Flint and Steel

xxix

Boom, a cannon fired off. That brings us to the final three, Haymitch counted.

He sighed. She would have gone feral, anyways, he thought. Would the gamemakers' cronies have reversed the effects of the butterflies if she had won and been pulled from the arena alive? Haymitch would never know.

Reassured that he had fewer tributes to deal with, Haymitch produced the jerky from his backpack and had a little picnic. He had turned back around to the woods and found a spot up on a hill where he could look over the mountains. The mountains back in twelve were dwarfed by these ones. In a long lost civilization, Haymitch remembered from school, there was a mountain range called the Alps. He had seen pictures and reckoned that the gamemakers had too. Sharp, jagged peaks crowned the tallest mountain. The arena was certainly the most beautiful the gamemakers had ever constructed. The meadow they had started the game in had been covered with wildflowers, babbling brooks, and singing birds. All of which were poisonous.

The jerky was tough to chew, especially since he had run out of water to wash it down. I can't wait for real food again, he thought. The Capitol's feasts would be preferred, but at this point, he would scarf down Greasy Sae's 'beef' stew.

Boom. A cannon fired off, marking another tribute's death. That meant.... Haymitch had made it to the final two.

He wanted this to be over with, and assumed his fellow finalist would too. Doing them both a favor, Haymitch picked up his knife and headed in, biting down the last of his food to give himself strength. He was betting that they would both be heading towards the arena for a showdown. The sun was setting, but the moon was already sparkling unnaturally brightly in the fake twilight sky. There wouldn't be much entertainment value for the Capitol if they couldn't see their desperate tributes."Come out, come out, wherever you are," Haymitch beckoned. The woods gave away to the grassy undergrowth of the meadow. He crushed a patch of robin's egg pansies under his boot. A beautiful place to die. He shouted into the void, hoping to attract the attention of whoever his final opponent was.

Haymitch had almost reached the cornucopia when his call was answered. Emerging from the woods, there was a tall, muscular girl with a bow strapped to her back. The quiver only had one arrow left. Her long, blonde hair was fashioned in two buns on top of her head, but they were lopsided and out of place as if she had just been running.

"Venus," he growled. An original member of the career pack, Sage had killed her ally Terce, and Maysilee had taken out her friend Pompey. Their history made it all the richer that they would be the last two standing. He wanted to hate her, and when he looked her in the eyes all he could think of was Sage, with the arrow in his stomach.

But the longer that he looked at her, the more he could see the fifteen year old she was. Had she spent fifteen years being groomed by the Capitol's spiders in district one? Career tributes often had no real childhood. No soft arms to run to if they fell, no games of tag on the playground, no funny stories to tell at school. He was only sixteen, a year older, but Venus seemed so young to him, despite her intimidating physical stature. Her whole life should still have been ahead of her. It wasn't Venus's fault that the games demanded a victor, and it wasn't Haymitch's fault that the games demanded a victor. But here they were, and only one of them could walk away.

Haymitch couldn't hate her, but he could hate the gamemakers, he could hate President Snow.

Most of all, he hated all of the Capitol citizens who weren't gamemakers but tuned in every year to watch the games, to place their bets, to pick their favorites, and threw parties to celebrate their only real entertainment in their dull, perfect lives.

Venus had acquired an ax since he had last seen her. She brandished it with grace and balance. Haymitch's knife seemed small and fragile in comparison. But it was what he had to work with. Not wanting to delay the inevitable, they ran at each other. Haymitch slashed wide, trying to get in a shot at her neck. Venus blocked his attack with little effort. His knife chinked against the hilt of her ax. She twisted the ax, shifting Haymitch's balance and forcing his wrist to retreat.

He grinded his teeth.

"By the way," Venus huffed, swinging at his left shoulder and missing as he rolled away. "Your friend, the other boy from twelve?" Haymitch climbed to his feet again, his ribs aching from the force of rolling on the ground. Venus was panting hard. He flew at her, straight as an arrow, and managed to lodge the blade in her right eye. She shrieked in agony, but he scraped out her eye. Where the eye had been, a red bloody hole was. Haymitch cringed. The eyeball dropped off his knife. With her guard down due to the shock, Haymitch managed a gash in her chest.

Venus screamed again. "I killed him! Like he killed Terce!" Huffing, the two of them stepped back. They circled each other, their weapons drawn. Blood trickled down Venus's cheek. She spit.

They tussled again, knife against ax. Haymitch was wearing down, getting slower. He bowled over when Venus struck him in the stomach with the blade of her ax. The blow was deep and painful. He cried out. When the ax retreated, the gash in his stomach widened. His intestines spilled out, slimy and pink. With shaking hands, he tried to hold them in. He had no chance staying there with his innards literally falling out of him. Haymitch clenched them back into his stomach as best he could. Running was his only shot.

Behind him, Venus pulled out her last arrow. He heard the arrow whistle as it took flight, but Haymitch successfully dodged. Venus cursed, and ran in pursuit of him. "You're only going to make this harder for yourself!" she yelled, wielding her ax at her side.

Trying not to vomit at the squishy feeling of holding in his intestines, Haymitch sprinted as fast as he could. The seconds Venus had spent trying to shoot him gave him a lead.

They raced away from the cornucopia, back the way that Haymitch had come. Make it to the cliff, make it to the cliff, he repeated to himself, trying to focus on anything other than his stomach. His breath was going ragged and starting to get shallow, a worrying sign. But he knew that victors had come out of the arena in worse shape and been patched up by the gamemakers' magic. One girl had been technically dead for half a minute a few years ago. Haymitch was at least still breathing.

Haymitch and Venus passed the hill where he had picniced only an hour ago. The beauty of the arena was difficult to appreciate when you were disemboweled.

"You can't get away!"

He didn't dignify that with a response, wondering if he could speak right now even if he had wanted to. His feet were heavy underneath him, but he couldn't afford to slow down. Slowing down would mean an ax to the back, and loose intestines would be the least of his worries. They neared the cliff, the shimmer visible to Haymitch's watchful gaze. He came to a halt. Yelling obscenities, Venus threw her ax at his head. The ax shaved the side of his cheek, but failed to decapitate him and hurtled off the cliff. She shrieked again in frustration.

"I'll outlast you, even without my ax," she grimaced. The blood loss was taking its toll on Haymitch, sending the world spinning. He couldn't see straight anymore. Somewhere in between the cornucopia and here, he had lost his knife.

Venus fell to her knees. As far as Haymitch could tell, her wounds were severe too. The gash he had left in her chest was not clotting, and she was missing an eye. Haymitch collapsed on the ground, unable to stay standing any longer. His head swam. He lay down on his back at the edge of the cliff, still holding in his own stomach.

Then it happened, as he had predicted. The arena was on his side. In a whirring blur, the ax came back around, and found itself lodged in Venus's skull.

Boom, went the final cannon.

Trumpets began to blare.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy! I give you - the tribute of district twelve!"