After The Storm (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

Night Life - 15

"Martin?"

Martin jolts awake and finds himself staring straight at Mercedes, her pale face peering down into his. She's chewing on one of her plaits and her eyes dart side to side.

The moon is still up, gleaming down on all of them and turning the grass silver. The starts twinkle away happily, just watching. Martin quickly looks at the position of the moon and guesses that it's probably about two in the morning. His back aches from sleeping on the ground and his dreams drift around the edges of his mind, just out of grasp.

"Martin!" Mercedes hisses again. She's actually hissing; she's quiet. He rouses himself groggily, wondering heavily if he's missed a death. Shadows are etched under Mercedes' eyes.

"Wass-wassup?" he mumbles. He's never been quick to rise. He knows it's important, but his brain is still clouded in the fog of sleep. That's not that good. What if they were attacked?

"Something's moving," she mutters. 

He freezes instantly, listening. Nothing but the wind in the grass. Except...is that a stream, nearby? Some kind of water, by the sound of it, bubbling away nearby. Good; they can drink. Mercedes looks tiny next to the corn, smaller than usual anyway. She's taken the sickle off him and waves it around nervously.

"I don't think..." he starts, but stops instantly when something rustles not far away. It doesn't sound especially big, but it could be another tribute. Mercedes hops back a step, sneering slightly. It's hard work to put the sneer on, but she does it.

"Mercedes," Martin hisses at her, "If it's another tribute, I want you to run, got it?"

She nods, and can't resist snapping "What, you think I'd just stand there?" It's not one of her better comebacks, but it makes her feel better. He smiles a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes and he's frowning. Slowly, he climbs to his feet, the grass not even crinkling. He has to do this; he can't give whoever it is the element of surprise.

"Who's there?" he calls, trying to sound brave. Not too loudly, just in case it draws other tributes in.

A small dark shape scuttles over his feet.

Mercedes yelps, there's a squelching noise, and when his brain reorientates itself after quickly spinning around, he can see her stood there, holding out the sickle and frowning. A small dripping mass is impaled on the end of it; in the half-light it looks like some kind of mouse.

Mercedes is paler than normal.

He breathes a huge sigh of relief, feeling worry rush away. Just a mouse. That's good too, because if animals can survive here, there must be edible plants and water.

"We could eat that," he suggests, though he knows exactly what kind of reception that is going to get. She shakes her head, her plaits whipping her in the face. Stupid creeping scuttling things. She'd never eat one; that'd make them useful.

"I am not fucking eating this," she snaps. With one flick of the sickle, the little body soars away, landing in the grass nearby with a small thud. "Any more come fucking near me and they're fucking dead." She waves the sickle into the grass, as though daring a hoard of mice to come squeaking out of it.

Martin is just amused that she seems more scared of mice than she is of the other tributes, even that big and burly one from Two. But he shouldn't be a problem; the Careers have been hunting today. He settles himself back down, knowing that he won't be able to get back to sleep now. But he's had plenty, perhaps four or five hours, and you can live on that for a few days. There's nothing to do here and only Mercedes to talk to and she doesn't look much like speaking. Not a proper conversation, anyway.