Not late, persay, but here in any case. :)
--x
Actassi POV
I hadn't seen another human since the morning of the feast, but I had a feeling about where at least one person had ended up. It's pretty hard to miss a spiraling funnel cloud of singing silver butterflies.
I dare you to use that last sentence in a conversation.
'Hey, Meena, it's pretty hard to miss a spiraling funnel cloud of singing silver butterflies, huh?'
No, really. Se if you can avoid being punched. Unless you happen to live in District Four, your chances are actually pretty good.
Humor, even a horrible sense of one, was really all I had left. My sponsors sent me a bag of crackers, some more water, and a cup of steaming liquid.
The first time I tried to drink the frothy brown stuff, it burned me. I haven't touched it, since. Despite the admittedly sweet aftertaste, it seemed dangerous, in a sinister way. Similarly to the butterflies that had chased Carden out of his island on the day of the feast.
It dawned upon me, sitting on the desiccated hillside, staring at a steaming mug and eating a cracker corner by corner. I was the last career. Somehow, I had outlasted twenty other competitors, most of whom could have taken me in a fair fight.
Actassi Peixoto, I, the district outcast, was the last career alive.
And I couldn't have been lonelier.
Trees in the distance rustled in the scorching breeze, faintly reminding me of the ocean. Had I really hated it? The sound of all that water, all that life, just outside my window?
Why, now, would I give anything to be back in that same water, which I had so loathed?
Insanity. Plain and simple. With no vessel to contain it, I was carrying eight pounds of Kali's psychotic nature in a five pound bucket. Madness seems to latch on to the survivors.
Obviously, I was bound to make some bizarre choices. One of which was to remain sitting on a desiccated hillside, staring at a steaming mug, and eating a cracker, corner by corner.
Because, as we have already ascertained, I was the last career. And going quite mad. Slowly but quietly.
It was remarkable, the things my brain could invent to amuse me; I would see fish swimming though the silt and ooze (which I'm not entirely sure was a hallucination), Maren backhanding Soren across the face and demanding he surrender his fishing registration (which most definitely was) and Tasino wearing a strange pink dress, dancing on his tip-toes. By then, I was mostly ignoring the images, as my mind had endured enough torture already.
Surely, my entire being seemed to be changing, too? I was without limitations- If I wanted, I could eat the whole package of crackers, and get a stomach-ache.
But it would be my stomach ache, a choice of my own free will.
A heady sense of power followed shortly.
Somewhere, in the back of my skull, I realized that my new 'sense of humor' was only a reaction to having recently killed someone, and watched my first real crush die. You can't kill someone without changing inside.
Not that my brain wasn't rapidly attempting to disprove the statement, of course. And it would, as I sat, staring at a load of mud, on top of a dry hill.
Just thinking.
Hetcher POV
Only slightly more peculiar than waking up in a war zone, is being jolted into reality by the fact that you can't feel your legs.
The already odd feeling was magnified by the fact that my phantom legs, despite being, notably, nonexistent, felt wet.
My first, most obvious response was to gasp for air, blinking rapidly in the low light of whatever cave I had ended up in. I could honestly remember very little about what had happened before I passed out. My legs might have been on fire. Had they burned off?
I looked down, preparing for the worst.
The worst, as it turned out, was noting compared with what I saw. My flesh was hanging off in pink-tinged strips, and I was surrounded by sticky, orangey-colored liquid, that appeared to be coming from my legs.
The legs in question had white swaths of bone showing.
Had I had anything in my stomach, I would have instantly removed it. Just by looking at my injuries. I couldn't even feel them, but I expected that, when I could, it would compare to having said legs ripped off with red-hot tongs, dipped in acid, and reattached.
I gulped, lying my head back, and pretending nothing was happening. Unfortunately, my carefully-laid plan failed abysmally.
"I think he's moving," Diane whispered to someone.
"It's unlikely. I'm not sure how fast that stuff will stop the spread."
Carden's voice, very distinguishable. I wondered why he was even in the cave.
"Will he be okay?" she said quietly.
"The venom might have spread too far. All we can really do is hope he's not co-ma-toes."
"Huh?"
"Really, really, asleep."
I tried to stir, but even the muscles I couldn't feel ached painfully.
"I think he just moved," said Diane.
"That's not likely," Carden replied. "I'm not sure if there's anything more I can do for him."
From the direction of the voices, there was the sound of some ruffling bags.
"Are you sure you'll be okay, Carden?" Diane asked, probably hugging Carden.
"I dunno," he replied, sounding smooshed. "I mean, look at where we are. No promises. We can't seem to stay away from each other, but… Well, next time you see me, you might have to kill me. And I'm okay with that. But I guess I'll have to try to kill you, too. It's all really confusing."
"Thanks for leaving us some water, Carden. I'll try to keep him… Safe… But… I mean, look where we are."
I tried to smile at her emulation of him, but my facial muscles wouldn't respond quite right. All I could do was listen, as the little boy wriggled through the exit passage, and was gone.
Beside me, I felt Diane lie down on the slightly warm earth floor. She leaned on my shoulder, I assumed looking up at the roof of the cave.
"Come on, Hetcher. You've gotta live. It's just you and me, now."
Carden POV
I didn't want to leave Diane. But I didn't want to watch Hetcher die, either. I didn't want to watch anybody die. I never wanted to.
My previous chipper attitude was all but gone, leaving that cave, on the twelfth day of the Hunger Games. We had been inside, spooning some strange medicine into Hetcher during the anthem, though I had no doubts about who was in the sky; Actassi and Maren. Neither had been people I could truly say I knew, but their loss, presumably at the hands of Kali, was felt.
It could have been me, after all.
Trudging through the now-dry residue, I felt a bizarre sense of paranoia. In an effort to quell my growing nervousness, I began, once again, to whistle. The tune echoed, almost hauntingly, off the dried surfaces around me.
Self consciously, I pulled the bottle of water from my pack, and gulped down about three mouthfuls.
Something was off, but I simply couldn't place it. The somewhat niggling feeling was bothersome, but I continued to walk, leaving a trail of footprints in the spongy ground.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
I whirled around, to find that the startling sound was my own footsteps. Laughing somewhat carelessly, I continued.
"I'm totally fine. Just alone. It's okay, Carden," I muttered to myself, affixing my eyes firmly to the places I was planning to step.
The ground moved, and I jerked back, seconds from stepping down, when I spotted a small, shiny, pink shell. Bending down, I held it aloft, watching the setting sun sparkle on the opaque surface, before dropping it, and continuing.
Though out of place, it was nice to see something pretty.
Even as I walked, I began to spot more and more shells like the fist, some bigger, a few smaller. A twisty purplish one was almost the size of my hand. I carefully stepped around it, glad to be relatively sure footed.
I seemed to have walked into a bed of shells, all of around the same species. They were very pretty, gleaming against the tarry weeds and dried-out slime.
Quite by accident, I stepped on a vibrant magenta specimen, about two inches across. It split with a resounding crack.
"Whoops," I muttered, stepping back as a tiny, dull-grey crab skittered out, waving its tiny claws indignantly. "Umm, sorry."
Suddenly, the bed of shells and algae was alive with movement. Tiny clicks and pops sounded, like millions of little firecrackers, as the shells sprouted heads, and tiny, pincered feet.
"I didn't mean it," I whispered feebly, stepping back and immediately breaking two more.
The miniature army rose as one, clicking their claws menacingly, wickedly sharp and shining in the fading light.
Adrenalin pumping through my body, I zeroed in on an island a few hundred yards away, covered with small, spiky trees. If I ran, I might be able to climb one, and, assuming the crabs couldn't follow, make it to safety.
Pointedly, I didn't move, filling my lungs in preparation for my inevitable sprint.
"Here goes nothing," I said, quietly, before bunching up every muscle in my body, and full-out dashing through the crowd, crushing an innumerable amount of the little crabs.
They seemed to know where I was going, following me as one, as I quickly began to lose the breath that I hade worked so hard to gain control of. I still wasn't even out of the shells, and even more seemed to spring to life with every passing footstep.
Fortunately, they didn't seem to be able to latch on to the soles of my sneakers, or even trying to run would have been an exercise in futility. The whirring sound of tiny feet on bracken behind me was steadily growing louder, even as I tried to tune it out.
There was no denying the fact that I was terrified. Beyond measure, even. Only the most basic thoughts were within reach of my mind, and I barely even noticed when I was a mere hundred feet from the large hill, and picking up speed
My carefully regulated breathing was a lost cause. It came in ragged gasps, frantic gulps, as sweat began to drip down my forehead, into my eyes. Even with skewed vision, I could see that the closest tree had no suitable branches; the next was an equally unlikely prospect.
I had to keep running. No question. Just running.
The third tree, I didn't even turn to as I passed. Its lowest branch was several feet above my head, and I had no time to try to improvise. The fourth tree looked possible, but the clickity clack of angry crabs behind me was increasing steadily in volume.
Unquestioningly, I grabbed the thorny branch, bare-handed, wincing only slightly at the pain, trying to pull myself up. My shoes found purchase, but I wasn't nearly high enough up. The next branch was easy, only two feet up, but I could hear the crabs reach the tree, beginning to swarm around the base, trying to find a way up.
My hands cracked open, staining the next branch crimson as I managed to climb it, on to the next one, and next one, until I was a good twenty-five feet up, and realized that my palms were torn to shreds.
The adrenaline left my body as I tried to staunch the blood with my shirt, staining it in the process, wincing. The Carden from the games, the boy I didn't want to be, had taken over, and I felt my old self warring with him for control.
Beneath me, the danger seemed temporarily abated, as the crabs slowed their clicking, and a few even retreated into their shells.
I was safe, for the moment.
Safe, but trapped.
--x
Sorry for the slight delay, it was scheduled, though. The next will be fully on-time. Have you checked out my new poll, yet? Just wondering how many people would like to see a child of the victor type person.
Yes, there will be an epilogue about how the victor changes after the games, and how it affects their family.
Much thanks for everyone who stuck with me. Forty-two chapters! Whoa!