The Games - A YouTuber Fanfic

The Games Part Eleven

(DISCLAIMER: THIS PART CONTAINS SCENES OF VIOLENCE AND STRONG LANGUAGE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.)

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DAY FIVE – THIRD DAY OF THE GAMES

Charlie opened his eyes and shivered against the wind whipping around him. His fingers were frozen and he struggled to keep a grip on the scythe. Looking at it, he was reminded of losing Alex and leaving Carrie behind. He felt a small bit of comfort in the fact that her suffering was over now. He looked around his small hiding place and tried to make up his mind. There were only six of them left now, and his instincts told him today would decide it all. He had reached the mountains at nightfall, deciding to sleep under a group of fallen trees. He had had to dig underneath them a bit so he could sit comfortably without banging his head. During the night he was grateful for that as he woke up again and again, sitting bolt upright each time. The Game Center was taking a toll on him. All over his body ached with hunger and fatigue. His muscles pushed to their limits. A small part of him, the part that had given up, wanted nothing more than to just rip the suit off and make it easier for everyone else to carry on. For some reason he hadn’t, and he was hard pressed to figure out why.

He could reason it was his girlfriend, or his family. His subscribers. Neither one felt right to him and the more he pondered it, the more time he wasted huddled on the frozen ground. He pulled himself out cautiously, holding the scythe out to lead the way. Outside in the open air he gasped, rapidly blinking to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Overnight the landscape had changed again, reducing the stiff peaks of the mountain range to a short pile of craggy rubble. Rocks and fallen trees sprinkled his immediate surroundings, the last residual signs of the previous days. Everywhere else he turned, a vast field was spread out before him that would ultimately force everyone out in the open. He suddenly felt exposed and scared, questioning whether he should return to his small hole to wait the day out. A branch snapped close by and Charlie spun, unprepared to face his new attacker. He wasn’t ready yet, he’d never be ready, but that choice wasn’t his to make anymore.

“Hank?” Charlie asked as the face of his competitor drew near. He felt his body relax temporarily before he got a good look at Hank.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Hank stated flatly. He lifted his hands and aimed the barrel of the gun at Charlie’s face, determined to make short work of this. Hank was exhausted, his mind swirling with fatigue. It had been two days since he’d been able to sleep and every time he tried the memories of John dying kept resurfacing, forcing his eyes open once more. Hank stood in front of Charlie swaying slightly, struggling to keep his focus on the intended target. Charlie raised his scythe in protest, resigning himself to stand and fight. “John’s dead Charlie. He’s dead and I watched it happen. Do you have any idea what it’s like watching someone you love die, while you sit idly by knowing there’s nothing you can do about it?” Hank asked, waving the gun around as he spoke.

“Y-Yes.” Charlie stammered out. He saw a glimmer of opportunity and pounced on it. “Alex died too. Right in front of me.”

“And what did you do, Charlie? What did you do to right that?”

“I-I-I smashed his killer’s face in. That’s what I did.” Charlie replied, gaining confidence. If he could just get Hank to see they were on the same side, maybe he could save his own life.

“Charlie I can’t do this. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m not some mindless killer.” Buckling under the exhaustion, Hank sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook up and down as all the pent up guilt and frustration cascaded down through him. Charlie went over to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.