A/N: Thanks to mangesboy01, PrincessLyoka and catleopardclaw for reviewing! The support is appreciated :)
Sometimes you find in life that there are times when every demand that could be given to you come all at once, and I seem to have run into one of those times. I'm sorry for the lack of updates in the past week, but an unfortunate set of circumstances have left me needing a break. But now that I'm back with just four chapters to go, I'm eager to get this story wrapped up. I hope that you enjoy today's chapter :)
"She is the first voice of the last ones in the line
She'll drag the lake to keep the vendetta alive."
- Billie-Joe Armstrong, 2000.
The 75th Annual Hunger Games (The Third Quarter Quell) - Day 3, 10.40 pm
Chaff Harris (47), District 11 Male (victor of the 45th Annual Hunger Games)
Green Day - Maria (2000)
I stand up over the remnants of my fire, unsure what to do. My body is calling for me to sleep, but my brain seems to have other ideas, as though it is paranoid. I'm well-fed, as I'm amazingly still drawing sponsor support at this stage in the games - and I'm armed with a knife that the sponsors dropped in for me on the first afternoon of the Games, so I'm more than capable of fending for myself. I might not be as strong or as talented as some of the others - although I bet I'm not far off Finnick or Brutus in terms of strength - I'm surely as experienced as anyone left alive in the ways of the arena. I've mentored every single year since my victory three decades ago.
After years of disappointments battling for my tribute's supremacy in the Hunger Games to no avail, I thought that I'd grown immune to the effects of the arena. That the Hunger Games could no longer affect me. Of course, those strangely optimistic thoughts came at a time before I knew that I would be a player once more.
So Seeder and I became a part of these Games like all the others, and when we were approached we became a part in Plutarch's master plan to save the Mockingjay. What's happening with the plan now, I don't know. I was never told much, and Seeder - my only real link to any of the allies - died to Brutus' sword hand on the first day at the cornucopia. Since then I've been wandering the jungles alone, my plan of action very similar to that of my first Games - to stay alive at all costs.
It was the second day when I began to understand the clock, after watching the traps circle around the arena all morning, struggling myself having been assaulted by large black insects with pincers as sharp as any sword in what I now know to the section of the clock between eleven and twelve. This theory was confirmed when I watched the Careers ambush Plutarch's grand alliance that afternoon and saw the cornucopia revolve in the aftermath to disorient the surviving allies. Since then, there's been just one death in the last day.
After the rapid death rate at the beginning of the Games and the lull in activity today - there were no faces in the sky tonight - I wouldn't be surprised if the 75th Annual Hunger Games will be over before sunrise. In all likelihood, that makes this evening my last on Earth. If Katniss and I make it to the final two, I've already given Plutarch my word that I'll give my life for her, just as Seeder did only sixty hours ago. She's got so many on her side - both in the arena itself and less directly in the Games Headquarters and the Capitol beyond - that if Katniss Everdeen doesn't reach the final two of the Games, something has gone seriously wrong. Hell, even the Head Gamemaker is on her side.
For a moment, I look up into the clear, starry sky, trying to remember who is still in the game. Myself. Beetee from District 3. Johanna Mason from District 7. The pair of Careers from District 2, Brutus and Enobaria. Finnick Odair, to whom I assume most of the sponsor support is being directed. And we've still got the star-crossed lovers from District 12. If we lose them, then everything that Plutarch has worked for - a chance to fight for the liberty of Panem - will be gone in the blink of an eye. If we exclude the five allies who will undoubtedly be staying together until the very end, I've only got Brutus and Enobaria to worry about at the moment.
Realising that the two Careers will most likely be on the prowl throughout the night, I accept the fact that this night will be a sleepless one. Here in the thick jungle high up on the slopes of the arena, I'm no longer safe. The thick foliage in all directions cuts my visibility to twenty or thirty yards at best in all directions. I feel vulnerable; an ambush would be all too easy.
With a new sense of urgency, I gather up what few valuable supplies I have - a lighter, a metal water bottle, a couple of strips of dried meat left over from my evening meal - and cram them into my small navy blue backpack, hoist the bag onto my back and set off down the hill towards the cornucopia at a brisk walking pace. By the water, my visibility will be improved tenfold. There, I should be safe, or at the very least, safer than I am now.
As I make my way downhill I get occasional glimpses at the cornucopia and the water surrounding it through gaps in the canopy. From what I can make out, Plutarch's alliance have abandoned the beach. Do doubt they'll be staying together until the very end, to protect Katniss at all costs. With their numbers, they should be safe in the jungle, unlike myself. Knowing what they know about the arena, I'm sure that Beetee's kept everyone well away from the continuous Gamemaker traps. The wave's only recently gone, so I bet it's getting on for eleven in the evening. I bet that the allies are somewhere between five and seven on the clock, keeping safely out of harm's way. I'm approaching the cornucopia from somewhere between twelve and two, so I should be far enough from the alliance to be aware of any attempted ambush. Not that they'll attack me, anyway. At the end of the day, we're on the same side. As before, my real concern are the tributes of District 2.
As I travel down the hill, I become aware or disturbances in the trees around me. Panicked cries for help, muffled by the canopy. The rustlings of tributes running through the foliage. Worried that something is kicking off either between the Careers and the allies or between the allies themselves - whose position I have clearly misjudged - I choose to pick up the pace, resulting in a light jog, eager to be free of the confines of the jungle.
I'm probably two hundred yards from the beach when I run straight into Brutus, and I do mean that literally. I was so blindsided dashing through a gap between the trees that I tackle him to the floor before I even know that he's there. We land together in a tumble of sweaty, exhausted bodies and for a moment both of us are lying incapacitated on the floor, recovering. Then I'm first to my feet, looking down at the man from District 2, who I see has his legs caught up in some of the thick vines that spread over the jungle floor. His sword has been flung away from him into the undergrowth, so for the moment he is unarmed. I already know that I won't get a second chance. Pulling my knife from my belt while Brutus is still floundering on the floor, I reach down to go for the final blow, but he grabs my ankle and pull it from under me. I crash to the ground, landing hard on my left shoulder. Brutus is upon me in an instant, but I'm still the only man with a weapon. As he reaches over with his arms I drive my knife at him, burying it into his left forearm. Brutus collapses next to me and cries out in pain, but as I struggle to pull the blade free I get caught on my temple by a fierce blow that makes me see stars before consciousness fails me.
When I come round, I know that a few seconds have passed as Brutus is pinning me to the floor, sitting on my chest, his knees on my shoulders. There's my knife in his hand, and a triumphant grin plastered across his face.
There isn't time for any thought other than that I'm about to die. I want to think back over the past few years, to remember something to take with me into whatever waits for me after the arena, but nothing is forthcoming. The only thought that I can conjure is that I tried my hardest, but that my best wasn't good enough.
Then the knife comes down, and there's an excruciating feeling of tearing, puncturing, shattering, a hard white light and then nothing.
A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)
I'd like to mention that I've started adding summaries to the chapters prior to the First Quarter Quell. It's taking longer than expected, but the first five chapters are now updated, so feel free to check them out :)
P.S. Updates will be more regular again in the future :)
