The Bloodbath, Part 2
Explosions.
Ada froze at the base of the western tower, unwilling to believe the booms assaulting her ears. Had she accidentally detonated a bomb? She frantically checked the remotes in her pocket. Not one had their switch activated, let alone pressed.
Her heart sank into her gut. If she hadn't done it, then it had to be one of the other three—and if they detonated one manually… she didn't want to think about what might've happened to them. She whipped around, searching the courtyard, but the smoke billowing from the opposite side cloaked everything in rapidly expanding dust.
No ability to observe. That left deduction and induction. Her entire body shook uncontrollably at the thought of Scythe or Electra or Ace being blown to bits. Scythe had just left her side not a minute before the explosion went off; it couldn't be him. It could've been Electra—it'd been enough time for anything to happen since they last split up.
As for Ace… she didn't even know where he was. She'd barely seen him at all due to an unlucky pedestal arrangement. The last thing she'd heard was that he was in trouble and that Electra had gone to help him.
Ace and Electra had been together, and Scythe couldn't have been the one. Had both of them been instantly killed by the explosion?
She didn't want to believe it. She refused to believe it. But it hadn't been her or Scythe, and the other two had been together, and oh she needed them to be okay, but the facts—
She was tired of the facts. She was tired of reason, of logic. It only brought pain, hurt more than everything already did. It did nothing to cure the heart-rending pain of everything inside of her crumbling.
This had been her plan. This was her fault.
As the tower began to collapse, she stumbled out of the courtyard into one of the roads, hoping to find a place for her to shut her eyes, stop thinking, and drown out the world. There was no rush for her, this far out. Though the tower and debris wouldn't reach her here, it didn't need to. She'd already fallen apart.
Zirconia searched the smoke, Zeph at her side, but she could barely see five feet in front of her, let alone spot either of their allies. Her eyes burned. At first, when she'd lost sight of Liat amidst the initial dash, it'd only been a salient uneasiness in her gut, one she could ignore once she found Zeph and started gathering supplies. Now that it'd been forever and they still couldn't find the other two, her heart raced with panic that infused every step she took.
"Where are y'all?" she said through clenched teeth, half into the smoke, half to herself. "Just show up! C'mon!"
"Zirconia, we have to—"
"Just five more minutes!" she said. "We're not ditching them."
He grabbed her shoulder. Though she tried to shake him off, his firm grip wouldn't relent. "If we don't get out of here, we're about to get ditched—in the Tribute Graveyard!"
"But Clarke and Liat! They need—"
"They need us alive. It doesn't matter if we find them if we all die together."
"Liat! Clarke!" She cupped her hands around her mouth, nearly fumbling away the drawstring bag in her arms. "Where are y'all?"
A loud crack from the tower drowned out her voice. It seemed to shake the air itself, rippling with terror. Zeph's grip tightened around her shoulder. It was time to go; they'd have to meet up later. With a heavy heart, she bowed her head and sprinted after Zeph.
Ellis knew he'd stayed too long. He'd gotten greedy. He had two bags, a knife, an assortment of other things he'd nabbed and shoved in his bags, but what good would any of it do if he died right here? He couldn't tell where he was going—every direction looked exactly the same. But he could hear the tower's crumbling. He sprinted in the opposite direction.
The golden horn suddenly appeared in front of him. He slammed into it face-first; he stumbled back. Blood dribbled into his mouth. His hand flew up to his bloody nose. He shook his ringing head and tried to orient himself, suddenly aware of the yelling coming from the mouth of the horn, half in a language unintelligible to him.
The Tens. He nearly cursed. The Star Alliance was the last thing he wanted to meet right now. He wouldn't be able to see them until they'd already found him! Their voices were growing distant—or was that just his imagination? With every cautious step forward, he shuddered in terror, of the possible trained kids ahead, of the crumbling tower behind.
A silhouette appeared ahead, charging right at him. For a second, Kiran Malhotra's wiry figure filled his vision. Then the boy crashed into him.
Ellis fell back; he flailed for support and found none. His back hit stone. The Five boy struggled above him, screaming and cursing. Ellis got a faceful of arm; it dripped blood in a streak across his face that seeped into his mouth.
"Kiran!" he yelled, sputtering. He gripped the boy's shoulders and tried to steady him. "Calm down! What happened?"
The boy gulped for clean air, coughing when he found none. "T-Ten. He cut my arm; it fu—"
"Let's go."
Ellis' voice was firm; it was a command. Much to his relief, Kiran didn't argue. The tower rumbled behind him; Ellis could barely hear the Tens now. They'd run ahead, veering left. Never mind that Kiran wasn't his ally or anything; questions could come later. He grabbed the boy's arm and fled right.
The explosion had thrown Adora to the ground. Dusty air filled her lungs and she coughed and coughed, each one wracking her sore body. She propped herself up and cursed. She should've known something was up when that boy honed in on the red box—now every inch of her throbbed and the dust and smoke offered no respite from the coughing.
An ear-shattering crack shook her entire frame. Through the clearing dust, she could see the silhouette of the eastern concrete tower.
It moved.
Sudden dread zipped through her. The tower was falling, and if she didn't move soon, she was as good as dead. She tried to stand, but insufferable pain in her left leg brought her right back down again with a sharp scream. It twisted in an unnatural angle. She felt every ounce of determination instantly vanish.
The building was falling, and she needed to move, but her leg was broken, and now there was no way in all of Panem that she'd make it out alive. She felt water running down her face. There were no cameras anymore, but she still lifted a hand to hide her eyes. It only succeeded in smearing the dust, now mixed with her tears.
How she'd fallen, and all because of her father! Though a pot of molten iron bubbled in her chest, she grit her teeth and forced the anger down, even as she awaited her imminent death. She was just a tool, dispensable and worthless apart from her ability. Who was she to say she couldn't die here?
Then she heard a voice. A warm voice. A genuine voice, torpedoing through the smoke, so clear she knew its owner before the dust allowed her to see.
Ilithyia.
"Adora! I'm coming for you!"
Clarke charged headfirst through the smoke. Her eyes stung, her lungs ached, but she refused to give up, not when Liat could still be in here.
"Liat!" she screamed, coughing as she sucked in ashy air. "Liat! Where are you?"
She'd initially fled the Bloodbath when Liat had insisted on it, but she'd barely reached the edge of the courtyard before she turned back, only to be welcomed with massive explosions and clouds of dust. She couldn't leave the Seven girl in here all alone, she just couldn't! Her mind flipped through a million possibilities, and she rejected every last one of them. Liat was so strong! She had to still be alive.
Her mind swirled. She couldn't process a thing. Exhausted inside and out, her knees buckled under her. They hit the stone hard; she clawed at the ground, trying to cling onto her rapidly shattering sanity.
Here on the ground, she could hear distant screaming, people yelling at each other to run. She suddenly became conscious of how alone she was. She hadn't seen Zeph or Zirconia. Had they abandoned her? She couldn't find Liat. The girl couldn't be dead, could she? She banged her fist against stone, as if it'd make someone appear, as if a savior would emerge from the smoke.
A beam of light fell on her. The smoke was clearing. She gazed up at it, begging for help, but all she saw was the terrible silhouette of the tower, its edges crumbling towards the courtyard. She almost wanted to stay. Kill her now. Anything would be better than this immeasurable pain, which beat her body and scourged her soul.
She remembered her lone mother back home. She remembered the cruelty of the Capitol. She refused to die.
As if struck by lightning, she bolted to her feet and ran. She disregarded the pain that tore through her with every step; any step away from the collapsing tower was a good step. She collected her worries for her friends and focused them into desperate hope for the future, for anything else would bury her under its horror.
She had to be strong. There was no alternative.
"I've got you. Let's go!"
Ilithyia pulled Adora to her feet, holding the wounded girl's arm around her shoulders. She could tell the girl was trying, but the girl stumbled every few steps, pulling Ilithyia down with her, and they had to start anew. Ven was in the Cornucopia. If they could just make it a little bit further, he'd help get the wounded girl in.
"You've got this!" she yelled, though she could hear the tower bending and tipping and she knew it could come down on them at any moment. She hoped the dread wasn't creeping into her voice. "Just a little further to the Cornucopia, and everything will be fine."
"I'm try— Ah!"
Adora lurched, and both girls fell to the ground.
Ilithyia glanced back at the silhouette, desperately hoping it'd stay up for just a little while longer. Just a little! That's all they needed! "I know it hurts, but you have to do this. Up again!"
But Adora didn't pull herself up this time. She clung to Ilithyia's shoulders with tears streaming down her face.
"C'mon! We have to move!" Ilithyia pleaded.
"This—" Adora winced. "This won't work. I'm done for."
Ilithyia wanted to slap this nonsense out of the girl. Giving up wasn't an option. "That's bull. Now get up! I'm here for you!"
"Save yourself while you can."
"No! I won't let you. We can—"
"You're in denial! Snap out of it!" Her delicate voice now strained with raw pain. She clasped Ilithyia's hand in hers, she looked back into Ilithyia's incredulous eyes. "Thank you for everything… You deserve better."
"Adora—"
She pushed Ilithyia's hand away. "Now go before you die with me!"
Ilithyia obliged.
She ran for the golden horn, the nearest shelter. She felt a rush of emotion spring up in her chest, even poking at the corners of her eyes. She wanted to turn back with every step forward. How could she just leave Adora to die? Leaving a friend behind ran contrary to every last bone in her body.
A hand reached out from the shadows inside the Cornucopia and pulled her in. A surprised yelp had just passed her lips when Ven's face appeared through the smoke, pain all over his features. She opened her mouth to tell him about Adora, to beg him to help her save his district partner.
The tower collapsed before she spoke.
It drowned out her thoughts with sickening screeches of snapping steel and gunshots of crumbling concrete. Ilithyia screamed and dove further into the horn, right into Ven, and the two tumbled to the ground over the pile of supplies the Tens had collected.
The Cornucopia roared all around them in a terrible storm as falling debris hammered at it from every side. Ilithyia's hands flew to plug her ears, but they did nothing to stem the deafening sound. Ven's sturdy arms pulled her in and held her to his side as the two weathered the storm. Here in the darkness, away from the cameras and microphones and Games, she sobbed into his chest.
Only one thought made it through the noise. Her friend was now dead.
As the tower came down, Virginia huddled under a desk in a shop along the edges of the courtyard. Though she couldn't see what was happening outside—she'd ducked into the backroom—she could hear its thundering, she could feel the ground shake beneath her, even as her entire core trembled. A metal baton laid at her feet; she cradled her precious water bottle close to her, as if it'd disappear if she let it out of her sight.
Laforza was dead.
Virginia hadn't even had a chance to meet up with her ally; she'd found the Six girl splayed on the ground, bleeding profusely from multiple stab wounds in the chest and abdomen. She had no idea who'd killed her, she had no idea how it'd happened, and just like that, she now had no idea what her plan moving forward was.
She wanted to say that she didn't miss the girl. Laforza hadn't exactly treated her well; Virginia had spent most of her time trying her best to keep from snapping at Laforza. The Six girl had always said that there was no loyalty or obligation between them. This had been an alliance for business, not one for friendship.
All the same, the person she'd spent that past few days with was now dead, and she'd seen the corpse herself. She hadn't ever seen a dead body before. The girl's tough aura had disappeared in death. All that had been left was her malnourished frame, weak and defenseless. The scream petrified on Laforza's face would haunt Virginia forever.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the thunder disappeared. It left behind an eerie silence. Still trembling, Virginia emerged from her hiding place. She gathered her baton and bottle, crept up to the shop's entrance, and peeked out at the destruction outside.
It was a graveyard. Concrete and steel covered over half the courtyard, including the doorstep of the shop she'd hidden in; stray chunks laid even further out where the momentum had thrown them. The explosion had blown out half of the building's first floor and it had tipped from its own weight, leaving only a few walls from the original first floor standing. How many lay dead beneath the rubble? She didn't want to know, not now. She'd eventually find out through the Fallen recap, but for now, she'd seen enough of the dead.
She waited for the cannons to fire. They didn't. The Bloodbath wasn't over.
Across the courtyard, the Two boy returned from one of the roads, a spear in his hand. The other trained tributes would be back soon. She stepped around a block of concrete and headed in the direction of the remaining tower, where the ground was cleaner and she'd be able to run if she encountered trouble.
A rustle from the rubble. She froze. Her blood ran cold, afraid to look. When she finally dared to turn her head, she spotted the girl from Nine, lying with her stomach on the ground and an arm stuck under a cracked chunk of concrete.
The two met eyes. Nine raised her free hand defensively, gripping a knife though tears of pain glimmered in the corner of her eyes.
Virginia put both of her hands up. Laforza would kill the girl, no question, just like the Game was supposed to be played. But Laforza wasn't here, and Virginia had had enough of death. She was about to make a mistake. She didn't care.
She slammed her batten down on the concrete. Nothing happened. She didn't have the necessary strength in her muscles; they strained as she lifted the heavy stick and brought it down again and again. But as she hammered the concrete, the crack elongated and extended to the edges of the concrete until it split with a crack, freeing the girl's hand—and just in time, because the Two boy had spotted them and hollered hollering at the Tens.
For all her talk of having to win, she wasn't doing a good job at it. She was supposed to kill her competition, not save them! At the moment, she didn't care. Saving a life was still ultimately the right thing to do.
Virginia pulled the Nine girl up, ignoring the confusion in her eyes to temporarily avoid her own confused heart. Together, they fled into the nearest street.
As the world settled back into silence, Zeph leaned against a wood-board wall in an alley, a side branch of one of the main roads. Now that the dust had settled, the hot sun beat down on his exposed forehead. He wiped the sweat away and moved further into the skimpy shade.
"What's it look like?" he whispered to Zirconia, who had poked her head into the street.
She looked back at him with a grim line across her face. "The Careers are coming back out."
"All of 'em?"
"I saw the Tens and the Two Male. Maybe the rest got buried alive?"
He chuckled lightly. "Not a chance. It'd be nice, but—"
"Zeph!"
"Shh!"
"It's Clarke!" Though she was much softer this time, the volume still made him jump.
He scurried up beside her and peeked out, looking towards the Cornucopia courtyard at the end of the street. "Where?"
She pointed to two female figures on the far shore of the courtyard, separated from the Twelves by the gulf of concrete and steel. One seemed to be helping the other one up. The latter had to be Clarke, judging by the pixie cut, but the former wore her hair in a bun—so Liat was gone, either dead or fled. The two girls had ended Interview Night on shaky ground; was their separation circumstantial or intentional? And what was Clarke doing with the other girl?
He wished he wasn't worried about them, yet he was, and no amount of enthusiasm could change that. He'd had his reservations about the Nine girl since they met in training. From a purely strategic perspective, District Nine was a poor choice, disliked by the Capitol audience and Gamemakers alike—and Clarke was a loose cannon, uncontrollable, unpredictable, especially now that Liat wasn't with her.
"What are you waiting for?" Zirconia said. "Let's go! They're about to leave."
Zeph frowned. "I dunno…"
"Seriously? She's our ally."
"The Careers are out there now. They'd catch us before we got close," he said. "Besides, the other girl's got her."
Zirconia refused to give up. "Don't we have to be together to get the alliance perks?"
"The perks don't matter if—"
"If we're dead. I know."
He craned his head towards the other end of the street, which ran into the distance until it faded into the desert halfway to the horizon. A sudden yelp came from the field—the Careers had spotted Clarke and the other girl; it was too late for the Twelves to give chase even if they wanted to.
Perhaps this was for the best.
Adair stepped out into the courtyard from the building he'd hid in. The sun had returned in full force. Though the air had cleared, everything still smelled of the concrete dust that now coated every inch of the place.
Part of him was peeved that he hadn't foreseen this. Hadn't the Threes acted suspicious back in training? He'd overlooked them in favor of Liat's new friends, but he should've known they were up to no good, especially when the explosives had appeared in the Cornucopia.
At the same time, it'd really been a stroke of luck. He hadn't anticipated Liat's interference; he hadn't expected to kill her so soon. Now any evidence of his involvement was buried beneath the rubble. He figured he'd still do alright, even if the Capitol usually frowned upon inter-district fighting this early in the Games. From the camera's perspective, Liat had initiated the fight.
Besides, even if they didn't like him… that was their fault for not liking their Victor.
He spotted a red box at the base of the single remaining tower. So the Threes had intended to blow up both towers. Had they known in advance? Those buggers. He'd… take care of the remaining bombs later before anyone else got to them.
For now, it was still the Bloodbath, or at least, the final vestiges of it. On the opposite side of the courtyard, Eros and Nevaeh pursued two girls, though it didn't seem like they'd catch them. The tower collapsing threw such a wrench into the regular Bloodbath.
A shout echoed from a nearby street. He sped over—two boys had locked themselves in a fight, trying to throw each other to the ground.
Maybe they hadn't killed as many as they would've liked, but hey, he'd take another kill or two.
Navarro had barely made it ten feet away from the courtyard when he got jumped. Azolla had yelled at him, but he hadn't had much time to react before Eleven sprung from a nearby doorway, bearing down on him with a knife.
His instincts fired up; he raised a fist. If the twat wanted a fight, Navarro was more than happy to give him a fight. He vaguely heard Azolla's "No!" in the background. What did she know? Casting her out of his mind, he lunged at the Eleven Male. Never mind that the other guy had a knife and he didn't. Street fighting was his thing.
Eleven swung. Navarro deflected it; the knife tore through his sleeve, barely grazing his skin. He grinned at the momentary surprise in Eleven's eyes. With satisfaction running through his veins, he socked the boy's jaw. The boy fell to the ground, right where he deserved to be.
"That's enough!" Azolla yelled. "Let's just go."
He snarled at her. "None of your business."
Navarro had proved himself stronger than Eleven in training. He'd prove it once and for all. He kicked the boy in the ribs. Much to his surprise, Eleven didn't shout despite the pain he must've been feeling. A stoic one, eh? It didn't matter in the end. Now just to end it quickly. He bent down to pry the knife from the boy's hand.
Eleven struck.
The boy's knife hand flashed in a sudden motion. Navarro jerked away—far too slow. His arm exploded in pain. The bastard! He staggered back, but Eleven leapt to his feet. Far too close for escape.
"No!" Azolla screamed. She butted in from the side, but Eleven was ready with a swift elbow to the face. A second punch and a kick knocked her off her feet.
The blood drained from Navarro's face. No, no, no! He couldn't lose! In desperation, he tackled the boy. The two crumbled to the ground—and Eleven was on top. He thrashed; he jerked; he tried to flip the boy off, but the boy had his legs pinned. Navarro caught a glimpse of knife. He swatted at it; it cut into his palm and he yelped, blood flying into his face.
Navarro was used to shame, to guilt, to the cold self-hatred that froze him whenever he found himself alone. He could deal with those, and he did so regularly. But fear… it'd been years since he felt fear. It rushed over him like a riptide.
Then Eleven collapsed, a knife in his back.
Navarro barely dared to breathe. Had Azolla saved him again? He craned his head to look, but Azolla wasn't there—she'd barely recovered after landing on the ground hard.
A second knife lodged in Eleven's neck.
This wasn't Azolla. This was the Seven Male, who'd appeared in the street, rapidly approaching with a set of knives in his hand.
Navarro threw off the dead body and staggered to his feet. Azolla dashed into the nearest alley; he bolted after her, even as she burst through back doors, rushed through rooms, scrambled up and down stairways. Anywhere but an open area where Seven's knives would find an easy target.
The pain didn't hit him until they slowed to a jog, and then a stop. Seven had given up the pursuit. It shot through him from his sliced open hand to the deep wound in his upper arm to the furthest extremities of his body. He gritted his teeth, but he couldn't hold in the tortured shout that burst from his lungs. It rang in his ears like an accusation, any possible defenses stripped away by the physical pain.
Yes, he had lived. Yes, Eleven had died. But no, he wasn't strong.
He was weak.
Deep inside the Cornucopia, Ven's ears rang, even though the assault had finally stilled. He gently released Ilithyia. She curled into a ball the pile of bags and supplies. Never in a million years had he expected to see her so shaken. He gave her a pat on the back; he found her still shuddering; he slowly rose to his feet.
His bones still shook. He stepped forward and nearly fell back down. Steadying himself against the dented walls, he stumbled to the entrance, littered with reinforced concrete beams and debris. As he planted a shaky foot on one such beam, he gazed up at the western tower. Its sturdy outline was a sharp line against the cloudless blue sky, an identical twin of the fallen one. When they'd all entered the arena, the two had seemed indestructible. Now, as he beheld it, his nerves shuddered in anticipation of another collapse. And if this one fell, the Cornucopia wouldn't be as safe a place, with its mouth wide open to the potential destruction.
Shuffling behind him. Ilithyia had climbed to her feet; she brushed herself off and wiped her face with her bandana. He expected her to leap out, but she waited in the shadows, the cloth to her face.
"Are you okay?"
"She's dead." Her voice was sullen, as if the life had been sucked out of it.
His eyes widened. "You mean—"
"Adora. She's dead." She stared back, just as incredulous as he must've been. "I tried to save her, but…"
A million things raced through his head. He hadn't been particularly close with her, but he figured their dynamic had been stable. He understood her through her facades; she felt comfortable dropping the act a little around him. Along with the mutual District loyalty, it'd been… secure.
But more than that, he hadn't expected any of them to die, not this early. The trained tributes were supposed to last until mid-game this year according to the official forecasts. They'd all clumped into one big group. There hadn't hadn't been clear divisions within the group or any jostling for power. By any metric, they were the securest Star Alliance the Games had seen in years.
He stepped back into the shadows and wrapped an arm around Ili's shoulders. She didn't cry. She didn't shake. She slowly lowered the bandana from her face; the only hint of emotion was the quivering corner of her lips.
One explosion, and everything had changed. He'd been so hopeful, too.
Eros skidded to a stop, Nevaeh up ahead.
"No bueno," she said. "They're too far out."
As they turned back to meet the others, who'd gathered around the Cornucopia—where was Adora?—Nevaeh and Sostonio exchanged worried glances. Eros grinned, though he was still a bit shaken. The fallen tower had changed the Game up on him, but if anything, the chaos had created the perfect opportunity, rife with tension and anticipation.
Once Nevaeh turned her back, he ambled over to the western tower under the pretense of investigating the premises. He poked his head through the now-empty window frames; holes riddled the floor inside, leading down to some dark basement below. In the corner of his eye, he watched for the flash of red, the stripe of yellow, the shape of an exclamation point that was his target.
He watched in vain. With his patience running low, he stepped back from the tower and gave the building's entire base a long, hard look, from left to right. He blinked—he'd seen them just minutes ago; could it be true?—but the sinking feeling in his gut told him that his eyes hadn't deceived him.
The bombs were gone.
A/N Sorry for the delay! This chapter should've been out sooner; I've just been crazy busy. If your tribute died in the bloodbath, I'm so, so sorry. It physically pains me too; I loved each and every one of these kids (as you will see when the eulogies come in… two chapters? I do eulogies after their faces have appeared in the sky). They were all my friends, and now eight of my friends are dead.
(if you submitted a meme, this would be the time to start cashing in spoilers, if you should so desire)
Anyways… What hurts you the most right now? Whom will you miss the most? Whom would you want to hug? What's going to happen next?
I'd love to know y'all's thoughts (even as I die here in grief).
