The Perfect Truth: A Finnick Odair Novel

Chapter 6

A/N: we're finally into the action bitchesss

Warnings: swearing, death, canon typical kinda stuff

Word count: 1372

Eventually, I get back to the camp. Mags and Finn have created some sort of hut out of grass mats, and some bowls for the nuts. I show them the rodent, which we decide to call a tree rat, and explain about its wet muzzle. It's too risky to cook it over a fire, so I'm almost resigned to eating it raw, when Peeta throws a chunk at the force field, and it rebounds back black on the outside, but cooked through in the middle.

We tuck in, and Mags explains that she recognised the nuts from another Games. They're slightly sweet and remind me of the chestnuts back in District Twelve. By the time we're done, a pale moon has risen, which means it isn't pitch black. In the sky, the faces of the dead tributes show up. The man from District Five, the male morphling, both from Eight and Nine, the women from Ten and Eleven. I think of the three kids that were hanging onto the woman from Eight. How kind the woman from Eleven was. Even the morphlings, painting my face with yellow swirls at the camouflage station. All dead. All gone. Only one of us will be the victor.

A silver parachute glides down. For a moment, we're all still, then Peeta speaks.

'Whose is it?'

'No idea.' Finn replies. 'Peeta, why don't you claim it because you died today?'

It coaxes a small laugh out of me, and Peeta opens it. It's this sort of metal tube, which confuses us all. I rub my temples, trying to figure out what it is. Huffing with frustration, I slump down in the hut, lying on my back.

'Maybe if we find Wiress and Beetee, they can figure out what it is.' I yawn, and Peeta notices.

'Who's going to go on watch?'

'I will,' Finn says, so we all lie down, and he's left staring at the weird metal object, turning it over in his fingers. I close my eyes, but as soon as I do, the people I've murdered come out to haunt me like they always do, and then my family, my District. The woods. Woods which could keep me alive. Unlike this one. Real trees. Animals which I recognise. Squirrels, quails, deer... God, what I'd do for a deer right now.

The temperature has dropped, and I find myself shivering, eyes wide open because I can't bear to close them. My teeth start chattering, and Finn glances around.

'Come over here,' he says, opening his arms.

I shake my head. 'No.'

'Why? I promise I...' he searches for the right words. 'I won't do anything.'

I sigh, too cold to protest, giving in and crawling over so I can put my head in his lap. He strokes a hand over my hair, the way he used to when he woke up in the night after his nightmares. What was in them, I don't know, but they scared him. He'd jolt, eyes flying open, and I'd wake up because he'd be squeezing me so hard, his arms locked around me, breathing shuddery and laboured. Gently, and seemingly heedless of the cameras probably trained on us, he curls an arm around me and kisses my forehead, a gesture so loving it shocks me. I can practically hear Claudius Templesmith's booming voice outlining the seemingly blossoming romance between two tributes in the Arena, questioning whether they'll end up ending each other in the end. Eventually, I figure out that he must be doing it for show, so we can get more sponsors. He never used to do that. Never.

I've almost nodded off when it hits me. I sit bolt upright, shocking Finn, who grabs his trident and raises it threateningly at nothing.

'A spile!' I exclaim.

'What?'

I grab it and inspect it. Yes, just like the one my father would insert into a hole he drilled into a tree, letting the sap pour out.

'You put it in a tree and the sap comes out.' I say.

Peeta has woken, and roused Mags too. I'm on my feet immediately. The lack of springs. The tree rat's wet, grizzly muzzle - and its teeth, perfect for gnawing through bark.

Working quickly, I whittle a hole in the bark and fit the spile in. A small drop rolls out the spout and Mags holds out her palm to catch it. Carefully, I adjust the spile until a steady stream of water flows out. We take turns with our mouths under the tap, wetting our parched tongues, and Mags brings over one of her grass bowls. It's so tightly woven that it holds water, so we fill it and pass it around, taking deep gulps and splashing our faces clean.

Mags and Peeta go back to sleep but Finn stays up a little longer despite the fact I decide it's now my turn to be on watch. Suddenly, there's a sound like a tolling bell. Peeta stirs, but stays in his dreams. I count the strokes. Twelve. For the Districts? I wait, but there's no message from Claudius Templesmith or an invitation for a feast. Instead, in the distance, a dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree, blinding me for a second. Wincing, I squint at the tree, and am surprised that it isn't split in half and burnt all over. A storm begins, but not on our side of the Arena, which I'm glad about. It's already cold enough out in the open without also being soaking wet. I guess it's a source of water for those whose mentors aren't as smart as ours.

I turn to Finnick.

'Go to sleep. I already said I'm on watch.'

'But - '

'We're in the Arena now,' I say softly. 'You have to trust me, at least for tonight. I need you enough right now that I won't slit your throat while you're sleeping, Mr Muscle.'

He hesitates, then smiles, curling up beside me, trident gripped in one hand, the other finding mine and interlacing our fingers. I sit with my bow loaded, trying not to focus on the way his calluses scrape against mine comfortingly, just like they used to. After about an hour, the lightning stops. The sound of a cannon startles me, but no one wakes up. The pattering of the rain stops, and I see a fog sliding in from the direction of the downpour. I dismiss it, but it continues to approach at a steady pace, tendrils reaching forward and curling like fingers. I watch it and shift uncomfortably. There's something wrong with this fog. A sickenly sweet odour begins to invade my nostrils. I shake Finnick, and as he stirs, brow furrowed, I begin to blister wherever the mist touches my skin.

'Run!' I scream at the others. 'Run!'

Finn snaps awake instantly, grabbing his trident. But when he sees the fog, he tosses a half asleep Mags over his shoulder and I can tell he wants to take off, but he waits for us, which surprises me, because his sense of self preservation has always been more than his team spirit. And I seriously hope it stays that way because Peeta is slow, and I'll need help. Although the primal impulse to flee, to abandon him and save myself, shoots through me, I deny myself the option to turn and run, because then I become more of an animal than I already am. So I keep my terror down and stay by Peeta's side, inwardly cursing his prosthetic leg, his slowness, the way he trips over everything that only seems to be overbalancing me.

'Put your feet where mine step,' I gasp. We move a little faster, but the mist laps at our heels, droplets burning, but not like fire. More of an intense pain as whatever unearthly chemicals they used touch our flesh. Suddenly, Peeta's artificial leg catches on a knot of creepers. He sprawls forward before I can catch him, and I see something scarier than blisters or burns. The left side of his face has sagged, as if the muscles have died. I start to speak, to point it out, when I feel the spasms run up my arm.