Nothing Personal

Partner - 7

Court was heading back to the wasteland. There was no point in her hanging around the Cornucopia any more, especially with the risk of Megan or Vedran finding her while she was sleeping. Besides, she'd feel more at home among the scrubby bushes and nobody would think to look for her there. She wasn't going to go hungry and she wasn't injured, so she didn't need to hang around for the feast. It would only be putting herself in danger.

Moving under cover of dark would be best. She was used to seeing in the dark, so even if there were any other tributes moving around she would know that they were there before they knew she was. There probably weren't many around anyway; they'd be sheltering from the rain. It was still heavy, but she was so used to being outside in the rain that she barely noticed it. She didn't have much to carry, apart from the bow and quiver and the pieces of rope, which she tied around her waist. She could make a decent trap with them if she needed to. 

Something rustled by her feet and she jumped slightly, expecting the mutt that had bitten her. But the rustling was just a mouse, and a scrawny one at that. Not enough to eat.

The roads made her nervous. She liked having the cover of bushes and trees to blur people's vision and to hide behind; there was none of that with these houses. She stuck very close to the sides, passing a house with one of the top floor windows broken. The curtains snapped outside in the wind.

Court pushed on. She thought she could remember the way back, at least from the stone building with the point. She could see the tip of it from here and decided to aim for it; once she got there she'd know where she was going.

She missed Raylum more than she'd have ever expected. But there was no point dwelling on that now. She could mourn again later.

Bitterly, she hoped that if she didn't win, it would at least be Megan and Vedran left standing.

Crete had made himself a little shelter in a corpse of trees. Granted, it was basically some planks of wood he'd snapped from a garden fence propped up against some trees, but it at least kept most of the rain off. He kept his spear close, just in case Sebastian came past. He was starting to get shaky; soon the Gamemakers would want to bring everyone together. In the next few days, maybe less, he would win or lose.

He pushed his hair off his face, imagining his prep team scowling at him. Or rather, half-scowling at them. It was difficult for them to scowl properly with all the facial injections they'd had.

He crawled forwards to the stream and took a few sips of water to calm his nerves, taking his spear with him just in case. So far so good. He had a good weapon. He wasn't badly injured. He wasn't hungry or thirsty, and even if he was there was a blackberry bush nearby and a stream right in front of him. He couldn't survive for long on blackberries, but he probably wouldn't need to, and either way he had sponsors.

As he snuck back to his shelter, he caught his hand on one of the massive stinging nettles. Before it could start to hurt properly, he scrambled and found a dock leaf, hunkering low to the ground, and crushed it quickly, rubbing it onto the sting. It bubbled up anyway. He smiled to himself. People said the nettle-dock leaf thing was just an old wives' tale, but as far as he could tell it at least stopped the pain. Or maybe that was just some kind of placebo effect. It didn't matter much; his hand wasn't itching uncomfortably, so he didn't care.

Something had to happen soon. He could feel it, tickling away at the back of his neck. The night, despite the rain, was still and silent, like the air before a storm.

Behind him, something moved. 

It sounded too big to be anything but a tribute or a mutt.

And his shelter was like a massive neon sign saying 'look, tribute here!'

He froze in his tracks, turning his head just enough so that he could see the shadow creeping around the front of the shelter. Rain dripped down his back. It wasn't tall or lanky enough to be Sebastian. That was all he could tell. They didn't appear to be armed, or at least not with anything big and bulky. Not Klaus, unless he'd abandoned the sword. He had to strike soon, or they'd turn around and he'd lose the advantage of surprise, even though the person should already be alert for his return.

Very, very carefully, he turned around. The rain masked any sound he made.

The shadow was hunched over, looking into the shelter, hesitant.

He took a deep breath.

Then he leapt.

Everything happened very quickly after that.

He missed, somehow, and caught his foot on something and tumbled to the floor. His foot knocked into the wooden planks and brought the whole thing crashing down as the figure stumbled to its feet. Refusing to be winded, he scrambled upright, gasping to catch his breath. The moon was still resolutely hidden behind the thick, heavy rainclouds, and he all he could see was a slim dark figure  backing away against the trees, breathing panicked and with fists half-raised. He didn't even give it the chance to run away.

Like with Lizz, he stepped forwards and thrust the spear into the figure's torso. 

It cried out, a girl's cry.

At that moment, the moon shot a sliver of light between two clouds.

Grace's face was screwed up in pain.

Horrified, he dropped the handle and staggered backwards, almost collapsing against a tree. Without him holding up the spear she fell backwards, curled up around the wound and sobbing desperately, blood shining in the moonlight.

He scrambled forwards, grabbing her hand. It was cold and damp and it was all his fault. Grace had never done anything wrong in her life and he'd killed her. She was dead.

Only she wasn't dead yet. She was still crying.

"Grace, I'm..."

She shook her head, sending mud flying into the air. Her body wrenched and she moaned in pain.

"I didn't..."

"I don't blame you, Crete..." she choked, a drip of blood out of her mouth, "Just...get back...tell Peter that I love him...that I'm sorry."

The reaping flashed into Crete's mind; the man in green shouting 'one of you brats volunteer!'. His heart snapped. "It's not your fault, Grace, it's mine..." A tear trickled out of his eyes. He'd broken the brother's - Peter's - heart; he'd killed his little sister. And if he won, he'd have to go back knowing he'd killed his district partner.

Even killing Daisuke hadn't hurt like this.

"Crete, listen to me," she croaked, her bright green eyes glazing over, "Please listen to me."

"I'm listening, I promise."

"Don't...don't beat yourself up, please. Anyone would have...done the same. Just get back alive...for Five...for Peter. Please." She sounded strong, convinced. Her hand grabbed his tightly, solid and alive.

"I'll do my best," he promised, "I am so, so sorry..." It didn't sound like enough.

"Crete, I want you to take my locket. My mother gave it to me. I want you to give it to Peter when you get back." He bit the inside of his lip. If she was in pain, she wasn't showing it. And she had to be in pain, because there was no way a wound like that wouldn't hurt.

"I will."

She smiled at him weakly, her hand grabbing his tightly one last time.

Then her face relaxed, her head fell backwards, and she died.

Court, creeping through the wasteland, heard the cannon go off and smiled. One more down.

Five more to go.