Battle Scars

Chapter 27: Stitches for Mental Wounds

Chapter twenty seven: Stitches for mental wounds
"We're gonna need food soon," I called over to Mitch, as I rummaged through my pack. "These birds won't last forever." I looked over to where Mitch was using the knife to sharpen rocks.
"Is that all the stuff you have?" He asked me. "Just what you caught?"
"Nah, I've got this thermos thing with soup in, it's still warm because of whatever trickery this thermos is using." Mitch chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess you're right then, we need to go hunting. But there's nothing down here to hunt." He eyed the water suspiciously. "And I've seen no signs of fish." I sighed. We'd spent the day walking around our enormously tall prison, trying to find an escape route, but we hadn't come across anything. If we couldn't get out, that meant Vikk, Jason, and Ryan would have to come down here for us. And whilst Mitch was now able to walk on his leg, he was in no position to battle in the ridiculous terrain of the ravine, which was filled with rocks and steep hills, and sharp, craggy cliffs. At least up on the flat ground above us, we could meet our opponents more equally. I looked at Mitch's leg. He was sitting with it stuck out awkwardly to one side, and it was evident that he was still in pain.
"Here, Mitch, let me look at your leg," I said, closing my pack and going over to him. "It probably needs cleaning."
"Ow," he said.
"Yeah, it will probably hurt, sorry in advance. But I need to see if it's actually healing or if it's infected and just getting worse." Mitch finally consented, and allowed me to remove the makeshift bandages. The gash had a lot of dirt in it, and I cleaned it out using part of the bandage and the water we were sitting by. Mitch had stopped what he was doing, and was staring intently at me. I knew he was trying to block the pain out.
"Can I clean your shoulder wound?" He asked me.
"Yes please," I smiled. "I wouldn't be able to see what I'm doing to do it myself." Mitch began to gingerly remove my bandages, first from my shoulder, and then from my stomach. The cut on my stomach was practically healed up, and Mitch dispensed with the bandages, since I wouldn't need them anymore. My shoulder wound was clean, but like Mitch's leg, it was a pretty deep cut which didn't seem to be closing up.
"What we need is some stitches," I sighed. "And we clearly don't have any."
"There's not much we can do do improvise around here," said Mitch, looking around. "Hey, wait, what's that?" I looked up to where he was pointing. A silver packet was descending from the sky, attached to a parachute. I got up, and walked over to where it had just touched down to the ground. I picked it up, and looked at it.
"Mitch... I think we got sponsored," I smiled.
"Jerome!" He exclaimed. I laughed.
"Jerome, Em, this better be stitches," I said, carrying the little package over to Mitch. I sat beside him again, and he used his knife to cut the packaging open. Out fell a neatly packed medical kit, containing stitches, and other things for stitching up a wound, including some strange looking ointment.
"Emily I love you so much right now," I stated.
"Jerome, you're a legend," Mitch added. We laughed a little.
"Do you think they're working together?" I asked.
"I know they are," he replied. "Jerome told me."
We busied ourselves with the business of stitching each other up, and applying ointment. Details nobody wants to hear. Later on in the evening, we heard a cannon going off.
"They're coming for us now, I guess," I sighed.
"That cannon was pretty far away," commented Mitch. He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah..." He said finally. "They're on the opposite side of the arena."
"How do you... Oh." Mitch laughed.
"Jerome's pretty great."
"Oh shut up," I laughed. "Anyway... How long does it take to cross the arena? About a day, doesn't it?"
"I'd say so," agreed Mitch.
Just then, the sky was illuminated, and we saw the face of the female tribute from India beamed into the sky.
"She was just a peace offering," I sighed. "So they wouldn't have to make the games more interesting."
"She was from his country," sighed Mitch. "You just don't do that, unless it comes to the worst, and you're forced to kill your fellow countryman."
"Vikk appears to have no concern for that kind of thing," I sighed, turning to look at Mitch. His face bore an expression I hadn't seen before.
"I wouldn't say he had no motive for waiting before he came back for us. I get the feeling there's someone else he didn't want to kill." I stared at him.
"Mitch you're making no sense, what are you talking about?"
"It doesn't matter," he chuckled. "I might tell you later."
"Might?"
"Well..." His face clouded over. "If there's a later, I'll tell you."
"And if there's no later?"
"What about it?"
"What happens then?"
"Abby, if that happens, I'll gladly take your hand and we can jump in the lava together."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "I won't leave without you."
We both knew that in our hearts there was a tiny spark of hope. A hope that they'd allow both of us out of there alive, that somehow, a miracle would take place. But deep down, we knew that would never happen. My refusal to leave the arena without him stemmed from two things: the first was the guilt I would bear if I killed him. And the second was the fact that I had finally realised that I couldn't survive without him. I loved him too much. And these were mental wounds that would need more than stitches to heal.