Chapter 9: 70th Annual Hunger Games
A very fine thread is all that connects Finnick to reality on the day the Hunger Games begins. His mind begs to slip away, to fade to black – it's the only way to cope.
He sips on caffeinated beverages and keeps himself busy tying intricate knots or making strategy lists with Elsie. He must keep himself grounded to reality. He must not break down. He promised Annie he'd be strong for both of them.
Even if Annie has convinced herself she'll die in the Arena, one reminder of Snow's snake eyes in his dreams was all Finnick needed for the perseverance to propel his tribute to victory. She's lost hope in herself, so he has to carry twice as much.
As soon as the tributes are released from their platforms and Claudius Templesmith announces that the Games have begun, bets can be placed and sponsors can come forward. The tributes are stationed in their Launch Rooms with their stylists and prep teams while the mentors – more than forty of them – gather on the first floor of the Training Center. The Recreational Room was specifically built for mentors to view the Games. There are gigantic television screens in all corners, with tables and chairs set up in the center of the room. Each table has a number, representing the district, and a phone for sponsors to call in and pledge money towards a certain tribute. The Capitol sends many of its Avox servants to the Training Center to ensure that the mentors are always supplied with food and beverages – almost to serve as a guilty reminder that their tributes are going without.
The room is familiar to Finnick, bringing him back to the 66th Hunger Games in which he mentored. It was awful then, watching the tributes he'd purposefully kept at a cool distance being thrown to the slaughter while he sat in a comfortable room being served cakes and tarts. This time, there's no way it will be anything less than excruciating.
On television, the tributes are rising in glass cylinders onto their platforms. Finnick spots Annie instantly, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Bile rises in his throat. If it was awful back then, it's going to be unbearable now. Watching her helplessly from behind a screen, knowing if he was there beside her, he could protect her. Save her.
All mentors take their seats, eyes fixed to the various screens around the room, praying that their tributes aren't the first to be killed. But there's always a Bloodbath. That's guaranteed. And all the sponsors in the world can't guarantee a survivor within the first few minutes. That's based on strength and speed alone.
Elsie grabs his hand as the clock counts down. She shuts her eyes as if in prayer.
Just like her, Finnick can't watch. But closing his eyes brings too many terrible images to mind – landmines exploding around Annie's platform. A spear through her body. Dagger in her heart. Throat slit. Eyes gauged. Neck broken. Skull cracked.
His eyes fly open as the 70th Annual Hunger Games begin.
Tributes are running to the Cornucopia. The shots switch so quickly that Finnick can't orient himself – which tributes are where? Who's running for what? And what is Annie doing?
He sees her only in flashes, arms pumping and eyes darting in all directions – but she's not the first to the Cornucopia. A tribute from District 5 finds a knife in the grass and hurls it straight into the back of another tribute who'd already reached the Cornucopia. Another two tributes fight over a large backpack of supplies, teeth bared, until a third thwacks one in the head with a stone and stomps on the other's lungs, taking the pack for himself.
The screen splits into six so that multiple close-up shots can be viewed at once. One is of Annie, who's picked up a pack along the way and has chosen to flee to the trees, about a hundred yards away, until the Bloodbath is over and she can rejoin the Careers. Finnick had instructed her to do so, knowing it was too risky for her to stick around while the massacre ensued, even if she had the Careers on her side.
But there's someone hot on her trail – someone who desires the pack. Finnick recognizes him as the male tribute from District 7. Though he has no weapons, he clearly thinks that his size and strength can overpower the delicate girl from District 4.
Finnick's afraid he might just be right.
His knuckles whiten as he grips Elsie's hand. She squeezes back, murmuring words to herself.
Annie looks behind her to see her pursuer only footsteps away. Finnick sees the blind terror written all over her face, and it's something he hopes he never has to see again.
He inhales sharply when the District 7 tribute lunges forward, tackling Annie to the ground. Annie thrashes, but she's just not a match for her predator. He climbs up her waist while she attempts to beat him back, but he's got her pinned. He wrestles to get the pack off her back, but isn't succeeding with Annie lashing out. Finally, he gives up. Having no weapons, he moves his hands to her neck, to strangle her.
"No," Finnick whispers, shutting his eyes. He can't watch. How can it be? Just hours ago he was sleeping soundly next to Annie, and now she's at the end of her life.
He should have told her he loved her. Just in case. But they'd promised each other that no goodbyes would be uttered – that way, she'd have to get out of the Arena.
"Finnick!" Elsie gasps, digging her nails into his forearm.
His eyes fly open at her excitement, instantly furious at the sight of Annie turning blue. But then he sees what Elsie sees: Mace is barrelling across the field toward Annie and the boy from District 7. And he has in his hands what appears to be a javelin.
Instead of launching it at the boy from District 7, Mace hoists the weapon over his shoulder as he sprints and then sends it crashing into the boy's skull. He's dead before he even hits the ground.
Mace drags the boy's body off of Annie, whose eyes are wide as saucers though her face is flooding with colour again. She's gasping to regain her breath after being choked, but Mace is pulling her to her feet, urging her up, up, up and to the woods. Annie takes his hand and stumbles at first, but then she's running, leaving the Bloodbath behind her. She steals one more glance at the boy from District 7. Then she's gone, and the screen flips to more exciting action at the Cornucopia.
Finnick isn't sure he'll ever be able to re-hinge his jaw or measure his relief in numbers or words, but he's sure of one thing: Mace took their discussion very seriously.
And now it's Finnick's turn to uphold his end of the bargain.
Finnick was almost glad when Radman fetched him that evening. Interactions with Capitol citizens are a good way to acquire sponsors for one's tributes – and he has a feeling that the intimacy of their interactions might open the wallets of his patrons.
Now, he lays on his back on sex-stained sheets as a woman with orange eyes cuddles up to him. She's younger than his usual clients and her immaturity shines through. Her giggle, a quiet but high-pitched shriek, appears to be her answer to everything. She'll be easy.
"Was that good?" Finnick asks her, tilting his head down to search her orange eyes.
She raises a sculpted eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. She giggles.
"Good," he says smugly. "I aim to please."
"More than please, I would say," she chuckles.
"More than please?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Well, then I'll have to charge extra."
He leaves her room as the sky lightens at dawn, stinking of charm and lust and greed, but with a sponsor pledge to show for it.
A yawn reaches his lips as he enters the Training Center, but he knows he won't have a chance to rest though his eyes water with weariness. He's craving to shower the girl with the orange eyes off his body, but decides to visit the Recreation Room first to check on the Games. The last time he'd left Annie, she and Mace were preparing their shelter for the night, dehydrated from the day's events and without a source of water.
He assumed he'd be alone in here, just him and a few Avoxes who were preparing for the day. At the breakfast station, he pours himself a large cup of coffee and takes a roll from the breadbasket, staring darkly at the screens above. Looks like the tributes are just waking up, too. He searches for Annie amongst the split screens.
"They're fine," says a voice approaching from behind. Startled, he whips around to see Johanna Mason, whom he knows to be a recent victor from District 7. "They haven't found the other Careers yet, but they're pretty hidden in the woods – no one would find them. They had a good sleep… comparatively speaking."
Without a reply, he raises a curious brow and chews carefully on a bite of bread.
Johanna shrugs. "That's what you're wondering, isn't it? I saw you leave a few hours ago – I figured you're just checking in."
He wonders how many people had 'seen him leave'. It's not a secret anymore, his prostitution. It shames and degrades him as a human, but it can't even be a secret. For the first time, he feels relief that his parents are dead – they'll never have to know who he's become.
He takes too long to respond, so Johanna continues, "Yeah, I've been up a while. Keeping an eye on my one surviving tribute, since your boy killed the other three minutes in."
Finnick remembers the boy from District 7 and how he tried to kill Annie. Mace's attack on him wasn't unwarranted.
He shrugs, unapologetic. "Trust me, Mace did him a favour."
Johanna folds her arms across her chest, her wide brown eyes probing. "How so?"
He eyes her warily, suspecting that she already knows. After all, apparently he has no secrets left at all.
"Would've killed him myself if he'd made it out of there," Finnick replies in a low voice, sipping on the mug of coffee.
If Johanna's surprised to hear this, she keeps it to herself. Instead, she bites her lip and nods, a faint hint of a smile gracing her features. "So, you get a sponsor overnight? Convinced someone that sweet Miss Annie might come out of there alive? I have to say, I've looked into Capitol betting pools, and the odds of her victory might shock you." With a smirk, she adds, "Then again, no one was betting on me, either."
Finnick remembers Johanna's victory from not so long ago. She's right: the odds weren't in her favour. She had all of the tributes – and the audience – believing that she was a weakling, famished and scared. Then when the pool of tributes was small enough, she showed them just how deceptive – and how brutal with an axe – she truly was.
Finnick senses that he's given away far too much by hardly saying anything at all. He stuffs the last bite of the roll in his mouth to keep himself from snapping at her.
"They killed half my family when I won – I'd caused a huge upset to Capitol gamblers – and the other half a few months later after I was sold to our Head Peacekeeper. I killed him before he could touch me."
She talks so openly about it that Finnick is unable to keep his eyes from widening. He scans the Recreation Room for cameras, microphones, or an Avox that might be lurking nearby. How can she speak so freely?
"I don't care if they hear," she tells him coolly. "Besides, it's not like this is news to you – everyone knows they've gone after you, too. That's the price of being dashing, I guess."
He'd heard from Mags that Johanna was snippy, but it's clear there's more fire in her than he'd anticipated.
"Best to let her go," she finishes. "All I'm saying is, if you let her go, you've won. It's the truth. When there's no one left you love, there's nothing they can do to you. Nothing they can hold against you. You're free."
Finnick lowers his sunken eyes. Though he can't prove her wrong, he can't afford these kinds of thoughts.
"And wouldn't that be lovely?" she asks him, her voice fainter now, like it's floating in the clouds. "To be free?"
On the third day, Finnick and Elsie (though mostly Finnick) have racked up enough support for their tributes to send in ointment for Mace's legs, eaten alive by mutt mosquitoes the night before. Elsie wanted to send in blankets, arguing that the sound of Annie's teeth chattering at night could give away their position. Finnick knows that the nights are especially frigid for Mace and Annie, who have only ever known the sun and heat of District 4 – but he remembers his promise to send sponsor gifts to Mace first and foremost. He has to hope that the gamemakers won't drive the temperature down to zero in the meantime.
If Mace was ever in fear of weakening, he need not. Annie is there to watch over him and keep him strong.
"He saved her ass – she owes him," Johanna remarks offhandedly one afternoon as she and Finnick stand together watching the screens.
But Finnick senses it's more than that. The mutt mosquitoes had exchanged Mace's blood for their own venom which lulled him into unconsciousness. It was a surprisingly humane way for him to go and the perfect opportunity for Annie to be rid of him – but instead she'd made a small incision in her forearm and, with her own blood, lured the mutts under a small tarp that she'd found in the pack. She'd stomped them to death, nursing Mace back to consciousness with fresh water from the stream and the last of their food supplies.
After their tributes join up with the rest of the Careers, Finnick and Elsie are able to secure them all canteens in which to hold water. When they hunt a tribute by tracking down a fire in the dark and the girl from District 1 is thrown into the flames before the tribute is killed, Annie is the only one who will spare the water in her canteen to soothe the girl's singed face.
When the Careers receive a platter of fresh food but the boy from District 2 is off hunting, Annie sneaks food from the platter and hides it in her pack to give to him later even though no one's sure he'll return at all and food is a scarce commodity.
Sometimes, Finnick approaches the screen with a knot in his brow, wondering what the hell she's thinking. What kind of strategy is this? There's no buddy system in the Arena. No need for reciprocity on the part of the other tributes.
"It's not a strategy at all," Elsie tells him. "It's who she is."
"It's every man for himself, alliance or not," Finnick argues in frustration. "Why is she helping them at her own expense?"
Elsie blinks. Gravely, she replies, "Because she's good. And kind."
He doesn't doubt it for a second. Annie's heart bleeds for the others, whose hearts only thirst for victory. Tributes are trained to cast morals and ethics aside when they enter the Arena. There's no room for goodness. They're instructed to let instinct take over. To hunt like animals. Kill like predators.
His Annie is so good and so kind. Those values are so deeply engrained in her that she can't be trained otherwise.
And that's why she'll die in there.
He tells Radman to book him more clients. He'll serve two at night and one during the day if he has to. He makes the deals with them even before they undress – if we do this, you'll support my tributes. You'll get one of them out of there.
(He omits to which tribute he's referring).
He allows himself only a few solitary minutes after every customer but before every shower where he hunches over and cradles his head in his hands, wondering what he's done and asking for forgiveness. Begging for mercy on his blighted and undeserving soul.
An Avox will enter to serve him coffee or make his bed while he basks in his own misery. They are the only ones with the privilege of seeing his shame. The strong, charming Finnick Odair curled up against the wall, whispering to himself as he fights back tears and rocks back and forth.
They see what a beast he is. They, too, are burdened with his suffering, his secrets, his monstrosities – they have no one to tell and no means with which to tell it. The Capitol exacts its revenge on them with such articulation, it's almost poetic.
And if the Capitol demands revenge, revenge it will get. It's not getting even – it's asserting total dominance over those who acted against it. Ensuring that they know there's no fighting back. There's no escape from its clutches. No hope.
Finnick realizes this on the day his mother appears in his private quarters to serve him tea and rolls and tidy up his suite. He reeks of others' sweat and perfume and his eyes are sunken and dark as he stares at the vast loneliness of the Capitol out the window. He doesn't turn when he hears the Avox entering, knowing he's doing them both a favour.
A hand on his shoulder causes him to flinch. He whips around on the defensive, prepared to snap. Then he sees the muted grey of her eyes and their deep-set concern.
"Mom?" he croaks, certain he's hallucinating.
The woman nods, handing him a mug of tea.
He ignores it, reaching out to touch her. She turns her cheek toward his hand, a tear trickling from the corner of her eye.
"You were dead," he whispers. "Fletcher told me you were dead."
She shakes her head, eyes sparkling with tears.
"What did they do to you?" he asks, holding her head in his hands.
With a whimper, she covers her lips with her fingers. She can't speak. He knows they've cut out her tongue.
Finnick grits his teeth, moving his hands on her shoulders more to steady himself than anything else. Biting his lower lip, he averts his eyes and cries out.
"They did this to you – why? To punish me?"
She nods.
"My God," he breathes, choking on his own words. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I…"
He can't finish. While he gasps and splutters, his mind spiralling out of control, Dixie pulls him close and hugs him like a mother should, abandoning the mug of tea. She used to whisper in his ear. He waits for the words: "My boy… my sweet boy." But the words do not come.
As he sobs against her shoulder, he sputters, "I didn't know. I didn't think… I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. You don't deserve this. None of it would have happened if… I should have died in there. I should have died. I'm so sorry."
His mother must know who he is, the notorious Finnick Odair. She must know what he does to appease the Capitol. The girls. His political support of the Games. Even after they tortured her, he stills remains loyal to his president. How could he abandon her so? What must she think of him?
He's not worthy of her. Not worthy to be her son.
Dixie wets a warm cloth and washes away his tears. She sits him down and places the cloth on the back of his neck to calm him down, like she did when he was a child. She puts an arm around his shoulder and rubs it in comfort while he mutters that he hates himself. Rather than be comforted, he can only feel a hatred growing in his chest. It burns like it's on fire. And in that fire sits the president to whom he has pledged his loyalty. The president who ripped his life to shreds like a hungry wolf to its defenceless prey.
She spends longer with him than she should. When her care and devotion have calmed him down ever so slightly, he rationalizes with clenched teeth that she was sent here on purpose. She's meant to unhinge him; to distract him from the goal of getting Annie out of the Arena.
What's done is done. Dixie will never speak again. Never come home again. He can't change that.
But he can change the outcome of the Games. He can bring Annie home.
Dixie kisses his temple and brushes haggard strands of bronze hair from his forehead. She gently guides him to the bathroom, where she has towels set out for him to shower along with a fresh set of clothing.
She's right. He feels like giving up – the urge to jump from the top of the Training Center has never been stronger, but he will not abandon the one who has not yet been stolen from him. He must go on.
After he cleans himself up, he emerges from the bathroom expecting to find her waiting for him.
But she's gone.
Next to the tray of fruits and bread she's left for him, there's a note scribbled on a scrap piece of parchment. The three words it contains give him the strength and resolve to soldier on.
I Love You.
That same day, Annie and her group of Careers are hunted down by the fearless female from District 7. Like the Capitol itself, she believes strongly in revenge. She waits until Mace pulls up the rear of the pack as they travel. Then she makes her move, wielding a sharp axe. He barely has time to turn around before she's lobbed off his head.
It's a clean cut. It flies from his body into the startled pack of tributes ahead, rolling across the ground until it comes to a stop, its lifeless eyes aimed at the sky.
Finnick watches as Annie's eyes widen. He sees her shrink back in fear, staggering in disbelief. He notes the horror in her expression, eyes etched with pain and loss and regret. He so clearly reads her thoughts because he's been plagued with the same: if Mace had never saved her at the Bloodbath, he wouldn't have been hunted by District 7's partner. If it weren't for Annie, he might still be alive.
She'll never let go of that, no matter what. It will haunt her as long as she lives.
And he knows, without a doubt, that the Capitol has taken a piece of her that he will never get back.
Though it's unbalanced his girl in the Arena, Finnick is relieved for Mace's death. Now he works even harder for sponsors, and every penny goes toward Annie. Sponsors are less eager to donate to the fragile, shaky girl who's too good to harm a fly, so he must submit himself to evermore degrading deeds.
On his way out of a patron's suite, gritty and run-down, he encounters a balding man with grey hairs interspersed amongst dark chestnut. He wears professional but fairly unsurprising clothing – Finnick suspects he's not a Capitol man.
"Mr. Odair? Is that you?" he asks, pushing himself from the wall with his foot.
There's something about the man that's familiar to Finnick, though he can't quite place it. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs heavily, hating to be disturbed during his most reprehensible moments.
"What now?" he asks in annoyance, brushing past the man and heading for the elevator.
"I'm sorry to bother you," says the nervous man, following Finnick down the hallway. "But I-I had to find you. Speak with you."
"About what?" Finnick looks over his shoulder with a distrustful frown.
"About Annie."
The mention of her name sends Finnick rigid, frozen to his spot. "You want to sponsor her?" he asks, raising a curious eyebrow. If she were a stronger tribute, then maybe he'd believe the suspicious man.
"No, no," the man dismisses him. When he realizes Finnick's disappointment, he adds, "I'm not in a position to do so. What I came to ask – now, I don't know the Games as well as you do – but it seems to me that the girl is weak—"
"She's not weak," Finnick snaps. The man follows him into the elevator.
"Well," he says in a timid voice, "let's agree that she's not strong. The boy's decapitation traumatized her. She won't kill, not even in an act of revenge."
Though he can't argue, Finnick gives the man a menacing glare. Who does he think he is, making judgments on Finnick's tribute? He doesn't know Annie's capabilities. He doesn't know what she'll do when faced with death.
"So it seems to me she'll have to win by other means," the man continues as the elevator begins to move. He holds his hat in his hands, crunching the rim. "She has no offence and without the boy to watch over her, she has no defence, either. Her only hope to be the last one standing is to withstand the elements of the Games while others are drawn into battle and perish."
Finnick lets the man's words echo in the elevator before he demands, "What do you care?"
The man gulps, staring down at the felt of his hat. "Oh, I care a great deal," he says quietly. "The girl – she's mine."
Confused and defensive, Finnick snarls, "What?"
"Annie Cresta," the man declares, raising his eyes to meet Finnick's, "is my daughter. And it's on account of me that she's in the Arena. You have to understand – I must get her out of there."
It's with his simple declaration that Finnick sees Annie in the man. They have the same roan-coloured hair; the same crinkles in the corners of their eyes. This man is Wren Cresta.
Finnick holds onto the bar in the elevator to support himself. "What do you mean?" he asks, struggling to keep his voice even.
Wren sighs. "Bit of a run-in with my team. A disagreement, really. And this is the price I pay."
Suddenly, Finnick realizes that Annie was doomed from the start. Between himself and Wren, the two men who loved her dearly, one of them was destined to make a wrong move that would put her life in danger.
He doesn't feel relief knowing it wasn't his mistake that placed her in the Arena. He only feels anger.
"How could you?" Finnick asks, rage bubbling in his throat. "How could you, when you know what they can do?"
"Shh," the man hisses, begging Finnick to keep his voice down. "You don't know what's bugged here."
A reminder that Annie's father is a Capitol spy does nothing to calm Finnick. Instead, he bursts from the elevator and strides across the lobby, snapping, "I don't give a damn about that! Do you know how hard I've worked to keep her alive until this point? Do you know what I've had to do? And it's your fault! You're the one who should die, not her!"
Wren jogs to catch up to him, grabbing a hold of his shoulder. Finnick spins around, nostrils flaring.
"I know," Wren whispers, eyes darting across the lobby. "I know, son. I owe you everything for what you've done so far. But still, I must ask you to do more."
Finnick raises his arms and then lets them flop helplessly to his sides. "What more can I do?"
Wren leads Finnick outside, his shifting eyes causing Finnick to be wary of everyone around him. So as not to arouse suspicion should anyone be listening, Wren remarks offhandedly, "When she was just a little thing – couldn't have been more than four or five – I taught her to swim. She'd kick and paddle for hours. Fearless, that one – her favourite game was jumping into the waves."
Finnick frowns.
"The geography of Panem is quite interesting," Wren continues, and Finnick can't help but feel as though his time is being wasted. Precious time needed to save Annie. "Our country is vast, surrounded by ocean – but District 4 is the only district not landlocked. Most other districts haven't even seen the bright blue ocean."
Wren pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket and removes the pen resting behind his ear. As he scribbles, he rambles, "A pity, isn't it? To never see the ocean? To never watch the waves roll in?"
He crumples up the note and shakes the hand of a bewildered Finnick.
"I think of it every day," he finishes in a weak voice. "It's all I have to hold onto."
Then he climbs into a vehicle waiting for him on the curb. He gives the driver directions and they speed down the road. Wren never looks back.
Running a hand through his hair, Finnick does the same, directing his driver to the Training Center. He waits until he's in the shelter of his own room before he smoothes out the scrap of paper balled in his fist.
Burn after reading, it says. And then below, three more words that confuse him further:
Find Seneca Crane.
Finnick watches with despair as Annie separates herself from the Career pack and goes into hiding. While it seems to the rest of Panem that Annie is developing a strategy, Finnick knows the truth: she's not hiding from death. She's hiding to be alone. To spare the others from witnessing the sanity slowly drain from her eyes until there's nothing there at all.
He and Elsie send her little meals to keep her alive while she camouflages herself in a bush near a stream. They're lucky that more high-profile tributes are still alive and battling to the death – Annie is mostly left alone by the gamemakers and allotted very little screen time.
She's discovered after only a few days by a female tribute, who scares her out of the bushes and lurches after her into a beautiful meadow.
The meadow is alive with explosives.
Neither of the tributes are aware of it, but they quickly find out as Annie's pursuer triggers a mine with her heavy footsteps. Annie is thrown forward in the explosion, covering her ears from the sound. Bits of the girl's remains are scattered throughout the field as the cannon booms. As Annie tiptoes out as fast as she can, muttering frantically to herself, she runs into an arm. Then a foot.
Mortified, she climbs. The ground isn't safe anymore. When the cannons sound, she covers her ears and shuts her eyes tightly, imagining it's another landmine. She eats the tree's leaves for sustenance, though her face is ashen and gaunt. Finnick and Elsie switch from sending meals to sending water until sponsor gifts are cut off by the gamemakers, who now intend to draw the remaining tributes in to fight eye-to-eye.
Annie ignores the gamemakers' invitation to the Cornucopia. She remains high in the trees despite her dehydration.
When there are only four tributes left, Finnick learns that Poppy Cresta is dead. She weighted herself down and waded into the sea.
Annie will die due to lack of water while her mother has died from an excess.
News of Poppy's death breaks the last bond of rationality in Finnick's brain. The trigger sends him ballistic. And suddenly, in a moment of clarity, he knows what Wren intended him to do.
Water. It's all about water.
The gamemakers' compound is heavily guarded. He waits until Seneca Crane, the newest appointed Head Gamemaker, gives an interview with Caesar Flickerman on the final few days of the Games.
"Let's just say that Panem won't have to wait much longer for their victor," he finishes mysteriously.
Finnick corners him after the interview, seething. He grabs Seneca's collar and shoves the startled man into a wall.
Breathing down his neck, Finnick hisses, "Flood it."
"Mr. Odair, I—"
"Flood it."
His eyes are wild; his breathing erratic. Water. It's the only way.
"You must understand," stammers Crane, "the plans for the Games have already been set. They can't be changed on a whim."
"You're Head Gamemaker," Finnick tells him, gripping his collar so tightly it nearly chokes the man. "You flood the Arena."
"Mr. Odair, I'm sorry," Crane chokes, "but if I let mentors threaten me—"
"I'm not threatening you," Finnick interrupts. "I'm ordering you."
Rouge peppers Crane's cheeks from lack of oxygen. "On what grounds?"
Finnick steps closer so that their noses almost touch. "If she dies, I die."
Seneca manages a nervous chuckle. "Sounds like a threat to me."
"You can spin my death any way you want," Finnick continues, "but ultimately, the Games will take a hit without me to charm the crowds. Have fun explaining it to Snow."
Crane places one palm flat on the wall behind him, using the other hand to claw at his throat. Finnick loosens his grip but continues to bore his eyes into the gamemaker's.
"You're hardly in a position to bargain," Crane remarks, though he's shaken from his near-strangulation.
Finnick recalls Crane's wariness two years ago when he asked about the mutt spiders. The way he'd scanned the room for dangerous ears before speaking honestly with Finnick.
"You have a heart," he says, backing away from Crane. "You know what they've done to me. Don't let them take her away, too."
Crane straightens his collar and smoothes a hand over his hair, sticking his nose in the air in defiance. Still, his eyes soften at the boy's words.
"Bring her home," Finnick pleads, his voice nothing but a strangled whisper. This is his last hope. "Please."
In the middle of the night, water begins to trickle into the Arena. It's so quiet that it's scarcely heard, even by the tributes who sleep on the ground.
By morning, the trickle turns into a steady stream. The two tributes on the ground plod around with water up to their ankles.
At noon, they're forced to climb. Up, up, and away from the gushes of water that roll in. It flows into the Arena at an increasing rate, suspending all wars between tributes as each one tries to stay above the waves.
And there are waves. This is the Hunger Games, after all. The first tribute succumbs to the water when he's sucked into a whirlpool.
The tributes can't stay perched on their lofts much longer. The water rises by the second now, until all that's left of the Arena is the tips of the trees. They shed their backpacks and supplies, knowing weapons will only drag them under the currents.
And then there's only water and three tributes lost in it. One goes under almost instantly. Only two minutes later, a cannon booms.
Another tribute floats on a piece of debris, conserving her energy.
Annie just swims. She treads water when she can and chokes when waves crash over her, but she stays afloat, her head always bobbing above the water level. It's not about fighting to stay alive; it's about instinct. Swimming is as natural as breathing.
The tributes float and kick and paddle for the better part of an hour when the gamemakers grow bored. All of a sudden, the waves grow larger. Deadlier. They rise and cast enormous shadows over the tributes before they crash down with a vengeance. They grow larger and larger until one massive wave emerges to create a ripple throughout the entire Arena. Both tributes stare at it with wide, terrified eyes as it freezes above the water level, poised to crash down on them.
And crash it does. A bird's eye view of the Arena shows that it's been rocked. Both tributes are pulled under, way under. Finnick grips the edge of his seat, knowing it's the end. That was the final push to end the Games.
A cannon booms, though it's unknown which tribute has drowned. No one emerges from below.
A piece of debris, which used to hold a tribute, floats to the surface.
Then there is nothing. Panem waits with bated breath. How could one survive the deadly waves?
A head pops up from the depths. The tribute sputters and coughs up water, pushing her tangled hair from her face. She begins to sink again, having no strength left.
Annie is pulled from the Arena, shivering, unconscious and emaciated.
But she's alive.
I don't really know what kind of comments to expect for this chapter, so I guess I'll wait and see. A ton happened, and despite losing hope for a while there with all the Capitol did to unhinge him, he pushed himself to the limit to get Annie out of there.
Hope you guys have a GREAT week and I'll see you next Sunday!