Chapter Twenty-Seven - "We All Fall Down, Part Two"

It's too late.

As soon as Quartz rears his head to look at me, the crate and surrounding ground erupts around him; swaddling him in a violent torrent of mud, concrete, flames and steel. The shockwave is so great, I find myself being forcefully knocked onto my back, covering myself as dust shrouds me and rocks pepper my hands and face. The explosion, fused with what sounds like his cannon, makes it sound as if the arena itself were about to collapse on top of us.

Through the racket, Gem is screaming like an absolute madwoman. The smoke clears enough so that I see her wreathing on the ground, coated in soot and Panem knows what else.

I flick my rifle's selector to 'burst-fire'.

My brain compels me to scan around. Textbook threat assessment. NCOs at the Academy drill us through this all the time. Where is the threat? I see them, tributes, clad in dark uniforms, up above on ground level moving in for the kill. Twelves. I bet my life they were banking on this very moment.

I'm on the verge of losing that bet.

"Zenobia?!"

I lay my eyes on Syndra, my ally, who lies a few feet away, still dazed and confused. Except, Syndra isn't my ally anymore, is she? Neither are any of the others. I recall scenes of Viondra and I lounging in Two's apartment, tearing each tribute apart for weaknesses and potential gains.

They're cushioning. We concluded. Assurance.

And I need to be assured.

"Zenobia?!" Cicero's voice breaks above the confusion. "What now!?"

The others are starting to snap out of it, clambering onto their fours or barely standing upright. Gem continues to wail in agony. I briefly trade looks with a perplexed Max, only to lay my eyes on the smoke grenades that dangle off of my harness.

"What are you waitin' for!?" Paulus barks. "Move your ass!"

Damn it all. As if possessed, I immediately fumble for them, pulling each individual pin. Within a blink of an eye, the surrounding area is choked with thick smoke. The last thing I see before the smoke shrouds me is Syndra's devastated face.

"Zenobia!"

I ignore her as I break off into a sprint, towards the blast zone where Quartz once was, effectively severing ties with an alliance that lasted longer than expected…At least they had that going for them.

A group of rich Capitol kids going mano a mano with a bunch of Rebels, who the hells was I kidding?! Them surviving the bloodbath was nothing short of a miracle!

I bank left, hearing Gem's screams as clear as day as I pay her no mind and continue to stumble forward, stomping into knee-deep muck. I fall flat on my face not once but twice as voices both familiar and unfamiliar are barking orders to each other. That's when the gunfire begins to erupt.

The smoke grenades continuing to emit their vapors, I scramble through the mud, ignoring the fact that it's waist deep now. I might as well be running with my eyes closed but I don't dare stop. I'm heating up. Paired with the alarm bells ringing off inside, my brain is under assault by a collage of questions. Where's shelter? Where can I regroup? Where are they? Where are they so I can kill them instead of them killing me!? Who cares about that right now, just escape! Live to fight another hour.

One cannon fires. I don't hear Gem's screams any more.

The cannon startling me, I collide face first into a wall of mud and stone. A sharp wave of pain washes over it and I swear my front left tooth is chipped to shit.

There is literally no time to truly register it, as I quickly clamber my way upward. The smoke is still emitting but I'm sure it's coming to the end of its time. To add to the confusion, my communicuff is vibrating up a storm, emitting a siren-like noise to boot. Muddy and waterlogged, I manage to clear the slope and get onto solid ground.

"What does that mean?!" I hiss aloud. Like I need more things to worry about.

I get my answer in the form of a nosefull of putrid vapor and the physical feeling of the world crumbling around me.

And by the Capitol it was crumbling.

"Oh…Panem!" I choke out in absolute horror.

There's a terrible groaning sound off in the distance. As if I were on skis, I find myself struggling to balance on my own two feet. What little trees that line the street begin to sway violently and the derelict cars rumble like wind-up toys.

Over the racket more gunfire erupts, followed by panicked screams. One cannon rings out, followed by another seconds later. An uncomfortable warmth spreads across my chest.

With the cloud of gas pushing forward, I have no choice but to quickly retreat from where I came. I try to go down the easy way, but the earth ends up flushing me down to the bottom in a wave of mud. If my head weren't upright, I would have drowned. I worm my way out of the muck, hissing out a curse as I observe my mud-caked rifle. There's no time to clean it. Instead, I keep the gun level as I cautiously stumble forward, quickly adjusting my askew rucksack.

The ever-approaching vapors, combined with the smoke from the grenades and the ambush makes it look as if I stepped into the Battle of District 8. I sway the rifle from side to side, daring a tribute to stumble through the haze and into my sights.

I pick up the pace, moving from east to west again. I ignore the easy way out in the form of the scaffolding to my right. That's where they would want us to retreat to.

In the middle, where the loot crate continues to smolder, I spot them. They stick out like a sore thumb, Justin Matix with his pasty white skin and hair alongside his ginger-headed partner, Thom. Faces covered with gas masks, Thom points at me.

I reply by opening fire on them. Especially him. They hug what little cover there is as I press forward to end them both.

Something hot whizzes across the side of my head. Making it wet. I swivel to the source, another Twelve, and open fire, prompting them to flee. I swivel back to Matix, who aims a pistol my way, only to cower back in his corner as I fire a burst at him again.

My body shudders as I barely stifle a cough. The vapor is spreading. Whereas Matix was visible a moment ago, he isn't now. Paulus flags me down, waving me toward a slope of scraggy road.

"You'll get him next time!" he says. "Come. Now, 'fore the gas gets you!"

I give it a running start, ignoring the crumbling world around me as I clamber up the slope and onto level land again. Despite coming down with a hefty coughing fit, I continue to briskly jog down the length of the road in search of a store or apartment that isn't welded shut.

My communicuff is useless. It too is caked mud. Maybe Viondra's sending me a note right about now? Some direction, any direction!

Too busy with trying to clean the gauntlet up, my legs get caught up on something and I find myself tumbling onto the street.

I would've got up just as fast as I fell, if I didn't stop to gaze into Daphne's vacant eyes. She lies spread out like a star, her bottle green jacket stained dark red near the chest all while a singular wound in her head continues to ooze blood.

A few feet away lies a Twelve female that I recall being named Theta. Her front is turned away from me, a spear protruding out of it. A spear that looks a lot like…

A bout of wet coughs prompts me to lift my eyes upward. Beyond Theta lies Syndra, slumping against a pile of rubble. One hand clutching her middle, she raises a wobbly hand towards me.

"Zenobia…please," she moans. "Please…help…"

The arena gives out another groan, and the earth begins to wobble again. Paulus comes into view.

"Oh no you don't!" he scolds. "The dame's toast, she's only gonna slow you down!"

"Daphne's dead, an' she doesn't look all that bad herself…" on shaky ground I make my way over to her. It's only when I get closer that I see the extent of her injuries. Hissing as I remove her arm from her middle, the entirety of her jacket from breasts to groin is stained deep red. There's a strong scent of iron in the air.

"I'm O.K," Syndra says as blood dribbles from her mouth. "It doesn't...hurt as much...as it did when it happened…"

My head whips back towards the sinkhole where I continue to hear yelling, and then back down the street where I mean to head, and then back to my front where Syndra continues to pant laboriously. My mind flashes back to our first day in the Capitol, her smiling image as we were loaded into the truck, her trying to defend me from Rief and the others and I can't leave her to the arena's devices.

A cannon fires above. I make my decision.

"Zenobia! The fuck are you doin'?!" Paulus roars, eyes bulging as he watches me tug Syndra onto her feet. "She. Is. Dead. Weight! What happened to the one-girl-army? Kill first, ask questions later?!"

"She deserves better than to die in the rubble!" I snap back.

"I'm not dying?" Syndra replies, her tone droopy. She lets out a pained groan as I loop her arm over my shoulder. "I'm not dying am I…?"

I don't reply, but rather splutter out a cough as the vapor continues to creep up the street. Quickly, I unfasten my gasmask from my harness, cleaning out most of the muck as I fasten it over my face. Syndra's next.

Now, we make our escape. I hobble with Syndra as fast as I can, pausing for a second or two as the earth trembles in waves, making us teeter like we were on a deck of a ship caught in a storm. The stone fixtures falling from the already decrepit buildings also force me to constantly change directions as they collide and shatter against the street, earning us a few close calls. Syndra's body doesn't like it one bit, as the young Capitol woman screams out with every step we take.

"Please! Please! Leave me," she cries. "I can't take it anymore!"

"You'll be feelin' a whole lot worse if I do!" I say back, my mind racing a mile a minute.

Come on, come on…There has to be a building that isn't welded shut! When I finally see a storefront with a wide open door, I hobble towards it…Only for it to disintegrate before my eyes.

Using a building alcove as shelter, I cover Syndra and watch as the store crumbles as if it were made out of sand rather than concrete and steel. The masks come in handy, blocking out the torrent of smoke that blows our way.

"Zen, you ain't thinkin' straight! What kinda quack trainer told you to enter a fuckin' building durin' a earthquake?!"

"You're right, you're right…" I murmur. "Relax, Zen. Relax..."

So, I decide to wait it out in silence, listening only to Syndra's loud breathing and bouts of coughing. The tremors die out some minutes later. The telltale positive beeps from our communicuffs tells us that the vapors are no longer a problem and that the arena's boundaries are secure…for now.

I rip off my mask, relishing in the cool air that washes over my face. My jacket zipper is next. I can literally see the steam from my body evaporate. With the amount smoking off of me, I can't help but wonder how much longer I had until I collapsed.

A bout of pitiful coughs reminds me to check up on Syndra. I try to put on a strong face when I look over her bleak state. Her skin's lost any prior luster it had, having a tint comparable to off-white paper. Her eyes, once a bright blue, were now sunken in. Her full, pink lips are soiled with blood. She breathes through her mouth now, all wet and phlegmy.

"Don't look, Mother…" she rasps, glancing up at what appears to be a camera. "Please don't look…"

I briefly turn my attention to my brother as a leg's length away, Paulus nods to another storefront across the street. Reminds me a lot like the buildings back in Two. Residence up top, store at the bottom.

"That building looks good…for now at least," he says.

I frown. "What? What about the earthquake?"

Paulus points to a spacing between the selected building and the collapsed mess that was the other one. "There's an alleyway there, y'see? Integrity should be fine…should."

"Better than bein' out in the open." I scoop Syndra up in my arms, hushing her as she moans out. "Syndra, I'm bringin' you to shelter, okay?"

She murmurs back in reply as I hustle my way across the ruined street and up the street towards the storefront, opting for the apartment entrance. Wouldn't want to be spotted on the street level. Besides a sandwiched-in stairwell and a few fissures in the walls, the building holds up nicely. The apartment loft itself looks like most shelters the arena has to offer - frozen in time and rattled by the most recent earthquake. It's an open loft, with an island kitchen to the left and a hallway towards the bedrooms on the right.

I immediately place Syndra on the first couch I see, gasping when she shrieks out in agony. I instantly clasp her mouth shut, maneuvering her to the ground so that she sits upright. The couch must've dipped, disrupting the wounds.

"I'm gonna make you comfortable, okay? Just hold on a sec longer…" I soothe, first turning towards my rucksack, only to spy the hardcase strapped to her leg and rummage through that instead, finding a vial of morphling. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now we're in business.

"Here, this'll set you straight." I can't help but glance at her middle. Even her pants are wet with blood, soaking the hardwood floor.

As I tear open her pant leg and jab the syringe into her thigh, Syndra blows out a sigh of relief. seeming to gain a little clarity, she her head so that her glistening eyes are level with mine.

"Why…? Why leave…?" she sobs out. "They're…They're all dead now…"

My lips part to offer a meager reply when I hear muffled noises from outside. Voices. As well as the scraping of boots against the concrete. Shit shit shit! I jump onto my feet, clutching my rifle in a death grip as I hear the pounding of feet get louder.

"How did they find us?!" my brain feels like it's imploding into mush. Were they watching us? Was it Syndra's blood trail? My eyes fly towards the back bedrooms but I immediately shelve the idea. I'd just be trapping myself at this point.

I swivel on my feet a few times. I'm covered head to toe in mud and blood, my rifle has how many rounds left in it (too little to deal with whoever is coming our way), I have an ally who's on death's door…An uncomfortable warmth washes over me, pitting in my chest as I come to the realization that this is the end.

I mean…I did tell them this right? Randy and the gang? That this was the ultimate goal? Kill kill kill until I was killed?

"It ain't over till the cannon rings," says Paulus.

"I'm not you, Paulus!" I snap back, hot tears flowing from my eyes. "I'm not some big shot shoe-in for the Games! In a perfect world I wouldn't be here!"

You see? I was right. I'd volunteer and kill kill kill until I was killed. Now, it's my number being called up.

"Zen. Con-cen-trate," Paulus replies firmly. "You know what to do."

I shake my head. Maybe I'd know what to do if Syndra was up to snuff, but now…"How can I concentrate when I'm boxed in like this? How am I gonna-"

"Zenobia."

"What?!"

"You know what to do."

My head snaps toward the shut front door. I hear the giveaway creaks of footsteps making their way up the stairs. Slowly, methodically. Any second now and that door is going to burst open and I'll be fighting to live another day…again.

S'not like I haven't done it a dozen times since I got here. Just this time the stakes are a little bit higher. I switch the rifle's fire rate to 'auto', craning my head towards Syndra who eyes me back with an unfocused gaze.

I plant a finger to my lips and slip into the adjacent hallway, clutching my gun as if it's a lifeline. I steady my breathing. I may be battered and bruised, but I ain't used up yet. It ain't over till the cannon rings.

I fasten my bayonet into the rifle's lug and give it a wiggle for good measure. Nice and snug.

The footsteps cease. I begin to think that they aren't aware of our presence and they're just here for shelter by happenstance. That is, until the door bursts open and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart thumps a mile a second, flooding my ears. I barely make out the hushed whispers.

"There's one."

I inhale.

"She looks dead already."

And I exhale, moving from out of cover as I train my rifle on the first target I see - a District 12 female who looks like a deer caught in headlights. Before she could train her gun on me, I open fire and she shrieks, groaning and dropping to the ground as I follow her down, not letting go of the trigger until her cannon sounds.

And it does.

Without skipping a beat, I swivel my rifle towards her big, bald district partner who looks just as frightened.

I pull the trigger, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach when the stupid thing doesn't fire. Fuckin' mud jammed the guts, caused a stoppage. That's why I have a bayonet, right?

Remembering my training, I screech as loud as I can while charging towards Twelve.

Armed with a hatchet, Twelve meets me halfway. He slams the blade down toward me and I swat it away, turning my rifle horizontally as I drive him up towards the front door, slamming it shut as I brace the rifle up against his neck. It's not going to work. The boy - man - is a head and a half taller than me and built like an ox. It's no surprise when he clasps me by the shoulders and knees me in the groin. That, and the blood flowing from his female partner's lifeless body, sends me tumbling to the ground.

As I lay on my bottom, watching as this man lumbers his way toward me, I realize I'm at an extreme disadvantage. It's no secret that the Games tended to produce strapping males, Career or not. Floris and the other female NCOs would drill it into us girls that we were no match for these types of males. I've seen it time and time again, perfectly good female tributes with good footwork and swordsmanship getting absolutely thrashed by boys bigger than them.

This Twelve is that type of male and more. Who knows what type of training he underwent in that cave back in District 13? No matter what, it'll be an interesting match up.

An Overwhill cadet versus a District 13 soldier. I already know who the best 'man' is.

With his hatchet in hand, he stomps toward me, his face sporting an ugly sneer, roaring as he attempts to stamp my head in with his boot. I roll out the way, activating one of my gauntlets as I stab it through his ankle.

Letting out a howl of pain, he backs off and I rise, activating another gauntlet. One retaining its dagger-like shape, the other in the three-pronged claw mode. I press the attack, stabbing, chopping and thrusting him into a corner all while he barely deflects my blows with his hatchet. Some of my cuts get through, as he lets out pained growls every now and then while his jacket gradually gains dark splotches of wetness on it.

His back against the wall yet again, one of my thrusts breaks through. As one gauntlet pierces his shoulder, I prepare to send the three prongs into his face.

His hatchet spares him, as the head of it wedges itself in between two of the prongs, halting any momentum.

Come on. Come on! I drive the three prongs upward, screeching on top of my lungs as the blades slowly inch their way towards his face. He's roaring now too, blood beginning to dribble down his cheek as the prongs enter him. Before I could sink them further, I feel him slacken under me and before I know it, he shoves me backward, one of my gauntlets still stuck in his shoulder.

Barely fazed, I watch as he rips the gauntlet out and casts it aside. All wild-eyed, he's on me just as fast, chopping away like a mad man. We trade blows, our blades singing through the air as we match each other strike-for-strike.

I deliver a low kick to his bad ankle, causing him to tumble to the ground. I go down with him, winding my arm back as I drive the blade down towards his head. The blade sinks into the floor instead.

I earn a fist to the face in reply. It collides into my face with such force my vision flashes over. My mouth immediately fills with crimson. I lurch upwards, feeling my arm unfasten itself from the gauntlet.

Suddenly, he has his hands around my neck and does an maneuver that has me pinned against the ground. I heave for air as he presses against my throat, bucking my hips in a desperate attempt to get him off of me. I rake a hand down his face, into the wound my prongs caused. It draws blood like a leaky faucet. I feel the inside of his mouth, the way his teeth clamp down on my fingers.

I pay it no mind. I let him be distracted. All while my right hand fumbles for the key to end this fight once and for all.

The key in the form of a compact pistol comes from out of my pocket. I raise it towards him.

His eyes flicker towards it, and with a nervous squeal, he clasps my wrist before I could fire a round into his head. My finger slips, resulting in a bomb-like bang that rattles my ears. He wrings my wrist, smashing it into the ground once, twice, four times as the pain becomes too great. The pistol is out of my reach as he sends it skidding across the room. I launch a hook into his face, stunning him.

I turn onto my belly and scramble towards it, only to be pulled back into his vice-like grasp. One hand is on my neck and the other is gripping my hair. Before he could wring my neck, I maneuver from out of his hold, rolling around the room as a tangled ball of flying fists, jutting knees, swears and screams.

I get on top, pressing my forearm into his neck. I spy the pistol by Syndra's feet. Truth be told, I can't do this. I could always outsword a male but sparring was never my strong suit. I need to end this shit, and I need to end it now.

"HELP ME, SYNDRA!" I shriek, desperately trying to maintain my hold on him. "SYNDRA! HELP!"

She doesn't move an inch. The poor girl, once a witty Capitolite who always aimed to please, now lies slumped against a couch. Her lifeless eyes gazing past the grapple she would've otherwise seen and tried her darndest to help.

There's tears in my eyes. Whether it's due to her unfortunate passing or the fact that I am truly alone, I do not know.

Twelve takes advantage, worming his hands from out of my hold, gripping my collar as he pulls me down and meets me halfway by colliding his cue ball of a head with my own.

I see stars. I barely feel myself being pulled up by the collar as he slams me down three more times, rattling my head each blow.

Stay awake. Stay AWAKE! I'm trying, but there's no air. My brain is screaming for air. Suddenly, I'm back on that back road in December. My chest exposed and my skirt torn as I lay on the ground waiting for death to take me like it took my parents. Twelve even sneers like those men, as he applies more pressure onto my throat.

"I've had…a few PKs…from a distance…by gun…" he rasps, his breath hot against my face. "...Not like this, though…You Twos are…impressive…"

I try to pry his hands off my throat, to no avail. I don't even have control anymore. My vision continues to grow dimmer and dimmer until…

I wake up in a field. The cicadas are buzzing and the sun beams down on me something fierce. It doesn't bother me none, what, with the breeze being so refreshingly cool, it all balances out. I rise onto my feet, brushing off my Overwhill-issued skirts. A familiar scent envelopes my nostrils. Something tangy and sweet …

Dad's steak. A Panem Day specialty that has the entire neighborhood jealous.

I turn around. Mom and Dad, wearing civvies for once, are on the back deck. Dad tends the grill while Mom lounges with a book in hand. Probably something pre-Panem. She loves Pre-Panem authors.

She spots me, placing her book down as she sits upright and grins. She doesn't motion me forward, though.

I return the grin, and begin walking towards the deck. Should take but a few seconds.

Except it doesn't. It's as if I'm not making any progress at all!

A casual walk turns into a speed walk which then turns into a jog and then a full on sprint. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get there!

"Mom?! Dad?!"

Mom's eyes flicker towards Dad, who closes the grill shut.

"It's gonna be a long, long time before you get here, Zenny…"

I frown. What the hells is he talking about?! I'm right here. I already arrived! Still, as I continue to run and run, the father away from home I get.