Vipers & Virtues ⚕ ׂLucy Gray Baird

Chapter One

PART ONE: THE DISTRICT

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I lay in the underbrush, my breathing slow as I calm my beating heart. Night has fallen, and I stare up at the stars. They're hard to see, as a fog has settled, but I spot the Orion constellation easily. It shines bright, and I take it as a symbol of hope from the stars. They've always looked out for me, and you're never lost when they're around you. I once believed my destiny was written in them, but Coriolanus is long gone.

Coriolanus.

His name is poison in my mind. I was so stupid to trust him. The moment he'd told me he was responsible for three deaths, and his avoidance of my question, I pieced it all together. The look on his face at the hanging tree wasn't grief. It was guilt. Coriolanus had betrayed Sejanus and told of him working with the rebels. Sejanus just wanted a better life. We all wanted a better life. Sejanus, a district boy... it all made sense. How Coriolanus disliked him, as subtle as he tried to conceal it. He viewed Sejanus as he viewed the rest of us: inhumane. Lesser beings. Savages. If it had been his choice, he would've left Sejanus in the Games to die in the hands of Reaper or the snakes. I took it upon myself to thank the stars for the snakes' behavior toward me, perhaps the one act of kindness Coriolanus provided me. Yet, he did it for himself, not for me. I was no stranger to the gifts presented to the mentors. If I won, he received a full scholarship to the Capitol's university, as well as fame amongst the Capitol. His acts were not out of care for me, they were to ensure his success. While I get nothing, he gets everything.

I can feel my heart pulsating in my arm where one of his rapid-fire shots struck me. I clutch it tightly as blood flows between my fingers. Sticky, red, hot. It reminds me of Reaper's pile of bodies in the arena. I tremble at the thought. Despite my efforts, memories of the Games will always remain.

It's been a few hours since Coriolanus fled, so I make myself stand. Whether it be from laying for so long or blood loss, I'm not sure exactly, but my head swims and I lean on the tree next to me for support. My legs tingling, I take one step, then another. A twig snaps under my foot. I flinch, but the only ones listening are the mockingjays above me. I watch one spread its wings and flap away in the direction of District 12. Thorns prick me, and more than once a branch scrapes me, but I continue on, determined to reach the small shed at the edge of the lake. Coriolanus must've fled back to the Peacekeeper's barracks. If he reports me, I have to flee, and quickly, but I'm exhausted. I need to tend to my wounds and drink.

As I clear through the forest, I see a warped glint of light, signifying the lake is nearby. I let out a jovial cry, panting as I continue through the bushes. Twigs snap and trees rustle, but I don't care. The dirt beneath me gets slicker, and I catch myself half-running toward the water. Exhaustion, heat, and dehydration catch up to me, and I slide down the rest of the way, mud caking my legs as I submerge myself into the fresh, cool water. Shaking, I put my hands together and splash water on my face, letting the dirt trail off in little streams. I scoop water into my mouth, rejoicing in the freshness and how it soothes my aching throat. My arm angrily jabs in pain, reminding me of my wounds, and I slow my motions. On the shore, I find a large leaf and ball it up before wetting it. I bring myself to a shallower end, sitting upright as I assess my body. My legs are riddled with scratches and dirt, though those are the least of my worries. My left arm is caked in blood, the gunshot aching. The pressure I've applied to it helped a great deal, but if I don't treat it soon, it could become infected. My best bet would be to fashion a tourniquet, but I don't have any spare fabric on me. Unless Coriolanus left his scarf near the trap.

Begrudgingly, I stand up, despite my aching loins. I walk out of the sopping mud, my legs once again covered by the thick soil. I continued uphill, retracing my steps, carefully this time. For all I know, the snake, albeit it's limited danger, could still be around. Soon, I spot it, the small patch of orange that was his scarf. It had been trampled on, made obvious by the dirt stains and rumpled effect of it, but I hunch over and reach my left hand out to it, right hand still gripping my arm, and-