Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Midnight - Claymore

She doesn’t even twitch as I struggle to my feet, just stands there, eyes shifting from Luxury to Diamond to Ade and Crispin curled up together in the back, close enough to suggest quite obviously that the ‘just good friends’ act really is an act. Portia was left on guard for her hour, though Luxury and Diamond had this beady look about them when they said it that made my stomach drop. Still, I need my sleep.

“What’s up?” I ask, “Is there somebody outside?”

Her shoulders heave and she turns away, picking her way over Diamond’s legs. My brain whirls dizzily, putting it all together. The knives. The backpack. The fact that she’s heading out of the Cornucopia and won’t even talk to me. My stomach drops right into the floor.

“You’re going?”

“Shush!” she snaps, and vanishes around the side of the golden horn. In the moonlight it looks silver, but then everything that isn’t dark looks silver. Even people. Everything is quiet, even with Venus’ mumbling, and still, very still. Not quite perfectly still, which is irritating, but…

I get that. No talking around the others. The quiver clatters against my back as I stumble towards the entrance, the arrows rattling, and I freeze momentarily. At least one person here must be a light sleeper. But knowing Portia, she’s already making a break for it, so I decide to risk it and leap outside. A flutter of fresh air, not as bracing as the winds at home, envelops me gently.

Where is she?

As soon as this is across my mind, I pick up a shadow running for the woods. She’s fast, but I’ve always been faster, and I catch up to her as she passes the podium.

“Get off me!”

“What are you doing?”

Quick as a flash, she has a knife out and pressed to my arm where I’ve grabbed on to hers. I don’t even blink; I know her and she won’t hurt me, not when her life depends on mine. She tries to wrench free, snarling, but I’m not moving. Not until she tells me why she’s leaving, and until I can convince her otherwise.

“Let me go, Clay!”

The abbreviation stings, just like it’s meant to. But that’s not what makes my blood run cold. I have never heard her speak so hurriedly before.

Portia is scared.

Before I can say anything to try and calm her down, not that it’s likely to work, she’s fallen still and is glaring across at me, shuddering slightly.

“I’m not staying here,” she hisses, “The others will kill me at the first chance.”

I can’t deny that. I may have made it perfectly clear that anybody who so much as threatens her will have me to contend with, but the girls from One seem to think they’re invincible. District One always do. But they’re no trouble, not really. They’re not as strong as they think.

“I could – I mean, we could take them…”

“What, all three of them? Luxury and Diamond and Ade? And that’s not to mention Crispin; if Ade is involved, you know he will be. And-“

I wave away her protests, and she must be terrified because she actually does shut up. She’s always been pale and maybe it’s just the light, but she looks practically white and the knife she’s still holding to my arm trembles. I’m still not letting go, even though I know it’s pointless and nothing stops her from doing exactly what she wants to do.

This isn’t Two, though. This is the arena, and for the first time it hits me, actually hits me, exactly what she’s been trying to say all these years. This is life and death. Life or death.

And not just mine.

“You’re not going to die,” I say, “I won’t let-“

She wrenches her hand free, jamming the knife back into her belt, and turns to go, snapping, “You can’t guarantee that! Face it, Clay, you only brought me here because you were thinking about yourself.”

She could actually have punched me, hard, in the ribs; I’m winded. Of course I wasn’t! I was thinking about her too, wasn’t I? If she comes through and wins the Games, it doesn’t matter what she’d say because she’d be a victor. She wouldn’t have to be an outcast anymore. The fact that she won the Tournament two years ago…well, that’s just a bonus. Though I thought of that first and the rest later, after I’d handed the slip in.

“That’s not…you know it’s not…”

My voice splutters off into nothing, vanishing behind the noise of the wind ruffling the trees. Behind me, the other Careers, my allies and my competition, are still asleep. Safety in numbers; I might be better than all of them – no, I am better than all of them – but there’s more of a chance that someone will target them instead of me. They have to die eventually, anyway. My training will not let me down.

The bracelet around Portia’s wrist is black, pitch black, like a shadow. Somehow it’s linked to the tracker in my arm. We’re linked together; if I die, she dies. A lump throws itself into my throat. I’m not planning on dying. I’m trained to succeed, to kill and to live, to win. But for the first time, it’s a risk. This must be the last thing in Panem she wants.

And though she won’t believe me and it won’t do any good, I mutter, “I’m sorry.”

She laughs, her usual snapping bark, but it trembles in the middle and she’s scared and it’s my fault. I wish I could see her face so I could see whether she actually does believe me or not.

“I want to live, Claymore,” she replies, in her steady, thoughtful voice, talking to the trees rather than to me, “And we could never hold off the others, not even both of us together. They’d kill you too. This way…”

Does she think she's doing this for my benefit? She's just going to wander off, vanish into the night, to save me the trouble of standing up for her? Because I won't do that. I brought her here and I'll take all that goes with it. And I'll win - we'll win - and I'll prove her wrong for never having faith in me. But to do that, she needs to stay here, with me.

"Don't go. Please, Portia, I can't lose you!"

Pause.

“You should have thought of that before you gave them my name.”

I have nothing to say to that. She’s right. But I can’t say that because that means that she wins. But if I don’t, she’ll go…

The silence is endless, too much. The trees whisper, and somewhere out there other tributes are sleeping, or crying, or running. But none of them matter right now.

“Say something!”

She sighs, her hands clenching into fists, her breath misty in the air even though I hadn’t felt it was that cold. I do now. Chills run up and down my arms and around my insides. “Goodbye, Claymore.”

The anthem blares over us, from far away. Dimly, it registers that the others will be waking up to see the face, to see who else is no longer competition. And they’ll see us gone, and…

Crunch time, Claymore. What means more?

I grab her arm and drag her towards the trees, glad that I thought to pick up the quiver, because there’s no going back now…the boy from Twelve appears in the sky, scowling.

“What are-?”

She rips her hand free as we plunge into the woods, snatching up a knife and glaring at me. I’d stop running but any second now, the others are going to notice. Besides, I can get my point across anyway.

“I’m coming with you.”