Capitol Pawns

When I wake up, my leg is no better than it was last night. I would insist on staying put, but we can’t afford another day with nothing to drink. We finished her water bottle last night, figuring there had to be a source somewhere, but now that I think about it, it wasn’t smart.

We start early so as to not get stuck during the hottest part of the day. The arena likes to get sweltering hot at about midday and cool off little by little until night when the temperature drops well below freezing. Not to mention the rain.

By lunch time, we’ve hit train tracks and decide to follow them. We don’t know where they lead, but we don’t care as long as it isn’t back to the acidic pond.

Someone needs to check that pond’s pH levels. Shouldn’t be legal.

The pain is so excruciating I beg Freya to cut my leg off multiple times, but she keeps insisting we can’t because we don’t have a tourniquet and I would bleed to death.

“If we did, I really would,” She keeps insisting.

I know she’d cut my leg off for me. What are real friends for, anyways?

“You could have a peg leg,” She jokes to keep my spirits up. “You could just hobble around and freak people out!”

We laugh, pretty loudly and we don’t think twice about it. Honestly, if someone is going to jump out and kill us now, I’d rather be laughing and having a good time than be running around like a scared rabbit. And the laughing keeps my mind off of everything that’s already happened. I feel like a normal kid again, even if it is just a false sense of childhood.

When the sun hits the highest point in the sky, I assume it’s around midday, but I can’t be sure. I skipped out on the “reading the sun for time” table during training because I figured it would be useless. I was right because it doesn’t really matter what time of day it is, I just know that I’m still alive and in the arena.

Sweat soaks through my layers and I strip off both my jacket and sweatshirt and wrap them securely around my waist. I wish more than anything our outfit would have included some shorts or a t-shirt because I think I’m about to die from heat exhaustion. It’s happened before and I don’t put it past the Game Makers to kill us off in any way possible.

I start to feel woozy and I can tell Freya does, too, so I suggest sitting down. We figure we better find cover because we aren’t exactly in the best shape, so we duck into the thicket of bushes and collapse onto the ground.

“Ten minutes, tops,” She says, giving me a stern look. She’s right. We can’t be stationary; we have to look for water. In the past two and a half days, we’ve shared a 12 ounce bottle of water which is nowhere near enough to keep us alive for much longer.
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We lay in silence, listening to the sounds of nature around us. We hear the buzzing of insects, the slight whir of the breeze that takes the edge off the unbearable heat, and we hear a branch crack and the leaves rustle.

Panic rushes through my body as footsteps approach. Freya and I make eye contact and take off, running in the opposite direction it’s coming from.

Pain is no obstacle right now. My leg wound is not even a thought as I run. I don’t think about anything except the trip wire I just hit and the net that scoops me and Freya up.

We’re dead. So dead.

I know this because the sadistic looking girl from 8 pushes the braches out of her way and walks straight up to the net. Freya’s hand is enclosed in mine and we’re squeezing each other tight, shuddering in fear of what she’s going to do to us.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” We don’t even struggle to get out. There’s no way.

She looks at us with this humorous glint in her eye before wrapping her hands securely around Freya’s neck.

“The little girls from 9 and, oh, hello there, 7,” She says. “I knew we’d see each other again, and look where we are now.”

I spit on her, right in the eyes. It’s my only defense against her.

She elbows me straight in the ribs and I swear I feel one crack. It’s like the wind is knocked out of me or something because I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m suffocating.

Freya’s making these awful choking noises and I’m sure she’s gone, but all of the sudden, Waverly's grasp loosens and the look in her eye goes from determined to confused. Blood seeps from her mouth and I see the arrow sticking straight out of her back.

She collapses and her cannon sounds. The boy from 12 walks cautiously over.

He’s going to finish us off right now. He has to.

He pulls out a knife and cuts a hole in the net big enough to pull Freya and I out. We’re still too terrified to move and now have each other in a full on embrace. This is it. This is really it. I’m going to die.

But instead of sinking the blade into our flesh, he puts it back on his belt and reaches his hand out.

“You’re not gonna kill us?” Freya asks, her chest rising up and down in quick bursts.

The tall boy doesn’t answer, instead offering her a hand onto her feet. He then grabs my right wrist in his huge left hand and hoists me onto my feet before turning away.

“Why didn’t you just kill us?” I ask, my voice trembling. My heart still races, letting me know I’m still alive.

“I don’t know. I guess you remind me of someone, but we gotta get out of here. The Careers are probably scouting out the area.” He answers, shrugging his shoulders.

I eye Freya, who merely returns my confused expression. Suddenly, her head whips in the boy’s direction and she runs to catch up.

“Allies?” She asks, placing her hands sassily on her hips and cocking her eyebrows at him. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He smirks. “I guess.”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch onto my hobbling as I struggle to keep up. He merely grabs me and slings me over his shoulder along with his bow and quiver of arrows.

“Do you have any water?” Freya asks, skipping along happily next to our new ally.

He shakes his head. “No, but Caraway does back at camp.”

That’s right. Caraway’s face hadn’t been in the night sky yet.

“Why’d you leave her?” I ask, enjoying my ride on his shoulder. The up and down of his steps is calming and it makes me crave a nap.

“We were hunting,” He explains. “That was my net back there.”

“Guess we weren’t exactly what you were looking for, huh?” Freya jokes.

He shakes his head and smiles at Freya, his grey eyes lighting up slightly.

The hike back to camp isn’t far. It’s just up the railroad a little ways. There’s a nice fire there and the blonde girl tending it looks up and raises her eyebrows in confusion.

“Not exactly what I was expecting, Book,” She says, throwing another stick on the fire. “Cannibalism isn’t really something I’d like to partake in.”

Booker plops me on the ground and inspects my leg. He grimaces at the sight of it. It’s even more swollen than it was yesterday, but the redness has spread.

“That’s a pretty serious cut,” He says, poking it slightly.

I wince.

“Sorry,” He stands up and adjusts his shirt. “Caraway, you got any water left?”

She throws him the bottle. “Just don’t drink it all.”

“You haven’t found water, either?” Freya asks.

Both shake their head.

I’m beginning to wonder if there’s any drinkable water in this arena at all. We’ve been wandering around for three days and have yet to stumble upon fresh water.

I take three grateful sips before closing the lid and pass it to Freya. She does the same. The drink moistens my lips minimally and only makes me even thirstier.

Booker tends to my leg wound again, giving up his share of the water to clean it out. Once the dried blood is washed away, I can see just how deep it is. Had I not accidentally knocked the knife around earlier, the wound wouldn’t have been too bad, but now the cut is much larger and infected.

He hands me a stick and instructs me bite down on it before he digs his fingers down into it. I understand the need for the stick now because otherwise I think I would chew off my tongue. The pain is excruciating and I wish he would stop. But when he takes his fingers out of my leg, a small piece of bark comes with it.

“This has been chilling out in your leg for a while,” He says, placing it in my palm. I do a twice over and figure it must be from two nights ago when I knocked the knife around by accident. The night consisted of restless sleep and who knows how much thrashing I did?

He dumps a little more water on my leg and takes off his undershirt. He rips strips of the material while I apply a generous amount of antibiotic ointment and allow him to wrap them tightly around my leg.

It still hurts, but it already feels better.

Caraway smothers the fire after a while. I pass around the remaining four strips of beef jerky and we eat in silence. It’s nice, the company of the three of them. There’s a sense of comfort and protection from having Booker around. He’s muscular and has proven himself as a trusted ally.

“We need to find water,” Caraway says after everyone’s finished their food. “We can’t keep going on rations.”

“She’s right,” Booker says as he glances in my direction. His eyes flick back and forth between my leg and my face and I guess he’s trying to gauge how much I’m dreading the journey.

The truth is, I’d rather just be left behind. I can’t walk, and as much as I enjoyed the ride from Booker, I feel bad making him carry me. But the dehydration has set in and the thought of a constant water supply is encouraging. Still, I can’t help but wonder where Johanna is through all of this. Isn’t she supposed to be getting me sponsors? Aren’t they supposed to see I’m in need and send me water? It’s her job! So why aren’t they?

Booker squats down in front of me and I lean over his shoulder. He stands and I’m lifted off the ground to start our journey. It’s day two on the tracks and I can’t help but think something has to be out there. I don’t fight it. Quite honestly, I pass out from exhaustion and probably dehydration. When I wake up, Booker stands over me.

“You look like a wet dog,” I observe.

He smiles. “You don’t understand.”

He steps aside and I see the vastness of an enormous lake. There are green mountainous islands in the distance, but the size of the lake blows my mind. It’s like I’m looking at an ocean.

Instantly I feel the smile pull on my lips. This is the best news I’ve had in the past ten days. I want to jump up and submerge my entire body in the water right now, but I have to wait patiently as Booker unwraps the strips from my legs and helps me strip off my layers.

I’m only in my underwear and a white tank top, but I don’t care. Excitement engulfs my entire being as I dip underwater and feel the cold water wash over me. The dirty feeling of not bathing for days has disappeared and I feel like I’m in paradise for a moment. But everything comes full circle when we hear the sound of footsteps on the rocks and I’m brought back to reality.

I struggle to get out of the water and back to Booker, but I’m not fast enough. The culprits come around a bend and make eye contact with me.

It’s Caspar, the boy from 6, and his district partner.

There’s no flash of panic in his eyes and he keeps a cool demeanor. In return, we do, too.

“Water!” The girl yells, not bothering to strip her clothes off before plummeting into the cool depths. She resurfaces and allows herself to float into back float, a look of pure bliss on her face.

Caspar stands onshore, watching with a smirk on his face. He’s not even paying attention to us.

“Hey, buddy,” Booker says, walking over and slapping hands with Caspar.