19

Rue whipped out her sling and had it loaded with a sharp stone before Prim could even register fear. Prim pulled hers out of her belt and followed suit, of only to do something with her hands. Rue turned and they stood back to back for a moment. Prim scanned the forestry but couldn't even spot a place where anyone could hide. Was Rue certain she heard something?

"Maybe we should get back to Peeta," Prim whispered. At the mention of Peeta's name her imagination took off like a startled bird. What if Marvel had attacked Peeta somehow? What if Marvel was following them, preparing to stab them with his spear?

"Let's go." Rue's voice was fierce and determined. She and Prim sprinted at the same time side-by-side, neither one gaining ahead. They were a team.

Bushes crashed apart, twigs snapped, and Prim threw a glance over her shoulder. No one. But she felt it now—she felt followed.

They burst into the section by the river and there lay Marvel, still sleeping with an angry frown on his face. Peeta sat on a stone by the river with Marvel's spear hovering over the flowing water. A stack of dead fish—all with a wide hole in their bodies—lay on the ground beside him. He jumped to his feet at their approach, the spear now poised in a throwing position.

Instinctively, Prim squealed, "It's us!"

"I won't kill you on accident," he said, sounding a little insulted.

"Someone was following us." Rue kept her slingshot tight in her hand.

Prim looked back into the forest and still saw no one. "She thinks someone was following us." If only Rue was wrong.

"It's probably Cato." Marvel gave a nasty grin, pushing himself to a sitting position.

"Then we better get moving." Peeta acted as though Marvel's words didn't scare him, but his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the forest. Prim didn't like thinking of Peeta being afraid. He was their protector.

"We brought some food." She showed him her cupped jacket. Maybe that would calm him.

"Good job, girls. Stow it in the pack and let's get going." He jerked his head at Marvel. "Get up."

"What if I can't?" Marvel sneered.

"Well, seeing as how you're wounded, weaponless, and without any food…I don't think it'd be in your best interest to be defiant and stay here."

Marvel growled—he actually growled—like a caged cat, then pushed himself to his feet.

"We'll give you some of our food." Prim gestured to their supplies.

"Just shut up." Marvel focused on not jostling his bandaged arm.

Peeta slung the pack over his shoulder, slid the hatchet into his belt, and used the spear as a walking stick. "We'll, um..." he glanced around, "head back into the forest, retracing where you felt followed, and then curve back to the river."

Marvel snorted.

"Do you have a better idea?" Peeta's knuckles whitened on the spear-staff.

"Peeta's doing the best he can!" Prim exclaimed, planting her hand son her hips. "He's going to keep all of us safe. Don't you want to be safe?"

Marvel sighed and stared up at the sky as though imagining Prim's face up there, proclaiming her death. She had an urge to stomp her foot on the ground, but that would just make her appear more immature. She didn't want to give Marvel more reason to be cruel. But didn't he want to be safe? Who wouldn't want safety? Life? Friends?

It made no sense.

Marvel teetered on his feet. Despite his bravado, his pale skin revealed the effort standing took. He shouldn't be walking yet, not after such a wound. But the Games didn't follow the normal rules of healing. She stepped closed to Peeta. "Maybe we should give Marvel some bread."

Without a word, Peeta ripped off a small chunk and tossed it to Marvel. Marvel caught it in his good hand before he even looked at it—signs of someone who was used to catching and throwing…weapons.

Marvel glared at Peeta. "The more food you give me, the more strength I get with which to kill you."

"If you're that much against us feeding and helping you, then just give the bread back." Poor Peeta. More and more, Prim wished she had the power to force him to leave—to be free of these burdens she brought to their small group, such as wounded enemies.

Marvel stuffed the bread in his mouth. "Better get moving before Cato shows up." Was that a warning? Or was Marvel just afraid of being killed by his fellow Career tribute?

"You're right." Was Peeta really agreeing with him? Or playing an angle?

Prim rubbed her eyes. Too much over-thinking.

They set out for the forest, Rue in the lead, Marvel next with Peeta directly behind him, and Prim bringing up the rear. She didn't like being in the back—it made her feel as though Cato could come up behind her and snatch her away before anyone noticed—but she understood why Peeta put her there. Rue somehow knew how to navigate through the forest, Peeta could monitor Marvel, and Prim was safe to run if she needed to.

The forest seemed more ominous, even though it was broad daylight. Prim scanned the ground. There. Imprints in the dirt. "Peeta," she hissed. "There are footprints." They seemed small. It must be a girl following them. Who else had small feet?

"I think those are yours and Rue's, from when you came this way the first time."

Prim's cheeks flared with heat. Of course they were. How stupid of her.

Marvel guffawed, loud and echoing. Peeta knocked him in the temple with the butt of the spear. "Shut it."

Marvel obeyed, but the look he gave Peeta from Prim's point of view, was more murderous than any one she'd seen before this. He was dangerous. Too dangerous. But she still didn't regret saving him. It went against everything Mom trained her to be.

"This is the spot," Rue whispered, and stopped.

All except Marvel scanned the area. Peeta ventured a few feet into the forest. He didn't seem to know what to look for and why should he? He was a baker's son. But Prim noticed something or, rather, the absence of something. When they all congregated again she spoke in a low voice. "The berries that I spilled aren't here anymore. Someone picked them up."

.

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To be continued...

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How would you live if you knew the day you'd die? Parvin Blackwater believes she has wasted her life. At only seventeen, she has one year left according to the Clock by her bedside. In a last-ditch effort to make a difference, she tries to rescue Radicals from the government's crooked justice system. But when the authorities find out about her illegal activity, they cast her through the Wall - her people's death sentence. What she finds on the other side about the world, about eternity, and about herself changes Parvin forever and might just save her people. But her clock is running out.