BOMBSHELL - Finnick Odair

18

Ember

I awoke to a familiar beeping.

My fingers curled around the handle of my knife instinctively.

But an arm wrapped around my waist refrained any movement.

"Hey," Katniss said, fully pulling me out of my lethargic state.

Finnick's arm tightened around my waist, preventing my figure from sitting upright like I had intended.

And I suddenly became all too aware of our close proximity.

My injured back pressed flush against his front, his large hand resting on my hip, and his long fingers curled tightly around the bone.

Our position easily distracted my mind from any pain I was feeling.

"Drink up?"

My body shuffled away from him quickly as I forced myself out of his grip. If he took offense, I wasn't sure. My cheeks were burning red and I couldn't bear to look at him.

"What is it?" Finnick asked from behind me.

I could still feel his body heat radiating off of him and onto me.

Katniss pulled a small metal piece from the canister and twirled it in between her fingers as she said, "It's from Haymitch."

The girl held it up for all of us to see as we studied it.

"Do you know what it is?" Peeta asked, directing the question to me.

I reached my hand out to her and she placed it in my outstretched palm. My eyes turned it over as I racked my brain for anything familiar.

"I've seen it before," I stated. "In Johanna's district."

During my brief visit, I had come across a device similar to this one. But I couldn't place what it's designed intention was.

As if my words triggered something in Katniss, she reached out and grabbed it from in between my hands.

"It's a spile."

Once she said the word aloud, it clicked for me too. I pulled a knife from my belt and dug it into a nearby tree, drilling a hole.

"English please?" Finnick asked, his sass seeping through his words.

I rolled my eyes as I continued to dig my knife into the tree bark.

"You put it into a tree and sap comes out. It's like a faucet," Katniss explained.

I swiped the discarded bark out of the way as she started hammering it in.

"Sap?" He asked, not having those types of trees in his district.

Peeta, leaning against his walking stick, said, "To make syrup."

I nodded as I wiped my hands against my wetsuit. "Only we think these trees carry water instead. It would explain the tree rat."