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[!] Syndra, Cicero, Daphne and Maximus have all been added to the blog via "Characters Cont'd". I think my blog skills got rusty again, seeing as I can 'compress' sections instead of making one long list...but I think it'll serve its purpose for now. You can also find them in the "Photo Gallery".
Chapter Twenty-Six - "We All Fall Down"
The slightest nudge to my knee prompts me to snap my eyes open and activate my gauntlet. I relax when I realize it's Daphne that woke me. It's too late though, as the frightened girl squeals and falls flat on her ass. She activates her communicuff light, allowing me to see her wide, petrified eyes.
"I'm s-sorry!" she babbles. "It's t-time for your shift."
Silently, still sluggish from sleep, I activate my communicuff. It seems our commotion has woken up the room. Cicero has his gun at the ready, but with a casual yawn quickly slinks back into his sleeping bag. Syndra's face on the other hand is full of concern as she groggily asks "What's wrong?". I barely catch Max sheathing his ax back onto his belt.
Scowling, I rub the sleep out of my eyes. Despite swearing I'd do the contrary, I managed to doze off. But to my shock, they managed to keep the watch system going. Without me prompting them. It almost makes me want to trust them again. Almost. Syndra, appearing ready, wriggles out of her sleeping bag and extends a hand toward me.
"Ready to go, Zenobia?" she asks in her upbeat Capitol tongue.
Silently, I accept her hand, with my bad hand, groaning as I feel the skin stretch as she tugs me upward.
It's funny. On Launch Day the arena was fairly nippy, damp and shrouded in overcast. Now, there's a fresh layer of snow on the ground. That, coupled with the forcefield's ambient glow, reminds me of the tundra environment I fear and hate so much. They could control it, the Gamemakers. But something tells me they want us to be uncomfortable. The other tributes, that is. My newly-sponsored jacket is almost too warm for me. I feel the frigid air against my face and my exposed arm where Syndra is quietly at work redressing my wounds. From elbow to hand it's like pins and needles but I don't make too much of a fuss.
I almost died to that guy. The scare with Troy prompted a halt in our activity, thus the two days of little to no talk between me and the rest of the alliance. Viondra made it clear she wanted me to calm down, allowing me plenty of time to brood over the fact that if I didn't have the Capitol behind me, I'd be long gone. The others are obviously feeling guilty about his duping them, thus the awkwardness. As Syndra nurses my arm, I think back to the chipper Capitolite who flashed me grins way before formally introducing myself. Eyeing me from even before we got off our respective trains.
"She ain't bad for a Capitol," says Paulus, smoking yet another cigarette as he hangs over the balcony we occupy. "Wears her heart on her sleeve and gives it to you straight. The perfect ally, I'd say."
Which begs the question…. "How are you?"
Syndra glances up at me with a raised brow. "Hm?"
"It's obvious that this isn't 'your thing'," I explain. "It really isn't anyone's thing, but in the Districts, least we can anticipate it. Capitols don't anticipate goin' into the Games. You just watch. An' here you are, eight days in and you're not a face in the sky yet. The junkies'll be talkin' 'bout you guys for years."
She blushes as I continue on.
"From what y'told me, your folks were pretty high up the chain. A year or two ago you were attending parties and reading Games almanacs. Now here you are, killin' mutts and huntin' down Outliers…How are you?"
Syndra stares out into the early morning sky, seemingly in thought before she looks me square in the eyes.
"I miss my bed," she murmurs.
I blink and after a solid five seconds of silence, we both snicker. A light, gentle laugh that seems so inappropriate for the situation we find ourselves in. Syndra waves a hand in dismissal.
"Let me explain," she continues, massaging her cheeks. "It's…It's all quite tiresome. A moment doesn't go by when I wonder if things are all going to go to Thirteen or not. It's like…it's like having an exam you're not confident in every single day for a whole month."
Pursing my lips, I find myself nodding at her reply. "That's a…a pretty spot on description of how all this feels."
She shakes her head, not believing me. "But you're as cool as ice! If you're scared like the rest of us, you don't show it at all…"
"We're taught from a young age, us Twos, to suck it up and' take the plunge," I reply. "Sink or swim. Y'have it or y'don't."
Syndra gazes out towards the rising sun. "Well…at the risk of being premature, I think you're swimming laps."
Yea, all thanks to my 'water wings'...I mean, Viondra and co. can only do so much of the work. I cant my head to the side and offer her a shrug in reply.
When Syndra and I get back from watch, it seems that the rest of the alliance is ready to carry on the day. Whatever small talk they were having peters out as all their eyes latch onto me. It seems we've all gotten over the rat that was in our midst…regardless of the smushed-in table and fragments of glass we share the room with.
"What's the plan?" Cicero asks.
It's the same that it's been since they fished me from out of the tunnels. Circle the boundary like a clock, sweeping up any tribute that comes our way. Maybe, just maybe, we'll run into my 'district partners' or better yet, the Thirteens.
"How's that leg?" I ask Quartz as I watch him stretch it out. "Won't be a problem, will it?"
"It's stiff," he mumbles as I watch him 'test it out'. It's obvious he's putting on a poker face. When he takes in my blank expression, he musters up a grin and a shrug. "But it's good. If anything happens, I'll take care of myself."
I nod curtly. That's all I ask. I couldn't help but notice Gem's awkward gaze as we file out of the apartment, leaving us two as the last to leave.
"Hey, Zenobia?" she begins as the others gain some distance. "I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't know him, or at least I thought I did…I-I was just so tired and he didn't seem to mind. I guess that's what he was hoping for…"
We reach the landing of the third floor, rounding the hallway so we can move onto the next flight. Part of me is still bent from the whole ordeal. I'm partly to blame for pairing the two together. In hindsight, I'm surprised he didn't just kill her while she was out. Probably because she isn't a present threat. That, and her cannon going off.
I remember Syndra's words yesterday afternoon. About the others being drained. They're already doing what's expected. Who knows what'll happen if I push them too far. Her too far. Maybe she'll turn on me, what's stopping her?
And besides…Her crying herself to sleep after the fact tells me she isn't keen on pissing me off again.
"What's done is done," I reply, keeping my gaze straight. "Who knows how long you have left here. Eight hours. Ten days. If you wanna live, you're gonna wanna push your body farther than the next guy."
From the corner of my eye, I see her nod eagerly. "Right. I'm sorry."
To my surprise, as we reach the street, Gem walks out some distance ahead of the main body.
"I'll take the lead if you want?" she says.
I quickly remember how she called out the boy from Eight the other day. She isn't all that incompetent.
"Go ahead," I tell her. "If you spot out another tribute or two, you'll get the first lookout shift for the evening guaranteed."
She grins as I point in the direction I want her to go. Incentives…Tried-and-true. As we step off, I focus my gaze on a sculpture that takes the form of a winged beast, noting that it looks odd in comparison to the building it 'perches on'.
The Gamemakers begin tightening the arena's boundaries later in the morning. Using the gas as cover, we skulk around the fringes, scaling rubble, weaving through car pile ups and bodies of water. We don't find any tributes, but we do find something. It starts with the wind blowing through, a terrible gust that isn't caused by the air passing through the buildings that surround us. It's enough to cause everyone to halt and exchange weary looks. A shadow as large as a car flashes overhead.
Cicero winces. "Well that's not good at all-"
"Quartz, move!" Gem screams, tugging him to the ground.
Her awareness saves him from being trampled into the ground as a mutt - a gray, hulking thing that easily blends in with the surrounding buildings - crashes down onto the spot they both occupied a millisecond ago, careening into a car. My mind quickly flashes back to the beast on the ledge an hour or two before.
I'm brought back to the present. The ground shudders enough to make me stumble. We all shriek in fright. Cicero skids to my side and we both raise our guns toward this new threat. We let them roar, wasting no time in attempting to put this thing down for good.
"What is that?!" I hear Gem squeal over the roar of gunfire.
Syndra joins in, leveling her revolver towards the mutt. "It's a gargoyle!"
The gargoyle rips itself out of the door it wedged itself into, revealing an extremely gaunt, angular face sporting two, bull-like horns. Eyes as black as coals, the mutt flaunts its veiny wingspan, extending its jaw to reveal more of its long, jagged teeth. Despite all the bullets we pump into the beast, it isn't going down. Instead, it rebuffs our bullets with a deafening shriek so loud and forceful it causes my hair to be blown back and my ears to pop. I barely manage to slap in a fresh magazine.
"There! Over there!" Cicero grabs me by the shoulder, shoving me towards a storefront. The rest of us follow and I watch as Quartz hobbles along with Gem by his side. Max is the first to burst through the double doors as they, followed by Daphne and Syndra, barrel through. Cicero and I are last, tumbling through just as the beast nips at our heels.
If it weren't for the alcove, we'd all be mutt food.
The beast collides into the storefront, sending fragments of metal and glass our way. We cry out, shielding ourselves as best we can while waiting for the mutt to tear us to shreds. Instead, the beast finds itself tangled in the twisted metal of the foundation, screeching and gnashing its teeth in a vain attempt to get at us.
I waste no time scrambling to my feet, cocking my rifle and unloading the entirety of the magazine into the mutt's head. Cicero and Syndra join in. The mutt's screeching, coupled with our gunfire creates a torrent of noise so blaring it all turns into white noise. By the time my gun makes the telltale clicking of an empty mag, the mutt's head is comparable to a smashed pumpkin. Chunks of it decorates the store…including our clothes. Dark red purplish stuff. Syndra fumbles with something in her mouth as Cicero lets out a nervous chuckle. My ears are ringing something fierce.
"Can…Can we take five?" Daphne pants behind me.
I respond by immediately getting onto my knees and unpacking my rucksack, fishing inside for one of my rations. Everyone else follows.
The story immediately begins to smell of our dead friend in the doorway. Him, coupled with the vapor I inhaled back on day two almost causes me to throw up my chicken salad in protest. It's a bad concoction.
Our comfortable silence is interrupted by a commotion.
Frowning, I scan the faces of each of my allies only to whip my head towards the street. We hear screams, and the flapping of wings. It sounds distant…until it doesn't anymore. For an hour - Max times it - we listen as the poor sop of a tribute screams for his life some ways above us. Probably on top of one of the apartments.
I've seen unlucky tributes get caught up in the jaws of mutations. Cato Ludwig and Jackson Spidell of Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five are just two examples. But these screams…They're something else entirely. They start off level, only to reach high pitch, as if the mutt is really going to town…which it probably is. I'm drawn back to that cold December morning, as well as the following months in that field hospital, surrounded by wounded Peacekeepers. Closing my eyes makes it worse, so I just sit there and shovel more food into my mouth, trying my darndest to ignore it.
Gem - the youngest of us - looks absolutely drained with her half-eaten meal trembling in her hands. She breaks out crying, covering her move to stifle her sobs.
Somewhere along the line, their screams stop and a cannon fires overhead. My eyes catch Daphne gazing into space, her eyes glossing over as if she's about to burst into tears at any moment. Max soothingly plays with a strand of her greasy, blue hair.
"What's wrong Daph…?" he coos.
Daphne bursts into a sob. "Why is this a thing?!"
Max frowns, his eyes shifting from left to right as he shakes his head. "Wh…Why is what a thing-"
"This!" she yells out, shaking her head as if someone had told her the world was flat. "What is this?! Why?! What's the point?!"
Everyone immediately bristles at her outburst, shifting their gazes elsewhere or turning their attention back to their food. We're popular, there's no doubt about that. How many millions of people are watching right now? How many of those millions are Gamemakers with our lives in their hands?
While Daphne continues to sob, I slowly turn my gaze towards the street. If we weren't who we were, I could imagine a swarm of those gargoyles bursting into the store right now because of her.
We can't stay glued in one spot for long, being on the fringes of the arena. So we move on from the store, making sure to pay extra attention toward the rooftops. It seems that the gargoyles are out in full force today, as numerous times we have to dip into stores and buildings to avoid them.
"We should get the drop on one," Max says as we hold position in an apartment lobby. Just outside, a gargoyle sniffs the air.
"Are you nuts?!" Quartz hisses.
"We can't duck and hide forever…" says Cicero.
Quartz glares at him as if he were on morphling. "Have you seen how big those things are?"
"This one isn't that big. Maybe we can learn, so it's easier." Max turns toward me. "What do you think, Zenobia?"
I shake my head, noting the visible relief on the girls' faces. I agree with Cicero and Max, but I'd rather save my bullets for tributes rather than mutts.
With the danger clear, we continue our trek. As we march, I mentally debate which one is worse - being mauled by human-sized rat mutts or a flying beast? I settle on the rats. At least they're quick with it. Syndra seems caught up in our last encounter with the 'gargoyle'. She turns to me, her face hard.
"If I ever get caught by one of those things, Zenobia, please end me."
Grinning weakly, I cant my head to the side. "Likewise. Although I don't see you shootin' me point blank. You'll nick me in the arm, probably."
"I'd like to think I'm a decent shot, thank you very much." Syndra playfully spins her revolver's cylinder. "Don't you remember when I took that rat mutt's head clean off?"
We're coming up on a sinkhole-like space that once upon a time, was a normal intersection. The man-made tunnels some meters ahead makes the hole a dead ringer for a subway tunnel left to rot when America fell. The alliance seems hesitant for a moment, but I assure them that we'll use the Gamemaker-made scaffolding to climb the hole back up to the surface again. There's nowhere else to go but straight.
With nowhere else to go, we clamber deeper and deeper into the crevice. The decades of disrepair transformed this crevice into a miniature pond of sorts. Even still, the busted pipes continue to leak substantial amounts of water down into it. Quartz nearly falls flat on his face due to the soupy ground. As I trudge through the muck, I wonder to myself if any of the mystery crates strewn about the arena have any spare boots in them.
"Hey, look at that!"
My head snaps toward Quartz, who seems to have gained some more pep in his step as he quickly hobbles toward a crimson and gold crate right there in the middle of the crevice. Smack dab in the middle for everyone to see. I quicken my pace. I mean, it's a top tier crate. Who knows what they put in there?
But then I stop, my chest tightening. Why here, why now? "So what, that's the highest tier? Only came across orange, yellow and blue so far…"
"Mhm! That's how Cicero and I got our guns," Syndra replies, shuffling ahead. In fact, everyone is hastening their pace towards the coveted crate. "Here's hoping there's some good stuff in there. Hey Quartz, you'd better save me something!"
"Oh no no!" Quartz calls back, nearly crashing into the muck. "Whatever I find in that crate is mine. Maybe, just maybe, I might be willing to share the scraps!"
I squint my eyes at the crate in question. The positioning looks off. It's the mounds of mud and brick that surround it. But everything is mud and brick! I crane my head to the right as Paulus serves me with a hardened gaze.
"Y'know, usually, when you have that feelin' in your gut, chances are you're right."
I frown. I know I'm right. It's too good to be true. Letting go of my inhibitions, I move forward to flag Quartz down.
"QUARTZ!" I bark. "Don't touch it!"