Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter thirteen

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chapter thirteen
FUELED BY FEAR, RULED BY HEART

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Sage is still simmering nearly twelve hours after the incident of this morning. Embers radiate heat beneath her flesh, while anxious butterfly wings flutter chaotically in her gut. They lost four hours of Training because of One. Four valuable hours of training. Sage knows better than anyone that every minute— every second counts in Games like these. She didn't have success with snares until her third day where everything finally clicked and SNAP! A promise that she might not starve.

What will their lost time cost them? Food? Water? Their lives?

From her end of the couch, she eyes Mateo's bandaged knuckles again, a dark bruise staining his jaw like a blob of ink. What could that have done to his Training Score? What could that do in two days, when his pedestal has risen and the clock is ticking down? Then poor Taura, eyes still puffy and swollen from her tears. She was already nervous for her evaluation as it was.

"There you are! There you are, Sage!" Philo cries, pointing a quivering finger of delight to the television. His eyes beam as he grins a proud, almost sappy grin. "Our Victor."

It's true. There she is, the recaps of last year's Games being replayed before the reveal of the Training Scores. Sage stares in the direction of the screen, but keeps her gaze cast downward toward the stand rather than the images. Some of the shapes and colors she recognizes from her averted vision. The oranges and reds of the dry canyons. The almost ceremonious thunderstorms that struck every night, offering the only source of water for the thirsty Tributes. By morning, everything would be dry as a bone again.

They show what they consider her "highlights," her shining moments. It's strange to hear her own scream when her jaw is clamped shut. The crunch of flesh and bone, her hatchet blindly finding a home in Niels's throat. She drops her gaze to her fingers as she picks at the cushion beneath her. Axel's cries for his mother, her strangely calm voice beckoning Calla for everything she needs to stop the bleeding, then offering reassurance to the dying boy that it's okay, it's not that bad, he's going to make it. The cannon rings the only truth. She flinches, and a stare or two burns into her cheek.

She averts both her Tributes' watchful gazes.

She can tell they've moved onto the attack at dawn, the whistling of the arrow that killed Calla like a wicked whisper in her ear. For whatever reason, she glances up to the screen. Well, she knows why. She wants to see if she knew what she was going to do. But when she looks into her own eyes, all she can see is an animal acting on instinct to survive as she hurls her hatchet into Carnelia's skull from fifteen feet away.

They skip over her next two days of survival. Her moments of delirium as she saw a hawk in front of her while she rested beneath a dead, barren tree. She remembers that very moment vividly. She thought she was dying, and an angel was coming to collect her. Now she knows, that wasn't the message the hawk intended to send.

Then, Midas finds her.

After tracking her down for hours, he finally found her exactly where she wanted to be found. Her heart picks up its pace at the sight of him chasing her, the angle disorienting to view, contrasting with her memories of the orange dirt blurring beneath her rapid strides. The crossing of the dead tree. The wavering of her ankle. She almost fell, the depth of the canyon sending her heart into her throat. She had to crawl the rest of the way across. By the time Midas had caught up, the dead tree was trembling beneath his added weight. He realized too late that he needed to turn around.