The dry branches cracked as the flames licked at them, sending plumes of grey smoke into a grey sky as a rabbit turned black on a spit. Clarke's stomach growled, despite the fact that the rabbit looked entirely inedible. She had her rations in her backpack, but she didn't want to break into them until her and Wells were far away from the other Careers.
Atom had caught the rabbit on the way back to camp an hour previous and Russell had made a show of skinning it and cooking it, singing praises and flattering himself on preparing a meal for them, though the rabbit wouldn't feed more than two of them and was too burnt and badly butchered to be of much use anyway.
Clarke rested her chin in her hand and avoided looking at the poor excuse for breakfast. The creature had suffered a slow death, the knife point had missed its heart and left it choking for several minutes before Russell finally broke its neck and put it out of its misery. The brutal affair only reminded Clarke of the people who had met their ends at the Career's hands. It was hard not to think of it when they wouldn't stop talking about it, bragging about it, as if it were an accomplishment. She swallowed bile, and suddenly felt less hungry.
"Did you see her face? I think she wet herself when she saw us coming!" Russell poked the rabbit with a stick as he recounted the story for the hundredth time. On the second night of the Games, the Careers had begun their hunt, their efforts to pick off stray tributes. The night had resolved in only one death, far less bloodshed than they had hoped for, and so they had made the point of retelling it countless times.
"She was all 'don't kill me!'" June made a cruel imitation of the girl's screams for mercy, followed by a guttural laugh. Clarke picked at her fingernails, remembering the girl's cries. She was a young one, only about fourteen. Dead now.
When the tributes from Two began to do a re-enactment of the girl's death Clarke stood up sharply, wiping her palms on her trousers.
"Excuse me," She coughed lightly and turned away, not sure where she was going, but desperate to get away from the campfire.
"Awh come on Clarke, lighten up!" Someone called.
"Stupid bitch," Muttered another.
Wells's fingertips grazed her jacket sleeve as she walked by him, but she pushed them aside. She just needed to be alone for a moment. Besides, the others would be on them in a moment if they thought she and Wells were trying to break off.
"I'll be fine, I just need to, uh," Clarke offered him a smile, but her muscles were too sore, too tense, and it felt more of a grimace, "Relieve myself," She tacked on the end, in an effort to comfort him. She watched the swallow as it passed through his throat, watched as his eyes remained scared and alert. He didn't believe her; he saw right through her, he always did. But he let her go.
She didn't go far, just into the tree line. It was far enough that the others couldn't see her, and their cruel jokes couldn't reach her ears, but close enough that should she scream for help, they would hear.
Clarke sighed as she leant against the trunk of a tree, running her hand across the bark, enjoying the rough texture against her skin. Her skin had never been soft, she had a doctor's hands, calloused and rough and sure when she worked, but her time in the arena had worn away the rough skin that had protected them, and left her palms pink and stinging. There were grazes on them from twigs that leapt back and caught her as she passed through the trees, and patches of tattered skin where she had fallen and connected with the hard ground. Her calluses were in all the wrong places, formed from holding syringes, or even a paintbrush when she had the time, formed from hard scrubbings and climbing trees as a child. The parts of her hands used for holding her knife were weak and tender, and they were crying out at her, protesting the hardships that they weren't used to. Clarke supposed she should be glad that was all the injuries she had. There were scratches on her arms and face too, bruises on her legs, but that was nothing.
She gazed out into the gloom of the forest, there was a whole medicine cabinet in there if she could identify it, she was sure. The scientist in her was itching for a chance to try out some of the natural medicines she could find, the artist marvelling at all the colours, the way the light danced through the leaves, but the rational part of her knew that needing medical attention was not a good thing. She also knew with a certainty that she would need to use her skills before her time in the games was done. She just hoped it was within her skill to fix any injuries she or Wells may encounter.
But that only brought her back to the seemingly unsolvable question, the question that was driving her mad; how are we going to get away? A ruthless girl whispered to her at night kill them, kill them all. It would certainly prevent them from coming after them, and it would increase her chance of getting home, the Careers were after all, the biggest threat. And God knew they deserved it. Clarke thought of Monty and the girl from Five; the way her allies had laughed as they died, and sucked in breath hard as she fought to control her anger.
There was no way she could kill them though, not all of them, not even with Wells by her side. They were too strong, too dangerous. Clarke bit down on her fist and screamed. There has to be a way! She slid down the trunk of the tree, rubbing her temples as she tried to think.
It was a perfect hiding place here between two bushes; they were tall and wide enough to obscure her whole body when she crouched like this. She wondered what it would be like to stay there, stay there and sleep, and pretend the games were all a bad dream. She couldn't do that, but she could sit for a moment longer, couldn't she?
Clarke let her fingers drift out to stroke the leaves of the bushes, wide and flat and dark green, they felt waxy against her skin on one side, and downy on the other. In amongst the leaves were clusters of round, purple-red berries. They glistened slightly, bursting with juice and Clarke reached out tentatively, to pluck one from its stem. She rolled it between the pads of her forefinger and thumb and clapped a hand over her mouth to hide the smile.
She knew these berries! They grew in clusters in District One; her mother had often sent her to retrieve them when a patient was in too much pain. Clarke tried to ignore the stab in her stomach at the thought of her mother; she hadn't thought of her since the games started, and a part of her felt guilty for it. The rest of her was glad; life in the arena was hard enough without that added pain.
She lifted the berry to her mouth and tentatively nibbled at it, tearing the purple skin away to reveal pale green flesh and an abundance of juice that splashed across her tongue making her gag. She dropped the berry and spit into the dirt. The juice was sweet to the taste, but it was the association that made her gag. The berries could be used to make a patient sleepy, or numb pain during treatment, but too many could weaken the nerve system, send a person into a deep sleep, or make it hard for them to move.
Clarke dropped the spoiled berry on the ground, crushing it with her boot and began picking the bush clean. A smile formed on her face as an idea formed in her mind.
She made a show of stashing the berries into her bag as she approached the group, letting her eyes widen and her teeth find their worry spot on her bottom lip as Anna stared her down.
"What you got there Clarke?" The girl pursed thin lips and Clarke bristled at how mean she looked. She had all the features to make her a pretty girl, green eyes and shining red hair and that slender figure girls the world over were desperate for, but the look that was constantly planted on her face turned her from beautiful to cruel. Clarke swallowed as she advanced, holding the pack close to her chest. It was a risky plan at best, but it was all she had.
"Nothing," She moved to swing the back pack over her shoulder, but Anna lunged forward, taking the bait and pulling the bag from Clarke's feeble grip.
"She's been hoarding food!" Anna gasped as her hands thrust like claws into Clarke's meagre rations. Clarke had removed most of the things she had really hoarded, medicine and most of the food, stuffing it down in her socks, or bra or up her sleeves. All that was left in the pack was the things she wanted them to see.
"What?" June stood up and advanced toward the other girls, her great frame looming over the both of them.
"Hey now," Wells's voice cut in as he pushed to reach Clarke. "Let's not do anything irrational, I'm sure there's an explanation for all of this," Ever the Diplomat, Clarke thought wryly.
"And what are these?" Anna held out the berries in her palm before bringing them close to her face and sniffing them suspiciously. They would smell sweet and perfectly edible, Clarke knew, but she worried they might see through her charade none the less.
"Nothing, I mean, I was hungry. I knew there wouldn't be enough rabbit for all of us, so I just wanted to..." Clarke let her words trail off with a swallow.
"We share out rations, Clarke, remember?" Atom added his voice to the argument, his brows furrowing as he looked at her.
The Careers were stood around her, Wells had his hand on her shoulder, Anna had the pack dangling from her wrist, and the other's loomed.
"I say we just kill the bitch now!" Clarke's head snapped round at that, at the pure hatred in Anna's words.
"Not a chance, we need her," That voice came as a surprise too, as Russell rushed to her defence. "Are any of you doctors? Think we stand a chance if something turns out to be poisonous?"
"We're allies!" Wells cried out, his fingertips digging into Clarke painfully as he pulled her slightly behind him. "We need to be hunting the other tributes, not fighting amongst ourselves!" Clarke was beginning to believe her plan wasn't so good after all, Careers always ended up offing each other. It didn't normally happen so soon into the games, but it always did. Damn it! She cursed herself internally as she gnawed on her lip, this time with a genuine anxiety. Why didn't I see that this would happen? Her legs were screaming at her to run, adrenaline pumping through her veins with every heartbeat and her thoughts whirred in a panic.
"Her and her boyfriend are just gonna screw us over! Kill them!" Anna's voice rose to a screech and she dropped the bag to the ground with a thud, ripping a knife from her belt. Clarke's heart beat wildly in her chest and Wells stepped in front of her.
"Hey!" Atom pushed his district partner back with his hands firmly against her shoulders. "Wells is right, we need them as allies. And Clarke is a healer, the only one we've got. Do you think the Capitol is just going to rain fancy medical supplies down on us if we get hurt? Cause I don't!" He pushed her again, and the girl's face turned red.
"You want to save her because she's pretty is that it? Because you had a little flirt in training? She wants to kill you Atom; she wants to kill all of us!"
"And I'll want to kill you if you don't stop your screeching," Russell growled.
Clarke's breathing was as rapid as her heart rate, her mouth tasted of metal and her muscles tensed to run.
"We need to leave Wells," Her voice was a panicked rasp against his ear and she felt him nod ever so slightly.
"Now?" The word was no more than a whisper. Clarke wanted to vomit. There was no way they could beat them in a fight, but could they outrun them? They were both fast; she and Wells had used to run races as children, not tiring for a long time. But there were four of them. They'll catch us, a part of her screamed. You're wasting time, yelled another.
Before them, Russell pulled back a great fist and hit the District Four girl around the head so hard that she crumpled like a doll. Atom yanked his spear out in front of him in retaliation, and June rushed to her partner's side. Clarke glanced between the three angry faces, and the pale girl on the floor. Now was as good a time as any, while they're distracted. Before they turn on you.
"Yes, now," Clarke's hand found Wells's and tugged sharply and together, they turned and ran as grunts of pain and clashes of metal sounded behind them.
Clarke's feet hit the ground hard, over and over as she sprinted for the trees, away from the careers and the people who wanted her dead, away, away, away. Her lungs screamed for air and her muscles ached with the exertion but Wells's hand was still in hers, gripping tight and telling her to run, run, run.
"They're getting away!" Someone yelled, but it sounded soft compared to the wind rushing past Clarke's ear and the frightened thud of her heart.
"Don't look back," Wells panted, squeezing her hand and urging them forward into a faster sprint. Don't look back. The words rang in her head as she ran, and for once, she listened.
By the time they stopped running, they were both exhausted. It felt like they'd been going for hours, and Clarke's legs were too tired to run anymore. At one point they had given way from beneath her and she had tumbled down a slope into a ditch.
"Clarke!" Wells's cry had been hoarse with his lack of breath as he struggled to reach her and pull her to her feet. She didn't even answer, just pulled him along, running, running, ever running.
Now they were deep in the forest and it must have been well past noon. Clarke leant forward, resting her hands on her knees as she spat the taste of metal from her mouth and panted.
"Think this is far enough?" Wells rested one hand on her shoulder, the other brushing her hair behind her ear. It was a tender gesture, and one that almost reduced Clarke to tears. She caught his hand and held it between hers, placing her fingers in the gaps between his and straightening up to look him in the eyes. Eyes so dark she could see her reflection in them, her face was pale and haggard in their surface, so weak she couldn't stand it. She looked away.
"Just have to wait and find out," She hid her face in her free hand. "I'm so sorry, Wells. My plan...it was so stupid, I-"
"Hey," Wells's fingers prised her hand from her face so gently that a sob formed in Clarke's throat, and tears stung her eyes threatening to spill out. "We needed to get away from them, and we did," The boy took both of Clarke's hands in his own and squeezed as he smiled. But it was a sad smile, not happiness, but reassurance. It was a smile for Clarke, not for himself. She was grateful, but it only made the tears leak through her lashes, and run down her cheeks to know how much he did for her, the brave front he put up.
"I'm so frightened Wells," The admission could barely pass her lips, it could get her killed, if people thought she was weak, an easy target. But it was true, painfully so, and all Clarke wanted to do was break down.
"I know," He pulled her close to his chest, kissing the top of her matted, dirty hair. It had only been a few days since she'd washed it, but she had fallen over so many times that it was all one big horrible knot. It was the least of her worries. "Its okay, Clarke." Wells crooned, politely ignoring the tear stains she was leaving on his shirt. "I'm here for you; I'll always be here,"
Clarke let Wells take the first watch that night, he insisted and she was too exhausted to argue and curling up beside him had felt so nice, that she couldn't bring herself to refuse the chance. He had seemed regretful to wake her, for when he shook her shoulder lightly, his eyes were full of sadness and affection so deep it made her feel raw and exposed.
She could've kissed him then. But that would've been selfish. Because what she wanted wasn't the romantic, loving kiss she could tell he craved, she just wanted to feel something. Something that wasn't hurt or sadness. Instead, she had just smiled lightly at him, propping herself up to watch in the dark, whilst Wells leant against her shoulder to sleep.
She had been filled with terror all the hours between dark and dawn, waiting for a Career to jump out from behind a tree; for Russell with his fists as big as her head, or Anna with her cold eyes and boiling rage. But all she saw was another rabbit as it snuffled its way through the undergrowth. Clarke was sad to kill it, but it was meat that could keep them alive.
She roused Wells when dawn broke, with the smell of meat on the fire and a tired smile. She let the meat cook for a while, to be sure it was done all the way through, but her cooking was significantly better than Russell's attempts. She wondered what the Careers were doing, who was left. She hadn't heard a canon, but perhaps one of them was in the process of slowly dying. A girl can hope, she chuckled darkly. It wasn't the sort of thing seventeen year old girls should be laughing about, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The games had warped her sense of right and wrong, all that was left was fear and a stubborn determination to stay alive. The Careers were the biggest threat to her and Wells's safety; the sooner they were gone, the better.
As soon as they had eaten, they left. There was no end goal, nowhere to go, only away from the Careers. As they walked through the forest, Clarke took a moment to escape her horror, and enjoy the beauty of the forest; the vibrancy of the colours, the rich browns of the trees and the earth and the greens which made her feel so alive. Tiny flowers sprouted up at the bases of tree trunks and colourful birds flitted through the leafy canopy singing in chirps as they went. Clarke saw squirrels too, with their bushy tails quivering as they scurried across her path or up branches. She even saw a butterfly with wings that were as large as her hand and translucent, revealing the leaf it was sitting on through the thin membrane.
If she had to guess, she would've said the creature was nocturnal, and hadn't returned to its home despite the dawn, for it crawled across the leaf in a daze, its antennas moving lazily.
"Hey, Wells," Clarke smiled at the creature, fascinated by its unusual beauty, "Come look at this," Wells had been following behind her, as Clarke rushed ahead, worry forgotten, excited by the picturesque landscape that surrounded her, that she was dying to paint. She had heard his soft hums of agreement, or his light curses as he tripped on a branch, reminding her he was there, but her remark was greeted with nothing but a low groan.
"Wells?" Clarke straightened from her crouch and spun round, fear returning to her in a great swooping rush that threatened to knock her feet out from under her.
Wells stood a few metres from her, his eyes wide and shining, his dark skin turning pale. Clarke's eyes widened and her lips parted in a scream that she never meant to unleash as her gaze turned to his stomach, and the spear head that protruded from it.
"Clarke," Wells replied; the word spilling from his mouth in a terrible gurgle as he coughed dark blood past his lips. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. The name was drowned in her scream and the horrible pounding of her heart. It was the last word he ever spoke and Clarke's world came crashing down around her, falling like Wells's blood as it dripped onto the floor.