125th – Solaryn Duke-Dare, District Five
…
Forty-six days.
That's how long Crockett has been in the arena. He only knows because he's kept a tally. At the beginning of the Games, he rightfully predicted that it would take a long time for ninety-five tributes to die off. Bishop said he was crazy, that there was no way the Gamemakers would let it go on forever. Well, Crockett was right in the end. He was right about a lot of things.
The arena is so quiet now that there's just two of them. It's massive, an expansive cave system that for three weeks was completely dark. Then one day, the lights suddenly came on. Crockett figures that the Gamemakers wanted to hurry things along a little bit.
It feels empty, too. Maybe that's just because Bishop is dead now. Everything feels emptier without him in it.
Really, what are the odds that twins would be Reaped? Even in a Games with ninety-six tributes. Crockett knows that it had to be rigged, but he just can't figure out why. He doesn't really care, anymore. Crockett just wants to go home.
He's sitting at the mouth of the Cornucopia now. Staring off into the rocks. Waiting.
He doesn't know what he's going to do when the last tribute gets here. He's got no idea how it is, although he knows who it isn't.
It isn't the young girl from Seven who loved cooking. Crockett killed her. It isn't the tall boy from Two with the lisp. Crockett killed him. It isn't the funny boy from Eleven who loved soccer. Crockett killed him. It isn't the boy from Nine who would've outrun death if he hadn't tripped. Crockett killed him. It isn't the girl from Six who wanted to propose to her boyfriend. Crockett killed her. It isn't the small boy from One who sobbed as he died. Crockett killed him. It isn't the boy from Five with eh alcohol problem. Crockett killed him. It isn't the pretty girl from Four who wanted to be a singer. Crockett killed her. It isn't the angry boy from Twelve who nearly took off Crockett's arm. Crockett killed him.
And isn't Bishop Montgomery, the smart, careful, well-read, surprisingly funny boy from District Ten. Crockett watched him die.
Forty-six days. Crockett has been here for too long. He finds himself forgetting that there is a world outside of these caves. Sometimes, he wonders if any of it was real—if there even is a District Ten, where he and Bishop lived safely and happily with their parents. Maybe these caves are all there has ever been. Maybe Bishop has always been dead.
Crockett puts his head in his hands. He figures his support in the Capitol has dwindled since Bishop died. Before Bishop died, the two of them were a dynamic duo, hunting down tributes with ruthless efficiency. Crockett didn't let himself think about what he was doing. As long as other tributes were the ones dying, it didn't matter. He and Bishop were still together.
They never talked about it. It was a silent, tacit agreement—they would never talk about the fact that only one of them could go home. It didn't need to be said. All they ever spoke of was that one of them would be going home. It didn't matter which one, but they couldn't let their parents lose both of their sons. So they hunted. They played the game better than anyone else.
But once Bishop was dead…well, it didn't feel like there was much of a point to any of it anymore. Crockett had been fighting so that Bishop could survive, and he knows that Bishop was fighting so Crockett could. But without Bishop to fight for…well, Crockett was just killing kids.
He can't take it now. He can't stop thinking about all of them. They all died by his hand in the name of a dead man. He killed and he killed and he killed and Bishop didn't even survive.
Crockett is just…so tired. Forty-six days. Nine corpses in his wake. One dead brother. And one more tribute between him and home.
He can't do it. He can't fight anymore. Ever since Bishop died, Crockett just wandered, staying away from the fighting. He let the other few remaining tributes wipe themselves out, and now he's here. All alone in the quiet and empty caverns that used to be filled with tributes.
His hands shake at the thought of all of them. Ninety-four people who were alive in June. All dead. The girl from Seven cried when she saw Crockett and Bishop. The boy from One peed himself in fear when he saw Crockett and Bishop. How can he ever live with those memories in his head?
It was supposed to be Bishop. It was supposed to be Bishop. Crockett was supposed to do whatever it took so Bishop could go home. It wasn't supposed to matter what he did to get Bishop home, because he was supposed to be dead.
As it turns out, it's one of the boys from Five. Crockett remembers nothing about him—not his name, not his age, not what he spoke about in his interview. All he knows is that he wasn't the one with the alcohol problem, because Crockett killed that boy.
With effort, Crockett makes himself stand. He has never been more exhausted in his life. This kind of exhaustion is bone deep, it's written in his very being. There's no sleeping this kind of exhaustion off. Crockett can't live like this. He can't kill another person. He can't go home without Bishop. He can't spend the rest of his life thinking about these forty-six days.
"Do it," he says. "Kill me."
"What?" the boy from Five says.
"Kill me," Crockett says. "I've had enough. I can't do this anymore. Kill me. Go home."
The Five boy is armed with a crossbow. "What?" he says again.
Crockett sighs. "Take your crossbow, and shoot me in the heart. Please."
Finally, the boy seems to get it. He raises his crossbow, says, "I'm sorry it turned out this way," and shoots Crockett in the heart.