Gladiators -- Clato

-Noah-

y'all get two chapters today (: also there will be district three boy appreciation in this book cuz i don't think we give him enough credit for how smart he is
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The sting medicine comes that morning. It floats down in a silver parachute while Marvel sits on watch, revealing within it a smooth, opaque cream that relieves the pain and swelling of the stings almost instantaneously. I know that a gift like this must be expensive, and my mind wanders trying to understand why we've been given it.

    As I slather a hefty amount of cream on the sting rising from my hand, Cato talks about the events of the day before.

    "I caught that fucker trying to go back for her. Didn't believe his act for a moment," Cato mutters. "I know where I cut him. He's likely lying somewhere dying right now."

    "Better be," I growl. I feel better now that the cream has done it's work, and I rip a piece of gauze with my teeth to bandage the small puncture wound.

    "We've got to get to the Cornucopia," Cato says. "There's, what, really a handful of us now? It's going to be harder to guard all those supplies."

    Marvel agrees with this idea. "Yeah. Should we go after breakfast?"

    "Yeah." Cato tosses Marvel a bag of saltine crackers. "Glad she's gone?" He asks.

    It seems to take Marvel a moment to realize he's speaking about Glimmer. "Dunno," he shrugs. "I mean, she wasn't going to last, we knew that. But it's a pretty shitty way to die."

    I nod, remembering the way she twitched and thrashed as the bugs overtook her. "She wasn't too bad," I say offhandedly.

    "One less person to worry about," Cato mutters coldly. His demeanor regarding Glimmer has changed drastically since her death, going from cheerfully close with her to nearly indifferent. Marvel and I notice this, and glance at each other.

    "Alright, everybody up." Cato throws the wrapper of his bag of crackers away in a corner and gets to his feet, packing up his things and grabbing his sword. I draw my knife jacket on and instantly feel ready to start the day.

    We stalk away from the side of the lake back toward the clearing where the cornucopia stands. It's when we're halfway to the mouth of the metal structure that Marvel's head perks up and begins to look around. He's heard something.

    Cato and I realize, and stop to let him scout. Marvel walks tentatively towards the large opening of the Cornucopia, and then exclaims in surprise as a small figure dashes out of the Cornucopia ahead of him.

    I break into a run instantaneously, and catch up with the young boy before he can get more than a couple hundred yards away. I launch myself at him, and we crash to the ground together. I pin the boy down, and he struggles, but he's obviously underfed and stunted in his growth. He quickly goes limp and starts to beg instead.

    "P-please!" He squirms. "I'm three! I'm three!"

    He's the District Three boy. Noah was his name, I think. I do actually remember his name now from the interviews, the little smartass that talked only about a bunch of nerdy technological stuff. Still, I press my knife to his throat as Marvel and Cato come running up beside me to inspect the boy.

    "The mines!" he struggles to spurt out as I press harder. "The mines, I know how to use them!"

    This makes me raise my eyebrows in curiosity. Cato unsheathes his sword. "Hurry up and kill him," He grunts impatiently.

    "Wait," I say. "He says he knows how to use the mines."

    "The mines?" Marvel asks dumbly.

    I look pointedly at Noah's face, and he quickly tries to explain. "I can enable them again. To protect your stuff," He stammers fearfully. "Please, just give me a cha-"

    "Shut up," Cato hisses. "Clove, you really think this whack can help us?"

    "Remember Beetee Latier?" I ask tentatively.

    "That's different. This one's just a boy." He points his sword at Noah's face. "Let him up."

    I step off of the boy's body and Noah rises shakily to his feet. By the look in his eyes, he knows better than to run. Marvel's spear is poised to kill, and is he as much as takes a step in the wrong direction, no one will hesitate to kill him.

    He holds his hands up in fear. "I can help you. Those mines, they can be used as a trap. I know exactly how they work."

    "Prove it," Cato says.

    "U-uh, ok." Noah very carefully walks to the nearest podium and starts to dig. After five minutes of digging, Cato gets impatient and throws him a paddle-like weapon from within the cornucopia which he uses like a shovel.

    Finally, he unearths the pedestal mine, a small, dirt-encrusted metal sphere. With a stick he finds on the ground beside him, He gets to work prying the top of the mine off. When finally he pops it open, I look into it and see a bunch of various, complicated looking wires.

    "This is the Belleville spring, and here's the firing-"

    "Just get on with it," Cato snaps.

    Noah shakes his head and pops one of the mine's components back on and off multiple times, then reaches into it's body and very carefully sets some kind of scale inside it. After fiddling with it a little more, he places the cap back onto the thing and holds it in his hands like a newborn child.

    "Is it done?" I ask.

    "Should be." Noah looks to Cato. "How's your throwing arm?"

    Cato looks at Noah like he's crazy. "Excuse me?"

    "You need to throw this as far as you can. Then you'll see it works," Noah says.

    As he hands Cato the bomb, I watch his face crinkle up in distrust. He doesn't like having it in his hands, I can tell. And if he throws wrong, this could go terribly awry. But Cato warms up him arm, aims, and throws.

    The mine soars through the air gracefully like an arc until it's reached the very end of the other side of the Cornucopia clearing.

    And then there is a brilliant explosion.