up. The silver colour made it look like another short blade and they already have two between them. He's never been so glad to have indulged his curiosity and taken a closer look.
He watches Chiara flinch as he places a palm around the handle and he grimaces at the morbid thoughts that cross his mind. Doran could easily shoot her right now; they're close enough that a good shot wouldn't even be necessary to take her out. Guilt bites at the back of his throat as he relishes the thought for a short moment. A couple days ago, Doran isn't certain that he wouldn't have taken that shot, but things have changed.
He turns the barrel away from her and quietly slips it into his vest pocket. Things have changed between him and Chiara much more than he thought possible. After Emilia, he saw red every time her name crossed his mind. Now, he sees fog and it feels like he's going to suffocate in the guilt of what he had blamed her for.
"We should go," Chiara says softly. It's difficult to look at Doran again; she knows that he saw the flash of fear in her eyes.
Doran only nods in response and Chiara lets him lead the way. She shouldn't be afraid of him- if he was going to kill her he probably wouldn't have shown her the gun at all. Still, Chiara isn't willing to take the risk when she's already come this far.
As soon as Doran steps past the light posts, his vision is once again shrouded in total darkness. Artificial sun still stings the back of his eyelids, but he can't see anything no matter which way he turns his head. He hears what he expects is Chiara walking up behind him, but suddenly he isn't so confident as he tries to quickly blink the blindness away.
"Chiara?" Doran whispers, but he immediately feels stupid for worrying aloud. He pauses mid-stride and Chiara's hands catch his back to avoid crashing into him. Thankfully, he's looking in the right direction when his eyes do begin to adjust to the night air.
Doran's first instinct is to push back into the Cornucopia, but Chiara makes the decision for him. He watches her split off to the left and he ducks to follow her, trying to stop the scream that's already blistering the back of his throat. Doran sees the knives first and the person holding them second, but even in the dark he knows exactly who it is. He wishes he didn't remember her name so well, or the way that she smiled at the reaping when her name was called.
Ashara must see their move coming because she swerves with the pair as they veer to the side. Chiara pays no attention to where Doran is, the only thing she can even try to think about is an escape route. The trees are not nearly as thick in this part of the arena, but the grounded fog could provide her some cover. She just has to get far enough away to use it.
Doran throws himself to the side as Ashara lunges at them, one of her knives pointed towards where his shoulder had just been. His foot catches a root and he's flung to the ground, his wrist unfortunately taking much of the impact. The pain shooting up his arm is hardly enough to break his attention as Doran screams for Chiara to move.
"Chiara!"
She feels the impact and manages to twist her body around as she falls, ensuring that she is facing their attacker. A knife stabs out towards her and Chiara catches it with the bottom of her palm. Both feet kick out and dislodge Ashara from over her, but Chiara isn't naïve enough to believe she's won. She runs full tilt in whatever direction she's heading, only realizing that it's the wrong way when she's already stepped again through the wall of brightness.
Doran remembers the gun in his pocket as Ashara takes off after Chiara. He pulls it out and clumsily fights for a grip against the slippery sweat coating both hands. By the time it's pointed in the right direction, she's already spotted him.
A shot deafens Doran and a swift kick to his wrist forces him to release the gun before he can even realize what's happening. He reaches out to reclaim the weapon, but Ashara's already much closer. As a second thought, he presses himself up to sitting and tries to kick her feet out from under her. Ashara stumbles for a few steps and Doran sees the opportunity.
He shoots up from the ground, closes his eyes, and pushes her as hard as he can towards the Cornucopia.
"Chiara!" Doran knows that they don't have much time. If they're lucky, it will take a few seconds for Ashara to recover and several more for her to get back out here to kill them. Chiara needs to move now, or he'll have to leave her behind. It's a strange feeling to realize that he desperately doesn't want to do that.
Chiara's eyes are still full of stinging tears when she hears her name again. She sees someone enter the clearing with her, but even through the blurriness she can tell that it's not Doran. She doesn't know what to do, but she knows that she needs to be gearing up for a fight. The girl isn't going to go down without one, but neither is Chiara.
"Chiara!"
She hears Doran scream for her again, his voice even louder than before. Chiara watches Ashara as her vision starts to crawl back to normal, but she isn't making any move towards her. She looks stunned, one hand still holding a knife and the other clutching something silver.
The gun.
"Chiara!"
Everything logical inside Chiara knows that she should run while she still has the chance, but the sight of such a huge advantage in this girl's hand makes her blood boil. She takes a step towards Ashara, who turns slightly in her direction. She's still obviously disoriented but that isn't going to last long. Chiara has two choices- fight or run- and she eventually chooses the one she'd never learned to do back in Six.
Chiara takes off for the wall of darkness, hoping that she's heading the right way but being pretty uncertain about it. This time, when she crosses the border, she expects the black curtain that falls across her eyes. Panic stings at the back of her throat as she tries desperately to blink it away, but nothing can make it recede any faster.
She gasps when someone grabs her arm, pulling away half out of fear and half out of instinct. The cold fingertips touch her skin again and this time they aren't brushed off so easily. "It's me. We need to go."
"I can't see," Chiara whispers.
"I know," Doran says. "I'll lead."
Their first couple of steps are clumsy as Chiara tests the ground, feeling for roots and flailing one hand out to make sure she doesn't walk into anything. Doran tightens his grip on her arm and tries to steer her away from a tree, but Chiara resists every movement. He looks back and doesn't see anyone following, but that luck is going to run out pretty fast.
"You have to trust me."
No, Chiara thinks immediately but she can feel the tension in his voice. She can't hear anyone following them yet, but when she turns to look all that she can see is a flash of sunlight swirling in the dark night. He's right that they're moving too slow.
"Chiara," Doran says, each syllable of her name coming out more quietly but she can still hear the fear in his tone. "Please trust me."
She nods and hopes that this is enough, because saying that she trusts him out loud is simply not an option right now. After everything that's happened, especially thinking about where they are right now, Chiara can't afford to trust him. However, she forces herself to lean into Doran as he picks up the pace. By the time she can let go and run alone again, she still hasn't tripped on a single root.
The moment the light fills her eyes, Ashara knows that she isn't going to find them again. She can still feel the pounding of her heart in her chest, the sweat dripping down her neck, and the uncertainty she shoved down just far enough to make that first move. As much as her motivation has grown since leaving her alliance behind, so too has the nervous pit in her stomach.
It had been a perfect setup, but she still couldn't follow through. She hadn't meant to return to the Cornucopia, but it's decidedly the perfect location. She can see everything from the edge of the darkness, but they couldn't see her standing there watching them. As soon as they left, Ashara should have been faster to jump on them. She can still remember how blind she'd been after first leaving the clearing. They wouldn't have stood a chance.
She can't be uncertain. There isn't the time to waste on second-guessing and Ashara knows this. Someone is going to make it out of here and it has to be her. She refuses to let it be anyone else.
Eventually they'll all be back. If Ashara has learned anything from watching past years, it's that the Cornucopia is the center of the Hunger Games. It's where they begin and almost always where they end. The tributes not lucky enough to get sponsors will need to come back for food. Others might return for weapons or even for blood.
If she plays this right, Ashara knows that she will be a threat. It no longer matters whether she volunteered or how long she trained, the only thing that she cares about is getting out. She's smart enough to win this. She just has to force herself to stop thinking and just do what she knows it will take.
It feels like Aristona's trying to step through gelatin and her head spins with every movement. Every inch of her body wants to lay down and rest, but her mind refuses to even consider that luxury. There's nothing wrong with her legs aside from a few nasty bruises and the bleeding from what's left of her hand has completely stopped. She has to keep moving, there's no other option.
I can still do this.
The mantra runs laps around her skull until Aristona is sure that the words have been burned into her bone. It's been hours since the tingling pain in her hand melted away, but every glance down at the injury still makes her stomach turn. It had been almost comforting to still feel something there instead of this emptiness beneath the tourniquet. That sense that maybe if Aristona tried hard enough she would still be able to wield a sword with the leftover fingers.
Aristona's all too aware of the side glances from Jordan even though neither of them has said more than a few words since the mutt attack. She hasn't tried to meet his eyes long enough to determine if the looks are pity or annoyance. She doesn't really want to know at this point because no matter the answer, Aristona knows that she can't try any harder to change his mind. She's already moving as quickly as she can. She's already pretending that nothing's any different than yesterday.
She's slowing me down.
The acidity of the voice in Jordan's head has only increased with every hour of walking. The tourniquet has done its job, but Aristona is still more wobbling than walking as they move through the arena. It seems like his mind swaps between understanding and frustration every other minute. The same part of his brain can't seem to decide if she's a help or a hindrance right now.
Aristona's not helpless, that would be just about the stupidest thing to assume right now. She killed that muttation after her hand had been almost amputated and through the glassiness of her eye injury. Jordan's not sure if the others knew the extent of her injury form the Bloodbath, in fact she's never said a word about it, but he saw it clearly. It's just one more weakness, and her list seems to be growing pretty fast.
The problem is that even with all of these, Jordan isn't sure he could win against her. Aristona is strong, efficient, and positively deadly with a sword in a way he's never seen before. Everyone watching probably thinks Delias holds all the cards between the pair, but it's always been her. Jordan's fist clenches tighter around the spear handle just thinking about it.
The arena is a leveller, but that only goes so far. Before the mutt attack, Jordan thought he was rising above them all. He felt like he'd finally found a place where he's equal, where he's not beneath everyone else just because he happened to be born a Kalisco. Jordan felt strong, he felt powerful, and that's never been a reality for him.
Aristona coming to his rescue when he couldn't fend off the creature himself only reminded Jordan of starting again at the bottom. Laying at the mercy of some Capitol creation while some socialite with a sword saved his life should have been humbling, but Jordan is sick of being humble. He's been given a taste of the power he could have, and he isn't willing to go back to feeling like he's nothing.
It takes a few steps before Aristona can feel that something has changed. The soft footsteps trailing at her side have disappeared and Jordan's shadow is no longer in the periphery of her good eye. Even the act of turning her head brings spots to her vision, but Aristona refuses to let the agony show. She's so focused on keeping a straight face that she barely has time to move as he runs at her half-turned back.
Defiance clouds his sight as Jordan brings the spear out in front of him. Aristona turns around in time to sidestep him, but he ignores the slight gasp as she clamours for her sword. This is his one advantage, the fact that she keeps her sword in her boot instead of in her hand ready for a fight. Jordan doesn't register the look of betrayal that crosses her face for just a moment, replaced quickly by anger. He doesn't have time to care.
Jordan uses the length of his spear to knock her to the ground, the metal striking her at the top of her chest. Aristona dislodges the sword from her boot but Jordan kicks it away just as quickly. "What are you doing?"
Jordan doesn't have the words to answer. He can't explain the blistering anger that is searing the back of his throat as he remembers laying under the mutt he was too slow to kill. He can't put into words how he still feels afraid even as he stands over her holding a weapon she can't hope to fight against. He can't even say how powerless his mind is screaming that he is simply because she's still here.
Aristona kicks out at the spear as it comes down at her but the next blow just comes faster. She's never felt so helpless, crawling along the ground as new bruises form with each hit she manages to smack away. This isn't how it ends for her. It can't be how it ends for her. They're supposed to be the same; they're supposed to make it to the end.
"We're allies!" Aristona shouts, not caring who else hears her at this point.
Jordan pauses for a moment, but the words don't even make it into his ears. He pushes all of his strength downward with the spear, and this time Aristona is unable to push the weapon away. It finds its mark in the top of her thigh and even she is unable to fight away the scream. He pulls back and plunges the blade into her abdomen again, and again, and again. All he can hear are his own breaths in his ears; not even Aristona's screams are enough to break through.
Jordan collapses to his knees when all the strength finally leaves his arms. Blood coats the spear's handle up to his grip, and he finally allows himself to toss the weapon to the ground. Looking down at the body is like peering through someone else's eyes and Jordan finds it hard to believe that she had ever been breathing at all. Red smears almost every inch of the body, splattering even the whites of the eyes that still stare back up at him. It doesn't look real.
All of the anger bubbles back down into his chest and Jordan is left with a strange feeling of nothingness as he peels himself back up to standing. He wipes both hands down his sleeves, but that does little to clean the stains left behind. Looking down, red is all that he can see and his clothing feels wet with the weight of so much of it. He wonders for a moment if he should try to wash his clothes.
Jordan collects both weapons from the ground, securing the sword in his boot just as Aristona used to do. He stares down at the body, perhaps waiting for some kind of reaction but his mind is finally quiet. There's no one left to slow him down, no one left to frighten him, and no one left to stand over him. He pauses for another moment like something more might happen before continuing on in the direction they'd been heading. She was a person, but it's so easy to think that she wasn't.
The farther they move, the more white that seems to cling to the trees around them. Sadira had been the first to notice, but once she mentioned it Erdan has been able to see nothing else. It looks exactly like the cobwebs that often collected in the corners of his closet but there's so much more of it. He can't remember seeing anything like this any other day, but Erdan also can't be sure they're not in a new area of the arena altogether.
"Where do you think it came from?" Erdan whispers and Sadira shrugs. She knows as little about this new decoration as he does, but she can assume that it's not something they want to look too closely at.
She feels closer to Erdan after last night, but that doesn't feel like a good thing anymore. If she's counting correctly, there are only ten of them left after the last cannon. It should be a relief, and in some ways Sadira hates to admit that it is, but it's also a reminder that nine more people will die. Her or Erdan will have to be one of them, but odds are neither will be making it out.
Is it wrong to let myself be attached when we're both probably dead anyways? It's hard to say.
Sadira barely sees Erdan's hand reaching out before it's too late. "What are you doing?"
He gasps as the cobweb clings to his fingertips and pulls away from the tree along with his hand. Erdan's never been so inclined to touch the cobwebs in his closet, and if it felt anything like this he's glad he didn't. The texture is almost wet yet still feels like a hundred thin pieces of thread sticking to his skin. Erdan waves his hand around but it doesn't let go until he finally scrapes it off on the dirt.
"It's gross," Erdan says, doing his best to wipe the panicked expression off his face. Sadira's gaze switches between his hand and his face for a moment as if wondering whether something will happen before she breaks out in a smile.
"I could have told you that."
"Next time please do," Erdan says as he wrinkles his nose.
Sadira hears something from the side and pulls Erdan in the opposite direction, placing a hand over her own mouth to signal that they need to be quiet. The noises of the arena have been louder lately, but that doesn't mean she's willing to risk being caught. They've gotten this far by being careful, well mostly careful, and that's pretty much the only strategy she has right now.
Erdan nods to the right and Sadira silently agrees. He's glad to still have someone, especially now when he feels about an inch away from breaking down at all times. He's never thought of himself as an emotional person, but that's basically out the window at this point. A couple of near-death experiences and knowing so many others are already dead will do that.
"W-what's that?" Erdan breathes, completely forgetting that he shouldn't be talking right now.
Sadira begins to shush him until she sees what Erdan is referring to. Just ahead of them is a sheet of the same cobwebs stretching between two trees, with what was probably once an animal trapped near the bottom. As they step closer, Sadira has to swallow down her last energy bar as it threatens to make a reappearance.
Around the tangled web, red sludge leaks from the mouse's mouth and cakes in the soiled fur like its been sitting here a while already. Erdan takes a step closer and Sadira's stomach turns again as she closes her eyes. The mouse is clearly dead, but she's never seen something so disgusting. If she had been concerned about the cobwebs before, she's outright terrified of them now.
"Is it dead?" Erdan asks, the squeak in his voice telling Sadira that he feels pretty similarly.
"Uh huh," Sadira responds slowly. Neither of them can take their eyes off the mouse. They've both seen their share of death already, but somehow this is just as horrifying. What happened to it?
Erdan gasps and stumbles back into Sadira as a spider slips from the mouse's mouth. Its dark legs stand out against the bloody sludge until it drops to the ground and disappears in the grass. Though Erdan's always liked the outdoors, spiders have never failed to creep him out. There's no good reason they need that many legs.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."
The dead tone of the voice pulls all the blood from Erdan's cheeks. He can feel Sadira turn around immediately, but he hesitates to follow. All thoughts of the spider and the mouse are shed from his mind, replaced by the fear of whoever could possibly sound so confident in the arena.
12th: Evi Tolbert, District 8
11th: Aristona Villiour, District 2
A/N: Here we are with out top 10! I know it's been a while but I said I would finish this story and I am going to keep my promise on that. There are only five or so chapters left in this story, so things are going to be picking up quite a bit until we get our Victor.
Victor predictions?
I appreciate all of you that are still sticking by and reading/reviewing. I love hearing any thoughts you might have or really anything you have time for. I know things are busy for a lot of people right now (myself included) so take care of yourselves first though.
~ Olive