[36] - August
"August!"
I'm ripped from subconsciousness as Rochelle shakes me awake. It must still be early in the morning - I can still feel the frosty air on my face as I prop myself up.
Rochelle's kneeling next to me. The expression on her face is grave - I've never seen her like this before. I instinctually reach to my side, clasping the hilt of my sword tightly.
"You need to take a look at this," Rochelle says, glancing behind me. "I think we might be in trouble."
I turn around, and at first, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking at. The only visible thing is the color brown, for as far as the eye can see. Then I realize - there were dunes there before. There was a whole desert, actually. All that's left is a haze. And that's when I realize.
My heart plunges to my stomach, and I scramble to my feet. "That's a sandstorm," I say, my mind whirring. "That's a sandstorm... what do we do?!"
Rochelle's face morphs from uneasiness to pure terror. "What do you mean?" she cries. "You're the expert, August! Do something!"
I shake my head a bit - Rochelle's right. What am I thinking? Pull yourself together, August.
"Pack everything into the bags," I urge Rochelle. "It could be here any minute."
As Rochelle rushes to pack all of our supplies away, I rip my thick jacket off. I waste no time stripping out of my shirt, and I zip my jacket back up to protect myself from the cold. I start panting as I rip the shirt into two strips.
So many thoughts are going through my head right now. How could I be so stupid, to think that the Gamemakers would let me cruise to the end? Did I really think that they would let Princess and I wait until the others died of dehydration before fighting it out at the end? Sylverthorn's not an idiot. He needs to put on a show, and this show has been boring since the Feast.
"Canteen," I call to Rochelle. "Quickly!"
Rochelle throws me a canteen, and I unscrew it before dumping the water onto my shirt. I glance at the approaching storm as it swallows the desert before my eyes; we only have a few seconds left, now.
I frantically wring out the cloth strips, tossing one to Rochelle. "Cover your mouth!" I call, and she just nods before bringing the cloth to her face.
Rochelle dives to the ground, and I drop as close as I can to her. As I nestle my face against the top of Rochelle's head, I can feel the wind whipping past me. This is it - we're in the storm. I hold the cloth to my mouth with one hand, pushing the other deep into my jacket pocket.
The winds intensify with every passing second, and I can feel the sand scratching against my jacket. Every time I think that we're at the heart of the storm, the winds get stronger and stronger. Rochelle is motionless on the ground next to me.
A gust of wind plows over Rochelle and me like an invisible freight train. I feel the leg of my pants blow up my leg, exposing the skin beneath...
Instantly, I feel like my leg is on fire. Sand flies across my skin; it feels like a thousand needles are piercing my calf. I scream, but it's muffled by the cloth over my mouth. I dig my leg into the sand below it, letting out another scream; it feels like I'm dragging daggers across my leg as I push it into the ground. Finally, I push my other leg to cover the exposed skin in its hole in the sand.
"Are you okay?" Rochelle yells over the wind. I feel her head turning slightly to face me.
"Don't worry about it," I choke out. "I'm fine. Keep your mouth covered."
Rochelle sinks her face back into the ground. My entire leg is throbbing; I have to keep my eyes closed, but tears spill down my face and onto the sand below me. I have to hold on, it's almost over, it has to be... this can't be the way that I go out, not now!
As if the Gamemakers are answering my prayers, I feel the wind slow against my back. We've made it.
I gingerly slip my hand from my jacket pocket, exposing it to the air. To my relief, there's no sand to be found. I feel the tension leave my body; I'm a jumbled mess of nerves now. I can't believe that after all this time, after everything I've worked for, it was almost over. I almost died today - if Rochelle hadn't been keeping watch, we would've both been killed.
Finally, I crack my eyes open. My face is crusted with sand, but I can't find the energy in myself to care. Next to me, Rochelle rises, heaving as she coughs up dust. She wipes sand from her face before turning to meet my gaze.
"That was a close one," she says with a small, pained smile. She glances down at my body, and her expression shifts from relief to horror.
"August, what happened?" she gasps, her eyes trained on my leg. I follow her gaze to see my leg; underneath my uninjured leg is a pool of blood, and the sight of it brings back the pain almost immediately. I bite back a scream - I feel like I've just been shot in the leg. Adrenaline and shock were saving me from the pain before, but it's back and even stronger now. I feel Rochelle pulling on my uninjured leg; as she kneels at my feet, she sends sand pouring onto my injury-
"Don't touch it!" I scream, and Rochelle scrambles away. Tears blur my vision; the pain is almost too much to bear. Please, Decimus, send me something... please...
"It's okay, August," Rochelle says. She's kneeling by my face now. "You'll be okay."
All I can do is sob like a child. The pain is taking over my mind until it's all I can think about. I can't even think about the Games. Compared to this, it's a meaningless detail, a mere footnote.
"August, they're sending something!" Rochelle calls, but I can't focus on her words. Everything is spinning around me... I can feel my pulse in my leg, and every beat grows stronger and stronger until I feel like it's my leg that's beating and not my heart...
And then, nothing. Pure bliss. Have I died?
The sudden absence of pain is so unexpected that my body doesn't know what to do; I feel my stomach rise into my throat, and I vomit everything I can onto the sand below me. Yup, I definitely haven't died.
I glance to my feet to see Rochelle looking back at me. She's watching me anxiously. In her hands is the largest syringe I've ever seen.
"Thanks," I groan, wiping my mouth with my hand. I'm too exhausted to ask questions.
"You got a sponsor gift," Rochelle says, standing to show me a metal can. "I think this is going to help."
"That looks like healing cream," I say, examining the can. "One of the higher-end ones, too."
"Well, you need it," Rochelle sighs. "I don't want you to look at your leg again, but it's a mess."
I just nod, closing my eyes a bit as Rochelle removes the lid from the can.
"Are you going to be okay with me touching your leg?" Rochelle asks tentatively.
"I'm fine now," I tell her. "That syringe must have had some strong painkillers in it."
"Good," Rochelle sighs, and I feel her lift my uninjured leg away from my wound. "I wasn't sure what that syringe was for. It wasn't labeled, you know."
"Thank you for helping me," I sigh as Rochelle unscrews another canteen, washing my wound with water.
"No, thank you," Rochelle says as she begins to apply the cream. "If I wasn't with you, I don't know what I would've done. I definitely wouldn't have made it through the storm. I feel like that cloth kept most of the sand off of my face; I definitely wouldn't have thought to do that."
"Right," I agree. "That's not something people think about. Everyone worries about dying from bleeding out, but nobody worries about dust getting into your lungs. The easiest way to die in a sandstorm is from suffocation."
"Well, I haven't heard any cannon shots," Rochelle notes. "Maybe the others were more prepared than I would have been."
"I doubt it," I muse. "Some of them might still be bleeding out like I am right now."
"You are not bleeding out, August," Rochelle scolds me. "You're perfectly fine. Now sit still, I have to reach under your calf."
Sure enough, a cannon shot fires minutes later, and it's followed shortly after by a second. Rochelle was right, though - I'm not bleeding anymore. The cream Decimus sent me is clearly one of the best - the pain in my leg is numbed, but I can still feel a tingling sensation as my skin heals. I'm going to be okay.
The day passes slowly. The sun rises over the desert, and Decimus sends me a new shirt when I strip from my jacket. Rochelle regularly applies the cream to my leg; after a few hours, the painkillers wear off, but the cream has healed my leg enough for the pain to be somewhat bearable. Still, I'm unable to walk. Rochelle drags me to a shaded spot on the side of a sand dune so that I'm not laying in my own blood and vomit, but other than that, I'm stuck on the ground all day.
"Who do you think it's gonna be?" Rochelle asks as the sun dips over the horizon, applying yet another layer of cream to my leg while I slip back into my jacket.
"We'll see," I say absentmindedly, my eyes pointed at the sky. Secretly, I'm hoping that Princess was killed in the sandstorm; she's my biggest threat, and I'd much rather have her die this way than have to kill her myself. I know that she's still alive, though - she was trained just as well as I was to survive natural disasters like this one.
The Panem anthem begins to play, and Rochelle pauses my treatment to take a look. After a few seconds of anticipation, it is revealed that Lyssa was the first to die. No surprise there - even though Calder didn't want to admit it, she wasn't much of a threat. Yes, she was smart, but what does a girl from Four know about surviving a sandstorm? That means that Princess is still alive, then.
Lyssa's face fades from the sky and is replaced by Hazel from Seven. Again, no surprise - I thought she was immobile after the Feast anyway. To be honest, I'm surprised that there weren't more deaths from the storm - I wouldn't expect Garrick or Calder to know how to survive a sandstorm. Maybe the storm didn't cover the whole Arena.
The Panem anthem fades away, leaving us in silence once again. Five tributes remain now: Garrick, Calder, Princess, Rochelle, and me. A one-in-five shot of survival.
There's no denying it: the Games are coming to an end. In a matter of days, the Victor will be crowned... in a matter of days, I'll be free.