Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 43 - Monkeys

Where the mist's tendrils embrace my skin, searing pain replaces it.

"Run!" I scream. "Run!"

Finnick jolts awake immediately, readying his trident to ward off an unknown enemy. When he sees the wall of fog closing in on us, he wastes no time in scooping up the still-sleeping Mags and tossing her onto his back before taking off through the woods. Peeta stirs awake, but he's not as quick or alert as Finnick. I grab his arm and begin to drag him after Finnick, desperation driving me forward.

"What is it?" he asks in bewilderment.

"Some sort of poisonous fog. Hurry, Peeta!" My words come out frantic and urgent. I can see the effects of hitting the force field have taken their toll on him, no matter how hard he tries to deny it— he's slower than usual, disoriented and unbalanced, stumbling over vines and roots.

I steal a glance behind us at the approaching wall of mist. It's moving quickly, relentlessly pursuing us. As much as I want to run away and save myself from this excruciating pain, I can't abandon Peeta. It would be so easy to leave him behind, but I can't only think about my own survival this time. Peeta's life is more important than mine, and I am willing to endure the agony if it means he can live.

Squeezing his hand tightly in mine, I instruct him, "Watch my feet. Step where I step." He nods and we pick up our pace slightly, but not enough to catch our breath. The fog continues to nip at our heels, tiny droplets breaking off from the main body and sizzling against our skin like acid. They burn deep into our flesh, penetrating past our jumpsuits which offer no protection whatsoever.

Finick, who initially was sprinting ahead of us, suddenly halts in his tracks when he realizes we're struggling behind him. But this is not a battle that can be fought with brute force. We must keep running. Finnick shouts words of encouragement, urging us to continue moving forward. His voice cuts through the fear and confusion, providing us with a sense of direction and encouragement.

Peeta's prosthetic leg catches on a tangle of weeds and he collapses before I can catch him. As I help him back up, I realize this fog is more than just pain. On Peeta's left side, his face droops unnaturally, every muscle seemingly paralyzed. His eyelid hangs low and his mouth twists at an odd angle towards the ground. I focus on his face for a moment too long and my arm begins to spasm uncontrollably. This fog not only damages the skin, it's meant to target our nerves. Adrenaline rushes through me as I pull Peeta along, causing him to stumble again. By the time we reach our feet, the fog has crept within a few feet of us. Something is wrong with Peeta's legs too, he can't move them. Not like a normal person would.

My body lurches forward as Finnick returns for us, helping me drag Peeta along. I try to keep up with Finnick's pace, but after only ten yards, he halts abruptly.

"I'm going to have to carry him," Finnick says. "Can you take Mags?"

"Yes," I say. Mags is small, no more than seventy pounds. And though I am not particularly strong or large like Finnick, I've dealt with heavier loads in the past. If I can steady my arms and get a good grip on her, I'll manage just fine. Crouching down, I offer my back as a platform for Mags to position herself on, mimicking the way she rides with Finnick. Once she's settled, I straighten my legs, locking my knees to support her weight. Meanwhile, Finnick has slung Peeta over his shoulders and we begin to move again, Finnick leading the way and me following closely behind.

The fog continues to creep towards us, silent but persistent. My initial instinct is to run straight away from it, but Finnick guides us in a diagonal path. It makes sense— keeping a safe distance while steering us towards the water surrounding the Cornucopia. Just the thought of dipping my searing skin into the water is enough to push my legs forward.