Chapter Text
A loud, sharp bang echoed through the trees, covering up her panicked sprint to the lake. Pain erupted across her shoulder as the force of the bullet knocked her off her feet. She locked out the voices that plagued her nightmares and bubbled up to the surface now, keeping Coral and Jessup as indistinct murmurs. This wasn't the Arena.
This was worse.
She tried to push up from the ground but the pain kept her down. It would be so easy to just stay here. The world smelled of renewal, the rain releasing the scent of coming flowers and bounty. She could become a part of it, sink into the ground, and be a part of the Coveys' secret place for the rest of time.
But that wasn't her. Lucy Gray could not contain the part of her that knew she deserved to live. It compartmentalized the searing heat in her shoulder, screaming at her to move.
She scrambled across the ground hiding in a nearby bush. Her heart slammed against her chest, the sound reverberating against her ear drums. It was a terribly effective song to accompany the fear that thrummed through her entire being. But even through that fear, she wanted to reach out to him. He had saved her before, showed her care and attention. How was this stranger the man who she had grown feelings for?
She ran in the hopes of proving herself wrong, that he would approach her again with care. Though, deep down she knew that this was her survival instincts kicking in.
This was no time to think about the past, for she needed to live in the present. The crack of branches signaled him bearing down on her. She peeked through the bushes to see him pacing 10 feet away, the rifle at his side but his finger dancing on the trigger. She swallowed, knowing in her bones that she was the pretty little bow on his new life. Four lives for one. Maybe even twenty-six.
“Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray. It’s not too late to work something out. Lucy Gray, won’t you talk to me?”
He was giving her that lifeline she knew was the old him. The one he killed.
She couldn’t believe anything he said. He killed his best friend, his brother . Even if he was hung by the Capitol, he put Sejanus there. No, he was the Captiol. Every part of him wreaked of them. The oppressors, the monsters. His rose scent had masked it for so long.
As he paced and she thought, the flutter of wings caught her attention. She looked up spotting the mixture of jabberjays and mockingjays within the canopy above. Her best chance at escape came to her in an instant.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me,
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Her voice did not waver, it did not crack. It performed, as it had in the most dire moments of her life. Surrounded by snakes, ready to strike, she had sung. And now her voice saved her again as the song was picked up by every mockingjay in the forest. It sang her words, his treason back at him. It disoriented him, confused him. And Lucy Gray took that moment to run.
She rolled out of the bush and fled. She sprinted, her boots sinking in the freshly rained-on ground, leaving tracks. She could only hope that her distraction was enough and he did not follow her.
Gunfire accompanied her name yelled in anger. She heard songs end abruptly, silenced because of her voice. As the piercing sounds slowed, she spotted a cluster of boulders on the edge of a large tree. She leaped up, hopping from rock to rock, leaving only vague lines of mud on them. She rounded the tree, finding a large hollow that could fit her slight frame. Wedging herself in, she tucked herself as out of sight as she could.
And now, all she could do was wait.
The seconds passed as if hours. But eventually, the bullets stopped raining, plunging the forest into silence.
Her heart continued to sing as branches cracked, louder and louder, the sound of footsteps coming nearer. The song was ever tragic, ever terrifying. A far too familiar one in the last couple of months.
Then the footsteps stopped. She heard her name whispered in frustration and a sharp intake of breath. He cursed and then crashed through the underbrush in the direction of the lake.
She stayed there for an hour, curled into the tree. Silent tears traced paths down her cheeks, the pain resurfacing in her shoulder. Looking over at her shoulder, she could see a red stain growing on her dress. Quickly, her hand pressed hard against the exit wound and she held it there, ignoring the cramping that started to develop in her wrist.
She knew that she needed to be healed or else she would die. But she wasn’t sure she could make it back to the Coveys. Could she even risk entering the district again? There were now two people that wanted her dead and that was a guaranteed visit to the underworld.
No, she would need to take her chances with her wound.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, filtering through the leaves of the trees, Lucy Gray pulled herself out of the tree hollow. She let her hand trace the rough bark of the tree, thanking it for the protection it offered her. Moving slowly as to not irritate her shoulder, she looked back at the forest, finding birds still among the branches. He did not kill all of them, their resistance lived on. She hoped that they would continue, evading that man’s plans indefinitely.
Her eyes landed on a glimpse of orange in the distance. She moved toward it, finding the orange scarf he gifted her dirtied on the ground. She was of half a mind to leave it behind but thinking of her wound, it would likely help as a bandage. Now that her would-be killer was not after her and likely on his way to officer training, a spot of orange wouldn’t be a death sentence. It had snagged on a branch and Lucy Gray figured it was better suited as far away from her as possible.
She stuffed it into her pocket and began the trek back to the cabin. The water glistened in the early afternoon sunlight, the clouds now having moved on to other parts of the world. She stumbled through the front door, barely registering that the guns were gone. The pain intensified over the walk to the cabin and she was sweating through her dress. She needed water, she needed rest, she needed this pain - in her shoulder, her heart, her mind - to be banished.
In a fit of activity that she would wake up to remember almost nothing of, Lucy Gray tore her dress opened, poured water across her wound, bandaged it tightly with the small bit of gauze in her half-empty first aid kit, and then covered it with the orange scarf. After draining the rest of the bottle of water, she pushed herself against the back wall of the cabin, knife in hand, facing the door.
And then she fell into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.