Chapter 17
DAY FOURTEEN
How much longer do we keep going?
Not for much longer. There’s not much hope left for them.
Peter opened his eyes.
Weird dream .
Beside him, Shayna lay curled up, softly snoring against Peter’s side. He couldn’t help but smile. Turning his gaze to Lyv, he was surprised to see her still sound asleep as well. It was unusual for Peter to be the first one awake; he often struggled with restless nights and odd sleeping hours from nighttime crime fighting when he stayed with May. His mind was still reeling from the previous day’s events, and a mix of exhaustion and anticipation tingled in his muscles.
Peter’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that it was breakfast time. As he glanced at the remnants of the feast from the previous night, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. The memory of the lavish spread and the flavors that had danced on his tongue lingered vividly in his mind.
He propped himself up on his elbows and gently dragged his arm out from underneath Shayna. She didn’t stir, still deep in sleep. He looked up at the sky; he wasn’t even sure the sun had risen yet. Rising to his feet, Peter stretched his sore muscles, feeling the stiffness from the fight the day prior. His eyes wandered to the dying embers of the fire, and he reached for a log, placing it atop the flickering flames to rekindle the warmth.
Allen, finished with his watch now that someone else had woken up, offered Peter a silent nod before settling down. Peter curtly nodded back. His eyes traveled upward, and he found refuge on a tree branch high above the campsite. He perched himself about the camp and scanned the forest around him.
It was quiet. There was the sound of an occasional bird chirping, though Peter was never able to find the source. Honestly, after facing the Mutts yesterday, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.
He munched on tree bark and some of Lyv’s freeze-dried fruit while he allowed himself to sink into his senses. Everything seemed peaceful for now, and he began to slip deep into thought. It was strange — the Mutts had been themed after the Avengers. Their weakness was the Spider-Man Mutt — Peter had killed it, and they’d fallen apart. He didn’t want to think about the way that the Spider-Man Mutt had been the one ready to kill Lyv. Was that also supposed to be a metaphor for something? Peter knew he’d never be able to bring himself to kill her. At this point, even if she turned on him, he’d probably just let her.
The passing hours of dawn brought little excitement to their camp. Peter diligently tended to the fire, ensuring his allies wouldn’t be assaulted by the freezing air upon awakening. The sting of the cut on his face served as a constant reminder of the threats around them, but he was grateful that Shayna had generously shared her antibiotics, alleviating the risk of infection. Lyv’s injured leg served as a stark contrast, a reminder that his accelerated healing ability set him apart from the other tributes in the arena.
Gathered around the crackling flames, the girls melted snow and drank the water hot, attempting to dispel that lingering chill that had seeped into their bones. Playful banter and stretching filled the air, easing the stiffness from their muscles due to their fight the day prior.
After an hour or two of playful banter and stretching to ease the soreness from their muscles from the fight against the Mutts, Shayna stretched her arm with a groan and looked at Peter. “Do you think you’d be able to find more of that tree bark? We’re starting to run low on everything else. I don’t want to run out just yet. We should probably save the good stuff for when we need more energy.”
“Sure,” Peter quickly quipped back. Lyv had just relieved him of his watch. She preferred fluttering around the trees and watching for anyone, or anything, that might threaten them. Peter himself felt fine; his abdomen felt a little better after his medicine, the scratches on his shin were already mostly scabbed over, and the deep gash on his face was already a mere scratch.
With a silent nod exchanged between Peter and Lyv, he propelled himself from tree to tree, his eyes scanning the forest floor for the presence of an oak tree. Amidst the dense foliage, Earth trees were a rare sight, dwarfed by the unfamiliar flora that dominated the arena. Peter’s observations led him to assume that the Gamemakers must’ve created a deliberate mix of environments from different tributes’ planets in the arena, ensuring an equal playing field. Still, he hadn’t seen anything that indicated it was from Shayna and Allen’s colorful, chemical planet yet, though. He wondered if their flora was closer to the volcano or other landscapes in the arena that Peter had yet to explore. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was content in the forest; it felt safe, it felt familiar, it felt secluded, and it felt like Peter’s best shot at getting Lyv out of here… or surviving until someone came to save him.
Finally, in the distance, Peter’s eyes locked onto the sight of an oak tree. A flicker of recognition passed through his mind, indicating that he had probably come across this same tree during the games at some point. Approaching it, he instinctively reached for his knife, only to realize with a sinking feeling that he had left it behind at the camp.
“ Good going Parker,” Peter muttered to himself with a groan. It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time, anyways.
With a heavy, dejected sigh, Peter began to make his way back to the camp. He knew he’d get ragged on when he told everyone he’d found a tree but forget something to cut the damned bark off with. The imagined voices of Lyv’s dry wit, Shayna’s playful mockery, and Allen’s sharp jabs were already filling his head–
As Peter got close to the camp, something was off .
A wave of disquiet washed over him. His instincts screamed at him, setting off alarm bells in his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his skin tingled all over. His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. He halted on a tree branch, crouching low, and surveyed his surroundings. There were no immediate signs of danger. Nothing seemed abnormal; no weird noises, nothing unrecognizable. But something was wrong . Peter’s senses were screaming at him to run, to hide, to fight, that he was in danger.
And Peter didn’t have false alarms.
Peter’s movements became a blur as he propelled himself through the trees, blending into the surroundings with lightning speed and maintaining a respectable amount of silence. His mind raced with concerns, urgency fueling his every jump. He wanted to call out for Lyv, to ensure her safety, but he knew he couldn’t. If something was coming for them, Peter didn’t want to lead it right to them.
The thumping of his own heartbeat filled his ears, matching the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Every muscle in his body was coiled, primed for combat. As Peter drew closer to the campsite, his senses sharpened. “Lyv?” Peter carefully uttered.
As Peter got closer and closer to the campsite, he saw it.
Lyv, usually graceful and vibrant, now stumbled through the trees. Her wings uselessly fluttered behind her, failing to maintain their usual splendor. He watched in horror as she stumbled through the snow, her body contorting with discomfort as she leaned against a nearby tree for support. Peter’s eyes darted around the campsite, searching for answers, searching for a way to save her.
“Where’s your Spider-Boy now, Twenty-three?”
His eyes locked on Shayna, who stood nearby, her face twisted into sinister determination. A chilling laughter spilled from her lips, a sound that bore no resemblance to the familiar warmth that used to. Allen, with a devilish glint in his eyes, advanced toward Lyv, brandishing his sword in his hand.
The weight of realization pressed on Peter like an iron vice. Lyv was inebriated, her stumbling movements and the vomit spewing from her mouth painting a grim picture of what was happening. It was a cruel twist, and now Shayna and Allen were going to kill her.
A surge of rage mingled with fear coursed through Peter’s veins. Without hesitation, he launched through the trees towards the camp. His world came crashing down at that moment.
Peter hurtled through the trees — he didn’t care about being quiet anymore. He needed to get to the camp — he was too far away. His stomach clenched and something howled in his ears, telling him to run or hide or fight or do something. With every passing moment, Allen seemed to close the distance between him and Lyv too fast, too fast—
Time seemed to slow as he witnessed the unspeakable horror unfolding before him. The guttural sound of Lyv’s agonized scream pierced through his very soul, reverberating in the frigid air.
Just as Peter had been stabbed, he’d heard a lot of people get stabbed before.
He didn’t remember a time he’d heard a fifteen-year-old girl get stabbed.
Lyv’s wail was laced with pain and fear. He could tell she’d never felt anything quite like this before. She fell to the ground as Allen pulled his blade out from her stomach, fingers scratching at the wound as if it would ease the pain. She cried and wailed on the snowy ground, red blossoming on the snow underneath her.
The sight of Lyv, crumpled on the ground, clutching at her stomach, stained the pristine snow with a crimson stain. It was a scene that etched itself into Peter’s memory, fueling a surge of raw fury that coursed through his veins. His body trembled with intensity. This was no longer a game.
Peter saw red.
“ Allen !” With a primal roar, Peter leaped from the trees, hurtling toward Allen with superhuman speed. His veins were coursing with red-hot fury, with anger, with pure rage . He collided with Allen, their bodies crashing onto the unforgiving ground. Everything was red — the snow, the trees, the boy, Peter’s fists as they flew into Allen’s face over and over and over again. The world around them ceased to exist as Peter’s vision narrowed to a singular focus. His fists became a blur of furious strikes, each blow carrying the weight of his anguish. All he could hear was his heart beating — he could hear rage — and him and Allen gripped themselves into a wrestling match.
It wasn’t a fair match at all. Allen was no match for Peter’s pure, raw super strength — but he did have a blade that kept getting dangerously close to Peter’s skin. It’s a techno-organic weapon , Lyv’s voice rang in Peter’s head. The squirrel’s blood turned black and it died.
He couldn’t let this thing stab him.
Peter and Allen went back and forth, Peter pinning the kid’s body down with his knees and pummeling his face over and over again. He couldn’t tell if he was pulling his punches or not — he’d never been this angry at someone he was fighting before. Every once in a while, the blade of Allen’s sword would get dangerously close to Peter and he’d have to stop the pummeling to wrestle Allen’s arm back to the ground. “ Shayna !” Allen called out, his voice burbling with blood.
Then, through the red of the rage, Peter realized something.
His chest was warm .
No , Peter thought to himself. NO !
As the warm glow grew, it wasn’t comforting this time. It didn’t feel good. Peter didn’t feel like he was able to let loose; he felt like he was losing control. His head grew a little foggier and the rage subsided a bit.
Peter’s once-ferocious strength began to wane under the influence of the intoxicating warmth spreading through his chest. The raw power that had driven him was now elusive, slipping through his fingers like smoke. His punches landed with diminishing force, his limbs growing increasingly limp and unresponsive. Confusion mingled with the fading rafe as the haze of intoxication clouded his mind.
A dull murmur escaped Peter’s lips as he muttered, “No.” The clarity of his thoughts eroded, replaced by a disorienting fog that thickened with each passing moment. The weight of his arms grew heavier, their movements sluggish and weak. The chaotic sccene around him blurred and distorted, and Lyv’s anguished cries pierced through the haze like a haunting soundtrack.
A searing pain erupted in Peter’s leg, a fiery surge that coursed through his veins. He recoiled, his body convulsing with an anguished scream. The echoing boom above him went unnoticed in the mire of pain that consumed his senses.
Allen stopped moving.
Peter shook his head, confused. He punched the kid’s face one more time, but his head flopped to the side loosely, offering no resistance. Peter blinked a few times and stared at the palms of his hands, which were beginning to multiply and grow fuzzy. A lingering doubt gnawed at his hazy thoughts, fragments of a memory playing tricks on his senses. The image of his hands wrenching Allen’s neck, accompanied by a sickening sound, flashed through his mind. “ I… I didn’t, ” Peter whispered. “I didn’t do that.”
“Oh, you did, Peter. And now you’re going to pay.”
Peter turned, still kneeling on Allen’s corpse, and fixated on the approaching Shayna… or the distorted versions of her that seemed to multiply and swim in his eyes. Each iteration of her bore an identical, twisted grin, their wicked knives glinting in their hands – no, in their blurred and multiplying appendages. Everything around him felt loose, warm, and fuzzy, as if he was losing grip.
His head spun.
Peter stood up
He felt dizzy
Stomach acid licked the back of
his throat
And then Shayna was dead
Her bubblegum pink skin stained with red.
The moment she fell, Peter immediately began to feel better. The warmth began to subside, his head grew a little clearer, the tension coming back to his muscles as his metabolism made quick work of the alcohol in his bloodstream. The haze began to lift, revealing a scene stained with tragedy.
Peter looked down at his hand, and dropped the sword that he’d been holding with trembling hands. His gaze shifted from the discarded weapon to the dying girl before him, a red pool blossoming from the top-left area of her chest — from her heart. She tried to say something, and tears immediately came to his eyes. He dropped to his knees next to the dying girl. “Shayna, Shayna , oh Shayna — I’m so sorry,” Peter babbled, the control of his lips and tongue coming back to him as the alcohol disappeared. His voice was thick with tears and genuine remorse. “I didn’t mean to. I promise. I didn’t mean to.”
Shayna’s fear-filled eyes met Peter’s, and a pang of anguish reverberated through his being. He witnessed a glassy glaze settle over her gaze, a haunting emptiness taking hold. The echoing boom of a cannon shattered overheard the eerie silence.
A soft cry behind him jolted Peter from his trance, and he swiftly turned around. His movements were unsteady as he stumbled through the snow, each step accompanied by a searing, unbearable pain radiating from his injured leg. Peter almost doubled over in pain that tunneled through his leg — it felt like a rat was burrowing through his flesh. He glanced down and saw a large wound peeking out through a gash in his pants. Allen had stabbed him.
That didn’t matter to him right now. He could push through the pain. What mattered was Lyv, who was laying a ways away where she’d fallen after Allen had stabbed her. “Lyv!” Peter cried out. He collapsed onto his knees next to the girl, and looked at her stomach in horror — the wound was quickly growing black and green tendrils from the spot she’d been stabbed. The girl Lyv on the forest floor, on the verge of hyperventilation as she tried to sob and breathe through the pain. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps as she fought through the pain. Peter’s eyes scanned her body — WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO.
THE MEDICINE.
There was one dose left. Shayna had made a point to point that out. Gritting his teeth, he mustered every ounce of strength, ignoring the burning sensation coursing through his veins. With a desperate resolve, he crawled through the campsite, his hands searching frantically for Shayna’s backpack. Finally, his trembling fingers closed around the familiar fabric of the backpack. Clutching it tightly, Peter summoned his remaining strength and began the arduous crawl back to Lyv’s side. His injured leg dragged uselessly through the snow, but he refused to succumb to the agony.
As he reached Lyv’s side, he carefully unzipped the backpack, his hands trembling. He retrieved the last two pills, the previous antidote that had the potential to save Lyv’s life. He cradled them in his palm.
“Lyv, you need to swallow this,” Peter croaked, propping himself up over Lyv’s head. Her eyes frantically searched for Peter and she continued to sob and hyperventilate, one of her hands half-heartedly covering the wound. “You need to take this.”
Peter carefully placed the two large pills on Lyv’s tongue, his hands trembling. He could see pain etch across her face as she let out another anguished cry. “I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. He took his hands and clamped Lyv’s mouth shut. She closed her eyes. It was obvious she was trying. Peter watched her throat contract in an attempt to swallow them. Peter wrenched her mouth open and saw no trace of the pills — they were down. In an instant, the black and green tendrils stopped growing and began to recede into Lyv’s wounds. Whatever Allen had rushed to inside of the Cornucopia to grab worked wonders. Still, green and black tinged the edge of the wound. Peter glanced around — he didn’t know what to do. “Lyv, I, I don’t know what to do,” Peter moaned.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Peter managed to sit upright, cradling Lyv’s head gently in his lap. His bloodied and bruised hands, coated in sticky residue, tenderly stroked her dark hair in a feeble attempt to bring her comfort. As his touch soothed her, Lyv’s breathing gradually calmed, and her sobs began to subside. He watched as she slowly reached up with a shaky hand and pointed at her wound.
Peter, not even realizing tears were streaming down his face, followed the direction of Lyv’s hand. Arla crawled into the wound, her tiny body trembling with purpose.
Peter sniffled as he watched the beetle shake inside of the wound. A low, eerie humming noise emanated from the beetle as she shook. He wiped tears from his cheek with the back of his hand and watched in pure amazement.
As the beetle shook and sang her ethereal song, Peter watched the toxic colors fade from the wound. He watched as the skin reached out and began to repair itself, blood rushing underneath brand new skin as the wound repaired itself bit by bit underneath Arla. The beetle fluttered out of the hole and continued for several minutes, watching as the wound stitched itself back together.
In that moment, when the healing was complete and only a scar remained as a reminder of the ordeal, Arla gave a final, resolute shake before closing her wings. Her antennae drooped down, and a sense of reverence filled the air. “Arla…” Peter whispered.
In his lap, he could feel Lyv’s breathing calm, and her crying ceased. “Lyv?” Peter murmured. In his lap, the girl propped herself up. With shaky breaths, she turned around on the ground and looked at Peter with a teary smile on her face.
“Well, that was a little embarrassing, huh?”
Peter threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around the girl. He forgot about the cold, he forgot about the betrayal, he forgot about the screaming pain in his leg — he squeezed her and pulled her head into the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths as the tears subsided. Peter closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “Ohmygod, Lyv, I thought — I thought I was gonna lose you — I thought—“ Peter choked out, his voice trembling. The weight of the moment hung in the air.
“You saved me, Peter. And, ow,” Lyv said, Peter didn’t realize he’d been squeezing so hard, and he immediately let go of the girl, but left his hands on her shoulders. She pulled away with a girlish grin and stared into Peter’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“I… no, I just…” Peter stumbled over his words, his emotions still running high. He searched for the right thing to say, but words eluded him. Instead, he found himself lost in the depths of Lyv’s eyes, a swirl of emotions swirling within him. The twisting sensation in his stomach was different, unfamiliar. It was a feeling that Mr. Stark had often tried to guide him through, but one that he hadn’t fully understood until now: girls were kinda awesome .
In that moment, he realized that the games and the arena and bloodshed weren’t the only place he was being tested. Instead of trying to navigate the confusing, ever-shifting maze of his emotions, Peter did what he did best: change the subject.
“Arla… is she okay?”
Both Peter and Lyv’s eyes glanced over to the still beetle on Lyv’s stomach. She frowned and scooped the bug up into the palm of her hand. She sighed deeply as she cradled Arla, her fingertips tracing gentle circles on Arla’s shell. “I think she’s gone into hibernation.” When Lyv saw Peter’s puzzled face, she sighed deeply and continued talking. “Familiars can do incredible things like Arla just did, but it takes a toll on them, and they have to go into hibernation to recover. I’ll be fine during it, but… I won’t be able to draw on any of Arla’s powers,” Lyv sadly said. Peter could hear that her voice was laced with concern at being practically defenseless against a bunch of other super-powered teens.
Peter’s brows furrowed with worry as he processed the implications. “How long until she wakes up?” Peter asked, hoping for a reassuring answer. Lyv’s shrug only deepened his concern.
“I… I honestly don’t know. This hasn’t happened to me before. Sometimes it can take years, Peter. And she saved my life. That… that was a powerful act.”
Peter’s heart sank at the thought of Lyv being without her Familiar’s aid for such an indefinite period. The pair stared in wonder and gratitude at Arla. Lyv eventually closed her hand around the beetle’s still body, and Arla disappeared to… to wherever she went when Lyv wanted her to stay hidden. Peter honestly wasn’t sure how that worked, and he’s not sure that he wanted to ask. A pang of pain made him double over and groan, drawing Lyv’s attention. Lyv’s eyes widened in horror as she noticed the deep gash on Peter’s leg, a mixture of concern and guilt flooding her expression. “Solar flares, Peter! Your leg!”
Peter followed her gaze and his heart sank as he took in the severity of his wound. The cut was deep. Severed tendons and muscle peeked out at him, and deep down, a pearly white glimpse of bone sent flutters through his stomach and made his head spin. Blood seeped from the wound, making Peter feel faint. The edges of the wound were tinged with green and black, though their spread was incredibly slowed, likely due to Peter’s healing factor. Still, his body didn’t seem to be able to stop whatever infection the sword caused completely. The wound stung in the frigid air as his adrenaline ebbed away, and now he felt like his entire leg was on fire. “Why didn’t you use the medicine?!” Lyv angrily asked him.
“You… you needed it,” Peter meekly replied. His voice trembled and his gaze dropped to the ground. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else suffering because he decided to prioritize his own injuries.
“Arla-” Lyv began, seeking to justify her argument.
“We don’t know if Arla could’ve saved you from both the poison and the wound, Lyv,” Peter snapped with a touch of bitterness, immediately regretting his outburst as he saw her recoil. His mind was concentrating on the pain of the wound. He’d never really snapped like that before, but he didn’t want to explain to Lyv that Peter didn’t intend on leaving this place so that Lyv could. He couldn’t bring himself to burden her with the truth. He couldn’t admit that he was willing to endure this pain to protect her.
“Peter, I…” Lyv began, her voice wavering.
Peter looked away into the forest.
“It’s nothing, Lyv. Really. You needed it. I’ll be okay. My body – it can heal infections like this. Toxins don’t affect me,” Peter lied, the words feeling heavy on his conscience. He despised lying, but he couldn’t bear to see her worry. Lyv fell silent, a mixture of relief and concern flickering in her eyes. Peter knew that his lie had temporarily alleviated her worries, but he also knew the truth would eventually come to light.
Just then, a violent gust of wind rustled the leaves above them. Lyv and Peter glanced up just in time to see a ship materialize, an empty, dark space opening in the bottom, here to swallow Shayna and Allen’s bodies. “Come on, Peter. We have to go. Someone probably heard all of this,” Lyv softly urged, her voice filled with urgency. She gently tugged on Peter’s arm, prompting him to rise despite the searing pain that shot through his leg. He clenched his jaw and bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the agonized screams that threatened to escape. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth as Peter clamped down hard on his cheek. Limping alongside Lyv, they resolved to put as much distance between themselves and what had happened here.
“Well, Zephyr, how tragic. A pair of favorites gone.” Nova Riverson, her ethereal blue skin shimmering under the studio lights, said as she cast a somber gaze towards Zephyr at their commentary desk. The haunting scene of Tribute Seventeen and Eightreen’s demise played on a screen behind them. A tinge of sorrow hung in the air as Nova reminisced about the fallen tributes she had grown fond of.
“Indeed, Nova. A truly heart-wrenching turn of events. But amidst the tragedy, let us not forget the enduring theme of resilience and young love formed in the face of adversity!” Zephyr’s voice regained a sense of optimism, his words tinged with a touch of admiration. Nova’s attention shifted back to Tributes Seventeen and Eighteen.
“To honor their memory, shall we recount some of the most memorable moments featuring our beloved Seventeen and Eighteen?” Nova proposed, her eyes scanning the crowd, anticipation building as the studio audience erupted in applause. Zephyr and Nova flashed knowing smiles.
“I think the crowd certainly wants that, Nova.”
“Then let’s dive into it, shall we? One of my favorite Seventeen and Eighteen moments was intertwined with Tribute Twenty-One, the young girl who possessed the ability to influence others through hormonal secretions,” Nova began, directing her gaze towards a screen which illuminated a forest on top of a large mountain that overlooked the arena. “They took her under their wing, unaware of the Gamemakers’ mischievous plan.”
The screen showcased the young girl cautiously poking at a fire near three sleeping spots, while Seventeen and Eighteen watched a Mutt-rabbit tear apart a helpless squirrel nearby with thrashing tentacles. Their expressions are filled with a devilish idea.
“And what did they do? They slyly introduced the little girl to a rather potent concoction, courtesy of the Gamemakers, that look like little white rabbits,” Nova continued, her voice laced with a mischievous chuckle. The screen displayed the girl stumbling drunkenly through the forest, her inebriated state evidence, as she innocently approached the adorable bunny. Seventeen and Eighteen feinted kindness and gently goaded her ahead, telling her to pet the bunny, clutching their stomachs from withheld laughter. In a matter of moments, the girl’s curiosity turned into a bloody demise as the rabbit tore her into bloody chunks. The cousins collapsed onto the snow, laughter mingled with a touch of devilry.
“And now… Tributes Seventeen and Eighteen have departed from the arena. How sad, Zephyr.”
“How sad, indeed.”