The deer had its head ducked over a patch of grass, taking no notice to the three tributes who had snuck up on it. It was Micah who took the lead, his spear slipping against his sweaty palm. The arena was hot today, the temperatures only seeming to rise and rise as if building up to something, a volcano threatening to erupt. His shirt stuck to his chest, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead to his mouth and tasting the salty tang on his lip. Brushing it aside with his tongue, he takes a small step forward, lowering his heel slowly to the ground with almost no sound. He had lost weight since being in the arena, his ribs more prominent and his cheekbones hollower, but he had always been small. He may not have been the strongest tribute but now his stature paid off, making him a silent predator, which was the deadliest kind.
The deer cocked its head, not turning but pausing in its grazing, ear twitching in such a way that told Micah it had sensed their presence. It was enough to coax him to prepare for the kill, knowing he had mere seconds before it would flee and they would lose their chance. Positioning his spear, Micah closes one eye for precision, the tip of the blade aligned with the neck of the deer. It had been dulled from it's use over time, beginning with the murder of his district partner, but it would still do the job. Micah holds his breath, drawing back the spear for the kill shot. It's just then that the crack of the branch sounds behind him and startles both him and the deer. The creature jerks its head, its dark eyes meeting Micahs for a fraction of a second before it turns and runs.
Micah dislodges his spear but he knows the second that he does, it won't be enough, because he didn't have time to properly aim it. It catches the deer in the ankle and then falls the ground uselessly, and Micah curses as he is sure their chance at a decent meal has escaped. Suddenly, there is a small grunt followed by metal whizzing by his ear and the deer collapses to the ground, jerking and twitching and then going limp. Micah turns, baffled, to his friends behind him. Mac is looking just as baffled and so instead his eyes fall upon Melody, who is clutching her shoulder, a small satisfied smile on her face. "Don't look so shocked, fish boy," she tells him, and he instinctively shuts his gaping mouth, "I may be injured but I still have some fight in me. Now go make sure that poor deer isn't suffering."
With no time to express any concern for the shoulder of undoubtedly her throwing arm, which had already been in poor shape since the first day, Micah nods, turning to approach their prey. Kneeling over it, Micah pulls free the knife from its throat, skillfully lodged in its artery, the blood pouring from the wound and onto the previously untouched dirt. Blood was nothing new to Micah by this point, and he was just happy he wasn't covered in it this time, though his clothes still bore the stains of his fight with Damien. Searching the deer for signs of life, he finds none, and he shakes his head gently. "It's dead," he confirms, loudly and then, starting as he realizes his friends have made their way beside him, repeating it quieter. "It's dead."
Melody nods curtly, then departs to the other side of the clearing where she sinks onto a rock, still holding her shoulder, obviously not wanting a front row seat as the creature is gutted and skinned. It was surprising to Micah that she had even killed it, not because he didn't think she had the potential but because he didn't think she had the motivation. It seemed like hunger got the best of even the most kind-hearted tributes. Micah turns to look at the deer again, turning the knife over in his hand, contemplating. It couldn't be much different than a fish, surely, just bigger and with limbs. He didn't particularly care for the chore but it seemed only fair that he be the one to do it since he was the only one with any kind of experience.
Mac seems willing to stick around, though, and Micah turns to look at him, only just now noting the guilty look on his face. "What?" he asks, more teasing than serious, "I'm sure the deer doesn't have babies somewhere wondering where Mummy is. I've been looking for a kill this big since day one and this is the first time I've seen one." Mac doesn't look consoled. "It's not that," he says, "I just... I almost lost us our meal. I'm dragging us down." It takes Micah a moment to register what he's talking about before he remembers the twig snapping and he places it to Mac's footing. A small smile crosses his face and he shakes his head. "You're not dragging us down, Mac. You're keeping us alive. If you weren't with us, I'd be searching for you right now, and I'd probably get myself killed doing it. You're more useful than you think you are. You just need the opportunity."
An idea crosses his mind and he extends the knife in his hand to Mac, offering it to him. "You take it," he says, and explains further when Mac looks puzzled. "You skin the deer. It's easy, really. If I can do it, you can do it. I'll tell you how." Mac hesitates, but Micah shoves it at him insistently. "Please, Mac. I've had enough blood on my hands." It seemed to be just the push that Mac needed, wording it so that it made it sound like Mac was doing him a favour by taking the knife. Nodding dutifully, Mac takes it from his hand, his fingers curling around the handle, purpose in his eyes. "Of course," he says, and then adds, "Thank you." Micah gives a tired smile, falling back onto his heels on the ground, glad to have some of the load taken off of him. Mac was helping him in more ways than he would ever know, by just being there, by being alive, by being his friend. "No," he says, "Thank you."
The walls were all white. So was the ceiling. He was briefly aware of voices, though he couldn't understand what they were saying. Was he dead? Thoughts began to jumble in his mind again and Micah has to stop, to back up again. Micah Holcombe. District 4. Volunteered. Mac. Melody. The deer. He remembered the taste of the deer on his tongue, how the grease had coated his fingers, the fingers that had committed such sins. It was the first time he had experienced a full stomach since being in the arena. Even Melody seemed happier, not flinching away from his touch when he gave her a kiss on the cheek that night before drifting off to sleep. Things had been blissful. Almost too blissful, as if it was a small taste of heaven before hell broke lose. Micah remembered now. Hell had broken close.
Two days had passed, and two more cannons had sounded. The faces in the sky had placed them to Sapphira, and to Sera. Sapphira's death struck a nerve inside of Micah, as he had considered her one of his only friends besides Mac and Melody. When the gong had sounded at the Cornucopia, Micah had flown towards the giant horn without hesitation. He was fast, but so was another girl, and before he knew it, he was on the ground, her hands around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. It was Sapphira who had saved him, much to his surprise, and that moment had confirmed her as a true friend. Friendship did not always extend past the Training Center, and Micah himself was especially clear on establishing this, but in some circumstances it did. To save someones life in the arena was nothing short of remarkable, especially from a Career, and it set Sapphira apart from the others. He was frustrated at her death because he had never got the chance to repay her, and he knew he owed her his life. But perhaps it was better that way. If he had died trying to defend her, there would be nobody to defend Mac or Melody, and they were his priority now.
Micah had kept track, and he knew that the only tributes left now were Adam from district 11 and Onyx, Sapphira's district partner. They were both strong, and so Micah was especially alert as they trudged through the forest. The arena had become so scorching that they had all been forced to strip down. They were all relatively modest, despite the fact that each others bodies were the last thing on each other's mind at that moment. Micah had rolled his pants up to the knee, in preparation for if it ever got cold again and he needed to roll them back down. Melody and Mac had been less resourceful, merely ripping off the excess material, though reluctantly tucking it away into their packs upon Micah's insistence in case they could use it later for bandages or something similar. The gauze Micah had acquired at the Cornucopia was already gone, thanks to Melody's injury which refused to heal and needed to be re-bandaged every couple of days, so it was a reasonable request.
Micah and Mac had stored away their shirts as well, which Micah had been displeased about, especially next to Mac's slightly bulkier form, but he had stretched out stripping down as long as possible, longer than Mac even, until it had become unbearable. Melody again had just taken to her shirt with her knife, being the first to do so, easily the most confident of the three in her body. Why shouldn't she be, after all? Micah did note, however, how significantly skinnier she was since he had last seen her body, which had been in the Training Center. The scars and bruises inflicted by her father, now that they weren't masked by pounds of Capitol make-up, were a sharp contrast against her fair skin. Micah was thankful for the excuse of being in the arena, living in harsh terrain and the possibility of scuffles with other tributes, to explain them. Because of this, Mac does not question them, or perhaps he was just smart enough not to. Either way, Micah was grateful, because it would be dangerous to bring up painful memories at a time such as this when it was crucial that her mind remain fully intact.
It was clear by now what the Game Makers were doing. The stream that Micah and Melody had returned to to replenish their canteens and to bath in day after day had dried up, as had the other small ponds scattered around the territory. The Game Makers were forcing the tributes together, water being their motivation, presumably in the center of the arena where there were no trees to hide in. With only 5 tributes left, the audience would be eager to see the final fight ensue and have a Victor crowned. Dehydration had gotten the best of them and they had no choice but to begin their journey to the center of the arena, back to the Cornucopia they had fled from weeks ago. Thirst made sure tempers ran high, and there wasn't much talking as they walked through the forest, save the occasional exchange over direction or to tell those behind to duck a branch. That morning, Micah and Melody had even got in a small argument over something as trivial as the route to take to their destination.
Micah had insisted they walk around, to avoid running into conflict in the trees where they might not see their attacker coming, whereas Melody wanted to cut right through, saving them time and energy. After a few tense minutes, they had finally all agreed, or otherwise been too tired to argue further, to cut through the forest, taking the quick and easy route. It was still a long walk, though, a couple of hours even with breaks, made especially tough by the fact that they were thirsty and hungry as well. They had tried to eat but with no liquid to wash it down, it became painful to swallow and they had given up. Not many plants remained to suck the juices from, withering up in the heat, and so Micah soon became glad he had agreed to cut through the forest, unsure if they would last much longer if they didn't get water soon. It wasn't guaranteed that there would be a water source in the center of the arena, but even if there wasn't, the message was clear: Kill each other and you'll get water once you win. They had little time left, and so much to say, and yet nobody seemed keen on saying it, dehydration making even speech the most difficult of tasks.
It was the moment Micah had dreaded since the first day in the arena, being in the finals against the two people he wanted to see die least. And yet here he was, living it, unsure whether to be happy they had made it this far or terrified of what was to come. It was a mixture of both, really. They were so close, only two tributes between one of them winning victory. But what if the other two died first? What if it was them three who remained? Then what? Two would have to die before one could ever win, and he had no idea how it would be decided. One of them could crack on a sudden motivation to win and try to kill the other two, though Micah highly doubted the likelihood of this scenario. There was always the option of suicide, but it was easier said than done, and Micah wasn't sure he was ready to do it. He would much rather die in battle, fighting against death instead of willingly giving in to it. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to bring a blade down upon himself. And what if he had to pick sides, to protect either Mac or Melody? Micah had no idea who he would choose. He was sure of only one thing, and that was that he would not become a monster in his final battle. He would stay loyal to his friends, and he would either win or lose with dignity and with pride in himself. He would not betray them, no matter what, because the only thing he had in these games any more was his word.
Micah wonders if the others are thinking about the same thing as he is, but he figures they must be. He had to say something now, before it became too late. He didn't know what, exactly; something inspirational, motivational, a final goodbye? A thank you? A plan or agreement of some sort? He puts out an arm to stop his friends in their walk and they willingly do so, fatigue making them even more cooperative than usual. Before he can even open his mouth, though, a noise catches Micah's attention, like a quiet buzzing, louder than a bee but in the same sort of tone. He freezes, jerking his head slightly to the right. "Do you hear that?" he says, quietly, and his friends, too, pause to listen. "Yes," replies Mac, finally, squinting as he tries to place the sound. "It's sort of like..." "An engine," Melody finishes. Micah opens his mouth to disagree, his mind automatically thinking of the engines on the boats in district 4 and how this noise sounded nothing like them. But then he remembers. When he killed Damien and the hovercraft had come to pick him up, he had heard it. His back had been turned and they had been a fair distance away by that point, but there had been a quiet metallic buzzing.
Melody was right. It sounded exactly like the engine of a hovercraft. But why would there be a hovercraft anywhere near? Hovercrafts only appeared in the arena to pick up fallen tributes, or to claim a Victor, and there hadn't been a cannon for days. Micah's face turns to the sky, searching for a sign of the craft, and it's in this moment of distraction that the bomb falls from the sky. Micah is lifted off of his feet, sent flying into the air and thrown into a tree trunk, his spine and the back of his head hitting it hard and rendering him immobile for a few moments as he crumples to the ground. Spots dance in his vision for a moment, feeling no pain nor hearing a sound. For a moment, he is sure he is dead. Then his vision slowly starts to flow back, bits of sound filtering into his mind, adjusting to his surroundings. He is face up, he realizes, as the sky comes into view, tree tops over head and debris floating in the air. He smells burning flesh and then the pain hits him with unbearable intensity. He cries out, but his voice is still so quiet since the impact of the bomb on his ear drums rendered him momentarily deaf. His arm is twisted painfully under him at an angle that is not natural, as he seems to have fallen on top of it and pinned it there.
He forces himself to sit up, but the pain is so horrible that it brings across a wave of nausea and he empties his stomach onto the ground. There isn't much to empty, but he gives up his remaining liquids and it leaves him feeling even more dehydrated than before, his throat burning with acidic bile. His arm is unmistakably broken. He searches his body for the source of the burning flesh but finds nothing and then remembers his comrades. His eyes turn to his surroundings. Bits of the surrounding foliage are on fire, a large crater in the ground where the explosion hit. Melody is on the other side, seemingly unharmed, pushing herself up from the ground as she, too, tries to gather her surroundings. Micah makes his way over, offering her his good arm and pulling her to a standing position. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she nods. "Are you?" Micah doesn't answer though, as he has already moved on, pushing through the bushes in search of Mac, who could not have been thrown too far. He tries not to think about the fact that they had still not found the source of the burning flesh and that he could very well have been cooked alive in the explosion if it had directly struck him, but his mind automatically drifts to the worst.
A head of brown hair rises slowly above a burning bush. He is not extended to his full height, instead bent over in half, seemingly clutching something against his stomach. As Micah draws nearer fearfully, he realizes he is in fact clutching his stomach itself. The source of the burning flesh becomes clear as Micah sees the blackened skin beneath his fingers, blood oozing between them and dripping steadily to the dirt. "Mac!" he exclaims, horrified and shocked as he waves him off reassuringly. He is relieved to find that his backpack is still clinging to his shoulders even after having landed on it, though his spear is nowhere to be found. He is just about to dig into it for a spare piece of fabric from his shirt to wrap Mac's stomach when a voice rings out through the clearing, causing all three of them to freeze in their tracks as they look for the source. They quickly realize it's coming from the sky, where a hovercraft drifts just above the tree tops, the Capitol seal plastered across it's surface.
"We are aware of the illegal activity going on in District 13," the voice informs them, though the words make no sense to Micah. "Action is being taken against it. The remaining tributes are encouraged to cooperate. No more hovercrafts will being going to 13. If you die now, you will die for real. There are hovercrafts waiting at the Cornucopia. If you choose to ignore them, you will be killed without hesitation. There will be another bomb in 30 seconds. You have been warned." There is a moment of silence in which nobody says anything, all of them trying to make sense of the words they have just heard. District 13 had been destroyed long ago, hadn't it? How could there be illegal activity going on there? What did they mean "die for real"? Had everybody not died for real up until this point? Had Micah not watched the life drain from Lumi's face himself as she lay in his arms? The only part about the message that had been clear was the warning of another bomb and the orders they were instructed to follow, and time was something of the essence. Micah is the first to speak, shocking everyone out of their confusion. "Run."
They don't seem to need convincing as they take off ahead of him in the direction of the center, the trees thinning by the second. Micah takes off, too, Melody having a head start on him but Mac slowly falling behind as Micah's speed overtakes his handicap. He can still hear the steady thump of his feet against the ground behind him though and so he does not turn back, focusing on the goal ahead. The aforementioned bomb sounds behind them and the sound of Mac stumbling and hitting the ground stops both him and Melody in their tracks, Melody pausing while Micah crouches to help him up. Mac, however, refuses his help, staying on the ground where he is. "I've held you back enough," he says, "Just leave me behind." The words are so irrational, so stupid, that Mac would suggest Micah leave him behind after all they had been through, that Micah scowls. "I'm sick of this, Mac," he says, "I'm sick of you thinking you are worthless. You're only worthless if you stay here and you give up and you die. As long as you keep getting back up and fighting, you are not worthless. So get up."
Mac looks at Micah, perhaps surprised in the harshness with which he spoke, but it may also be just what he needed to knock some sense into him. "Get up!" Micah repeats, and Mac obliges, picking himself off of the ground with a grunt of pain and jogging ahead of him towards the clearing. Melody follows his lead, and this time Micah lags behind, taking up the rear. The clearing comes into sight, and they hesitate on the outer edge. The hovercrafts are in sight, a neat row of them awaiting to be boarded in front of the Cornucopia. But something didn't feel right. What if it was a trap? What if it was a way to force the final 5 together and the second they stepped into that clearing, Onyx and Adam would be awaiting them, ready to kill. Micah, Mac, and Melody were poorly armed, Micah having lost his spear and the others perhaps some knives in the explosion. With only a few blades, and each bearing a significant injury, their chances were not especially good. Who knew what the others had, or if they were in better condition? Micah would feel more comfortable if the others stepped out first, but they could be in the trees somewhere, thinking the exact same thing.
A voice, different from the first, rings out through the arena. "Do not trust the Capitol." There is no time to think it because total chaos ensues. Bombs ring out through the air, the earth around them exploding in every which direction. Hovercrafts fill the sky, forming a dark cloud overhead, some landing and some attacking each other. All Micah can do is run, avoiding whatever is thrown at him, knowing there was nowhere to run to, because they are trapped, but feeling it more sensible than standing around. He tries to keep Mac and Melody in focus but at some point, he loses them both, and even as he tries to navigate his way back, he cannot find them. He notes a few things as he runs, details that do not make sense separately but together, begin to form a hazy puzzle. He notices Peace Keepers, scattered amongst the Chaos, a few of which sprint towards him when they see him but are quickly lost in his wake. More importantly, he notices that there are now two different varieties of hovercrafts.
The original hovercrafts, like the first they had seen, like the ones which appeared every year to pick up the dead tributes, bore the Capitol seal. Another set of hovercrafts were identical to the first but with one key difference; the number 13 was imprinted on them. Micah could see there was a battle between the two, and it seemed for some reason to be over possession of the tributes. Whereas the Capitol hovercrafts seemed more careless in the safety of the tributes, dropping bombs with little reguard as to who was in their path, the crafts from 13 appeared to be focused on attacking the Capitol hovercrafts. There was a battle between good and evil, that much was clear, though it was hard to distinguish which was which at this point. The hand of a Peacekeeper reaches out towards him and Micah swings his fist out, though the Peacekeeper easily catches it and uses it to throw him to the ground. The impact sends a fresh wave of pain through his broken arm and he cries out, putting his remaining strength into trying to sit up again. The Peacekeeper is faster, digging the heel of his boot into his stomach, pinning him there, pressing the air from him.
Micah had rarely encountered Peacekeepers in district 4, being much more lenient with rules and punishment than in the less fortunate districts, as it was no secret 4 was a Capitol favourite along with 1 and 2. But now that he had, he wished he never did. The man leans in close, his voice soft, but still loud enough for Micah to catch over the chaos. "Should I kill you now, or should I save you for the torture they have in store for you?" he taunts, the pressure of his boot against Micahs chest becoming so strong that he felt he might soon break his ribs. Micah, shocked into silence but unable to speak even if he wanted to, can only silently will him to kill him, to just end it, that perhaps if only one remained there could still be a Victor, and it could be Mac or Melody. There's a loud thud of metal against skull as something hits the man over the back of the head and he crumples to the ground, leaving Mac standing in his wake. In his hands is a large chunk of shiny golden metal, something that must have been blown off of the Cornucopia. He puts out a hand to help Micah up and he takes it gratefully, managing to choke out, "I owe you one." Mac merely shrugs. "Let's call it even."
Micah doesn't have time to say anything more before a scream resonates through the pandemonium, so familiar to Micah that he doesn't think twice before turning towards it. He had heard it once before and ever since, it had been the source of his nightmares, echoing forever in his mind. He locates the source and spots Melody being forcibly pulled up a ramp by two Peacekeepers into a Capitol hovercraft and immediately begins running towards her, calling her name as if that would help save her. She hears him and in one frantic moment, her eyes meet his and beg him for help. But even Micah, the fastest of tributes, could not make it. The doors shut and the hovercraft rises before Micah even gets there. Like with Damien, Micah had been too late, but this time he hadn't been able to save her. He frees one of the knives that was still intact in his belt and throws it at the hovercraft, in a desperate hope it might hit something vital, but it merely bounces off it's shiny surface without a dent and falls to the ground somewhere.
Frantically, Micah turns to Mac, the only person who he still had a chance to preserve. He is no longer where Micah left him, though, and he does a circle on the spot, heart beating in his chest as he searches for him. He spots him in combat with two Peacekeepers, struggling to hold them back on his own, and Micah rushes to aid him, pulling his final knife from its loop in his belt. Something yanks him back and he instinctively lashes out, assuming it a Peacekeeper, trying to free himself from the hands that grip him. "It's okay, we're here to help you. Come with us, you can still get out of here alive." Micah is far past the point of reason, though, and he strikes out with his knife, stabbing at whatever he can reach. He hears a yelp of pain as it connects with something and the hands on him loosen. He jumps back to face them, knife raised, prepared to fight if he had to. Before him are two seemingly average people, one bent over their thigh where his knife had grazed it. The pair observe him, not reaching out to grab again, merely awaiting his reaction, confusion on their expressions as they try to understand why he is refusing their offer of safety.
Micah is trying to understand it himself. He takes the opportunity to turn, seeing Mac disappear into a hovercraft, out cold, being dragged by two Peacekeepers. He is barely aware of the voices behind him trying to convince him otherwise as he sets off running. He does not bother trying to catch up with Mac's hovercraft, knowing he would never get there in time, instead running at another open Capitol hovercraft, into the arms of the enemy. It was irrational and it would probably come at the cost of his life but the only thing on his mind now was Melody and Mac. The only explanation he could formulate in his mind was that if he was in the same place as them, there was still a small hope that he could somehow save them. He throws himself onto the ramp of the open hovercraft as a flock of Peacekeepers grab him, restraining him, pulling him into the vehicle. He wasn't struggling, but they still pry the knife from his fingers and slam him against a cold table, chaining his hands and feet down. One nurse jabs a needle into his arm as another begins to dig out the tracker from his other, and the pain is enough to knock him out before the sedation even kicks in.
Micah was awake. Things come into focus as he comes to the realization that he is no longer on the hovercraft, but in a plainly decorated room that somewhat resembled an infirmary. The first thing he notices is that there is no more pain. His broken nose, nor his broken arm, nor his ringing ears, nor the place where they had dug the tracker out of his skin. Nothing hurt any more, which made him weary as to how long he had been out. He lifts his head to further take in his surroundings, his direct ones of which included a bed that he was face-up on. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Micah can now see that he is not alone. Both Mac and Adam accompany him, though they seem to be in such a state as he was merely minutes ago, either asleep or unconscious. Micah's eyes search the rest of the beds but no other tributes are to be found, not Onyx nor Melody. He had no idea where Onyx was but he had seen Melody go into a Capitol hovercraft with his own eyes, so it seems off that she was not here.
He catches the attention of a nurse, his voice loud and clear, surprising him as it seemed he was no longer dehydrated either. "Where's Melody?" The nurse looks up, seemingly startled to see him awake, and she approaches him, gently trying to lie him back down. "Shh..." she says, a slightly frantic tone in her voice as she tries to silence him. "You're going to make this worse. Go back to sleep." But Micah irritably shoves her off, his voice insistent, demanding an answer. Because she was trying to be so quiet, he makes sure his voice is louder. "Where's Melody?" The nurse glances over her shoulder as if nervous someone might be there and again tries to calm him, guiding his body to lay down. "I don't know," she says, but Micah doesn't believe it and he only pushes harder against her the more she tries to coax him down. "WHERE'S MELODY?" he repeats, yelling this time, becoming hysterical as he can tell something is being hidden from him. "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER?" The doors fly open and a fresh wave of nurses come through, the sheer number of them seeming ridiculous for restraining a small 16 year old boy.
"IT'S A SIMPLE QUESTION!" he screams, trying to climb from the bed but having several pairs of hands forcibly push him back down, not nearly as gentle as the first nurse. "JUST TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!" He is ignored and thrashes in panic against the hands that hold him down, determined to fight back the more they refused to answer him. A syringe is aimed at his arm but he squirms out of the way, managing to free a hand and slap it out of the nurses hand, hearing it clatter against the ground. "WHY. WON'T. ANYONE. ANSWER. ME?" he demands, frustrated tears springing to his eyes as he continues to thrash against his constraints, a mixture of sobs and screams burning his throat even as a second syringe is successfully emptied into his bloodstream. He can feel his fight beginning to fade but he continues to resist as long as he can, writhing until the limbs in his body are numbed and his vision becomes blurry once again. "I just want an answer..." he croaks, though he is unsure if the words even left his mouth before he once again unwillingly slips into unconsciousness.
