Chapter 50
NARRATOR | Ansel Voltaire, District 7
TIME | Day 15
TRIBUTES REMAINING | 7
"Wyatt, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to smack you," I click my tongue as my ally squirms beneath me. I'm holding a wet cloth to the gash in Wyatt's forehead; I don't know much about medicine, but I picked up enough from watching Ashlyn to do something.
"I'm not a child," Wyatt huffs, but he sits still as I dab at his wound. "I nearly lost a leg, remember?"
I shudder at the memory. After the days I've spent with Wyatt, the thought of losing him is not a welcome one like it used to be.
That's what made yesterday so scary: it nearly happened. For whatever reason, Wyatt decided he wanted to help Lucas of all people, and he nearly died because of it. We're lucky the gash in his forehead is the only thing Violet left us with. Based on the fact Lucas was killed yesterday, we could have gotten a lot worse.
Considering the rivalry Wyatt and I had over Ashlyn, it's surprising to think about how close we've become. From the moment I met him, I wanted nothing to do with him, but I can see now how my jealousy clouded my judgment. I was so afraid of losing Ashlyn after what happened to Eddie and Safira, and that fear made me treat Wyatt in a way I shouldn't have.
Truthfully, I don't know how I would've made it through without the boy in front of me. I've felt the struggle to find food at times back in Seven, but I've never felt the brink of starvation like I have in the last few days. Cold, starving, miserable... from what I've heard from Wyatt, it's been like any other day in District Twelve. After three days of it, I can't imagine what it's like to endure it for a lifetime.
I've learned a lot about Wyatt over the last few days. It's been one of his tricks: find something to do, something to talk about, to distract us from our stomachs. Back when Ashlyn was around, I could sense that he was holding back when he talked about his life, and I understand why now. To have your body used like that for so many years, by Peacekeepers that could kill you at any moment... Wyatt risked his life every day to feed himself and his mother, and he was in a position where he had no other choice. Hearing about what he's been through helped us grow so much closer.
"I wasn't popular, that's for sure," he'd told me, his eyes pointed to the ground. "We were all struggling after the black market was burned - nothing to do, no way to make money. I was one of the few who actually tried to do something to keep myself from starving. But what I did wasn't honest work."
I can understand - we value hard work in Seven over anything else, and if someone was doing what Wyatt did, I wouldn't be a fan of them either. But experiencing true misery in the Arena has made me understand his situation, and it's made me respect him a whole lot more. I've started to see his best traits - his determination, loyalty, and resilience. For the first time, I think I can see what Ashlyn saw in him from the start.
"Bummer that there were only two gone last night," Wyatt sighs as I dab my cloth across his skin. "How many are left, then?"
"There's the two of us," I count, "and Violet, to start. Minna from Three, Corbin from Ten, the boy from Nine..."
"And Verity," Wyatt says, making a face. My pulse quickens at the sound of her name; I'd nearly forgotten about that sneaky girl. She was nowhere to be seen yesterday; really, she's been nowhere to be seen for over a week.
"Seven left, then, and we're still standing," I smile. "They'll probably be starting interviews soon back home, right?"
Wyatt's eyes brighten at the idea. "My Ma's not going to know what to do in front of all those cameras," he laughs.
I laugh at the thought - Wyatt's poor mother bombarded by colorful Capitol reporters. It's tradition for the final eight tributes to have their families interviewed; it's an appeal to Capitol sponsors, I think.
It's a weird thought - everything I experienced since the Reaping has been so far removed from the rest of my life that it seems unnatural that the two phases should mix. I can't imagine my parents having to talk with some of the folks I met before the Games, that's for sure.
"My Ma will probably be up first," Wyatt says, his smile dropping a bit. "Those reporters haven't been to Twelve in a while."
I can tell what Wyatt's trying to say - the order of the interviews is pre-determined to allow them to stretch over the last few days of the Games, and the tributes who are expected to die first have their families interviewed first. That way, the interviews that really matter can be saved for the end.
"This gash isn't going to kill you," I remind him. "And we're the last pair in here as far as I'm aware, so doesn't that count for something? The others might be dangerous, but they can't outmatch us together."
"I know," Wyatt says, raising his hands defensively. "I'm just joking-"
"Well, stop joking," I huff. " I don't want to hear you speak like that."
Wyatt doesn't seem convinced, but I believe what I said to him. We do have a chance, and I truly believe it for the first time since the Bloodbath. When I watched Safira die in front of me, I thought that the Games were over for me. And now, here I stand, two weeks later, with the most unexpected new friend by my side.
Outlasting the others - Violet, Corbin, Verity even Easton and Minna - will be difficult, there's no denying it. I can't remember watching a Hunger Games with tributes this strong. But there's one thing we have that they lack, our secret weapon. And that's each other.
A/N - CHAPTER 50! We made it :)))) and we're starting to near the end!