Chapter 14
DAY TWO
Peter woke up to a gnawing pain in his stomach. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t eaten enough the previous day, or if his stomach simply didn’t like the bark he’d consumed the night prior. Regardless, Peter was awake now. The light of early dawn timidly filtered through the dense canopy, casting a gentle glow onto him. Despite the sunlight hitting him, there was a chill that seemed to permeate Peter down to his bones. He’d have to get moving again quickly to avoid any issues with that.
Peter had had a restless sleep, his senses tearing him out of sleep over and over again to do a quick survey over the forest he could see and hear. Peter was grateful for his senses, but in cases like this, he couldn’t determine if they were annoying or life-saving. After a quick breakfast of cold, soggy tree bark, Peter figured he had a couple meals left before he’d have to repeat the process. Before Peter left, he did scrape more bark off of the tree. He didn’t see any other oak trees in the immediate vicinity, and wondered if they were few and far between as a rare delicacy for those who were well-versed in edible plant life. He was lucky he just so happened to find an oak tree to sleep on and realized what it was.
As Peter stretched his limbs and loosened his muscles, tight from the cold, he frowned. Glancing around, Peter realized that all of these trees would ordinarily be dead in such extreme temperatures. The Gamemakers must be controlling the environment here so closely for there to be such a lush forest in such an unforgiving environment. He figured having some hiding spaces in the woods must’ve made for better games, but Peter didn’t trust them to make all the leaves fall off in the middle of sleep, exposing him not only to the other tributes, but to the elements.
Unsure of what to do with his time, Peter decided to continue moving. Staying in one spot was never a good idea. Peter’s goal was to simply evade and avoid killing anyone. The next three days in the arena stretched into an arduous trial of endurance and cunning. With each passing moment, Peter found himself locked in a relentless cycle of survival, relying on his wits and resourcefulness to navigate the treacherous landscape.
He sustained himself with a meager diet of tree bark and melted snow. Now, though, he had a collection of foraged plants in his backpack. After growing tired of soggy tree bark after the second day, Peter had dropped to the forest floor and dug under the snow around the bases of various trees. He found mushrooms he was positive weren’t poison – and after cooking and consuming them, he was proven to be right. He didn’t necessarily like that it took him eating the mushrooms to be 100% positive they weren’t poison, but at least he was right. There were a few different varieties of berries, and at one point, Peter even found some sort of root he vaguely recalled from his training sessions.
The absence of Muttations or nefarious creations from the Gamemakers had Peter on constant guard. The second day held out with no deaths, and on the third day, a cannon rang out first thing in the morning, nearly scaring Peter out of his tree. He realized he hated the cannons. Not only did it mean someone dying, but he had to wait until nighttime to see if it was Lyv or not. Every time the familiar song came on, Peter’s stomach twisted and he considered looking away from the sky. The lack of activity was what made Peter so suspicious about the Gamemaker’s intentions. The absence of such horrors was an unexpected reprieve. The eerie silence of the arena puzzled him. It was as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the perfect moment to scream. Deep within, he knew that the calm was deceptive but was simply a lull before the storm. He reminded himself to stay prepared. The Muttations and horrors would come, especially with the games crawling along at this speed.
During the third evening, Peter was in the middle of boiling some tree bark with mushrooms when the ground underneath his feet shook. Instinct kicked in, and Peter swiftly abandoned the fire, scrambling up the nearest tree with nimble agility. Perched high among the branches, his heart had reached as he surveyed the surroundings. In the distance, where the mountaintop that glowed red sat, Peter could see billowing, black smoke spiraling into the sky. Flickering hints of red danced amidst the rocky formation, followed by the resounding echo of a cannon that pierced the air. He could see flashes of red from behind the rocky formation, and eventually, a cannon rang out through the air. The Gamemakers had struck, but Peter managed to stay far away from their wrath for now. He knew the obvious source of warmth would turn out to be a trap.
Curiosity mixed with caution, Peter kept a watchful eye on the spectacle. And then, as if emerging from the very fabric of the arena, a small shuttle ship materialized. Its sleek form hovered over the mountaintop; something slender extended from the bottom, reaching down towards the ground below. It rose up again moments later, carrying a small black figure before literally disappearing in plain sight.
They collect the dead bodies, then. I wonder if they – we – get sent home after we die.
Throughout the long, grueling three days, Peter pushed his body and mind further and further. Every step he took was calculated, every decision weighed with caution. Hide, evade, run. I will not kill. He found himself naturally blending into the shadows of the forest, his senses never allowing him to rest and always searching for danger. Despite his rather plentiful diet of tree bark and the occasional plant, hunger gnawed at his stomach. Nothing he ate held acceptable nutritional value. On the third night, Peter had had enough of the nutritional deficiency. His fingers brushed against the small, vacuum-sealed pouch in his bag, and he pulled it out over his fire. As he peeled back the protective layer, he closed his eyes and took in that tantalizing aroma that wafted from the package. Within the confines of the package, Peter saw an unfamiliar yet tantalizing meal. Encased within the pouch, rehydratable vegetables shimmered like celestial gems in Peter’s eyes — they almost seemed to shine, that’s how good they looked to Peter. Small strips of some sort of dehydrated meat poked out through the powder. Celestial spice permeated the air, transporting Peter back to the dining room he and Lyv had shared in the training center when he’d had access to unlimited foods.
As Peter stirred boiling water into the mixture, the powdered ingredients and dried vegetables immediately clung to the moisture, melding into a symphony of aromas and flavors. Delicate sliders of tender meat floated on top of a bed of very runny, wet couscous, the vegetables dotted throughout the mixture. Peter was sure that this was probably a poor man’s meal on Sakaar, but to him, the simple meal of rice, veggies, and meat felt like the galaxy’s biggest delicacy. Three days of eating tree bark will do that to a person, I guess, Peter thought to himself as he slurped up the hot food. He didn’t even care to look around. Nobody was close to him in these godforsaken woods.
After Peter’s meal, he actually felt full for once. His body seemed to thank him for the proper sustenance for the time being, the pangs in his stomach fading away. Peter buried the wrapper from the meal underneath the wood of the fire, and quickly covered any evidence before retreating back into the treetops. He spent a little longer finding a new place to sleep. If anyone else was around, they might’ve smelled Peter cooking real food and come to investigate. Eventually, he found himself wrapped in the embrace of a rather alien-looking tree. He almost thought it resembled a willow tree, but long, girthy vines stood in the place of the ethereal, leafy strands that hung from willows. Peter wondered if the Gamemakers were going to use the beauty of the forest against him. In one of the tapes of a previous game, he saw that exact thing happen – the beautiful forest of the arena turned into a conglomeration of terrifying trees trying to murder any tribute in the woods. It was like an army of giant, evil Groots.
Peter nestled into a large branch, setting his backpack on his lap. The occasional fire he had every night was enough to warm him up, but only a little. Peter was beginning to accept the fact that he’d never, ever be warm again. If he ever got out of this arena, the first thing he was going to do was take a piping hot shower so steamy that his skin would be a few degrees from slewing off.
The sun had finally lowered from the sky, and at the first few notes of the familiar song, Peter lifted his head through the gaps in the branches to see the two tributes who had died today. The first tribute, much to Peter’s surprise, was Tribute Three. He had been one of the Careers with fire-manipulation powers. Peter shuddered. He didn’t want to think how a Career had been taken out this early on. Someone must be working against them, Peter thought to himself. Peter didn’t think that Three was the tribute that died on the volcanic mountaintop. He could produce heat; there’d be no reason for the Careers to head to that mountain, unless they were hunting someone, which Peter felt like would be a poor strategic choice. Who was he to judge the strategies of how to kill other kids?
The second tribute to flash across the sky was Tribute Twenty-One. Peter almost had to look away. She was one of the younger tributes – if he remembered correctly, she was only thirteen years old. Her innocent, grinning face stared down at Peter through the trees, reminding him what exactly was going on around him. The intent of these games weren’t just for tributes to scrape by and survive like Peter was doing; it was for murder, for entertainment. And Tribute Twenty-One had been a victim of that. Peter fell asleep that night, clutching his backpack and nestled into the alien tree. He shivered as he tried to drift off to sleep, fighting off the constant twitches and urges his instincts and senses kept throwing his way.
The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, a metallic tang that invaded and attacked his senses. Peter stumbled through a desolate landscape, his eyes wide with horror as he encountered the grotesque aftermath of each and every tribute in the games, fallen. The scene unfolded before him like a waking nightmare, their lifeless bodies twisted and mutilated.
His eyes fell upon their rotting flesh, a sickening sight that pulled vomit to his mouth. The grotesque spectacle assaulted his senses – the sight of eyeballs bursting out of their sockets, bugs crawling from every orifice of their bodies, blood-soaked limbs contorted at unnatural angles, a grisly display of entrails strewn across the ground.
But it wasn’t just their lifeless forms that filled the air. As he stumbled through the hellscape, their jaws chattered in a hellish beat – they were saying something. Lips parting to form haunting whispers, the chattering of their decomposing mouths filled the eerie silence, echoing through Peter’s head and shaking the inside of his skull. Their hollow voices were filled with agony, with despair – and with accusation. Chanting together in a twisted, haunting chorus, their voices blended together into an unholy symphony as their lifeless, rotting eyes stared at him –
“You killed us Peter. You killed us Peter. You killed us Peter. You killed us Peter.”
The voices tearing into his brainstem and sending shooting pain down his spine into his limbs and hands and feet, Peter screamed, falling to his knees on the ground. The bodies crawled their contorted, broken frames to him, chanting over and over again in unison, coming to kill Peter just like he had killed them –
Peter shot awake.
His feet and hands scrambled for traction as he felt himself begin to fall out of the tree. He reached a hand backwards and stuck himself to the side of the tree before he had a chance to fall out, and he grabbed the strap of his backpack at the last second.
Chest heaving from the adrenalin rush that had spiked through him and woken him up, Peter leaned back and rested his head on the tree, closing his eyes. As nightmares went… that one was intense. Like, really intense.
Peter climbed back up the tree and sat on the limb he’d slept on, legs hanging over the side. He opened his backpack and fished out a few pieces of bark to munch on to give him energy for the day. Though he felt a lot better this morning, likely due to his hearty dinner the night before, something was still wrong. There was a bitter ache in Peter’s legs and arms. He had thought that had just been a part of the dreams, but it wasn’t. The cold was beginning to seep into his limbs, and every time he started moving around again, the heat of his body and the chill that had settled into his skin waged war at the cost of Peter’s comfort. He tried to shrug off the pain of his body warming up.
He really couldn’t wait for that steamy shower.
Honestly, at this point, Peter knew he was just at the edge of the calm before the storm. He’d had three entire days without anything particularly exciting happening to him. Peter knew the games would be difficult, but he didn’t know they’d be so boring. Honestly, that was the most difficult part. During the days, he’d spend time moving between trees. It wasn’t even because he thought it was the best strategy to keep away from others; when he was jumping and moving and twisting between trees, his brain was occupied, and he didn’t have to think about anything except for angles and velocity and getting to the next tree. When he stopped, he tried to make sure it was only to cook and to sleep. Because if Peter stopped and just sat there, his mind would try to eat itself out of boredom. There was just nothing to do, nobody to talk to – hell, he didn’t even have a pencil and piece of paper to write or sketch or do anything. And it’s not like he could do cool stuff with the snow – he tried to stay off the ground as much as possible, and he didn’t want to make it easy for people to track him. So far, Peter had been trying to occupy his mind by mentally cataloging all of the different trees in the forest. It was really the only thing he could do.
He wished Lyv was here. Maybe Shayna. At least someone to take his mind off all of this.
Peter glanced over at a tree nearby in mid-jump between one tree to another. It was very dark, and he furrowed his brows. It was a new tree, he hadn’t seen it befor-
Bam.
Peter hit something hard, something that he didn’t see in his path, and he fell twenty feet to the ground. His limbs flailed in the air and he tried to right himself so he could catch himself better, but he was caught so off-guard that he landed on the compact snow hard. All of the air was pushed out of his lungs, and Peter’s eyes widened as the breath was knocked out of him.
He rolled over onto his side, heaving and trying to get some air back into himself. When he’d landed, he’d heard something crack but it didn’t matter he couldn’t breathe he just had to breathe-
Peter gasped for breath as he heard sickening laughter cackle around him, his vision swimming as he desperately tried to regain control of his body. He was certainly no stranger to getting the breath knocked out of him, but he felt weaker because of the cold and the low amount of calories he’d been consuming. As he regained his senses, heaving on the snowy ground, he realized he heard a crackling noise all around him. The sound reverberated throughout the air, echoing and bouncing off trees, and Peter turned onto his back to see the source of the noise. A chill ran down his spine when he found it.
Shadows, dense and suffocating, began to crawl and slither around him, their inky tendrils reaching out like sinister fingers. Struggling to his knees, Peter’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of this situation. He remembered seeing these tributes in the training center – they could control and manipulate shadows. More than once, he’d seen them training with blades made of inky darkness – he didn’t know how to combat these. He wildly whipped his head around, still short of breath, and realized that there was now a circular wall of darkness surrounding him. He couldn’t see anything outside of the twenty-foot diameter of the darkness circle.
Shadowy figures inside the circle began to take form, their malevolent presence growing with each passing second. They twisted and contorted, morphing into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock the very existence of Peter. He tried to jump onto his feet, but it was to no avail. The tendrils that reached out from the darkness began to wrap around his limbs and slammed him back into the ground, knocking all the air he’d just replenished back out of his lungs. He writhed on the ground as the tendrils dragged him down, his movements sluggish and feeble as he tried to both regain his breath and fight off the shadows.
His strength allowed him to break through the tendrils a few times; they would dissipate into a puff of inky cloud, and then regather and curl right back around him. Desperation etched across his face as he clawed at the darkness, trying to free himself from its grip. The shadows seemed to drink in his struggle like a hot dog drinking water, enjoying the struggle that Peter provided.
He had to get out of here.
Summoning his strength, Peter closed his eyes and mustered a surge of willpower. With determination, he channeled his focus and slowed his breathing as oxygen flooded into his lungs again. He wasn’t going to hold back – he wasn’t going to hurt anyone, he just needed to escape – with extreme strength, he broke free of the shadows, seeming to stun them long enough for him to be able to get onto his feet. He tore his backpack off of his back and his fingers fumbled with the zipper, trying to get the knife out —
With a singular motion, Peter withdrew the knife from his bag and dropped the backpack on the ground, brandishing the weapon in front of him. The shadows seemed curious as they reformed, poking and prodding at Peter’s reflexes as he slashed at every shadow that came close. They usually backed away just in time, but eventually, Peter’s speed and precision seemed to outsmart the shadows and the silver blade hit the edge of one of the shadows. A twisted, demonic shriek filled Peter’s ears and he winced as the shadow disappeared.
He glanced at the silver of the metal. Guess there’s more to this knife than meets the eye.
Despite Peter’s newfound advantage, the shadows were relentless, and they began an unyielding assault on Peter.
Peter had to admit, he’d never been a huge weapons guy. He preferred his fists, feet, and webs to do what he needed to do. It’s because he’d never been into the art of killing others – his style was to web bad guys up until someone more appropriate came to deal with them in the art of justice. So these movements, this style of fighting… it was all foreign to Peter. He tried to mimic the way he watched Nat fight – the Black Widow loved her knives, after all – and planted himself into a ready stance, slashing out with the knife at the oncoming shadows and ducking and dodging their strikes. They slithered and swirled in the air and on the ground around Peter, morphing into twisted shapes, mocking Peter’s modest effort. It’s almost like they were playing with him.
Suddenly, shadowy blades began to materialize around him. It seemed like the shadow-tributes were starting to get sick of him. They began to slash through the air with murderous intent, leaving wicked cuts across Peter’s skin wherever it was exposed. The pain seared through his body, but it only fueled his resolve. He’d always been good under pressure. With a burst of newfound confidence, Peter fought back. He could almost hear Nat’s voice in his ear guiding him. He hoped she’d watch this at some point and be proud of him. He drew upon his instincts, allowing himself to fall into them completely, controlling his every move. His body pulled itself in certain directions, dodging blows he didn’t even see coming, strikes he didn’t know were going to happen.
However, for every shadow Peter dispersed, two more took its place. They seemed to feed off of his fear, growing stronger with every passing moment. Still, he prevailed and refused to give up. The combination of his instincts and intense training carried him through the fight, unrelenting.
Suddenly, the shadows withdrew, and Peter stood up straight in confusion. He watched as a sudden hush fell over the circle – and then, as if he was from a nightmare, a male tribute walked through the shadow wall, eyes gleaming with malice. “Peter, was it?” The boy said as a sword of shadow began to materialize in his fingers. “The shining star from Earth, the Twenty-Fourth tribute, gracing Velma and I with your presence.” The boy tossed the shadow sword in his hand a few times, staring at it. “I must say, I’m truly honored to be the one to kill you.”
The male tribute’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips as he twirled the shadow sword in his hand. He took a step closer, his tone dripping with arrogance. “You should feel privileged, Peter, being the Twenty-Fourth tribute and still being a favorite. A real standout, aren’t you?”
Peter forced a grim smile. “Oh, absolutely. I’m sorry for being an inconvenience to your grand plans, I truly am.” His expression softened, and he took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I don’t want to hurt anyone. We’re all victims here. We don’t have to play into their hands.”
The boy before him chuckled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. “You think you can reason your way out of this, huh? Is that how they do it on Earth? Well, you’re not at home, buddy. Sorry, kid, but in the arena, it’s kill or be killed.”
With that, the boy’s smirk wiped off of his face and was quickly replaced with pure rage. With a battle cry, he lunged forward with his shadow sword. Peter deftly dodged it and brandished his knife in front of him for defensive purposes. I have to figure out a way to get out of here. I can’t kill him. I just can’t. Even though this kid was an asshole – Peter refused to sink to that level.
Still, he had to get home. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but his choices were limited, and there was always the off-chance his instincts forced his body to make a move before Peter could even realize what was happening. As the boy in front of him kept coming at Peter with a barrage of attacks, Peter kept dodging and deflecting every attack. The kid grew angrier and angrier, Peter could see that much. Peter wasn’t the easy target the kid and his partner, Velma, must’ve thought he would be.
Wait. He had a partner here.
Just as Peter came to the realization, he felt his ankles being ripped out from under him.
With a sinister laugh, the male tribute reveled in Peter’s position, pinned to the ground by the relentless grip of the shadowy tendrils. The impact of the fall had sent his knife skittering out of reach, leaving him defenseless against the looming threat. Panic surged through Peter’s veins as he desperately tried to crawl towards his weapon, but the tendrils tightened their grip rendering his struggles futile.
An unintentional, chilling scream escaped Peter’s lips as a menacing figure formed from the shadows. This was something different – this wasn’t the boy, this wasn’t his partner. They were having their shadows do the dirty work for him. Fear consumed Peter as the shadow figure loomed over him and reached down, wrapping inky tendrils around his neck.
The world blurred around him, darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. Time seemed to stretch, each second a relentless reminder of his impending demise. With every heartbeat, Peter's resolve wavered, the weight of the shadow’s grasp becoming too much to bear.
There was nothing he could do, he was going to die. He was going to die in this place and everybody he loved might have to watch.
As his vision began to fade to black and all Peter could think about was how much of a disappointment he was, suddenly, the world was white.
Did I just die? Peter thought to himself. He could feel the snow under his hands, still, and he knew he was still on the ground.
He couldn’t hear, and he couldn’t see.
Maybe he was dead. The pressure from his neck released as soon as the white came, and Peter could breathe. He felt like his body was rolling over, and there was the possibility that his hands were clawing at his stinging neck, but he wasn’t sure. Everything was white. Peter was sure he was dead.
But if I’m dead, why is this snow so cold?
The snow did indeed begin to sting his ankles, which were exposed due to his pant legs becoming untucked from his boots and riding up.
As the white ever-so-slowly began to fade, Peter still wasn’t sure what was going on. He was having a hard time determining if he was actually dead or not. He half-expected a large, angelic figure to bring his soul to somewhere else.
Suddenly, he was given a stark reminder of the fact that he was, in fact, alive.
Peter had been stabbed before. More than one would think. It hurt so, so bad every single time – Peter usually gritted his teeth and continued to fight, or allowed the rest of the team to cover for him while he crawled to somewhere high to lay low for the rest of the fight. He was used to the feeling. Still, that didn’t make it any more bearable or any less painful every time it happened. Even worse, now he was weakened from the cold and lack of nutrition and he didn’t have his nanotech suit on to dampen any of the blow or spray anesthetic mist on it to numb it.
He just had to deal with this raw, unmanageable pain.
Devoid of any sight and hearing, an agonizing pain suddenly bloomed just under Peter’s ribs and radiated throughout his entire body. Every breath he took felt like fire coursing through his veins. He could feel his mouth opening, and his throat vibrated, but he couldn’t tell if he was actually screaming or not. The pain trickled through his body as something twisted below his ribs, inside of him. Lost in a realm of sensory deprivation, Peter’s mouth opened wide, a silent scream of anguish reverberating through his unusually constricted throat. He yearned for the familiar rush of adrenaline that usually fueled his determination, but all he found was the tormenting embrace of darkness intertwining with the remnants of white.
He wasn’t dead. He’d just been stabbed.
Peter’s senses gradually came back to him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. Without being able to see or hear fully, Peter swung his fist forward, and felt it connect with someone. He swung again, but they must’ve moved, because he didn’t feel himself connect with anything.
Suddenly, a hand brushed against his forehead. Its touch was ginger and soft. Confused, Peter paused midswing. This wasn’t the touch of someone here to hurt him. This touch.. It was tender. It was warm. It was kind. It reminded Peter of the kind of genetlessness Aunt May and Miss Pepper possessed.
Peter allowed his head to fall back to the snow. He was able to feel enough to have his hands immediately go to his wound and press down on it. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent another scream, but he knew he had to put pressure on it. That was like, field basics 101.
After a while, black began to splotch within the white. No, Peter thought to himself. Those are the trees. The canopy of the trees slowly faded into his vision, and a loud ringing began in Peter’s ears instead of the explosive silence. Above Peter, he saw the source of the hand on his forehead, though his vision was still hazy.
Struggling to find his voice, Peter managed to rasp out a hoarse whisper. He could only feel his throat vibrate when he spoke; nothing would be louder than the ringing currently in his ears. “Lyv?”
His eyes struggled to focus, but there was no mistake to the small form above him, her presence a soothing balm to his pain-riddled body. With great effort, he mustered a weak smile as her lips moved. He couldn’t hear her, but knew that was talking to him. With a grunt, Peter managed to sit up, hands still clinging to his wound. He turned his head to the girl. She had a large gash above her eyebrow, and one of her eyes was bruised, but other than that, she seemed okay. However, her face was twisted in concern. She kept trying to talk to Peter, but he couldn’t understand her.
Peter looked down at his stomach and lifted his hands which were already coated in blood. “Oh my god, oh my god,” Peter panted, though he couldn’t hear himself actually talk. His vision that he’d just regained began to slightly blur as he saw the dark crimson stain spreading across his skin through the tear in his shirt. The jagged tear in his skin revealed the raw, pulsating wound beneath. His breath hitched. The wound gaped open, exposing layers of muscle and tissue. Blood welled up from the depths, seeping steadily like a fountain, tracing rivulets he could feel along his abdomen. His hands trembled as he touched the sticky, warm blood that coated him. A wave of dizziness washed over him, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.
Lyv frowned. She seemed to understand that Peter couldn’t hear quite yet. Instead, she resorted to standing up and grabbing Peter’s arm, tugging on it to indicate for him to stand up. Peter glanced around and saw the crumpled form of two bodies on the ground near them. He had no idea if they were dead or not, but based on the urgency he saw in Lyv’s eyes, he wanted to lean towards being alive. With a pained groan, Peter managed to push himself onto his feet. He nearly doubled over as his body racked with pain. Lyv took Peter’s arm and slung it around her shoulders. Peter instinctively leaned his body into hers for support. His other hand clutched his wound, applying as much pressure as he could. The two immediately took off into the woods.
Peter could feel something fluttering against his arms, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw familiar metallic wings sprouting from Lyv’s back. As they half-ran, half-stumbled, Peter watched as the wings fluttered ferociously, kicking up a whirlwind behind them. He didn’t understand the purpose of this until he saw the wind disturb large amounts of snow, completely erasing their footsteps and recovering where they’d been with fresh, unperturbed snow that blended in with the rest of the forest floor.
After a while, Peter’s ears were still ringing. They’d been running for ten, fifteen minutes or so, and then Lyv stopped. Peter saw she was sweating and breathing rather heavily. She looked at Peter and pointed her finger up towards the treetops. Peter frowned, he didn’t quite understand. She pressed her lips into a tight line and did more sophisticated movements with her hands. Peter gathered that she wanted them to move to the treetops. Peter nodded. He stumbled over to the nearest tree, and for the first time, removed his hands from his wound.
He glared down at them. They were bright red and sticky with blood, and blood steadily trickled from his wound the moment he took his hands away. Better move fast, I guess, Peter thought to himself.
Letting out a quiet cry of pain, Peter began to scale the tree. Slowly, but surely, he made his way up to Lyv, who was perched on a branch. Her wings fluttered behind her, and she watched Peter with a concerned look on her face. Peter just nodded, indicating he could move on. The pair moved from tree to tree, Peter jumping and Lyv fluttering from branch to branch. He let out small cries of pain every now and then as agonizing pain ripped through his body from the wound under his ribs. Lyv seemed to give him sympathetic, worried looks. A few times, she had to catch Peter from falling off the branches.
After about what was probably thirty minutes but felt like a painstaking eternity to Peter, Lyv motioned for them to stop on a tree with a particularly wide groove in the middle that they could both fit in.
Peter collapsed in the groove, and everything went black.
Peter woke up to someone staring down at him.
“AH!” Peter screamed, attempting to scramble backwards but being restricted due to him being curled up in the groove in a large tree. His brows immediately furrowed - though there was still a dull ringing in his ears, he could hear himself scream. That was an improvement.
He recognized the face to be Lyv’s, and he immediately relaxed.
“Relax, spider-brain. It’s just me.”
With a rush of relief, Peter lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the girl. He pulled her in tight and squeezed, glad she was okay, and glad they were together now. “Lyv, I- thank you for saving me.”
They embraced for a few moments, taking in each other’s presence, each other’s warmth. Peter could feel her heart beating quickly in her arm, and she nestled her head into the crook of Peter’s neck. After a few moments, they pulled away. “It’s nothing.” Lyv looked away. “You would’ve done it for me. Besides, I’ve been following those guys since I left the Cornucopia. They’re real quasar’s nuisances, that’s for sure.”
Peter chuckled at Lyv’s odd space lingo. It never got old. He had a feeling that Lyv and Nebula would get along if they’d ever met. Lyv turned to face him again. “Your hearing is better? And your eyesight?”
Peter nodded. “Yea – what happened back there? I was being strangled by… by a freaking shadow and the next thing I know I can’t see or hear and I just get stabbed.”
For the first time since they’d been reunited, Lyv gave Peter a shy smile. “That’s uh… one of my specialities. It was kind of a last resort, because I knew it would affect your eyesight and hearing more than most, but I didn’t really have any other options.”
Peter stared at Lyv, confused.
“He was going to kill you, Peter.” Her voice was soft, and for the first time, he realized the girl sounded scared instead of the feisty girl she was. Peter shook his head.
“No, no. That’s not what I’m confused about – I mean, thanks for saving me – but what do you mean what of your specialties?”
Lyv sheepishly scratched the back of her head. “Ah, just, you know… Arla’s species of beetle produces sonic blasts and waves of light to stun their prey. She’s a carnivore – weird, I know – but when I do it, it’s a bit more… amplified.”
Peter’s jaw dropped.
“That. is. So. cool.”
With that, Lyv’s cheeks flushed and she chuckled, but was obviously embarrassed.
“So, um.. The two tributes…” Peter’s voice trailed off. Lyv shook her head, immediately understanding what Pete was asking.
“No, they’re not dead. They’re just stunned. They should be down for a day or two. It’s weird – it affected your senses more, but you didn’t get stunned,” Lyv admitted. That forced Peter to remember his wound, and he glanced glanced down to his torso. He was dismayed to see his shirt and jacket cut open – that was just one more part of his body exposed to the cold – but the wound was already healing over with a very sloppy, still-fresh, scab. Every time he moved or breathed he could still feel the wound. It certainly hadn’t resolved with the internal issues, but at least his skin patched itself haphazardly back together so he wasn’t dripping blood anymore. “I put some leaves on it – something I learned back at home – but it… it healed so much faster than it should’ve,” Lyv pointed out, similarly staring at the wound. Peter smiled.
“Well, that’s one of my tricks. My body fixes itself pretty quickly.”
“I feel like that’s probably more useful.”
“Not when you’re getting choked out by a shadow,” Peter quickly quipped back. Peter and Lyv laughed with one another in the groove of the tree. After a minute or two, they compared supplies – Lyv had come across another tribute while sleeping and stole their supplies. She had a sleeping bag, a variety of dried fruits and meat strips, and she also had a water bottle. There was a small set of throwing knives in the bag, too, but Lyv admitted she wasn’t very savvy with them. Neither was Peter. He was sure they’d come in handy at some point. They were, at least, sharp enough for Lyv to use to defend herself with.
Lyv laughed hard at Peter when she learned he’d been eating tree bark to survive. Indignant and irritated, Peter forced her to choke down a piece of the soggy bark. She almost coughed it back up, but Peter clamped his hand over her mouth and forced her to swallow it while they both giggled. The two quietly conversed for the rest of the evening. Peter had been out for a majority of the day, sleeping and giving his body the energy and rest it needed to patch itself together. When the sun began to fall, Peter and Lyv sprawled out in the tree, laying down and facing the sky.
“It’s nice having company,” Lyv said.
“Tell me about it. I’ve been, like, solving world hunger in my head just because I’m so bored,” Peter responded. Lyv was quiet for a few seconds.
“Pete, I’m really glad you’re here. I… I don’t want to have to go through all this alone.”
“Me either, Lyv. Me either.”
Neither one of them acknowledged the inevitable death and pain ahead of them.
For now, they didn’t have to.