The 1st Quarter Quell

Chapter 19 - Deep Shadows

I sprint forwards at such I speed I can't feel my feet. Am I even going in the right direction? Have I ran straight back into the eye of the storm? I don't care. I need to make sure that whoever the cannon went of for wasn't for one of my friends. It can't be. I didn't even dare to think what would happen if it was either of them - this is the Games, it's bound to happen soon, but no. I'm not ready for it. I won't allow them to die without a fight, not if there's anything I can do. 

I run around in such a panic that time seems meaningless to me - how long has it been? Minutes? Seconds? Hours? Some beacon of light I must be, oh how the Gamemakers will be laughing over their dinner at me right now.

The Capitol, the chariots and even Training seem like a whole other world away, and being back in the lakes of District 2 seems like another lifetime ago -  a lifetime I may never be able to get back- no. I can't think like that. Right now, I need to focus. Focus on finding the others and staying alive.

My feet have all but lost feeling. The muscle pain has swelled into a dull numb that I can feel throughout my body, and I feel a swelling inside my head. A swelling like a bubble just waiting to burst. The pain doesn't feel like it'll subside, but I don't care. I'd rather have an entire lifetime of pain than let either of my friends die on me like this. Die whilst I wander around aimlessly in this hell.

When I find no sign of Tributes in the haze of the storm, the panic I feel at whoever the canon went off for overwhelms me. My heart beats too loud for me to hear let alone feel it properly. The crackle of lightning in the distance seems to shake the ground, and it vibrates through my body like a drum. It sparks my urgency to find the others, almost on the point of another mist of panic. But it's only on the edge of my wandering panic that I see it. A large body slumped on the sand, face down.

I tread carefully towards the body, I don't know why, but I do. My feet crunches on the dried up sand around my feet, and it's only when I look down that the sand is dried up with blood. I gulp down bile and continue forwards, praying to myself that it isn't someone I know. The storm dust begins to collect around the body very finely, almost shrouding the person in a fine blanket that's impossible to identify the Tribute.

I remove my mask, not caring whether or not I inhaled the fumes of the storm, and panic gulfs me. Could it be Mason? Saffron? What would I do? Could they still be alive?

When I kneel down beside and turn the body over, I feel the guilty relief that it isn't one of my friends, just the boy from one of the last remaining districts. He wasn't involved with us or the careers.

He bled from his gut, a knife wound by the looks of it. He has no pulse. Poor guy died a painful death. I cover up his wound with his jacket, closing his eyes. My thoughts went to his loved ones back in his district.

That's when I feel something drag me up with such a strong force I feel a crack I my neck. And vertigo begins to have its way with me. Blood rushes from my head until my fingers and feet begin to tingle, and weird grinding noise sounds out as my lungs begin to burn.

Insects begin to swarm their way up and over the corpse. They're not insects I recognise, yet they appear to have all manner of appearances; pincers, wings, antennae, eight legs, furry carpaces, dark, shiny shells, black, beady eyes, foaming fangs...

I hear the rattling of their swarm, the clattering of the pincers and the odd noise that insects make. Whether it's a fuzzing or a snarl I can't tell. They clamber over each other and leap outwards at such a speed I lose count of them completely. I just want to get away from them.

The hairs on my arm rise as horror sweeps over me like a gentle tsunami. I hate insects, and these were like something out of a nightmare. Even as I'm being dragged backwards they seem to chase me ever still.