Day 9, Part 1: The Feast
It was rustling that woke Navarro, sounds of rummaging and pacing. His eyes flew open; he tried to sit up, only for sudden pain from his abdomen to bring him back down again, frantically gasping for air—he'd gotten up too quickly. He cursed. On this day of all days, he needed his body to work.
Because Azolla was going to the Feast. And he had to go too.
She was immediately beside him. "You have to stay down, okay? Or else it won't heal." She pressed a hand to his forehead. "No fever. Let's hope it stays this way."
"Are you still going?" he said, voice quivering. He tried to strengthen it, but it came out shaky anyway. "To the Feast?"
"Of course," she said, putting on a smile. "But don't worry. I'll be back before you know it."
"B-But what if…"
"You went to get me water last time, so I'm making it up to you this time."
Sure, sure. That made sense. But "making sense" did little to calm his pounding heart at the thought of her going alone and dying out there. He propped himself up, hands against the wall in an effort to climb to his feet, but he buckled under the searing pain and collapsed against Azolla, who gently laid him back down.
He'd never been one to struggle with goodbyes, but that was because he'd never had anyone he cared enough to stress about it. How did one talk to someone important he might not ever see again? He stared up into her dark eyes. Could she see the fear that undoubtedly lay in his own?
He clutched her hand. "You have to be careful."
"I will."
"And if you have to kill—"
"I'll avoid everyone else."
"But if you have to…"
She sighed. "Then I'll do whatever I have to to get away from them."
It wasn't quite what he was hoping for, but at least it was a promise to fight. Or, at least, to fight long enough for her to escape alive. Even so, he ran his eyes over her features, from her wavy hair, tied back in a messy ponytail, to her soft lips, cracked and dry from the desert heat. This could be his last time seeing her.
"Don't worry about me," she said, voice gentle and calm, though he wondered if that was just for his sake. "I survived the slums, remember?"
"The Star Alliance is gonna be there."
She gave a strained smile. "Then do it for me, okay? I'll be more at ease if I know you're at ease."
"You can't expect me to not worry."
"Oh?"
"You're just…" So incredibly important? Everything to him? This was ridiculous—but he couldn't prove it wasn't true. "I just worry."
Her lip curled up in a playful smile, a pocket of light on her otherwise tense face. "If you say so."
"Shut up."
She gave a strained laugh, and he couldn't help but smile, no matter how annoyed he felt inside. But then she headed for the doorway, a knife in her belt, and he was stuck in the same place. She'd go on to travel to the Cornucopia alone. As she crossed over the threshold, all he could do was lie here and wait, absolutely useless and worthless.
Not to mention the words stuck in his throat. He had half a mind to call after her, to tell her the things he hadn't dared to say, not just for fear of how she'd react but also because he hardly dared to believe he felt that way himself. Azolla Majuli was a very special person. A very special girl, the only one that'd ever been this special to him. Now she was gone. Maybe even permanently.
Stupid him. Stupid for not saying anything, and even more stupid for letting himself feel this way in the first place. Especially if the next time he saw her face was in the sky.
Eros gave his canteen a little shake, grinning at the splash of water. With a twirl, he plucked his spear off its spot on the wall and joined Ilithyia outside. Though it'd already been light for hours, the clouds were thick, ominously gray, hardly anything like the blistering heat they'd had for over a week now. He would've expected it to rain yesterday, but they'd instead continued their steady gathering. No complaints from him, at any rate. He'd long gotten sick of the sun.
Outside, Ili jogged in place, both axes in hand. She smiled. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah! You sure look ready."
"I'm more than ready." Her eyes had taken on a glint of wild exhilaration, reminiscent of the one she'd had back in training. It'd faded since the Bloodbath, but now it was back with a fury. Oddly comforting, considering that it was the smile of the girl that'd terrorized Athanasios Denzino to the point of disqualifying him from volunteering, but at least it was familiar, the fiery girl he'd known and planned for since he won the final matches for the volunteer spot.
"Remember what we've talked about?"
She nodded, her eyes narrowed slightly. "District Two first. We're a team."
He grinned. He dropped his voice. "And that means that we need to be careful of anyone else that breaks up our team."
"Adair?" she whispered.
"Yeah, but not just him." He glanced back at the door. No one was there yet. "I'm starting to think that Ven's a bigger problem."
"You're kidding."
"Adair's not trying to split us apart, though. Ven is."
"But…"
"Trust me. I have a ton of experience with these types of people. He's trying to turn you against me." Whistling approached from inside. He chuckled loudly. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine," he said, raising his voice. "We'll have some fun today."
Adair stepped out, singing some unfamiliar tune. He gave them a wave, made a funny face at Ili, and set her off laughing. Good for her. Evidently, she'd somewhat learned to hide distrust. Nevaeh followed soon after, calling something back at Sos in that District Ten language.
Ili grinned. "Alright, everyone! Let's go."
It wasn't long before Nevaeh struck up a conversation with Ili, both of them out in front. Eros followed behind, straining his ear for the signs of distance that had to be somewhere in Nevaeh's voice, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
Did Ili realize how close they were to the end? It was already the Feast; only five other tributes remained outside the Star Alliance. All they had to do was kill off a few more of the others and then it'd be the endgame. Surely Nevaeh of all people was aware of this; the Ten girl was much less bubbly than she'd been back in training, though her obvious attachment to Sos meant she wasn't too likely to set things off first.
But Adair and Ven?
If Ili set her mind to a fight, Eros knew she would probably win. He just didn't know if she would set her mind to a fight against the people she clearly now considered friends. And that was what made Ven such a threat.
Halfway to the Cornucopia, Adair gave him a hearty pat on the back. "Ready for some action?"
"Of course." Eros hid a grimace. Since when did the Seven boy act all buddy-buddy with him?
"Though between you and me," Adair said, pulling Eros closer. "I don't like that we got those two watchin' the supplies."
"Oh?" He hadn't expected to half agree with the Seven boy on anything, but apparently neither of them liked Ven much. Though with Sos also back at camp, Eros had figured that the Ten boy would keep Ven in check.
"I woke up in the middle of the night and heard 'em whisperin'," Adair said under his breath, all while maintaining a careful eye on the two girls ahead. "I wouldn't be surprised if they pulled somethin' when we get back."
Eros bit his lip. Sos wouldn't do this to him, would he? In a vacuum, certainly not, but under Ven's influence… Eros wouldn't put it past the boy to turn the rest of the pack against him.
He could feel Adair's appraising eyes. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Adair shrugged. "I'd go back and check on 'em, but Ilithyia doesn't trust me much and I'd really like to not get blamed for whatever happens tonight."
Neither would Eros like to get blamed, but if Ven were to target anyone, Eros knew it'd surely be him. It wouldn't cost him much to go back and check on the pair, either; an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure. Of course, Adair could be playing him right now. This could all be a scam. Adair had wormed his way out of his trial; he could very well be trying to mess with him.
If Adair were lying and Eros really went back only to find nothing, it wouldn't make much of a difference. He could just come right back to the Feast and it wouldn't be much of a loss at all, with how close the courthouse was to the Cornucopia. But if Adair were telling the truth and Eros didn't do anything about it, who knew what kind of disaster would unfold?
Unless Adair's entire goal was to separate him from Ili, so that Adair and Nevaeh could gang up and take out Ili. But that was assuming Nevaeh was set on betraying Ili, and that was a pretty extreme assumption to make at this point. That time would come, but it didn't seem to be now.
"Hey, Ili?" he called. "You mind if I head back real quick?"
"Why?" she said.
Nevaeh raised an eyebrow. It verged on surprise; this couldn't have been planned between her and Adair. Eros glanced at Adair, half-expecting to find a dumb smirk, but the Seven boy's face remained completely straight.
"I forgot to refill my water," he said. She cocked her head. He silently pleaded with her. Trust me.
She sighed. "You want us to wait for you?"
"Nah. I'll get back quickly."
Ili shrugged. Nevaeh had already turned back towards the Cornucopia. Adair gave him a genuine look.
This had better be worth it.
Ili quieted as the trio approached the end of the street, where it fed into the Cornucopia courtyard. It was just like they'd left it after that first day here, when the crumbling tower had stolen Adora from them. She pressed her lips into a firm line. None of her own would fall today, not if she had anything to say about it.
She looked back over her shoulder, but Eros' figure had disappeared. Was it noon yet? Eros or no Eros, the Feast was the Feast, and it couldn't wait for anyone. If he wasn't going to be ready, they'd have to proceed with their plan without him.
"Ready?" she whispered, glancing between Nevaeh and Adair. The plan would require them to split up for a brief moment. Coordination was key.
The Ten girl nodded. Gone was her carefree laughter, her face had settled into battle mode, all grim and stony. Ili missed the old Nevaeh. Especially since it was starting to sink in that the old Nevaeh was probably gone for good.
Adair curled up the corner of his mouth. Ili grinned back at him, though she couldn't help but find herself focused on his hand that rested against his hiking vest, near where his knives were. Part of her wanted to think that he wouldn't kill her now. But Eros had been so suspicious of him, and her district partner had always been the more attentive one between the two of them. It couldn't hurt to be extra careful.
"Alright," she said. "Let's take our positions."
Clarke peered over the edge of the window. She narrowed her eyes, set straight on the heap of rubble piled up near the mouth of the golden horn. It was more muted now than the last time she saw it—the first time, under that brutal sun. She hated it. Last time, she had the beautiful thought of Liat on her mind, with silly runaway dreams of pairing up and living that wild life in the Arena, together till the very end. Now, she had nothing more than the whispers of the dead that haunted this graveyard of concrete and steel. She hoped that the corpses had been collected. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she stumbled upon the Seven girl's dead body.
"Anything yet?" Zeph said. His voice was low, as if holding back strained frustration. And rightfully so, because so far, this trip had been a complete dud. No bombs, no supplies, no nothing.
"Nothing," she said. "Any idea what time it is?"
"Not with them clouds. Just wait a little longer."
'Cause she'd asked for his advice, of course. She pressed her lips into a firm line. So much for all his careful strategy. She rapped a finger against the window frame. Couldn't the Gamemakers have chosen an earlier time for this? The whole ordeal was inhumane enough as is; the waiting only made it all worse.
Besides, the Feast was their last chance at getting something out of this, the final shot at keeping their alliance together—and not because she'd break it, not while she still owed him. He himself had said that they were only still together because they had a better chance against the Careers this way; a failure now would prove that they were wasting their time. Then Zeph would leave. He'd never cared much for or about her in the first place.
Low rumbling came from up ahead; the rubble before the mouth of the Cornucopia moved to the side, opening a space for an ornate wooden table to rise up from below, laden with sharp objects indistinct at this distance. Oh, and two bottles of blue.
"Weapons and water," she said, "but mostly weapons."
She could hear Zeph's breathing, yet he gave no answer. Fine then. She was done waiting on Zeph to come up with some brilliant plan anyway. She'd given him a chance, but it was time to get things rolling again.
"We need to go," she said. "Ready?"
Zeph only grunted and moved for the door. Oh well. Now or nothing.
Pressed against an upended slab of concrete, Azolla watched the table rise before her very own eyes. A pile of weapons dominated its mahogany surface—knives and bows, arrows and clubs, even a dart gun, accompanied with a pouch of what had to be the darts, labeled in purple. Tranquilizer darts. A couple packs of jerky. Two bottles of water. Just two. A small bag with a red cross—some kind of medicine—dangled off one end, its cord looped on the barrel of the dart gun.
She shivered at the black void that seemed to lie beneath it as the whirring of gears filled the air. Had a tribute ever fallen below the Arena? At least once or twice in the past few decades, a tribute had suddenly disappeared out of nowhere, only for the kids' death to be announced later off-screen. She hadn't ever thought to question it until now. Somehow, the mechanical darkness seemed worse than any death that could happen up here above the surface.
Then the table clicked into place, and the ground slid back into place.
Azolla burst into a sprint.
She skidded to a stop beside the table. She whipped her head around, scanning her periphery. A pair of tributes from one end. A cluster of three, surely the Star Alliance, down one of the broad roads beside the standing tower. She'd been the first. The shimmying among the rubble had paid off.
She grabbed a water bottle first and then stuffed a bit of jerky in her pocket. Then she snatched at the medicine, but its strap tangled on the dart gun. The pair was closer now—the Nine girl and the Twelve boy—and neither had a friendly face.
She'd promised Navarro she'd do whatever it took to get away.
No more time for avoidance. She grabbed the gun, checked to make sure it had already been loaded, and hooked the pouch of darts with her finger; she yanked it out, causing the pile of weapons to shift. Knives clattered against the pavement. At least this was a weapon she could use. Worst came to worst, her harpoon gun days in Four would help her aim here.
Sudden footsteps from behind. Her heart leapt into her throat; she hadn't thought to check behind the Cornucopia. She whirled around and pointed the gun.
She stared down at the boy from Eight.
Out on the front step of the courthouse, Ven stared up at the dark clouds, Sos seated nearby. No cannons yet, though he'd long started bracing for them. Hopefully there'd be more than just a few. Though he wished no harm on anyone, he'd volunteered fully cognizant that anyone he met would have to die, and it was the best case scenario for the deaths to happen at a distance, where he wouldn't have to do the killing himself.
The girl from Eight had been his first. He wondered if he should've felt more guilty, or if his training meant that he should've been more unbothered. Turns out, reality was neither. A lifetime of preparing for the games still meant something when it came to having to do the dirty work, but it couldn't rid the unease rumble in his gut as her cannon sounded.
Of course, the Eight girl had been a stranger. It'd surely would've been different if it'd been Ili or Sos. But perhaps the time for even that was coming soon. From Sos' uncanny silence to Eros' whispers in Ili's ears, the vultures were starting to gather overhead.
Sos sighed. "You think they've started?"
"Don't know. I hope it goes quickly, though."
"I dunno." His voice was weary. "I dunno what to hope for anymore."
"What's going on?"
"Nothin'."
"You know… you're no good at acting."
"I know, I know." Sos gave him a long look; the boy averted his eyes. "It's… complicated."
Ven frowned. If even Sos was keeping secrets, things were a whole new level of terrible. Those gray clouds didn't help anything either.
"It's nothin' to do with you, if that's what you're worryin' about."
"Then…"
"Personal stuff, alright?"
Ven shrugged. No need to push, especially since it was Sos, the only one he really trusted in this mess at all. "Alright, then."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to get snippy on you; I just gotta cope, but…"
"Don't worry about it. I'll leave you alone then."
"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Sos stammered. "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean—"
As Ven rose, he pulled up a weak smile and gave him a firm pat on the back. "Really. I get it. I'll go check the back or something."
He stepped back over the threshold into the room where they'd stayed for the past week; it was now in total disarray, with wrappers haphazardly strewn across the floor and supplies piled here and there in random disarray. When they'd first moved in, they—mostly Sos—had at least made an effort to keep things clean, but with Sos crippled and the bonds slowly breaking down, any remaining sense of order rapidly disintegrated too.
He nudged a bench out of his way; he ambled down the hall, poking his head into the dusty side rooms until he arrived at the back door. He stared out at the dusty street and clouded sky. Was it about to rain? The gentle showers of home would be a great relief in this wasteland, but he'd bet that any "rain" the Gamemakers sent would be anything but relieving.
A forebodingly familiar red box caught the corner of his eye. It sat right outside the wall, nestled among fallen bricks and old stones. A large yellow warning tag was plastered across its face—Danger! Explosives. Last time he'd seen one of these, he'd been on his pedestal at the edge of the Cornucopia courtyard, bracing himself to run as the countdown to the Bloodbath ticked on.
If he had one here, there could be more.
"Sos!" he called. His voice echoed down the hall. "Get away from the building. Now."
Ellis stared down the barrel of the gun. He blinked, gingerly raising both his hands. If the District Four girl wanted to kill him, he was long gone. She'd easily nail him before he could reach any sort of cover. His mouth ran dry; he opened it, only to shut it again.
This would end a whole lot faster than he'd expected.
But then she lowered it. She'd spared him once when she saved him from her district partner; it seemed she'd decided to do it again.
"You owe me, remember?" she said. "Let's work together for now. We're the only ones alone here."
He blinked. He barely had time to nod.
"Hurry!"
It clicked. He rushed to the table; he snatched the one remaining bottle and shoved it in his bag—Virginia's bag—knocking over the rest of the weapons pile in a hail of metal against stone. The Nine girl and Twelve boy were close now. As the arrows scattered everywhere, the fallen weapons revealed another gun-shaped item on the table, to which some kind of can was attached.
His eyes widened. Four girl shouted. The Twelve boy lunged. Ellis grabbed it first, tripping over bows and boulders before yanking it off the table. He lost his balance and hit the ground. Though his backpack cushioned the fall, sudden weight hit his legs.
Twelve boy.
Ellis yelled. He kicked, trying to free himself, but Twelve was trying to pin him down and the guy clearly had had practice. He rolled, and the two tumbled over rocks and rubble before his finger closed around some kind of trigger and he pulled. Sudden heat. A jet of flames shot ten feet out the front of the weapon, barely singeing the tips of Twelve boy's hair.
A flamethrower.
Immediately Twelve released and Ellis scrambled back. His sweaty hands clutched his flamethrower; his eyes locked on Twelve as he slowly rose to his feet and backed towards his new temporary ally, all while keeping his weapon pointed towards Twelve and the other girl. The one from Nine. The one that killed Iggy.
Virginia hadn't even been the one to kill Iggy and she'd already collapsed under the weight of her guilt. He wondered if Nine felt the same.
"Don't come any closer or I'll shoot," Four said as she took another step back, her voice suddenly louder than he'd ever heard it. They were side by side now, her with the gun in her hands and the water, darts, and medicine in her pockets; him with his bag dangling awkwardly off his arm as he lifted the flamethrower.
Even so, they had to go soon. The Star Alliance had been oddly absent thus far; he somehow doubted it'd stay this way. No sign of them as he scanned their surroundings, but they could be hidden among the rubble for all he knew, just like Azolla had been hidden before the table rose and she'd suddenly appeared.
Then Twelve spoke.
"Hear me out," Zeph said, hands up as he faced the two guns pointed at him. What idiot decided that putting guns in the Arena was fair? His mind raced at a million miles an hour, desperately trying to salvage this trainwreck of a plan."We don't wanna hurt y'all, promise."
"Then we'll leave you alone, and you leave us alone," Four said, stepping back again. "Alright?"
At this rate, both of them would be gone soon, leaving him and Clarke with nothing but the weapons—but what good were weapons if they'd die of dehydration? Yet the girl's voice had a tremble to it. She didn't like pointing the gun any more than he enjoyed being pointed at. Maybe this wasn't beyond saving.
He shook his head. "No, please. Y'all got two waters. We got none."
The two remained still with their weapons up. Especially Four girl. She shifted her aim back and forth between him and Clarke. But no response was better than a harsh one. He glanced at Clarke. Her knife was down, thankfully. He didn't need the other two feeling any more threatened than they likely already were.
"Y'all leave with the waters and we'll die out here," he said, inching forward. He didn't bother to hold his trembling arms still.
Four immediately trained her gun back towards him. "Careful."
"Just one. That's all I'm asking for." He allowed his voice to crack. If only Zirconia were still here. Back home, this was her specialty. She'd chat people up while he swiped their stuff from under their noses. But she was gone, so he'd have to do the best for the both of 'em. "Please. I don't wanna die. Especially not from thirst."
The Eight boy's lip quivered. An opening.
"You're District Eight, right?" Zeph said. Another step towards the two of them, this time specifically towards Eight. "I knew Virginia."
The boy's eyes widened now.
"We were even allies for a little, before the Careers caught us and Zirconia—" He gulped. He didn't have to fake or exaggerate this one. "They killed Zirconia. But Virginia got away. Don't know how she died, but she didn't deserve it."
"The Star Alliance took her," Eight whispered.
"I'm sorry. She was a good person."
He'd halfway closed the distance now with his hands up and his mouth running, and neither had made a move to shoot. The Eight boy had even gone so far as to lower his flamethrower, though his backpack still swung awkwardly with its strap around his forearm. All that remained missing now was the perfect moment, and things would be fixed. And just in time too, because the Star Alliance was bound to be closing in as they stood here like sitting ducks in the center of the Arena.
As if on cue, he caught a glimpse of movement beyond them. A bit of short, dark hair ducking behind concrete. Considering the remaining tributes, it could only be the Seven boy. Time to make his move and get out of here. Hopefully Clarke was ready to run.
"Um, y'all?" he said, lifting a finger towards where he'd seen Seven. "I think the Careers are here."
When the two turned their heads, he sprang forward. He grabbed the swinging backpack and gave it a sharp pull, yanking it free from the Eight boy's grasp and knocking the flamethrower out of his hands. But this was not time to get greedy. His knife would have to suffice.
"Go!" he yelled at Clarke. But Clarke wasn't running. Her eyes darted around, as if searching for an out.
Closing in from behind them was the girl from Two.
Eyes narrowed, Ven ran down the side alley by the courthouse. No signs of any bombs here, nor in the neighboring building. Only one bomb had shown up. Strange. Had their attacker only had one, or was something else at play?
He came out on the other side into the main street in front, where he found Sos squatting awkwardly near the bomb a little ways down the street, gleaming in its red packging.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Watch out! The thing could go off any minute."
"I don't think it can go off," Sos called back. "Not unless we light it. It looks like someone's cut something out of it."
Ven's entire body was tense as he approached. "What do you mean?"
Sos teased out a frayed bundle of wires. "See? Something used to be attached here. Looks like it was sawn off with a knife or something."
Even stranger. First there was only one, and then that only one turned out to be fairly benign, unless someone had been out there trying to set it off manually before he found it. And on the day of the Feast, when most of the Star Alliance was bound to be gone? It was almost as if whoever planted the bomb hadn't wanted it to go off.
"You find anything?" Sos asked.
"Not a trace."
"You searched the whole building?"
"Every room and the perimeter."
The Ten boy stared at the bomb. "This doesn't make any sense. We've had guards the whole time."
"It was probably one of us."
"There's got to be another explanation for this…"
Ven sighed. Though he hadn't expected the bombs to ever come back, he'd known all along that sooner or later, things would fall apart—it was only a matter of "when" and "how." He'd desperately hoped that the good in the group would balance out the bad, but now it was clear that it'd all been wishful thinking. With Eros and Adair, how could he have ever expected anything different?
Sos continued wondering out loud. "Maybe things will make more sense when the others get back."
The others. Oh, no. No, no, no.
"They can't come back to this," Ven said, voice suddenly low. "They'll think we were trying to blow 'em up."
"I can convince Nevaeh. You think you could talk sense into Ili?"
"Not with Eros in her ear."
Sos furrowed his brow. "Then what are we gonna do? You can't just hide something that red."
"I don't know, but we have to do something."
Ven bit his lip. Maybe it was possible to hide the bomb, at least for now. But where? On the off chance that it had been one of the other tributes, they couldn't afford to stash it in a building nearby. Any other tribute that happened to come across could end all six of them in one go.
But if any of the others found it inside the building, it'd definitely be the end. The cracks were bad enough; just the suspicion that one was trying to blow them all up would be enough to blow the alliance apart.
Then again, considering that this most likely had been one of their own, the alliance could be doomed anyway. All he had to do was leave right now, and he might avoid the worst of it.
He turned to Sos. "You can get around okay, right?"
Sos blinked. "What?"
"We can grab some supplies," he said. "We'll be gone before they know it."
"And leave the bomb?"
"You want to stay with the bomb?"
Sos frowned. "Won't they think we planted it?"
"It won't matter. We'll be gone."
Sos gave him a long, hard look. Not a good sign. "I-I can't do that. I can't let Nevaeh take the fall."
Ven sighed. He could always just leave himself, but then Sos would surely come under fire. It wouldn't even take much of a lie for the Ten boy to get out of it—all Sos had to say was something along the lines of "Ven planted the bomb and left me to die" and he'd be fine—but Sos wouldn't say that. Ven knew the boy wouldn't.
The two simmered in silence. Ven let out a long breath. His mentor back in the Capitol was surely screaming at him to run and escape the fallout, but he wasn't about to abandon Sos to fend for himself. At least, not yet. Perhaps the time would eventually come, but just the thought of leaving Sos out to dry was disgusting.
"I'm sorry," Sos said. "You go if you want to. I'll be okay."
"You won't."
"I'll talk to Nevaeh, and maybe she'll get through to Ili—"
"Not happening. Let's… let's just figure out where to hide it for now."
Sos gave him a weak smile. "Thanks."
Sudden footsteps, seemingly out of nowhere—not now, of all times! Ven's heart leapt into his chest; he hadn't heard anyone approach. He whirled around, searching for the source.
It was just in time to see Eros Worshire round the corner of the courthouse.
Ellis knew he shouldn't have let his guard down.
But Twelve had been talking about Virginia and in that moment, all Ellis had been able to see was her weak figure, standing in the single square of light in the dark basement as the Star Alliance descended. And then her face in the sky, stone-cold and determined, the way she'd been all throughout the pre-game ceremonies up until he found her sobbing.
The flamethrower clunked against stone as the bag was torn from his hands. Virginia's bag. He immediately lunged; he hooked his finger on its dangling strap.
"Hey!" he said, closing his hold on it. "Give it back!"
The Twelve boy grunted and sharply pulled. The bag lurched in his direction, and Ellis went with it, losing his balance. His knee hit the ground as he fell. He clung to the bag anyway. Because he needed the water, but also so much more than that. It was Virginia's. The past week had been nothing but loss after loss. He wasn't sure if he could handle another one, no matter how small it was.
Ellis glared up at Twelve and immediately received a boot to the face. But he refused to let go. As Twelve swung the bag back and forth, trying to break free, Ellis' aching hands gripped the strap until its rough fabric scraped and burned his fingers.
Four screamed at him from behind, something about "they" being here. There, beyond Twelve and the Nine girl, the Two girl wove through the rubble, an ax in each hand. The Star Alliance was here, and he had to be gone.
He released his grip. The strap was immediately torn away. It was the last piece he had of any of his previous ill-fated companions, but he'd go to join them if he didn't let it go. Blinking back tears, he sprinted after Four, directly away from Two.
As Ilithyia closed in on the Cornucopia, the cluster of tributes fighting in its mouth suddenly scattered, Nine and Twelve towards the left, Four and Eight directly away. A smile curled across her face. It was exactly as she'd planned. Nevaeh and Adair would pop up any moment now, and a third of the remaining competition would be eliminated in a matter of minutes.
No more trials. No more talking round and round until the thrill and exhilaration was gone. Just the adrenaline pumping through her and the blades of her axes, which had long sat dry and unused since their first day in the Arena.
She looked again at the fleeing tributes. Four had been the first to run, headed right in Adair's direction. She frowned. Eros had accused Adair of working with the Fours; she hadn't believed him for some reason or another—whatever Ven had said made sense in the moment—but now? The Four girl had dashed off so quickly in Adair's direction; it was almost as if she knew he was there, as if she'd known she could escape under Adair's watch.
She didn't like this feeling, having to suspect her allies. By Snow, she hadn't thought anything bad about any of them until Eros had started slipping her information in the middle of the night. But he was the more alert one, and it'd be totally on brand for her to get so wrapped up in living her life that she'd overlook the details.
She'd been assigned to hold down this side of the courtyard, to keep funneling the tributes into the other two. But if Adair really had been working with the Fours this whole time, then there was no way in all of Panem Ili could afford to risk letting Four and Eight go like that.
Nevaeh was strong, and Ili could trust her to hold down her side. She skidded to a stop and shifted her direction, now headed straight for where Adair was supposed to be.
Clutching the backpack to his chest, Zeph sprinted for dear life, Clarke on his heels. Forget the moral implications of taking advantage of someone's grieving process for his own benefit; this was his survival, for Snow's sake. He'd have plenty of time to worry about it later. That was, assuming he survived at all. Otherwise, he'd be dead, and what did a dead person care about morality?
He leapt over an iron bar; he skidded to a stop, barely maintaining his balance as Clarke crashed into him from behind. Movemeant ahead. Or so he thought. He could've sworn he caught a glance of movement from behind some of the rubble.
It was all too perfect. The Seven boy had been hidden behind Four and Eight. Two had charged in from the other side. That left this side supposedly open—and considering how there were six of those cursed Careers left, the math simply didn't work out.
The Careers weren't known for their brains, but they weren't stupid. Not stupid enough to leave a whole side of the courtyard more empty than the run-down "electric" fence around DIstrict Twelve that rarely carried more than a tingle.
He pointed back at the wide open space where the Two girl had been before she went after Four and Eight. He'd be willing to bet that that was actually the only way out.
"That way."
No objections from Clarke. They had barely turned around and started running when the furious yell of the Ten girl from behind confirmed that he'd made the right choice.
Azolla pressed her back against the chunk of concrete rubble, a makeshift wall in the chaos that shielded her from the Star Alliance. She forced herself to regulate her breathing and steady her hands as they clutched the dart gun. One would've expected a gun to completely disrupt the balance of power in the Arena. Turns out, it merely evened the playing field, as Seven's throwing knives flew as surely as her aim could ever be, if the Eleven boy's death right after the Bloodbath was any indication of Seven's deadliness.
Eight dove around the corner; a knife clattered where he'd been merely moments ago. An opening, as Seven surely needed time to prep before he could throw another one. She whipped around the edge and fired. It felt too light; this wasn't anything like the guns she'd used before. The dart whizzed right by his flapping sleeve and she ducked back behind the wall.
"You hit him?" Eight whispered. His voice was hoarse; he leaned a hand against the wall as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. He must've dropped the flamethrower when Twelve attacked because both his hands were empty now.
"Missed," she said through gritted teeth. She fumbled with the latch to the compartment, she eventually loaded and readied the gun for another shot.
"Dang."
Her hands still shook. She'd just fired on a person. It'd simultaneously been easier and more horrible than she'd imagined. She'd promised Navarro she'd do whatever it took to get away, but even then she'd tried to ignore that it could mean killing someone.
Maybe it'd be easier if she pretended they were nothing but sharks. Cold-blooded creatures with an innate instinct to kill. Yet she knew they weren't. No child was born that way; she could hardly blame them for simply doing all their worlds had trained them to do. But their footsteps were approaching and she and Eight couldn't wait back here like sitting ducks.
Never mind if she actually could pull the trigger again. Like sharks, the Star Alliance was drawn to the weak, the vulnerable, the targets that would be easy to bring down—not the ones that could inflict heavy damage in self-defense. If she wanted to get out of this alive, she needed the two Star Alliance members to think she would pull it.
"Stop! If you come any closer, I'll shoot," she yelled. "You don't want to get shot with this. I promise."
Fury boiled over inside Nevaeh as she sprinted after Twelve and Nine. The two had gotten so close. She'd gotten that close to getting Twelve, to finally finishing what she'd sworn to do, to avenging Sos by making his assailant pay. But cursed Twelve just had to turn around. He'd gotten away before. She wouldn't let it happen again; she couldn't let it happen again.
Where was Ili, anyway? Wasn't she supposed to hold down that side of the courtyard, to keep this from happening?
As Nevaeh gained on him, she hurled a knife. It clattered off to the side; she didn't care. He'd looked back and now she'd closed the distance just a little more, almost to where she could reach him. No way this time for him to escape her sight and set up another trap, that tricky bastard.
She lunged. Her hand caught on the corner of his vest; it knocked him off balance, and she dragged him to the ground with her. He struck at her with his boot, but she pinned it down as easy as pan comida, no different than her papá's unsavory former associates she'd personally dealt with before.
She reached inside her vest, where the knives were. Oh, he was so dead. He'd get the full special treatment.
Eyes wide, Sostonio looked back and forth between the other two boys. Something about all this was wrong, not what it seemed. Very, very wrong, but he couldn't figure out why. It didn't help that the two other guys before him already looked ready to explode at each other, even without the help of the rest of the group.
"I'm telling you. It has to be him," Eros said, pointing a finger at Ven. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but he's lying."
Sos would more readily suspect Nevaeh than Ven, but he figured it wouldn't be wise to say that and throw his own district under the bus. "C'mon now. I was here the whole time. It wasn't him."
"Were you with him the whole time?"
"Most of it."
"But not all."
"C'mon, man." Sos chuckled nervously. Maybe it'd ease the tension some. "I ain't his babysitter; I'm not gonna be watching him every dang split second."
"So you can't prove for sure that it wasn't him."
Sos threw up his hands. "And you can't prove for sure that the moon isn't made of cheese. I'm telling you; it wasn't him."
Eros narrowed his eyes. "It had to be one of you two, and it wasn't you."
"You're being unreasonable," Ven said. "Or maybe you planted the bomb and came back so you could 'catch us in the act' and get us both killed."
"I try to look out for the alliance, and this is the thanks I get?"
Ven crossed his arms. "That's the best defense you have?"
"Better than the one you gave Adair—"
"Y'all," Sos jut in. "This ain't no way to fix this. Though I'm pretty sure it wasn't Eros, either."
"I'll get the others. We'll resolve this right away," Eros said.
Ven glared but said nothing.
"Woah, woah, woah—" Sos said, "You can't do that."
"Ven's trying to—"
"It wasn't Ven."
"Fine. Someone—" Eros shot a dirty look in Ven's direction. "—is trying to kill us. We can't do nothing."
"But if you get Ili and Nevaeh in here, everything's gonna fall apart," Sos said. "And it ain't gonna be pretty."
The Two boy gave Sos a long look. He bit his lip. Possibly even reconsidered—at least, Sos hoped he reconsidered. "It's what—day nine?" Eros scoffed. "It's about time for the alliance to split anyway."
"It doesn't have to be."
"For Snow's sake, these are the Hunger Games—"
"If Ili finds out about this, she'll go off. Remember what happened with the Three girl?" Sos' own stomach churned again just at the thought, but he kept his eyes steady. "I really, really don't want to see Ili blow up again, you hear me?"
Eros sucked in a deep breath. The corner of his lip twitched in an involuntary grimace. "Alright."
Sos turned towards Ven. The One boy eyed Eros suspiciously, but Ven wouldn't do anything rash. If all three of them kept their mouths shut for just a while longer, the truth would surely come out. It had to.
He wondered if he truly wanted to know the truth.
Azolla took another step back, gun aimed at the Seven boy. Now out from behind the rubble, the hot wind slammed against her exposed figure. The Two girl was sprinting at them in the distance. Not much time left. "Hands up. Now."
Both of Seven's hands were visible, but experience told her he could whip a knife out of his vest and into her in an instant if she wasn't careful.
"What's an ocean girl like you gonna do with a gun?" he said.
"Not miss."
"You wanna try?" he said, lip curling upwards. What game was he playing, anyway? "I wouldn't bet on you."
"This thing takes down a shark. I'm sure it'll have no problem with you."
"Really."
She wondered if he could see her trigger finger shaking. Calling her bluff was a bold move when she had the gun. But maybe the fact that she hadn't shot again told him so much more than her words could. Still, she didn't want to shoot. She didn't know if she could shoot. That left more words as her only option.
"Oh, really," she said. "It's painful, too. Based on a snake venom that curdles your blood and shuts down your internal organs."
"Those poor sharks."
"Poor you, if you don't get your hands up right now."
Seven narrowed his eyes. They held a nasty gleam, but he slowly raised his hands anyway. One down, about as quickly and calmly as she could've hoped for. One more to go, with plenty of time and decisions in between for things to go south. Eight still crouched behind the rubble in her periphery. If he left now, at least he'd survive, no matter what happened next.
"Go." She spoke under her breath, maintaining her direct gaze on Seven. "I'll hold them off."
Eight shook his head, knife in one hand, a chunk of concrete in the other. If Seven weren't right there in front of her, she'd double down to try to persuade him, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Two was practically here.
"Hold it!" She allowed a quick glance towards Two before locking her eyes back on Seven. Her heart pounded in her chest. A single voice crack or any sign of weakness could invite in the two sharks in front of her. "Don't come another step closer."
Two girl skidded to a stop. "Or what?" she shouted back.
"Or I'll shoot."
Seven smirked, though it looked a lot less menacing with both his hands up in the air. "You can't get both of us. Not with this kind of dart gun."
Azolla's heart nearly stopped. She forced herself to take another breath. For like sharks, the members of the Star Alliance were only in it for self-preservation. "T-Then come at me. I'll shoot you, and she lives. Do you want to die for her?"
The Two girl gave Seven a suspicious look. Neither of the two made a move. Azolla breathed easier now, though "easier" was relative since she'd thought she'd suffocate merely moments ago. She could hold them back in this for a little while longer, but the big question remained.
How was she going to get out?
Clarke froze. One moment, Zeph had been right behind her as they ran from the Ten girl. The next moment, he was gone.
She whirled around. The Ten girl pinned him to the ground with dark hatred in her eyes as she reached inside her vest. Zeph's knife was missing from his hands.
Liat. Zirconia. Virginia. And now Zeph. Once he died, she'd truly be all alone in the Arena, just as she deserved. The only one that'd even vaguely cared about her had been Liat, and the heavenly Seven girl had been the first to go.
Clarke wasn't ready for it. Plus, despite everything, Zeph had stopped for her. She owed him at least this much.
She sprinted back. She swung a gauntlet at Ten's head. The girl dodged; it slammed into her shoulder. In an instant, Zeph shoved Ten off and scrambled to his feet. He flashed Clarke a brief look of surprise. So even he hadn't expected this much from her.
Last time they tried to take down a Career with brute force, Zirconia ended up dead. Clarke wasn't about to make the same mistake again. If they wanted to live, they had to get out—and fast, before this two-on-one became a two-on-three.
She turned to run, but Ten's boot suddenly struck her from behind and she fell. Her elbow scraped the ground. She grit her teeth; she lunged and latched onto Ten's leg, and the Ten girl came down too, though another strike at Clarke's face immediately removed any hopes of pinning Ten down.
Ten leapt back on her feet in an instant. Before Clarke had a chance to recover, the girl pulled a knife out from inside her vest and let it fly. Clarke instinctively drew her hands to her face; it deflected off her gauntlet and nicked the side of her face.
She braced for another shot. It didn't come. Zeph tackled Ten from behind, and Ten was down again. But barely a moment had passed when Ten wormed her way out from under him and pulled her arm around his neck. He writhed, kicking and elbowing. The sleeper hold held. In a matter of seconds, Zeph fell limp.
Panting, Ten looked up at Clarke, malice in her eyes. "You can go. I'm only after him."
Shielded by concrete, Ellis stared wide-eyed at the Four girl. She was still out in the open; her gun was aimed at the Star Alliance members he could hear but not see. His hand clutched a block of concrete. If he fled right now, he could probably make it. Sounds of tussling from the other side and the voices of Two and Seven seemed to indicate so; beyond his hiding spot, out away from the Cornucopia, the ghost town seemed as desolate as the first time he laid eyes on it, though the clouds above cast the world in a strange dimness.
But if he left, Four girl would die. He couldn't prove it for sure, yet his gut rumbled at the mere thought of leaving. Kiran had fallen behind and then died. Iggy had gotten separated and then died. Virginia had left and then died. Maybe if he stayed, this girl, who'd saved him from her district partner and spared his life just now, might live. And she deserved to live.
If only he hadn't dropped his flamethrower! Then he might've been of some help, instead of cowering uselessly back here, unable to do any more than he'd been able to for his former allies. Why was he always so useless? All he could do was watch and wait, hoping that Four would find an opening for them to escape.
Unless he somehow could create that opening.
Four girl still held strong, but she couldn't hold it there forever. He took a deep breath. No more hiding. No more shelter. It could get him killed—but that applied to mostly everything here in the Arena. He crept along the rubble until he'd reached the other side, a good distance away from where Four stood.
With a shout, he hurled the chunk of concrete as hard as he could over the rubble. It crashed against stone; the Star Alliance members turned to look, and he bolted. His boots pounded against stone as he pressed for the cover of the city.
Behind, Four sprinted after him. They looped around till the Cornucopia stood between them and any throwing knives; he craned his neck as he looked back, searching for any sign of their pursuers.
Seven appeared first around the edge of the golden horn.
"Knife!" Ellis yelled. He zigzagged; the knife clattered right behind him. Another one followed right after, this one somewhere back there, where the Four girl had to be. He grit his teeth and set his face towards the wind. The buildings weren't that far away now. Straight ahead was the rubble of the fallen tower. Just a little faster and farther and they'd be safe.
Instead of a third clang of metal on stone, the Four girl yelped. A knife stuck out of her right calf. Yet she kept running. Ellis stumbled into the tower's rubble; he collapsed against a bare support column and heaved for air. Way back at the Cornucopia, the Seven boy turned and disappeared.
It had worked. They had escaped.
He ran back out as the Four girl staggered in. Her teeth were gritted; her face twisted and strained. He opened his arms, and she fell into him, nearly bowling him over as her dart gun clattered on rubble and strangled sobs erupted onto his shoulder.
"O-Oh… my… gosh…" she choked out. "Oh… my… gosh…"
He wrapped his arms around her, patting her on the back and she trembled, shaken by the sobs. He shook with her. "It's okay," he whispered in her ear, as tears of his own poked at the corners of his eyes. "We're alive. We're still alive."
And that they were. Still alive. Somehow. He could've thought of a million different ways they might've died back there, yet they'd survived. All because of her.
"Thank you so, so much." He sucked in a deep breath as his arms shook. "You were so brave out there."
"I-I was s-so scared. So… so… scared"
"I couldn't tell. And I don't think they could either."
"Oh… my… gosh…"
"You saved us."
"No… You gave us the opening."
"But you held them off. There's no way I could've done that."
She sniffled; she pulled away and wiped at her eyes. "Then I'm glad we teamed up. And that Navarro didn't get to you." She smiled, for real. "I'm Azolla."
He returned it. "Ellis. Let's get your leg checked out."
Clarke's heart leapt into her throat. The Peacekeepers back in Nine often used sleeper holds on her people—at least, the new ones did, before they got fed up and went straight to shooting. Of course the Capitol-trained Ten girl would know it as well. And how different was Zeph from all those she knew and loved back home? The schools barely taught anything about District Twelve other than that they produced the nation's coal, but if Zirconia was anything to go by, the people there were just as beaten down by the Capitol, barely able to lift a finger as the Capitol squeezed the life out of them.
Clarke wasn't one to abandon her people. She'd forgotten it as the stress of the Games swept her away. But enough was enough.
Zeph went out, and Ten dropped him behind her. As the girl leapt to her feet, Clarke rushed in swinging. The other two Careers were returning from the other end of the courtyard; if Zeph didn't wake up soon, there was no hope left for him. But some guys recovered in as little as a minute or two. As long as Zeph had a chance of escaping with her, there was reason to keep fighting.
She punched at Ten's face. The girl's hands flew up; her eyes opened wide, as if she hadn't expected Clarke to come back in.
The gauntlet struck the girl's hands. Metal against flesh. A sharp edge cut a gash in Ten's palm, and the girl retreated slightly, even as the force of the punch against Clarke's crushed hand set the nerves in her mangled flesh on fire all over again.
Clarke winced; she grit her teeth till she was sure she'd grind them to dust as lightning zapped her nerves. But Zeph was still on the ground, and the girl before her was no better than a Peacekeeper, so she punched again, and again, and again.
Then Ten grabbed her arm. She cursed and yanked back; the girl released and struck a sharp kick into Clarke's chest. The air dissipated from her lungs. She stumbled backwards, trying to regain her balance, but then Ten shoved her and the world spun as the wind rushed by her ears and her back hit stone.
Clarke gasped for air, struggling to pull herself off the ground as pain ripped through her from head to toe. Tears blurred the edges of her vision. She'd realized too little, too late—they would not only kill Zeph but also finish her too. Seven and Two would be here any moment now; Ten reached back in that accursed vest of hers.
Many times before, Clarke had stood at the front of crowds, leading protests against Peacekeepers and their illegal occupation. They'd sworn to fight until the end. That didn't change now. With her one good hand, she fumbled in the rubble around her. Anything would do. Her fingers closed around a chunk of concrete, barely larger than a tennis ball. It sat snug in her palm, not too different from a brick.
Then Zeph moved. His finger first, and then his hand, as he rubbed his eyes.
Light returned to Clarke's face. She rolled to the side; a knife whizzed past her ear and scratched against the stone pavement. Behind the Ten girl, Zeph shakily pushed himself off the ground. His foot stumbled against loose rubble; Ten whirled around, giving Clarke an opening to clamber back to her feet, stepping away from Ten.
If she ran now, she'd easily make it to safety. But they weren't out of the woods. Not yet. Not until Zeph was out of Ten's reach too. Ten only wanted Zeph. The girl had stated it plain as day. In a way, it freed Clarke to do whatever she wanted.
As Ten reached for Zeph, Clarke sprinted back for the third and hopefully final time. With gritted teeth she rammed into Ten. Though the girl forced her back with a sharp kick, Zeph took the window of opportunity and scrambled back. When Ten turned back around, he was out of her reach.
Of course, she'd caught up to them before; simply being out of reach wouldn't be enough. So with every last ounce of strength, Clarke hurled the concrete.
At the same time, Zeph struck back at Ten. The girl latched onto his arm; she swung him back around.
The block struck Zeph's head.
Ilithyia still shook. Her skin tingled all over. Not in a million years had she ever thought she'd get held up at gunpoint in the Hunger Games. But she'd also never thought the Games could be anything other than exciting, and though it'd be a stretch to call it regret, it was safe to say that the Games hadn't exactly been what she'd expected. Even Adair, walking beside her, had lost his regular laidback grin.
For one, she'd never imagined it'd be this hard to rack up a kill count. Back home, she and her friends had regularly watched old Games, calling previous victors out for missing what seemed to be obvious kills. She wondered if they were doing that to her right this moment, calling her all kinds of names for putting up a sorrier showing than the Ten girl, though—
There hadn't been a single cannon. She frowned; she started up into a jog towards Nevaeh, who was atop another tribute, pinning them down. In the distance, the Nine girl fled; her shrinking figure was almost out of the courtyard. So the only tribute they'd even managed to bring down was the boy from Twelve.
"What were you doing?" Nevaeh said, glaring up at her. She played with a knife in her hand. "Running after them like that?"
Ah, yes. The plan. The one Ili had chosen to ignore and subsequently forget when she went after Four and Eight. Turns out, the Four girl and Adair were not in cahoots with each other. But it'd made sense in the moment! "I thought of… something. But it was wrong."
Nevaeh cursed. Her eyes burned hotter than the desert sun of days past. "You 'thought of something'? What were you thinking? You left the whole side wide open—I was lucky to get even one."
"I'm sorry."
"And y'all didn't catch anyone?"
"Four had a gun!"
The Ten girl sighed. "You had one job."
"What else was I supposed to do? I saw Four run that way, and Eros keeps warning me about—" Ili bit her lip; she swore under her breath. Adair was right there. He narrowed his eyes, and she looked away. "It's nothing."
Sure it was nothing, Nevaeh huffed. Ilithyia had done just that—absolutely nothing. They'd kept the plan simple and easy, plain enough for anyone to understand, and still the Two girl had managed to somehow mess it up. Perhaps Four and Eight had been lost causes from the moment they got the gun, but Ilithyia should've never been over there in the first place.
Maybe they would've caught Nine as well. No, they definitely would've killed Nine. The two tributes would've been sandwiched in between, easy pickings in the confusion. Not to mention the Two girl's mumblings about Eros' warnings, whatever that meant—though it was clearly anything but good.
Over the past weeks, Ilithyia had almost become her friend. It had become less crazy to think that maybe, just maybe, she and Ili weren't all that different, that they'd just been born in different places and that they were more alike than they were at odds. It couldn't have been any more of a lie. Nevaeh didn't mind going rogue once in a while, but it was one thing to break the rules to benefit yourself and a whole 'nother thing to be plain stupid.
Now her only consolation prize was that they had caught the Twelve boy, and she'd been the one to do it. Sos' revenge was near.
No cannon. Twelve was still alive, despite the blood trickling down the side of his head and the lack of response when she kicked his limp body. Last she'd seen him, he'd stared down at her from above before luring her into a trap. Now she stared down at him. And he couldn't stare back. Couldn't even move, or plot, or fight back.
Because she'd knocked him out. Technically, Nine had knocked him out. What luck! The betrayer had been betrayed.
The forces of the universe had finally brought Sos' assailant back to her, and he wouldn't escape justice this time. A quick stab right now would be too kind. No, he deserved to face Sos and stare into the eyes of the one he tricked and betrayed.
The trials were dumb gimmicks, nothing but silly theatrics that only wasted time, but she couldn't think of a more appropriate place to send him.
"Give me the cuffs." She gestured towards Ilithyia's bag. The girl stared back, confused. But this was no time for explanation. This moment didn't need explanation. "Hurry up. We don't got all day."
Ilithyia obliged. When Twelve next stirred, Neveah kicked his head again, sending him back to the other side.
They'd take Twelve back to the courthouse. Then they'd kill him. Now that Sos could somewhat get around, it was time to leave, certainly within the next day, and Adair could take the fall for all she cared. Maybe she'd have to fight the Twos to get away, but that was fine by here. The only one she couldn't ditch was Sos. Tens always stuck to Ten.
This was endgame.
Sitting alone on a stone, with one supporting hand pressed against a building column, Azolla stared across the Cornucopia field. Ellis had gone off to look for better shelter; she'd tried to come with, only for him to insist that she stay down to let her leg heal. He'd done a good job with the bandage too. Between her tips and his skillful hands, he'd wrapped the gauze nice and tight and she'd hate to ruin the work he was so proud of.
But she couldn't stay here. She had to get back to Navarro.
She should've said something the moment Ellis had mentioned finding shelter, since finding shelter meant spending the night, and she simply didn't have the time to spend the night. The red bag dangled from her belt. Navarro needed it as soon as possible.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Ellis had returned. She grabbed the dart gun and turned towards him with a smile.
"Some of the buildings around here look safe enough," he said. "We can't stay here for long, but today should be fine."
"Thank you for looking around, but…" She bit her lip. "I really got to get back to my district partner."
Ellis' face fell. Gosh, she hadn't meant to disappoint him; this was a whole miscommunication now, but could anyone blame her? Neither of them had had the time to explain anything. Fate had simply forced them together.
"I'm truly thankful—really—but I can't stay here."
"Is your leg gonna be okay? I mean, it's just so soon; it's barely had any time to heal."
"I'll be fine; I've seen worse." She smiled weakly. "Really. There's no need to worry about me."
"Why don't you give it a night? You might reopen the wound."
"I'll rest after I get the medicine to my district partner."
"Can I come with?" His gaze prodded at her.
She averted her eyes, staring intently at the flap of gauze that poked out from the edge of the bandage. Navarro likely wouldn't take well to it, though he was hardly in condition to fight her about it. Or maybe he'd be fine with it, if he knew that Ellis had saved her life. Hadn't he mellowed out some over the past few days?
Ellis sighed. "Never mind. It wouldn't be smart for you to let me."
"It's not that—"
"It's fine." He smiled sadly. "I know you have to look out for yourself and your district partner."
This was all so wrong. The poor boy had clearly had a rough go of it; she couldn't blame him for not wanting to be alone any longer. Though she hadn't spoken with him before, she recalled that he'd spent plenty of the time with the small girl from Eleven in training. No one like that deserved any of this. None of them did.
But if the universe had given her an out, who was she to fight it? This was hardly the time to form new attachments, especially considering how Navarro and Ellis got along the last time they'd met.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I… I really wish we could've met. Outside the games."
"Me too."
With a grunt and a hand pressed against the column for support, she pulled herself to her feet, only for a sharp jab of pain to reverberate through her body. She winced. She immediately glanced at Ellis, only to meet his concerned gaze. So he'd seen it too.
Time was short. She'd told Navarro she'd be back; she couldn't afford for him to panic and do something stupid. But if it was this painful just to stand, just the thought of having to walk all the back was painful in and of itself.
"You know, maybe you're right." She smiled sheepishly. "It needs a little more time. Which houses did you say were safe?"
Zeph awoke to the ground scraping the skin off his knees. Two and Seven, one on either side, dragged him down the street, each with a firm hand hooked around his shoulders. Both his legs were on fire, but it was nothing compared to the fierce throbbing pulsing through his head. Metal cuffs held his hands behind his back, just like last time.
The Cornucopia courtyard. Ten girl holding him down. Scrambling back, then lunging, and then the world spinning before his memory cut out again. Black gaps separated the momentary flashes as he tried to remember how exactly he'd ended up here at all.
He jerked his head up. He squinted, trying to focus amidst the incessant headache. Just up ahead, on the right, the brick courthouse loomed ominously. They'd brought him back, back here of all places—anywhere but here! He squirmed, trying to keep his shredded knees off the ground, but Seven kicked him in the ribs and his body went limp. He grit his teeth, unable to keep down a pained groan.
As they approached the building, the red-stained front step came into focus. The Careers hoisted him over it; he wondered if it was Zirconia's blood. He spied the spot where they'd had him stand as they put her on trial, as well as the place she had stood as she stared defiantly back at the Ten girl. Just the smell of the room sent a wave of nausea over his already throbbing head—he would've thrown up if there had been more in his stomach.
Ten girl announced their return and their catch. Two boy snickered; One boy crossed his arms. Even the Ten boy's brief glance was about as warm as a stoveless winter in District Twelve, and Ten was supposed to be the nice one in this group.
Something told him he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this one again.
They threw him in the same cell as before, though this time, they left the door open, the one at the end of the hallway that led to the main room. The window near the ceiling still maintained its jagged edges, from when the Careers pulled Zirconia back and the edge of the window caved in, though there was no chance Zeph could escape through it with his cuffed hands. Even if he could get through the window, someone would see him before he had a chance.
He sank down against the wall. Trapped again. But this time, he couldn't even say how he ended up here, though he suspected that Clarke was involved this time too.
He took a slow breath. A deep breath. One to settle his rattled mind and turn it towards figuring out an escape. Though he almost expected to see Zirconia's ghost at any moment in this place, she wouldn't want him to sit around and mope. She'd want him to survive.
Click!
The door shut. He looked up; the Seven boy had entered and was now approaching.
"How's your head?" Seven asked, voice oddly benign.
"Alright." Zeph pressed his lips together. Now that the other boy was closer, he could see Seven's bright eyes. They held a glint that danced when Seven looked around, as if constantly inspecting, watching, waiting to strike. Not unlike a snake. "What do you want?"
It was as if Seven hadn't heard. "It wasn't pretty. Nine girl's brick hit you pretty hard."
Zeph stared back blankly, refusing to betray a single thought. For all he knew, Seven was just trying to turn him against Clarke—but what good was that if Seven expected him dead soon?
Seven raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember?"
It was all an act. It had to be. It was too smooth not to be. "What's it to you?"
"Of course you wouldn't, head trauma and all. She swung a brick and it hit you nasty."
Even if the apparent concern was an act, Zeph couldn't rule out that the information could be true. Realistically, Clarke absolutely might've hit him in the head with a brick, and the uneasiness in his gut about her didn't help much.
He'd like to think that Clarke wouldn't've intentionally hurt him, especially after everything that had happened over the past few days. It could've been an accident, and there was something to be said about not blaming someone for an accident. When ethically evaluating someone's decision-making, the person's intentions and available information mattered too, not just the results.
If he hadn't stopped for Clarke, would this all have happened? If he'd let her die—like he probably should've—would he still be here on death row?
Zeph snapped back to the moment. Seven still watched him with that unsettling glint. "What do you want?"
"You're stuck."
"Duly noted. Thanks for telling me."
"I might could help you out."
Zeph narrowed his eyes. "You want something in return."
"So?"
This was a bad idea. Taking up a deal like this rarely ended well, especially one offered by snake-eyed Seven. His voice was low. "Don't like it one bit."
"Suit yourself." Seven hmmed. He gave Zeph a thoughtful look and then turned to leave. "Good luck."
"Wait." Zeph sighed. "I'm listening."
Kill Counter:
Ilithyia Aella (D2F): II
Ace Invidia (D3M): II
Adair Ryder (D7M): II
Clarke Brioche (D9F): II
Adora Noble (D1F): I
Ven Piersson (D1M): I
Eros Worshire (D2M): I
Virginia Bedford (D8F): I
Nevaeh Jiminez (D10F): I
