Sparrow and Laurie hug one another and start talking, but I can't focus on their words after what's just transpired. That was close, so close, too close. And if Sparrow and Laurie have some sort of deal, why was Sparrow encouraging me to attack Laurie?
I'm so worn out I lean my head back against some bamboo and try to calm my breathing. I stare up and notice a breeze ruffling the leaves. Papa. Papa, I'm alive.
"Mags? Are you coherent yet?" Sparrow kneels down beside me.
"Hi Mags," Laurie offers in a tiny, polite tone.
"Y-yeah," I grumble, partially over the various aches and pains that I'm beginning to notice as the adrenaline drains out of me and partially from the annoyance of Sparrow acting so friendly but keeping such an important thing as an alliance with another player in the Games secret from me. I thought we were better friends than that. We spent so much time together back at the Training Center. …The other day I saved her life.
"Let's go back to one of those ponds and you can wash off those cuts and scratches," Sparrow suggests. I look at Korona's blood on my knife and feel slightly sickened, although my stomach is pretty empty and aside from this disgust I could probably use something to eat. I wipe the blood off on my jacket sleeve then roll it up over my elbow to hide the stain beneath the fabric.
"I'll get my stuff," Laurie scrambles back up into the tree. She's not a particularly graceful climber, but she gets the job done. It occurs to me that ease of climbing is probably the reason for her bare feet.
Sparrow offers me a hand and helps me to my feet. If feel shaky, more from nerves than anything else. I haven't sustained any major injuries. I don't let go of Sparrow's hand until Laurie is down on the ground and she's got her socks and boots back on. The hovercraft drops down behind us to take care of Heath and Korona's arrow-studded bodies once it's clear we're leaving.
A camera crew might be interrupting my father's day of nervous watching right now to ask him questions about me. They're not family, but Faline and her relatives might be spoken to as well in regard to me in light of the circumstances. Of course, the loose ties between us will probably be a let down for the Capitol audience. Jack Umber will probably try to set aside the loss of his second (and quite formidable) tribute by making fun of me. And Mrs. Mirande and her sister will end up on camera too. Beanpole is still alive. Whatever strategy he's adopted, it's serving him well enough. …I think this may be the first year both of 4's tributes have cracked the top eight. Only two districts have their pair yet unbroken: 4 and 7.
Girls took out Heath for him, so I hope Jem will dispatch Haakon for us.
My jacket is gross and dirty, so I try to wash it out in the water of the pool Sparrow chooses. She readjusts the side of my hair that was pulled loose and tries to help dab at the scratches on my cheek. Laurie collects more of the weird nuts that she was eating before and offers them to us. I don't know exactly what they are, but Laurie's not dead or incapacitated by stomach pains or diarrhea, so I don't worry about names. They're some sort of tropical nut I've never encountered before. I chew slowly, thinking over the flavor. I bet they would taste better roasted.
"Sorry about our fishing trip," I bait my metaphorical hook as I search for information.
"It's okay, don't worry about it," Sparrow answers, "We've got to take these things as they come." I nod, but am not sure how to interpret this all the way through. Does my alliance with her trump her alliance with Laurie? Balancing layers of social interaction would make for a very complex Games strategy, but there are no rules about what you can or can't do in the arena. You don't run until the initial sixty seconds are up (you'd get blown up); you survive. What kind of things happened to Sparrow here before she met up with me?
"I don't want to go looking for any more trouble today," I decide. "If it comes to us, I'll deal with it, but I'm already worn out. I think I'd like to enjoy making it to the final eight for at least a few hours and let others do the same."
"I'm running out of arrows," Laurie says, which, in this case, is her sort of agreement with my stance.
I pick at my gradually drying jacket and think that the weight and durability of our clothing was probably specifically selected to not only be right for the weather conditions facing us, but to rip and fray dramatically just a bit without completely coming apart. …Anything for TV, right?
Speaking of which, I imagine the steady rate of deaths has been going over well with our Capitol audience- never too many at once to follow the action (I know that it's easier when you're watching than in the thick of it), never too long without anything happening. I wonder what kinds of stories they're putting us into. How the roles we set out to play (or characteristics we intended to display, at least) are matching up with what's actually happened out in the arena. I haven't ended up very funny, for one thing. …But somewhere out there, Jeff Zimmer is chattering on about these Games and I'm the only tribute here who is his "friend."
The afternoon moves along quietly. Sparrow spends some time getting reacquainted with the bow, shooting one arrow out into the brush over and over. It's just for now though, to practice. Sparrow suggests we swap some of our weapons around, but Laurie doesn't want to part with it.
While Sparrow chases her single arrow back and forth, I chat a bit with Laurie, getting a better feel for her character. She thought I couldn't make her laugh back when we were in the Training Center.
"Who will they interview about you?"
"I've got a mother, two brothers, and two aunts. They'll probably just rope together the whole bunch. …And you?"
"Just a dad."
"They'll go for the girl too, of course," Laurie imagines. I thought the same. I agree.
"Is it just me," she shifts the subject, "Or is the arena shrinking?"
"It's definitely shrinking."
"They're bringing us back in closer like that… It's kind of subtle."
I might as well ask what I really want to know about. "I was wondering…How'd you learn to shoot a bow like that? You're so good."
"Back home, I don't have a real bow, but, for years my brothers and I have played this stupid game where we make big slingshots out of metal hangers and oversized rubber bands and sling nuts and stuff at each other. See?" Laurie reveals a scar on the back of her left arm, "Sometimes someone would actually get kind of hurt. My mom was always screaming at us to cut it out. …And, yeah, it was a dumb game and we were being reckless, but look at that, Mom, I'm in the final eight because I told Ms. Shy about it and she told me to pick up a bow and get to work."
"Your brothers must think that's crazy."
"They probably do."
When Sparrow's worn herself out as far as she considers prudent, she comes and lays down beside us on the grass for a while before breaking out the last of the Crispco crackers to divide between us. We try to fill our disgruntled stomachs by drinking extra water. Sparrow is as reluctant as I am to eat our few bananas yet. Eight is still enough tributes to last a long time, depending on the circumstances.
We finally get up to move to a slightly more hidden campsite for the night. These pools of water are a bit too exposed. The anthem plays as we're settling in. Korona, Bailey, Heath, and Mercy all regard us from the screen in the sky. I think of Pal Fields hugging Heath Holystone on the District 8 stage and I get this lump in my throat. What's love, but something that can make this cruel, grim world even more unbearable?
For the second time in the arena I indulge in the luxury of feeling horribly sad. Juna died before I made it back to her. Somewhere in the Capitol, Pal, who lost both of his tributes in one day, is probably crying over Heath. …And are the other victors sad too? Is Jack Umber mourning Korona and Clark, or is he only disappointed? If what Sparrow told me before is true, I don't have to worry much for the feelings of Bailey's mentor at least. Teejay has his drugs to cushion the loss.
"Mags?" Sparrow asks, and both girls turn to me, "Are you crying?"
"Uh," I touch the smudge of water puddled on my left cheek, "I guess so. …A little bit." Oh, look. I'm so visibly weak. I wipe the tears away. I decide not to compound my weakness by being the one to change the subject. I wait in silence, commanding my mind to steer clear of Papa back home somewhere and other sensitive topics that might motivate me back to tears.
"Who will take the first watch?" It's Laurie who eventually brings it up. However, even after an uneventful afternoon together, Laurie and I are still wary of one another (she tried to shoot me before Sparrow convinced her to go after Korona- I know it) and Sparrow become the majority vote choice for first watch. The second watch, I imagine, Laurie and I will take stubbornly and carefully together.
I stir a little in the night at some movement around me. Sparrow will shake me awake when she wants me, right? …Unless, of course, she's fallen asleep. Maybe Laurie is just getting up too…
The snap of a taut string. A bowstring. …Is Sparrow playing around again the middle of the night? Or…an attack?!
I scramble to my feet, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Another twang. "Sparrow," I hiss out a whisper.
I see her now, standing tall on the rock she had been sitting on to keep watch when I went to sleep. She's a dark silhouette against a dark sky. She's not carrying any arrows, but Laurie's bow hangs loosely in one hand. She tosses it aside, onto the ground. The way she seemed thrilled to use it, I know she wouldn't just throw it away with no reason. "Out of arrows," she explains, acknowledging me. It would be too difficult to construct even poor substitutes.
And if she's out of arrows, then-
The cannon fire shakes me down to my bones. I follow Sparrow's line of sight right to Laurie, lying face down several yards away. There are two arrows in her back, close together like they're grouped within a bulls-eye.
"I thought you had an alliance," I squeak out pitifully, "I thought you were friends."
"We did have an alliance- but it was always intended to be secondary to the pact I made with you." Sparrow sits down on the rock, bringing her shoulder about even with the top of my head. "You had a good idea, making friendship a part of your gameplay. I thought I could do the same thing to some degree. …If only it weren't so hard to convince people to ally with you even temporarily in this situation, I would've tried to stack up more layers of allegiances."
What's she's saying is eerily close to what I mused about earlier. It's one thing to think about it. It's another thing entirely to play your Games like that. "…But you picked me over all of them." I lean, tired, against the rock. Do I still believe that?
"Well, I actually like you." Sparrow pulls her legs up to her chest and leans her head against her knees.
"You're really smart." I'm lucky that she chose me. If she'd wanted to kill me, well, I've been vulnerable in the night plenty of times since we met back up and she never did me in.
"Thanks."
"You want me to take my watch now?" The world is upside down. What else can I do but try my best to walk on the ceiling with it?
"Nah, I'm too worked up to sleep anyway."
"Let's sit together then."
Sparrow comes down from the rock and we sit side by side against it. If she didn't rust me, she wouldn't be leaning her head on my shoulder now. She wouldn't be dozing off little by little despite her previous assertion of wakefulness. I like to think we really are friends. But in the arena, what makes true friends?
The hovercraft descends to claim Laurie's body. It's white and silver and lifts Laurie from the ground without a single human having to come out and do any work. Kind of mysterious.
I dream about the moon drifting down to earth, but it's not some violent sort of meteor collision. It's a vague and wispy. Gentle. Sparrow's sleeping breath moves in and out along my neck.
In the morning we wander around until we return to the area where we met up with Laurie and then search out the tree her nuts were growing on. "You're sure these are the exact same nuts?" Sparrow is cautious.
"Sure," I say. I'd saved one last nut in my pocket for comparison and it looks just like these ones. …Not that I would put such a trick past the Gamemakers- deadly nuts that looked just like edible ones, but side by side? And these are nuts, not berries. There are a lot more poisonous berries than nuts.
I pick one off, bite it in half, grinning as soon as I swallow, letting Sparrow watch to see that I'm all right. The nut tastes right.
There's no trouble. I've recognized the nuts properly. I still think they would taste better roasted… And then would I put something on them? Honey or sugar or salt?
"Seven of us left," Sparrow notes as we walk down the gently sloping terrain until we reach the waterline. Any hint of a standard sort of beach is long gone. The water laps steadily around the bamboo. It's like the waterlogged swamps of the eastern part of District 4. Sort of.
We walk along the sloshing edge of the water and I pick at my nails until I realize I still have about half the polish on them I entered the arena with. It's lasted me this far. I'm not inclined to lose it all now. For the tiniest moment, I do think about winning. I think about going back to Apple and Aulie and showing them the traces of nail polish I'll have left and the two of them laughing and putting their arms around me. …But that's no good. I shake away the thought and kick at a stick floating in the surf.
If Jem or Beanpole or I win, that will be the first for our district. If Haakon or Meridew or Cadelle wins, that will make two victors for their district, and in Cadelle's case, two victors in one family. I think that means that, out of the seven of us, the Gamemakers would probably least like him to emerge victorious. It would set a bad precedent. It would make Luna Vetiver cocky.
And there's Sparrow. If Sparrow wins, 6 will jump out of its tie with 2 to become the "winningest" of the twelve districts thus far. …What is it about 6? Nothing Sparrow has told me about it makes it sound like living there is the best preparation for the Games.
It seems like we've gone a long time without saying anything. I don't know why it bothers me. "What would you want to do first once you got out of here?" I ask.
"Wash my hair." She doesn't even have a moment's hesitation over it.
I laugh. "I was going to say 'take a bath.'"
Further along, there are some scraps of torn cloth swaying back and forth in the water. The bodies may be removed, but not everything is cleaned up in the wake of the Games' fighting and killing. …Not until the entire Games are over, I suppose. I heard once that people from the Capitol visit the old arenas sometimes, but I don't know if it's true.
Suddenly a loud sigh escapes Sparrow's lips. "I'm so tired," she tells me. She's fallen behind me accordingly.
"Do you feel alright?" Maybe she's coming down with something. Even if it isn't serious enough to endanger her standing in the Games, what a terrible place to have to feel sick?
"Just so tired," she shakes her head, "Maybe I'm heartsick. If I could cry like you and let it out, maybe things would be easier."
"Honestly, I still feel pretty terrible," I admit.
We trudge along for a while longer. Each time I look back over my shoulder, I see that Sparrow has fallen further behind me. Maybe she is sick. Maybe she got bitten by some kind of poisonous insect and didn't realize it? I stop walking and turn around to face her. "Would you like to sit down for a while? We could eat the last bananas, unless you think eating would make you feel worse."
"Y-yeah, I'd like to eat," Sparrow assents.
We back up away from the water a bit and she gets out the bananas. "Are you still carrying the empty Crispco tin? Maybe you should dump the extra weight. …Or I could carry your backpack for a while."
"I didn't want to leave it. I don't know. I thought that maybe if I swung my backpack at someone with the tin still in it, I could do a little damage. Stun somebody at least."
"You're always thinking," I chuckle. I figure I should try an easy-going approach to things to keep from stressing her out unnecessarily. Maybe she's just been thinking about the whole thing out too hard. …Maybe she's been thinking too much about the way things are going to have to end. That would make me a kind of sick too. It's like what I thought about Ada. It was probably the same reason that the Games were getting so strongly to Beanpole beforehand too. If you're dumb like me, it's easier to miss or ignore the truth.
Sparrow sets the empty peel down on the sand beside her. "It was a good banana."
"Yeah. Just about the perfect ripeness."
"I guess we'll have to keep our eyes open for something else to eat later."
"I'm sure it's just false bravado now that I've got something in my stomach, but if we take it easy, think I can go a while on just this. I mean, we haven't had to worry about water for a while."
Sparrow just smiles. She still looks tired, but eating might have helped.
"…Unless you have another edible surprise hidden in your backpack?" I suggest.
"Ha ha, yeah, you wish," she gives me a little push with her the side of her arm, "I just wanted to look well-equipped so I propped it up with a couple of sticks."
Mystery solved? "Geez, what are you getting worried about then? You're tricky enough to think up that and you're fretting now over nothing in particular? I think you're just psyching yourself out."
The water glides upward towards the toes of our boots.
"You want to just take it easy today? Not look for trouble?"
"I get kind of nervous when I'm not looking for trouble," Sparrow admits, "It's hard for me to relax. I suppose I do over-think things. I keep trying to guess what everyone else is doing. I think a lot about people's motives."
"Oh," some bits of grass floating in the water remind me, "What happened to the net we made?"
"The net- that's right." Sparrow looks a little sheepish, "I accidentally stepped on one of the ends and tore it when you were fighting with Korona. I was going to try and use it to hold the two of you still."
"That's okay. It wasn't really much of a fighting net anyway. It's good that it at least almost saw some action."
Sparrow opens the smaller front pocket of the backpack, "I hung onto a part of it," she shows me.
"It's nice to see that it didn't completely come apart."
She tucks the net fragment away and zips the pocket back up. "You know how to make a good net in Four, what can I say?"
We set off again, to nowhere in particular, I assume, because Sparrow is antsy just sitting there, but she's letting me lead the way. "I don't know where I'm going," I laugh, feeling kind of funny about telling her so, but wanting to make sure that Sparrow's aware of this. "Don't get the idea that because I keep walking I know what I'm doing!"
"Are you asking me to tell you where to go?"
"Tell me where to go," I request.
"Back into the trees, maybe?" She doesn't sound quite so sure about it.
"Right away, captain," I give her a little sailor's salute.
We zigzag off into the trees, because I don't know where I'm going and can't settle on any particular direction. Straight to the Cornucopia? And then what? I don't want to wander into what Haakon and Meridew might be considering their territory- I'm too much of a coward for that (even aside from the fact that it would be bad to get into a two-on-two fight with Sparrow not feeling at her best).
I try to keep to an even pace, so as not to overly tax either of us. Best to save our strength in case we need to fight or flee.
It sounds like Sparrow's rustling around in her backpack, or she's gotten it caught on something. "Am I losing you?" I ask.
"I changed my mind about the Crispco tin," she says. There's probably another yard and a half of distance between us from when we started.
"We can take another break if you want…"
"No, I'll be fine after I dump this." Sparrow holds up the tin and doesn't just set it down, but shows some of her almost comical frustration with the item in question by throwing it aside into the bushes, where it hits the ground with a dull ringing sound. "And there we go!" she swipes her palms against one another like she's wiping off dust.
About twenty minutes later, something tiny whirs by my head. A missile? Some kind of extra vicious mosquito?
"Mags!" Sparrow yells.
I stop dead in my tracks. Wait. It came from behind me. That means Sparrow is in just as much, if not more, danger than me. A second thing shoots through the air and this one connects with its target, slamming into my shoulder. "Aah!" I gasp, but it's not enough to deter me from turning back. "Sparrow?!"
In her hands are a sort of tube and a small box. Sparrow's not under attack- she's the attacker. "It's not your fault, Mags," I think she says as she sticks another of the slim missiles down the tube, "We can't both win."
And when I think of what to do now, I can't think of anything to do but to run.
Another needle-like item catches up with me before I really start to move, jolting me forward so that I almost trip. What did she stick into me? Why would she expect to fell me with such a tiny weapon? If I keep on running and it's poison, I'm only going to spread it faster through my system, but I hardly imagine the Gamemakers would give out poison to be used with an antidote present in the arena- not an obvious one at least.
There is a sickening sweet smell rising from my back along with the familiar scent of my blood. I can feel the tips of the thick needles piercing the back of my shoulder. They don't hurt that much, really- not as much as I think they should, even if they are small (but what does size mean when it comes to pain, to poison? The sting of a jellyfish is unpleasant enough and it comes from a creature that looks like little more than translucent mush). It's probably the adrenaline. Back home it would hurt me to prick my finger on a fishing hook. Here in the arena, if the blow's not significant I barely feel it- all the scratches from running through bushes and climbing (badly) up trees I've been able to brush off without trouble.
I keep running. I am light, and nimble enough to keep my feet beneath me as I dash across a thick pole of green bamboo that has fallen (or more likely been purposely cut down and laid) across some section of the stream.
It is easy to keep running. Deciding when to stop is the hard part. I reach back and touch my punctured skin between the needles. When I pull my fingers away, I cannot see any substance on my hand besides my blood, but that doesn't mean there was nothing else there. ...Should I pull the projectiles out now? I think that I can manage the task, but decide to wait. I'm not ready yet to drop my guard.
The sounds of my own hot, hasty breath and pounding heart obscure the smaller noises that I need to listen for. If someone is still giving chase (my thoughts are surging by almost faster than I can grasp them- it was Sparrow from District Six who had blown the needles, dart-like, into me, because there are only seven of us left now and our loose alliance means nothing- how could she? how could she? she was my friend and I liked her, I saved her- I thought I could tell that she really liked me too), rushing through the thick brush, I would hear them easily, but if I have stumbled into the place where another tribute waits (hunts) and the stalking is occurring quietly, I may be struck down without ever seeing it coming.
That isn't how I want to die.
Of course, I don't want to die at all. Not here; not now. I am seventeen and a fisherman and I have faced death on rough seas a thousand times back home in District Four with Papa before my name was chosen. If I do have to die I do not want it to be this way. I would rather give my life than have it taken from me. When my time has come, I don't want to be surprised. Like the stormy weather on the horizon my father and I sail our boat toward anyway (If we don't go, who will? If someone doesn't go, who will starve?) I want to see it coming. …Should I have seen this coming?
It's funny that while thinking about dying my breath has slowed. I listen, but no crushing of the tall grasses or shifting in the branches reaches my ears to give any watcher away.
I should have run back towards the water. I'd rather die somewhere where I can see and hear the sea, even if it's a fake sea.
It's funny that I'm thinking about dying somewhere else in the future when all I should be thinking about is right here and right now and how to live, but for some reason I can't seem to force my thoughts into that direction. It's like trying to change the tides. I sway slightly on my feet. Even if I cannot cause myself to think wisely, I can do something about the needles in my shoulder. I can still feel them. I would hardly forget about their presence so easily.
I grasp the first needle and pull it straight out of my skin. It's easy to remove, smooth and slick as it is. Compared to my fishhooks back home, it's a breeze. A fresh trail of blood begins to flow down my back, but not enough to have me worry. I take a moment to examine the weapon. It's not some homemade thing, but rather a carefully crafted bit of metal, something the Capitol supplied to be used for this very purpose. It shimmers silver and crimson between the stain of my blood that coats its bottom third and for some reason it seems to be...bending? Wavering?
My eyes are turning as treacherous as my thoughts, which are starting to dart even more furiously this way and that without any sense. The whole world is dyed red like the waves at sunset, but the sun is still high above the trees. My skin feels unnaturally warm. The heat radiates out from the tiny wounds in my shoulder up to my face, down into my arms. What's wrong with me? Have I been poisoned? I am trembling and I'm not sure if it's from fear or a side effect of whatever substance the needles have sent swirling into my bloodstream.
I am not a fairytale princess who dies from pricking her finger on a splinter. Tears well up in my eyes as I brace myself again a tree. I keep my feet, though I continue shaking. I was not one of the helpless ones who came into this arena with no alternative but to die. I did not raise my hands to kill only to die- or did I? Plenty of the other tributes did that very thing in these Games, just as they had in others. I didn't want to take the win away from Sparrow or Beanpole, did I? I feel so angry, yet at the same time, some distant part of my mind looks on objectively and is amused that out of the multitude of injustices inherent in this situation, I am most upset over this one small thing.
I have considered myself bold, but when did I ever say that my heart was rational?
I hear a splash and stumble as someone slips into the creek. It's probably Sparrow. In fact, some frightening part of me hopes it's Sparrow. I have the strength left, and perhaps I have the time, to take her down with me. The idea thrills me and chills my blood at once. Before I die, I think I am going to lose my mind.
"District Four," I hear the whisper. It's a boy's voice and in my current haze I can't be bothered to identify it precisely- not Beanpole's because I know it, not Haakon's, he has an accident, but there's a response and from it I know that Sparrow is with him and clutch the hook I had all but forgotten about tighter in my left hand. It is an advantage in the Games, as much as on a ship, to be ambidextrous.
The faraway part of me know that it would be wisest to wait, to run, to regroup, to somehow think and assess the situation. But that part of me is no longer in control. I can see them - Sparrow and the boy - through the bamboo and I hate them. She hurt me and she will hurt me again and he will do the same and I am moving in time with these thoughts before I practically even realize it, bursting through the thin curtain of plant life that separates us and jumping out- onto- whoever is nearer, jamming the heavy hook into a throat. It is pointed, but not as sharp as a blade and the act takes some force.
Even so, I am plunging the metal tip over and over into his- his- skin, sending hot blood spewing onto my arms and face and chest and in what feels at the same time like forever and the blink of an eye, I am on Sparrow as well, with my hook in my left hand and the knife she rescued for me- the knife I protected us from Ada with- in the right. Nothing she does to counter my attacks means anything significant. There are more needles now sticking out of my arm and something cuts my face, but Sparrow's attempts at self-defense and whatever is on those needles only serve to render me more implacable. She doesn't have any stronger weapons or ones better suited for fighting at a close range.
I flail about wildly in my rage. I think I am crying at the same time.
Before I am fully myself again, I stumble into and kill one more. He's harder to handle than Sparrow and the first boy, but I take him by surprise, plowing forward through the bamboo.
Exhausted, I throw my weapons aside and drop down by the creek and whisper a prayer to the secret holy folk we keep beside the sea (Brendan, Elmo, Nicholas, Peter, Zeno) and hope that I either I die on my own without too much pain or recover before I am found.