Reap What We Sow Chapter 14: Thirteen: water to blood, a hunger games fanfic

(a/n): *whistles* You have been blessed, my wonderful readers. My muse is so strong right now, you don't even know! I was so excited to write this chapter, because the NEXT one is gonna have some special surprises for you. ;)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

water to blood

The golden hue across the cave had gradually started to shift into a shade of blue, when the hours after the initial bloodbath passed. It had happened slowly, the colors slowly fading out, shifting from gold to something orange, then pinkish, then purply, then finally to blue; a vibrant shade which glows radiantly across the caverns, even accentuating the blood splattered across the walls and floors. We'd come across plenty of blood, but no bodies. How the bodies were retrieved without an open sky, I can't say, but it didn't take long for us to realize that the changing colors of the cave must have been an indication of the day changing to night. And given we'd come across no other Tributes since the incident with the Mutt, myself and my Allies settled down for the night. Birch and I had found a corner of the cave hidden behind the rocky shards, which had extended from the ceiling to the ground; scarcely unveiling between the cracks what laid behind it.

There was a pool of water that divided this spot from the main path, about knee deep. We had waded through it to find a loft behind these rocks; elevated with a low ceiling, meaning the kids were able to sit comfortably before they laid down, while Birch and I had been delegated to crouching tensely and then eventually laying down in an effort to become more comfortable. We were hidden well from view from any passerby's, and would be able to hear them well before they came into view thanks to the echo beyond our spot, but we'd encountered no one. Perhaps we were so thoroughly lost within this twisted structure that we'd lost each other entirely. It seemed almost promising, but I know how Gamemakers function. When things are too boring, they tend to spice things up. And that Mutt in the black water had certainly been an early example of that. If that was simply the first day of the Games, I can scarcely imagine what the rest will resemble.

Needless to say, the kids are terrified. I doubt either of them could ever have imagined such a terrible monster even in their wildest dreams, and now they'd almost come face to face with one. The dangers were real, more than just the Tributes who wanted us dead. Luckily, Birch had done a fair job calming them down once we planned to settle for the night. We broke off bits of the dried beef and ate a little, as well as sharing some water. And it wasn't long before Daisy and Rust were knocked out for the night. They were lucky. I just laid on my back staring at the ceiling, thinking about how the glowing blue rocks reminded me of jellyfish, of all things, and how I'd been stung by one when I was a child. Purposely.

Finnick and I had been swimming together, and we went back and forth daring each other to touch the jellyfish. So I, in my infinite wisdom, jumped into the water, touched its surface, and then its tentacles. My mother had to treat my aching hand for days afterwards, but I'd proven my point.

What a fool I was. I try not to reflect too much on the memory, because then I think about my last night with Finnick, and how complete it had been. It would be my very last, if everything went according to plan, in keeping Liber alive. But then again, my own brother had abandoned me during the bloodbath to run off with some girl we barely knew. Perhaps it'd been in a panic-induced state that he'd done what he did, but he had looked back at me. Our eyes had locked, he could've said something, done something, yet he had looked away. I was willing to die for a brother who was quick to leave me behind. I had, in Volunteering, reached out my hand to safeguard my brother from the venomous tentacles of the jellyfish. And he'd left me to it.

Now he's out there, somewhere. So many cannons have gone off over the passing hours, some of which I have been involved in, and all we can do is lay tensely, and wait.

But with nightfall having settled, it isn't long before the music resounds through the Arena, and I find myself sitting as upright as I can. Without an open sky, I wonder how the Gamemakers mean to display the fallen Tributes, but it is simply displayed upon the very large and glowing blue ceiling; likely multiple projections throughout the Arena, visible and available for every living Tribute. Out from the corner of my eye, I watch as Birch sits up a little, to watch with me.

I try to detach myself from guilt when their faces appear upon the hologram, looking off into the distance. The two Tributes from District 2 are dead. Jason killed the boy by impaling him on some rocks, and the Mutt had killed the girl. The boy from District 3 is dead, having been decapitated. The girl from District 3, Mecha, I killed. The girl from District 5 is dead, as well as the boy from District 6. The girl from District 7. The boy from District 10. And then the girl from District 11, who died first, by her own volition. Nine dead. I then proceed to count out the remaining Tributes. Fifteen. Nine dead within the first day.

Birch leans forward, frowning when the hologram disappears. "All the Careers are pretty much dead," he notes, looking at me. "The only ones left are District 1 and District 4."

"Liber and I aren't Careers," I say. "We never trained to be in the Games."

Well, I had trained myself since an early age. My countless notebooks full of my various notes and details and plans for the Hunger Games, when I eventually Volunteered, could fill a whole shelf. I had sparred religiously with my friends, Harpee and Mara, when they had allowed it - before Mara rightfully renounced me, when I didn't Volunteer for Harpee. But I had never been a Career. The option had never been available to me, because my parents would never have allowed it. My father scarcely spoke of his time as a Tribute, let alone as his current position as a Victor and Mentor. And my mother kept her thoughts on the whole matter religiously quiet.

Still, by comparison to most of the Tributes in the Games, I did possess the most experience, as well as knowledge.

"But your dad's a Victor. Didn't he teach you and your brother anything?"

I shake my head. "No. He never wanted us involved in that life," I say, deciding to change the topic. "I need to find my brother."

"We know he's alive," Birch assures me. "He's with that girl. What's her name?"

"Lamia."

"Yes, her," Birch says, frowning. "I've watched her train. She's pretty ruthless, but she's clever, too. They're probably holed up somewhere safe for the night. I mean, they have to be alive - they weren't in the broadcast." He watches my face closely, as if searching for any relief in regards to his statement. He's clarified the obvious, that my brother is alive, but it doesn't change the fact that he's not here; he chose not to be. "If we find him, I'll probably disband from you. The Careers won't be inclined to make an Alliance with us. Me, maybe, but not them."

I look towards the sleeping children from District 12, who are so tiny for their ages; so thin, malnourished. The girl's cheeks are fairly hollow and her grey eyes are sunken in, whereas the boy has a short stature and thin hair. It's so strange to think about. Not just comparing them to the people in the Capitol, who have everything they could ask for, who have fine figures and even plump features, but comparing them to my own people. Certainly we have a poorer population, but even they are not so thin and bony by comparison. We know how to hunt and how to be self-sufficient. Fishing is our livelihood, it is the very core of our being.

But we have that advantage, I suppose. District 12 has coal and poverty. The longer I look at Daisy and Rust, the sicker I feel, and I force myself to look away.

"Why help them?" I wonder.

Birch eyes me curiously, a ghost of a smile appearing over his full lips. "Why help your brother?"

"He's my blood."

"Does blood make family?"

I frown. "You've known these kids for two weeks," I say.

Birch pushes himself up by his elbows, pushing himself back so that he can lean against the wall. It is quite visibly not a comfortable position, but it seems tolerable enough for the time being. "I don't...I don't have anyone to go home to," he explains. "My parents died when I was young. My dad was cutting down a tree and accidentally sawed through his hand; bled out before he could even reach a medic. And my mom died due to black lung. My grandma raised me since then, but she died two years ago. So, now it's just me." He smiles again, though it's much sadder. "I've been working in the lumberyard to keep food on the table. Having my name drawn...I was angry at first, but I wouldn't change it."

I think about Finnick growing up alone with his dad, then with Mags, finding that my heart is tightening all over again. It's easy to forget my own advantages, my own...privileges. Both of my parents are alive, I never had to know such loss of myself. Certainly I dread the possibility of losing my brother, but I'm aware of this possibility; it didn't come suddenly. And, in any case, I mean to ensure it never transpires. I will stand between my brother and that mysterious beyond.

Even if my parents will never forgive me for it.

"So you're keeping them alive because you have nothing to live for?" I ask.

Birch chuckles. "In a manner of speaking, I guess. That's the morbid way of looking at it," he says, frowning. "Besides, District 12 hasn't had a Victor since Haymitch Abernathy."

"Only one can come out," I remind him.

"Yeah, I know," Birch says. "I'm going to keep them alive as long as I can, though. Maybe I can even see them through to the end."

I try to smile, though it's straining to do so. "That's noble," I say. It's the very same battle I'm fighting for my brother's sake, though I opt not to share this detail. Birch already knows. And to sit here discussing keeping Tributes alive till the end, when that is next to impossible, seems too downtrodden a topic.

Thankfully, Birch seems to understand this, for he changes the topic, as well. "Do you trust the Careers?"

I consider him with a raised brow. "No," I say, without hesitation. "I spent a lot of time studying the Games when I was younger, Birch. The Careers lean into Alliances with their own, because a larger pack can eradicate the weaker links quicker - pardon my phrasing - but once those links are gone, it's time they turn on each other. The Careers are helping us now, but once our numbers dwindle, they'll kill us without pause."

"Did your dad make you study the Games?"

"No, that was all me. Growing up, I wanted to be a Victor...I don't know why now. I don't know how anyone could want this," I admit. "My dad certainly didn't want us involved in this."

Birch nods. "It makes sense," he says. "I saw how you handled yourself back there. You know what you're doing."

"Not here, I don't," I admit, sighing. "I've never seen a cave Arena before, and I've watched all of the Archives, through and through. This is entirely new to me, so I'm not sure how to navigate it." At his questioning glance, I elaborate. "The Arenas are, generally speaking, unique. But there's also a general flow. Forests are the more common type of Arena, right? They're straightforward, because they're dangerous, provide cover, and are familiar. Sure, we've seen ruined cities and islands in the middle of an ocean, with a bridge connecting said islands. But I've never seen this, much less that Mutt back there."

My fellow Tribute visibly shudders. "It could have killed us," he muses. "You know, I almost feel bad for the girl from District 2..."

My brow arches at that.

If I'm being honest, there's a part of me that feels a measure of guilt, too. She couldn't have been younger than me, and she had Volunteered for the honor of her District, and she bled pride and exuded overconfidence, and yet when that monster had emerged from the water, she had tried to run. She hadn't even tried to fight it. There was no heroic efforts, no battle cries, nor even trying to sacrifice us to the beast. She had simply turned and tried to run; had screamed when it grabbed her, had died before she'd even hit the water.

Then there was the girl she was Allied with, Mecha, who had tried to kill me. I still shudder as I recount the sound of my spearhead pulling itself out of her spine, then watching the blood spurt out before I had kicked her into the water. It was brute instinct that compelled me to do so. Maybe it was also because I couldn't bring myself to finish her. I could've plunged my spear into her head or neck, killing her instantly. Yet I had wounded her in inconceivable ways, and had kicked her aside for the water to claim her life. It had been as quick and as thoughtless as pulling a fish off of the reel, and throwing it back into the water.

Maybe both of these girls deserved better, could have had better lives if they simply had opened their eyes to the truths of everything. But they're dead now, and I'm responsible for that. The weight of a life is a factor I had never really put much consideration into when I initially fantasized about the Games, even after I was well old enough to understand. I had simply deluded myself into that simple fantasy.

Now, I just see Mecha's dead body rolling into the water and the girl from District 2's arm hung out of the creature's mouth.

"She was going to kill us," I say, after a long lapse of thought.

"I know, I know," Birch says. "But she was still just a kid. She couldn't have known any better."

"You're odd," I say, deciding to be blatant. "You're protecting two kids from District 12 and you pity the Careers." I lean back, folding my arms behind my head. "What about your District partner?"

There's a bit of silence

"Nellie. Her name is Nellie," Birch says. "She's alive."

"I figured that," I say. "But why isn't she with you?"

"We had disagreements about the kids from 12. She thinks we should've made Alliances with some of the Tributes closer to our District. Maybe that was the smart thing to do, but I couldn't leave those kids alone. They won't get any Sponsors, and no one will show them mercy in here. They're just kids, but everyone would try to kill them at first chance," Birch says. "I don't stand a chance of winning, Ceres. But I know I stand a chance at giving these kids their best chance."

I admire his efforts, truly I do. But looking at those sleeping children, I can already imagine their blood painting these walls. When Birch falls, they'll fall, too. It might not be immediately, since they're small and nimble enough that they can hide effectively for a while. But hunger and thirst will override their survival instincts, then they would venture out too far, and be too slow when the blades of an older and stronger Tribute swung their way. I have to remind myself that, despite our similarities, it's different with Liber, because my brother stands a chance. Liber might be a fool, but I know he's strong in his own way. If I can keep myself and him alive long enough to reach the end, with even one or two more Tributes left, I think he could win. He has enough in him to do at least that.

Maybe I could even afford to grant that complimentary luxury to Birch, were he not dedicated to protecting two children. The Games calls for one to live, yet he stands here, preaching about how he's going to keep two children safe. Even if it came down to it where they were the only surviving Tributes, he would have to make a decision. It would be a decision that would destroy even the most stable minded of people. I know it would.

I wonder if he even realizes that. He has to. Even denial can't extend that far.

"What happens if we encounter Nellie?" I ask.

"She'll probably try to kill you," Birch admits. "I think she'd try to talk 'sense' into me."

I hum, trying to remember her. "She...threw axes, right?"

Birch nods. "Blight taught her that," he says. "Blight Thicket's our Mentor-"

"I know who Blight Thicket is," I say.

"Right, right," Birch says, cheeks darkening. "I remember her saying you're a threat, along with the rest of the Careers. So even if she knew we were Allies, I think she'd still try to kill you."

"Do you know who she'd have an Alliance with?"

"District 9 or District 5, I think," he says.

I hum, internally jotting that note down.

"Are you worried?"

"I'd be an idiot if I wasn't worried about someone wanting to kill me," I say

Birch shakes his head. "Speaking of things trying to kill us, do you think we'll see more Mutts like that crocodile?" he asks.

Oh, absolutely. The fact that that crocodile had appears so soon during the Games is only an indicator that there is more to come. If we're lucky, then we'll face something like it again, rather than something much larger and significantly more dangerous. Its skin had been like metal, with my spear unable to even pierce its tip through its scaly hide. The eyes could have been a potential weak spot, had I been properly prepared for it. My theory seems to be proven by the fact that the Mutt knew I was trying to go for its eyes, as it was quick to evade me, and redirect its head from my extended attack.

The Gamemakers will no doubt be upset over our stunt. We had outwitted their monster and utilized their Arena to our advantage. If we are to encounter such a Mutt again, I expect that, despite my hopes, it'll be amplified. My dad's told me before about how Gamemakers like enacting vengeance on Tributes who make them look back. An example my dad had used was Haymitch Abernathy, who had used the Arena's shield as a weapon against his adversaries, though my dad had said no more as to what the consequences were.

Looking back at Birch, I decide that sugarcoating things will only hinder us, so I relay my thoughts to him. He appears less than pleased, his eyes widening to the thought of there being something more dangerous and more vicious lurking in the caves.

"What lives in caves?" he asks. "You said you have caves and grottos in District 4, what lives in them?"

I blink. "I know that bats live in caves. In District 4, we lay traps in some caves for crayfish and shrimp..." I try not to consider the absolute irony, and also horror, of being hunted by an oversized crayfish. "There are olms, which are like fishlike salamanders, we sometimes see in caves, but they're eyeless and harmless and stay close to the cave floors. We don't even bother hunting them. Um...I've seen large spiders, and there are pseudoscorpion, but they have no tails and their pinchers are so little they inflict no damage."

Birch seems to take in my reply, his jaw clenching. I, too, consider my list. I had never been particularly enthused by fishing in caves and grottos, as they could be dangerous and the food provided there was tricky to obtain. Still, the Capitol loves their shrimp cocktails, so I would often see able-bodied young boys who were slender enough to get to the water in particularly tight caves in order to set traps for them, as well as crayfish and other crustaceans that lived in darkness. My preferences entailed being on a boat, in the open water where I had visibility of everything, and some semblance of control. Shark attacks were always a concern, of course, but we coexisted with these dangerous predators. Whenever I would encounter such a creature, I would ignore it, and it would ignore me. I had even swam with a few a handful of times during my life.

But what lurks in a cave is worse than with something with sharp teeth. There is always the concern of rocks collapsing and trapping someone beneath it. They could die instantly, their heads caved in, or lay trapped in the rubble until they died of starvation or lack of oxygen. It never seemed worth the risk, even if those incidents were incredibly rare, and usually only transpired when a reckless fisherman would go alone. And, usually, they were found before death could claim them.

This is hardly a cave back home, where fellow fishermen would search for their lost comrade. What lurks within these walls is significantly more deadly, and there will be no rescues. Only one gets out of here.

"Do crocodiles live in caves in District 4?" Birch wonders. "You knew how to handle it..."

I push myself back up, deciding that there'll be no rest for a while. "Sometimes," I say. "It's rare, but they do appear on our beaches sometimes or just cruising in the water. Technically, we're supposed to hunt and harvest them for their skins to sell to the Capitol, then, of course, its meat. But they're tricky to kill without sustaining damage to their hide." That Mutt's blood orange and ebony hide had certainly been a sight to behold, no doubt some Capitolian women were drooling over what a fine pair of shoes it could make. "A couple of years ago, I remember there was this particularly big crocodile that stuck around our beaches, rather than moving on. It was big - not as big as the Mutt, of course - and it killed two of our fishermen when they were boating. That's...when we draw the line, you see. We coexist with our predators to the best of our ability, but if they hunt us, we have to hunt them."

"Predators?"

"Sharks, crocodiles, occasionally seals, sea snakes, and barracudas," I elaborate. "Anyway...so the crocodile had killed two of our men, so my dad and-" I pause, swallowing. "Neleus Odair, yes, Finnick's father, arranged a manhunt which lasted for about three days. We lost a total of six fishermen thanks to that beast, but they wound up killing it. I think I was thirteen at the time, maybe twelve. But I remember going with my brother to the town square to look at it, because they'd hung it up by its snout with a metal crane. It was huge, and it had these beautiful glossy emerald scales. The hide was damaged, though. I mean, they'd hunted this thing for three days with six casualties, they had no choice but to use brute force. I remember the Peacekeepers were particularly strict and brutal for about two weeks after its hide had been sent to the Capitol. But we got quite the supply of crocodile jerky out of it, so I think it evens out..."

Birch appears stunned, his brow knitting together. "Brutality for a torn up bit of hide," he muses. "I know what you mean, though. In District 7, the Capitol gets the skins of some animals that get hunted. Definitely not sharks, crocodiles, or whatever the hell seals are, but more like bears, bobcats, and coyotes."

"Did you hunt?"

He shakes his head. "Sometimes I'd be selected to go with hunting parties to provide for my District," he says. "I did kill a bear once, but it'd been a baby." He visibly shudders. "I think about it sometimes, if it'd been an orphan, or if I'd killed this little thing and its mother came back looking for it."

"You did what you had to do to provide for yourself and your District," I say.

Birch doesn't reply for a while, but when he does, he sounds tired. "I'll keep first watch. Try to get some sleep."

I'm hesitant to do so, but I try. No cannons have gone off yet, and the noise is loud enough that I expect it'd stir me awake. Liber is still alive, likely with Lamia, and I have to cling to that hope of finding him. I made a promise to myself, to my dad, and to my mom that he would make it out of here alive. And I can't break this promise. I can't.

I am awoken to the sound of a gentle bell, though I jerk upward, my hand curled around my spear instinctually. I nearly hit my head against the low ceiling of the cave, which I gratefully catch myself before doing. But my blue eyes flash in the direction of the sound, where Birch is also staring, and watch as two silver parachutes float in our direction. One is circular and the other is square, both landing quite delicately upon the ledge where we're resting.

I release a low sigh. "Sponsors," I say.

Birch smiles with relief, checking them over. "This one's yours," he says, handing me the square box. He takes the circular one and opens it, his expression warming. "Soup, and it actually has meat in it. Hey, hey." He reaches over to stir the kids awake, to alert them to the soup in his hands which is still quite warm, the steam rising up from its surface.

I lean back against the cave wall, opening my own package. The note residing there reads: Careful how you coat it. - TM. I open the silver package in question, revealing a rapala knife in a fine leather casing, with a small vial of clear liquid beside it. Slowly, I pull the rapala out of the box and balance it in my hands, admiring it before I pull the blade out of its impressive leather sheath. The blade in question is thin with a slight curve, but when I brush the tip of my finger against the blade, even lightly, it instantly draws blood. I can only imagine what damage the tip of the blade is capable of.

I balance it in my hands, rolling it between my fingers expertly in a few flourishing movements before I decide to sheath it. I then pick up the little vial, examining it over. Clear. I uncap it, allowing myself a small inhale. Instantly, I pull it back and cap it again. Box jellyfish venom. I glance at Tilda's note again. Careful how you coat it. Ah. So I'm supposed to cat my rapala knife in this venom, so even if I do get a nonlethal swipe at my foes, I can at least be sure they will go down.

"What's that?" Birch asks.

I look up. "It's a rapala knife. We use it for fishing in District 4," I say. "And jellyfish venom. If I coat the knife in it, it'll be deadly even with a single cut."

"Sounds dangerous," Birch says, handing the soup to Daisy first, who, when she's finished, passes it to Rust.

"Everything's dangerous," I amend. I consider my Sponsored gift. Maybe I had earned some favor from the Capitolians by killing the crocodile, because surely that had been impressive to watch. But, then again, maybe it was a gift from Seneca Crane. I shudder a little, thinking about what Caesar said during my Interview, when I'd denied having any admirers or suitors. I can think of a few, he had cackled. This could have come from anyone. But I try not to dwell on who gave it to me, because there's no point in that. Right now, I need to survive. I need to find my brother. To do so, I'll need to be prepared.

While the kids are taking turns with the soup, I take my rapala out again and set it down onto its side. I uncap the vial and carefully pour a few droplets onto the blade, watching them glide down its edge until they're stopped by the hilt. I allow a little time to pass for the venom to dry before I sheath my blade again. I then tuck the vial into one of the many pouches in my belt, mindful of its security.

"We should get moving," I say. "Find my brother."

"Do you want any soup?" Birch offers.

"No, you finish it," I say. "You're eating for three."

He snorts audibly, but doesn't complain as he downs the rest of it, once the kids are satisfied. I do, however, accept his offer of half a piece of dried beef, as my stomach is rumbling. We all drink our fill from the flask and refill it in the waters beneath our ledge. From there, we remove ourselves from our makeshift safe haven and venture outward.

We wander sometime through the caves, weaving through the various tunnels, which divide or twist, and I begin to wonder if we're ever going to encounter other Tributes. The caves are a damn maze. Even if we are unable to find other Tributes, I wonder if we'll find ourselves lost here and eventually go mad, dying of hunger or worse. Birch seems to share my thoughts, as he looks through the now golden hued caves with narrowed eyes.

"We should've heard something by now," he mumbles.

"Sometimes caves staunch noise. You'd be surprised," I say, recounting a fisherman telling a story of how he'd yelled for hours in a cave, with his friends only a corridor away and unable to hear him.

"But before, everything echoed," he says.

"I don't think the Gamemakers care," I say. "It's whatever is the most exciting, you know? They built this place."

"Yeah, some sick bastard..."

I open my mouth to tell him to be careful, because I very much doubt Lucius Crane is the type of man to take such slights, even from teenagers who are dying in his Arena. His Games for the last thirteen years have been particularly brutal, I recall. It would come as no surprise if he took Birch's comment personally. I open my mouth to tell him such, but there's loud yelling from the tunnel, burrowed into the shadows which curve left. We all still, our bodies stiff. Then suddenly, the boy from District 5 is rushing towards us. He doesn't have any weapons as far as I can tell and the entirety of his body is adorned with scratches and blood. His eyes, even from the distance between us, are wide and feral.

He doesn't even seem to see us. He's running blindly in our general direction, panting and sobbing. It is then that we hear it; a distinct shrill type of shriek. It does not rustle the caves the way the crocodile had, but it certainly stings against my ears. Then, rounding the corner behind the Tribute, is a black swarm of bats. Flying together, they resemble a solid black screeching mist, but I can see their wide wings flapping, and the distinct flash of white fangs against their ebony figures. Without missing a heartbeat, we're running, too. I grab ahold of Rust's hand, as Birch scoops Daisy into his arms, and we run. The Tribute from 5 doesn't even seem to notice.

There is no direction, no strategy, as we tear through the tunnels. The bats are screeching well behind us, a few managing to reach us. They hiss in our ears and their teeth sink into our skin, but I manage to elbow one off of my neck, and strike another off of Rust's head. To the kid's credit, he is keeping up with me fairly well.

"THERE, LOOK, LIGHT!" Birch suddenly yells, pointing towards a tunnel which blooms with light.

Bats are nocturnal, I think. Maybe the light will scare them.

The five of us keep running. The boy from District 5 is the first to reach the end of the tunnel, and then he is toppling over the edge with a loud scream. But none of us have any time to stop, for once we get close to the tunnel's edge, it's too late. It's a clear drop off, like the one from yesterday, but this one is far steeper, and opens up down below to solid black water. And the light which had bloomed, had caught our attention, came from fireflies which flew peacefully through the air. The black swarm behind us draws closer, but there's no time to stop to weigh options, because we're suddenly staggering, and we fall with District 5 over the edge and into the water. I tighten my grip on Rust and on my spear as we plummet into the water.

The inky blackness is consuming. I can't see, I can't hear. Rust is thrashing against my grip, panic coursing through him as he tries to pull out of my vice like grip. With as much strength as I can muster amidst the chaos and my own shock, I yank him towards me, and quickly release his hand only so I can wrap my arm around his middle. I hold him to my side, even as he thrashes. I can hear him screaming, as I feel the bubbles of his breath against my face. I push myself up, legs kicking swiftly. When we breach the surface, I don't see Birch, nor do I see Daisy. All at once, my stomach drops.

They can't swim, they can't swim.

Overhead, the bats attempt to breach the entrance, but all at once retreat once the overwhelming brightness of the fireflies assaults their vision, or lack thereof. They retreat, but I have no time to breathe any relief. My heart is in my throat with panic and horror. Without any time to waste, I use as much momentum and force as I can to push myself and the gasping Rust to the water's edge, pushing him onto the surface. I don't see District 5, either. Shit

"Take this," I say quickly, handing him my spear. "Use it if you're attacked."

"Daisy," Rust manages out, looking across the water. "Birch...where are they?!"

"I don't know!" I say. "But stay away from the water!"

I can't see above the surface and I can't see below the surface. The water is so black and so still that I can scarcely make out any semblance of ripples. Even if I could, how could I be sure it was them and not another Mutt? But my time is running out. No cannons have gone off yet, meaning that Birch and Daisy are alive, but also the boy from District 5. I take steadying breaths, remembering to hone myself before I dive down. I cast a glance towards Rust, who has stepped away from the edge of the water and who has tears in his eyes. I am such an idiot.

I hold my breath then and dive downward. I only know how far I'm going down or which way I'm treading, but I extend my arms outward as far as I can, groping in the darkness for anything. Terror grips me when I feel some rocky shards against my palm, assuming the worst, yet I keep going. Good thing we didn't land on that. I push myself deeper. Birch would be weighed down by Daisy and the backpack, and hopefully he will have kept a grip on her during the tussle. Finding one person will be bad enough, but to find two will be impossible.

I find no one, but I keep searching, even as my lungs start to ache. A minute, it has to have been a minute.

No, no, no, no, no.

I hear a cannon go off above the surface, as muffled as my ears might be. Just one, just one, I think fiercely, as I push myself lower, extending my hand out. Then I feel it, fingertips. I don't know whose they are, but it's good enough for me. Tightening my core, I push myself further down, and I latch onto the wrist of the person in question, relieved to feel it is that of a man's. The hand moves, reaching out to grab ahold of the front of my shirt in a scuffle. It's me, it's me, I think, tightening my grip. Please be Birch, please. I ignore as the hand claws at me, nails raking over my neck and attempting to push me off. I use enough force as I can to push myself and the person up.

He seems to understand then, for he must be using his own momentum to push himself up; legs flailing madly, no doubt, but it's good enough to get us to the surface. God, the light stings my eyes once we breach the utter blackness. I open my mouth to receive a gulp of air, but my body won't let me. I have to ride out the shock as my empty lungs stagger to collect themselves. Once I manage a gasp, it rips at my throat, and it is with several wheezes that I collect myself.

I push towards the edge, then, dragging the man with me. And when I turn, I gasp in relief. Birch is there, holding Daisy to his chest. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips are blue, but he's alive. Daisy's head, meanwhile, is slumped to the side and her blue lips are parted.

"Get her on the ground!" I shout.

I pull myself out first, taking Daisy from out of Birch's arms. He can get himself out, I've seen him do it, and I can't focus on him right now. I lay Daisy out on the ground, leaning down so my ear hovers over her mouth. No breathing. I press my hands down over her chest, pushing in rhythm. I count them out in my head. Chest compressions, chest compressions, I repeat to myself.

"Is she going to die?" Rust says, horror in his voice.

"No, no, no," Birch says, attempting to stand up to grab Rust and pull him aside, but he loses his balance and falls, proceeding to vomit black water across the ground. He pounds at his chest, wheezing.

"Keep him on his side!" I shout at Rust. I tilt Daisy's head back and pinch her nose, proceeding to breathe air into her. I repeat the process, pressing my folded hands against her chest in hard, fluid motions. But my ears are straining, waiting for the sound of a cannon.

"L-LOOK OUT!" Rust's voice suddenly pierces through through my focus.

I barely have time to look up, before I feel a hand stretch out to grab ahold of my hair, yanking me backwards. I yelp in shock and in pain, reaching behind me to grab and claw at the hand currently pulling me. I twist my nails into the skin and rake downwards, causing the perpetrator to release his hold on me with a loud howl. My scalp is burning, but I don't have time to think about that. My hand dives towards my belt where I'd attached my rapala, but the man swings his leg back and kicks me in the stomach. I gasp out, feeling pain circulate through me.

Rust is crying out and I can see Birch trying to force himself to his feet. But he's disorientated. It can take almost a whole day for the average person to recover from near drowning, much less be fully capable of bouncing back to fight. Yet Birch manages to get to his feet, swaying. He stands in front of Rust, who is still gripping my spear in terror. Birch pulls his machete from off of his belt.

It is then I look up at our attacker. He's the boy from District 8. He can't be anymore than seventeen years old, with a head of clean cut tawny blonde hair and a face adorned by freckles. His light brown eyes reflect absolute hatred as he looks over us, and it's then that I see how bloodstained his clothes are; whether or not it's his, I couldn't say. In his hand is a sickle, significantly larger than the one we'd had in our backpack. The backpack, yes, if I could get Rust to get to it, he could use the sickle to -

But realization strikes me hard, as I realize that the backpack is gone, along with the supplies inside of it. Birch must have dropped it when we'd fallen. Not that I blame him, but the weight of the loss is as heavy as the strike I'd received to the stomach.

I grit my teeth. No time to waste.

The boy from District 8 lifts his sickle and attempts to swing it towards me. I summon my strength and dodge it, though its tip does slice against my calf. I ignore the stabbing pain there, rolling myself away so that I'm now behind him. I force myself to my feet and into a proper stance, this time able to pull my rapala from my belt. But he's quick, and he swings around to retaliate again. I dodge and twist myself out of his swipes. Close combat. He has the advantage, I tell myself. His sickle is large and curved, with higher damage on a technical level, while my rapala is smaller. But if I could just just graze his skin with my blade, then he'd be as good as dead.

Birch lets out a cry and rushes forward, attempting to swing his machete at the boy from 8, but he dodges out of the way and Birch falls forward, black water spilling from his lips again. He gags and chokes, and I know it's on me. Rust has dropped my spear now, and he's kneeling beside Daisy, mirroring the movements I had been doing with her. He has tears in his eyes, but I can't think about Daisy right now. If District 8 kills me, then he can kill Birch easily. And then neither Rust nor Daisy will stand a chance.

District 8 swipes at me, but I jump sideways. My spear is open now, so I rush towards it, but not before he manages to slice at my leg again; it's not deep at least, but, God, is it painful. I lean down, grabbing ahold of my spear. My spear is in my right hand now while my rapala is in my left, and District 8 is glaring daggers. There's a fair bit of distance between us now, not as much as I would have liked, but it should be enough. I take a few steps back, tightening my stance.

I pocket my rapala, for now.

District 8 prepares himself, as well. I see him prepare to charge, but before he can, I have my spear lifted high. I let out a cry as I launch it forward. It pierces through the air with its distinct whistle, and lands itself right between District 8's legs. The surprise upon his face is without question, soon replaced by piercing pain. He staggers, then lands onto his side. He's howling in pain, letting go of his scythe. I pull my rapala back out, rushing towards him. I yank my spear out, causing a spurt of blood to burst out of him like a fountain. He's crying now, writhing on the ground.

I grip my rapala tightly now. He tried to kill me. He would have killed me, I think. I lean down and, as swiftly as I can, swipe my rapala across his throat. It pierces the skin without any resistance. More blood spills and he lays there, grasping at his throat. The poison courses through his body and his veins start to darken, his whole body convulsing before he ultimately stills. I sheath my rapala, then, sighing with relief when the cannon goes off.

Daisy.

I look back around, and rush to the girl's side. I push Rust aside, pushing into her chest again. My heart is tightening, as I wait for the sound of another cannon to go off. But suddenly Daisy's blue lips move, and water spurts out of her mouth. Without missing a beat, I turn her on her side, as she gags and chokes out the black water residing in her lungs. I rub her back consolingly. "Get it out, there," I say. "Stay on your side until you catch your breath."

"You saved her..."

I look up, noting Birch as he walks towards us.

"Yeah," I say. "No thanks to him."

Birch looks at the bloodied corpse of the boy from District 8, scoffing. "Guess he deserved it," he says. "Will she be okay?"

"Should be," I say. "She just needs rest. You, too."

"Right, right." Birch kneels down beside Daisy, resting his head between his knees. "I'm sorry about the backpack."

"Don't be."

I push myself to my feet, surveying our surroundings. So far nothing has tried to jump out of the black water yet, nor have the fireflies flying above us seemed to be posing any threats - but I know better than to underestimate them. This section of the cave is tall and bright, thanks to the fireflies. There is the entrance above us where we came, and I look towards where the boy from 8 had come. A large archway rests at the base of the cave, extending outward into an illuminated tunnel. It's large and it's open, and our only way out.

"We should rest here for now," I say. "I'll stand watch."

We stay in place for a while, having moved away from the water for safety's sake. I'd dragged the body of District 8 away, too, as far away from us as I humanly could. I remembered how the creature had reacted to the blood in the water from Mecha, and if something was in the black water, the last thing I wanted was to tempt it out of hiding. We have no food and we've lost the flask of water, and I don't trust the black water enough to drink. So we simply stay against the wall. Birch is leaned against it, with Daisy beside him as they try to rest and catch their breaths. I'm standing up, spear in hand, and watching the entrance. Rust is playing with a few small rocks, periodically glancing at me.

It's been about two hours of silence, but Rust's voice is the one to pierce it. "Why'd you save her?"

I keep my gaze to the entrance, though he has my attentions. "I wasn't going to let her die."

"But there can only be one, you said so yourself."

I hum. "I wasn't goin to let her die," I repeat, a little more firmly.

Rust doesn't seem totally satisfied by the answer, because his grey eyes are staring up at me sharply.

"Did you want me to let her die?" I ask him.

"N-no, of course not," Rust says. "It just doesn't make sense you'd help her."

It really doesn't. Keeping Daisy alive means that she'll only have to die later. At least by drowning, she could have drifted off someplace safe, like a dream, and had fallen into that sunken place where no one could ever hurt her. Now, for all I know, she could die with an arrow to the eye like Harpee or be devoured by a Mutt. Drowning seems the more peaceful death, yet I can't delude myself into thinking I'd robbed her of that. Letting a twelve year old die...but she's going to die eventually, isn't she? At least this way, I won't be around to find out.

I hope, anyway.

When I don't reply, Rust grunts at me. "You'd weird."

"Am I?" I'm almost amused.

"You Volunteered for your brother, but you're not with him. And you're protecting us," he says. "Birch thinks you're our Ally, but I'm not so sure."

"You're a smart kid if you don't trust me," I say. "You should never fully trust your Allies, or anyone in the Games. Inside and outside."

"So you'll kill us?"

"Not if I can help it," I say, honestly.

Suddenly there's another sound of a bell. I look up, watching as a parachute drifts out of the entrance above us, falling downward until it settles near my feet. Another Sponsor, I think, feeling a little hesitant. I use my foot to gently push it towards Rust. I don't want to be fully distracted from the entrance, and, honestly, Rust is looking at that thing with vibrant curiosity. Maybe opening it will lighten his mood.

"It says it's from FO," Rust says.

I feel my face darken. Damn it. "Finnick Odair. He's my mentor. What does it say?"

Rust squints. "Uhm...Stay alive, don't die; hear it call you home." He looks up at me. "What does that mean?"

I remember Finnick reciting poetry into my ear our last night together, though I can't exactly say it out loud. "Open it and find out."

Rust does so, twisting the lid and his eyes instantly widening. "Food and water!" he says, too loudly.

"Quiet," I say.

Rust lifts the case so that I can see inside of it. there's a flask, which audibly sloshes with water, as well as some sliced bread with cut things of cheese, of different varieties, and some grapes burrowed inn the corner. It's an impressive sight, to say the least. Expensive. I remember a Tribute sobbing when he'd merely received a block of cheese from a Sponsor once, and my dad had mentioned the cost of such a rich and impressive product. Surely, the benefactor Finnick had procured had been an impressive one, at that. I hope it's Seneca, I think. Not because I want his attentions, but because I don't want to believe Finnick sold more of himself to someone at my expense.

Rust looks down at it, wide eyed. "I've never had grapes before," he says.

"Go ahead," I say. "Then give some to Birch and Daisy, then me. Okay?"

Rust eats about three grapes before he goes to feed Birch and Daisy. They have trouble eating, on account of their bodies still recovering from the shock and the trauma of almost drowning. But once they have eaten, they do a good job keeping it down. Rust brings the case back to me, then. I take a thing of bread, cheese, and two grapes. "We'll save the rest, if we can," I say. "Close the lid tight."

I eat slowly, only now realizing how numb and hollow my stomach is. I wonder if Liber has eaten today, if he's receiving Sponsors like I am. He has to be, right? Seneca promised to Sponsor the both of us, so I can only hope my brother has some food in him right now and some water. Something.

As I am chewing, I hear a cannon go off in the distance. I swallow thickly.

Thirteen dead. Eleven remain.

"I wonder who died," Rust says.

"We'll find out tonight," I remind him.

But then there's a noise beyond the entrance and I find myself stiffening. Maybe sooner than we thought. I steady the spear in my hand, watching for any outline of shadows, human or otherwise, and wait stiffly for something. But when silence settles, I still don't move. Rather, I take a slow step forward, my spear gripped tightly in my hand. Then suddenly, a swarm of bats emerge from the entrance, lurching forward like black fog with feral white teeth. There's no time to react, not as we're shouting. I use my spear to swipe and cut the bats out of our way, but their teeth are raking against my skin, and I can hear the kids screaming. Birch, I hear, is swinging his machete. In the haze of swarming bats, I can barely make out the silver flashes of his weapon, so I do my very best to dodge them.

"TRY TO RUN! EXIT!" I shout, reaching out blindly. I grab Rust's arm, and, gratefully, I hear Birch scoop Daisy up.

We try pushing through the swarm of bats, but it's no use. There are too many and their tiny teeth pierce at our skin. Yet suddenly, I see a flickering yellow thing in the distance, and suddenly it's hurtled towards us. the bats screech in horror, flying upwards away from whatever had been targeted towards us. The bats screech all the louder as they come into contact with the fireflies still over our head, and try to aim towards the upper entrance, but they slam against the ceiling, jostling a few bits of rocks, and flee the scene.

I whirl around, seeing a torch near my feet. When my eyes raise, I see Jason standing there. He's covered in blood, having forsaken his jacket, and his red sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; bearing strong arms adorned by various scratch and bite marks, many of which are fresh. His piercing eyes take us in slowly. I feel myself tense, ready to square up against this large, burly mass that I had seen kill several Tributes with complete ease. Yet he doesn't move. Rather, his eyes flicker from Birch to the kids and then to me.

"The bats don't like fire," he says.

He's holding his axe in his free hand, which is also bloodstained. And he has a large backpack slung around his shoulder.

"You're lucky I had the torch," he says.

"Right, lucky," I say.

As if reading my thoughts, Jason shakes his head. "We're Allies," he says. "Aren't we?"

I don't remove my gaze from his, my jaw slowly tightening. "Yes, we are," I say. "This is Birch, District 7. Daisy and Rust, District 12."

He nods. "Jason, District 1," he introduces.

"Jason, do you know where my brother is?"

Jason shrugs. "With Lamia," he says, simply.

"And she is...?"

"At our camp," Jason says, looking up. A frown settles on his features. "We need to go."

I follow his line of sight. The rocks assaulted by the bats over our head have been jostled, and little bits have already started to crumble over us. I nod, pushing Rust forward. When I look over my shoulder, I see Birch hesitate. But his options are low, so, also noticing the rocks over our heads, he adjusts Daisy in his arms and pushes forward. Rocks start to fall, splashing in the black water, and we race towards the exit. The exit itself starts to jostle. The cave...is its structure so feeble it can barely withstand an attack from bats, or is this the Gamemaker's purposeful design? Easy to die in a cave that'll break itself apart, I suppose. Surely entertaining to the Capitolians.

We race through the tunnel, listening to the sound of the cave falling apart behind us. Bits of the tunnel crumble, as well, its large formation yielding. We reach the end, and some rocks fall over us; large and hefty, taking us all off guard. The kids, small as they are, are able to evade it. Birch and I are pelted, it seems, and I feel something very large land against my back, though I'm quick to pull myself from out of it and propel forward. We reach the end of the tunnel and stand in an open cavern, where a dead Tribute lays with his head cracked open from what I can only presume is an axe. Jason is brushing rocks off of his burly shoulders, unphased.

"Damn cave," he mumbles.

I stagger forward, my breath catching in my throat. My vision is a little dazed, recovering from the shock of the avalanche of rocks having almost collided on top of me. I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself, as my heart is thudding rapidly in my chest, and i feel a little lightheaded. Birch seems to have collected himself, for the most part. He looks over the still startled kids, then looks towards me, taking in the undoubtedly frazzled sight of me. His dark brown eyes are wide, tentative as he takes a step in my direction. He seems to consider reaching for me, but thinks better of it.

"Are you alright?" he asks me.

I lift my finger, effectively silencing him. I just need to catch my breath. It was startling, to say the least; tthe sound of the falling rubble, then had seen the flash of dust and rubble falling on top of us. I had scarcely even registered the feel of it against my body, my adrenaline pumping so hard that I had simply launched myself from its embrace. I'd staggered, certainly, but I was alright. I'm standing tall, my body aching slightly, but my vision is clearing and my heart is slowing down. Still, I lift my hand and place it on the back of my head, expecting to feel a bump. Instead, I feel something wet between my fingers. All at once, dread creeps into me, slow like the sensation of losing your balance when taking an extra step up some stairs in the dark, your footing lost beneath you and your body falling forward. But there's that split second where you can catch yourself just before you fall, when that stomach-dropping dread is replaced by an uplifting relief.

When I pull my hand away from my head and look down upon it, I know there's no catching my balance. Between my fingers resides wet red blood. Disbelief settles within me, and I reach the same hand back around to touch my hair, which is now damp. When I pull it back again, my hand is wetter and redder. My heart begins to race again, my stomach tightening.

"I'm bleeding," I murmur.

"Ceres?" Birch takes a slow step forward.

"I'm bleeding," I say louder, looking up at him. My eyes fall back down to my hand, where blood settles between my fingers, red and sticky and with an orange hue that, even in my dazed state, I find surprising. "My head..."

Before Birch and even Jason can react, something hisses over us, and a shadow is cast over the golden light which illuminates around us. It skitters across the ceiling. When we look up, no doubt expecting a thousand things, a gasp parts from me as we lay eyes upon a creature I have never laid eyes upon before; very large, the size of a dog, with a hooked tail and pinchers, and an oval shaped body but with six long legs attached to its sides. It pauses, its long tail twitching and unfurling from its body, revealing a prominent red stinger, illuminated by the golden light.

"It smells you," Jason says, gripping his axe.

Of course it does. My hands are shaking, no doubt from the pulsing adrenaline fighting to keep me standing, and my hold upon my spear is weak at best. I can feel the blood pooling from out of my head and into my hair, trickling down the back of my neck and into my shirt. My teeth grit together, forcing myself to focus as that thing turns itself over, an ungodly set of black eyes settling upon me. It hisses again, jumping off of the ceiling. I hurtle my spear forward and out of my hands, just as that thing lunges at me.

(a/n): Bada-bing-bada-boom! So fun fact, I actually got a pretty interesting head laceration over the weekend when I was at work. Thankfully, no concussion, but the experience really taught me a lot about adrenaline, terror, physical pain, etc. I know that sounds completely gorey and odd, but reflecting on my experience, I saw an opportunity to really present it in my story here! So I decided to give Ceres a head injury to mirror my own so I can realistically portray how frightening it is to be dazed and not entirely in control of your own body and mind, also to debilitate her temporarily. I've portrayed Ceres as being extremely competent and having worldwide knowledge of the Games, so I wanted to have an opportunity to really show her her own vulnerability. I already did so by creating an Arena she'd have no familiarity with, but I just wanted to add to the extreme, especially since she hasn't found Liber yet. Which, where is Liber? Why did he run off with Lamia? Why did he leave Ceres behind? HOW PISSED OFF IS RHEON RIGHT NOW THAT HIS KIDS ARE SEPARATED? AND IS JASON A FRIEND OR FOE? Find out soon. ;)

Review replies

the. apple .seed: thank you so much! I am always so touched by your reviews! Honestly, writing the love scene between Finnick and Ceres was fun for a number of reasons. Primarily, I got to write a first for both of them. Finnick getting to choose to be with someone he legitimately wants to be with, and being able to be loose and, as you said, teenish, with Ceres was very important to me. I also just wanted them to banter and have one final sass-fest before the Games. ^^ I am deeply flattered, thank you! Part of the fun of having the Arena be a cave setting with dangerous elements meant that I could make the bloodbath way more brutal. And I am really glad you caught on that District 2 is gone! District 2 is typically pretty vicious, so I wanted to show just how dangerous the Arena was and also Jason was by comparison, since the boy from District 2 was killed by Jason, and the girl from District 2 was killed by the crocodile Muttation. I did go back and forth in deciding whether or not they should live, but, ultimately, there's a lot more at play behind the scenes. ;) Which you'll find out next chapter.

scars from the sun: To say I squealed in delight over your delight over my monster would be an understatement! Than you so, so much! Honestly, your reaction being like someone from the Capitol is genuinely what I want from a reader. The crocodile sequence was so much fun to write and, I imagine from a reader's perspective, plus the Capitolian's, it is exciting and scary, and I'm so glad you appreciated it! We'll be seeing a lot more horror elements throughout the Arena, too. ;) And thank you! Ceres being athletic and physically capable has a lot to do with being from the swimming District, since every swimmer I've ever met is like the fastest person alive. So this, plus her own years of self-training for the Games, makes her a force to be reckoned with. ;) And we'll be seeing quite a bit of Sponsorships on the way! Plus a lot more drama. Hehehe.

TRIBUTES OF THE 68TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES

DISTRICT 1

- Jason Ironjaw (18)

- Lamia Lowvale (15)

DISTRICT 2