Chapter 32
With a mixture of stealth and haste, Rubis and I make our way back across the arena, to the cornucopia.
Honestly, all this to-ing and fro-ing can't be good for my health. Why couldn't they just put the feast in the Morrison's carpark?
Upon Rubis' whispered instruction, we conceal ourselves under the bridge to the collapsed lessons block, fifty meters or so away from the cornucopia. We have a clear view of it, whilst being shrouded in darkness ourselves.
It is here, waiting in silence, that the most tragic, truly heart-wrenching and bone-chilling thing takes place.
I can't believe my eyes.
Where before, there was a perfect specimen of human flesh, now there is blood, and emaciated remains.
"No…" I breathe.
"What?" Snaps Rubis, quietly.
I lift a trembling hand.
"What am I looking at?" Rubis huffs.
I point to the speck of red, the loose chip of nail, the flake of scraped skin at the end of my finger.
"A hangnail!" I choke, trying to remain calm, "How did I not realise until now? How could such a tragedy befall me?"
I bury my head on Rubis' chest.
He says, "Must have happened when you were searching for my dart in the rubble."
I straighten and will the prickling in my eyes to recede.
This mortal injury came from my search for Rubis' weapon? That makes it easier to bare…
For Rubis, I would risk two hangnails.
This realisation of how much I love him makes me flustered.
"Can you go one chapter without getting horny around me?" Rubis huffs, exasperated.
"Right, yes. Sorry." I mutter.
I absently pick at the hangnail as we return our attention to the scene in front of us.
Surely nothing more devastating can happen, now.
Just then, a rat-Mutt skitters across the courtyard. The pitter-patter of its feet breaks the heavy silence of the arena.
It halts and sniffs the air, ears twitching.
Rubis and I don't dare to breathe.
The rat scampers away.
No louder than a soft breath, I whisper to Rubis, "What are we going to do about Pinty's lackies?"
Rubis responds, "We have to hope our packs solve that for us."
In the mouth of the giant, metal horn, there is a folding table that must have been lowered by a hovercraft. On it are three backpacks, each a different size, with numbers and symbols boldly marked on them.
The pack marked with the number eleven – Rubis' district – sits on the left. It is ginormous, almost tipping the flimsy table. I think if I curled up, I could easily fit inside it.
The other two packs are both marked with the number twelve. One has a circle-and-plus symbol, while the other is marked with a circle-and-arrow – the signs for boy and girl, though I don't know which is which. I assume the circle-and-arrow must be mine, as it is slightly taller; therefore, male.
My genius shines again.
Though mine is rectangular and Pinty's square, both our packs are no bigger than a shoebox.
I wonder what the gamemakers could possibly give me to help me win, that I don't have already.
"What's the plan?" I ask Rubis, "Shall I run and grab them?"
"And lead Pinty back to me? No thanks. She's probably staking out the area just like us."
I scan the derelict buildings surrounding the courtyard. No sign of an injured twelve-year-old girl, but there are surely plenty of rats lurking. Pinty has eyes everywhere.
"We don't know what's in the packs." Says Rubis, "Mine looks like it could be heavy. It might be safer if-"
His whisper is cut off by a rush of movement.
From shattered windows and cracked bricks, withered hedgerows and piles of rubble, comes a flood of rats. They scuttle from every direction – some right past me and Rubis – towards the cornucopia. I grimace and try not to whimper, as a huge, hairy specimen brushes my heel.
Like iron filings to a magnet, the rats swarm over the packs.
"No!" Rubis hisses.
It becomes clear to me, then, what they are doing.
The rats use their yellow buck-teeth to shred the fabric of the packs. Rubis's is first – the rats tear it to pieces, sending pieces of canvas drifting to the concrete, like feathers from a torn pillow.
Inside the pack are lumps of white packing-polystyrene. The rats demolish this, too, so that now the whole area appears to be covered in snow.
Through the padding, a glint of metal is visible.
Rubis' eyes light up. Whatever this is, it is sophisticated and dangerous.
As more is stripped away, Rubis' gift is revealed.
A pair of high-tech, prosthetic arms stands on the table. They are silver and black; sleek, yet imposing. The hands look expertly crafted. I imagine the power I would feel, walking beside Rubis, with his robotic hand clasped firmly around my own.
Among the hoard of perhaps a hundred rats, one of the arms topples and falls to the floor with a clang!
On impact, razor-sharp claws jut out from thin divots in the fingers.
A lethal weapon, indeed.
Yet all we can do is watch, as Pinty's flunkies scrape their teeth on the metal and follow the order she has obviously given them, to tear Rubis' gift apart.
With a stroke of inspiration, I crouch and pick up a pebble from the ground.
I am about to throw it, to scare off the rats, when Rubis hisses, "Don't. You won't scare them, you'll just show Pinty where we are."
We watch on, demoralised, as what would have been an immense advantage to us is pillaged by Mutts.
But, despite the gnawing, scraping and squeaking, the arms remain in-tact. The joints are encased in something indestructible – perhaps the same material that my sword is made of – and the rats cannot penetrate the metal shell to destroy the mechanisms within.
Maybe they'll give up and return to Pinty, I think.
Eventually, the rats retreat from Rubis' new arms.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then they tear into my pack.
"No!" I blurt, a little too loudly.
I slap my hand over my mouth. Luckily, though their ears twitch, the rats seem more focused on wrecking my chance of help, than directing Pinty to me.
With my emaciated pack scattered across the table, the rats chew ravenously on the plastic container inside. I can't see from this distance what it holds, but that doesn't change the fact that it's mine.
I have to stop them dragging their worm-like tails over it, and sticking their snuffling, wet noses in it.
I ball my fists and take an irate step forward.
However, just as I approach, the strangest thing happens.
First one, then more of the rats roll onto their backs, with their tiny, grubby legs twitching and writhing. Within what feels like seconds, all one-hundred or more rodents are curled up on the concrete and the table, matted grey bellies to the sky.
I walk closer, curiosity getting the better of me.
Upon further inspection, the container in my pack is filled with something bright blue. Tiny, blue pellets roll slowly across the table and scatter onto the ground. The rodents' snouts are caked with the same toxic blue substance.
The rats ate my gift, and now they are all dead.
What on earth did my pack contain?
I search within my mind-palace for an answer.
Rat poison.
That was the advantage the gamemakers wanted to give me. The way in which I could weaken Pinty, by taking away her army.
Now Rubis gets his arms back, and we don't have a rat problem!
With excitement and relief blossoming inside my chest, I whirl back to share this triumph with Rubis.
I am met with a ghastly sight.
Rubis stands, staring straight at me with glassy, unblinking eyes.
A line of bright scarlet severs his neck.
Behind him lurks Pinty. She has both hands tightly grasping a garrotte, which she forces deeper and deeper into Rubis' throat.
As I watch, beads of blood trickle down his neck. The wire garrotte sinks further into his flesh.
I try to cry out, but no sound escapes. It is as though my own throat has been cut.
Drawing my sword with one, quick swish, I lunge towards the horrific tableau.
Pinty releases the garrotte and darts down the tunnel. She scales a mound of rubble like a weasel, stopping at the top, five metres up. She presses her hand to her reopened leg-wound and sneers down at me. Her one, cold eye glints in the moonlight.
All I can do is glare up at her, my vision red, my heart pounding in my ears.
I take a measured step towards her, my sword held steady.
Rubis collapses beside me.
He slides down the brick wall, scraping his back and trailing specks of blood.
That is nothing to the waterfall that is now cascading down his chest.
His once-grey shirt is black with fresh blood.
I hurriedly kneel beside him and forget all about Pinty.
I press my hands to his neck, but blood just pumps between my fingers.
"Rubis! Rubis!" I wail, with a strangled voice, "Don't leave me! You were meant to make it to second-place!"
"I made it this far with no arms." He wheezes, "Congratulate me on that."
I hug him tight, and he splutters, weakly. My tears are lost as they mix with his blood, like raindrops in an ocean.
Rubis coughs, and a torrent of blood spews down my back.
I pull away and peel off my blood-soaked t-shirt. Rubis should have one last pleasing view before he dies.
He manages the next few words through mouthfuls of blood.
"Kill Pinty for me."
"I will, my love! I will!" I weep, "I will avenge you, I promise. Or, I'll try to. She is family… You know what? We could always ask the gamemakers to avenge you inst-"
"Kill her!" Rubis snarls.
If he had arms, I'm sure he would have gripped my shoulders and shaken me.
If anything will make me kill one of my best friends, it is the dying wish of my passionate lover.
I moan, "I don't know what I'm going to do without you, Rubis."
"Probably die." He chokes, "But if not-"
He is broken off by a fit of coughing and wheezing, that splatters me with crimson.
Frantically, I scavenge through my bag and pull out the wooden heart that my Sweetie-Pie carved me.
I hold it in front of his glazed eyes, willing him to see.
"Look, Rubis. I will keep this gift from you forever. I will think of you every day and cry for you every night. Oh, I don't want you to go!"
My whole body is wracked by the most un-manly sobs. Can an alpha not grieve for his mate?
With a tremendous effort, Rubis cranes his neck forwards just an inch, leading to a new spurt of blood.
He takes the heart from my hand, between his teeth, and chokes out his last words through a mouthful of wood.
"Don't worry. I won't ever really die. I will always be with you. In here."
Rubis lurches forward and embeds the point of the wooden heart in my chest.
"Ow." He says, "Tongue-thplinter."
Then, with a smug look on his face, he leans back and dies.
I barely hear the cannon.
I hug his body, as though by sheer strength I can squeeze the life back into him. I want to kiss him one, last time, before his body turns cold.
I remember the tongue-splinter and refrain.
I wail and wail until the sun comes up. There are no bird-calls, no sounds or breath of wind to indicate that the real world is still spinning, after my world is gone.
My heart aches with a stabbing pain that is sharper than anything I have ever endured. I always thought that heart-ache was a metaphor, but the burn in my chest is real.
I look down at the wooden heart, lodged just to the left of my breast-bone.
I sniffle, "That was so romantic." And resume my despairing wails once more.
When my vocal cords are close to snapping and no more sound comes out, I stand.
It is like I'm in a dream.
No. a nightmare.
The twinge of relief that I still have my deep intellect does nothing to disperse my overwhelming feeling of futility.
With Rubis' last words repeating in my ears, and his broken body seared onto my retinas, I slowly walk away.
Pinty's pack is gone from the table.
Both mine and Rubis' gifts are now useless. The only things left in the equation are me and Pinty, and whatever she had in her pack.
So, she has an advantage.
I have to force myself not to fall to my knees then and there.
What chance do I have?
It doesn't matter. I have to try. For Rubis.
What kind of partner would I be if I didn't carry out his orders?
The hum of a hovercraft fills the silence.
That is too much for me. I sink to my knees in the middle of a path and turn to catch a last glimpse of my everything, as he is sky-lifted away.
His body rises, like a mythic hero ascending to become a constellation. The sunrise behind him is the rosy pink of our love.
A breeze or slight jolt of the hovercraft swings the metal arms that hold him, and Rubis slips. His right leg remains clamped between the claws, so that he trails upside-down, mouth hanging open and hair tumbling about his head.
Then he is drawn up into the hovercraft and I have seen the last of the smokin' hot boy who showed me what love is supposed to look like.