The Hunger Games: Staying True. (Completed)

Chapter Eleven; We Aren't Alone. [Edited]

It takes me only a moment to regain my wits.

I'm breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my throat, my whole body shuddering with the flight of my adrenaline. There is blood in my mouth and my whole body is aching, some parts worse than others. The images flash past my closed eyelids again and I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to press the horror back into a corner of my mind where I can deal with it later.

All I can see is Orgle's guts spilling and Cassie's stump waving helplessly in the air, Thorny's body coming undone like a ribbon unraveling  from a spool.

My breathing hitches and I twist to the side, urging and heaving, my breakfast rushing back up my throat and splattering the dusty ground.

Lux is crying, but I can't console him until my stomach stops convulsing. It takes a long time for that to happen, and eventually it has to stop because there is nothing left to bring up. I roll away from the mess, and when I am sure that I'm not shaking with fear, I sit up.

"Are you okay?" I ask Lux.

He waves a quivering hand in the air, I don't know if that means to leave him alone or a signal that he's fine.

Crawling towards him, I knock his hands away from his face, ignoring the tear stains, and yank down the zipper on his coat and the hem of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" He murmurs, he's in shock.

"You had a knife to your throat."

"Oh yes," he chuckles, "So I did."

There is only a thin slice, just under his jaw. It's shallow, the blood already drying around it. I would see if there's some anti-septic cream, but the injury isn't dire enough for the waste of supplies.

He's okay then. Good.

I take care of myself now. Strip the backpacks and my coat, and my sweaty body is glad of the new, cooler air. I scrape my hair back from my face, happy to note there is no puke sticking in any curls. Assessing the damage only takes a few moments.

Most of the blood is not mine, which is great. I wipe my bloody hands on my trousers, and all the puking cleared my mouth of Coal's blood. My throat aches, and I know Crimson's hands will leave bruises, no broken bones, but my face is badly scratched, gravel stuck deep in the wounds.

I try to brush the dirt and stone free with my fingers, carefully picking it all out. Though a mirror would be helpful, simply feeling around the wounds seems to do the trick. I use a few precious drops of water to clean the scrapes, but I don't bother with any medicine, if the pain escalates, then I'll search for something to put on it.

"Lux, you have to get up." I order him. "Check through your supplies."

"Why?" He gives a warbled laugh. "What's the point? Lets just lie here for the rest of the Games."

"Because-!" I start to snap at him, and then I go very, very still.

I'm holding two backpacks in my hands, and for a long moment my mind is completely blank as to why I picked up two. And then... Then I remember.

"Oh no," My voice is a horrified murmur, and I'm rolling to my feet, bones aching with the effort. "Oh please no."

"What?" Lux sits up at the panic in my voice.

"Chaim." I tell him, "Where is Chaim?"

He doesn't have an answer for me, and stares with blank blue eyes.

The backpacks drop heavily to the floor, and I scramble back up the small hill of rubble that seems to signal the end of the destroyed city.

I can see back the way we came, not very well, but certainly the path we carved out in our haste to get away from the carnage. Though this unofficial cut off point spreads for a few good miles either side of us, and there is no sign of a small boy on the stretch of level grass.