The Cost of Survival

Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings

Omg you guys seven reviews in one night alskdjas thank youuuu.

Chapter 24

Day 3

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

Horrified by the sight the Capitol cameras cut to just after it showed Santana hearing the scream, Brittany buried her face into Santana's pillow, reminded all too well of a long night with the Peacekeepers.

The aches and pains were intensified by her vivid memory, of each bite of the whip, each blow from the hard and unforgiving boots and guns, each blade that dug into her skin until it gave way and opened, each bullet entering her flesh.

Brittany shuddered and couldn't feel any comfort from the hand touching her shoulder.

Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games.

The scream reached Mike's ears, causing him to drop all thoughts of Harmony, Santana, Tina, even food and water. That was Rachel. Unmistakably Rachel.

At the first scream, Mike considered staying where he was and just waiting for Finn to follow the sound and attend to the problem. No doubt he was already on his way. Right here, in this cavern, Mike was alone and familiar enough with his surroundings to be able to have some chance at defending himself.

Rushing over and going on some blind rescue mission would only play towards Mike's weaknesses. Three days of being in the arena didn't do anything to change the fact that Mike still wasn't a fighter. Whatever was causing that kind of harm to Rachel might not be anything Mike could face.

At the second scream, Mike knew he couldn't stay here.

The sound reminded him of being restrained by the Peacekeepers and forced to helplessly watch as Quinn was beaten without mercy. She didn't stand a chance against them. They were harsh and efficient. Rachel couldn't stand it and nearly went mad screaming and begging for them to stop.

Now, someone else –or something else—was doing the same to her.

It didn't matter whether or not Mike could fight. What mattered more was that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he allowed another kind person to die. He wasn't going to just stand frozen and gaping like he did with Harmony. He had to do something. He had to put a stop to whatever agony Rachel was going through.

Mike packed up his things just as another scream of agony filled the air.

Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games.

Without stopping to think, Santana picked up her axe, threw the ointment back into her bag, zipped it closed, slung it over her still-sore shoulders and charged down the tunnel towards the source of the screaming.

There was still a steady throbbing at the side of her head, and the spot between her shoulder blades was still tight and painful. There was still the hunger, exhaustion and dehydration. There was still the limitation of Santana's size and weight to consider.

But the rush of strength and energy that blasted her upon hearing the scream brought life back into Santana's body and she was making the most out of it right now. Brittany or not, Santana couldn't just sit down and listen to the screaming without doing anything. She had been powerless when the Peacekeepers kept her locked up in that room, chained to that damn chair.

Now, she was unrestrained and she was going to fucking do something about that screaming if it was the last thing she did.

Each fresh, wrenching yell still reminded her all too well of Brittany, but Santana did her best to avoid dwelling on that. She focused on each stride that brought her racing across the rocks and closer to the sound. She focused on the breaths she took to keep going. She focused on the paths in front of her, turning whenever she needed, always following the sound. She focused on the voice. On Rachel's voice.

Santana skidded to a stop when she reached the end of a tunnel, one that opened up into a room of soil and rock just about the size of her kitchen. It was small, maybe someone of Finn's height or maybe even Mike's could reach the ceiling if they reached upwards, maybe jumped a little. Still, it was a lot wider than the tunnels she'd almost gotten used to lately.

It wasn't so much the place that caught her attention, but the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Rick's pack was clumped together and brandishing their weapons, surrounding their helpless victim. Santana felt sick to her stomach as she took in Rachel's situation. Her wrists were tied to a protruding rock that was far too high for her, forcing her onto the very tips of her toes. It was easy to guess that was Rick's doing, seeing as he was the tallest in his pack.

The jacket provided at the start of the Games had been removed from Rachel, leaving her in the sweater-like garment underneath. Its sleeves were rolled up to reveal deep cuts across her arm, blood freely seeping out of the wounds.

"Your boyfriend ain't here yet." Rick taunted, placing the sharp edge of his spear against Rachel's other arm, not enough to draw fresh blood yet, but enough to make her squirm. "Call 'im again so we can have a go at 'im next."

The other tributes were just as bad, hooting and hollering, cheering Rick on and taunting Rachel. One of them, Giselle, moved without warning and struck with a knife, slicing through the cloth and skin covering Rachel's side. It wrenched out another scream, revealing how the sounds had been made this whole time.

Santana stood where she was, still frozen with shock at what she was seeing, still not quite able to believe it. When it came to Peacekeepers, this kind of merciless brutality was easy to believe. That was their thing. When it came to Careers, it was also still fairly easy because those tributes were nothing more than the spoiled and pampered pets of the Capitol.

But other tributes? Districts 6 and 11? Surely, they suffered the same things that District 7 went through everyday. Eleven was known for being the worst off among the districts, being the biggest plot of land with the strictest of Peacekeepers assigned to them.

Why were they acting like they were Peacekeepers?

In between cackles of laughter, Rick moved his spear away from Rachel's arm and prodded her stomach, digging the point into her clothing, then her skin, with taunting slowness. She squirmed and tried to move away, but in her position, stretched out onto the tips of her toes, there wasn't much movement she could afford without putting all her weight into her wrists.

Santana couldn't watch this any longer. She tightened her grip on her axe just as another scream for Finn's name tore itself out of Rachel's throat. The nearest tribute was Sheila. Santana focused on her and lifted the axe. Rachel's voice filled the small cave, bouncing off the rock walls of the nearly enclosed space. She was wailing and pleading and pained and desperate.

Sheila's laughter was cut off by the axe splitting her skull.

Moving quickly, Santana charged forward and wrenched the axe out of the tribute's head just before dodging a swipe of Giselle's knife. Though surprise had caught her off guard for a moment, she acted quickly, moving within close range of Santana, denying her the space she needed to wield her axe.

Santana gasped when she felt the knife's blade nick her stomach, where the unzipped jacket hardly provided any protection. In an attempt to avoid getting a worse injury, she grabbed for Giselle's wrist while one hand still held onto the axe. Not to be outdone, Giselle clung to the axe's shaft as well, putting them both in a position where they were stuck grappling until one of them gave in.

Gritting her teeth against the increased pressure between her shoulders caused by this strain, Santana put her strength into pushing against Giselle, trying to get her cornered or against the wall or anything. They could only keep this up for so long. Santana was already starting to get tired and –as much as she would rather not admit it- scared.

Giselle –fucking Giselle- seemed to notice, and a wicked smile pulled at her lips. "You giving up yet?" The point of the blade drew dangerously close to Santana's throat.

As tempting as it was to shoot back a retort, Santana couldn't afford to waste energy on anything other than keeping that knife from touching her skin. Her own axe was already starting to face her. Giselle wasn't that much taller, but she was stronger and in a lot better shape, well-rested and not still recovering from falling down a small cliff.

The axe's blade was now completely facing Santana, twisting her wrist.

Santana didn't have the strength for this, and already, Johanna's voice seemed to be going on about the brainlessness of this idea. It was playing out in Santana's head, chiding her for thinking she could win this through brute force she clearly didn't have. It was also a lot like that time she thought she could charge a wrestling trainer and knock him to the ground by just running at him.

That's what she was doing again this time. Overestimating her strength. And as Johanna liked to put it, being brainless.

The knife was already touching the bared skin of her neck, just above the jacket's high collar. Santana felt the coldness of the blade.

Struck by the realization that she had to revise her strategy, Santana put more strength into pushing against Giselle's knife hand, just enough to keep the blade from meeting skin. Then without warning –albeit reluctantly- Santana let go of both her axe and Giselle's wrist, sidestepping her in one quick motion.

Caught by surprise, she overbalanced and tipped forward, still clutching the axe. Before the other tribute could get the chance to turn around and swing either axe or knife, Santana retrieved the dagger still sheathed at her belt and drove it deep into the back of Giselle's neck.

Wordless gurgles escaped Giselle while blood seeped through the spaces between the sides of the blade and her skin. She collapsed onto her knees at first, then onto her side, losing grip of both the axe and the knife before shuddering, then finally becoming still and silent.

Santana had to force herself to look away from the grizzly sight or risk throwing up what little she ate last night. The foul taste of bile was already rising up to her throat while her head spun with nausea.

It was like killing Sunshine again.

But it was worse because this time, Santana was fully aware of what she was doing. Aware enough to do it twice. To these two tributes now lying on the floor with blood pooling around their heads. Tributes. They weren't just tributes. They were people. And Santana killed them.

And where the fuck was Rick?

The trailing thought was enough to distract Santana from the guilt and lightheadedness. She honed in on it and scanned the cave for any sign of him. There were three bags on the floor, including hers. No spear. Rick took off while he still had a chance. Took off like the fucking coward that he was.

And he left his catch behind.

Eyes locking on Rachel, Santana took in the sight while she bent down to pick up her axe before walking over. The blood still streamed out of the cuts across Rachel's arm, and the pricks from Ricks' spear point, though not very deep, were still very much open and bleeding. The other cut, at her side, across her ribs, also looked like it needed attention and treatment. The fact that Rachel was stretched out didn't help.

Drawing closer, being more observant, Santana noticed that other than the cuts, there were bruises as well. The bridge of Rachel's nose looked different, swelling a little and already changing color.

What was Santana supposed to do?

She tightened her grip on the axe, contemplating the notion of putting Rachel out of her misery right here and right now. It would be fast. Santana could do it quickly with her axe. Just end it. End it so Rachel wouldn't have to suffer anymore. Wouldn't be stuck in this arena. She wouldn't be a victor, but she could be a winner, according to Johanna.

After already killing two tributes, why should Santana ruin her streak? Might as well get it done and rack up her kill count to three for today. Four overall, if she included Sunshine. That would make the sponsors real fucking proud.

Besides, how could Rachel be trusted if Santana were to allow her to live? They hardly knew each other. Rachel did say she was confident in her victory. That could mean anything from stabbing Santana in the back to betraying even Finn. That's why the whole Finn thing was so awkward and over the top. It was an act. It must be.

Breathing heavily after the run, and then after the fight with Giselle, Santana knew she had to act now before the last of her strength wavered. Already, the rush that dulled her pain and gave her energy was starting to fade away. Her body was getting weaker and heavier.

Santana felt both her hands tighten their grip on the axe as she lifted the weapon up, ready to bring it down onto Rachel.

That was a mistake.

During the scrutiny, Santana made it a point to specifically look over and focus only on the injuries, on the body, on the physical stuff. And now, she had accidentally made eye contact, and it was difficult to look away.

The eyes weren't blue like Brittany's, and the softness to them was different. Not sweet and caring and selfless, but… they still pulled at Santana. Those eyes –brown instead of blue- were scared and pleading and… betrayed.

It wouldn't have been surprising if Rachel started putting all her efforts into talking her way out of this, but this… speaking using silence and depending on just the intensity of her eyes…

They weren't friends, but they had a connection.

Quinn.

Fuck, what if Quinn was watching this now? What would she think? What would she say to her supposed friend for taking out the one tribute who cared enough to take her up to the roof and treat her wounds and talk to her and take care of her without even ever expecting to really know her story?

The very reason that Santana got to see Quinn again was because of Rachel. Every significant thing that happened in the days leading up to the arena was because of this short girl. If she never extended kindness to Quinn, never brought her up to the roof, never set any of this into motion…

Santana couldn't do it. Her hands fumbled and dropped the axe, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor.

A heavy body slammed right into her, knocking the wind out of her and sending her off her feet. She landed on her back, pain shooting through her body and reawakening every bruise, causing her to arch her spine and scream completely beyond her control.

A fist to the side of her face cut her off.

Arena. Tunnels. 72nd Hunger Games.

Mike's pace slowed when the screaming stopped, leaving him wandering the tunnels blindly, with only a vague sense of where Harmony's Cave was and almost no idea where Rachel was. If it wasn't at the end of this tunnel, then there was no way he was going to find her.

Hopefully, the silence meant she had been saved. Mike couldn't bring himself to imagine it was because she was never making a sound ever again.

They were in an arena and expected to fight to the death, but Mike still detested the idea. The thought of Rachel dying brought about grief just like the death of any other friend would. They didn't spend that much time together, but Mike appreciated how caring she was and sincerely wished they could have gotten to know each other better. Harmony, too.

The sound of running feet pulled Mike from his thoughts. He tensed, imagining still too freshly how that sound preceded Harmony's death.

It was just around the corner, and Mike was about to peek when the tribute barreled right into him. They flailed gracelessly before crashing into the opposite wall.

"You!" Mike's memory flashed back to when Rick easily overpowered a Career during the bloodbath. He killed Webber and there was nothing stopping him from killing Mike right now. The spear was already tipped with blood and ready for more.

The tunnel was too tight, and they were too close to each other for Rick to be able to use his spear effectively, but he easily improvised by positioning it horizontally and pushing it against Mike's throat, effectively pinning him against the wall and gradually depriving him of air.

"Fuck you and your bitch!" Rick pushed harder against the spear. "She got Giselle and Sheila. I'mma get you!"

Struggling to process this information while getting lightheaded from lack of air, Mike struggled to push back against the spear at his throat, but Rick was heavier and stronger, putting all his weight into it. The look on his face showed anger and every intention of finishing this now.

The very attempt at squirming away or pushing back only increased Rick's agitation. He brought his knee up to viciously drive it into Mike's stomach. The automatic attempt to curl up only jammed his throat against the spear's shaft.

Mike knew he had to do something soon before he passed out from lack of air. His lungs and throat were trying to cough, but that just made things worse, made it easier for Rick to gain the upper hand and press harder, even deliver another painful kick.

There must be something he could do.

Scrambling through his brain for it, Mike recalled the training session he took with Sam. It was in the middle of a very heavy bout of depression so the details were foggy, but he could recall some basic things.

Mike made sure to keep one hand still trying to push against the spear while the other he used to reach forward, jamming a thumb into Rick's eye.

The attack caught him by surprise, giving Mike time take advantage of it and slip away from the spear. He thought of following through with another attack but wasn't sure what to do.

That was dumb. It granted Rick the opportunity to recover, and send a powerful punch right to Mike's jaw, sending him straight to the floor.

Gripped by fear, Mike could only look up and watch as Rick raised his spear, ready to bring it straight through a new victim's body for some killing blow he'd no doubt already done before because he actually knew what he was doing.

Then they heard the screaming again. It wasn't alone this time, accompanied by the shouts of two new voices.

The murderous look in Rick's eyes vanished completely, and his entire stance shifted from ready for the kill to ready to flee. "They fuckin' ain't gonna get me." That was said more to himself than to anyone else.

Before Mike could properly figure out what was going on, Rick was already running away.

Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games.

The shock of the moment and still the pain kept Santana stunned, unable to respond immediately.

A pair of hands grasped the collar of her jacket and roughly jerked her head back and forth before slamming it back down against the hard, rough floor.

There was screaming again, echoing again, Rachel's voice again. It took a moment for Santana to make out the words, to make out the order for Finn to stop. Despite how loud and ringing Rachel's voice was, her dense partner seemed completely deaf to it all and just brought Santana's head down against the rocky ground another time.

The impact felt like an explosion inside her skull.

Her head was spinning and it was hard to immediately focus on Finn, but the bubbling rage and indignation of being attacked like this gave Santana another burst of temporary strength. She lashed out with her fist, catching Finn right in the nose and sending him reeling back and letting go of her jacket.

While he was distracted, Santana twisted her body and tried to reach for her axe.

Finn recovered faster than expected, bringing up his boot to pin Santana's wrist down. She struggled to free herself and get to her weapon, but was again outmatched by a much heavier, much stronger opponent. One who brought another fist against her cheek, knocking her head back down.

Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games.

Though dazed and out of breath, Mike followed the sounds of the yells until he reached his destination and had to take a moment to absorb the situation. Two dead tributes on the ground. Rachel tied up and bleeding from various injuries, screaming and begging for the fight to stop. Her cries fell on the deaf ears of Finn and Santana wrestling with each other on the ground. Finn seemed to have the upper hand though, pinning Santana down and bringing his fists upon her while she lashed out with the fingernails of her free hand, raking scratches across his face and neck.

Mike went straight to scuffling tributes because they just might kill each other if nobody stopped them.

It was a daunting task to wrench Finn off of Santana. Mike had to put all his strength and weight into tugging on Finn's jacket until he was standing up and a good distance from his target. Before the fight could start up again, Mike moved to be in front of Finn, blocking his way.

"Get the hell out of my way!" Finn tried to intimidate Mike with a raised voice, tried to shove him aside, tried get around him. "I'm gonna freaking murder her for what she did!" Red-faced from both the fight and the apparent anger coursing through him, Finn jabbed a finger in Santana's direction and tried again to get past Mike.

Even if the earlier encounter had left him short of breath, and pushing against Finn was really straining the cut shoulder, Mike refused to back down until eventually, Rachel's voice reached Finn's ears at last.

"Finn, stop! Please!" Rachel begged, struggling against the ropes around her wrists. "Control yourself! Santana saved me!"

Finn blinked. "What?"

With Finn dumbfounded, Mike chanced a glance over his shoulder at Santana, who was still on the floor, breathing heavily and looking extremely drained. Even from here, the worn out state of her jacket was obvious. Whatever Santana had to go through before this reunion must not have been pleasant.

"I… I can't believe… I…" Finn was speaking again. With nothing but overall safety in mind, Mike returned his attention to Finn. Other than the bleeding nose, the taller tribute also had several pink lines crisscrossing his face and neck, a few of them already starting to open. The damage to Finn looked mild, and that was concerning Mike. This guy was still very capable of attacking again.

It was kind of reassuring though that Finn didn't look so hostile anymore. Just intensely confused as he continued to struggle with absorbing the information. "I-I don't… This is… what?"

That only intensified Santana's anger. Assuming it really was Rick's group who'd taken Rachel, and it really was Santana who was the hero in this situation, she definitely didn't appreciate being attacked by Finn and treated like she was the cause of the whole mess.

Before Mike could respond, he was pushed aside by Santana, who sent a fist deep into Finn's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He reeled back, coughing and gasping.

"You piece of shit!" Santana's fists were still clenched, ready to be used again. "Is that the fucking thanks I get for saving your fucking girlfriend?"

"Santana, he gets it now." Mike moved in between them again. "Just take a moment to calm down a bit, okay?"

"Fuck you!" Throwing the jab in the general direction of Finn and Mike, Santana looked enraged and still ready to bring violence down upon everyone in the room. Her lip was bleeding and there were bruises all over her face, and still more that Mike couldn't see.

For all her posturing and shouting, Santana was not in a state that was actually capable of another fight.

Instead of doing the mature thing and letting it slide, Finn managed to try retaliating. He barreled into Mike in an attempt to get back to Santana. It almost turned into another brawl if Mike didn't put all his efforts into pushing the two agitated tributes apart.

Again.

Soon enough, Santana huffed in irritation and turned away from them. She walked back to her axe in a way that tried to look tough and nonchalant, but Mike knew Santana well enough to see how exhausted she was. It didn't come as much of a surprise when her legs buckled under her while she was bending down to try picking up her weapon. As if her body had been through more than its fair share of exertion, Santana collapsed onto the ground and just lay there.

While Mike rushed over to Santana's side, Finn finally decided to concentrate on freeing Rachel.

Last Minute Ramble:

I apologize for how short this chapter is. I'll try to make up for it with the next one. I think 25 might be fairly long and I think I'll need two weeks for it (especially since there's another thesis deadline to meet this Thursday :)) ) so we'll see :D Keep the reviews coming, and I'll keep searching for time to write :D

(and it kind of amuses me that Mike always seems to end up going straight for his opponents' eyes)