Before they go anywhere, Finnick clambers up the tallest tree he can to regain his sense of direction. As always, the Cornucopia is located in the center of the arena, with the rainforest fanned out around it, dipping lower in elevation as the trees spread further from the Cornucopia. The river winds through the landscape like a ribbon, and in the distance Finnick thinks he can make out the waterfall again, white and sparkling in the sun.
"We should head northeast," he says as he descends the tree. "If we don't run into trouble, we should be back to the Cornucopia well before nightfall."
Of course, then they run into trouble.
It starts with a single shout. Then a higher voice, taut with fear: "Miles!"
Finnick is sprinting toward them before he realizes he's moving. He bursts through a thicket of dense vegetation to see Miles hanging upside-down by his ankle, swinging wildly back and forth.
Finnick doesn't know what stops him from running immediately to Miles's aid—intuition, honed over years of training, a prolonged reaction time due to decaying cognition, or maybe plain old good luck. But something about the nature of the trap tips off something in his brain. He looks up.
Linden—he'd recognize that head of scarlet hair anywhere—crouches on a branch in a nearby tree, concealed by a cleverly positioned network of leaves. She holds something in her hand, brings it to her lips. Finnick is moving before he fully understands what the thing is.
"Linden, stop!" He flings up his hand, wholly aware of the futility of the gesture and going through with it anyway. "Don't do it!"
Linden pauses, head whipping toward Finnick, weapon still raised to her lips. For one infinitesimal moment, their gazes meet. It's just long enough for Ruby to throw her knife. Before Finnick can so much as blink, the blade is sunk deep into Linden's chest. She falls backward out of the tree, hits the ground with an anticlimactic thump, and doesn't move again.
Boom.
"I got her!" Ruby crows. "Good teamwork, Four!"
Finnick barely hears her. He's shuffling forward, his legs moving of their own volition, toward the body sprawled on the forest floor. Linden's eyes gaze upward, unseeing, crimson hair splayed around her in a halo of reddish light. Still gripped in her hand is her weapon: A hollow tube loaded with a short wooden missile. A dart. Before Finnick can examine it further, Ruby swoops down and snatches the tube from Linden's grasp. Finnick jumps like Ruby has stabbed him and tears his gaze away from Linden, half because he needs to witness whatever's coming next and half because he is afraid of what might happen if he looks at her any longer.
He turns his attention to freeing Miles. He notes with some consternation that his skin is hot and dry, despite the humidity. "Sorry, there's no easy way to do this."
"Just do it," comes the reply.
Even with Finnick bracing Miles the best he can, his descent to the ground is nothing less than abrupt. Once Miles is again on his feet, Finnick examines him more closely. Even after being right side up for a good amount of time, his face is still flushed. His eyes have the shadowed, glazed look of someone suffering from a high fever. Finnick catches a glimpse of the wounds inflicted by the feline mutt, angry red and swollen when they should be healing.
"You feeling all right?" Finnick asks.
"I'm fine," Miles replies, shrugging his shoulders. He's favoring his left foot, Finnick notes, probably because he was wrenched upside down by it. "We have to find Bellona."
"I'm sure Bellona is doing just fine on her own," Ruby says, sheathing the knife she used to cut Miles from the snare. She carries a small backpack retrieved from Linden. Finnick is glad she took it. Though he's ashamed to acknowledge it, he's not sure he would've had the courage to touch Linden's body.
"I'm not leaving her," he insists. "We stick together to the end."
If Finnick had to guess which tribute from Two would be making it to the end, his money sure wouldn't be on Miles. But wouldn't he feel the same way if it were Caspia alone, trying to catch the tribute partially responsible for his attempted murder? "Come on," he says. "You can fill me in as we go."
It's not hard to figure out which way Bellona went. All they have to do is follow the blood trail.
"Those tributes from Seven, they're smarter than we gave them credit for," Miles says, rendered slightly breathless by the swift pace they've assumed. He's limping, but not badly enough to slow them down. "They set a trap for us—lit a fire right under our noses, just begging for us to come looking for them. Then I stepped into one of their traps just as Bellona shot the boy out of one of the trees." He shakes his head. "I never even saw the girl."
"She thought she was so smart, hiding in the trees like a coward," Ruby scoffs. "Well, it didn't do her much good, did it?"
If Ruby hadn't been so good with a knife, Miles would probably be dead right now. A Career from notorious District 2, axed before the final eight. A sorry end for a tribute of his caliber, and Miles knows it.
"You've gotta watch yourself, Strand," Finnick warns. "Can't go running—woah!"
Bellona is crouched over her quarry, bow and arrows forgone in favor of an intimate masterclass in torture. The boy from Seven lies on the ground beneath her, an arrow protruding from his abdomen.
"Do keep struggling," she says, twirling a knife between her fingers. "I'll make it last longer."
To his eternal credit, the boy doesn't beg or cry. When Finnick gets closer, he realizes with a start that it's the same boy who ambushed him before the flood, the same boy who thought he could take on two Careers with the element of surprise and a hatchet.
"Give them a good show, Bellona." Finnick doesn't know what makes him say it. He's never been one to revel in someone else's unnecessary suffering the way some Careers do. Maybe some bitter, twisted part of Finnick is resentful the tribute from Seven managed to surprise him, with all his training and preparedness. If Finnick hadn't been so busy trying to chase him down, maybe he would've noticed the signs of an impending flood and been able to climb a tree, avoided the whole mess with Ruby and the snake. Maybe he's just tired of suffering because the Gamemakers want him to, and now he's thankful to have their attention diverted elsewhere.
Bellona doesn't acknowledge him, but she takes one of her knives and traces the outline of Seven's face with its tip, almost tantalizing him. "What's your name, Callow?"
"Axil." His voice shakes a little when he speaks.
"Axil. Well, Axil, I'll tell you a little something about District Two. Every victor has a stone erected in the center of our Victor's Village. On each stone the name of each tribute that victor is personally responsible for killing is carved with a special knife, dedicated specially to this very purpose. I'm planning on going a step further. When I return home, I will carve your name into my skin, so I will never forget the reason for my victory."
"Bellona..."
"Quiet, Miles. I'm working."
Silence. Then, the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground.
"Miles!" Bellona leaps off her victim and rushes to Miles' side. "Miles, what happened?"
Finnick never takes his eyes off the boy from Seven. The arrow in his gut rises and falls with each shallow breath, a muffled grunt of pain escaping with each exhale. His wandering gaze meets Finnick, and the boy has the audacity to smile. He might as well have struck Finnick in the face.
"No!" Bellona curses and jams her fist into the ground. "You're all right, Miles. We'll get you some medicine, and you'll be good as new. Just hold on."
Finnick is suddenly acutely aware of the ointment in his pocket, of the immense power he might wield over Miles's life and death. It takes everything he has not to stick his hand in his pocket and grip the pot in his palm.
"He's a goner." Bellona's head whips around so she can glare at the boy from Seven. He's laughing audibly now, the arrow bobbing in a grotesque dance over his gut. "That poison is strong. He'll be gone in a day."
Bellona shoots to her feet and stalks over to the boy from District 7. "He'll live," she snarls. "And he'll be a hero. But you won't be around to see it." Then she grasps the arrow by the shaft and wrenches it from the boy's gut in one vicious motion.
Even Finnick can't help but wince at the boy's agonized scream. Axil folds in on himself, a woodlouse curling into a protective ball, gripping his abdomen like his hands alone have the power to save him. Finnick and Ruby know better than to fuss over him now. There's no point in finishing him off; the boy from District 7's living moments are dwindling rapidly.
"Help me get him back to the Cornucopia," Bellona orders as she sticks the arrow back in her quiver. "There's got to be medicine there, something to help him."
Disobedience doesn't even cross Finnick's mind. He also elects not to remind Bellona that they'd sifted through the Cornucopia's bounty several times over and never happened across anything resembling medicine. "What's wrong with him?" Surely infection hasn't set in so quickly. Miles's breaths come fast and shallow, his eyes rolling in his head like marbles.
Miles lifts his arm, giving Finnick a better look at something he'd formerly missed: An oozing puncture wound in his neck about the size of a button, swollen and surrounded by a large bruise.
"Must be from this." Ruby holds up the hollow tube. "It's a blowgun. I don't think I've seen one of these since the last Quarter Quell."
Finnick taps the backpack taken from Linden, slung over Ruby's shoulder, and says, "What's in here? I need a blanket or a sheet or something."
"Like this?" Ruby pulls a folded piece of tarpaulin from the backpack.
"Yes!" Bellona scrambles to her feet. "I'll go find two sticks."
With Bellona's help, Finnick manages to lash together a makeshift stretcher in no time. All the while, Miles maintains a litany of protests and excuses, trying and failing several times to rise to his feet.
"I can walk," Miles keeps insisting. "You guys don't have to do this."
Guilt gnaws at Finnick's gut like one of those feline mutts. Just give it to him, he orders himself. What could it hurt? Maybe it won't even work. But he can't make himself speak up, can't make himself hand the medicine over.
"Ruby, take my spear and walk ahead," he says instead. "I'll help Bellona carry the stretcher."
"This is ridiculous," Miles insists. "You can't make me—"
"Miles, shut up and lie down," Bellona snaps. "You won't be able to move fast enough on your own, and I'm not breaking my back dragging you along on foot."
Despite her harsh words, Bellona is gentle as she lifts her end of the stretcher. As they begin their trek back to the Cornucopia, the cannon finally booms, signaling the death of the boy from District 7. Bringing up the rear, Finnick allows himself one last glimpse of the boy's corpse. Though he bears no resemblance to Linden, Finnick finds himself thinking of her, her soft brown eyes and quick, clever hands. Then he faces front and doesn't look back again.
There is no medicine anywhere in the Cornucopia. Night is falling again by the time they make it back, forcing them to search the supplies by flashlight. They scour the remains of the Cornucopia's bounty three times at Bellona's insistence, upending containers, turning bags inside out, raking through kits and tools over and over. Finnick is somewhat surprised there are so many goods left after the pack was gone for so long, but he supposes the Callows have been too busy fighting their own battles to make it back to the Cornucopia.
As the anthem blares overhead and Linden and Axil's faces loom over them in the sky, Bellona kneels at Miles's side, jaw and fists clenched. Miles lies at the Cornucopia's mouth, which is probably the most protected spot in the pavilion. Finnick takes a half-sentry, half-restful position on the north side of the horn, while Ruby assumes her place sitting on the Cornucopia's tail.
Finnick tries not to look at Miles because the sight of him makes his stomach turn, but it's hard not to look when Miles rolls on his side and vomits blood and bile all over the cement. Finnick can't even hand him his leftover water because it's kept in the parachute container. Thankfully, Bellona managed to keep her canteen and gives it to Miles to rinse his mouth. She doesn't bother trying to make him drink; earlier he tried to eat a few grapes and was racked with terrible cramps for an hour after. Finnick finds himself fiddling with the container in his pocket constantly, turning it over and over in his hand, running his fingertips over its smooth, cold surfaces.
He can't give him the medicine.
He has to.
He has no choice.
He's the only one with a choice.
"You think I did all right?" Miles's voice is raspy and so quiet Finnick has to strain to hear it. Out of his and Bellona's line of sight, he can eavesdrop without being spotted.
"You're doing fine," Bellona assures him. "You're a favorite, I'm sure. You've put on a magnificent show."
There's a lengthy pause in which Miles's ragged breaths are clearly heard. "...If I don't make it back—"
"Don't talk like that!" Bellona says fiercely. "It's only the fourth day of the Games. They'll send you medicine soon, you just have to be patient."
"But if they don't. I need you to make sure my father and Junie are all right."
"'Course I will," Bellona says gruffly. "Now will you be quiet? I'm going to find something to clean up your face; you're disgusting and sweaty."
There's rustling and the muffled slap of shoes against stone as Ruby embarks on her search. Then an odd, metallic scraping noise Finnick doesn't recognize until he hears Ruby speak.
"Maybe we should go out and look for something," she suggests in a small voice. "Maybe someone will—"
"Don't you understand, you stupid cow?" Bellona barks, her tone so sharp Finnick jumps despite himself "No one is going to help him! No one!"
Ruby must be so stunned she doesn't reply, not even to the stupid cow remark, which Finnick figures would normally tip her into a fit of apoplexy.
"Give it the night," Ruby tries again. "Don't give up."
Bellona doesn't answer. She just turns and begins fussing with the sloppy bandage wrapped around Miles's throat. Whatever venom District 7 shot him with, it won't let the puncture wound clot. He keeps bleeding and bleeding, soaking through bandage after bandage no matter how long or hard Bellona applies pressure.
Finnick can't stand it anymore. He rounds the end of the Cornucopia and scoops up his spear, his hidden parachute container, and two flashlights. "I'm going to look for some water," he announces, tucking the container under his jacket.
Ruby frowns. "In the dark?"
"I know where the river is," Finnick shoots back. He has no patience for Ruby's fretting, not now.
Evidently his irritation is plain on his face because Ruby withdraws, a mask of indifference slipped over her expression. "Fine," she says coolly. "Don't bother calling for help if you need it, because I'm not sticking out my neck for someone so hardheaded."
Something tells Finnick he shouldn't be so quick to reject what might be his only ally in the arena, but at this point he's too distressed about Miles to care. He's killed other tributes before—he's looked them in the eye and deliberately taken their lives. What's so different about this? As he plunges into the gloom of the rainforest, he clutches the tin of ointment and lets out a long breath.
He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the tribute sneaking up behind him. Almost. The male tribute from District 1 is not known for his subtlety. In one smooth movement, Finnick spins, sweeping Alabaster off his feet, pinning him with a knee to the gut, knife pressed against his throat.
"What's the big idea, Four?" Alabaster grunts, trying and failing to heave Finnick off him. "You gonna kill me? They'll hear the cannon and they'll see my face in the sky tomorrow night. Good luck ruling the pack then."
"I'm getting away from your district partner before she stabs me in the back," Finnick retorts. "When did you get back?"
"I don't know, an hour ago?" Alabaster grunts. Then, in a sly tone: "She's just a sweet basket of roses, isn't she?" Even in the low light, Finnick can tell Alabaster is grinning.
"I wouldn't be acting so smug if I were you." Finnick twitches his knife ever so slightly, just to let Alabaster know he's not playing around. "The moment you guys got separated she allied herself with me, even though she knew you weren't dead."
"You're lying."
"Why would I lie about that?" Finnick clambers to his feet, retrieves his fallen flashlight and shines in Alabaster's direction. "Don't trust her. She's not going to help you if you can't help her."
"You're just trying to keep me out of the pack," Alabaster snaps as he rights himself, dusting off his clothes. He's favoring his shoulder, Finnick notes. The mutt's bite must be bothering him still. Alabaster rises to his full height, which is an inch or so taller than Finnick. "Face it, Four: You're threatened by me."
"You're wrong, Alabaster." Finnick reaches into his pocket and draws out the pot, holding it out for Alabaster to see. "I think we can be friends."
Alabaster eyes the metal container like it might bite him. "What's that?"
"Salve. I got bit by a snake during the flood." He pulls up his shirt sleeve to show Alabaster the bite marks. "This medication healed them right up. I'd imagine you want something similar for your own wound there." He gestures at Alabaster's injured shoulder.
Alabaster's gaze flickers between Finnick and the salve, the gears in his head turning at maximum speed. "This better not be some kind of trick, Four," he growls.
Finnick removes the lid from the pot, dips his fingers in the ointment, and rubs a dallop of it on his own wound. "Not a trick. Just a peace offering. Somebody's gotta help me take Ruby down, right?"
If Alabaster refuses, Finnick will have to kill him. More than likely, Alabaster will try to kill him first. But then he'll have Ruby and Bellona to contend with on his own, and he doesn't relish the idea of navigating the rainforest in the dark with two vengeful Careers on his tail.
"I guess so." Alabaster plunges his hand into the open pot, scooping out a good portion, and slathers it on his shoulder. His hiss of pain gradually relaxes into a sigh of relief.
"You still have your sword?" Finnick asks.
Alabaster shakes his head. "Got washed away in the flood. I have a knife, my canteen, and some water pills."
Sounds like Alabaster has a lot more to gain from rejoining the alliance than Finnick does from letting him rejoin it. Bellona's got the bow, he reminds himself. And if Miles ends up croaking, he can't predict who she'll turn it on. Speaking of Miles...
"You haven't found any other sources of water, have you?" Finnick asks.
Alabaster shakes his head. "Other than rainwater, no. I think we're supposed to stick to the river."
The river which, up until recently, was overflowing with raging floodwater. "Well, I'm not wandering all the way out there in the dark," Finnick declares. "I'm going back to the Cornucopia."
"I think I'll join you, if that's all right," Alabaster says casually. The Career pack is just full of comics this year, Finnick thinks wryly.
"I'd be honored," Finnick replies, and together they walk back to the Cornucopia.
While they walk, Finnick snaps the lid back on the container and buffs the pot on his shirt a little in an effort to make it look brand new. At Alabaster's curious glance, he explains, "Miles is pretty bad off. Got hit by a poisoned dart."
Alabaster grimaces. "Think it'll work on him?"
Finnick shrugs. "Doesn't hurt to try."
When they break through the tree line bordering the Cornucopia's clearing, Ruby's squeal of delight could've earned her an award. "Alabaster! You're all right!"
"Right as rain, Ruby," he replies, and Finnick can tell the warmth in his voice is genuine. "And look! The sponsors left us something!"
Ruby's gaze falls on the container in Finnick's grasp. She opens her mouth, about to make a traitorous inquiry, when Finnick slices his hand across his midriff. Ruby's lips curve up in a clandestine smile.
"We must've missed hearing it when the anthem was playing," she says smoothly. "Bellona will be so happy."
Indeed, Bellona is as happy as Finnick has ever seen her, snatching the ointment from the container and rushing back to Miles's makeshift sickbed.
"Why did they drop it all the way out there?" she wonders as she pries open the lid.
"Maybe they wanted me to run into Alabaster," Finnick says. "We tested it on his bite wound; it seemed to help him." It would also explain why some of the salve is already gone. Whatever the case, Bellona won't question a Capitol gift, not while it could be the one thing capable of saving her district partner.
Bellona carefully unwraps the bloody bandage from Miles's arm. The spot is still leaking blood, and the bruise seems to have expanded since Finnick last saw it, encompassing his whole upper arm and creeping down his forearm. The wound itself is starting to stink in earnest now, like it's been festering for days instead of hours.
"I wonder what they poisoned him with," Ruby says, nose wrinkled.
"I think it's snake venom," Bellona replies. "Men who work in the quarries get bitten by snakes all the time in District Two. With all the bruising and bleeding, he probably got hit by some kind of rattler. Their venom thins your blood somehow, makes it so it doesn't clot like it should."
"Those Callows must have figured out how to extract the venom from the snake." Envy springs forth in Finnick's mouth, acrid and resentful. Why didn't he think of that? District 7 is located in the middle of a huge stretch of woods. They must see a lot of snakes there.
"I wish I could've enjoyed killing that boy," Bellona mutters. She daubs an ample amount of salve on and around the wound. The medicine nearly gone, Finnick realizes with a pang. It's a good thing the salve was already so effective on his own wound. "He deserved a long and painful death."
Some of the tension has released in Finnick's chest. He breathes more easily now, and he can look at Miles without feeling ill. Whatever ends up happening to him, at least Finnick didn't stand by and just watch it transpire. And if he's the reason for Finnick's eventual demise? He'll regret his decision then. Mags can disapprove all she wants—Finnick isn't going to leave this arena regretting things he hadn't done.
"Do you feel any better?" Bellona asks, shaking Miles's shoulder. "Talk to me, Strand."
"Sort of," he mumbles. To Finnick, Miles looks awful. Like the unfortunate victim of a jellyfish sting, except sweatier and bloodier. Every breath seems painfully hard to draw, but he breaths fast, like he can't get enough air in his lungs.
"What happened?" Alabaster asks. While Ruby fills him in, Finnick finds a rag, dampens it with water dripping from the pavilion roof, and hands it to Bellona.
"Thanks," she says curtly. She folds the cloth and wipes Miles's sweaty face.
"I'll watch him for a while if you want to get some rest," Finnick offers.
Predictably, Bellona shakes her head. "I'll take first watch," she says. "I'm not tired."
That can't possibly be true, but Finnick nods and retreats anyway. He curls up on the other side of the Cornucopia, listening to Ruby and Alabaster joke and giggle, poking and shushing each other like children, until he drifts off to sleep.