Chapter Thirty-Six - Growth.

Calling our trek back to the apartment a 'slog' is an understatement.

The past eleven days are starting to take their toll. The cuts, bruises and fractures that mark my body have unbound themselves from the salves and dressings used to keep them at bay. As a result, every step I take is comparable to treading on pins and needles.

But If I feel like utter shit, then how does…I take a glance at Emery, my last remaining partner in a line of doomed Capitolites. She's retreated up into that head of hers, not saying a word since our encounter with Spinel. That, and the way her boots scrape across the scraggy road tells me all I need to know. She's running on autopilot.

I take a look at the mid-afternoon sky and the surrounding buildings and quickly decide that we're sitting ducks if we continue any further. It's best if we just relax, if only for a few minutes rather than just making a beeline straight home without truly unpacking from today's events.

I lazily point towards a shop that doesn't seem to be bolted shut. "There…let's rest, for a sec."

I don't have to tell Emery twice as we make our way over to the shop and collapse by the front registers with audible sighs from the both of us. In what was once a refrigerator, I spy a low-tier loot box. I motion for Emery to go check it out.

"Anything?" I ask.

Frowning, Emery shakes her head. No answer. Why am I not surprised?

I let out a scoff, sniff the air and quickly scowl at the scent that my nose picks up. I quickly realize it's coming from me. The sweat, blood - Darlex's more than mine - mixes together to form a stench so pungent I nearly dry heave. Not much left in the stomach to upchuck anyway.

"Why didn't ya tell me I stink so bad?" I ask, half-chuckling. I earn a shrug in response. Rightfully so, Emery is a girl of a few words at the moment.

When Darlex drenched me, he drenched me good. Now that I'm sitting in one place, the briskness of the air is starting to cool the coat and therefore my skin. I'm beginning to question why I put the nasty on in the first place. I try to take it off but like any piece of sopping wet clothing, it's twice as hard. I immediately activate my gauntlets and begin cutting through the fabric, letting the parts drop where they may. Naturally, Emery eyes me like I've gone mad.

"Would you like to wear a sopping wet coat soaked with another tributes' guts?" I ask, my lips twitching into a grin as I quirk a brow. Her face contorting into a grimace, Emery shakes her head. "That's what I thought. Rather get frostbite than wear this shitty thing."

Once the sopping jacket is cut off, the next thing I gawk at is my upper body. I'm not much better than Cicero…bruises dead center on my chest, my sides, not to mention the mutt bite on my arm which thankfully wasn't infected but still retains a very angry redness to it. I don't touch the gash in my head, but I feel it. All in all, how I continue to function on my own free will is beyond me.

We can't put off getting back to safety any longer. Traversing our way around a deep, water-filled culvert, I pause when Emery pauses, watching her as she stares down at it in thought. It makes me feel uneasy. She glances around some more, walks a few meters away into an open building and returns with a metal basket of all things.

I flinch when she moves into the culvert. "Listen, if you trip and fall in I can't save you."

She doesn't reply, heaving the basket full of water out of the ditch and leading the way toward the apartment. It's only when we arrive that I realize what Emery aims to do.

"Oh yeah…" I murmur, watching her as she sets the tub down. "When you're busy fightin' all the time, your mind kinda slips…"

I don't see it often if at all, tributes bathing of all things. I've seen the occasional group or singular tribute come across a lagoon or some other body of water to wade in. Some share a moment of reprise, while others are pulled in by some monstrosity and have to be fished out in parts. Either way, there's barely any time to truly 'relax' in an environment like this.

I guess Viondra and our sponsors think otherwise. Now that we're considered 'safe' back at our apartment hideaway, the sponsor gifts begin to flow in through the gaping hole in the living room wall. It seems our encounter with Spinel had its way with the audience.

One package is for me, the other for Emery and one smaller package that's stamped with both Two and Twelve. I tear into my gift to find a brand new communicuff and rations that could last a week if I really wanted it to. And then I pull out a brand new arena uniform, still cased in shrinkwrap and folded into a neat square.

A brief image of a tribute outside this apartment wearing a ratty uniform comes to mind but I quickly dismiss it. Let 'em rot for all I care.

Grinning, I turn to face Emery. "I guess you were onto something there. The water, I mean."

Emery receives the same items, holding them up for me to see. I'm sure it will be a relief for her as well. In addition to the limited med supplies we have on hand, the sponsors are generous enough to throw in a single med-kit. I make sure to thank everyone for their support and get on about cleaning ourselves up. I begin to explain to my younger ally what our trainers back at Overwhill call a "whore bath".

Emery frowns immediately, raising a brow in confusion.

"Yea, I know, I know, Peacekeepers and their slang. Basically, clean the places that matter," I explain a little sheepishly. "Although given the water we got, it should be enough to dab down your wounds too…in my case at least."

Emery begins shrugging off her coat. "I already know that method."

I quirk a brow as a chuckle escapes my lips. "Do you?"

"The Pioneers taught me…" she replies, frowning while she shakes her head. "Why do you call it that?"

"You guys call it somethin' else?"

"Yes. A 'sink bath'."

A grin quickly spreads across my face. "Guess they didn't wanna corrupt your developing mind."

Instead of using a wad of gauze, this apartment in its surprisingly good condition still has ancient linens stored away that will work just fine. And then there's the problem of where to take our bath. The ancient owners left behind a divider, but it seems that neither of us really wanted to risk that chance. So, using our flashlights built into our cuffs, we decide on the bathroom which besides a fine layer of dust and some leakage from the roof above, is in decent condition.

Remember, beats spending ten days in a tundra, woods or anywhere else…They even have soap left over, unopened in its faded package. Mhm, no group of tributes will ever have an arena like this again.

Despite my yearning to become at least somewhat clean, I let Emery go first, seeing as she isn't in as bad of a shape as I am. It doesn't take long for it to be my turn.

I peel off the remainder of my clothing and the bandages plastered underneath. Usually I would just rip them off but I don't risk it so I do it slow. Thank Panem the body prepping they did makes the process a little more bearable. The small bathroom quickly fills with a sickly sweet smell that grows with each bandage I take off.

My stomach heaves in response, causing me to nearly double over in deep discomfort. Something is going on inside me. The bullets I took from the Threes and Spinel taking a bat to my middle definitely did a number. Even my breaths are ragged. A firm look in the mirror confirms it's pretty bad, worse than when I checked myself out at that corner store. On a lesser note, a casual sweep of my tongue inside my mouth all but confirms I have a few chipped teeth. I force myself to smile fully and quickly frown at what my reflection shows.

Groaning, I grip either side of the ivory sink. It could be worse. I could be just a regular tribute.

I quickly get to work padding down and cleaning my wounds and my body proper. There's not much relief to be had, as with each touch and each drop of water rolling down my body comes a terrible stinging.

When I'm finished, I'm not surprised when I flash the light into the tub, the water that pools at my feet is dark.

I'm just about partially dressed when I hear a knocking at the door. "Yes?" I call out.

Emery's soft voice comes from under the door, "Are you decent?"

"More or less, why?"

"You can't do it yourself."

"Can't do what myself…?" and then my eyes return to the mirror. Despite cleaning myself, my various wounds are still evident. Despite being twelve years old, the girl knows her first-aid. So, with my clothes hanging on my forearm, I join Emery back in the living room where she already has a stool and some tools from our med supplies laid out.

"I see you had this all figured out." I remark.

Emery simply shrugs without saying a word, immediately getting to work as I ease myself onto the stool. She starts with my arm first, worming her tweezers into the various holes Spinel's shotgun drilled into me. I don't know why, since I was the one who called her out on it in the first place, but her silence, the way she goes about patching me up without some sort of upbeat chatter despite our situation grates me.

"I mean, she did just see her brother get off'ed and just survived a bout of torture from that crazy D1 broad…"

I shoot him a look. Since when did he care about Emery enough to care for her side of things?

"I don't. You don't, at least not really," he says. "All I'm sayin' is that if we're stuck with her, we gotta shake things out now 'fore we move on."

"Mm. You're right…"

Emery glances up from her work and looks at me as if I have a million heads. She returns to wrapping gauze around my waist in a girdle like fashion. Each wrap around causes me to gasp and grunt due to how tightly she binds it.

"Uh...Hey. You did…good today," I say, my tone slightly uneven as she continues her work. "Until this year…I don't think I've ever seen the youngest tribute of the Games tough through the…shit they faced like you do. Your folks would be proud."

As if she were reliving the last couple of hours - or years - she freezes part way through binding me, causing a sharp groan to escape my mouth. Her eyes remain downcast.

"It's nothin' to be sad about. Killin' Spinel. Trust me, she didn't deserve to live-"

"Can you please stop talking about it?" Emery snaps through tear-stricken eyes. She takes in her edgy tone and quietly adds, "...Please?"

We stare each other down for seconds before she dutifully returns to her work. So much for shakin' things out…She patches me back together, leaving me feeling better than I entered. I offer to look at the gash Spinel had left on her face only for her to mutter in disagreement. It's a deep gash that's soaked the gauze around it deep red and will leave a scar to remember I'm sure of it. I've seen plenty of training scars at the Academy and Emery's takes gold.

It's all starting to get to her. It got to her the day prior when Clancy was killed. She needs to decompress so I figure let her decompress.

Leaving her to wrap herself in a ball in the living room corner, I immediately become giddy as I remember I have a whole bottle of painkillers left over. Here I am, suffering all while I had the solution stuffed away in my ruck! Outta sight, outta mind can come in handy I guess.

I take a half dozen. Whole, not halved. Big bro doesn't seem to approve, gawking at me as if I downed the whole bottle. Since when was he a square?

"Best quit while you're ahead, Zen…" he tuts.

Downing part of my canteen, I flop onto the ancient bed, gasping at the resulting pain. But Viondra hooked me up with the good Capitol stuff because the stuff already seems to be working it's magic, unwinding my frazzled nerves and easing my taut muscles. I'm so glad I have them. So glad.

"Shut the fuck up. Y'wanna killer, dontcha?" I snap, focusing on the ceiling. "Killer can't kill if she's all fucked up. 'Sides, I earned this…"

I fall asleep to Spinel's jeering, Darlexs' torn body flying into my vision and me throttling each and every remaining tribute. Justin Matix above all else.

When I emerge from the bedroom the next day, dressed as if I were going hunting, Emery's dark skin goes one tone lighter.

"Don't worry," I reassure her. "It's not hunting. Not today. But we do need more offensive supplies. Bullets, actual Games-grade weapons besides kitchen knives. And I'd like it if you came with me."

Without a word, Emery relents as we begin the day.

For the first time in a while, I consult my communicuff to check in on the storm of gas that rings the arena's ever-shrinking boundaries. It hasn't moved in a while, stretching a few blocks and encompassing the northern half of the city park. I can't help but wonder, as twenty-six dwindles down to...twenty, will they engulf the entire arena with fumes? Speed up the process a little bit more? What is their game plan, with the fumes?

I now understand that the muttations in this arena are passive, not summoned like previous years in order to flush tributes out. Not wanting to waste my shotgun rounds and my rifle ammo being nearly finished, I use Emery's pistol to dispatch any pack of muttated dogs we come across.

We search high and low for loot boxes, only to find none or ones that have already been emptied. Our search even brings us to the first floor of what used to be a department store. No loot to be found of course, but the ratty clothes and discarded furniture excite a feeling of curiosity that seems to envelop both me and Emery.

"Y'know, back in Two, they have flea markets filled with ancient knickknacks…some of 'em taken from places like these, or so I hear." I say to Emery, watching her as she studies a female mannequin and the suit it sports. "Did you, back in the Capitol?"

Shoulders sagging, she nods.

I cock my head slightly to the side. "Figures."

The day goes on without a hitch. Part of me, given the prior days, is thankful for the breather. We gain one low-tier crate. Can't go wrong with gauze and sticks of meat. Emery isn't as distant anymore, opting to keep close rather than a few steps behind me.

She halts in place and bends downward. I quirk a brow, my look of confusion becoming one of amusement when she picks up a singular bullet. It looks an awful lot like what my rifle feeds. But…

"That could've been here since the dawn of Panem…" I grouse. It looks clean enough. slip it into one of my empty magazines and would you look at that, it fits. A lucky break, I guess.

That is, until Emery finds another bullet of the same cartridge. And another. And then another until we have a handful of bullets belonging to various calibers. It seems that the Gamemakers collected a bunch of rounds and casted them onto the arena floor. It becomes a game now, who can find the most bullets? It seems that as soon as you pick one up, there's another just inches away. Despite having four-eyes, it's my younger ally that manages to scrounge up the most bullets. By the time we return to the apartment, I have half a magazine replenished.

Half is better than a handful. Even Emery has a few loose rounds to play around with.

I give her a gentle clap on the shoulder. "Thanks, City mouse."

For the first time in two days, the slightest of grins appears on her lips.

Another day passes by without incident. No faces in the sky. No messages from Viondra or the holograms. We change our bandages and eat one pouch from our rations. The pills are working their magic. Coupled with some recovery stretches I learned back in Two, the pain quickly becomes a good pain, the type of pain a person gets after a heavy workout. By evening, when it's sure that no deaths are to occur, Emery retreats to her corner of the living room. Still not saying much. I offer her a spot on the bed, to which I get a noncommittal grunt in return.

"Two days to decompress in a Games is pretty choice," says Paulus, watching me slip into bed as the anthem peters out. "Maybe by t'morrow, the kid'll find her voice again."

I nod in agreement. "Hopefully tomorrow, she'll come 'round again."

Later that night, I hear a slight racket. It's her, entering the room and barricading the bedroom door. Without a word, she finds her place on the spacious bed and settles in. It's better than sleeping in the living room where there's a gaping hole.

I find myself quickly returning to sleep. Bring on day fifteen.

The next day is even colder. Even though somehow I find Emery cocooned against me, not even the additional warmth helps. A waltz into the living room and a quick glance outside showcases a winter wonderland, gray skies compounded by the ever-present haze with a sheet of white blanketing everything.

Emery finds her place next to me, her infinity scarf already in place around her neck. She glances up at me, expectant. What now?

"Unless the Gamemakers have something else in mind, we stay put," I say to her. "Let the other tributes have the spotlight for a while."

As if a considerable weight is taken off her shoulders, Emery lets out a slight sigh. I keep my thoughts to myself. Age. Statistics dictate that she should be dead by now yet she's still hanging on. If I didn't have a set goal, I would be a little anxious too.

Although I opt not to venture too far from the apartment, we do spend the day doing patrols as a duo. Wholly understanding my place in these Games, I still think that complacency might be my downfall, so it's best to stay on our toes.

It's a bit past twelve o'clock. Emery is applying a fresh round of gauze onto my wounds when a cannon fires. She's concerned, naturally, but returns to work as I wave her off and no other cannon rings out.

"They all have to go sometime," I say.

The afternoon turns into the evening, which brings in a significant temperature drop. With Emery's help I use some available linens to fashion a screen to block out the outward facing windows as for the first time since entering the arena, I craft a fire pit. Not even the apartment offers adequate shelter anymore, the howling winds piercing though the walls making an unpleasant rustling each time.

We're enjoying our piping hot rations when another cannon fires. The opening melody of the national anthem plays as we rush over to the nearest window to take a peak at day fifteen's fallen.

A male from District 5 graces the sky. I remember him being quite vocal against the abuses Caesar's audience was hurling at him. A young man from District 10 accompanies him. The seal of Panem rotates once before dissipating into a million pixels, the anthem with it.

"Twenty-Four," I say aloud. Twenty-Four tributes remain out of ninety-six. Images of me stepping off the train to Randall, the gang and the entirety of Two flashes through my mind. Are they going to go about it like they did the Fiftieth? Just dwindle us down until two remain?

Are they going to trigger another earthquake, thin the numbers that way? What about…?

Emery. I watch the younger Capitolite's frowning face as we return back to the open fire. She's probably thinking the same thing too. Panem knows she's smart. I can't help but wonder too - where does it end for her? What we have here…it isn't going to last. It nearly ended on two separate occasions. Three times? I doubt it. So, City Mouse deserves to hear my thoughts before things get hasty.

"Listen, City Mou - Emery," I begin.

She glances up at me, the glare of the fire against her glasses obscuring her eyes.

"I ain't the… 'loving' type…Was I ever?" I let out a dry scoff. "To be honest with you, ever since the Rebellion, I'm not sure what I am. What I'm tryin' to say is, I know how you're feelin' 'cause I've been through it three times all at once. Come to think of it, you've been through it multiple times too. It's almost as if it were fate that brought us here. I think what sets us apart is how we're dealin' with the cards we were dealt. When my folks…passed, I was dead set on joinin' 'em. A kindly doctor stopped me last minute and told me I had much to live for, that I can still honor my folks. I'm pretty sure she wasn't talkin' about forcing myself into a non-volunteers Hunger Games…but here I am right?"

The smallest of grins flashes across her face. I'm glad that she's present, unlike the past two days.

"I know you lost your folks during the war. I'm sorry. Clancy was doin' a Capitol job…'til now. Surely you had talks, surely you guys knew the risks. I'm sure he spoke to you about in the event that he doesn't make it…?"

"Keep going. Keep going until I absolutely can't," Emery's sobbing now, removing her glasses and burying her face in her hands. "But Zenobia I can't! I can't do this anymore!"

Her sobs are the result of months of gods knows what she's been through. It doesn't seem right to just sit and watch like I did with Clancy so…overcoming my hesitance, I rise up and shuffle over to her side of the pit. As soon as I sit down she clings to me again for the second time in days. I stroke her hair down, minding the bandage that keeps her cut sealed.

Like the day before, it seems to help. Funny thing is, why am I so good at this? Comforting her. Despite all my love towards her, I can barely recall Mom ever doing the same with me.

"But you are," I say with earnest. "You are doin' this. Better than any twelve-year-old I've seen. Better than any younger tribute. Hells, better than Finnick Odair."

"Yes, because of you."

"'S'pose that's true," I relent with a shrug. "But you had no problem strikin' out on your own after Clancy."

"Only to get caught." Emery rebuts.

"Only to kill her before she killed us," I counter. "And now we're coastin' to the end."

"You're coasting to the end!" Emery yells back, only for her features to soften. "I'm just here to play along until I can't." and then she silently adds, "It's not my fault…"

She's smart for her age. Too smart. "I'm just saying that who knows what could happen? There've been plenty of upsets over the years. Guess what that means?"

"What?"

"In a Games like this, who else would they root for if not you?"

"It's not your fault. It's their fault. It's their fault for rebelling, for getting your folks swept in and mine erased. Em, killin' Spinel was the right thing to do. I'm sorry, if your Mom an' Dad were here, they'd want you to do what's needed to try and get out of here."

"So yeah, there's a possibility the Games might end up a way you…may not like," Emery lets out a stressful sigh. "But outta all the other decent people under this dome, you're the only one left and you know what, I'm glad. If not me, I would most definitely want it to be you gettin' outta here or no one at all. I'm here to help as much as I can."

Emery seems pleased at my praise of her, the cackling fire casting a glow on her face that highlights her blushing features. She murmurs something along the lines of "...Honest?"

"Honest," I reply with a curt nod. "But I can't help you if you can't help yourself. In this place, you can't check out like you did again no matter what happens. If you do, you're dead. It's only gonna get worse and you need to be ready and willin' to fight like a mutt to stay on top, got it?"

Emery pauses, her eyes shifting from left to right. "Got it."

"Think of it as a limited liability partnership. We make this alliance work so long as we can. If push comes to shove, well…"

I leave it at that, offering up a Pioneer's salute by placing a hand over my heart. It isn't just a show of respect for your seniors but a show of a promise, a Pioneer's promise to abide by their code to the best of their ability. Emery hesitantly does the same.

"It ain't personal. Just the way it has to be," I say.

Not a split second after, the telltale chime of a sponsor gift emits from not my communicuff, but Emery's. Confused, I watch as a cylinder canister blows in from a gaping window. I can't help but notice the canister is transparent, like a microwave cover. It's glowing yellow, too. It lands in the young Capitolite's lap and she quickly opens it up.

Lo and behold, there's a miniature cake between Emery's legs. White sheet, purple icing with a healthy helping of sprinkles ringed with lit candles. There's a note with it too. Emery unravels the piece of paper. It reads:

"From Pluto, family and friends. Happy Birthday, Emery."

Emery cracks a sad smile, gazing around for a camera that's sure to be recording this moment. "Gee…Thanks everyone."

I blink. "It's your birthday." it's more of a comment than a question.

Tears flow from Emery's eyes, the candles putting prominence on her glossy pupils. She nods without taking her eyes off the cake. "December first. Just last year I was having a party, and now…"

"December…" in utter disbelief, I glance outside and watch the flurries that continue to fall out of the sky. November, December. That alone tells me we've been in this place way too long, not that I'm particularly at my wits end so to speak. Until I get to Matix, I'll be here as long as it takes. But the various 'side attractions' are beginning to wear down my patience...

From the window, I then turn my attention back to Emery, the birthday girl. A birthday in an arena…To my recollection, I can't say that's ever happened before. Watching her as she gawks absently at her present, she's thinking awfully hard about something. Her folks? The fact that she's 'celebrating' in an arena? The fact that she survived to see her thirteenth?

Maybe all three and more.

I gently jab her with my elbow, grinning sheepishly. "Aintcha gonna make a wish…?"

From me, Emery returns her attention back to the cake. She stares at the candles for a moment before blowing them out.

"Somethin' tells me I know what y'wished for…" I tease. Despite my outward smile, the words 'what a shame' replay over and over in my head. Literally, what a shame. I mean, at least she gets a cake, softens the blow a little bit.

She giggles sheepishly in reply, quickly going about cutting a slice of cake. She too knows full well what she would want if she could get it. Using the container cover as a dish, she offers me the first slice without as much of a thought, to which I thank her. Sure, the arena's food isn't entirely without sweet things like desserts from the MREs, but the cake's icing and custard is so damn rich it feels foreign to my tongue. It takes a minute for me to truly swallow the first bite after letting it languish.

"So…Emery's a teenager now," I say, grinning as I watch her dig into the cake. "Feelin' any older?"

Her lips pursing, Emery rests the container on her lap. She fixes me with a firm look with a firm nod to boot. Her answer is simple:

"Much."

(!) - 'Slight Night' has been added to the blog! You can view it in the 'Photo Gallery' or on the front page as you scroll downwards. Just a little scene of Emmy and Zenobia hanging out. Wont be much of that soon.

Coming Up Next...

"Whoowee! What d'we have here…? Hey Sis, get a load of this!"