𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 | ᴄ. ʜᴀᴅʟᴇʏ

Flight of The Tracker Jackers

Now when I say rude awakening, I mean this in a literal sense. 

Have you ever been woken to the deadly, little stingers of a manmade wasp drawing blood from under your skin? If you have, sorry about that. If you haven't, what a boring, safe life you must lead. (I'm kidding, please stay away from tracker jackers) 

I was going to scream, but then I'd have tracker jackers in my mouth and that really wouldn't be ideal. Instead I let out a silent yelp of pain through gritted teeth.  

"Run!" I heard someone scream, I couldn't place the voice, couldn't think through the pain, but the command was clear and I was going to follow it. 

Running turns out to be harder than I expect, and I jog off in a random direction, head lolling about at odd angles. My foot catches on something, and I trip. I scrap my palms, a stream of warm blood trickling down my skin. Luckily enough, I tripped on my backpack. I blindly grab for it, feeling my aching hand collide painfully with a fistful of rough material that I assume belongs to the small orange sack. 

I throw it over my shoulder and keep jogging as quickly as I can away from the frenzy of wasps. I'll eat my shirt if they weren't tracker jackers, I'd seen them in the 67th Hunger Games when I was nine, and they'd terrified me ever since. Until now, I had been unlucky enough to come face to face with one, let alone an entire pack. . .clan?. .nest. . .swarm? I'm not really sure what they're called, but they hurt like hell. 

And there he is. Caesar Flickerman all decked out in a bright silver suit, and flaming blue wig. His smile is unnatural and devious in appearance. He leans heavily on a black cane that he appears not to need, but merely has for decoration. Again to my point about the Capital being nothing but decorative. 

"The venom of tracker jackers' can produce powerful hallucinations." His voice echos and slurs like that of a drunk man's in a long, empty canyon. His smile broadens, creeping me out, but I don't have time to analyze it, for my feet are already tripping over each other, and I'm already falling into the stream that is far deeper than I thought.

It's only about five and a half feet deep, but since I am falling in on my back, it's still enough to drown me easily. 

It's said drowning is oddly peaceful in the end. Not at first while you're panicking and flailing and refusing to open your mouth and let the water in. But then in the last moments when your mouth does open, it's said to be peaceful, and you want to let go. I'm not sure whether this calm is settling over me because of that, or because of my incapacitated mind, but either way I'm not complaining. I was going to give in just then, I really was, but that was when an arm looped around my waist and hauled me out of the water. 

I don't bother to see who it is, I don't want to see who it is. Apparently it isn't up to me, because before I know it ice blue eyes are sending chills up my spine and I'm being shoved off in the other direction.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Cato yells. Not angry, but concerned and panicked. "Y/N GO! GET OUT OF HERE, GO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GO!"

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Images flash behind my eyelids. Or I think my eyes are closed, I wouldn't know if they were open. 

~

Gale's eyes bore into mine. We are waiting for me to be taken away to the Capital again. He is saying something that gradually comes into focus and reaches my ears. 

"You're stronger than they are." He says. I used to believe that. Not anymore. 

"I promise you I'm coming back here alive. I promise." My voice sounds so fierce, and I know I've said the words but I can't remember opening my mouth to say them. Shame I may have to break that promise.