Day 10: Showdown
Evelyn Darby, 15, District Six Female
I messed up.
What did I say wrong? I always knew I was awkward… and shy… and bad at people… but am I this bad? All I know is that I tried to talk to Marleigh and now she won't talk anymore.
Reuben… didn't I do everything right? Didn't I follow the steps you told me? Complement… Relate… Oh, why did you have to go! And why am I still alive? And why am I still awake, staring at the ceiling while Marleigh's on watch because no matter what, I can't fall asleep? Though it's still dark, morning light will appear any moment now. I've barely slept a wink.
I roll over and open my eyes, looking around in the dark now that I'm sure I won't be able to sleep. Marleigh's silhouette stands on watch in the doorway, staring intently down at the ground with her head bowed. There's something eerie about the way the moonlight falls on the edges of her shadowed figure, creating an ominous silvery haze as if she were nothing but a ghost.
She's… not planning to jump, is she?
"M-Marleigh?"
"Oh! Evelyn—" She whips back to face me. Although I only see her face for a split second, I recognize her pained expression immediately.
Guilt.
She's still facing me, eyes averted and shoulders hunched as if she wanted to hide, which in itself is a sign enough that something's terribly wrong. I'm usually the one trying to disappear. I want to say something, the right words that'll comfort her and make everything alright. Reuben was always so good at this. Even back at home, I never knew what to say when Theo's sad, and he's literally family. All I could do was give him a tight, big-sister hug.
But you're not the big sister here. She's not Theo.
I have to do it. The burning in my gut tells me that I'll regret it forever if I don't. I breathe deep to get my nerves under control.
It's gonna be awkward, it's gonna be awkward, it's gonna be awkward—
Bracing for the worst, I rush over and wrap my arms around her shoulders, squeezing tightly because otherwise, I might see her face, and then I'll definitely run away.
"Evelyn! What—"
"Don't talk!" I say before I know it. She stiffens. Stupid, stupid, Evelyn! Why'd you say that? "Ack! I'm sorry! It's just… I just… There's something wrong but I don't know what it is so just… Ack!"
She shakes her head. "I… don't deserve this."
"B-But you're nice. You bake cookies for kids. You saved my life. You… you…" My brain goes blank, racing so fast that I can't come up with any clear words. "I suck at talking! B-But I'm giving you a hug and you c-can't stop me."
She sniffles, and then she buries her face in my shoulder as her entire body begins to quiver with heaving sobs that choke her every breath. I open my mouth to say something reassuring, but all I end up doing is patting her on the back—why am I so useless?
"I'm… so sorry," she whispers. "I'm so… so… sorry."
"No! You saved my life!"
"N-No, you don't understand…"
"Then what's wrong?"
She gulps down air, barely stifling another round of tears. As the morning comes, it lights up her face, contorted in horror, guilt, and pain.
"I… I killed Reuben."
Time freezes.
I don't believe it.
I stumble backward. Marleigh… killed Reuben?
"W-What?"
"I-I killed him…" she whispers, "I-It's my fault he's dead."
Marleigh and killing… the two concepts just don't fit together in my head. There has to be some mistake! "B-But… how? No, no, no…"
"I didn't know it was him! Chaos tried to kill me, so I tried to kill him, but I must've gotten it all mixed up and—"
"It can't be!" I shake my head as if it'll make what she's saying not real.
"—and I put the poison in the water."
Poison. Water. If she didn't do it… how would she know?
I lift my head to look at her, barely able to breathe. "No…"
"I'm sorry!" she says, "It's not enough, but I don't know how else to say that I'm really, really sorry."
"Marleigh…"
Soft rays of morning light fall on my wet cheeks. I look away again, unable to look Reuben's killer in the eye. What am I supposed to do?
"If you want to kill me…"
I snap up, the thought abhorrent to the deepest part of my gut. "No!"
She sighs. "Then I… I'll jump out. You won't have to kill me."
"No!" I say, remembering Dove's useless hand dangling from her arm.
"It's what I deserve—"
"No!" I scream, "Don't do this to me again!"
She freezes and cowers.
"I-I mean, if you don't die from the jump, I… I…" —Dove's broken wrist, attacking me, screaming at me, trying to stab me— "I don't know how to explain this. Just don't jump. Please."
"Then—"
"I don't know!"
She's looking at me with pleading eyes. I can tell from the corner of my eye. But I can't bring myself to look back. She killed Reuben. She tore him away from me. She deserves to… to…
Die? I don't want her to die! She's the only reason I'm alive! But she's also a murderer? I want to be a million miles away from her, but I also simultaneously want her to stay.
She needs to leave. Yet she's really nice. She's killed before. But look what it's done to her—she wouldn't do it again! And this one was an accident!
"L-Let's just move," I say. Maybe walking around will keep me from having to make a decision. But even as I descend the ladder, I can't help but keep a wary eye on her. Even if she is all those nice things, she's killed a person—and that person was Reuben.
Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five Female
Now Evelyn won't talk to me. She won't even look at me, except for the occasional cautious glance.
I sigh. I deserve it too. I keep a good distance; perhaps that'll ease her nerves as we trudge through the forest in silence. I have no idea where we're going; now isn't a good time to ask. All I can do is follow her… and listen to the wind… and look for wildflowers…
Now that I think about it, people in the Capitol must be calling me stupid for telling her. These are the Hunger Games. Killing comes with the job description. Still, I'm glad I told her. Killing is bad enough—lying only makes it worse. And Evelyn… she deserves to know, even if it means… Well, this. A terrible walk through the woods, neither of us quite comfortable around the other, the shadow of death overhead. I'm still a murderer, but I'm not a liar anymore.
Slowly, the woods thin, and we step out onto a grassy bank beside the river, where Evelyn pauses to look out over the water. On the other side are the burnt-out shacks. There's a bridge that crosses over, but its sooty cover isn't exactly welcoming. Perhaps we'll stay—
I see the flying glint of metal seconds before it strikes. It'd actually be quite pretty in the sunlight if it weren't deadly.
"Ah!"
I drop to the ground as a knife whizzes overhead. I don't have to look to know that it's Alia Bernold, District Two, the only remaining trained tribute, the biggest threat in the Arena—and now she's upon us, rushing at us from behind. Her eyes are eager, even more terrifying with the bloody scar that slashes across her face.
I immediately push Evelyn behind me; I'll have to keep her safe. I reach into my pocket, searching for our only defense, the horrible red-and-blue acid monster—
My fingers come up empty. My garden gnome is gone.
This is bad.
"Evelyn! Run!"
With a wicked snarl, Alia punches me in the cheek—hard, as if her fist were made of stone. Though I grab at her to stall, she shakes my grip without a problem. I fall back, met by dirt, and cover my face, wincing in preparation for the next blow, whether stone or steel.
Instead, she picks the throwing knife from earlier off the ground. My heart sinks; her eyes lock on Evelyn's figure, fleeing for the woods.
I already killed Reuben. I'm not going to be the reason Evelyn dies.
I'm sorry, Jagen.
"No!" I scream, louder than I ever thought possible. My fingers hook onto Alia's jacket hood and I yank with every last bit of strength in my tired fingers. She yells, but her throw is off and she loses her balance backward. The knife falls harmlessly to the ground.
Be safe, Evelyn.
I don't get a moment to celebrate. She turns to me with her scarred face, teeth bared as she whips out her sickle and strikes.
"Die!"
Pain. Burning pain. It streaks across my chest, forcefully wrenching a scream from my throat that leaves my lungs clear of air. The air rushes past my body—there's so much red! When I hit the ground, my finger jams on a rock, but I can barely feel it through the fire roaring through my chest that turns my nerves to ash.
Evelyn's screams fade into the distance. She's safe. I've done all I can do.
"End it… P-Please…" I croak, looking up at her through tear-blurred vision. Hopefully, she'll bring the blade down fast. I can see its scary edge already; I cringe at the thought of it. It's so sharp, and so scary, and so menacing, but the pain will stop if it falls and—
A deep voice booms. "Hey!"
Alia Bernold, 17, District Two Female
"Hey!"
I jerk upright, searching the surroundings for him; I know Barrett's voice from anywhere. Sure enough, I soon spot him, atop a building on the other side of the bridge, one of the fire-ravaged shacks. This is my chance to end him, another chance granted by some higher power or by dumb luck. Take him out, and then Nine, behind him, and then Six in the woods. Oh, and Five. She'll bleed to death soon. And then I'll be home, and the curtains will fall, and the show will end.
I never thought I'd be so eager for the show to end.
Once the show ends, the pain can stop. Every inch of me hurts. I've soaked in the river, I've rubbed cream over it, I've held a cloth down on my face until it feels like my face is being torn in two. Yet no matter what I do, I can't escape the stinging of Barrett's whip across my face, the glass lodged in my shoulder and hands, and the blood—oh, the blood, from Ten girl and Zeus, stained deeply in my skin.
Perhaps…. this is why Andreas didn't want me to volunteer.
"Are you going to run?" I shout at him across the river.
He shakes his head sadly.
I squeeze the little toy cat in my pocket for good luck. It won't be long until I'm reunited with the real thing.
Bryson Fields, 13, District Nine Male
The girl from Two stands on the opposite side of the river, her whip-scarred face glowering with deathly hatred. From our vantage point on a roof, I send the hate back at her since Barrett won't do it. Why is he so nice to her? She isn't human. She might as well be a mutt, built by the Capitol to drive their disgusting Hunger Games.
Confident that her "prey" won't run, she approaches, stepping on the bridge, onto this side of the river, up the rubble until she's atop the building as well. I inch backward, prepared to flee down the series of connected roofs at a moment's notice. I'm not trying any heroics today, not after what happened yesterday.
"Final Four," she states, an eyebrow raised. She sounds a lot more tired than the last time we saw her.
"Final Four," Barrett repeats, an incredulous quiver in his voice.
"I'm not surprised it's you."
"Ain't that the truth."
"Whoever wins is basically the victor."
"I… wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Whatever." She sighs and draws her scythe, waiting for Barrett to ready himself. "Let's get this over with."
My hair bristles—after all, she ignores my entire existence—but I can't help but analyze our positioning on this roof. We definitely have some advantages. All we need to do is—
"Run," Barrett commands, his eyes flitting back and forth between me and Two, watching for any movement on her end.
But I could—
"Go!"
It doesn't take a third command, not with the rush of Feast memories, of failure, of being useless, of nearly ending both my own run and Barrett's. The best I can do right now is to stay out of his way.
With my head bowed low, I ricochet down the rubble-turned stairway, not looking back until my feet are firmly planted on the ground, out of reach of the Two girl. The momentum carries me forward and I stumble to a stop, spinning back to see the two fighting atop the charred roof.
Barrett takes a cautious step back, treading carefully since parts of the roof could cave in at any moment. Though his face is calm, after two weeks with him, I know those narrowed eyes, those creases on his forehead, that extra firm press of the lips. He doesn't know what to do. And that scares me more.
Impatient of the wait, she strikes at him, just a little, a teasing swipe to set things off. He leaps back, causing the roof to shake under him. Both freeze at the tremor.
This is bad, Barrett's less agile, he'll fall through, he—
Get it together, Bryson. I might not be up there with him, but I'll do my best to support him from below.
Two swings in with a new fury, forcing him to retreat. My heart catches in my throat. Why didn't he crack his whip earlier? I could watch him die any minute now, and I'm stuck down here, useless. The only thing I can do is follow, so follow I do. With every step back he takes, I search the area ahead from below, examining every roof for holes where he might fall in, trying to convince myself that my tiny contribution means something although it probably won't make a difference since Two keeps attacking and Barrett keeps retreating and—
That's it! A corrugated metal roof, held up with two poles over a sort of porch. It's right in their path. They'll run right over it. I scramble underneath it, investigating the poles—hoping against hope that they'll have some use—
A smile breaks across my face. They're held in by notches. This is my opportunity to help, my one last chance to save Barrett from Two. Through a crack, I see Barrett pass over, and I know that Two will be right above me in seconds.
Three… Two… One…
I slam my shoulder into a pole with all my strength.
A crack, a scream, a moment of chaos where the pole snaps away from its notch in the roof and the corrugated metal roof caves in. I scramble back, but a corner of the metal scrapes a gash down the side of my leg. I yell, gasping for breath at the blood pouring down my leg.
But the pain is worth it. Two falls like a shooting star, streaking with a scream, thuds on the concrete floor, remains immobile in a heap, her joints twisted in unnatural angles.
"Bryson!"
Barrett rushes up behind me, his entire body heaving as he pants for breath. His eyes grow wide with shock when he sees the collapsed roof.
"Are you okay?"
"I-I'm fine…" I say, still a bit shaken. "Just a bad scrape."
"Is… Is she dead?" he says, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"N-No cannon, I think."
"Oh."
I reach for the knife in my pocket.
A firm hand falls on my shoulder. "No."
"But—"
"You wait here."
Alia Bernold, 17, District Two Female
Stars spin around my head and then cave in like a meteor shower of death, crashing down on me with acute pain that only grows as the adrenaline high fades. My story, my plans, my show… over in a moment? This can't be real. This has to be a dream.
But do dreams hurt like this?
Only broken ones do.
I really thought I could make it. I was better—no, the best. I played my cards as best I could; I had sponsor appeal! But even with all that, I'm still here, immobilized on the ground, waiting for death. Andreas survived. Andreas… was better. Then what does that make me?
I'm not sure.
A voice, an unwelcome one.
"Can you hear me?"
It's Barrett.
Barrett.
Oh… the shame! I'd give anything in the world to hide in a corner and cover my face—anything to not have Barrett Adler leaning over me right now, speaking to me when I have no power, no strength, no nothing of my own to hold up to him. What's he here to do? Rub it in my face?
I try to face the ground, but the slightest movement makes all my joints explode until I'm sure I'm going to pass out. What a pathetic piece of…
"Can you hear me?"
Shut up and end it already. It's over. But my mouth won't obey, so I have to settle for a slight nod and a firm look away from him. Not quite the same thing, but it'll—ah!—have to do.
"Good…" He pauses for what feels like an eternity with the excruciating pain. "I'm mighty sorry that it's ending like this."
Bull. No one's sorry for winning. Though, I have to agree on that one; I'm sorry too…
He sighs. "I'll have to kill you…"
Gosh, aren't you sad about it.
To my great disappointment, he keeps talking. "But you should know that… well, you still matter, even if you failed."
You just had to make it worse with that bullcrap. Get it out of my face and end it—
"I'm sorry if it ain't relevant or anythin', but I figured you might need to hear that, y'know? I'm sure Hunger Games trainin' fixes you up to think that you only matter if you're strong or successful or somethin', but that just ain't true…"
My crushed breath catches in my throat as my life flashes before my eyes. My whole life, but mostly training. It's been my passion. It's been my life. It's been… me.
"You're more than just the sum of your successes and failures."
No, Alia. He doesn't affect… you. You… didn't need to hear that. You're… not…
Crying.
All I can do is blink, and it isn't doing much to stem the water poking at the corner of my eyes. For a moment, I lift my eyes and meet his, warm and brown. How have I never noticed how kind they are? But it doesn't last long. The pooled water overflows, blurring everything.
A calloused yet soft hand brushes past my cheek, wiping away a tear. "I hope it meant something to you… I wish it could be different."
Barrett… I blink, hoping that the message gets across.
"I'll end it fast."
I barely feel the final stab.
Barrett Adler, 18, District Ten Male
Boom.
The strength drains from my body when the cannon sounds. Though the stab was clean, without much of a blood splatter, it feels like I've dunked my arms into a pool of blood. It takes every ounce of determination in me to pick myself up off the ground.
Alia Bernold is dead, and I killed her.
"We did it!"
The voice is too cheery; it leaves me sicker than I already felt. I glance up at Bryson, standing in the shadows with an incredulous smile on his face.
I sigh. "Bryson…"
"We beat them—the Star Alliance, I mean. They're all dead!"
In the moment, his voice makes me mad. He's glad that she died? That they all died? I can't blame him—it's all rational—but it doesn't ease the rumblin's inside that comes from hearing someone rejoice in another person's death.
His voice falters, as if confused. "Barrett—"
"Not now," I cut him off. "Please… not now."
Bryson gives me a funny look, but I just avert my eyes, unable to face him with my blood-stained hands. I know she was already dead, but that moment of the first impact, when the blade pierces skin… I will never stop squirming remembering it.
Alia Bernold. District Two. My first kill.
I knew taking a life would be hard. I didn't think it would be this hard.
Evelyn Darby, 15, District Six Female
Marleigh screamed. My head's already full of screaming, my screaming, as Reuben collapses dead, over and over again. Now her screaming joins mine, but she's falling too, and they're both dying, and now my lungs are going to explode in—
"Ahhh!"
I scream. And scream. And scream some more. Pull at my hair. Punch weakly at the pine straw, the dull pain in my knuckles almost cathartic to my frayed nerves that feel like they could snap any moment. I take it out on the dead leaves until my hands are scratched and sticky with sap and my energy's spent and I collapse on the ground.
It happened so fast. Now Marleigh's dead too.
Or is she?
The cannon was late, much later after I fled. Is it possible…. that she's still alive? The Two girl ran after Ten; that cannon must've been one of them! Marleigh can't be dead! I'm not sure what I expect to find. I'm not sure I want to know. But if she's alive…
I scramble to my feet and scurry through the woods, blocking out the thought that the Two girl might still be alive and around.
"Marleigh!" I call—maybe she crawled away? "Marleigh!"
I burst out from the forest and back to the grassy bank of the river. Her body's there. She's curled up slightly, her face buried in her dark curls as she sobs, weak cries that rise from the ground. Blood pours from the gash in her abdomen, pooling on the ground in a puddle visible through the tall grass. My gut flips. I shouldn't have returned. As I watch, I see Reuben all over again and my throat constricts.
But I fight for my breath and drop down next to her.
"E-Eve-lyn—" she chokes, syllables cut up by sobs and pain. "You c-came b-back."
"I… I did."
It's a statement of fact. I hardly believe it myself. I'm kneeling beside Reuben's killer, watching her ebb away, yet all I want to do is grab her hand and tell her that it'll be okay. No matter what she's done in the past, she's saved me twice, and this time, my life… cost her life.
Perhaps I should've died and she should've lived.
She draws a shaky finger across her throat. "P-Please…"
Asking me… to kill her? "I… I can't."
"It hurts…"
"But I…"
She lets out a soft breath, barely a puff. Her strength is almost gone. There's not enough to ask again. All she can do is lie there, tears flowing uncontrollably from her pained eyes.
Killing. I can't do it. But I can't watch her suffer either. With my feet as heavy as lead, I fetch the fallen knife from the Two girl, the knife that would've killed me. I have to do this. For her. But before that, there's one thing I have to say.
"I…"
I trail off. The words are hard; they bring the images back. Still, I know I have to do it. It's the only way forward.
"I… I forgive you," I whisper, blinking back tears. "For poisoning Reuben."
The words fall instantly over her like a therapeutic salve. Though she doesn't speak, her eyes meet mine and soften, fluttering shut as gently as the wings of a butterfly. For a moment, all is still. Even the guilt wrinkles that have plagued her face since I met her at the Feast have released their hold, leaving an innocent smile behind.
My trembling hand grips the knife from the Two girl. I can't do this. I can't kill her. Just the thought of pressing it against the resistance of flesh makes me want to vomit. She's waiting for it; I see the slight tension in her neck as she braces for impact, but her face shines with contentment as if she were in a whole different dimension now.
She's in a better place…
As fast and hard as I can, I jerk the knife across her throat. The cannon follows seconds later.
Boom.
There's so much blood. My stomach flips, and out comes every bit of bread I've had in the past twenty-four hours. It mixes with her blood in a pool of red and brown that makes me feel lightheaded.
And then the tears come.
Oh, how they come.
Bryson Fields, 13, District Nine Male
Barrett pokes at the fire as the sun goes down, prodding it to keep the flames alive even though it sends a rising spiral of smoke into the clear, blue sky. It's the first time we've had a fire this open. With the only remaining tribute being the girl from Six, I figured it should be safe.
Thank goodness the major threats are gone, because Barrett wouldn't be ready to fight if one of them showed up. It's almost like he's shut down. He refuses to talk. I've tried twice already. He just gives me a sad look, like he's not fully present, and then looks away.
I sigh. It's the final three; he could easily win this one as the strongest tribute remaining, but all he's doing is staring blankly into the fire across from me.
Wait. The biggest threat in the whole Arena is across from me.
Should I be nervous?
I'd… like to hope not. He hasn't shown any sign that he'd ever attack me, but does being in the Final Three change anything? His behavior has certainly changed.
Do I need to do something about it? Like should I…
No! That's not happening. Sure, maybe I could kill the Six girl, but Barrett? That's… that's like killing Dad.
But you won't ever see Dad again if you don't kill Barrett.
I toss a twig into the fire; it bursts into flame. All this time, I've been so glad to have Barrett as an ally because I would've been long dead without him, but now that it's just us three…
I have to deal with the reality that only one of us can win.
Capitol
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Adrastus awoke with a bad case of deja vu, staring once again at the painfully white ceiling of the hospital where he had awoken weeks ago. The last time he was here, he had just received news of the late President's death. So much had happened in the past short weeks. If he had known this would happen, he would've resigned before this entire mess happened.
The break-in…. the fumbled Arena storyline… the explosion at the Arena—
He shot up, yanking a tube out of his arm in the process. He couldn't wait here, not while the ax waited at his neck!
A nurse flung the door open. "Sir! Please—"
"I can't stay," he said, throwing the blankets off his body. "I have to get to the Tower."
"Head Gamemaker—"
"I have to go!"
"But sir! You need—"
"Either you let me go, or I'll call the whole Peacekeeper force to rescue me from this prison," he spat, glaring at the young woman with the force of life and death. At this moment, she might as well be trying to kill him.
"O-Okay…" She sighed, wiped her eyes, and stepped aside before his wrath.
"My apologies," he said hurriedly, his demeanor slightly softened yet resolve unaffected. "I really must go. Give me a call if you get in trouble."
He rushed out of the hospital in nothing but his hospital gown and immediately hailed down a taxi, whose driver gasped when he saw the Adrastus Beaufleur hop into his backseat improperly clothed.
"Sir!"
"To the Gamemaker Tower. I'll pay you double if you're fast."
"But sir—"
"Now!"
"Yes, sir!"
The driver slammed the pedal and they were off, speeding through the busy streets to the tune of disgruntled honking. One moment, the especially bright lights of the City Circle were in view, and the next, the taxi had skidded to a stop.
"It'll be—"
"Call the Tower tomorrow. I'll have double ready for you."
"Wait—"
He opened the door and leaped out of the taxi, but he immediately came face to face with the paparazzi that plagued the Tower during the Games. The crowd turned their attention towards him in stunned silence, as if they couldn't believe their eyes. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Click!
That single camera shot set off a chain reaction, mobbing him in blinding flashes.
I'll be all over the news tomorrow…
Gritting his teeth, he blocked out the gasps and he pushed his old body to run faster than he had in years. Down the sidewalk. Into the Gamemaker Tower. Up the stairs. He didn't stop until he flung open the doors of the Control Room, a welcome sight for his hospital-sore eyes. For a moment, time seemed to halt as the entire room of Gamemakers stared blankly at their disheveled Head Gamemaker, still dressed in a hospital gown and gasping for breath.
His assistant Marcella was the first to speak.
"Sir! You're back—"
"What's the footage?" he demanded. He marched up the ramp that ran along the edge of the round room, spiraling up to his rightful place. "What did the cameras catch?"
"N-Nothing, sir; the fog—"
"And the tributes?"
"Two fled—One Male, Nine Female. We caught the One Male and staged a falling tree."
"And Nine?"
Marcella hesitated. "She's gone—"
Adrastus whirled around and glared at her, boring his eyes into the woman's chest. "What! You let her escape?"
"That's what we were trying to tell you, sir. Her tracker just… stopped."
He sucked in a deep breath. He could already picture gun barrels pointed at his head. "And what did you do?"
"Staged a mudslide. We used an extra Avox to make it look like someone was caught in it and called it her."
He blinked, barely able to believe his ears. For once, his team had done something… competent? Perhaps he would live, after all.
"Good job." He smiled. "Who's idea was it?"
"Story Head Callista Otherton, sir."
Of course it had been Callista. He'd known from the start that she was a good fit for the position. "Good, good. A fine job. Anything else?"
A reluctant smile spread across Marcella's face. Reluctant, but real. "We're glad to have you back, sir."
"I'm glad to be back too."
He settled down in his cushioned chair overlooking the rest of the control room and sighed contentedly. Though beaten, bruised, and bandaged, though his head throbbed and every shift on his seat sent violent shakings through his chest, though he looked a mess, fit to grace the headlines for weeks to come, Head Gamemaker Beaufleur was back in charge, just in time for the finale.
One last time.
?
She cracked open her eyes in the dark. Every muscle in her beaten body ached. The damp air sat in her lungs like a wet blanket; she gasped for oxygen. This wasn't anything like dry, sunny District Nine, nor was it reminiscent of the shaded woodlands she had seen for the past week and a half. She tried to prop herself up and found the ground mushy, a rock floor coated in a layer of mud.
A crack of light shone down from above, a thin window of white broken up by the silhouettes of grass blades that fell on her dirty face. When she finally struggled to her feet, an explosion of pain rocked her upper arm. She winced. It was from the clean swing of the boy from One that had disarmed her and cut her arm, all in the same blow.
She reached for the light and clawed at the tangle of root mass and rocks, which showered down on her in a drizzle of dirt and pebbles. As the blackness caved in, it revealed a forest, much like the one of the Arena—yet this one felt real, felt alive, not like the forced semblance of "natural." The homely smell of dirt after a fresh rain spurred her on even as rocks chipped at her fingernails and bits of dirt fell into her eyes.
Soon enough, she lifted herself out of the dark and into the light, where she collapsed onto the muddy ground, just grateful to be alive. Now that she could see clearly, she saw that she had just crawled out of a natural rock overhang, buried under the mudslide from the heavy rains.
She looked down at herself and laughed in spite of herself—her clothes were so thick with mud, she couldn't see any traces of the original greens and blacks. Cautiously, she inspected her arm, where she found the lump that was her tracker, coated in mud tinged red with her blood.
Her heart froze. The tracker. She immediately looked to the skies, as if expecting a hovercraft to suddenly appear and pick her off, just like they had done with the boy from One. She wanted to run, but where was there to run? Out here in the wilderness, she was hopelessly lost. Running randomly in a fit of panic might even bring her back to the Arena. And even so, no matter where she went, the Capitol would be able to follow her—
Breathe. You didn't make it this far to give up now. If the Capitol knew where you were, you'd be long gone.
She prodded at the bloody lump and gasped. The cut from the One boy had landed right on her tracker. Through her cut-open skin, she could see a brief glint of metal. Eagerly, she picked at it until she pulled the tiny box out. A deep incision cut right through the middle of it, severing all the wires inside and nearly splitting the entire thing in two.
The cut from One… saved my life.
Weight on her back suddenly reminded her of the first aid pack. Bandages! Gauze! Disinfecting cream! Oh—if there were a god out there, he'd pulled all the strings perfectly for her. She'd have to find food and water, but that was no problem for a country gal like her. All that was left to do was to grab her bearings once the stars came out and then live her wilderness life—
She paused. Now that her mind was clear, the torrent of memories flooded in like the rains on that fateful night, dragging her to her knees. The boy from One and his scream of death. The blind terror of the mudslide and the forest. Baize, lying helpless as his heart slowed to a stop.
Oh Baize… if only you were here to see.
She wiped at her face, further smearing it with mud. This was exactly what he would've wanted. But she had done it, against the odds. She'd done the impossible.
Orysa Edrei had escaped.
The Fallen:
Alia Bernold (D2F), killed by Barrett Adler (D10M) — 5th Place
Alia… my one "antagonist," who wasn't even all that antagonistic. Though her motivation originally felt like a pretty common trope, I realized while brainstorming the Premonition High School AU that I know so many kids like her, though with school instead of the Hunger Games. I really wanted to give her the happiest ending I could within this placement… I hope it sufficed? She didn't deserve the dark ending that villains do. I got a lot more emotional than I expected while writing her end.
Marleigh Gaskawee (D5F), killed by Evelyn Darby (D6F) — 4th Place
I loved writing Marleigh so, so much? I think that her POVs were usually the most fun to write because her voice is so… Marleigh. She is such a precious child (though she's eighteen), and this one really hurt too (though isn't that true for like 90% of deaths in this story?). Her death sequence was also changed and re-changed; it was so hard to craft one that could fit this national treasure. I know that many of y'all are gonna be heartbroken at this one. I know it doesn't mean much, but now that I'm heartbroken too.
A/N Well, well, well…. the chapter long overdue. I stayed up all night to write this. I wouldn't say it's my best work, but I hope you enjoyed it? Sorry if I sound segmented or something. That's what sleep deprivation does, folks. Get sleep. Oh! I'll be focusing on this story for the next few weeks since it's almost over! Sorry to my Justice readers.
Predictions for the next chapter?
Thoughts?
