BOMBSHELL - Finnick Odair

19

Ember

"No."

His deep, green eyes stare harshly down at my figure. Like he was mad that I even suggested to be left behind.

"My arms aren't working," he said, finally tearing his eyes away from mine. "I'm sorry, Mags."

Finnick's arms twitched uncontrollably at his sides as the fog seeped closer. We had to start moving again.

So, despite my trembling limbs, I forced myself up onto my feet. My legs wobbling underneath me like a new-born deer.

But Mags took the opportunity to haul herself up too.

She plants a kiss on Finnick's lips and brushes her bony fingers through my tangled hair as she passes by, hobbling straight into the fog.

"Mags!" Finnick yells as I stare at the woman's retreating figure in a state of shock.

Boom!

I flinch. The sound of the canon making her death all the more apparent and real. A scream gets stuck in my throat, it burning profusely from the vapor.

"Finnick?" I manage to whimper out hoarsely.

But he had already turned away from the scene and continued retreating from the fog. Katniss and I had no other choice but to stagger after his figure.

My thoughts are muddled. Memories on the beach with Mags, Annie, and Finnick are pushing their way to the forefront of my mind.

All the time spent teaching me how to swim, weave fishhooks, and catch fish. The four of us weren't just winners. We were survivors.

And I think this reminder is what kept me pushing forward. Following after Finnick.

Until he collapses onto the ground.

Katniss and I couldn't stop. She trips over their bodies first and I tumble straight after. Landing on her back much like Peeta was splayed across Finnick's.

She groans and I manage to drag myself off of her.

I keep waiting for the fog to reach its tendrils out and take us with it, but nothing ever comes. My head rises slightly off the ground and I squint. I wasn't sure if what I was seeing was real or a figment of my wild imagination, thanks to all the poison I've inhaled, but it looks as if the fog was pressed against a layer of glass.

"It's stopped," Katniss says, her voice croaky and scratchy.

We watch as the fog is sucked away and vacuumed into the night sky. For a few minutes we lie there twitching and breathing heavy.

I can see the movement of Peeta's hand in the corner of my eye as he point upwards and gasps out, "Mon-hees."

I follow his finger and see a pair of mutant monkeys crawling across a jungle vine, their yellow eyes piercing the four of us. They seem harmless. For now.

We find the strength to crawl down the narrow pathway in the direction of the beach. I push myself along until I can hear the waves splashing and feel the sand beneath my fingers.