confessional hymns for the devil, himself
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.
Chapter Seven
Staring into the sparse wardrobe, Clove mentally calculates how long three changes of clothes will last through days of sweating, hiking, and training. The sun is a few hours from setting, and she wishes she could have been able to rest a while longer. She stared up at the ceiling for most of the morning turning over the events from the previous day in her head. The morphling had also been little help in helping her slumber. Instead, it made her skin crawl with anxiety and the room pitch back and forth when she closed her eyes. She slept fitfully through the afternoon - her mind plagued with thoughts of Cato, Snow's half-assed plan, and her own mortality.
She settles on the most conventional clothing in the closet - earth-toned pants and long-sleeved shirts. It was beginning to get chilly towards the evening there. Due to its location, the climate in District 13 will likely be similar. She tosses several changes of underwear and socks in a hunter-green canvas knapsack she finds at the top of the armoire. Clove hopes that Snow is providing them with equipment for their trek. She's slept on the ground and in a tree with no shelter before this. It was rough going, and she would rather not do it again.
She scoffs at herself for being so picky. A few weeks of taking a bath every night has made her soft. In the end, she only packs toothpaste, a toothbrush, a bar of soap, and deodorant to take with her. She glances at the feminine products beneath the sink one last time. It's been a long time since she's had a period: skipping meals and constant training will do that to you. However, it would be bad if she so happened to start while on their hike. She throws a handful of pads in her knapsack as well. Just in case.
Cato is not in the house when she finally emerges from her room. The last setting rays of the sun have begun to disappear behind the mountains. That's probably for the best. She has no idea what she would say to him if he were there. Much to her surprise, the square between the houses has been filled with supplies. Several Tributes already mill between the boxes searching for equipment. When she approaches, they all stop and stand quietly, watching her with apprehension. No doubt still shocked by her outburst the day before. No matter. It's not like they were counting on her to have their backs in the end. They had Cato, Rue and Thresh for that, didn't they?
She snatches up a canvas tent, several packages of dried food, two water canteens, and a bundle of rope. Her knives are already tucked away on her person, and she has no need for anything extra. As she stands and straightens up, she spots Docere. He is pacing, nervous, by the entrance to the clinic. She picks her way around the group and heads in his direction.
"Packing lightly, aren't you?"
"I don't need a lot and Snow's men are accompanying us there…". She trails off when she sees the look of vexation on the older man's face. She backpedals. "I still won't need it."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Docere replies in a quiet voice. He glances away from her, his balding head catching in the lamplight above the clinic. "Weapons and rations aren't quite what you seek."
Before she can ponder his cryptic statement further, he moves to go back inside the clinic. She throws a hand out and catches the door before he can retreat. "Wait, you're not coming with us either?" He grimaces. "You're a doctor. One of these weaklings is bound to get hurt within the first five seconds of the fight."
Docere twitches, tries to push the door open further, and maneuver around her small frame. "I—I'll meet you all at the checkpoint at District 13."
He disappears down the dark hallway of the clinic and Clove wonders if that's another lie, too.
Snow's men make an appearance as night finally settles down around them like a thick blanket. Everyone is waiting in the square when several hovercrafts surround them and land. Their bright spotlights are nearly too blinding to look at. They're ushered by groups to board.
Clove looks on, emotionless, as many Tributes struggle with their bags. She muses to herself they are laden with the burden of being over-prepared. They'll likely be the first to die. Excess sits in the lap of luxury and has no place in their reality.
The hollow interior of the aircraft she boards is reminiscent of pictures from ages past of military transport planes. Several Tributes around her strap themselves in the safety harnesses that line either side of the fuselage. They all look too nervous. She snorts audibly and flops down on an empty space of the cargo floor. They haven't noticed yet that the plane lacks parachute equipment – a fact she picked up almost immediately. Besides, the Capitol has upgraded these crafts with the most up-to-date tech. She doubts they are even capable of crashing anymore.
It's deathly silent as they ascend into the air. A singular thought passes around through everyone's minds but isn't verbalized: this is really happening.
The Games have begun, again.
She spots Cato for the first time as they all step off the aircrafts at the edge of heavy woods. His blue eyes catch the bright spotlights when he turns and fade out into near-nothingness. He is looking in her direction but doesn't see her. Instead, he is studying the faces of all the Tributes around him. It's ethereal how focused he is. She watches as he lays a comforting hand on a boy's shoulder and bends low to reassure him. The boy leans into the touch in complete trust.
Clove is floored. Hard to believe Cato might have changed. Harder still to realize everyone else noticed and accepted it long before she had a clue. She glances off into the thick woods and fights off the feeling of isolation that engulfs her.
One by one the Tributes finish filing off until they are all clumped together like a disgruntled herd of sheep. A soldier stands at the front of the throng and raps his metal baton sharply against the side of a craft. At once, a hush falls over the group and all eyes fell forward in anticipation.
"You have a 38-hour march ahead of you. District 13 is due north through these woods. A rendezvous point is established on the outskirts of the district. We'll find you when you arrive," the soldier states plainly.
Clove hears Marvel laugh sardonically under his breath. "Thanks for the obtuse directions, mate." The soldier cuts his eyes at him but boards the aircraft without retaliation to Marvel's jab. The aircrafts ascend upwards in a single motion and speed off, disappearing in the night sky.
"The important thing is to stick together," Cato finishes for the soldier who has left. "We'll travel for most of the night and continue training when we're able."
A murmur of assent follows, and they begin to file off into the tree line. Clove picks her way through the tall weeds at the roadside, noting the rough pavement beneath. A parking lot stood here at one time. A stone plaque sits off to one side with 'Allegany State Park' engraved on the front. She sifts through what meager geography she knows but comes up short.
"I wonder what New York would have been like," Rue says, appearing silently next to her. It is strange that the young girl always seems to know what Clove is thinking. "My family is said to be from here. The name is way before our time. Even before the Dark Days."
Clove thinks it would be best to not dwell on days past when their immediate future was questionable. Thirty-eight hours was not a reasonable amount of time to march let alone continue to train as Cato had hoped to do. She suspects that Snow did not factor in sleeping. Looks like they will be late to rendezvous no matter how they sliced it.
Rue walks alongside her without a word for the better part of an hour before drifting off to speak to Thresh. Cato and Marvel are vying for leader at the very front which leaves her to stew in her own distracted thoughts.
The more she lets these thoughts brew in her head the more Snow's speech loses traction. Realization dawns on her so suddenly that she narrowly misses colliding with a tree. They were walking into a suicide trap!
Breaking stride, she jogs to the front and puts herself between Cato and Marvel's silent battle for Backpacker of the Year. She finds it odd that he doesn't look at her.
"Hey, can we talk for a minute?"
He childishly ignores her request and instead pinches his lips together. Not willing to be vexed immediately, she nudges him this time. Stony silence answers her.
Clove stops so suddenly that another Tribute bumps into her from behind. Clove sighs in exasperation at the look of fear in his eyes as he hurriedly apologizes for jostling her. The deer in the headlights look was growing old. Couldn't they just agree to coexist with the knowledge that they both hated the other?
Besides, there's no possible way Cato is still angry about what happened between them! He isn't normally one to hold a grudge. She glares at the back of his head a few seconds longer for good measure. If he wouldn't talk to her, who else could she tell?
Thresh!
She waits for the rest of the group to pass her before approaching the tall, black boy. He surprises her by giving her his full attention and moving them to the side to speak in hushed whispers. Clove feels like this is the first time she's been taken seriously all week.
"None of this is right. We're eating right out of Snow's palm."
Thresh nods sagely. "Rue and I were just discussing this. I think you're right. There's no way the Capitol couldn't take out a few rebels from the air."
Clove bites her lip until she can taste blood. That means the rebel forces are larger than expected. Or they have a weapon at their disposal that could annihilate the Tributes within a blink of an eye. They had a snowball's chance in hell at victory if either were true.
Rue notices the two of them talking and joins. In her near-psychic way, she adds, "It doesn't make sense for a rebel group to abandon their District. There is power in numbers."
The three of them continue along behind the group not wanting to alarm anyone just yet. The temperature continues to drop as Clove picks her way along the thick brush. The small beam of light from her flashlight illuminates where the brush has been trampled down the most. She feels bogged down in multiple layers, but the chill penetrates nonetheless. The pace they are keeping is not sufficient enough to produce the body heat she wants for.
She silently thanks her decision to pack the clothes that she did. When they stop to break, Clove makes the decision to approach Cato again. She finds him at the front wordlessly tossing small forest debris a few feet to the side of the trail.
His actions are methodical and calculated enough that Clove questions what he's doing. At first, she thinks he is not going to answer her.
"Watch this," he states, picking up a stick near his leg. He tosses it in the direction of another Tribute who is walking around the perimeter of their camp.
The stick grazes the girl's shoulder before ricocheting into the treeline behind her. A loud sizzling noise erupts around them and the Tribute freezes in place. Clove gasps when the dark trees glow in neon-blue. The edges of the neon are clearly demarcated and pass over the top of their heads to end on the opposite side of the trail.
"At first, I was only concerned about why there was a clear path I was following," Cato explains. "There haven't been any people through these woods in hundreds of years. Snow's men must have come through here before us and trampled down a trail we could follow."
The Tributes group closer together now, obviously frightened by the neon force field they found themselves trapped within. The girl who had nearly walked into the field is paper-white and shaking as her friends help her kneel next to them.
Marvel rolls his eyes, ever the optimist in impossible situations. "Yet, that would make sense, wouldn't it? If we have a time frame to keep to, I would create an obvious path for people to follow and not wind up lost."
"Marvel, shut up, and listen," Cato replies in a stern manner. His frustration unintentionally affects the entire group and they quit murmuring abruptly. In the silence that follows, Clove can hear the constant hum from the fence she has missed this entire time.
Her eyes widen and heart pounds as she realizes that there is a deadly current of electricity that keeps the fence alive. This is not just a marked path to follow. It is to ensure no one can back out of the mission! At least not if they want to live.
A gasp travels around as they all start to hear what Clove does. She pays them little mind. Her heartbeat sounds like a roar in her ears as she dashes forward ahead of Cato.
"Clove, wait!" She hears him clamber behind her, taking the trail with much less agility. She bends and scoops debris from the ground as she runs, tossing it left and right. The field lights up blue each time.
Clove skids to a halt a few yards away. Desperation creeps its ugly fingers up her back now. She hates the feeling of trapped more than anything else. Playing Snow's game is only palatable when she still has some semblance of control. Now that she knew what he is leading them into...
"Fuck!" she screams into the night air and feels the chill bite into her throat. Cato catches up with her finally and observes her, breathing labored.
"There isn't a way out," she states by way of explanation for her running.
"I didn't expect there to be one," he replies.
His calmness irks her. She wants to bash his nose into the nearest tree. She hears the others approaching through the undergrowth near them. Quickly, Clove catches Cato up to speed on her suspicions about Snow. Instead of alarm, Cato continues a face of passive calm.
"Are you not worried about this?! It's a trap, don't you see!"
"Of course it is, Clove. This might be our chance to escape! Protect everyone!" He steps closer to her. "If we can get to the rebels without Snow knowing, we can use their protection."
"He'd kill us as soon as he found out. All of us. And consider it a productive day."
Despite this, a seed of hope grows low in her gut. She had a better chance at escaping than the rest of them. If she could get away for only a moment...
"But-," Cato trails off as Marvel approaches. "We'll talk more about it later," he adds quickly.
"Talk more about what? How the both of you just sprinted away the moment you perceived we were in danger? I thought we were all in this together?! A team!" Marvel waves a hand towards the group of Tributes watching the scene before them warily.
"W-well, I was checking for more traps," Cato stutters out before glancing at her nervously. "It was Clove's idea originally."
Clove sees the reluctant relief on their faces, but Marvel is a different story. The knowing in his eyes lets her know he isn't fooled one bit by Cato's lie.
"The only way is forward. Don't worry, we'll make it through. Together." Once again Cato surprises her with new role as group mother.
Marvel shakes his head emphatically. "You two are unbelievable." He stalks off ahead of them - Tributes, ever obedient, following behind.
They walk for several more hours in silence, but at least Cato is willing enough to be near her. She didn't expect how much she would miss his constant boasting and chatter until he went radio silent on her. The memory of the old Cato was becoming a ghost in her reality and replaced with a new version she did not recognize.
When he finally does speak, she takes her wish back almost immediately.
"So, are we going to talk about what happened between us?" He is crunching on a small handful of nuts as if the subject matter they were discussing were not Clove totally trying to kill him and he trying to kiss her. There is still a scab on his lower lip that she watches his pink tongue trace as it darts out to lick away salt from his snack.
Flushing, she jerks her head back and wills that he doesn't notice. Why the hell is she so affected by the little things? She steadies her voice before speaking.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You tried to stab me," he deadpans, offering a palm full of pecans to her. She takes a couple to help settle the queasiness in her stomach she was suddenly feeling. Well, you tried to kiss me, she thinks. Their working relationship was tenuous enough without having to ward off his unwanted advances.
"You had it coming."
"That's not how I remember it. You were being a total asshole, Clove. Marvel is right. We have to stick together as a team."
Clove scrunches her face in the dark. This conversation is highly uncomfortable, and she wishes that she should have never tried to get his attention tonight in the first place.
"And there was something else that almost happened that I think we should talk about, too." His voice is quiet, pleading.
"Hell no," is her immediate reply. She walks a little faster in the hopes that he will go back to shutting up and just walking beside her.
"That's not fair, Clove. It's important to me," he continues, picking up his speed as well. The Universe truly fucked up when they granted Cato hubris. He was awful at knowing when to let a conversation die.
"It's not to me, so I don't want to discuss it." She adjusts her pack on her shoulders and continues to stubbornly avoid his gaze. A part of her is afraid that she'll be sucked into this if she looks at his eyes. Thankfully, he goes quiet for a minute. Presumably to think of his next angle.
And here it comes. "H-hey, Clove…".
"I already told you Cato – conversation over." She feels him tugging urgently at her shoulder. Groaning, she spins around to face him finally. "What?!"
Cato is not looking at her. His wide eyes are staring at something behind them – in fear. She follows his gaze to see several yards down the trail from where they've just come the field is lit neon-blue. It gives off just enough light that Clove can see a thick, dark blanket of fog. The few Tributes that are following behind have also stopped to watch the curious mist move closer to them.
Its black tendrils act like fingers that wrap seductively around the nearest trees. The force field bathes the trail in neon as the fog touches the perimeter.
It's only when Clove thinks to herself that she's never seen fog move quite like that, the first scream pierces the night air.