Against the Tides

Chapter 8

After that night- after I’d murdered the boy from District 6- ten tributes remained. But none of us slept yet. We loaded all of our gear and headed out, into pitch black darkness.  Gemma lit a match to lead the way. Ten blocks down, we set up camp inside an old theatre.

“Definitely seen better days,” Whitney commented, scrunching her nose. “This is a pigsty compared to the theatres I’ve been to in District 1.”

That girl obviously had never skinned a fish. Never worked a day in her life, probably. 

We went to sleep for hours, but when we awoke, I felt like just five minutes had gone by. Today, I collected food with Shawn. I was able to shoot down a deer, believe it or not.  We were in for a banquet tonight.

“Good catch,” Shawn said.

“Thanks. How do we carry all this back?”

“We chop it up, of course.” 

I frowned at him. But we got to work, and afterwards, I waded in the pond to wash off my gore-soaked clothes. Much messier than dealing with fish. Shawn and I crafted two nets for the final task. We were slinging the food over our shoulders when-

“Ow!”

I dropped the net instantly. It was like somebody had poked a needle on the inside of my right wrist. When I peered down, I found a spider. The one thing that stood out to me was the red color on its belly.

Red’s always been a sign of death.

“What is it?” Shawn asked.

I showed him my wrist.  “Spider bite.”

“It’s probably nothing. Try not to worry until we get to headquarters.”

The spider still wandered by my feet.

“Not before I kill it,” I told him. And I did. Spider guts soon decorated the bottom of my boots.    

When I tried picking up the net again, I just couldn’t grasp it. The spider had paralyzed my right hand and wrist.

Just as I’d feared. Venom.

“Use your other hand, then,” Shawn reasoned, as if the spider had been completely venom-free.  

I shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Tristan was the only tribute who would care if I died.   From what I remembered, spider bites didn’t kill quickly, though. I still had about forty-eight hours. While I thought of it, I gathered leaves and pressed them to my bite. Maybe they could draw out the poison. But nothing changed.   

My condition only worsened as the day wore on. At headquarters, I slumped into a theatre seat, hoping to sleep, but then I started puking. Shaking. And sweating terribly.  The bite had swelled, while the skin around it was beginning to decay.  Gross. Painful. No, scratch that- extremely painful.

“Sorry, dad,” I mumbled. “I might not win after all… Aah... This is awful. Why can’t I just die already?!?!?”

If you couldn’t tell, the venom was making me a little crazy. My so-called ‘allies’ just ignored me. So I was left to suffer by myself, until Tristan returned. He’d been searching for tributes with Gemma.  

“What’s wrong, Maggie?” he asked.

Then he saw the bite and rushed to my side.    

“Oh, crap. No. You’re gonna be okay. You’re not going to die.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” I said, closing my eyes, “but only one of us is allowed to live. Maybe it’s easier this way… than being killed by someone.”

“Don’t say that.” I heard Tristan move closer to me; his fingers threading through my hair.

White. That was all I saw for a while.  It could’ve been just minutes. Or days. Tristan’s face brought me back to consciousness.

“Hey, Maggie,” he said. “We just got a parachute. An antidote, I think.”

“Yay,” I mumbled, seeing the bag in his hand. I shut my eyes again.

“This has to be injected. Don’t freak out when you feel it. I’ll count it down for you; three, two, one…”

A sharp prick.

“Geez, Tris!” I screamed. “Watch where you inject that thing!”

“Now’s not the time to criticize me!”

But a cold, fluid relief coursed through my veins; and it was working fast.

“They sent you antibacterial gauze and a bandage, too,” Tristan added, “so I’m gonna patch up your wound next. To make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

My sponsors must really want me alive, I thought.

Once I opened my eyes, Tristan pulled me to him. I held on for all it was worth, breathing in his comfort. His security.

When Panem’s anthem played that night, there were no deaths to report. My face should’ve been up there. I shivered at the thought. My sponsors and mentors were the reason that I survived.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” I said. “Thank you, Nolan.”

“What about me?” Tristan teased. “I gave you the meds.”

“Thank you, Tris.”  Then I did something I’d never done before. I kissed him on the cheek. 

We slept together again that night. In the darkness, his lips touched my forehead. He must’ve thought I was asleep.  I grasped his hand firmly to let him know that I wasn’t. But that’s how it is when you’re in a strange, horrible situation; you seek solace in the things and people you care about most. 

Just call me the queen of excuses.