Late, but could be worse. :3
-x
Diane POV
Hetcher wasn't dead. He was not alive, either.
Don't get your hopes up, Diane.
I remained unsure of what was going on with his legs, and I couldn't bring myself to check. Besides, he was conscious. That meant he was recovering.
Too late. They're already up! They're sky high!
It wasn't my imagination, the sudden nightfall. I could only hope that the tribute who's demise had been planned was not me. Or Hetcher. Or Carden. Heck, I was hoping it wad whoever was left. Probably the District Two girl, by the looks of things.
What would happen to the last three?
I cursed quietly, leaning back on Hetcher. Maybe it would be for the better if he didn't…
Traitorous thoughts. No can do, Diane!
Again, I muttered an expletive. How had I not considered what I would do if it came down to me and Hetcher? Was I hoping he would die? What if Anona was still alive? Would I already have plotted a way to get rid of her?
The night was playing havoc with my mind. The games were destroying any sense of logic I had possessed. I leaned back again, trying to sync my restless breathing with Hetcher's shallow but consistent rhythm.
He would be fine. The same could not be said for my sanity, unfortunately.
I gnawed my lip. Hungry. A bad sign, considering we had no food. Tensing my forehead with effort, I wriggled out from under Hetcher's limp arm, smiling in his direction. I knew he couldn't see me, but I hoped he somehow was getting the message.
Picking up my bow, and the last three arrows, I crept out, the air frigid and uncomfortably still. Something big was happening, but nowhere near my position. I was torn between relief at my own safety, and fear for Carden.
I felt my neck tense up again, and tried to recapture my breathing. Carden could take care of himself, right? I couldn't help him, no matter where he was. I settled on relief, scooping a chunk of ice from the frozen spring, feeling my hands go numb.
Halfheartedly, I chewed on a little shard. I needed protein, bad. My muscles were destroying themselves before my eyes.
Gulping the icey slush, I began the short trudge back to the cave. Hetcher needed company, anyway, I thought glumly. No food animals would be out so late.
A soft thud wrenched me from my silence, testing my reflexes as I nocked an arrow and deftly drew back the bow. Kali, Carden, or squirrel, I was not going to be unprepared.
Of course, it was option D. A silvery package, only a few feet from where I had been standing. I heaved a sigh, picking it up, but didn't relax fully.
Swinging my bow over my shoulder, and tucking the package under my arm, I sprinted the remaining few yards to the cave. Already, I was numb with cold. The ice I had stuffed in my pack wouldn't last too long, either.
The cave was shadowy, and, as always, I got the jitters climbing in. Stooped over, I walked to the general area where Hetcher's sleeping bag lay, as quietly as possible. My goal was to sneak in, and, if he was somehow conscious, not disturb him.
With as much stealth as I could muster, I leaned up against him, and the sleeping bag that fairly radiated warmth. I felt like a cal, in front of a warm fire. Purr, and all that.
Opening my mouth in concentration, and carefully avoiding crinkling the silver paper, I began to tear the parcel open, inch by inch. No noise, no sound, no-
"Boo."
The voice was quiet, raspy, and it sounded like it had been run over by a bull moose. That didn't stop me from screaming, and throwing the package at Hetcher, who laughed croakily.
"Oh my god, Hetcher," I moaned, putting my hand over my heart as he barked a few more laughs. "I am going to kill you. Or I would, if the Capitol weren't trying to do that for me."
He finally stopped, pulling a face.
"They're doing a hell of a job of it."
I scrunched up my own visage in emulation.
"I'm sorry, Hetcher, How do you feel?"
"Like I fell into the forge. Or at least my legs did. You have anything to eat?"
Unfortunately, I remembered that he was hurt before I could justifiably smack him.
"Maybe I would, if you didn't spend a good seventy percent of your day trying to scare the heck out of me!" I retorted, ripping off the rest of the paper to find a tin container, with a loaf of bread the size of my fist, and a chunk of orangey cheese about as big as a skipping stone.
Yum.
"So… What've we got? Pain relievers?" he asked, sounding genuinely hopeful.
"Well, I think we're gonna eat tonight, Hetcher," I said tilting the platter so that he could see.
The games could wait. When bread and cheese is gourmet, you really have to enjoy the little things.
Actassi POV
Think of your favorite thing right now. Let's say… Being full. A hug from your dad. Sleeping in.
Now imagine that your food, or your father, or your bed, was covered in blood, gnawing on who-knows-what, and hanging suspended in the air above you. With no apparent means of support.
Take my life. Please.
So, there I stood, looking into the feral eyes of what I had taken for my mother. Wow, awkward, right? Yeah. Life-threatening, too.
"Mom… Are you alright?" I asked weakly, edging backwards through the slightly sludgy terrain. "Umm…"
That was really all I got out, before I turned tail and flat-out ran. Adrenaline burst into my system, and despite my already aching muscles, I picked up speed. I could hear wings flapping behind me, though. Where did she get wings?
A mutt. That had to be it. A cruel, experimental mutt. Why was I running? I had been spooked. Didn't I kill Kali? Wasn't I a career? Why was I running?
Frantically, I jammed my fist into my bag, locating my knife as I accidentally grazed my finger. Wincing, I flipped it around and grabbed the handle, yanking the knife out and shaking a few stray droplets of blood from my fingertips.
I was running, because I had no adequate weapons. I all but shrugged. Too late to run again. I had to kill my mother.
The sound of beating wings grew louder, and I turned to face it. Yes, the thing did have wings, but they were awkward, oversized things. No doubt a Capitol prototype. Every time they beat, the flesh surrounding them rippled, like an illusion.
She was, however, completely and unequivocally, there.
I held my knife tighter, and more blood oozed out of the cut on my index finger. I shuddered a bit. It had been deeper than I'd thought. Probably a bad sign, seeing as I was going to be majorly distracted from any efforts I might have made to heal it.
A peculiar thing about the in-flesh apparition; it seemed to move laboriously, however fast. Each motion required a ripple across it's surface.
Taking the most stabilizing breath I could, I raised my knife, looked away from my mother's face, and charged. Or stumbled as quickly as I could. Same difference, really. A dash to the death is a dash to the death.
She didn't dodge, or her… It's response time wasn't fast enough. For the first time, I actually touched it, and shied immediately away. The surface, or what lay beneath, seemed to crawl with energy and motion.
Biting my lip, I whipped the knife right, slashing clean across the already-bloody cloth. The wound stayed clean, and she rippled, the surface knitting back together. Before I could react, I was backhanded into the muck.
My ears ringing, I forced myself up, each step more difficult. Experimental must be synonymous with undefeatable. In a rush, I remembered something Finnick had told me, purposefully on camera. Back when he was trying to build on my tough guy image.
"Actassi, you have to be a winner. A winner will do anything to get out of there. Even kill your own mother."
Even though I had practiced my response with the escort, I had grimaced horribly before answering "Well, that's what I am. I'm going to win, Finnick. Just watch me," in the least convincing voice I could have possibly mustered.
Irony. Don't you just hate it?
Standing up, my head cleared for a millisecond. Just long enough for me to really see her- it's steps, just long enough for the last piece to click in.
I gripped my knife tighter, summoned up the last bit of energy in my body, and ran forward, full-tilt. I careened into it, braced myself, looked away from the face, and thought of Maren. Then, I jammed the knife hilt-deep into it's neck. I didn't let go.
It rippled around the arms, but I dropped to the ground, avoiding the forecast blow, and sprang up. My muscles protested vehemently, but I latched on to her frail-but-steely form, yanked the knife out, and slashed, again and again
Somewhere in the middle of all the blood that should have been there, I started to cry. For the most part, I could avoid the mutt's retaliations, but I was hit painfully. My stomach, my neck; all were bruised.
Her struggles stopped, and I felt myself fall. Any last vestige of strength I had was used to roll away from the corpse, if it could be called that. Nothing about the mutt, save the looks, was human.
I was hungry, tired, thirsty, and bitter. I was alive, though. You can't pass out if you're dead.
-x
We're coming (almost) to a close! Three or four more chapters of the games, and then an epilogue.
And, yes, I have picked the winner. Any guesses?
Go and nominate some stories! We NEED your input, on the forum.