Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Itches - Daniel

Daniel

Alex yelps. Something darts past my eyes and I swat it away, braced for the sting. Our feet thump on the ground, mine quick and panicky, Alex's still his long and loping running stride. We dodge around trees, breathing short gasps so there's no air in my lungs, my side burning and legs on fire, almost empty. My arms flail, swatting out for the silent enemy and very nearly hitting Alex; he catches me in the eye and yelps again.

The trees don't seem to move and we could be going nowhere. Or round in circles. I glance backwards to see if there's any sign of the creatures but all I catch is a blur of greys, a smear of paint in the corner of a picture, testing the colour.

I can't see where I'm putting my feet.

"Alex! I can't keep going," I gasp out. 

"You have to!" Alex has always been fitter than me, more cheerful than me, more assertive. No wonder Sarah prefers him. My heart pangs at the thought of the most beautiful girl in the world, but it's nothing compared to the ripping in my side. And the burning in my arms, my chest cramping up, each step like wading through cow mess.

"I can't."

Just as I say this, the last of the energy I had leaves my legs, leaving me to stumble to a tree and crumple helplessly under it. Alex hovers above me; I hardly notice. Breathing is difficult, short solid lurches of my lungs, just desperate to get some air into them. The air itself feels barely there, the sweat sticking to my shirt with no relief, and when I pluck my collar away from my neck, my hand is shaking.

Alex is bent double, clutching his side and retching. With the little flashlight came a tiny roll of bread, nowhere near enough to slate the hunger that I'd gratefully forgotten about. We split it in two and Alex gobbled his in two seconds. I ate in tiny crumbs, trying to make it last. I can feel it chewed up, trying to hammer its way out of my stomach.

When my head can think about something other than exhaustion, I ask, "Are you bitten?"

Alex flops backwards onto the floor. His spikes that he's usually so proud of have fallen flat over his forehead and his skin is gleaming with sweat where the moonlight hits it. His eyes look sunk into his head. "I think so," he mutters, pressing his finger to his palm and then to his cheek, "Here and here. You?"

There's no sign of anything on his skin, but I still check mine. In the breathless panic, I have no idea; I could have been bitten any number of times and not noticed. I don't even know how many there were. They were quite small, barely visible in the night light, so I doubt that they're fatal. Small creatures don't tend to be. Which is good news for Alex, possibly for me. "They were slower than I'd thought," I say.

"Maybe they all went after him," Alex suggests. There's a malicious line in his voice and curving around his face that suggests he's not that unhappy about that and I have to look away from him, though not before the image has stamped itself across my mind, another picture waiting to be drawn.

My ears automatically listen for a cannon.

When I can't say anything in reply, Alex sighs and scratches at the bite. He seems calm; I'm jumbled inside. "He was a pig," he snorts.

That seems unnecessarily harsh, and I shake my head, saying, "He just wanted the flashlight."

This time even Alex falls silent, stuck in the same flashback that creeps up on me. Tea before the last day of training, the table in our apartment groaning with tender pork and juicy ham and beef still throbbing slightly pink on the inside, arranged on glittery earth-brown plates. I'd picked away at it, unable to eat a bite, before Alex snatched up my plate too. Ramona had tutted but Abel had laughed. Whenever he laughed, he laughed too loudly and for too long and now I wonder whether it's to cover the noises in his own head.