AN: Happy Sunday everyone! I got up at 4:30 this morning, so... please excuse any mistakes I might have made during the editing process, I'm not all here. Blah, blah, blah, does anyone actually care?
Chapter 11: ThePack
Adieu, logic. It was nice knowing you.
My muscles coil and spring to run as the Alpha attempts to pounce on me. Thrum, thrum, thrum. I hear its heart beating at a steady pace, like the drums of war. Like the cannons that fire when a Tribute dies. Like the cannon that will fire if I can't get out of here fast enough.
I've no time to think of where I'm going, only where I'm leaving. I glance behind me at the wolf. A growl rips through its barred teeth as it lunges for one of my legs. Screaming isn't a choice, it's a fact. I yank that foot ahead and jump as high and far as I can. There haven't been any cannons since the ones earlier. I'm on TV.
I push myself faster. Faster. Faster. The wolves are on my heels. I can't outrun them. I can only hope to fight them off. I swivel around and kick the Alpha wolf into a tree. It whines. I hear the tree creak. The other ones snarl and bark at me. I back away slowly, careful not to make eye contact. Now that I see them face to face, I can see their size and calculate how long it would take them to claw their way through me. Their teeth would bite through me like butter. I lower myself to a crouch. The Alpha, still on the ground, gives one last whine before going still. The wolves howl.
I'm supposed to run, and I know why. The Gamemakers don't want to kill me, not so early in the Games, they want to redirect me. If we were human they might give us a break. But we're not human and we don't get tired. They can keep us going indefinitely in this edge-of-your-seat action.
One leaps at me. I remember what Jasper said about fighting newborns. And I remember what one of them did to Jacob. This is the obvious kill, and he's right. I am expecting that. It feels wrong, copying something that hurt someone I love. But these are Mutts. I wrap my arms around the wolf, feel my way to its ribs, and squeeze. I hear a snap and drop the animal. Mutt. It's not an animal. It was either grown in a lab or it's a computer generated image.
I knock another wolf into a tree. This time the tree falls over. But the next wolf is a fighter. It knocks me onto my back and its claws dig into my stone flesh. I scream, overwhelmed with pain, as another one lands on my back. It rips my pack to pieces, the contents spilling onto the forest floor. I can feel the heat as it moves its teeth towards my neck. The talons are ripping me to shreds. But I do know one way to cause this wolf pain. I turn my mouth towards its oversized, oversensitive ear and shout at the top of my lungs. This distracts it for a fraction of a second, and it's long enough for me to tackle the wolf. My teeth crush its windpipe. The pitiful whimper doesn't trigger guilt, not after what it's done to me.
I've scared them for now, and I bolt. One comes at me from the side and I knock it away. For now. I see it coming at me again. Everything hurts where their claws scraped me. I finger the wounds on my arms to find a thick gel embedded in them. The claws are poison, and they sting. Panicked and taking a lot of unnecessary breaths, I kick forwards and leap another ten or twenty yards. But the wolves do, too.
One lunges at me from the side. Not good, not good. And not a good idea. I block it with my forearm and fling it away. It flies through the air and lands on its feet and rushes at me again. I'm far enough away to look behind me. Their numbers are overwhelming. There are thirteen more. Thirteen. I groan and push them away again. Another one seems to appear out of nowhere. So this arena is holographic. Somewhere, in a cool and spotless room, a Gamemaker sits at a set of controls that could end my life— my existence in the blink of an eye.
I don't have a plan. I'm zigzagging through the forest without rhyme or reason, letting every sense I have plunge even more into overdrive. But I'm not about to give up. I wait for the burn in my muscles but it never comes. I can keep going forever. So can the wolves... but I also know that certain areas of certain arenas are built for specific attacks. If I can get away from this section, the wolves might stop chasing me. Yes, they're nothing more than deadly holograms, but the projectors for them have to end somewhere. I might be able to move out of their reach. I also might fall into a pit of lava, but I can't worry about that right now.
It isn't long before I can scent Cato and the rest of the Careers. The Gamemakers are leading me into an ambush. The good news is that the wolves seem to be slowing down, but the bad news is that I'm in no condition to fight. The liquid in my arms and back stings like acid, and I don't think I have enough sense to fight anyways. I decide that I'd rather face the frying pan than the fire.
The wolves aren't exactly happy about this. They make feral snarls at me. One of them reaches its paw over an invisible barrier, and whatever part of it crosses disappears, glowing faintly blue at the end. This is the end of their domain. They can't cross. But I can't fight off the Careers. Tick tock tick tock. With every passing second the audience grows bored and the Gamemaker will find a way to generate a new horror.
I rush at the Mutts again and burst through their thin line of defense. For a moment they seem confused, but then they're chasing me. I don't bother to run. I only leap across the terrain. By using strength instead of speed, I fly much faster.
Their claws lick my skin, but never as badly as the first time. I try to push them away. The Gamemakers must be tired of generating new wolves. They're stronger than before. I couldn't even hold a candle to them. One of the Mutts topples a tree in an attempt to get me, and I scream again as one snaps at my arm. I jerk it away and strike it on the nose. Strong as it is, it can feel pain (or at least it's programmed to act like it). I hear the crunch of the bone in its snout and it whimpers. Encouraged by this, I stop trying to move them off of me and instead break their bones. But as soon as I stop one, another leaps forward to take its place.
A wolf sinks its teeth into my neck. I scream, both out of agony and fury, and sense leaves me. I spin around, trying to remove myself from the horror, and finally manage to rip it off of me. I feel the crack in my neck. It's not enough for it to leave me alone. The other wolves are standing back, snarling, as I lower myself to a crouch with a hiss. I pounce on the wolf and pound my fists and feet into it, waiting for the animal's body to go limp. Its claws rip into my arms and stomach as it flounders to get off of its back. It's making me hurt. It want it to feel pain.
Another Mutt leaps onto me, scratching into my back and trying to tear me off. I couldn't care less as the talons lacerate into my skin. I give a punctual shrug, a shockwave from it rippling from my shoulders all the way down to my hip, knocking the animal off. I keep my knees firmly planted on either side of the wolf's ribcage. Irate, I squeeze. It howls in pain, but the vampire in me isn't satisfied. I press my own nails into its fur until the gray hair reddens with blood. With a grunt, I wrap my fingers around its neck and squeeze. When it still struggles, I let go with one hand and knock it in the nose. Then I wrap my entire arm around its windpipe and yank on its scruff. I hear it give a high pitched cry before it goes still and silent. I'm still crouching on the carcass when I feel another Mutt leap on me.
The panic has morphed to bloodlust, and not an ounce of pity or fear is left in me. I want these things to suffer. I tackle another one, this time only pounding its ribs once before regaining a bit of sense and taking off again. I've enraged what's left of this pack, and I need to get away from here as fast as possible. They'll leave me alone when they can't find me.
Soon I'm nearing the foot of a mountain. It quickly steepens until I'm sure that a human could never climb it. Somehow the sharpened claws keep them anchored to the ground as I scramble upwards.
On and on, up and up. The wolves follow, but I don't dare turn around to count the number left. I just crawl forwards and upwards. I turn my brain off as the will to survive takes over. It's too late now to choose anything. Another wolf lunges at me and I spring forwards. When I sense one coming, I act or die.
The incline plateaus. Just a couple hundred feet ahead of me, boulders border a cliff face. I know I might be able to make it to the wolves clearly couldn't. On the other hand, if I slip, I'll fall straight to the pack. I pause for only a brief second, weighing my options, before I sprint forwards and clamber up the rocks. The wolves are far behind me now, but they gain ground on the flat. I drive my fingers into the rock face and claw my way upwards.
I knock some chunks of rock down and onto the Mutts. I hear whines of pain and the sound of cracking bone. I hear growls from the other wolves and pause for a moment, my grip tight on the rocks, to look downwards. There are nine of them, all enormous, barking up the cliff like hounds that have treed a raccoon.
I don't have any reason to keep moving, but for some reason I want to summit this mountain. It stretches up and on and on, but it doesn't flatten at the peak. I may be in the Hunger Games, but I still want to see the view from up there. Maybe it would be useful. I could see any oncoming competition. At the very least, it's just close enough to the clouds for me to be able to reach up and touch them.
For a human, the hike might take a few days. At most for me, it's a ten minute climb. And that's while I'm taking my time. The pines are filled with birds, and many areas are populated by wolves— gray wolves, the real, non-deadly kind. After the snow stops and the wind dies down, I inhale deeply. There aren't any vampires or Mutts in the area.
I break into a run through the jade and white forest, determined to reach the peak. For some reason the clarity of it strikes me more than it has over the past week. I was blind when I was human, and evidently I was blind before now. It's so beautiful, the little flecks of snow, now melting, that dot the trees, and the warmth that coats the entire mountain despite the long departed sun. Odd, unnatural flowers are in blossom, although they are covered in frost.
The wind whips my braid out behind me, and, surprised that it's lasted this long, I tear the rubber band from my hair. It feels so much more natural, unburdened, this way. I kick off the simple boots and laugh out loud when I realize that the rough forest floor feels the same as the velvet and satin carpetings back in the Capitol. As I move into deeper parts of the forest, places where I can't help but touch some of the branches, the thorns may as well be caressing feathers. I wish I could move faster; that it hadn't been the Capitol giving me this life for the sake of their Games. I wonder if the whatever-they-gave-me hurt Edward's speed, too. He wasn't created for the sake of entertainment.
I quickly discover that, even if they've taken away my speed, they can't do anything about my strength. I push myself along, melting through the woods of the mountain in whichever direction occurs to me first. I'm moving more quickly than I thought possible. I wonder briefly if I'm moving in circles.
The bounds continue, floating more upwards with each stride, my soles brushing against the ground so infrequently that I believe I've found the way to fly. I feel weightless. Vampires are called demons in the tales of old, but now, as I glance behind at the darkling expanse of the sky, I know that I'm an angel. I love the night, it gives way to constellations and galaxies, a heavenly tapestry that so easily becomes a part of me. My wings aren't feathered or veiled in white; my wings are made of stars.
The summit is in sight now, but I'm more inclined to hunt. I stop to listen for a few brief moments, not tuning anything out like I did back in the city. I can hear a spider spinning its web, a snowflake hitting the ground miles away, leaves scraping each other, birds preening their feathers, and a waterfall off in the distance, spilling off the side of the mountain. And I hear the familiar thrumming of a large heartbeat. I can smell the earth, the evergreens and other plants in this living world, the nutty aroma of small rodents cowering under tree roots, and the unappealing scent of water. But the other something, with the heartbeat, laps up water from the brook. It's gamey, rich, and tangy, and far stronger than others. Not exactly appealing, but better than a rabbit. I listen for the padding of its feet and lock in on its heartbeat. I lower myself to a crouch, still afraid that there will be competition. I fly toward it.
"It" turns out to be a mountain lion, on a part of the craggy mountain about ten feet below me. He's large, easily twice as big as the wolves. His eyes are intent. He's a hunter, too, stalking the doe that laps at a small pond. He stands on the edge a precipice of the mountain— an overhang— with the open and grassy field twenty feet below.
With a light bound, I make a dive for him. He hears the sudden whistling in the air and whirls to shriek and defend himself. I land in a crouch and, noting the distinctively feline qualities of my gait, saunter towards him. He claws their air between us, hissing. I hiss at him and my hand involuntarily does the same. My hiss turns to a snarl, and the cat's eyes glow with fury. Half-crazed with thirst, I forget the fangs and claws and launch myself at him, knocking us both off of the precipice and over the doe's pond.
The fact that some of his blood is leaking into the grass only infuriates me, and it goes more quickly. It isn't much of a fight. His claws did nothing to my skin, and his teeth have no impact on my shoulder or throat. Until he finds the place where the wolves bit me. I cry out in brief pain and my teeth seek his throat, both in anger and thirst.
It's effortless, really. Softer than a buttered marshmallow. The flavor is, quite simply, wrong, but it's better than a rabbit. My parched throat is quenched. I swallow, dreading the moment when he runs dry. The cat's struggles become even more feeble, and his screams are cut off with a gurgle and one last sigh.
The doe escapes unharmed.
No, I'm no angel, I realize as I inspect the remainder of my blood-soaked dress.
The thirst is tamed, if not completely erased. I'm glad. It was starting to become more than just an annoying itch. But the pain in my neck, back, shoulders, arms, stomach... the stings that cover the majority of my body aren't dying as I hoped they would. I have no idea what to do for them. I have a feeling that, unless there's a really good fight on right now, I'm on TV. Which means that my family is watching me. Jasper would probably know what to do for this. I remember all of his scars and decide that he's dealt with venom before. Of course, this thick liquid is Capitol synthesized, so it's different. But how different?
I try to step into his shoes from a thousand miles away. What would he say to do for these? I try to be practical and scrub the liquid out of my scrapes. It has started to harden in some areas, and it stings as I rip it out. I can't even reach some of the ones on my back. But where I free the milky gel the cracks immediately begin to heal. The sensation is indescribable. It's neither pleasure nor pain, but it makes me sigh in relief, my eyes closing slowly.
The night is dark and it's unfamiliar. Not this time of day, of course, but being able to see it so clearly. In the Capitol it was too bright to test my night-vision. Because I have no reason to stop for the night, I decide to continue to the summit of the mountain. It takes a single leap to get to the first ledge and a quick climb to the second. I stare upwards towards the top, which is still in sight.
I hike upwards, careful to avoid handholds that could slip. At times I have to drive my hands straight into the rocks, but other times it's an easy glide to the peak. Sometimes I think I've made it. I realize that I haven't only when I see something that goes up. But I travel at a human pace, enjoying the solitude. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get to the top. There won't be anything to do except wait.
I know it when I'm finally at the summit. It isn't the top of a mountain where you're afraid to fall off because it's so small and so close to the edge. Near the top, it began to become less steep. Although there is a very small and definite peak that I now stand on, the area surrounding it is wide. I comfortably stand about ten feet from a ledge, which drops about five feet before it continues down steadily.
But the view is stunning. With my new eyes, I can see until the spherical earth curls out of my sight. The snow no longer falls, but it still covers the landscape. The forest to the south is immense, and the mountain range to the north is even more so. This isn't even the highest peak. Stars stretch overhead gloriously, without a single artificial light to mar their beauty. My blind human eyes could have seen thousands of stars. My sighted vampire ones can see entire galaxies and planets and nebulas. It was no wonder that the people of the ancient world saw gods and goddesses and heroes an demons and kings and queens in the heavens. The allure of the stars is irresistible. I inhale deeply— not to scent prey, but to fully take in the beauty of the earth and sky.
That's when I finally see the seal of Panem projected on the sky. It appears to be floating, but it's really just a screen, an enormous one on the bottom of a hovercraft. The anthem fades out and the sky is completely dark, the stars covered by the ship. At home we would be watching recaps of every killing, but that would give an unfair advantage to the living Tributes. For instance, if a Tribute were an expert archer and shot someone, all of the others would know how they had done it. All we see are simple head shots— the same ones from when they broadcast our scores. Instead of scores, though, they post District numbers. I take a deep breath.
The first to appear are the girl and boy from District 6, which means that the Tributes from 1, 2, 3, and 4 survived. That's normal. Usually they all make it through the first day. Or so I've heard. The girl and boy from 7 are gone. And the boy from District 9. One more Tribute. Part of me panics, and I wonder if it's Edward. No, it's the girl from District 10. The Capitol seal is back with one last musical flourish. Then the disturbingly present silence after the cheerful noise.
I wonder what I would have done if Edward had died. I'm not as weak as I was last time he left; I would have kept fighting until the end. Probably. Maybe. But, more than that, I imagine my own face flashing in the sky. Edward wouldn't have let himself live much longer, I know that to be a fact. I don't think he would harm himself— he would be the laughingstock of the Capitol for the next century— but he might just give up and let the Careers kill him.
I remember who's left. Cato, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel, the Tributes from 4, Melanie and her District partner, both Tributes from District 8, the girl from District, the boy from 10, Rue, Thresh, Edward. Me.
I'm relieved for a moment. Without anything else to do, I sit down on a rock to wait until morning. I don't like the dark. I can see in it, but not as well as I would like to. I relax as much as I can and completely zone out, my thoughts wandering. I give myself permission to let myself go for a few hours...
Snap! It's a faint but sharp noise. How long have I been sitting here? Is it morning yet? Snap! It's far away, at the bottom of the mountain, but it's not the sound of a twig under someone's foot. Snap! Snap! It's the sound of branches being torn from a tree. I slowly glide to the edge of the precipice and gaze down at the ground. Snap!.. Pop!
Someone's starting a fire. It's too far down, too dark, and too foggy to see who, but I can see the leaping of flames. At first I think it's some complete and utter idiot. Anyone with a brain can realize that we don't exactly need warmth. We're flammable. Unless this person is suicidal, they shouldn't be building a fire. You might as well wave a giant flag that says, "Come and get get me!" Except then I hear laughter from multiple voices. Cautiously, I approach the edge and look down. I see seven figures, but I can't tell who they are through the smoke, fog, distance, and darkness. But it doesn't take long for me to realize that it must be the Careers.
I hear begging and pleading, followed by an agonized female scream. The high pitch makes me cringe. Then I hear embers being fed. It's impossible to miss the sharp but sweet smell of a burning vampire that follows. Then I hear more laughter and another round of applause.
"Seven down and sixteen to go!" shouts the girl from District 4, who I remember as Leona. But they called her "Leo" in her interview.
This earns some appreciative cheers from the others. The others. Great.
So, another "pack"for me to fight off. Wonderful. I'm not surprised. I've been forced to watch Hunger Games reruns and this happens often— the strong band together and pick off the weak. When the tension becomes too much, they turn on each other. But I wasn't expecting five vampires to band together, especially while we're all newborn. That's almost... it's a coven, and that frightens me. Covens are supposed to be lasting things, not something thrown together in the heat of battle for the purpose of convenience. Right?
The sound of a cannon breaks the trance. I hear Cato and the rest give themselves a round of applause. It makes me furious, the way they're celebrating the end of a life. I know that the camera is directly on my face right now, so I keep my expression stoic and hope that I don't loose any sympathy from the Capitol. I may hate them, but they need to love me. It isn't that I need gifts, it's that I don't want them to get gifts.
"So where to next?" asks someone cheerfully. Marvel, I'm guessing.
"Hmm, I don't know, Marv," says Glimmer. "Cato?"
Cato shrugs, and I see Marvel peer up to where I am. I know he can't see me— the peak is shaped in just the right way— but I still feel completely frozen in place, like nothing but a statue overlooking the land.
"How about up to the top of the mountain?" Marvel suggests. "We can get a better look at the place."
"I'll go first to make sure there's no ambush," Lucius, the boy from 4, promises.
Cato laughs. "We're the ones who would make an ambush, Lucy." Lucius grumbles at his feminine nickname. There is silence for a few seconds.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Hey, Lue!" Cato pats him on the back, but this fails to perk him up. "Seriously, Lucy, you should stop taking things so... seriously!"
"There's no need to antagonize him, Cato," says a voice.
I nearly fall off of the cliff. The voice belongs to Edward.
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