Needing the Impossible (A Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Even as I'm entering the edge of the woods, I can hear the sounds of the hovercraft moving in to take Clove's body. I force myself to keep moving, refusing to look over my shoulder. Making my way through the woods in a kind of blind rage, I find the place Clove and I had hidden our packs this morning. Quickly dumping their contents out onto the ground, I rummage through them and select everything that will be of use to me. The rest I burn.

As I watch the flames consume the unwanted supplies, I force myself not to think about Clove and try to focus my negative energy on planning Thresh's death. It's extremely difficult, actually. My natural impulse was to track him down immediately and jump him the first chance I got. Luckily, I had the packs to retrieve, and the errand has given me extra time to collect my thoughts. I'm still seething with anger, but the anger is directed towards destroying Thresh without risking anything myself. But how?

The flames die down as they run out of fuel, and I stomp out the remaining embers. It's as I'm doing this simple task that an idea begins to form in my head. Fire. I could burn Thresh out of his field. Best case scenario, he'll be severely burned before he makes it out, and will be that much easier to finish off. Worst case scenario, he comes out completely unscathed – but we'll still be fighting in my territory. Not his.

A twisted smile works its way onto my face as I picture Thresh, burned and gagging up poisonous fumes, stumbling out of his precious field – straight into the arms of death. I quickly rip my pack off my back and search for the box of matches. But the pack is stuffed full of supplies, and so
I have to resort to dumping its contents back out on the ground.

Sifting through the supplies, I begin to grow worried. The matches aren't appearing. Did I burn them by mistake? It's possible. I was still extremely distracted when I started the fire. Glancing over at the small pile of burned ruble, I check for anything that resembles a matchbox. Nothing.

I mentally slap myself. The box was made of cardboard, and would have been one of the first things to be consumed by the flames. I need to pull it together.

I desperately search my supplies for several more long, agonizing minutes. But there's no box of matches among my supplies. Fantastic. I let out a growl of frustrating and irritably cram the stuff back into the bag. This isn't going to be nearly as easy as I'd originally thought. Clove was the fire starter. Not me. I could never force flint and steel to give me more than one or two sparks, which is typically not enough to start a real fire with – not that I even have access to flint or steel.

Straightening back into a standing position, I run my fingers through my messy hair as I try to consider other options. Thresh could be anywhere inside his field, and so to blindly charge in there would just get me killed. He'd sneak up behind me and slit my throat, more than likely. It wouldn't be that hard.

My stomach growls loudly and I decide that now is as good a time as any to pause for a meal. I've got nothing better to do. Digging around in my pack – again – reveals that I'm much lower on food than I would have anticipated. Clove and I eat too much. No, ate too much. The past-tense twists my stomach into knots as I realize that last night was the last meal I'll ever eat with Clove. At least she'd been happy. As happy as someone stuck inside a death match can be, anyway.

Ignoring the unpleasant knots, I try to focus on the growling noises my stomach is emitting and take a huge bite out of a rather dry piece of venison. It tastes all wrong, and I know that next on my list of things to do will be to find some more meat.

Damn it. Is there nothing that won't delay me from killing Thresh? I should hunt him down right now, but practicality demands that I hunt first. If I receive a leg injury in our fight, then I'll be too loud to stalk game.