Chapter 31

Rubis and I opt to camp in Morrison's for the night. There is plenty of non-perishable food in there, and the back half has been blown open completely, meaning we can run out if Pinty appears.

That was Rubis' idea.

I have come to appreciate his constitution. He has survived from day-one with no arms, and with me to protect him only some of the time.

On top of that, he has saved my life three times now. And all I've done is give him game-console controllers for arms. And the gift of my presence, of course.

I wander the maze of aisles, looking for food. I pick up a jar of Nutella, some rice cakes and 2 small bottles of cider.

Look at me, giving in to temptation like Haymitch. At least cider is a whole lot more excusable than the paint-thinner he drinks.

When I get back to Rubis, he is leaning against one wall, staring up at the open, darkening sky.

The Capitol anthem plays as I sit down next to him.

We watch Salto's blue-haired profile appear first. He is followed by Elsie, whose terrified face is so different to the nonchalant city-girl we faced earlier.

Then there's Blue, and finally, Izzie and Corvid.

"Why did Corvid sacrifice themself to eliminate Salto and Elsie?" I ask Rubis.

"They were dying anyway." He replies.

"No, they weren't. They could have fought back more. They would have been injured, but you've seen them fight; they could have escaped from three kids."

"No," Says Rubis, "I meant, they were going to die anyway. They wanted to go out in their own way and leave a legacy… Or something delusional like that."

"They wanted to be remembered for kamikaze-ing three twelve-year-olds?"

"Sure." Says Rubis.

"They took down two of our opponents…"

I fall silent, considering what could have been going on in Corvid's mind. Maybe they really did lose it completely, after Izzie died.

When the sky reverts to black, I open the rice cakes and the Nutella. I use my dagger to spread a thick layer of Nutella onto the first one.

Rubis is watching me.

I can practically see his mouth watering.

I hold the rice cake in front of him, expecting to feed him one mouthful at a time. He eats the whole thing in one go.

"Stale." He states, around a mouthful of food, "Can I have another one? More Nutella, though."

We sit and eat the entire pack of rice cakes in silence. Rubis gets through at least three-quarters of the pack by himself, not to mention the numerous huge scoops of Nutella.

Despite all that has happened today – all the adrenaline and carnage – I feel a form of contentedness that is new to me. Just sitting with Rubis, doing nothing.

Excluding Pinty, who must be off licking her wounds, we are the only people in who knows how many miles. Maybe hundreds, or thousands.

Me. Rubis. Pinty.

That is all of us left.

The rest of them are dead, and soon two of us will be as well. The finale is surely upon us. I should try to enjoy my remaining time with Rubis.

I turn my head towards him, wondering if he is thinking the same.

But it occurs to me that I just want to talk, and sit with him.

Am I losing my sex-drive?!

I shake my head, overwhelmed by the emotions that come with the approaching finale.

Eventually, too much time passes without me hearing Rubis' dulcet tones, or my own.

I say, "Cider?"

I pick up the bottles from the ground beside me.

"They're not plain, are they?" Rubis responds.

"Er…" I squint at the cracked and faded paper labels, "There's Bakewell Cherry – ew – or Cranberry – ooh, that one sounds nice."

"I'd prefer the cranberry one, too." Rubis sighs.

"You have it." I say.

I unscrew the cap and put it between Rubis' knees for him to drink.

"Who are you and what have you done with Midnight?" He asks, before taking a long swig.

"I'm making more of an effort to be generous." I say, "It's suddenly hit me that I might have come across as a little selfish to the viewers; what with you saving my life three times, and everyone around me dying."

"It's almost like that's the idea of the Hunger Games." Rubis intones.

"Yeah, but whether I win or die, I want everyone to remember me as the martyr I am, not the normal nobody I've been coming across as."

"You have never come across as normal."

"Thank you. But I'm done justifying why I deserve things more than other people. For some reason, other people don't think I do, and I don't want to be seen as a jerk."

I take a sip of Bakewell Tart cider.

I spit it out.

"This is gross! Didn't the gamemakers think to put quality drink in here, knowing I was coming?!"

I sigh and lean against Rubis' shoulder.

He flinches but doesn't say anything.

"Sorry." I say, sitting up straight again.

Why now am I paying attention to whether he is comfortable or not? I just assumed he was, this whole time… but he has only initiated one kiss. Surely that means he's okay with everything?

I struggle to think of why I suddenly care more about his feelings than his body… That can't be normal in a relationship, right?

But for some reason, the idea of touching him without his permission makes me feel bad.

I say, "I should have asked if you were comfortable with that. Wow… I should have asked you so many more times…"

I rifle through memories of Rubis and I. I cringe deeper and deeper, realising that I can't associate consent with anything I have done.

Rubis looks me in the eye.

He says, "I don't care if you lean on me. It's the fact that your head was against a mortal fucking wound."

"Oh, god!" I say, "Is there blood in my hair?!"

"A bit."

I use the puddle of cider I spat out as a mirror. I rake my hands through my luscious locks, for flecks of blood.

When clumps of hair come out in my hands, I decide to go for the rugged, warrior look and leave the specks of blood, rather than going abhorrently bald.

After another prolonged silence, I ask Rubis, "What are you thinking about?"

"How we can kill Pinty. We stood more of a chance when we had Corvid."

"Yeah, but then we would have had to kill Corvid, which would have been harder."

"They would have killed themselves. It was part of their plan."

"Speaking of, what was their plan? Why were you both in a car when I showed up?"

"It was a shit plan, in all honesty. But it kind of worked. They intended me to hit them with a car and take down two of the kids with them. But they wanted it to happen later on."

"Why?"

I can barely get my head around why Corvid would want to sacrifice themself. I put it down to them being a grief-stricken alt-kid.

Rubis answers, "They wanted to smash in the windshield of the car, and for me to have my blow-dart. Then I could have shot Pinty before she ran away. But they didn't account for the rats, or you leading them to us too early. They were basically delusional, thinking such a convoluted plan would go off smoothly."

"Imagine being delusional in such a serious situation." I scoff.

"Yeah. Imagine."

I say, "Back to Pinty, though. I don't know if I can kill her."

"That's why I'm struggling so much to think of how two people with minimal fighting ability can take on a demon Pied-Piper and her rats."

I give him a scornful look.

I say, "I have no doubt that I could cut her to ribbons if I wanted to. I meant that I'll struggle to kill her because she's basically family."

"The only person you've killed so far is your ex-crush, and nearly me. I think you'll manage."

"This is different. I can't hunt down the poor, orphaned girl who sees me as a mature role-model."

"Great." Rubis grumbles, "Now I've got to think of a plan that I can carry out with no arms, and without your help."

"It sounds impossible!" I exclaim, "How are you going to do it?"

Rubis stares deep into space and finishes his cider.

I begin to doze off, leaning back against the store wall, when a noise like static fills the air.

The loud-speaker comes to life in the arena. For the first time in these Games, it is not the Capitol anthem that plays, but an announcement.

The measured voice of Head Gamemaker, Minnesota Don'tcash, echoes around our concrete surroundings.

"Contestants! Congratulations for making it to the final three in this year's Hunger Games!

You are all injured and incapacitated in different ways."

Rubis mutters, "Armless, year-seven and Midnight. What a finale."

Minnesota continues.

"Which is why we have organised a feast for you. At midnight tonight, you will find a package each, at the cornucopia. Something you each need dearly, to overpower your opponents.

Happy Hungergames, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

After a moment of crackling feedback, the speaker cuts out.

And just like that, our evening of rest feels like it took place in a different universe.

The Games are afoot. We have an objective. Something to help Rubis fight. Something to let me get over my compassion for Pinty.

I'm almost scared to equip whatever boost the Capitol is offering me.

"We need to get there before she does." Says Rubis.

"Agreed." I say, "But we haven't slept. Can't we assume she's sleeping, too, and go in the morning? She's twelve; her bedtime should be-"

Rubis is standing over me.

"Let's go." He says.

"W-won't it be risky? What if Pinty-"

Rubis delivers an impatient kick to my ankle.

"Minnesota might have more to say!" I opine.

"They literally signed off." Rubis rolls his eyes.

Just then, to my delight, the crackle of the speakers fills the arena once more.

This time, though, there are no words. Only a repetitive crunching noise.

A faint voice in the background says, "Minnesota? Are you eating a bowl of apple seeds?"

"What of it?" Minnesota's much clearer voice snaps.

The other gamemaker mumbles indiscernibly.

"That's what I thought." Gloats Minnesota.

The corner of Rubis' mouth tweaks into a smirk.

He says, "Do they not realise the mic is on?"

There is a pause from the speakers, then frantic fumbling sounds as Minnesota says, "Hector! Get off the mic! For goodness' sake, who let my cat in here? Own up or I'll have you all-"

With a snap, the mic cuts off. This time, permanently.

Rubis says, "Fired? Executed? Come on, Minnesota, don't leave us with this cliff-hanger."

I allow the slight release of tension to wash over me, as I steel myself to attend this 'feast' set up by the gamemakers. It is going to be depraved and bloody, if they get the entertainment they want. And worst of all, I have seen enough Hunger Games to know that the 'feast' doesn't usually even involve food.

Stingy gits.

I sternly remind myself that nothing truly bad can affect me, so long as I have my Pookum's outstanding wit to make fun of the situation. Cliffhanger, ha!

Little did I know, that something truly tragic, truly heart-wrenching and bone-chilling, would happen just after I had that thought.

Author's note

Yes, today's is a shorter chapter. You'll see what was truly tragic, truly heart-wrenching and bone-chilling next Sunday.

I am so not writing this to get this chapter's wordcount up to 2000. How dare you accuse me of such a thing.

Now, how to increase the wordcount? Someone irl has been very eager for some Midbis smut, so I suppose I could… Oh look, that's 2004 words.