Day 4: Afternoon and evening
Logan Arteficavitch
District 7 Male, 15
It couldn't be his cannon. It just simply doesn't compute in my mind as the new reality I need to live with. The truth that I am really irrevocably alone, for the first time since this all started.
After all, the cannon could really be anyone else's, there's still so many people in the Games and god this couldn't be happening, why was this happening -
FOCUS, a voice in my brain booms louder than the rising panic. It sounds a little bit like Damon. Find something to stem the bleeding. That's priority number one.
Right… stem the bleeding.
I can't keep holding my face together forever. I have to find… a bandage? A rug?
Anything to stop this.
The adrenaline that allowed me to stumble away and run back to the park's entrance away from Jean has subsided, leaving behind the agony and fire that has spread across the entirety of my face.
After fumbling with my ticket that I somehow miraculously kept intact amid all of my forest mishaps and my fight with Jean, I jam it into the turnstile slot, pushing through the nauseating feeling rising in my throat while blood keeps spitting out in little droplets across the ground.
I stumble into a small gift shop a few steps away from the entrance.
Right, this is good. I need cover. I need to assess the damage, and I'm on the right track.
It can't be that bad. I refuse to believe this is how it ends.
I don't know what causes me to do it, but I see a mirror on the far-right wall behind the counter and almost throw myself at it. Partly because of my inability to judge distances with only one functional eye and partly because I need to see.
Always driven by the pure fear and survival instinct coursing through my veins, after days of going without a proper look at myself, at what I've become, the desperation to know hits me like a shockwave.
It's not just the pain that makes me reel and shamble backwards, only a mere second later.
It's the face that stares back…
More than just the hunger, my cheekbones jut out in a haunting manner, like wings on a bat. Sweat seemingly pooling in the hollows, mixing with the grime and dirt that seems to now permanently cake every inch of my skin.
And my eyes. One of which is caked in blood, eyelid ripped up and most probably ruined beyond repair. The other, wide and frighteningly blue, the black pupil dilated out of fear.
I look like I've aged sixty years in the past three days.
It's certainly not a teenager staring back at me, but a traumatized elderly man trapped behind a disfigured mask. Deep purple welts cover my jaw, collarbones, arms. The marks of the abuse I have suffered at the hands of my expiring ally, who in his dying throes thought I was the culprit.
Jean…
I wince instinctively, my torn lip igniting with a new fresher wave of pain. Each angry skin tendril pulling at the tear in my face, in my nose. Bearing witness to my deformity.
God, I didn't need to see this. I could have just stayed in denial about the damage, but confronting it in this way just churns the hurt and agony and fear together, settling them in the pit of my stomach.
You can't lose yourself, not now. You can't do that to Dahlia.
If not for myself, I try my best to staunch the blood flow to prevent my sister from having to watch me suffer. I know the wound itself is not fatal, per say. I've seen as much in the post-war years when war veterans routinely loitered around the dirt lanes of District 7's downtown area, before the Capitol sent down forces to clean up our streets and get rid of these undesirables for good. The undesirables who had to pay the ultimate price for trying to protect the ones they cared about.
Faces torn up and burnt, similarly grotesque to the injury I have to carry for the rest of my probably shorter rather than longer life.
My bottom lip quivers and I avert my eyes, as I am overcome by a wave of self-pity before I can bury it back deep inside of myself.
I wish I knew how to comfort my people back at home, thousands of miles away. Even now as I gently apply pressure, the towels turning reddish brown, with bits of something else coming away with the blood, I think of the trauma that my sister must be subjected to.
Sitting on our tiny hole-riddled couch, ripping aggressively at the skin on her thumb with her nails as an outlet to the anxiety that overwhelms her.
Having to see her younger brothers bloodied and smashed to a pulp, over and over again.
Stop thinking about that.
I try to touch the torn tissue again, but only elicit more pain as I quickly retract my fingers away from the wound. It's deep, no denying that. It won't scar over nicely, if I even have that much time.
I almost laugh at the absurd concept of ugliness and aesthetic, especially at a time like this.
That was Jean's thing. Obsessing over how things felt and looked and how he'd be perceived.
But some boyish part of me hoped that if I'd get out of here, it wouldn't be as a monster.
Would my sister even welcome me back, bearing such obvious scars of the hardships I've lived through? Would it be too much to handle?
The frantic thoughts all but disappear at the sound of two voices. Too close. Always too close. Dread settles in the pit of my somersaulting stomach.
" - bloody tracks on the ground leading to that shop, right, no Morgana, your left!"
"I'll go investigate," a female voice responds, steps approaching the open door of the shop.
Too quickly. Of all people, it's Morgana, I realize lamely and my heart leaps in my chest in ecstatic happiness.
She was nice to me during training, right?
Maybe…. Maybe, there's still a chance for me. Uselessly, I stop breathing, trying to will my bloody tracks out of existence, cursing my muddled mind for not realizing earlier.
Not everything is lost, yet. It's Morgana. Maybe she'll allow me to escape, if there's any District loyalty left in this world.
Her shadow appears a moment before she does, my gaze jumping frantically from the old floorboards of the giftshop to her outline in the doorway, obstructing the sunny outside.
"There's a tribute!" she sounds the alarm almost immediately, slashing the sword directly at me without a moment's hesitation.
The fact that it's me seems to register a few seconds too late, her eyes widening in shock, giving me a few precious microseconds to push her roughly out of the doorframe, and stagger onto the little steps in front of the giftshop.
Something slashes me on the back, a superficial wound, no doubt, since I barely register it. What I do fully and completely register is the grinning District 2 boy standing a few steps away, looking positively gleeful to see me.
It's too late to backpedal, to magically extricate myself out of the situation.
He doesn't even stop me when I trip and fall onto the dusty ground, all-encompassing pain blinding me as I launch myself back up and start scurrying away like a spider who has lost half of its legs to a cruel child's experiments.
"Hey! Hey, stop running!"
An odd request, considering the circumstances. I elect to ignore it, stumbling forward at a snail-like pace. I turn a sharp corner behind another colorful building; I can maybe still get away.
That is, until my legs are swept from under me and I hit the ground with a painful thud.
The fire that spreads in my slashed-open back causes me to black out, for a few seconds. I lay there, panting, defeated and trapped. Everything hurts so very much.
Two faces obscure the sunlight that warms my face in an almost-inviting way.
My legs scream in protest, but I get back up, throwing my hands up as a feeble attempt at protection. Blood spews out of me, as though I've left thousands of little faucets open.
Morgana, please. I look at them both. They're kids just like me, why can't they understand that this is wrong?
Why'd you have to run into us, her face seems to be saying. Her lips are set in a disappointed frown. Disappointed at me? Disappointed at herself? Who knows at this point.
I can only muster a shaky defeated sigh.
"What about that," the boy muses, grinning at my District partner. "I think we've got one who fell right into our lap."
The boy readies his spear, leveling it with my chest. Morgana does nothing but stare at me in muted distress in her large brown eyes.
I can see the shock and the turmoil within her, but I know she will not intervene to save me.
I won't find solace in anyone here.
Better to face my fate head-on.
I stare back at my murderers, because I come to terms with the fact that that's what they are, trying to muster any kind of emotion. But, I come back empty and exhausted.
This isn't even what is important right now.
"Don't look Dahlia," I plead at the sky. Instinctually, all of my muscles contract, bracing myself for whatever pain comes next.
"Who's Dahlia?" the District Two boy asks inquisitively, cocking his head to the side like a cat. I shudder, my ribcage sticking to my shirt with all of the sweat that has drenched my body.
"My-M-My sister," I stammer, clutching at my midsection, wracked by an involuntary spasm.
I didn't poison Jean, everyone saw that. Why couldn't he just believe me. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't snapped…
"Dahlia is a nice name," he answers calmly, as though he is a classmate passing me by in a regular school on a normal day. I can almost forget the way his feet are planted in the ground, ready to close the distance between us and strike me down. I can certainly erase the eerie carnival music and thrill rides operating behind him.
"It's like a flower, isn't it?"
I'm caught off guard. "What?"
"Dahlia… isn't that a flower or something?"
I blink with my one good eye, blood still pouring from my other one. My head pounding with stone-cold fear and pain and grief.
"W-Why are you talking to me?"
He genuinely seems taken aback by the question.
"Would you rather I just kill you?"
I gawk at him, then at Morgana who stands there helplessly, her own sword on the ready.
I could try to run, again. God knows I want to, every inch, every fiber of my being screaming to survive no matter the cost.
But I know it's the end of the line for me.
From the way my insides shift uncomfortably, the remnants of whatever got Jean poisoning their way into my system, slowly disabling me from the inside. From the way my hands close around nothing, starkly aware of the fact that I have no weapon, I have nothing to even defend myself with.
Even here, in this desperate unavoidable situation, a part of me wants to try running. A larger part of me is at peace with what is going to happen here today, too tired to delay the inevitable.
I hold onto that last piece of dignity for another moment, before the District 2 boy advances and thrusts his spear through the left side of my chest.
Something collapses and implodes within me.
The peace is gone, replaced now by helplessness and despair and panic. By the desire to be something before I go out of this world. To imbue this moment with some meaning before my spirit moves on. It can't… it can't have meant nothing?
All my life, I tried to stay neutral. Never fighting, even when the fight in question was at my front door.
But maybe that's what was all wrong.
In what are possibly my last moments on earth, refusing to pick a side appears ugly and wrong and I couldn't have seen it more clearly than I see it now.
Maybe that's why Aidan and my parents died. That's why Dahlia had to watch as it happened, carrying on the trauma of the war for another generation.
I won't be able to fight to see another day, but hopefully Dahlia can.
I try to level my breathing so as to not choke on the blood, once again my survival instincts kicking into overdrive.
Morgana's face appears above mine, once again. To me, it seems like her eyes are remorseful. Even now, I try to see the bright side of the situation, I think humorlessly.
"I'm really sorry Logan," she says quietly, her eyes shifting inexplicably to her left, to the District 2 boy, before settling back on me.
It's okay, I want to tell her. I know this is how it works. I shouldn't have run into them.
But I know I don't have enough strength for this and all the other things I have to say.
Right now, I have to focus on my family and what this moment will define for them, for the rest of their lives when I'm gone.
It comes out more as a croak, but I hope they understand just how much I love them. Honest to god, I try to convey it so strongly that a choked sob escapes my lips.
They've done enough. This isn't on them. I hope this curse on our family ends with me, and that they can have a good life. That's all there is to it, isn't it?
Dahlia, Damon…I love you guys.
I hold on for another few painful seconds, when my cannon sounds up ahead.
Jessamine Law
District 11 Female, 16
Seems like there's a party, up above.
Not long after the previous cannon, another one spreads out like a shudder above-ground, sending ripples in the tunnels. Bringing the count to… sixteen surviving tributes? All I'm saying is that I'm glad I wasn't invited to this specific party.
The ceiling above me rings slightly, small specks of dirt peppering my hair and the ground beneath me. I must look like some kind of feral underground mole, at this point.
I allow myself a small smile at the thought that I have officially outlasted a third of the competition, without so much as earning myself a scratch or a particularly nasty bruise. Well, I mean… my left hand still throbs, my almost-certainly broken finger in a makeshift splint I made, to minimize any further damage but... apart from the few admittedly terrifying encounters with the underground wildlife, I've had it fairly easy.
Can't say as much about the mutated rats that tried to attack me a while ago…
I'm not going crazy; I'm actually doing just fine.
After I had gathered my bearings and recovered from the initial crippling anxiety and trauma of being here, I realized the loneliness and silence were the two things that could drive me off the edge. The lack of any feedback from another human being was just… something to get used to, to put it lightly.
At home, I wasn't ever really by myself, even when I was buried in my books and studies with one single goal in mind. Sure, I've felt lonely and misunderstood, as though the world was ready to swallow me whole. As though I didn't matter, and nobody cared unless I projected the most perfect version of myself.
But I was never so undeniably and totally alone.
Every few hours, the anxiety and suffocating claustrophobia come back in waves, sometimes so strong that I have to sit down in a corner a room, press my hands against my eyes and wait for it all to pass before continuing on, aimlessly exploring.
Almost like a ghost, haunting these dimly lit hallways and tunnels, with no particular purpose. Maybe that's why I latched on so desperately to Addie, and to everything she represented. Someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to have my back and to bring me back whenever I …
Anyways, that is in past. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
I've made peace with the fact that I cannot share my findings, my secret, with anyone except for myself.
I sigh in muted sadness, the sound echoing across the mossy walls.
"It's just you and me, buddy." I pat the map that is rolled and secured to my belt with my hairband.
"Just you and me, to explore this whole…"
I drift off, lost in thought at what exactly I'm supposed to be doing. A map is nice, don't get me wrong… but some additional guidance would be nice.
About … I don't know, what's expected of me, I guess?
The first day I steered clear of the deeper tunnels, but curiosity and hunger got the best of me eventually. On what I thought was the morning of the third day, I ventured off of the beaten path, so to speak. The Gamemakers were probably thrilled that I was giving them something to work with.
Almost too conveniently, I had found a small hand-operated elevator that brough me deeper into the underground network of passages, creaking under my weight as I descended.
Every step I took, I knew I was entering uncharted territory, but it's almost as if the Gamemakers wanted me to explore these deep reaches of the arena. In the manner by which the elements or the various deformed mutts I have encountered have pushed me towards a specific location, it's almost as if they were using me as a plot device to show off their secret jewel that would have otherwise been left uninvestigated.
Maybe I've just gone off my rocker a long time ago, but there's almost something like pride permeating from the silent cavernous spaces I discover?
As though they're telling me "See? Look how hard we've worked to provide you with the best experiential scenery right before we kill you!"
Even the map gets intentionally less detailed, broader strokes and fewer names associated with the locations, as though beckoning me to explore.
Anyways… I am more than content to play the role they had assigned to me. Better this than to get hunted above-ground. I shudder at the memory of hitting the girl from District 7 and not even waiting to hear her hit the hard ground before making my escape.
This is… safer. Even if I do feel like I am half-dead ghoulish spirit already, floating through my eternal kingdom.
Not the kingdom I'd pick personally, but it's the one I've got, I think humorlessly. And with all of the environmental changes lately, it really is something otherworldly.
Elegiac, almost.
I've gotten used to the strange, distorted noises and the dripping water. The seemingly random clanking of metal. Who knows, this place could have been an arena in and of itself…
I glance around myself, spotting mycelium growing in concentric circles on the moss-covered walls, tufts sometimes floating off into the air around me. Once again, the speed at which the thread-like vegetation has been growing is almost-unnatural and certainly disconcerting, covering now most of the walls and ceiling. Walls that were barren when I first explored this tunnel.
"Jeez… If someone or something out here doesn't kill me, the mutated cancer fungal spores in my lungs definitely will, once I get out of the arena," I mutter to myself, turning away from the floating particles.
They almost seem to glow, like minuscule cotton balls.
Something slithers behind me, and I instinctually crouch lower, my meat cleaver ready. Nothing lunges, so I sneak up to where the sound came from, spotting something crawling on the ground, just beyond the light.
It has no bone to pick with me, but…
With a grunt, I decapitate the eyeless creature. Its shriek is cut short by my weapon.
Gotta' admit…I screamed too, the first few times with the rats, especially that first one that I had to bludgeon to death with a piece of wood before I found the aforementioned meat cleaver in one of the storage rooms… but you get used to the dirty work pretty quickly. This reptile's translucent scales make me recoil, and I leave it where I killed it.
I can't eat it, so why bother?
Maybe the rats can have their much-awaited feast, since I've been adamantly refusing to volunteer myself as the main course.
As I shoulder the backpack that I found on one of the higher-level storage rooms, rolling my shoulder to get rid of the stiffness in my neck, I keep walking downward as I've done for the past few days.
But today feels different.
As I venture deeper, I have to wipe the sweat off my face as it starts accumulating in beads. My tank top is already drenched in sweat, and I almost consider leaving my sweater behind, before tying it at my waist and continuing my hike through the underground cavern network. I notice how the humidity has spiked dramatically over the past few hours, and I can only imagine that if the trend continues, I'll soon be able to see my breaths as vapor in the stagnant air of the caverns.
Is this their way of forcing me out above-ground?
I frown. They'll have to try harder than that.
But nonetheless, I would be lying if I said I was completely unaffected by the changes happening in front of my eyes. Even yesterday, I was struggling to find roots with pure drinkable water to collect. Today, the walls are practically weeping with rivulets of clear water streaming down into the deeper levels. The roots themselves are thicker, like prominent vasculature running across the earth-walls and ceilings, entangling themselves with the cables holding the lights in place.
These aren't normal roots either…
For those of us in the agricultural management concentration, we had to learn about the ins and outs of vertical farming in our biology class. Something about preserving space and optimizing fruit and vegetable production. I had never seen it in practice, since vertical farming facilities were only now being constructed to mitigate Panem's all-encompassing problem of food production.
But I have done my fair share of studying of goddamn roots to see that these aren't growing at an ordinary rate, far from it! And what's most intriguing is that they seem to be keeping the ground together, their hold on the earth growing stronger by the day.
I might be sounding crazy, but I genuinely think the whole place is off kilter, morphing into something else.
I don't know… almost as if this whole arena is infected with something, breathing in synchrony as the parasitic takeover begins. Stuff is just… growing at an unnatural speed, and whereas I could walk comfortably with lots of space on either side of me yesterday, today I have to sidestep the conical mushroom caps and roots that have started growing sharp spikes that could slice into me if I were pushed.
I wonder if it's the same above ground. If I'll ever get to know.
I enter a new space and defensively crouch.
"What the hell…"
Disgusting-looking sacs of luminous fluid enveloped in tendrils of sorts hang from the ceiling. Contrarily to the warm hues of the lights, these bathe the room in a cold blue tint. That's new.
"Ew, urgh, this place is so weird," I comment to myself, avoiding touching any of the protruding masses.
It's almost as if the arena has been designed with different levels, ranging from seemingly normal and urbanized top levels, to warped and decomposing lower levels.
I mean it makes sense with what I've seen so far. The first strata: the park itself, with its cursed music and rides.
The second strata: the underground tunnel system with its food storage units, employee offices, its railways and the little carts that I have yet to figure out how to move.
And the deeper I go, the more distorted and deformed the arena becomes, as though its roots are rotten, and that corruption is slowly permeating the whole park, from the bottom-up. Maybe, I am privy to the fate that awaits this whole cursed place.
I frown.
Maybe it's meant to … I don't know… symbolize our gradual moral degeneration or something.
I almost laugh at the absurdity and elaborate out-loud.
"Basically, what I'm saying is thanks, Mrs. Marchand, for teaching me the importance of symbolism. Couldn't do without it in a place like this."
As though on cue, a gigantic rat the size of a small dog scurries through the tunnel, brushing my leg with its coarse matted fur.
Paying me no mind.
I guess I'm not the target of the Gamemakers' taunts and threats today, lucky me!
I stare back at the end of this small hallway-turned-incubator-for-god-knows-what. Squinting, I can make out the outline of an entrance to somewhere, but when I unfold my map to check where I am, the network of interconnected passages offers no additional information beyond the fact that there is supposedly an empty space beyond the entrance.
Another day, another door. An unlabelled one at that.
Hm… interesting.
I brush my fingers on the doorknob, readying my meat cleaver above my head with my other hand. The door gives under my push, creaking open to reveal… another empty room, with lights hanging from the ceiling by cables.
Except this one has a tiny pre-Panem era screen embedded in what looks like a desk full of buttons, levers and switches.
The screen flickers as I approach it, curiously extending my hand.
At first, it shows a similar map to the one I am holding under my arm. After days of surveying it, I can tell the familiar criss-crossing tunnels.
The more I look at it however, the more details I realize this map has.
"Nice," I mumble under my breath, pulling out used chalk out of my bag and starting to add the details "M'guessing I'm upgrading."
I try pressing the screen, jamming my finger into it full force.
It doesn't respond.
I tap it a few times for good measure.
Curse this old stupid technology!
After a few minutes, I figure out the controls, painstakingly clicking to get to the menu option, observing all of the other treasures stored in this archaic computer.
While I already have an advantage by knowing the existence of the underground network, I just … I have a gut feeling that this will enable me to gain the upper hand in any confrontation I might have!
After all, I wonder if I am the only one who has discovered the underground passages. And more importantly, I wonder how long until I will have to fight for my discovery.
I'd be a fool for thinking that they'll just let me sit these Games out, while everyone else picks each other off.
And I mean, as I flick through the different maps, locations, specifications and parameters on the screen, I can't help but finally consider the eventuality of having to hurt someone to get out of here.
It still feels despicable, but I am no longer crippled by the nauseating anxiety at the thought…
And you know, I could run out towards my opponents like a crazed maniac with my weapon or I could… formulate a plan and be ready when they show up with a humane method of dispatching them. I think the room I stumbled upon today just might be the key to that plan.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll go relax upstairs now, and tomorrow I'm figuring out how to use this to my advantage.
As if on cue, a deep rumble shakes the tunnels, a few strung-up lights crashing to the ground and extinguishing themselves with a loud crinkling noise. Instinctually, I cover my head and eyes to avoid any shards accidentally making me go blind.
Good thing too, because a part of the ceiling detaches itself and fall directly on my head, eliciting a scream.
It doesn't hurt per say, but the fear of being buried alive here for all eternity spurs me into action immediately. That is all the warning I need to get to work, right away.
I hadn't considered that, but with the humidity, the growing roots and overall instability of the tunnels, who knows how long I've got to salvage the information in this small unassuming room.
They… the Gamemakers shown me this place for a reason… I just need to figure out a way to extrapolate or export the information I have here to a higher level where I don't have the very distinct possibility of the whole room caving in at a moment's notice.
To export…
I start crawling to the exit, making sure to avoid the dislodged gelatinous sacs that have fallen on the ground and burst, leaving splotches of viscous yellow fluid that seeps into the ground. So gross.
I need to focus on the task though. What do I need… What do I need?
I think back to the supplies I have hoarded in my little makeshift base of operations, and remember the computer there.
What if I could somehow connect both computers… that's it!
All I'd need is a… a connector.
The cable would only have to be…
Factoring in the elevator shaft and the quickest route to reach the room…
My mental math process is interrupted by another large piece of dirt detaching from the ceiling, landing on my back and pinning me down momentarily before I shake myself off and keep crawling.
That's about one mile of cable, give or take. And that's assuming I'd be able to fashion some kind of rudimentary port that will link both computers together enough for the information to be exported.
"Glenn… Glenn I'm gonna need you to pull through for me on this…Where am I going to find a mile of cable?" I grumble angrily, finally getting to an opening where I can stand. Another rumble causes me to start jogging back to the elevator. "Okay okay, run first, figure this out later, gotcha!"
Who the hell knows what kind of timeline I'm operating on.
Roizer Loudon
District 6 Male, 14
The sun is setting when we are on our way back with a huge gallon of water, and suddenly Bex drops to the ground, silent as a mouse.
"Did you know something like fourteen muscles are activated when-"
Like a ragdoll, I let myself be dragged down to the ground by my collar, peering through the small fence to the right of the path we were on. Cassie plops down next to me, the water container spilling a few drops of water before being stabilized by Bex.
"What, what is it?" he whispers in a panicked voice, and Bex motions to not make a sound.
After a few seconds of just the carousel festival music that I have almost completely succeeded in tuning out, Bex looks at both of us.
"I saw some movement," she breathes uncertainly, squinting through the fence. "There, at the flagship."
The fear rises to ensnare my throat in a vicelike grip.
While we are not lacking in food per say, we were starting to run low on water. See, the clean drinkable water was conveniently cut off in the arcade, first at the water fountains, then in the bathrooms. And since hell would freeze over before Cassie willingly gave up our base camp that he has boobytrapped to hell and back, we have decided to start doing daily water runs.
Of course, we should have expected to run into some trouble one day or the next. I just couldn't have predicted it would be so soon.
"Stay put, I'm gonna go investigate," Bex whispers, quietly shifting herself into a semi-crawling position. She pauses, looks back at us and smirks.
"If I get murdered, take the water and run."
Cassie rolls his eyes, while gesturing towards me and himself. "Yeah, we do seem like the epitome of strength, dexterity and vigor, sprinting away with a huge ass jug of water we could barely lift even before we had to run for our lives. Sure, seems likely."
Whatever he was going to say next is silenced by Bex's glare.
She mimics snapping Cassie's head off with her bare hands, points at me violently, then back at him and mouths something vaguely offensive.
Then, clearly satisfied with the effect her threats seem to have, our ally turns back around and creeps closer to what I know understand to be a children's pirate ship playground. I turn back to Cassie, seeing him sneaking forward too, already having cleared the white-picket fence.
"Cassie…." I start, shuffling closer, grabbing the fence in panic. "G-get b-b-back here, eeek, B-Bex said…"
"I'm not letting her go alone," he hisses at me, while miming that I should come with him. My anxiety ratcheting up to a thousand, I grab onto the water gallon and waddle as slowly and cautiously as possible, staying close to the overgrown grass.
After a few minutes of us shuffling closer, Cassie stands up quickly to his full height, almost making me fall back in surprise. It's like, one second he's on the ground, and the next he's as tall as I've ever seen him, weirdly moving around to ... attract attention?
"Be careful of the wireeee…" Cassius starts half-singing, waving his hands, gesturing at me and Bex to back up and leave.
"There's… a wire on the ground, and people in the ship…" he keeps singing, his voice high-pitched and full of nervous energy. "It could be a traaaaap…I've got no weapons, um… please don't kill me...uh...us, we come in peace?"
He has clearly seen something, but what?
What is going on? Why is he singing, putting himself out in the open for an attack?
Bex is as confused as I am, raising herself to mid-height and that's when shit hits the fan.
Suddenly there is really loud yelling that resonates from the inside of the pirate ship.
It honest to god makes me jump right out of my skin, and by the befuddled looks on my allies' faces, I can tell they are just as alarmed.
A girl climbs down indignantly from the pirate ship, all the while screaming profanities, stomping her foot on each of the comically small ladder steps on her way down to the sand as though we've just utterly ruined her day. Once she's on the ground, she wastes no time and barrels at Bexley at full speed.
"No weapons, my ass!"
She grabs hold of my ally's hand and tries to wrench the long piece of rebar that Bex has currently raised, but my ally pushes her back violently.
Bex starts yelling too, telling her to "fuck right the fuck off", and the girl responds in like, stopping inches away from Bex's face, screeching at her that this is her territory and "that she can fuck right off".
I don't immediately recognize her, puzzled at the fact that there is a random person in the arena with us.
Except, a few seconds later, I realize it's Sparkle from District 12.
By the time my brain makes the connection to the glamorous outspoken vain girl at the Capitol and the dirty pissed-off teenager in front of us, Bexley gets punched square in the mouth by an absolutely enraged Sparkle but not before grabbing a fistful of platinum blond hair and dragging the other girl down with her.
They both roll on the ground, punching each other, scratching and causing such a ruckus that might alert the whole arena. Somehow clearing the grass, they both land squirming in the sand that surrounds the playground.
The rebar lies just out of reach and even as Bexley tries to grab it, Sparkle keeps kicking it away and elbowing my ally in the throat.
"You bitch, get off my fucking property!"
Bex pushes Sparkle's face into the ground, making the thin girl eat a mouthful of sand, before she successfully kicks Bex off in a great display of pure and unbridled rage. Cursing up a storm, Bexley backhands her in the face and jumps up, panting.
Hoping to stave off any concurrent attack.
With a wordless shriek, the blond girl launches herself back at Bexley, scratching at my ally's face, battering her with closed fists and kicking her while Bexley tries to respond in like. They both tumble down again.
Without hesitation, Cassie joins the fight, trying to pull off the girl who has wrapped her two legs around Bex's waist and is going absolutely berserk. He gets a kick in the gut for his troubles.
I need to help too, I realize dumbly.
Just as Sparkle lands another particularly nasty hit and Bex doubles over, retching, I slam into Sparkle with all of my might, causing her to lose her balance just enough for Bex to swipe her legs from underneath her.
Somehow having grabbed the rebar, my ally is about to get back to punching the living lights out of Sparkle and braining her for good when we hear a thin almost paper-like voice.
"Stop this!"
Against all odds, we freeze, looking back to the pirate ship.
My district partner is standing at the bow of the ship, shaking, brandishing a crude piece of wood with nails protruding at odd angles. Her pale strands of wispy hair flow weakly in the wind.
"Get away from her or I'll come down and kill you!"
She looks awful, even worse than she did in the Capitol.
Bex looks like she is about to challenge her on that idea, but I take her hand before she can make any rash decisions and pull her away from a lying disheveled Sparkle.
The girl stands up, dusting herself off and spitting blood on the ground. Her lips are painted red, much like the lipstick she wore in the Capitol. Except now, it is smeared across her face haphazardly. None of the pretentious obsession with her looks, four days into the Games it seems.
"Bitch," she grumbles, feeling out all her bloodied teeth one by one. Bex looks like she is about to throw down again, but I hold on tight.
"We don't want to do you any harm," Daisy continues, her voice shaking so intensely that she is difficult to understand. She abandons the high ground by jumping down on one foot to the sand and wobbling closer to us.
At a closer look, her skin is all scratched up, with some cuts deeper than others. She looks as though someone put her through a meatgrinder. To come to think of it, so does Sparkle and I know for a fact that Bex's nails, bitten to the quick as they are, were not the only culprits of those injuries and lacerations.
As she approaches us slowly, Daisy looks almost translucent in the sunlight, veins popping underneath her skin as though she is some ethereal elf-creature from the fantasy stories I have buried my nose in on more than one occasion. Her shoulder seems to have taken most of the damage, a literal chunk of flesh missing. Nothing to cover up the ghastly wound, either.
"We don't want to hurt you," she repeats, breathing heavily as though she was the one who had just fought with Bexley.
Sparkle rights herself, slinking back to Daisy's side.
"I promise you that she speaks for herself and for herself only, I would love to settle this once and for all, but…" Sparkle drawls, glaring daggers at Bexley.
"Wouldn't want to bash in your face and ruin her day," Bex finishes, massaging her cheek, a nasty bruise already blooming across her tanned skin. Her hair looks like a bird's nest that just got thrown into a trash bin and got stomped on by an angry mob.
Unsure of what to do, I wave lamely at Daisy, who smiles back thinly. Her eyes are bloodshot and watery, but she finally acknowledges me.
"Yep, so we're leaving," Cassie decides, stooping low and picking up the water gallon, and backing up while pulling me and Bexley after himself.
"Wait," Sparkle's cold voice grating against my eardrums. "The water is ours."
"No fucking way," Bexley growls, turning back menacingly, "Walk three hundred meters and go get your own."
Sparkle looks like she is about to explode, but Daisy hobbles closer to me.
"Can we… can we at least take a sip? They're not letting us drink at all. Every place we've looked at, they turn it off right away. Even the ones a little further, every time we try, it's like it all dries up. And we keep getting attacked by birds."
Ah, so that's where the scratches came from.
At a loss, I stare at Bexley, silently pleading that she'll feel some empathy towards my district partner's plight. Bexley rolls her eyes, roughly pushing the near-full barrel towards Daisy.
My district partner nods in gratitude, offering the jug to Sparkle first and when the taller girl refuses, she drinks plentifully, the water spilling over and wetting the collar of her shirt.
After drinking her full, Daisy once again pushes the heavy gallon towards Sparkle.
"Don't be an obnoxious asshole, just drink," Bexley mutters and Sparkle grabs it violently and takes a few reserved sips before practically shoving it into Bexley's chest with a loud thud.
"You said you got attacked by birds," Cassie asks cautiously, stepping in front of Bex to diffuse the tension. "What were they like? We've gotten pretty lucky and we haven't encountered any mutts yet, but the Careers have been patrolling our part of the park."
"The birds were peachy," Sparkle starts, getting agitated once again, before Daisy puts her hand on her shoulder. "They've got really flimsy necks if you hit 'em right."
She stops for a second, considering something.
"So, if you ever run out of food wherever you're holed up in and we're still around and kicking, just bring water and we'll fix you up with some nice mutt meat."
Cassie practically leaps out of his skin smiling at her and nodding.
"Will do, and ah… thanks for not murdering us?"
Sparkle smiles back, all teeth and no humor, twirling her hair in a poor imitation of her signature move at the Capitol. "No problem at all."
As we are about to leave, she motions to stop us from departing just yet. For the first time since this conversation started, her voice takes on an almost-concerned edge.
"Oh and…Do you have any medicine, anything to… take the edge off? She's…" she jerks a thumb towards Daisy, "She's not doing too good."
She plays it cool, but I can tell from the way her eyes twinkle that she is desperate.
Bex crosses her arms, no doubt about to pass some well-deserved snide comment but I ruffle through my little rucksack and fish out some painkillers we found and have not used up yet. I also rip off a third of the gauze I carry around, and hand it to Daisy as well, pointing towards her shoulder.
"H-Here," I extend my hand with five small morphine tablets. There's really no harm in sharing… we've got plenty more at the base.
Sparkle snatches the tablets and the gauze, her sharp nails flicking me across the palm of my hand carelessly as she surveys the pills. Daisy practically falls to the ground in gratitude, at the sight.
"Thank you, thank you," Daisy hiccups, grabbing Sparkle's hand and tugging her back to the playground.
"Mind the wire, on your way out," Sparkle cautions us sarcastically, eyeing Cassius, who blushes at the unwanted attention.
"What the fuck was that," he exhales under his breath, as the two girls climb back up into their little fortified hiding spot, out of sight and out of mind. We head back to our arcade, hurrying as the last of the sun rays disappear and the alleys are bathed in the warm multicolored lights of the amusement park.
"You sure seemed enthused to talk to her after she tried beating the living shit out of me," Bexley jokes, poking his still-rosy cheek. Hers is the size of a small apple, and her right eye is starting to swell shut.
"Yeah, I was pretty enthused at the prospect of not dying," Cassie shoots back, giving Bex a once-over. "Are you okay? Do you want me to help with something?"
She brushes him off, walking forward with renewed vigor.
"You know…I wasn't going to ask in the moment, but… what in the ever-loving fuck was that singing display about?"
Cassie blushes again, running slightly ahead and then walking backwards while looking at the both of us.
"Okay, okay, that was pretty dumb, but like… I panicked? I saw the wire and the movement in the pirate ship again, and I figured that if anyone was going to make traps, it's my district partner and she's just…"
He gestures at his head in a circling motion. "I figured that if she saw me, maybe she'd feel bad enough to not end us all on sight. District loyalty and whatnot."
"Ah yes, the famous Threes, known for their district loyalty and their traps… no one else would dare construct such complex contraptions, lest our poor inferior brains give out," Bexley mocks Cassie, winking at me.
"Yeah C-C-Cassie, anyone c-c-can make t-t-traps," I supplement, nodding at Bex. "Y-you shouldn't have p-p-put yourself in dang-danger like that."
Cassie narrows his eyes at us, unimpressed. "Urgh… you know what I mean. I mean, if you think my traps can dissuade people from entering the Arcade by stringing them up or crashing some heavy shit on their heads just to freak them out a little…"
His eyes go large. "I'm pretty sure her traps will dissuade you from being alive, if you know what I mean. I was just approaching this whole situation from a statistically-probable angle and Salamandra is the one who, statistically, is more likely to make traps that could actually fuck us up good."
"So logically, you make yourself the target to get pin cushioned with arrows that we've clearly seen her use in training. Absolutely brilliant," Bex deadpans, hoisting the gallon of water up with a grunt.
"She's also objectively just not that great of a shot," he retorts, spreading his hands around him helplessly, as though we are the ones missing some obvious detail.
"She's not that great of a shot, and we're not gonna test that theory ever again, alright?" Bexley imitates Cassie sticking her tongue out at him before swivelling at me. "And you, sir, did not listen to the very simple and very specific instructions of staying the fuck put where I left you."
"I'm s-s-sorry Bexley," I answer regretfully, unable to meet her gaze.
She sighs, bringing us closer together.
"I'm not mad… I just don't want you guys to get hurt, is all."
Her eyes glaze over at some memory or unfulfilled promise that she does not disclose, before seeking out the horizon. Maybe she's thinking of Scout. I shudder a little, practically shuffling into Bexley's side for comfort.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, and when Cassie deactivates all of the traps at the entrance of the arcade, we quietly slip back in.
While the two of them heat up water for our meal, I sit down uselessly, fiddling with me thumbs and flipping through my sketching notebook. After all of the excitement quieted down, I am back to feeling sad again, faced by my own inadequacy and ineptitude.
"Hey, you doing alright?" Bex nudges my shoulder gently, offering me a hot bowl of noodle soup.
Jostled out of my melancholia, I force myself to smile at her, closing my notebook and looking up. In spite of the swelling around her face, her eyes crinkle a little as she gently sets herself on the ground and shoves the bowl and spoon into my hands.
For the first time in days, her bandages do not leak through when she twists slightly to look behind herself, lost in thought. Even after her fight with Sparkle, her wound seems to finally be healing.
"I'm… I-I'm okay," I answer, and she leans forward, brushing my hair in an almost-maternal way.
"You don't sound okay."
She's right. I couldn't be further away from being okay.
Ever since the Bloodbath, I've had the worst feeling in my chest. But I don't… I don't want to be a bigger burden than I already am.
"I pr-p-prom-promise I'm g-g-good," I stutter, struggling more than usual. Bex reaches for my hand, unexpectedly gentle.
"You know it's okay to be upset. I'm upset as hell."
"The truth is that this really sucks, and we're not really equipped to deal with this," Bex continues, shrugging defeatedly. "But we'll end up on the other side of this whole mess one way or another. And at least we've got each other."
It's almost as if a fire has been extinguished in her, a little bit, after Scout…
It was reignited for those few minutes during her fight with Sparkle, that unbreakable drive to protect us, but now her eyes mirror what I am feeling inside.
I nod, as Cassie approaches us and sits down.
"So Bex, tell us something funny, I'm getting those gloomy vibes from you both and after our encounter today, I've had enough existential dread to last me a lifetime."
Bexley laughs.
"Why don't you say something funny, mister sunshine and rainbows?"
Cassie pauses for a few seconds. "Because two nights ago I tried, and I distinctly remember you both falling asleep in record time."
Two nights ago, before we knew Scout was gone.
"Okay fine, I do all the hard work anyways, so…"
She starts telling us about her family at home, her hectic everyday life and the many little incidents that make her life a colorful wonderful mess. And as she's talking, I open my notebook and start doodling.
"You know, Renzo is like… such a little shithead, love him to hell and back," Bex reminisces.
Cassie interrupts animatedly, "He's the guy who tried running during your reaping, right?"
"Yeah, ah… Always thinking with his heart, never with his brain. Probably hit him behind the head a couple too many times," Bex chuckles quietly. "Brain just must've leaked out."
It's nice to just hear them talk about themselves and their lives outside of the Games. It almost feels like we're normal, not fighting for our lives in a place that actively wants to squash us into the dirt.
My pencil flutters over the page, adding finer details to my drawings.
My thoughts start wondering again. I hope I am together with my allies when it's my time to go. I want to be able to give my book to Bex, so that if she survives, she can pass it on to her kids in her district. Maybe it'll make them laugh, or something. Or if Cassie makes it, maybe he can keep it.
"I will try my best to make sure nothing bad happens to you both, okay?" Bex says, the softness in her voice so alien to my ears, especially after the savagery and brutality displayed in her fight with Sparkle earlier today. As though she read the dark thoughts swirling through my mind.
"Yeah, we know, Bex," Cassius answers simply, putting his hands on both of our shoulders and squeezing.
He seems so sure of it all, and I'm here just… numb. Ever since the Games started, my tics, my compulsions have worsened tenfold.
I've tried to keep it all together for my allies, but it's just… the desire to just be done with it all resurfaces stronger than it has in years.
But I can't. Not if I can help it.
From the way Scout's death devastated Bex and Cassie, I can't do that to them. Wright would have helped me, right about now. But I have to stay strong for them and for my mom and dad, and for Spooky. Anyone who took the time out of their day to care.
I keep scribbling.
I don't think Bex has forgotten about what she asked me before we left for the Games. I guess she might be embarrassed or preoccupied by the millions of dangers that surround us. But she wanted to write to her kids so much…
When my allies go to sleep, I stay back by the small night-light we have improvised.
First flipping through previous pages as if performing a ritual, I reread Roy's short little adventures before moving on to the sketches I made of the tributes. Scout smiles goofily at me from his page, with a tuft of red curls poking upwards.
Oh… how he beamed at me when I showed him.
And Orla, who we laughed at. The erasure marks where Scout stole my pencil and scribbled on a comically large witchy nose to the girl, retaliating in secret after she had insulted him for no good reason.
I flip the pages, until I find one free of drawings and start writing.
I have to restart a couple of times, erasing and rewriting, to get the content just right. Tailored for every person Bex wanted to reach. And then I start with the drawings, based on how I imagine the kids to be.
I am fairly happy with the result, even if the hands look comically large, or the faces look slightly cartoonish. Khalon, Eira, the twins Helena and Neve, and Renzo on the right, Bex in the middle and Cassie and I on the left.
All of us holding hands, smiling, in front of what I imagine a nice beach looks like.
That's nice enough, I think.
Notes: Just in time, new chapter! Hope you folks enjoyed it. I certainly did, and with the latest death, we get our tribute count down to two thirds, which is exciting! Sad, but exciting!
I especially loved writing the creepy underground tunnels that are slowly but surely morphing into something else entirely. Picture Blackreach (to my Skyrim fans out there) crossed with Hollow Knight and you've got what Jess has been exploring in the past few days.
Next chapter will hopefully be up a little sooner, since it's going to be a bit shorter and will focus on how the mentors are finding the Games so far! Please pretty please let me know what you think, and any speculations, theories or predictions are absolutely welcome in this house.
Peace and love.