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Clarke can’t sleep her first night in the Capitol. All she can think is how it’s not her time yet, how she was so close, only one reaping left. Now she could be dead in a few days. The odds aren’t in her favor. It only takes one look at some of these kids to know they’re experienced killers. Clarke isn’t.
She’ll be lucky if she makes it past the initial bloodbath. She’d rather die of starvation or exposure than a knife to the chest. Her mom doesn’t need to see another person she loves die like that. If she can hide out for long enough she’ll make it to the last few, but she’ll have to be cunning and quick to kill anyone else who lasted that long.
She’ll have to be a murderer, too.
Her mentor says she and Wells are meant to spend training time scoping out potential threats and allies. The more they put up a united front, the stronger they’ll appear and the more alliances they’ll attract. But Clarke won’t – can’t act like she’s allies with Wells. He’d volunteered for the boy from their district just to follow her here, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven. She won’t kill him, but she won’t pull the childhood best friends act that their mentor suggested, either.
A boy is throwing axes to her left, and she’s just starting to go over to him when Wells grabs her arm. She yanks it away as if she’s been burned. “That’s Bellamy Blake,” he says as if she’s supposed to know who that is. “He’s a Career! What are you doing?”
Clarke holds Wells’ gaze for a moment, then turns her back to him. As she walks away, she says, “I’m getting allies.”
Bellamy isn’t buddy-buddy or even friendly with her, but she manages to convince him that an alliance with her would be beneficial. They turn out to have something in common; they both want the twelve-year-old from 6, Charlotte. She’ll be one of the first targets unless she has someone to protect her. Maybe they’re similar in that way. They both need to protect someone. Besides, he’s not all bad. He’s easy on the eyes. Maybe it’ll get them some sponsors.
“I want 3,” Clarke says at the edible plants station, jerking her head over towards the girl, who’s still tinkering with some sort of contraption.
Bellamy doesn’t look pleased. “Raven?” he asks, deadpan.
“Yes,” she replies. “Raven.”
Clarke doesn’t wait for Bellamy’s permission to go over to her and talk. “You’re pretty handy with that,” she says, pointing to the device in Raven’s hands. She takes a seat next to her by the electronics, shooting Raven a thin-lipped smile.
“Yeah, well,” Raven replies, shaking her head and making her ponytail bounce. She shrugs. “We aren’t called the technology district for nothing, right?” She’s downplaying her skills, but Clarke can see from the faint smile on her face that Raven’s pleased at the compliment.
“What are you making?” she asks, peering over to examine the device better. It’s small and inconspicuous, so it must be meant to be hidden from the other tributes. A weapon, maybe? But it seems too tiny to be able to hurt anybody.
“Alarm.” Raven moves her hands closer to Clarke so she can see it. “If someone comes within 20 feet of it, it’ll send a signal to this…” She points to another, even smaller device. “That our asses are grass unless we get moving.” A small frown forms on her face. “That’s the goal, anyway.”
Clarke places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She means it, too. Even the idea is something she never would have considered. Patching up wounds, finding food and water, yes. Making an alarm? The thought never crossed her mind. If Raven could come up with the idea in the first place, Clarke is sure she’ll be able to make it work.
Bellamy pulls a 9. Raven gets one, too. Clarke gets a 7; she supposes the game-makers aren’t too interested in skills that don’t involve bludgeoning someone to death. And then there’s Charlotte. She gets a 4. It’s understandable. She’s only twelve, and she’s so small and delicate that she doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. But Clarke sees something else in her, too: a fierceness that maybe, just maybe, could get her through to the end. She’d be the youngest victor ever.
Kane says as much in her interview. Charlotte just replies with a flustered, “Oh,” and flushes bright red. Because she’s bashful, the audience might think, but Clarke knows better. It’s because she’s scared. It’s because they’re all scared.
“I’ve only got one thing to say to the other tributes: screw you, I’m not afraid.”
Clarke sees right through Bellamy. There’s no way he isn’t afraid. They’re all trembling in their boots, even the hulking eighteen-year-olds who’ve been trained their whole life.
“That’s one way to make friends,” Kane says. “Now, Bellamy. We all remember the girl from your reaping. Don’t we?” The audience cheers. “She was in tears when you got reaped. Tell us about her. Who is she?”
Bellamy goes quiet, all his previous bravado gone. “Octavia,” he replies, looking down at his shoes. “My sister.”
“Once you win and come back home a victor, I bet those tears will dry right up.”
That doesn’t seem to make Bellamy happy – on the contrary, he clenches his fists like he has something to say, but bites his tongue at the last minute. He nods and replies, “Yeah. They will.”
Raven comes out next, dazzling in a shiny red dress. Her ponytail has been combed out into long, thick locks. She’s completely comfortable on stage, shooting the audience a striking smile before sitting down. She and Kane have a great rapport, smiling and laughing about the Capitol technology.
“Well,” Kane says after the laughter dies down. Raven looks at him head-on, confident smirk never leaving her face. “I would certainly pick you as one of the front-runners this year.”
“Of course you would,” Raven replies, not fazed by the comment or if she is, not showing it. “I’m awesome.”
The crowd cheers; they love her. It’s hard not to. Something about her is magnetic, makes everyone want to orbit around her. It’s like she’s the sun.
“Raven Reyes, District 3, everybody!” She strides offstage, dropping the smile as soon as she’s out of view.
“Ugh,” she groans. “Kane is such a creep.”
So it was all an act after all. A convincing one, at that. Maybe Raven has more skills than just technology.
Clarke sits through most of the interviews. The boy from District 7, who she now knows as John Murphy, chuckles along with Kane, but rage bubbles just underneath the surface. It’s the eyes. They show what his actions don’t. There’s Lincoln and Lexa, both solemn and fierce. When it’s Clarke’s turn to go up, she doesn’t know how she’s going to compete with that kind of force.
The audience cheers her on as she walks onstage in her sparkling blue gown, trying not to trip on the towering high heels her team put her in. It’s ridiculous how they parade them around like show-ponies before letting them loose to murder each other. Even more so, it’s ridiculous how the audience cheers for them, each one hoping that their favorite will be the one to kill innocent kids like Charlotte.
“Clarke? Clarke, are you with us?”
She snaps back to reality. The blinding lights, Kane’s plastered on, phony grin. The audience members, each with their almost comedic hair and clothes. All of them staring right at her, like she’s a piece of meat they can’t wait to devour.
Clarke nods, not even looking at Kane. She looks out at the audience instead, squinting to see their faces.
“Well,” Kane says. The silence is awkward. He must not have expected a tribute to be so quiet. Most of the time they’re trying to use all the time they can, talking a mile a minute. “Have you been enjoying the Capitol so far?”
She turns to look at him. His gaze is expectant, like he knows exactly what she’s going to say. But he doesn’t. None of these people know her. They don’t want to know her, not really. They just want to bet on her odds of survival.
“No,” she replies, expressionless. The crowd is struck dumb. Kane looks perplexed and unsure of what to do for a moment, then picks up and keeps asking questions like nothing happened. That’s what they do, Clarke guesses. Just ignore the bad things and pretend they never existed. The interview goes on like that, Clarke feeling indignant and cheated. She doesn’t throw a fit, doesn’t yell or cry. She just doesn’t try to suck up to the Capitol. To them, that’s shocking.
When she comes offstage, Wells gives her a concerned look before being ushered on. Her mentor, an older man named Jefferson, takes her by the shoulders and shakes her. “What the hell was that?” he asks, and she doesn’t know how to respond. “Did we spend hours rehearsing for nothing? Sponsors don’t like bad attitudes, Clarke.”
Oh, no. Sponsors. It rips through her like a hurricane. The interview isn’t just so they can watch the tributes jump through hoops for them. It’s for sponsors. After that display, no sponsor will take her. No sponsors means no help – no water, no bandages, no food, nothing. Nobody ever wins the Games without sponsors.
“I didn’t—” she starts to say, but Jefferson cuts her off.
“Never mind. Just don’t screw anything up more than you already have.”
She’s left feeling like an idiot, berating herself for making such a stupid, stupid mistake. What did she think that was going to accomplish? Nothing. She just wanted to make the Capitol feel something. Feel like they were wrong. And maybe she did, but that’s going to be what costs Clarke her life.
“Nice interview,” Raven says in the elevator, already stripping off her dress and changing into the Capitol-provided clothing. Clarke tries not to look. She’s strong and lean, like she doesn’t just sit around working on electronics all day. And what’s more, she doesn’t have any shame about changing right then and there; confidence radiates off of her. It's so brash that it makes Clarke's face flush red.
“Yeah,” Clarke huffs. “I really impressed the sponsors.”
Raven pulls her shirt on over her head and turns to face Clarke head-on. “You impressed me,” she replies, smirking as if impressing Raven is all that matters. Admittedly, it does make her feel better. “That was badass.”
“Screwing up my interview?” Clarke asks, remembering Jefferson’s words.
“Refusing to do the song and dance.” The elevator stops, dings, and opens its doors. Raven pats Clarke on the shoulder. “Well, that’s me. See you in the arena.”
She watches Raven walk away, carrying her heels in her hand, and knows that she made the right choice choosing her, Bellamy be damned. She's a fire-starter. They're going to need someone like that in the Games if they want to survive.
“Can’t wait,” Clarke mumbles as the doors close and Raven disappears from view.
“Heavyweight,” her stylist, Rosalind, says as she dresses Clarke. “You’ve got a lot of cold nights ahead of you.”
Great, Clarke thinks. They must have thought last year was over too quick. The Capitol would rather watch them all freeze to death. She puts on her thick, wool shirt and insulated pants. They’re lighter colored than the outfits were last year. The Capitol favors dark colors, but this time they’ve opted for white. It’ll make the nights more dangerous. A jacket lined with soft fur comes next, then a heavy pair of boots.
“It’s time,” says Rosalind, motioning towards the pod. Clarke hears the countdown begin through the speaker system. What would happen if she refused to go? They would kill her on sight, probably, or airlift her into the arena anyway. She drifts into the pod. It’s small and claustrophobic, and the walls feel like they’re closing in and suffocating her. Rosalind stands before her, just outside the pod, zipping up her jacket. “I’m rooting for you and Wells.”
Yeah, Clarke thinks, but only one of us can come out alive.
Then the pod slams closed and Clarke feels the strongest urge to run, but she can’t. She’s already being lifted up to the arena. At first, she can’t see anything. Everything is just blinding white. Then, as her pod disappears, a rush of cold air hits her face. It feels like a slap. Then she realizes: it’s snow.
She whips her head around, eyes hunting for Charlotte, Raven and Bellamy. She locks eyes with Bellamy. He nods, then looks at the cornucopia. Clarke’s eyes widen and she shakes her head, but it’s too late. The countdown has ended and Bellamy is running towards the cornucopia. Towards the massacre.
Clarke shoots towards the snow-covered trees. She may have alliances, but right now, she’s completely alone. An arrow goes whizzing by her face and, when she looks back, there’s a girl with dark hair chasing her. Panting, she shoots through the trees, branches whacking her in her face and arms. All she can think about is running. She keeps moving until she runs into something hard and solid and ends up in the snow. Her head shoots up to see what she hit – or who she hit.
It’s Wells.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment, wide-eyed. In that moment, the animosity she feels towards him is gone. There’s a connection. They aren’t Clarke and Wells. The both of them are just two scared kids. The gaze ends as quickly as it begins, with both of them scrambling up and running in opposite directions.
“Clarke!” a tiny voice calls out. She looks back and there’s Charlotte, stumbling, already cover in cuts and tears. Clarke doesn’t say anything, just grabs her hand and keeps running. Charlotte can’t keep up, but Clarke doesn’t care if she has to drag her the whole way. They’re getting somewhere safe. Now.
“Shake the snow off of any bushes you can find and gather the leaves,” Clarke tells Charlotte. She reaches up to break a long branch from a tree. The idea is to make a shelter out of branches and cover it with leaves. It’s not ideal, but until they can find some other form of protection, they’ll have to take what they can get.
“Where are Raven and Bellamy?” Charlotte asks, picking leaves off of the bush.
Clarke falters for a moment. She knows Bellamy went for the cornucopia. She never saw Raven, but chances are that she went for it too, hoping for some kind of technological supplies. The odds don’t look good. Charlotte doesn’t need to hear news like that right now.
“I don’t know,” she says, smiling reassuringly. “But I’m sure they’ll turn up.”
To Clarke’s surprise, they do. Raven is limping and Bellamy has a gash on his arm, but they’re alive. They show up hours later, rucksacks in hand.
“Oh my god,” Clarke breathes. “You made it.”
“Of course we made it,” Raven says, shrugging it off as if it’s not a big deal. “And look what I got.” She produces a knife from her neon rucksack. Clarke’s eyes grow wide and her jaw drops. It doesn’t end there, either. Raven empties the contents of her sack onto the ground. A thermos. A thick, knit scarf. And a tiny light. It’s not something they should be using at night, but Clarke decides that they should keep it anyway.
“We have a weapon,” she says, incredulous, staring at the blade glinting in the sunlight.
“Weapons, actually.” Bellamy reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and black.
“Oh my god,” Clarke says for the second time. It’s a gun. There hasn’t been a gun in the Games for the past five years. For the first time, she considers the possibility that she could come out of here alive.
The battle at the cornucopia must be over, because the cannons start going off. Clarke counts ten. “Ten down, ten more to go,” declares Bellamy, spinning the gun around his finger.
But it’s not ten more to go. It’s thirteen.
They all have to huddle together under the shelter at night like a bunch of puppies. It’s the only way to stay warm. Clarke pulls the hood on her jacket up over her head and reaches an arm around little Charlotte only to find that someone else already has. Her eyes flutter open to look at Bellamy, arm flung over Charlotte. There’s a sort of unspoken agreement between them: protect Charlotte at all costs. Then Raven rolls over and nestles into Clarke like a child, and Clarke can’t stay awake any longer. Her eyes fall closed and she falls asleep almost immediately.
She’s awoken by the sound of footsteps in the early morning. Her eyes open and she shoots up, waking up Raven in the process. “What—”
“Shhh,” Clarke whispers. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”
Just feet away from them are two towering, bulky bears. They don’t seem to have noticed them yet, but Clarke isn’t sure if she’s willing to stick around to find out.
She reaches over to shake the rest of the group awake. “Bellamy,” she whispers. “Charlotte. Wake up.” Bellamy looks annoyed to be woken up so early and Charlotte just looks worried.
“What the hell,” Bellamy complains. Clarke just grabs his head and turns it towards the bears.
“Holy—”
“Exactly.” She begins creeping out of the shelter, trying her best not to make a sound. “Come on,” she whispers. “We need to go now unless you want to become bear food.”
Raven slips out as well, just as quiet. But when it’s Charlotte’s turn, she gets caught in the branches and the whole shelter comes tumbling down. Worse, the bears turn their heads towards them. Clarke isn’t completely sure, but it sure seems like one of them is looking right at her.
They all freeze for a moment, then Bellamy scrambles up, saying, “Run. Run!” He picks Charlotte up and hoists her over his shoulder, dashing by Clarke and Raven. They follow close behind, panting, weak from hunger and dehydration.
“Crap,” Raven breathes. “Crap.” She turns around to look behind her. Clarke does, too, and immediately regrets it. The bears are charging. This must seem like a game to them. An entertaining way to hunt their prey. The more they run, the more difficult the challenge is.
“We can’t keep running,” Clarke shouts, heart pumping. They’re only egging the bears on. This is what they want. She won’t let herself be mauled on live television.
“Oh, yeah?” Bellamy yells back, clutching Charlotte tight. “Then what do you suggest we do, huh?”
There’s a cliff up ahead, to their right. Clarke uses all the energy she has left to make it to the front of the crowd, pointing them towards it. “I say we jump.”
“What?” Charlotte asks, terrified.
“We’ll never outrun them, we’ll get tired way before they do,” Clarke explains. “Just trust me. Can you do that?”
Raven stops in her tracks and looks from Bellamy to Clarke. Then she grabs onto Clarke’s hand, holding tight. “Let’s do it.”
“You’re crazy,” Bellamy says.
“If you wanna be allies with the bears, go right ahead,” Raven retorts. Bellamy scowls, looking back at the advancing bears. They’re gaining on them, quick, and if he’s going to make a decision, it needs to be now.
“Bellamy,” Charlotte says, squirming out of his grip and onto the ground. She puts her tiny hand in his. He looks down at it for a moment, sighs, then grabs onto Clarke’s hand.
She can’t tell exactly how far the fall is. But the bears must be meant to push them towards the others, and she has to trust that the game-makers don’t want them all dead. Not yet. A quadruple suicide isn’t the Capitol’s cup of tea. It’s too anticlimactic.
“One,” she says, looking at Raven. “Two.” She looks at Bellamy, then Charlotte, heart pounding.
“Three.”
Snow is surprisingly good at breaking falls. Clarke is pretty sure she’s sprained her wrist from landing wrong, but everyone else seems to be all right. Bellamy broke Charlotte’s fall and Raven stuck the landing. “Good call,” Bellamy says, pulling himself up and out of the snow.
But they still aren’t safe. Clarke hears movement and talking coming from the bushes. It must be a group. Three, maybe four. They only have two weapons.
“We need to split up.” There isn’t time for the rest of them to question her judgment. The talking is getting louder. Clarke thinks she hears her name. “Charlotte, go with Bellamy. Bellamy, hold onto that gun. I’ll go with Raven. If we’re lucky, they’ll only follow one of us. Meet up back here when it’s safe.”
She gets only stares in response, until she whisper-shouts, “Go!” She grabs Raven’s arm and runs, doing her best to support Raven’s limping. Bellamy and Charlotte disappear into the woods. If all goes well, the group will see two different sets of tracks and not know who to follow.
“Give me your knife,” Clarke tells Raven.
“What?” she asks, a mixture between confused and offended. Like Clarke doesn’t think she’s capable. She does, but Raven’s not in a place to be in hand-to-hand combat. Someone could take advantage of her weak leg and kill them both.
“You can’t fight while you’re limping.” Raven is still hesitant. “Just do it.”
Clarke grabs onto the handle of the knife so hard that her knuckles turn white. Behind her, she hears footsteps. Running.
“They’re following us.”
There’s no way they’ll be able to lose them. Their footsteps are fast. Clarke and Raven are just jogging. She spots a snowbank up ahead and ushers Raven towards it. “Get down and be quiet,” she whispers, crouching down. It’s enough to cover them from one angle, but if someone comes from another, they’re toast. Clarke pulls her and Raven’s hoods up, hoping for some extra camouflage.
“Where’d they go?” comes a male voice. Clarke recognizes it as the boy from District 7. Murphy. There’s a girl and another boy with him as well, but Clarke can’t remember their names or their districts.
“Their tracks just disappear,” the girl notices.
“Whatever,” Murphy says. “Let’s keep going. They can’t have gotten far.” He takes off running again, with the other two trailing behind. Raven’s leg can’t take the crouching anymore. It gives out and she falls onto the ground, snapping a branch in the process. Clarke holds her breath.
Murphy and the girl keep going. They must not have heard it. But the other boy slows down and looks back.
Clarke looks him right in the eyes.
“Mur—” he starts to say, but Clarke is on him like that, covering his mouth and holding a knife to his throat. She doesn’t even think about it, just slits it and drops him to the ground.
When she comes to her senses and sees a teenage boy lying dead in the snow because of her, because she killed him, she’s not sure what to feel. She did it to survive. Because they were going to kill her and Raven. But doesn’t that make her just as bad as them?
A cannon goes off, followed by another one. Bellamy? Charlotte? Clarke’s heart plummets.
“Come on,” Raven says, getting up and hobbling over to Clarke. She grabs onto her arm. “We need to find Bellamy and Charlotte.”
“Yeah,” Clarke mutters. She’s looking at Raven, but her mind is somewhere else. “Yeah, we do.”
They find out when the sky goes dark that the other cannon was for Wells. “Isn’t that the boy from your district?” Raven asks. Clarke just nods. It’s one thing to resent someone. It’s another thing to see them die.
They meet up with Bellamy and Charlotte a few hours later. They’re both a little shaken. The two of them got separated, they say, and they thought they were goners. Clarke hugs Charlotte and gives Bellamy a pat on the arm. “Thank you,” she says. “For protecting Charlotte.”
The next few days pass without incident. They don’t run into anybody. The only thing on their minds is food and water; Bellamy and Raven go out to hunt while Clarke tries to use the light to melt snow into water. Charlotte just sits there. She hasn’t been quite right since that day she got separated from Bellamy.
“Have you ever killed someone?” she whispers. It’s one of the only things she’s said the past couple days.
Clarke is thrown. She sets down the thermos and the light in the snow and searches Charlotte’s face. “What?”
“My parents got killed,” Charlotte explains. “They put me in the orphanage.”
“Oh,” Clarke says, perching next to Charlotte. She puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. My dad… he died, too.”
Charlotte doesn’t reply. She just looks down at her boots, her face unreadable.
“Hey.” Clarke squeezes her shoulder and shoots her a smile. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She hears footsteps, whips her head around, and gets ready to fight, but it’s just Bellamy and Raven. “Did someone say dinner?” Raven says, holding up a squirrel by the tail.
“We got attacked by the girl from 4,” Bellamy says, snapping branches off of the trees so he can make a fire. “Raven got her.”
That makes three more dead since the first day. Thirteen down. “I heard the cannon,” Clarke replies. Then she holds out the thermos. “Here. Drink.” It would be better if they could boil it first, but from the looks of them, they need some now. A few sips can’t hurt.
They sit by the fire, roasting the squirrel, quiet. Raven throws snow over the fire as soon as it’s done. “I don’t wanna risk them seeing the smoke,” she explains.
The squirrel is one of the only meals they’ve had in days. It tastes more delicious than a charred squirrel ever should. For once, Clarke is going to bed with warm food in her belly, and with every passing day she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can survive.
Clarke wakes up in the middle of the night. There’s a strange lack of warmth by her side, and when she turns to look, Charlotte is gone. She crawls out of the shelter and there Charlotte is, standing by a cliff. “You can’t sleep, Charlotte?” She doesn’t reply. “Charlotte?” Clarke asks again.
Then Charlotte turns around, tears in her eyes. “You know the day me and Bellamy got separated? The day the boy from your district… the day he…”
“Wells died,” Clarke says, clinical. She won’t let herself get emotional about it. She can’t think about it, because she doesn’t know how to feel about it, and she can’t spend her time here trying to figure out her feelings.
“I killed him,” Charlotte sobs. Clarke’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to speak, but Charlotte cuts her off. “We got separated. And I saw him, in the distance. He dropped his knife.” She pulls a small knife out of her jacket pocket.
“How long have you had that?” Clarke demands.
“And then I—I was scared. So I…”
“You killed him,” Clarke finishes. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I couldn’t,” Charlotte wails. “I’m a monster, I’m just as bad as the people who killed my parents.” She turns her back to Clarke. “I don’t want to do it anymore. If I live, the rest of you have to die.”
“What? Charlotte—“
It’s too late; Charlotte jumps and disappears into the darkness. Clarke runs after her, but she can’t see anything past the cliff. “Charlotte!” Her mouth hangs open, shock all over her face. “Bellamy!” she calls. “Raven!”
They begin to rouse. The second they do, a cannon sounds. Clarke’s stomach drops.
“Cannon?” Raven asks. “Who?”
Bellamy and Raven stare at her. “Charlotte,” she chokes out.
More cannons sound throughout the next few days. 19 dead. There’s only five people left, and Clarke is one of them. But there’s still Bellamy and Raven, and the more time she spends with them, the worse she feels. Only one leaves. How could she kill them?
“Mines,” Raven says, breaking Clarke out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“Mines.”
Bellamy and Clarke both stare at her questioningly. None of the other districts have much technological knowledge, Clarke has gathered. Hers didn’t. But Raven does. It’s almost like magic, the way she makes things work.
“I made them work for us. If anyone gets too close over there, kaboom.” Clarke frowns. “Just make sure not to go over there, or, you know…”
“Kaboom,” Bellamy says, deadpan.
“Right. But I marked it. You see those trees there? I carved circles into them.”
It’s smart, Clarke has to give her that. They don’t have to be in the area to kill someone. They just have to make sure they’re not within twenty feet of that someone.
“And now I suggest we go, because if somebody walks through there right now, we can kiss our sorry asses goodbye.” Raven grabs onto Bellamy and Clarke’s arms, dragging them away. Clarke looks over at Bellamy, who’s smiling for once. Their eyes meet and Clarke smiles back, despite the horrible nagging feeling in her stomach. She can’t kill Raven. She can’t kill Bellamy. She won’t. But even if they all refuse to kill each other, the game-makers will unleash some sort of killer bees or an avalanche to eliminate them.
With each new cannon that sounds, it means that they’re one step closer to being the last three. With each new cannon, Clarke’s heart grows heavier.
“Only five left,” Bellamy says as they sit around the fire, roasting a rabbit. “Us, Murphy and Atom. They’re going to push us together eventually.”
“Gotta have their entertainment,” Raven quips, rolling her eyes.
“We’ll be caught off-guard,” finishes Bellamy, kicking snow onto the fire and passing the rabbit to Raven. It’s a bit blackened, but Raven takes a bite anyway. Who wouldn’t? When you’ve been out in the wilderness for weeks, you’d eat a live snail if you had to.
“Then let’s make a move first.” Raven and Bellamy stare at her, puzzled. “We seek them out, we have the upper-hand.”
“I like it.” Raven nods, smirking. She’s a fan of any idea that involves beating the crap out of Murphy and Atom. “I say we set a trap.”
Bellamy grins. Clarke nods. Murphy and Atom, gone for good. Then they’ll only have to worry about turning on each other.
“I’ll start a fire by the clearing,” Raven explains. “I’ll make sure there’s smoke. Then we’ll hide in the trees ‘til they come out, and then we’ll jump ‘em.”
“The prey become the predators,” Clarke says. It’s a strange thought. They’ve spent days moving location, trying to avoid the others. Now they’re going to reverse the positions. Now they have power.
“All right,” says Bellamy. “Let’s kill some competition.”
Clarke watches Raven from behind a bush, clutching her knife. Bellamy’s behind her, gun in hand. Raven’s only a few feet in front of her setting the fire; she’ll be able to reach anyone who comes. All she has to do is wait.
But while Raven’s setting the fire, Clarke hears a twig snap behind them. She and Bellamy both turn. Bellamy takes off towards the source of the sound without a thought. Another twig snaps, this time to Clarke’s left. “I’ll be right back,” she tells Raven. She sneaks through the woods, light on her feet. She’s not sure what she’ll do if she runs into Murphy or Atom. She has no idea what weapons they have. But she can’t just lie in wait for them to sneak up on her and stab her in the back. Not anymore.
She doesn’t find anyone in the woods, though. It’s like they knew she was coming. She’s jogging back to the clearing when she sees a flash of white between the tree trunks in the distance. Right by—
“Raven,” she breathes. Then she’s at a full run, sweating and panting like she never has before. She makes it to the clearing and there it is: Atom, axe in the air, right behind Raven. Who has no idea he’s even there. “Raven!” she screams. Raven stands up and whirls around just in time for Atom to stick his axe in her chest. “No,” Clarke whispers. “No!”
She charges at Atom, full-force. She doesn’t think, she just does. She’s ready to jam her knife into his carotid artery, but he grabs her wrist and twists it. She yelps in pain. But axes are heavy and Atom has to use both hands to swing it, so he’s forced to push her onto the ground and pin her down. Clarke hooks her foot around his ankle and reverses their positions with the help of gravity and a little brute force. Now she’s the one pinning him down. Now she’s in charge.
“I’ve been tracking you,” Atom says. He’s not even malicious about it. He’s resigned. This is what he has to do if he wants to survive. The worst part is that she gets it. They’re the same.
Clarke doesn’t respond, just holds her knife against his throat.
“You can kill me,” he says, tired. Like he’s desperate for it to be over, whether he wins or not. “But you can’t bring her back.”
Clarke’s gaze shoots up towards Raven. Raven. She could still be alive, she could still be breathing, she has to get to Raven—
Atom sees that she’s distracted and takes the opportunity to topple her. Then he stands, holding his axe high, seconds away from killing her and there’s nothing, nothing Clarke can do to stop it. All she can do is squeeze her eyes closed and hope it’s painless. She hears a loud sound, like her brain is exploding, and she’s sure this is what it feels like to die. But seconds later, she’s still not unconscious. She doesn’t even feel any pain. She opens her eyes and sees blood pooling in the snow. Atom lies in front of her, a bullet wound in his head. A cannon goes off.
“You’re welcome,” Bellamy says.
But Clarke can’t think about thanking him right now. Her life may be saved, but Raven’s isn’t. She clambers up onto her feet and rushes over to Raven; there’s blood everywhere, trickling down into the snow. The gash is—it’s huge, and Clarke nearly gags when she sees it. “Raven,” she whispers, taking her shoulders and clutching her in her arms. She cradles her, tears threatening to fall. Raven’s still breathing. She can hear it in her ear. But it’s so shallow, so ragged—Clarke can’t save her. Tears spill in earnest now as she grasps Raven tighter.
“Is he dead?” Raven slurs into Clarke’s ear, so quiet she can barely make it out.
She nods, biting back tears, stroking Raven’s hair. “Yeah,” she whispers back. “Yeah, he is.” Raven’s head drops into the crook of Clarke’s neck. It just makes Clarke hurt more. She rocks Raven back and forth, humming softly as she does. Just as Raven goes limp in her arms, Clarke hears a cannon.
Atom was right. He’s dead, but so is Raven. And Charlotte. Everyone she’s tried to protect has died. She’s failed them all.
Bellamy lays a hand on her shoulder and when she looks back at him, his face is just as pained as hers. They’d both gotten to know her. She wasn’t just another tribute. She was their friend.
They stay there for awhile, just like that, Clarke holding Raven and Bellamy’s hand on her shoulder. Then Bellamy murmurs, “We need to go.”
Clarke knows it’s true, but the thought of leaving Raven pains her all the same. She lays her down in the snow; she’s beautiful even in death, Clarke thinks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Even now, Raven’s more alive than anyone she’s ever known.
Bellamy helps her up and she clings to him, fearing that if she didn’t, she would fall to the ground. She doesn’t trust her legs. He clings to her, too, for what she suspects are the same reasons. They walk together like that until their legs really are about to give out. They come across a snow cave, uninhabited for now, and collapse. The Games have worn them out in every possible way – physically and emotionally.
“Three left,” Clarke grumbles.
“One to go,” Bellamy replies. She frowns. He means Murphy. As if he and she can both be victors. No matter what they do, one of them has to die.
“Then what?” It’s quiet and hesitant. It’s not supposed to be talked about. Every year, tributes band together until the end. Then, when they’re the only ones left, it’s understood that they’ll turn on each other. That’s the way it’s always been.
Bellamy’s silent. Clarke knows what that means. He and she are similar in that way. They know the reality of the Games. They don’t have to talk about it if he’s not ready.
“So, your sister,” she says, handing him the thermos. “What’s she like?”
A fond smile appears on his face. She can tell he loves her. Just hearing the word ‘sister’ makes him get a dewy look in his eyes. “Stubborn,” he replies. “Footloose. A real pain in the ass.” He grins. “She’s the most important thing in the world.”
It melts Clarke’s heart to hear him talk about his sister like that. “Octavia, right?”
He nods. “Yeah, Octavia. We’ve always been close. I’ve had to take care of her, ever since our mom…” He trails off. One look at his face and Clarke knows.
“I know what you mean,” she says. “My dad died, too.”
“How?”
Clarke brings her knees to her chest and hugs them close to her. “The boy who came here with me, Wells,” she starts. “He’s the mayor’s son. I told him something about my dad, something that could get him in trouble—”
“And he told his dad?” asks Bellamy.
Clarke nods. “He was my best friend.”
They talk like that for the rest of the night. Maybe it’s because they know that in just a few hours, the finale will start. Knowing that these may be the last few hours of her life makes Clarke feel more open. She wants to have someone to share a connection with before she dies.
At night, they curl up together, huddled tight. But no matter how close they get, it’s still freezing. Without Charlotte and Raven’s body heat, they shiver all through the night. By morning, Bellamy’s still shivering. Clarke leaves him there, curled up into a tight ball, and crawls out of the snow cave to grab their rucksacks.
“Bellamy?” she yells, and he wakes with a start.
He can’t reply at first; his teeth are chattering too much. He stutters when he does. “Wh—what?” Clarke quirks an eyebrow, apprehensive.
“Our stuff is gone.”
He rises, eyes wide. “No,” he says. “No, th— that can’t be right.”
“An animal must have come back to its cave. And it took the rucksack.”
“We have to go—we have to go find it,” Bellamy says, rushing to his feet hastily. He nearly falls in the process.
“Are you okay?” she asks, wrinkling her forehead. She touches him and he’s ice cold. Her eyes meet his and she can tell something’s not right.
“Fine,” he answers.
“Let’s just lay down for a little bit first. Okay?” she says, bringing him back down to the ground and wrapping a protective arm around him. He doesn’t appear to have the strength to fight it. She drapes herself over him, hoping to warm him up with her body heat. He passes out, but Clarke can’t. She lays her head on his chest and listens to his heartbeat. It’s faster than it should be.
When he wakes, he seems confused. She shushes him and keeps him close, doing her best to warm him. His breathing is slowing down, she notices.
“Some— something’s wrong,” he says.
Clarke knows something’s wrong. Without a doubt. Shivering, quicker heartbeat, clumsiness. His fingers are almost blue. Hypothermia. “You’re fine,” she lies. “You’re going to be fine.”
Bellamy worsens throughout the day. Murphy hasn’t found them yet, but if he does, Clarke will only be a slight deterrent to killing Bellamy. Once Murphy has her killed, he’ll be able to take Bellamy. If they stay, neither of them will survive.
“Bellamy,” she whispers, shaking him. He’s asleep again, like he’s been most of the day.
He stirs, sitting up to look at her. “What?”
“I have a plan.”
He only blinks for a moment. Then, he mumbles, “What plan?”
“Mines.”
Clarke sits in thought; they only have one shot at this. They’re going to have to do it right. Bellamy is curled up into her side, awake but visibly tired. Time isn’t on their side, either.
“Clarke,” he says. She looks down at him. His face is getting pale. “Do you remember what you asked me last night?” he asks. His teeth aren’t chattering anymore, and the shivering has all but stopped. It should be a good sign, but Clarke thinks it may be the exact opposite. “About what happens after we kill Murphy?”
“We don’t need to talk about that,” she replies. Especially not now, when he’s so weak.
“You go home,” he says. He doesn’t slur his speech. She can't have misheard, but she also can't believe that she heard him right. It's the Games. Everyone plays to win.
“What?” she says, turning her body towards his. He slumps against the snowy interior.
“You go home,” he repeats, slower this time. “I don’t.”
She doesn’t know what to say, if she’s supposed to say anything at all. The hypothermia could be effecting his mind now. He might not even realize what he’s saying. But he looks so cognizant, so in his right mind, that she can’t believe that’s true.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Listen to me, Bellamy.” She cups his face, keeps him awake and looking at her. “Listen closely. I’m going to go find Murphy, and when I do, I’m going to lead him directly into the minefield.”
“There’s no way you could do that without blowing yourself up, too,” he mutters. “Remember? Kaboom.”
The reminder of Raven makes her heart hurt, but she can’t let that stop her now. She can’t let her emotions get in the way of what’s right. “I know.”
A look of recognition falls across his face. “What?” he slurs.
“Look, Bellamy. You have a sister. Someone to go home to. Someone who needs you to come home.” Her hands go from his face to his shoulders now, squeezing them a little bit. “And that’s what you’re going to do.”
“Clarke—”
“Screw you, I’m not afraid,” she says, cutting him off. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. The interviews feel like an eternity ago. So much has happened. So much has changed. She’s changed. When she looks at Bellamy now, she knows she had him pegged wrong. She’d thought he was unfriendly. Thought he didn’t care much for anyone. She knows better now.
Their eyes lock and, without thinking about it, Clarke leans in and brings his lips to hers. They’re cold, but she doesn’t care. She wants to share a connection with someone before she dies. She wants to share one with Bellamy. She pulls away, fighting back any urge to break down. Bellamy won’t remember her as a sobbing mess, he’ll remember her as strong. That’s what she wants. She removes her jacket and lays it over him to give him some warmth.
“You only have one job, okay? Stay alive.”
He just looks at her. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe it’s best that he doesn’t say anything at all. She reaches down to take his freezing hands in her own and smiles, bittersweet.
“May we meet again.”