CHAPTER 7 - TREACHERY
***Chapter warning: sexual assault. Warning applies to the rest of the story.***
Basal and Lustre cautiously stepped into the next circle. They hadn't found any food recently, and after the climb, they felt like the walking dead.
A piercing cry resounded through the cavernous space, triggering others to follow. A cacophony of noise surrounded the boys. It was even a little much for Basal to handle.
Lustre looked towards him, fear in his eyes. He grabbed Basal's arm so they didn't get separated, and trekked forward.
The cries were coming from damned figures, chained to the walls in unnatural positions. Their joints were dislocated, their bones broken, their skin torn. They wailed for help, to no avail.
This cavern was long, stretching out.
Basal and Lustre walked for miles, with the company of the screaming damned.
As the boys broke into the tunnel, Lustre didn't let go of Basal's arm.
…
Bliss felt someone tap her shoulder, and jumped out of her chair. Harlem looked at her questioningly.
"Sorry, just arena stuff." Bliss apologized.
Harlem nodded. "Want to get out of here for a few hours?"
"That's allowed?" Bliss asked. She'd never been off-campus during a Hunger Games before.
"Yes. Privileges of an older victor, me, and you are invited." Harlem was clearly trying to cheer her up.
Bliss would have declined if he hadn't seemed so down-in-the-dumps, but maybe an outing could help everyone. She looked at Afflatus, seeking permission.
"You don't need my say-so." Afflatus said.
"Do you want me to stay?" Bliss offered.
"No, go have fun. I'll keep an eye out." Affy said.
"Okay. Give me a shout if you need anything." Bliss tapped her phone.
"Alright." Afflatus said, then turned to Harlem. "Don't keep her out too late, she has a curfew."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He said back. "Nice to see you, Afflatus." He said, before they departed.
"You too." Afflatus said, kindly.
Bliss followed Harlem out of the training centre, into a taxi.
…
The next cavern was pitch-black, aside for sections of light shooting up from the floor. The light marked the path, piles of rocks on either side of the tributes.
Lustre gasped.
Basal rounded, looking at him with fear. "What?"
Lustre pointed towards the piles of rocks.
They weren't piles of rocks. They were piles of bodies, covered in a grey ash.
"Damn dude! This is the first time these entire Games I thought I wasn't surrounded by bodies. You kinda ruined it for me." Basal exclaimed.
"Sorry. You asked." Lustre said, half-apologizing.
Basal shrugged.
They tiptoed around the corpses. The deeper they walked into the cavern, the more it stunk. Decay laced the air, making the boys gag.
The boys rounded a corner and saw a light embedded in the far wall, shining down over a board and a body nailed to a cross.
It didn't seem any more horrific that anything else they'd faced, but Lustre gasped and sunk to the ground.
Basal examined the figure closer, to try and understand Lustre's panic. He squinted his eyes to read the letters etched on the board above the body.
'No one is above the rule of Capitol law.'
The figure nailed to the cross wore colourful regalia, reminiscent of the textile district. Basal strained his eyes and saw a District 8 emblem on the jacket, confirming his suspicions about the district of origin.
A skinless, skeletal face stared back at him. Something clicked in Basal's mind.
Though Basal didn't pay much attention to past Hunger Games, he vividly remembered tales of the 33rd year. He was only a year old at the time, but grew up hearing stories. District 8 had been victorious, a sixteen year old boy named Creel Doff taking the title.
Shortly after his win, his district purposefully distributed a sizeable, defective batch of Peacekeeper uniforms to the other districts and Capitol. The textiles makers laced the fabric with poison.
Over thirty Peacekeepers lost their lives before the plot was discovered.
Well over thirty textile makers were slaughtered by the Capitol, in response.
The Capitol was so furious, they executed Creel in front of his entire district, in the town square, on live television. Creel had nothing to do with the antics, but they'd made an example of him.
A mention of the dead victor, let alone the sight of him, was enough to strike fear into the hearts of the district members.
Basal couldn't bring himself to feel the threat, the horror, knowing there was no chance in hell he'd survive long enough to face it. Lustre had regained his ability to stand, but a stale look of terror painted his face.
"Come on, let's go." Basal said. The other boy didn't appear to hear him, eyes locked on the dead D8 victor. "Lustre." Basal prompted.
At the sound of his name, Lustre's focus snapped to Basal.
"We should keep moving." Basal said.
Lustre nodded, and followed Basal through the maze of bodies.
…
Bliss and Harlem pulled up to a rooftop restaurant, shaded by green ferns overhead. Aramid and Rhea waited for the other victors. Bliss cracked a smile at the sight of them.
"Hey, guys." Bliss greeted.
"Hi Bliss." Rhea said, as Aramid said, "Nice to see ya."
"Have you met Harlem, yet?" Bliss asked. She was assuming the answer was yes, as he'd organized the lunch, but had no recollection of their acquaintance.
"Violet has him over to the D11 apartment. Almost every night since the Games started." Rhea clarified.
"Is that right?" Bliss asked. She spared a look for Harlem. He knew they were friends, but Harlem didn't mention the frequency with which they met.
Harlem shrugged. "Someone to kill time with. He likes card games."
"Cute." Bliss teased.
Harlem's face reddened. Immediately, she felt guilty. She wouldn't have made the joke if she'd sensed their were complex feelings between them. Maybe this is what he'd been reserved to tell her. She couldn't fathom why, a certified lesbian, herself. He was entitled to his privacy, though.
"How's your tribute doing, Aramid?" Bliss asked, changing the subject.
"Got stuck in the ninth circle of hell." Aramid sighed, leaning on her elbows.
"What's stopping her?" Bliss asked, curiously. She'd only seen up to the sixth circle.
"Some sort of mind trap. I don't now what's going on. She's freaking out, yelling into the air. Losing her damn mind." Aramid said.
Bliss flinched.
"Sorry. That was callous." Aramid apologized, aware through the grapevine that Bliss' tribute hadn't been mentally well since the Games began.
It worried Bliss, that if Basal made it to the ninth circle he would have to face what awaited. Maybe Lustre would continue to help him. He'd been a good ally so far.
"I hope he never finds out what's down there." Bliss said quietly. She cursed herself, she had to stop wising for his death. Silence fell over the table. She wanted to apologize for bringing down the mood, but couldn't force words from her mouth.
"Are you keeping yourself occupied, Rhea?" Harlem interjected, his turn to change the subject.
"Yes. The sheer amount of game consoles in the apartment could keep me entertained for a year." Rhea responded. "And Aramid comes back to take breaks, so that's obviously a highlight." He slung an arm around Aramid's shoulder.
His words softened Bliss' distressed heart.
"You should join Violet and I for a game of cards, sometime." Harlem invited the younger victors. They nodded in agreement.
Aramid's phone started wildly buzzing. She checked the screen. "Shit, my tribute's not doing well. I have to get back to the training centre."
"I'll go with you." Rhea said.
"Don't worry about it, hun. You can't come into the monitoring room with me, anyways, with your tribute out. Enjoy your lunch." Aramid leaned down, kissing him on the cheek.
"Okay. Call if you need anything." Rhea said.
"I will." Aramid said, then turned to leave.
When the food arrived, Bliss could barely force chunks into her mouth. Despite it being in perfectly good condition, it felt like trying to force concrete down her throat.
Bliss retreated to the training centre soon after, leaving Harlem and Rhea to chat.
…
It was late. Basal and Lustre were exhausted. The cave they occupied didn't flow with magma, and the walls remained stationary, so the boys decided to call it a night and try to get some sleep.
Lustre received a sponsored meal, and he split the food with Basal. Basal was so grateful for the nourishment.
"How are you feeling, Basal? Your hands okay?" Lustre asked, leaning against one of the cave walls, nonchalant.
"I'm alright. I'm glad we're away from the bodies, and I'm glad it's not cold. My hands are okay, too. Thanks." The rocks under his body warmed him. "How are you?"
"Better after that meal. You feeling full? Need anything else?" Lustre asked, crossing the space between them and sitting down.
His attention put Basal on edge, but he reminded himself that Lustre wasn't a hallucination. He wasn't trying to trick him.
"I'm good, thanks." Basal tried to keep the nerves out of his voice.
"What's wrong, big guy?" Lustre said, rubbing circles into Basal's back.
Basal wished he could shrink away, but didn't want to upset his friend. He just didn't feel like talking.
"I'm just tired." Basal said. "I think I'm gonna try and get some sleep… If you're okay with that." He didn't know why he was asking permission. He'd gone so long following Lustre's dictations, it felt strange to do anything without a command.
"You sure? Why don't we stay up for a while?" Lustre asked.
Basal's armpits started dripping.
"I want to get some rest so I can be strong enough to protect us tomorrow." Basal tried.
"Come on Basal, we're never going to have this kind of freedom again. And who knows how long we'll live?" There was an evil gleam in Lustre's eyes.
Chills overtook Basal, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
He remained frozen as Lustre leaned in and kissed him, keeping his eyes trained on the tunnel wall in front of him.
He remained frozen as Lustre began kissing his neck, and when the boy put his hands under Basal's shirt. The touch seemed to sear more than the burning rocks. Lustre pulled off Basal's jacket, hoodie, then shirt.
When Lustre began rubbing his thigh, Basal croaked, "What about the cameras?"
Lustre waved him away. "They won't show it, there aren't any consequences."
His Hail-Mary failed, there would be no escaping Lustre.
Basal remained frozen, and kept his eyes trained on the tunnel wall as Lustre undid Basal's pants and put his mouth on him.
He tried to reconcile the instinctual pleasure, with his disgust at the sensation. It didn't make sense, he was too big to be forced to do something like this. But the consequences if he'd said no or tried to fight him off… Basal didn't want to think about it. It could be a lot worse.
Basal felt pressure building inside of him, but didn't want to climax.
After they finished, Lustre rolled over without another word, and was asleep within minutes.
Basal kept staring at the tunnel wall.