Chapter Eleven

Newt was clutching the trunk and taking a break from dragging himself up branch by branch. His shoulders and arms were burning from the effort. Sitting on a branch maybe twelve feet from the forest floor with his legs dangling over one side and drenched in sweat, he was beginning to realise that he was thirsty when he heard the scream. His breath caught and he closed his eyes. It had sounded incredibly close.

You can never be sure with trees though, he reminded himself hopefully. It might have been further out.

Even though he had run what felt like miles he could still hear the clamour of the BloodBath, the shouting and screaming of the ones who had stayed to fight or risk their luck for supplies.

With a horrified jolt he realised that Thomas should have been right on his tail. The younger boy was just as fast as Newt despite the older boy's slight build, and Thomas hadn't been all that further out from the tree-line. Fear gripped him, turning his fingers numb against the soft bark of the tree. His friend had run in, Newt just knew he had.

Tommy you bloody shank!

The scream, that very first one - that could have been him. Newt felt his eyes watering and he fought down the building fear. It wasn't. He just knew it wasn't his Tommy. No way.

The screaming voice that sounded like it could be from nearby screamed again, and Newt held his breath as he listened to the pain in it. It was a loud and frightening sound, maybe a girl's. And then it stopped, a guttural end leaving the air feeling almost empty and unfinished.

He didn't know how long he sat there, forcing one breath after the other to battle his growing fear for Thomas's safety. He should have been right on Newt's tail. He should have been right behind him. He'd have had to have gone right in to the stupid centre to be so far behind him. And what if he'd run into trouble? What if he'd been hurt and Newt had just run off and left him?

Newt felt sick. He felt like an absolute coward as he sat in his tree and did nothing but breath in and out and pray his friend was alive.

Oh god Tommy, please be okay.

He sat frozen like for what felt like an incredibly long time before he forced himself to move again. Thomas would want him to climb high enough that he'd be safe. If the boy he loved so much had been there he'd have been yelling that precise thing up at him with that smirk that managed to be both cocky and yet sweet. The one that made Newt unable to come up with any of his witty retorts.

Move your shuck ass Isaacson. I can still see you!

Newt had no idea it were possible to hope as much as he hoped the ridiculous brunette was alive.

Hurry up Tommy.

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Thomas stumbled into the soft afternoon shadows the trees offered, making it only four or five steps before he fell against a tree, emptying his stomach contents all over the roots. He was shaking. His legs were weak and wobbly and he couldn't stop the shocked tears that were flooding his face. He wiped his eyes and mouth with the back of his hand only to gag and vomit again. He was covered in blood. He grabbed at the hem of the lightweight jacket they had dressed him in, cringing in revulsion as he scrubbed at his face.

The salty copper smell filled his nostrils and his stomach wouldn't settle, even though he'd already ridden himself of the meagre breakfast Newt had encouraged him to eat that morning.

At the thought of the blonde his resolve steeled and he reeled himself back under control. The sounds of other tributes weren't far enough away that he could rest yet, and he had to find Newt before anybody else decided to. He spat out the foul taste in his mouth, trying not to look at the blood in it because he'd only torture himself over whether it was his own.

He couldn't look back at the body just outside the tree-line, the form of the girl whose life he had taken. Her scream still shrieked in his head and he closed his eyes as he forced himself into a jog. Newt was the priority now.

Newt was the only priority. Without him this whole charade wasn't worth it.

Keep Newt Safe.

He adjusted the various straps on his shoulders, trying not to feel guilty about the bloodied rucksack he had slid from the shoulders of the dead girl and overlapped with his own. His stomach churned but he couldn't acknowledge it, because that only meant acknowledging what he'd done and he couldn't face it. The tears were blinding.

He'd taken her life.

A girl he didn't know, a girl who was his own age, maybe younger.

It didn't feel like it mattered that she'd been trying to kill him.
He'd been the one to succeed.

She'd had the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen.
They'd looked up at him like empty, icy rings as he'd closed them.

He had to stop to retch again, bile and saliva the only reply.

He pushed himself, upping his jog to a gentle run, realising that if Newt hadn't kept to a pretty much straight course it might take hours to find him. He knew that Newt would very likely have dodged between the trees unevenly in that way of his, light-footed and sure.

The thought wasn't at all comforting.

Thomas had been jogging through the close trees for over half an hour, his pace dropping as he wore himself out, unable to keep pace with his racing mind. He was on alert, every little noise amplified in the forest and putting him on edge.

He was past the point of worrying he wasn't going to find Newt, starting to truly believe he wouldn't. He felt sick again and the temptation to sit for a while, look through the packs and take stock of what he'd snagged grew with every step.

He could only hope that he hadn't already passed where the blonde would be, that he would pass by and Newt would see him.

You better be high in a tree somewhere.

There was someone crashing through the trees somewhere far on his left, and he was keeping track of their progress as he looked up into every tree he passed, hoping to see the mop of blonde curls that would settle the painful trembling in his heart.

He missed the blonde like crazy, even though he was aware that it had been mere hours since he'd been awoken by Newt. The blonde had stretched out like a cat beside him, arching his back against Thomas's side in a way that had filled the younger boy's heart with adoration. He'd had a full second of absolute bliss before the memory of where they were crashed down upon him. It felt like weeks had passed since then. Had it really only been that morning they'd last had a moment without the glare of Capitol eyes or their prep teams scrubbing and fussing at them?

Thomas had given up the last of his jog. His legs were weak and he was becoming incredibly thirsty but he refused to stop until he found Newt. He was almost sure there was water in one of the packs, could hear some liquid or other sloshing, feel the movement.

There was a flash of something dark amongst the leaves in a tree a foot or so in front of him and Thomas stopped, tipping his head to try and see what had caught his eye. His bow was unshouldered and in his hands before he'd really thought about it, and he didn't need to look down to know that what he felt was the familiar prickling of sharp feathers against his fingertips.