Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games series or any of Suzanne Collins' creations. I only own my original characters and plot.
Chapter 24 : Remember me
"There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it."
- George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman
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Memories were dangerous, Halle thought - not because of the events they stored, but because of the raw, blistering emotions housed within them. She believed if she stayed away from the past, kept her memories boxed up, she could then hide what she felt. If she blocked out the deaths of everyone on the list, she wouldn't experience the fear associated with them. If she buried the way Aiden Croft had mouthed 'I love you' before the Peacekeepers shot a bullet through his skull, maybe she could mask her rage and crippling grief.
That was why underneath her bed was a red, beat-up box that protected everything that mattered. Carefully drawn portraits of her family were stored there. Traumatic scenes were piled on top of each other. For years, anytime something of significance happened, she would stay up late at night drawing until the memory was unleashed on paper. She used to tell herself it was so she could remember what's important . . .
But the truth was, she did it so she could forget.
It was the only way she could remain in control. She couldn't afford to lose herself in the whirlwind of emotions. Perhaps Lane hadn't meant for her to use drawing in such a way, but it allowed her to do what was necessary. She had to be detached.
Whenever another child of a rebel was called to the stage, Halle kept her head down as she hid the relief slamming against her chest. At the end of the reaping, she would always race home to document the faces of those who were being sent in her place, pouring all of her emotions into those sketches before hiding them away.
She couldn't look at them. She couldn't feel.
Every year that her name wasn't called, was one more year she could prepare. Instead of watching the Games with disgust, she found herself glued to the screen as she forced herself to take notes of winning strategies. While others turned away from the deaths of those on the list, Halle watched every second, hoping that she could find where they went wrong and if it would help her survive.
And surviving was all that mattered, right? Wasn't that what Lane had said during their goodbyes?
She spent every spare moment training. When she wasn't taking on extra shifts at the mills, she threw hatchets in the forest. Before school in the morning, she and Lane sparred with each other, discovering the different ways one could take down their opponent with an ax. Maybe if she kept at it, she wouldn't die like the others. If she could beat the Gamemakers at their own game, maybe her father's death would finally mean something.
But as the years went on, so did the number of drawings beneath her bed.
The scenes grew more detailed. There were so many emotions she tried to be rid of - she couldn't afford to feel anger, or sadness, or fear. None of those would help her in the Games. Feeling was a hindrance. Remembering only reopened the wounds she so desperately wished to heal.
The feelings built and built and built until she was sure they would swallow her whole. Her last meal with Cody and Lane almost opened the floodgates. And after years of waiting, when her name had finally been called at the reaping, she had felt herself slip as memories of everyone's deaths flashed through her mind.
She couldn't handle it, the pain. It wasn't physical, yet she felt it in her chest, writhing and twisting as it cut deep like a knife.
Had Castor known what he was asking of her - to remember? She had spent years trying to forget. Could she keep her promise? Would she even be alive to do so?
It was all too much. Ever since the Games began, Halle had struggled not to feel. She was so used to staying detached, indifferent, but there was too much blood, too much death, not enough time.
It was suffocating.
All consuming.
And she couldn't breathe.
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The victor's lounge was mayhem. Capitol elites crowded the room as sponsors made their final bets, watching reruns of footage to try and predict the outcome. Even the victors whose tributes had already passed were present, glued to the screen as they soaked in all of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman's comments.
Blight had found a velvet couch away from the boisterous herd. He needed to focus. He needed to think.
He and Torrence had been just about to leave for the night when trumpets blared the hall, announcing that something big was happening in the Games. Anytime a tribute made a move or a trap went off, a fanfare sounded out, the hosts quickly following to alert the Capitol to what was going on.
Blight had assumed it was just another recap to show the tribute who had died that day, but when Torrence had placed a strong hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into the lounge, he'd finally seen what was on the screen as the tone of the room morphed into something foreboding - final.
He hadn't known what to think. At first, he'd thought only Castor and Halle had been singled out as the flood separated the two, but the footage quickly showed him otherwise. Waves had engulfed the entire arena. None of the tributes were safe. But what were the Gamemakers trying to accomplish? What was the point?
As the victor's lounge grew even more crowded, Blight sank further into the cushions, his eyes wandering over to the center of the room until he found his fellow mentor. Torrence was speaking with Tobias Archfield, one of the Capitol elites who had sponsored District 7 this year, in hushed tones, no doubt trying to find information on what was happening.
A twisted emotion took hold when Blight heard someone call out, 'It's time!', and he tore his gaze away from the crowd. There were so many ways this could go wrong. He still didn't know what the Gamemakers were up to, but when he saw what flashed on the screen as the hosts announced the state of all the tributes, his heart dropped.
He knew that regardless of what happened tonight, the Games were coming to an end.
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Halle tumbled and rolled with the water, lost in a sea of darkness as she was thrashed every which way.
A flood. The Gamemakers had spawned a fucking flood. Crashing waves slammed against her body. Relentless currents pulled her through the caves at a vicious pace. It had only taken moments for everything to come crashing down - just moments to tip the scales.
But all she could think about was air.
She needed more air.
More air.
More -
She almost cried out when her body was jerked down another path, but she clamped her mouth shut, her lungs burning from the strain of holding her breath. This was more than a flood. The water was leading her somewhere. Her golden ax was still in hand, but when she tried to hook it onto the rock walls, it slipped off the surface as the current pulled her further into the abyss.
Castor had already been ripped away from her. If she wasn't careful, she'd lose her ax next. Had this been the Gamemakers plan? To separate them again?
When the weight of her weapon threatened to drag her even further below the surface, a small voice rang out inside her head. The ax, it pleaded with her. You need to drop the ax!
But she only tightened her grip.
This flood was no accident. With only three other tributes left, she should have known it was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers made their move. Just like the collapsing caves, the water had an agenda. And wherever it was taking her, Halle refused to be left without protection.
The pull of the flood changed and she tried to gather her surroundings, but no matter how wide she opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything. Instead of pulling her left and right, she flowed down a single path. The current grew stronger. She couldn't push herself above the surface. Muffled chaos pounded against her ears.
Shit.
The urge to open her mouth was too much now. That small voice in her head grew louder and she loosened her fingers, ready to let go of her ax, ready to just let go . . .
But she was no longer in the water.
She was falling.
Shit!
Before she could figure out what was happening, her body crashed into the water below.
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Lane dragged himself to his bed and shrugged off his jacket, not even bothering to take off his boots as he collapsed onto the mattress. His muscles ached. Cuts and bruises marred his skin from getting in trouble with the Head Peacekeeper, Trowley. But it wasn't his physical wounds that bothered him. The past two weeks had stretched his patience beyond repair. Every day left him more weary, more hopeless. He couldn't escape the Games. Even when working in the forest away from the screens, his mind replayed images of Halle getting mauled by bats, welts forming on her skin as she tried to swim, the way she had swung the ax over and over and -
Stop. He slammed his eyes shut. He didn't judge her. She was alive, and that was all he cared about.
But how much longer would that last? How long until the Gamemakers pulled another one of their schemes, or a tribute decided to take her out?
He released a heavy sigh and turned his head to the side, forcing his eyes open as he glanced at the empty bed next to his. He hadn't touched her side of the room. It was messy, clothes strewn about and drawing supplies everywhere. She hadn't even bothered to make her bed.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him and he could feel himself begin to drift off. Overworking himself seemed to be the only way he could fall asleep nowadays. However, just before he could give in to slumber, a noise boomed from downstairs. His eyes shot open as he listened to the fanfare. It was coming from the television. The only time it turned on was when the Capitol wanted them to see something, and for the past two weeks, it had been airing Hunger Games footage nonstop.
He jumped out of bed and bolted downstairs, his heart beating out of his chest. It was rare for the Capitol to show anything this late in the night. There were only four tributes left. They wouldn't be making a fuss unless one of them had died.
Halle's soft smile and twinkling eyes shot through his mind and he felt something inside of him twist into a knot. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, unwilling to glance over at the screen. She could win, he knew she could, but there was still a part of him that was terrified to hope. He'd lost so much in his life. The only person who knew his struggles inside and out was Halle.
He missed her. He missed her laughter. He missed the way she would leave him an extra berry or patch the holes in his clothes when he wasn't looking. He missed the way things used to be, when they weren't worrying about rebellion or sickness or death.
Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith's voice rang out and Lane released a shaky sigh, forcing himself to face the screen. Cody was still scouting the forest for a new logging site. He wouldn't be back for at least another hour.
Steeling his emotions, he settled into their worn couch, preparing himself for the worst.
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Halle gasped for air as she breached the surface of the water, desperate to soothe the blistering flame of her lungs. There was no more current. There was no more roaring of the water. The only sounds came from her harsh breathing and the droplets of water falling from her face to the lake.
The flood had dropped her here, but why? Was she safe? Her fingers itched for her ax, but she'd lost it during the fall, its absence leaving her feeling naked and unprotected.
She spun around in the water as she gathered her surroundings, her breath still labored. The cavern towering above her was unfamiliar. The strange stillness of the water was so unlike the surging flood from moments before. Had she been here earlier in the Games? She couldn't recall ever seeing a lake like this in the arena. While the caverns she and Castor had traveled through were similar to this, there hadn't been any skylights. But here, the cavern opened to a single skylight above, shining light down upon her and a lone island in the center of the lake.
Her eyes narrowed.
Land.
Although her strained body yearned for rest, she was wary of the island. It was huge, with platforms of earth jutting towards the sky. Moss blanketed the rock. Everything surrounding her was quiet, but the silence was suffocating.
She couldn't stay in the lake forever, but something was telling her to stay alert. Yes, the flood was over, but that didn't mean she was safe . . .
And until she found her ax, she refused to set foot on that island.
Her eyes lingered on the land before wandering to the surrounding water. She would have to be quick. There was no telling what the Gamemakers had in store.
Taking in a deep breath, she dove into the lake in search of her weapon.
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Snow took a sip of his drink as he watched the scene play out on his screen. The scent of roses overpowered his office, but he had long since grown used to the smell. Cheering could be heard from the streets of the Capitol. In a matter of moments, the beginning of the end would be underway. All he had to do was wait for the final cannon, and he would present himself in front of the Capitol to announce the 69th Hunger Games had come to an end.
The people were obsessed, entertained, frightened. Any other year, and he would have been pleased with such an outcome, but Giles Kingsley, lacking in wit but abundant in self-preservation, had failed to live up to his expectations.
But it was no matter. Snow had spent the past week plotting. Although things had not gone according to plan, adjustments could be made. So long as the districts remained in check, Giles Kingsley's poor decisions could be salvaged, and Snow could maintain the balance he'd spent his entire life building.
He watched as the screen changed, showing the portraits of all the remaining tributes. His eyes lingered on the girl, the one he'd severely underestimated.
Yes, his plans would work out in the end, even if not in the way he'd originally intended. But he would still have to wait to see how the rest of the Games played out. There were any number of possibilities, but he couldn't help but hope for a particular outcome, one that he believed would ripen with time.
Claudius Templesmith announced the flood was coming to an end. One of the tributes had already made it to the island. It wouldn't be long before the remaining three found their way.
Snow's eyes narrowed and he took one last sip of his drink before placing it on his desk.
All he had to do now was wait.
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It took all of Halle's remaining energy to swim towards the island as she held onto her ax. Her muscles ached. No matter how much air she took in, she couldn't seem to catch her breath. But she couldn't focus on that right now. She had her weapon. All that was left was to get to land.
Ages passed before she reached shallow water. Her strokes morphed into a crawl as she dragged her ax along with her. Unable to go any further, she collapsed to the ground and let go of her weapon. Instead of sand, smooth pebbles lined the beach. She tried to formulate a plan, but every thought she had was muddled with exhaustion.
"Whatever you do, don't stop moving."
But she couldn't move. She needed to rest. Just for a moment, all she wished to do was breathe.
She was still trying to wrap her mind around how it all happened. Castor had finally found her, night turned to day, and then the flood . . .
She'd tried to hold onto him, she really did, but the force of the current had been too much for her. It had only taken moments before she could no longer feel him in her arms.
"Look, I don't know what's gonna happen . . ."
Her throat tightened.
". . . I just need you to do this for me."
Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes.
She was scared, she realized. Fear had followed her throughout the arena, but right now she was staring at it in the flesh, unable to turn away or shove it down. All of her supplies had been washed away by the flood. Even the blanket that had saved her life was lost. Castor was gone. She had no idea where she was, had no food, no water.
Halle glanced over at the golden ax lying beside her. It was all she had now. She'd found it odd that the Gamemakers would gift her with something so expensive, but when she'd seen a similar knife in Castor's hands, she should have known something was off.
Why golden weapons? Why not food, medicine, or water, something all the tributes must have been low on?
Enough, she tried to tell herself. You need to get up. You need to move.
Releasing a groan, she pushed herself to her feet before leaning over to pick up her ax.
She wasn't sure why the Gamemakers had brought her here, but she didn't want to stick around to find out.
She had to get the hell out of this cavern.
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Finnick couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. So much was happening at once that the footage of the Games was disordered, splicing between tributes without giving much away. The Gamemakers were trying to keep everything vague in an attempt to amp up the excitement.
Usually, it was the tributes who were out of the know. Now it was the Capitol, and they couldn't get enough of it.
He could hear how the Capitol elites in the victor's lounge whispered out their theories as to what was happening. Some believed they were trying to drown the remaining tributes until only two were standing. Others predicted a second bloodbath. Wild ideas and impossible scenarios flitted through the air, but one thing was certain - they were all wondering who their next victor would be.
He leaned forward when Drew appeared on the screen. The flood had reached him last. He could be seen keeping his head above water as it carried him through the caves. Finnick supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Like most people from 4, swimming was second nature to Drew.
But was he prepared for what was coming? Had Finnick trained him well enough? Would his tribute make it out alive, or die like the others?
He started when he felt a small hand touch his shoulder, and he spun his head to see who it was. Mags, with her kind eyes and worried frown, was looking down at him. His worry eased, but only barely.
He wanted to force a smile, but he couldn't. Anxiety ate away at him. Not wanting her to see, he faced the screen once again. "Drew's still stuck in the water," he said, catching her up. He had told her to rest earlier today, assuring her that he could handle the sponsors. She must have seen footage of the flood and came to the same conclusion as everyone else. He thought he'd have more time before the Gamemakers made their move.
The footage changed and he saw the girl from 1. He released a sigh and said, "It won't be long before the others reach the island."
Mags' hand lifted from his shoulder and he found himself yearning for her comfort, but he remained still, stoic, his eyes on the screen. Moments later Mags was sitting beside him. She didn't try to tell him everything would be alright, or that he shouldn't worry. That was something he always admired about her. He knew she would never lie to him.
Instead, she placed an arm around him and waited with him. Something twisted in his heart. Neither of them had to say anything. They had both been through years of Hunger Games and the tragedy that came with it.
So, they waited - together.
He could see images flash of each tribute. Gemma would be the most difficult for Drew to overcome. She attacked fast and without warning. Finnick wasn't sure how Castor would fare in a fight. Yes, he had made it this far, but would he be able to stand against the Careers?
His eyes narrowed when Halle appeared on the screen. She had been brought to the island first. She was an enigma to him, with secrets he may never have the opportunity to unearth. But she was also Drew's greatest threat. She was unpredictable, having already taken out her share of tributes. There was no telling what would happen should Halle and Drew face each other.
Finnick tensed when the hosts made an announcement . . .
The second tribute was almost there.
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Halle spun around. "No," she hissed out, her voice heavy with emotion. She had circled the island twice now, hoping to find something different, but she could no longer deny it. There wasn't a single exit in sight. The island stood in the middle of the lake, leading nowhere. She couldn't climb her way out. There was no river or tunnel to travel through.
Once again, she was trapped.
That thought almost brought her to her knees. She had just found Castor. With the map and compass, they could have found the remaining tributes and bring an end to the Games. The odds had finally been stacked in their favor. Food, water, supplies, weapons - they'd had everything they needed for one of them to win. If it hadn't been for that flood . . .
She glanced back at where she'd been dropped off in the lake. The water was at peace, no hint of movement. It was almost like the flood had never happened, but the ache in her muscles said otherwise.
Her eyes darted over the rest of the cavern. She had to have missed something.
It was freezing here, made worse by her damp clothes. There weren't any trees on the island - just moss-covered rocks that piled on top of each other forming platforms. Everything seemed otherworldly. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought it was an entirely different arena.
But what was she supposed to do? Why did they bring her here?
She could accept that the Gamemakers had wanted to separate her and Castor, but there had to be something more. They wouldn't drop a tribute in the middle of nowhere with no hopes of escape. Watching her starve to death wouldn't entertain the Capitol.
Think, she tried to tell herself. Think of the patterns. What have the Gamemakers done before?
She remembered the chaos of the bloodbath, getting lost in the tunnels, finding Castor, the caves collapsing . . .
Her eyes widened. The caves.
The arena was so large, it was difficult to hunt the other tributes. That had to be why the Gamemakers had so many surprises in the caves. They knew there wouldn't be many encounters between the tributes, so they used traps to entertain the Capitol. But when that wasn't enough, all they had to do was collapse the tunnels and lead everyone together, just like her group had been led to the Careers and the bats.
She found herself glancing around the cavern with a new perspective.
If the Gamemakers had wanted to separate her and Castor, why spawn a flood? Why go through all that effort? When they'd collapsed the caves, it had been for a specific reason - bring the tributes together.
Dozens of questions flitted through her mind. There were too many possibilities, too many uncertainties.
But before she could come up with answers, a low rumble filled the air.
Her head shot up. She spun around in search of the noise. It seemed to come from all over.
What the hell?
The earth began to quake, shaking the island so hard it brought her to her knees. Bits of debris fell from the ceiling. Ripples from the lake began brushing along the beach. There was so much chaos, she could barely keep track of it all.
The wall of the cavern was opening.
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"I hope you're ready, folks!" Caesar Flickerman called out. "For weeks, we've followed these tributes in their journey. We've heard their stories, studied their scores, made our bets - but now it's time for the real show to begin."
"Indeed, it is, Caesar," Claudius Templesmith said. Everyone in the Capitol was hanging on by the edge of their seats. So much was at stake, they could hardly wait for what would happen next. It had been an entire year since their last victor. Everyone had been surprised by Edvin Prewitt's win. The victor from District 10 had made quite the show, but it hadn't been enough. They needed more excitement, more heartbreak - more.
"Our girl from Seven has already made it to the final stage, but who will show up next? Castor? Gemma? Drew?" Claudius continued to add to the intrigue.
"Well, we'll find out soon, won't we?" Caesar said. "Everyone, sit tight. You won't want to miss what happens next."
Children in the Capitol were seated next to their parents, watching the screen with wide eyes. People from all over were holding parties and balls as they gushed over their favorite tributes. The Capitol was restless, insatiable in their needs. Lights, music, and announcements overwhelmed the city. No one would be sleeping tonight.
But in the districts, people turned away from the screen. They tucked in their little ones, closed their blinds, and tried to tune out the televisions in their living room. Another year was passing, and soon, three more tributes would be added to the list of fifteen hundred children who had lost their lives to the Games. All they could do was watch, and pray that next year, their own children would be spared.
Claudius Templesmith gave the camera a sick smile. He had been given the okay. Clasping his hands in front of him, he cleared his throat and said -
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"May the odds be ever in your favor."
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Halle found herself frozen in place, watching in disbelief as the cavern wall opened up. Water came gushing out, creating a flood that sent waves washing over the beach. She had to dig her ax into the ground as she felt the pull of the current and she braced herself for the Gamemakers to steal her away again. But the water wasn't there to take her . . .
It was there to drop someone off.
Her eyes went wide as she watched the body tumble into the lake. As soon as it sank below the surface, the cave entrance closed back up, the flood calming now that its source had disappeared. Lingering ripples brushed against the beach. She leaned forward, unable to tear her eyes away where the body had fallen.
She hadn't seen who it was. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Who had the Gamemakers dropped off first? There was no question in her mind what was happening, but all she could think about was who.
Moments passed. She tightened her grip on her ax.
Suddenly, someone breached the surface of the water and Halle held her breath.
She searched for messy hair, dark skin, anything that would tell her it was Castor . . .
But all she could see was blonde.
Gemma was making her way towards the beach. It wouldn't be long before she noticed Halle, and as soon as she did, they would have no choice but to fight. Halle could imagine how the Capitol must be reacting, glued to the screen, desperate to see which of their favorites would survive - desperate for their victor.
Because this was it, wasn't it? The Gamemakers hadn't created the flood to separate her and Castor. They were simply guiding them to the final stage. There was no time to come up with a plan. Blight and Torrence were miles away, unable to give her advice. She couldn't train. She couldn't strengthen her body. For years, there had always been the promise of tomorrow, but this was it.
Gemma made it to the beach and dragged herself along the smooth pebbles, releasing coughs that wracked through her body. Something inside of Halle twisted when she saw the golden sword at Gemma's hip. A voice in her head was screaming for her to get up, to run, but all she could do was stare. Gemma still hadn't noticed Halle, too focused on gasping for air.
It was difficult to believe she'd gotten to this point. She knew that getting to the end of the Games had been her goal all along, but she wasn't ready. The unknown left her heart stammering. Her palms were beginning to sweat. She realized that her eyes were as wide as a doe, unable to face the reality in front of her.
Another large rumble sounded throughout the cavern and Gemma's head shot up, her eyes finding Halle, wide in disbelief. But while Gemma was focused on her, Halle glanced over her shoulder, her pulse growing more erratic when she saw the cave wall open as another surge of water deposited another body into the lake.
It was small, frail.
Castor.
The instinct to run grew in exponential waves.
I'm not ready. Her head spun around. Gemma was getting to her feet. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Halle stood as Gemma pulled out her golden sword. She could find nothing of the same girl that stood in front of the Capitol, twirling and giggling with feigned delight. No, this girl was wild, ravaged by the Games. Cuts marred Gemma's skin and clothes. Her blonde hair was matted. Not a hint of understanding could be seen in her eyes. This was no longer about winning, but surviving, and she knew Gemma was willing to do anything it took to make it out alive.
Before, when Halle faced the other tributes, she experienced everything with a stark clarity. Every second was seared upon her mind - Carla's eyes pleading with her in her final moments, Jasmine's expression when she resigned herself to death, Paxton's screams for Brier, and Brier's cries of pain. No matter how desperate she was to forget, she knew no number of drawings would erase her past - this past.
But so much was happening that it all blurred together.
Water flooded the beach and reached her and Gemma's knees. Castor was somewhere in the lake, struggling to make it to land. She could hear the rumble of the cavern wall closing shut behind her, causing water to recede from the beach. She wanted to look for Castor, to see if he was okay, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the predator in front of her.
They were stuck sizing each other up. Neither of them knew whether to make the first move.
When Halle saw Gemma tense, she found herself taking a stance.
I don't want this.
She had to fight. That was why the Gamemakers brought them here.
"Looks like the Gamemakers fucked all of us." Gemma's voice was raspy, bitter.
Halle released a shaky breath. Gemma was moving closer.
"Seems like it," Halle said, her eyes flicking down to Gemma's golden sword.
When Gemma noticed where she was looking, she let out a short laugh, holding it up for her to see. "Nice, huh?" Her eyes narrowed when she looked down at Halle's golden ax. "Bet the others have a matching set."
She was right. The Gamemakers must have wanted to equip everyone for the final battle. Castor had his golden knife, Halle had her ax, Gemma had her sword . . . Halle knew it was only a matter of time before Drew arrived with a similar spear.
"Your partner's almost here," Gemma said, looking at something over Halle's shoulder. "Waiting for backup, Seven?"
Shit.
She had to finish this before Castor got to the island. He was a slow swimmer, but would that be enough time? Like Drew, Gemma was a Career. Halle had barely survived the last time they fought.
You have to win.
If she didn't, it wouldn't be long before all four of them were on the island. It would create another bloodbath, one Halle wasn't sure she'd survive.
That's probably what the Gamemakers want.
When it was clear Halle wasn't going to answer, something changed in Gemma's face. Her brown eyes hardened. She stepped closer to Halle, positioning her feet into a stance.
Without warning, Gemma lunged forward, and Halle raised her ax, their weapons warring against each other as Gemma brought down her sword. The force of the blow vibrated throughout Halle's body and she stumbled backwards. Gemma was on her again, forcing Halle to block another blow with the hilt of her ax.
There was no turning back now. She knew that she would have to see this through to the end. Perhaps the Gamemakers had brought her here first so that she would have to face all of the tributes. Three had to die before a victor could be crowned . . .
Halle barely missed Gemma's attack. While Halle had the strength, Gemma's speed was unmatched. She hadn't been this skilled with a sword when they first fought. It seemed as if she was fighting with a completely different weapon, her movements resembling a dance.
As Gemma struck again, Halle tucked her ax in close, rolling out of the way. That was when she saw it.
Gemma's golden sword was made from a blade much shorter than the one Halle had encountered her with before. This blade allowed for her to utilize her speed, making quick and precise attacks. Halle could barely keep up with her.
And when Gemma swiped through the air, slicing through Halle's side before she could even blink, she knew it would take everything she had to take Gemma down. The pain was instant, dousing her like a bucket of ice water. Halle gasped, stumbling backwards as one of her hands shot down to clutch her hip. The cut was deep. She could feel blood seeping through her shirt, too much blood, but adrenaline demanded she focus on the fight in front of her.
Move. Move!
Gemma went to move, but Halle was quicker this time, both hands on the handle of her ax as she swung. She was consumed with blood - blood pumping through her veins, dripping from her side. Gemma didn't have time to move out of the way, only to redirect the hit, and she let out a cry as Halle's ax sliced through her upper arm. A moment sooner and Gemma's shoulder would have been crushed under the force of Halle's swing. They exchanged blows, one after the other, fatigue slowing their movements.
Only moments had passed, but another earthquake shook the cavern, sending the both of them to their knees. Water gushed out of another cave entrance and the island continued to tremble. Both of their heads shot to the side when they saw something crash into the water.
Halle could feel something dark wash over her.
Drew.
She braced herself as the beach flooded once again, but she didn't have time to rest. Gemma was already on her feet, charging Halle with a vicious yell.
She lunged to the side before Gemma could reach her, gritting her teeth in pain. The wound in her side stretched and twisted with every step. As the water began to recede from the beach, she could see blood flow along with it.
They went back and forth, tiring the other out. The wound in Gemma's shoulder made her moves jerky, less precise, whereas the pain in Halle's side distracted her, every move making her want to scream out. Neither of them could maintain the upper hand . . .
Until Gemma landed a kick to Halle's chest.
The shock of it sent Halle to the ground, her ax slipping from her hands.
No!
She scrambled for her weapon, but Gemma was already standing over her, sweat dripping down her face and her breath labored.
"Game over," Gemma said, raising her sword. There was no mercy in her eyes.
Halle froze as gold descended upon her. Disbelief wracked throughout her body. She wanted to scream for her to stop, scream for help - anything, but this was it. Her ax was just out of reach.
Before the sword could puncture her heart, Halle raised her arms and slammed her eyes shut, holding her breath as she braced herself for the final blow.
A garbled scream met her ears.
Metal clashed against rock.
Halle's eyes shot open.
Gemma had dropped her sword. There was blood dripping from a wound in her neck where a golden knife had punctured her skin. She choked as red pooled from her mouth, her expression one of shock. Her hands frantically raised to her throat, but the person holding the knife yanked it out, allowing even more blood to spill.
Gemma fell to the ground.
Halle gaped at Gemma as her eyes grew unfocused. The pool beneath her grew, soaking her clothes, her hair, the pebbles beneath her.
It was only when the cannon boomed, signaling Gemma's death, that Halle was startled from her stupor. She lifted her head and watched as the person holding the blood-stained knife dropped it. She knew who it belonged to. Despite the still present fear, she felt a weight on her shoulders lift.
A bloody hand was reaching out to her. It was small, still shaking from the act it had just committed.
Castor was waiting for her to take his hand. When she met his eyes, she could see the expression on his face was one of defeat. His brows were furrowed, his mouth drawn in a frown. It seemed as if he was fighting off tears. But he was here. He had saved her.
She found herself stuck in time, unable to look away from him as flashes of memories from when they'd first met raced through her mind. He had been so angry when his name was called at the reaping. And on the train, when they met Torrence, he hadn't been afraid to speak his mind and face his fate. Most tributes resigned themselves to death upon being sent to the Capitol, but Castor had been fighting from day one.
Even now, when the world was crumbling around them, he was doing all he could to survive - to help the both of them survive.
She released a shaky breath and lifted her hand. Castor seemed relieved by the action and took a step forward to help her. She ignored the blood staining his fingertips and grasped onto his, relieved to have him by her side once more.
He pulled her up. "Come on," he rushed out. "We have to - woah!" Before he could get her to her feet, Halle cried out in pain and tumbled to the ground, almost dragging Castor along with her.
"What is it?" he said quickly. "What's wrong?"
Halle grit her teeth and tried to control her breathing. The pain was hitting her in waves. Instead of answering, she pushed her hand against her side to lessen the bleeding.
Castor's eyes widened when he saw all the blood. "Gemma did that?"
"I'm fine." She struggled to get the words out. "I just need a few minutes."
He hesitated before taking a step forward. "Halle, we don't have minutes."
Halle pursed her lips together. Castor was right. Drew could be here any second. She knew she needed to stay alert, scout out the island, but she couldn't focus. Her heart was beating too fast. She could barely catch her breath. Sweat drenched her body and everything felt cold.
She shook her head. Focus, she tried to tell herself.
"Right," she finally said. It sounded like her voice was coming from someone else, but she ignored it. She kept her left hand pressed against her side as she held out her right. Black dots sprinkled the edge of her vision, but she focused on Castor - his soaked clothes, his messy hair, his brown eyes.
He reached out his left hand again, prepared to lift her up.
She braced herself for his support and grasped onto his hand. She just had to stand up. If she could stand up, she could grab her ax and help Castor look for Drew.
She closed her eyes as Castor pulled her up, gritting her teeth from the pain.
Before she could get to her feet, a strangled yell met her ears and she was suddenly falling to the ground again.
What -
Her eyes shot open and she lifted her head to ask Castor what was wrong.
But as soon as she saw the scene standing before her, she felt something inside of her seize.
Castor's eyes were wide open, his mouth parted in shock. He glanced down at the golden spear sticking out of his chest. It had pierced him through the heart. Red began to spread around the golden tip. His left hand was no longer held out for Halle, but was clutching at his chest, desperate to figure out what was happening, to stop the bleeding, to do something.
But when the spear was ripped from Castor's body, just like Castor's knife from Gemma's neck, a pained cry escaped him as he collapsed to the ground.
"No!"
Halle caught him before he could reach the ground.
"No . . . no," she choked out, laying him flat so she could assess the damage. There was already so much blood. She pressed her hand against his chest. She needed a sponsor, medicine. She had to stop the bleeding.
"Castor, come on. Keep your eyes open," she rushed out. He tried to meet her gaze, but his eyes wouldn't focus. She could see it all - the shock, the pain, fear. He placed his left hand over hers. Tears pooled from his eyes. Terror wracked throughout her body as she watched the life fade from him.
"No," she hissed. She put more pressure against the wound, but the blood wouldn't stop. It drenched her hands, staining the ground below them. "I'm here, Castor. Just hold on."
There had to be something she could do. There had to. She thought back to her training, when the instructor had taught her how to take care of wounds. Torrence had spent an entire evening lecturing her on all the different techniques. Lane had even had her bandage up his own cuts after a long day of logging.
Her hands trembled as she looked at Castor's chest.
There was too much blood. She didn't have medicine. She didn't have bandages . . . she didn't have time. Nothing she had been taught would help her.
Castor let out a series of coughs.
"Castor?" she rushed out. He was no longer looking at her, but the skylight.
This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.
She could feel the subtle lift of his chest as he struggled to breathe, but it grew weaker every second that passed. No matter how hard she pressed down, the blood wouldn't stop. Her own wound was completely forgotten. Panic flooded her body. All her focus was on the boy who had saved her life, her district partner, her friend. There was so much red. She could hear someone pacing, but she didn't dare tear her eyes away from Castor. She was attuned to every time his chest moved up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Something fell onto her hand. She realized tears were streaming down her face. She no longer felt the physical pain of her wound, but something deep and heart-wrenching, something no amount of time would ever heal.
She waited for his chest to lift again.
She waited.
Come on.
She waited.
Come on!
A cannon boomed throughout the arena.
"Pick it up."
She could barely register Drew's voice. Her eyes were glued to the small form lying in front of her.
"Look, I don't know what's gonna happen . . ."
"Castor," she whispered. Blood was still pooling from the wound in his chest. She'd heard the cannon. She knew what that meant, but denial had her kneeling in front of him, shaking his shoulders as if she could wake him from his sleep.
". . . I just need you to do this for me."
"Castor." Her voice was harsher now, desperation seeping through. But he didn't move. His body lay completely still. She stopped shaking him as disbelief washed over her. He had been alive just moments before. He had been breathing. How could he just be . . .
She cried out when strong hands gripped her shoulders and threw her to the ground.
"Pick. It. Up," Drew yelled. "Now!"
A fog lifted from her mind as she locked eyes with Drew. He was pacing back and forth as he held his golden spear with an iron grip, blood staining the tip. Her ax was still next to Gemma's body. Drew wanted a fight - to prove himself. He hadn't cared about Gemma. It didn't matter to him if he beat Castor in a fair fight. This had always been about him and her. It was always supposed to come down to the two of them, wasn't it?
She felt something rotten take root when she glanced over at Castor. He would be written off as another lost tribute. His body would be sent back home for his family to view, their reaction aired in front of all of Panem. He'd told her about his sister, Lily, how she had been the only one to say goodbye.
More tears threatened to pool over, but she didn't dare let them fall. She found herself shaking, but not from grief. A raw emotion overwhelmed her - one that was all consuming, blinding.
All of her anger, every emotion she'd bottled up for years, it all came erupting to the surface. So much death. So much blood. Years of children killing children, of sickness and rebellion and hopelessness. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take any of it.
Her eyes lingered on Castor before lifting to Drew, following his movements as he paced back and forth, waiting for her to make her move, to fight back.
Drew wasn't the source of her pain, but he was there. Killing Drew wouldn't change anything, but he'd killed Castor.
Castor was dead.
It was Drew's fault.
Halle remembered her initial reaction to Drew when he'd gotten reaped, how Torrence had played the footage over and over again. After the opening ceremony, she remembered how he'd singled out Castor, even going so far as to make a scene. He liked to be the center of attention, but only if it was on his terms. She knew that her status with the Capitol ate away at him. He couldn't stand to be compared to someone like her, someone who hadn't earned her place, not like him - a Career who had sacrificed his life preparing for the Games. But he didn't know the sacrifices she had made.
Drew stopped pacing when Halle began to push herself away from the ground. She was unsteady. She had already lost so much blood, but a strange energy was coursing through her. She could feel it in her chest, lifting her up as her resolve grew. She had to end this. She had to end him.
Drew was completely still, his eyes narrowed as they followed her. She stepped over Gemma's body as she made her way to her ax. There was red staining the blade from when she'd hit Gemma. As she leaned over to pick up her weapon, no longer feeling the pain in her side, she grasped onto the handle and stood up, finally facing Drew.
They were standing across from each other - the final two tributes. One of them would become the victor. One of them could go home to their families, bring honor to their district, and live the rest of their lives in peace.
But all she could think about was Castor - his rare smiles, his kind eyes, his chest lifting up and down, up and down, up and down.
Before she realized it, she was charging at Drew.
Drew took a stance, bracing for the attack. She didn't stand a chance against him. He was taller than her, stronger, faster, but she didn't care. Drew killed Castor. Castor was dead.
The second she reached Drew, she swung her ax down with as much force as she could muster. Gold clashed against gold. The world seemed to fade away as she locked eyes with her opponent. She didn't care that the Capitol was watching. Survival no longer mattered to her. All she cared about was unleashing the emotions that had been bottled up for years.
She'd spent so much of her life maintaining her composure, hiding her thoughts, waiting for the Games. But now she'd broken that shell. When she'd fought the other tributes, all she had felt was fear, panic, a drive to keep going.
But as she swung her ax at Drew, her attacks were powerful, violent. Rage fueled her movements. Grief kept her going. This wasn't about winning the Games, this was about revenge. Revenge for her mother, who had died at the hands of a sickness that had plagued her district while the Capitol stood back and watched. Revenge for her father, who had weaponized his grief into something that would make a difference. Revenge for the rebels, the children on the list. Revenge for Carla, Jasmine, Brier, Paxton . . .
Castor.
Drew blocked every one of her hits, but Halle was relentless. Before he could attack, she was forcing him back, her swings wide and unpredictable.
There were moments where Drew was able to break through her assault. He wielded his spear with expertise, lunging forward at just the right moment. She cried out when he stabbed her leg, but she was quick to return the hit, just barely missing his arm. They were right on each other's heels. Halle didn't even register the pain. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She found herself acutely aware of every slight movement. Where before, weakness had brought her to her knees, she was now filled with a strength that defied logic.
The more time that passed, the more frenzied Drew's attacks became. Frustration became evident on his face. His lunges were reckless. Both of their breaths were growing labored, but neither of them would yield.
Halle stumbled when her vision blurred.
Fuck.
When she saw a flash of gold, she rolled to the side. Her thoughts were beginning to grow jumbled. She glanced down and finally noticed how much blood she had lost. Her right leg was completely drenched in red. The wound in her hip was still bleeding, but she couldn't feel the pain. A strange sort of numbness could be felt in her chest.
But she had to keep going.
Before she could get to her feet, Drew lunged forward again, narrowly missing her shoulder as she blocked with her ax. A venomous look could be seen in his eyes. She had to get up. She was too vulnerable on the ground.
She dodged another hit, but instead of trying to get to her feet, her eyes narrowed when she saw a hole in Drew's pants, red staining the edges. A wound could be seen. It was mostly healed, so much so that Drew probably no longer noticed it. But Halle had noticed him favoring the other leg.
She tightened her grip on her ax. She just needed one hit - one hit and she could bring him down.
Drew had the upper hand. His movements were less controlled and more desperate. Every lunge he made, he was one inch closer to hitting Halle. Even after she staggered to her feet, it was taking all she had to avoid his spear. There was no room to attack.
But all she needed was one opening.
She darted to the side when he forced his spear forward.
Drew was vicious, tiring himself out. Halle redirected another hit aimed for her heart, the spear stabbing her shoulder instead. She could feel the pain return as her focus dulled, but her eyes were glued to his leg. Every time he stepped forward, it was with his uninjured leg. However, when he stepped back . . .
She cried out as he pulled out the spear.
Now!
She swung her ax, but instead of aiming for his arms, chest, head, she swung low, burying her ax into Drew's leg with a crunch.
The yell he released echoed across the cavern. When she ripped out her ax, he fell to the ground, too shocked to block her next attack.
She didn't stop. She swung again, this time hitting him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his spear. She could feel something take over. It was dark, unforgiving, so unfamiliar from who she was. But she didn't care. She swung over, and over, and over again. She became numb to the screams, numb to the cruelty.
Because that's what this was, cruel. Castor killed Gemma, Drew killed Castor, and now Halle was killing Drew. The carnage was being aired for everyone to see, but she was uncaring of her actions. She was blinded by grief, consumed with sorrow - lost.
It wasn't until she could no longer pull her ax from his body that she finally stopped. She could hardly catch her breath. Sweat and blood covered her from head to toe.
The cannon sounded and she could no longer stay on her feet. Drew had stopped moving - stopped fighting several blows ago. He was unrecognizable, his skin chewed up as muscle and bone peaked through. She could barely focus on what was happening. She still felt like she was in danger, like she had to keep swinging.
Her vision blurred as she glanced around her.
There was so much blood. Too much. It stained the moss and rock below, her clothes, her hands. Small pools of red were forming from the bodies surrounding her. They were all dead. It happened so quickly. How? How was it already over? There was no one left . . . no one but her . . . just like the list. It felt wrong. It was all wrong.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed out, shaking her to her very core as her head shot up to the sky with wide eyes. It took her a moment to recognize the voice. But as soon as she realized what was happening, she wanted to shout for Claudius Templesmith to stop, that this had all been a mistake, but his voice continued on before she had a chance to open her mouth. "I present to you the victor of the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games, our female tribute from District Seven - Halle Croft!"
Tears were streaming down her face. Screams and cheers could be heard from the speakers as Panem's anthem suffocated her ears. Suddenly, the carefully constructed wall that had been built to keep her from the outside world shattered as the Capitol's reaction was aired inside the arena. Hovercrafts sounded in the distance. They were going to take her away. She was going home. It had all finally come to an end . . .
But she wasn't ready.
The weight of it all hit her as her eyes fell upon the small form laying across from her. Castor didn't move. As the sound of rotors spinning grew louder, she crawled over to him, wincing in pain. She could barely hold herself up. Blood was pooling from her leg and hip. Fatigue threatened to topple her over, but she didn't stop.
A ladder fell from above when she reached Castor. A sob escaped her as she reached out a bloody hand. There were shouts telling her to grab onto the ladder, but all of her focus was on her lost friend.
He seemed peaceful. There were no lines on his face. He was so young. She couldn't stop the sorrow from seeping in as she begged for him to wake up. A poisonous seed had been planted in the root of her stomach, and when she glanced over at the gaping wound in his chest, it grew into something raw and twisted.
"Remember me."
She jumped when she felt hands on her shoulders. A spark of energy and panic had her thrashing against them. They didn't belong here. She screamed as she tried to keep them away from her, away from Castor, but more hands grabbed onto her. They were telling her to calm down, that she was safe, but they were wrong.
They didn't listen to her pleas or harrowed cries. The ladder was right next to her now. She refused to move, but her limbs failed her when she felt a sharp pain in her neck. Her vision became foggy as a strange numbness overcame her when they forced her hand to grab on. Electricity kept her locked to the ladder. She was lifted to the sky, the arena fading away below her along with Castor.
This wasn't what she wanted.
Metal doors closed and she was carried onto a table as strangers tended to her wounds.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
They were whispering instructions over her. Ointments were spread all over. She felt the prick of a needle as they closed her wounds. Her eyelids grew heavy. Something was begging her to stay awake, to face the pain, but darkness overcame her - two words repeating themselves over and over until they were seared into her memories. She would never forget them. She would never forget him . . .
"Remember me."
A/N from ao3:
Feeling a lot of emotions here. I realized it's been almost exactly a year since I first posted this. Not really sure how to follow up with an author's note. All I can say is I can't believe I actually got through this chapter. I went through so many drafts and scrapped over 40,000 words. I've had this chapter in my head from the very beginning, and after reading it over and over and over again, it's hard to know if I communicated the ending the way I wanted to.
That being said, this is the end of the 69th Hunger Games. Part 1 will only have a few more chapters before we start working on Part 2.
It's been so amazing sharing this story with you all. Even though I've been dreading this chapter, I'm excited to move on to Halle's next phase in her life. School is keeping me busy, but I work on this every day, as well as another project that's been at the back of my mind. I'm still trying to catch up with comments, but just know that I read every single one of them! (sometimes multiple times).
As usual, I'm grateful for the support, and I'll see you all for the next one.
Take care of yourselves.
For those of you not on ao3, thank you so much for your reviews, follows, and favorites! It means a lot to me.