Shit goes down in this chapter, this is your warning...
Breakfast is a more solemn affair for her this morning. Her troubled sleep has made her tired, and she doesn't really feel like engaging with the Careers as they talk excitedly about their plans for the day.
What voodoo magic has been used on these teenagers to make them morning people?
She finds some instant coffee at the bottom of the food pile, boils a batch up for everyone and starts to feel a little more human after she takes a few gulps. Unfortunately, it also makes the Careers even keener to get to work.
Heather Chandler prowls around the rest of them, deciding who she wants to send out today.
"Boys on guard and…"
Please don't leave me alone with Kurt or Ram, they are way too creepy to deal with this early in the day.
"No," says Ram, petulantly, "Not again! Guard duty is so booooring, we have had no action for the last two days."
"Yeah," says Kurt, flexing his muscles, "I want to spill some blood."
Heather rolls her eyes, "Fine, you guys can go, head northwards," she points towards the area they've been searching for the last few days, "but I'm not staying at camp, leaving an 11 behind would be an insult to our sponsors." She pauses, looking at Veronica, Heather and Heather, brow slightly furrowed, "Heather and Heather, you stay. Veronica, come with me, we're going south." She says, gesturing towards the woodlands with the mountains in the distance.
"Wait? What? Me? Really?" Veronica splutters, "Why?"
She shrugs, "You're not as stupid as Heather McNamara or the guys, and I won't get puke on me when I get anything done," she barely has time to witness the resigned annoyance on the other Careers' faces, when Heather's large bag is shoved in front of her own, "carry."
She puts it on her back without complaint, hoping the weight won't slow her down enough for it to be fatal. Oh the things I do to be with you, Heather.
Heather's reasoning is a lie of course, Veronica thinks, now the surprise has worn off, Heather Chandler wants her for the same reason she's been trying to keep Kurt and Ram out of action. Heather might be an 11, she might have a fantastic aim with a throwing knife and be great in any sword fight, but Kurt and Ram have brute strength and the speed of an adult male and that's something her sponsors (the ones she claims she's so desperate to please) will love. What happens if she comes across a tribute and Kurt and Ram beat her to the punch? She's already been caught once by Brad and David, she can't afford to look weak. By choosing Veronica as a partner - well Veronica's not going to be killing any tributes before Heather gets her hands on them. There's no way having Veronica at her side won't make Heather look like even more of a powerful killer. Not to mention, of course, if they come across another one of those terrifying beasts, well Heather will have a handy distraction to help her escape alive.
God, I hope we don't run into any terrifying beasts.
xxx
They head further south than they have before, she supposes Heather figures the rest of the tributes know where the Careers are camped and are doing their best to keep as far away as possible from them. They don't converse much, instead they look around for any signs of other humans, a footprint, a flash of colour unnatural to the forest (perhaps from a bag or a food wrapper), or branches that have been used for a shelter or campfire…
Heather's pace is unrelenting, and they cover a surprising amount of ground in a few hours, Veronica's legs are aching and her throat is dry, but she dares not ask for a break or even a gulp of the water she is carrying.
She hears a twig snap and turns sharply, "Did you hear that?"
Heather obliges by looking around the nearby bushes, sword raised, but sees nothing, "probably a rabbit, no tribute would be stupid enough to get this close."
Veronica, unsatisfied, continues to cast her eyes over the undergrowth, but whatever or whomever made the noise seems to be gone.
Sometime around mid-morning, they come across a hill, a big one. It towers above them, the woodland becoming more and more sparse as it reaches the top. Climbing to the top would make them very exposed to other people seeing them, but she supposes if you've got an 11 in training that doesn't matter very much.
"Thank God," says Heather, "we can finally get a better view of the arena." And immediately starts an ascent.
She has to give it to her, for a girl who looks almost delicate in stature, Heather Chandler is clearly all muscle. Veronica finds herself panting to keep up with her (and not just because she's been forced to carry all the heavy stuff), but she knows she can't stop for a moment or she'd risk seeming even more weak than usual.
Once they get about halfway up Heather comes to a halt for the first time all morning, "I'm parched, give me some water." Veronica opens the bag and chucks Heather the large bottle. She takes advantage of the wait to have a look around. Heather was not wrong about getting a better view of the arena, from this angle she can see much further than she has all Games. Southwards there are the craggy mountains she could see from camp, that they will eventually get to if they continue this way. At the other end of the arena, beyond the woodland that Kurt and Ram must be now searching, is what looks like a desert, not good for water, but there are a series of large rocks which would provide decent protection from the elements and searching tributes. West of them are several rivers leading to a…
A piercing scream fills her ears. She turns round to see Heather choking, clutching her throat and scratching her neck as if this will somehow halt the pain. One look at her face, swelling and turning interesting shades of red and purple, and Veronica knows that Heather is not going to live to tell the tale. The sounds of the fearsome tribute's anguish echo shrilly through the trees.
Veronica drops everything she is holding and throws herself towards Heather, forcefully placing both of her hands over her mouth so the scream is muffled. Heather struggles under her grasp, first viciously but quickly her attempts become feeble, her eyes meet Veronica's, clearly trying to glare – but all Veronica can see in them is fear. Heather doesn't want to die – she never expected the Games to be this hard – she never thought she would lose. Here, far too weak to put up any kind of fight, she simply looks like the girl, too young to be called a woman, that she is. Veronica feels an odd wave of compassion towards this child, before she pushes it to the back of her mind and covers her mouth even more firmly – there's nothing she can do for Heather – and she'll be damned if she's killed because a Career gave away her location.
With one final spasm the girl, whose life she saved not three days prior, stops moving. A cannon booms in the distance.
For a second or two Veronica just blinks at the body in front of her, but then her mind springs back into action. The water! It must have been the water that was poisoned. Still on the ground, she crawls towards the bottle and pours the rest of the contents out onto the grass, before thinking better of it and simply chucking the bottle itself into the bush – she doesn't want to reuse it and risk drinking even a drop of something that deadly.
How had the poison gotten in the water? Was it in the stream? No, it can't have been – they all drank from it last night. Had someone at camp poisoned Heather's bottle then?
Her question is answered by a rustling behind her, too substantial and deliberate to be an animal. She reaches for her knife, but it is kicked away. She jumps at how close he is to her and scrambles to her feet. But, before she can move any further, he grabs her upper arm so tightly that (on the off-chance she lives that long) it will leave bruises tomorrow.
JD grins wolfishly down at her and it all clicks into place – it wasn't Heather's bottle.
It was Martha's.
"You!" she splutters, "you poisoned your own teammate's water and left her to be captured and killed."
He doesn't try to deny it, nor does he look remotely remorseful, "Martha was never going to live. Now there is one fewer real competitor. She no longer died in vain."
"You bastard, she thought you were protecting her," she tries to struggle out of his grip, but he wordlessly glances at the knife in his other hand and she quickly stops. She wishes he'd just finish her off quickly. What an idiot she was to not just run as soon as Heather started screaming. Then again, she has a funny feeling he's been watching them ever since they killed Martha and, by the way he's looking at her, killing Heather was just a bonus to getting what he really wanted.
He takes a step towards her, so she is close enough to feel his breath on her face and the hand holding the knife is lightly brushing her hip.
"I have a proposition for you."
"Spit it out then." She's not up to dealing with his bullshit in the last few moments of her life.
He raises his eyebrows but otherwise doesn't comment on her outburst, "An alliance. We work together to outwit them."
It's not even a choice, "No! Not after I've just seen what you did to your last ally!"
"Martha was cannon fodder, she was useless. You're different, you have enough power to fight beside me."
"Never."
He moves the knife towards her, using the blade to push up her shirt until she can feel the coolness of sharp metal rest against her stomach – a fraction too softly to break the skin.
"You know," he says conversationally, "they say a knife wound in the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die. It doesn't kill you instantly, you see, if the knife pierces your internal organs what's inside starts falling out, getting into your bloodstream, poisoning you from the inside. I hear it can last hours, if not days, and is agonising."
The world is silent as she dares not move, all she can hear is the sound of her own breathing. She can feel her heart racing, as if it's trying to get in as many beats as possible before it is ruthlessly stopped.
Somewhere around them will be a camera fully zoomed in on the scene – the whole of Panem will be watching on tenterhooks as they see his knife lightly pierce her flesh, a couple of red droplets running down the blade and onto the grass. Somewhere, in a world that seems so distant that she's a little stunned that it still exists, her mother is crying and her father is covering his eyes dreading the sound of his daughter's last moments. The people in the Capitol are probably taking bets while others are shouting at their screens, wondering why this is such a hard decision. But they are not here, they don't understand – it's all about pride, she could die here, humanity still mostly intact or she could follow this dangerous boy who is watching her decide her fate. His face is a mix of excitement and curiosity, there is not an ounce of shame or pity in his eyes. If she accepts his offer who knows what she'll have become by the time he kills her.
The knife has barely scratched her flesh but it already stings. She thinks of Martha's cries as she was hacked to death, thinks of Heather's muffled screams as she struggled and then surrendered. She imagines lying here weak, alone, in pain, waiting for it to all stop.
She's not ready to die yet.
"Fine," she says, "allies."
He drops the hand with the knife to his side and immediately releases his grip on her arm, "Perfecto, now let's get to somewhere more secluded."
She doesn't move at first, just watches him, he's looking at Heather's body with an odd sort of detached curiosity. He takes her saw-like sword from her hands, guffaws at its ridiculousness and puts it in his bag, before setting off down the hill. She considers running. But she doesn't know where she would go, and she's loath to be without allies again. So, feeling a little like a petulant child, she follows.
As they are nearing the bottom of the hill, the birds go silent and she hears the hovercraft overhead. She watches Heather's body as it is picked up. Too far away to see the swelling and discolouration she looks bedraggled but surprisingly beautiful. Her back is gracefully arched against the claw and, as her scrunchie falls out of her hair and drifts to the ground, her blonde curls splay out behind her. She wonders how many people in the Capitol are screaming with disappointment right now, tearing up their betting slips, maybe even the Gamemakers are. Here was a girl, a strong girl, a strong leader, a Career who scored 11 in training, who spent her whole life preparing for these Games, who didn't even survive the week thanks to JD and his antics. So much potential wasted in one gulp of poisoned water.
They walk a while like that, him taking the lead down the hill and westward, her following despondently behind. He stops occasionally to pick the odd mushroom or berry to put in his bag, apparently confident he knows whether it will kill him and, considering what he's just done to Heather, he's probably right.
"Smart plan teaming up with the Heathers." He says at one point.
"It wasn't planned." It was. It wasn't. She's not sure what it was really. Realising she'd die if she didn't have allies, saving girls who were scared, saving girls who could hunt her, saving girls who could protect her, not realising she could run while they were distracted killing David. She's not sure which bits were choices. And if they were, was it compassion or self-interest that drove her actions? Did I just want someone who would fight for me? It doesn't matter now anyway, because now one of them is dead and, the moment they find out what happened, the others will doubtless be out for her blood.
The day gets hotter as the sun rises higher in the sky. Her neck is already burnt, but the sun still stings just as badly. There is sweat all over her face and back and she stops to massage her temples as she starts to get a thumping headache.
He gets some water out of his bag and chucks it to her, "Drink, you look like you need it."
She scowls at him, "No."
He shrugs and continues walking.
She gives in eventually and is relieved when she doesn't immediately keel over.
By early evening he seems satisfied that they are far enough away from the Careers to set up camp in a clearing, a couple of minutes away from a stream.
"Did you bring any good food with you?"
She opens her bag in reply, revealing four bananas, a loaf of bread, a pack of dried fruit, a couple of cans of tuna and a few granola bars, great for a day's trek, not so good when you can't replace it and have a hearty meal in the evening.
"Are you sure you didn't poison our food too?"
"Very."
She's still suspicious so she throws him a chunk of the bread. When he eats it straight away she relaxes, breaks off several more large chunks and gobbles it down with a can of tuna.
He tips his bag out too, it is clear that his supplies from the Cornucopia have long run out. Instead, he has a mixture of nuts, mushrooms, roots and berries, he eats a few with no hesitation. He tries to grab another chunk of bread but she pulls it out of his reach.
"I don't know why you're so angry with me."
"Really?"
"They were going to kill you, whether it be this week or next. I just decided to change the natural order of things and take out the 11."
"And you're not going to kill me too?"
"Oh I didn't say that, but I have use for you yet, much more than they ever did."
Well that's comforting.
"Yet you were prepared to kill me earlier, if I didn't do what you said."
"I knew you weren't going to agree to die, I saw that much when we started the Games."
The words hurt and Veronica looks down, tracing patterns in the dirt.
"We have power here, Veronica, two Careers are already gone, over half the tributes are dead. Now we have the only two brains left here in the arena, would it really be so hard to beat them?"
"Yes, yes it would, you haven't seen Kurt and Ram throw a spear."
"So I propose we attack when they aren't holding spears." He speaks as if he is talking to a child and she wants to slap him for it.
"Genius! Why didn't I think of that?"
"We plan, Veronica, we look for their weaknesses and use them to take them out."
"Until you kill me like you did Martha."
He rolls his eyes, "Martha was dead the moment she was reaped, most of them were. How long do you think she would have lived had I made an effort to save her? It would only have been a day or two at most. Do you think if I'd waited longer she'd suddenly reveal hidden fighting skills, stabbing all the Careers while screaming 'fuck you, Heather,'?"
He has a point but she'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
Luckily the Panem Anthem cuts through the awkward silence.
As she expected, Heather is the only face in the sky that night – she winces, now they all know.
Despite how sweltering it's been all day, the temperature drops quickly now the sun is fading, she draws her legs in and resists the urge to shiver.
He gathers up some wood and gets some matches out of his pocket.
"What are you doing? You'll draw the Careers."
"They're not likely to see it at dusk, and anyway, they're probably still trying to work out what happened with you and Heather."
He's not wrong, so she lets him continue.
They don't talk as they sit around the fire. She's glad of it, though she's less glad that he keeps shooting her greedy looks, like a cat who's found the cream.
It's somehow still attractive.
She turns away so she can't see him and presses at the bruise that is now forming just below her shoulder until it stings.
She wonders what it's like back at the Career camp now. Surely they are shocked? They can't have expected Heather to have been the reason the cannon was fired this morning. They were probably waiting for her, for both of them, to come back, news of her latest kill on Heather's lips. What do they think happened? Do they think she got attacked? Or maybe they think she was betrayed…
Well to be fair, she's pretty sure Kurt and Ram are too pissed that they won't get their threesome to think of anything like that. She lets out an unconscious shiver at the thoughts of the groping hands on her body that she nearly had to endure. Escaping them is today's only silver lining.
As it gets dark, he stamps out the fire so it won't give them away.
"Do you have a sleeping bag?"
"No, but I have several blankets," he gets them out of his bag and tosses them over to her, "We should sleep in shifts, you first for four hours and then me."
He must be mad if he thinks she would agree to that, "There's no way I'm going to sleep in front of you!"
His smile is infuriatingly patronising, "I think we've established that if I wanted you dead you'd be curled in a ball whimpering, as your vital organs were slowly poisoning you, right now, darling. But if it makes you feel better you can take the first watch."
"And how do you know I won't kill you in your sleep?"
"Feel free, I'm sure the Careers will welcome you back with open arms, now they surely think you killed their leader and made off with some of their best resources."
He's right, of course, her backstabbing Heather would seem like a much more likely event than, "The weedy boy from District 12 poisoned his own district mate's water, watched Heather drink it and then let me live provided I became his ally." and she has no chance in the Games at this point without allies. She turns away so she can't see his smirk.
He leaves the knife between them, as if to goad her, and falls asleep without any trouble. She spends a long time staring at the knife, how easy it would be to pick it up and plunge it into his stomach, hitting as many internal organs as possible…
She doesn't move.
The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 4
District 1
Heather McNamara
Ram Sweeny
District 2
Heather Chandler
David Remington
District 3
Betty Finn
Peter Dawson
District 4
Heather Duke
Kurt Kelly
District 5
Shannon Lucas
Rodney Bulb
District 6
Cathy Stone
Al Springer
District 7
Tracy Hophead
Bobby Young
District 8
Veronica Sawyer
Brad Richards
District 9
Courtney Chadwick
Keith Harrington
District 10
Shelly Little
Dennis Grundy
District 11
Phyllis McCarthy
Dwight Archer
District 12
Martha Dunstock
Jason Dean
Deaths today: 1
Survivors: 11
It amuses me that it's literally taken me hitting the chapter halfway mark to get to the stuff I mentioned in this fic's summary.
