Though now she lived in the districts, she was capitol born. She knew all of his hardships and never looked at him any differently. She handled him with such gentleness, and kindness. She was a rare bird, His Nightingale. Just like he had been for h...
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The blade bounced off his body armor and sliced his left upper arm. As Coriolanus leaped backward, he swung at Bobbin but to no effect. He landed in a pile of debris, old boards, and plaster as his hand searched for some kind of defense.
Bobbin sprang at him again, aiming the knife at his face.
Coriolanus's hand closed around an old two-by-four, and he brought it up, hitting Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. And then coriolanus was on his feet, using the board like a club, bringing it down over and over again without being sure where it made contact.
"We have to go!" Sejanus shouted. Coriolanus could hear catcalls now, and feet pounding down the bleachers. Confused, he made a move toward Marcus's body, but Sejanus yanked him away. "No! Just leave him! Run!"
Coriolanus sprinted for the barricade. Pain shooting from his elbow up to his shoulder, but he ignored it, pumping his arms as hard as he could, the way Professor Sickle had taught them. When he reached the barricade, barbed wire snagged his shirt, and as he turned to pull it free, he saw them. The two tributes from District 4, Coral and Mizzen, and Tanner that slaughterhouse kid making straight for him, armed with every weapon you can think of.
Mizzen drew his arm back to throw a trident. The fabric on Coriolanus's sleeve tore as he yanked it free from the barbed wire and dove out of the line of fire, with Sejanus right behind him.
Only a few weak rays of moonlight penetrated the layers of the barricade, and Coriolanus found himself crashing into wood and fencing like a wild bird in a cage, surely alerting any tribute who'd somehow missed his presence. He ran face first into a concrete slab, and Sejanus plowed into him from behind, smacking his forehead into the hard surface a second time. When he pushed back, it was as if the concussion had never left. His head pounded, and a cloud of confusion took over.
The tributes started up a whooping sound, rattling their weapons against the barricade as they tracked the mentors through the labyrinth. Which direction to go? The tributes seemed to be all around them. Sejanus grabbed his arm and began to pull him, and he stumbled blindly along behind, wounded and terrified. Was this it, then? Was this how he died? The fury at the injustice of it all, the mockery it made of his existence, sent a surge of energy through him, and he crashed past Sejanus, finding himself on his hands and knees in a cloud of soft, red light. The passageway! Up ahead he could make out the turnstiles, where the Peacekeepers were clustered at the temporary bars. He ran for his life.
The passageway wasn't long, but it seemed interminable. His legs rose and fell as if he were waist-high in glue, and black specks dotted his vision. Sejanus stayed steady at his elbow, but he could hear the tributes gaining. Something heavy and unyielding, a brick? Grazed the side of his neck. Another object punctured his vest and stuck, bobbing behind him until it fell with a clank.
