CHAPTER FOURTEEN;
murky waters

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( warning: graphic gore/injury detail, violence, animal death )

     In the light sleep she manages to salvage in the night, Vesper's consciousness skims across the surface of the dream she has become accustomed to the past week. However, tonight there is a twist.

     Her surroundings have materialised as a swamp — murky waters everywhere she looks, stinting her steps to sluggish ones thanks to the resistance. She knows Icarus is at her side, and as always, the girl she now recognises to be her mother too. Time feels as though it is slipping through her fingers, her mind tick-tick-ticking like a time bomb. All Vesper can think is about how they need to get out, now.

     And then they stop at a clearing. Everything goes eerily silent, cypress trees surrounding the beacon of red hair standing in the middle. Her kneecaps submerged in algae water, Telle stares blankly at them both, before her hair appears to erupt. They explode like flames, tendrils of magma slashing at the trees and hot fire licking their limbs as it blows them back to the ground. Vesper finds herself laying helpless on the ground, stuck between the charred bodies of Reagan and Icarus either side of her. She's stuck facing her mother — but she doesn't dare turn the other way to see him — as her body prickles with shrapnel and flames embedded in her skin...

     When she slowly lulls back into consciousness, Vesper finds it isn't that at all. She opens her eyes. Her surroundings are still the sticky, suffocating swamp; still no escape from that nightmare. Her mother is still long gone, and so is Telle. But she finds small red marks peppered along her skin, the places where she had imagined shrapnel to be penetrating them. The answer becomes clearer when an incessant buzzing taunts her better ear, hovering by her arm before she hastily slaps it. Deliriously, she chuckles when there is a lack of a cannon to signify its death.

     Mosquitoes.

     This place is crawling with them. And the itch is unbearable.

Icarus is also clawing at his skin absentmindedly when Vesper nudges him awake. Seeing him open his eyes, yawning groggily as he pulls himself up out of their damp sleeping spot, fills her with relief. He's still here, she tells herself. You can still do this. The boy stretches his arms, before he almost starts in surprise — as if he has only just remembered where they are. Then Icarus stares solemnly at her, his fingers grazing his bow.

     "So..." he trails off, starting to scan his surroundings again. "Where do we go from here?"

     "Keep moving," Vesper suggests as she wipes her brow with her knuckles. "We don't want the Careers on our tails."

     Especially not Boaz, she just stops herself from adding. The sun is almost at its peak in the sky, which tells her it must be midday. Vesper finds herself pleasantly surprised at how much sleep they salvaged last night — granted, she has had better sleeps in her lifetime, but considering their circumstances it is rather impressive. She vaguely remembers dropping off herself just before dawn, unable to fight her exhaustion from the Bloodbath any longer...

     As she helps Icarus to his feet, a small growl from his stomach blends in with the swamp sounds — his hand flies in embarrassment to his gut. Vesper nods in agreement. Those crackers haven't done much to satisfy her hunger either. "Maybe hunting wouldn't be such a bad idea now..." she grumbles.

     She takes a discouraging observation of the endless expanse of swamp. There surely have to be some edible creatures they can easily eat somewhere — Vesper can hear them all, taunting them insatiably with their croaks and hisses. The issue is just in finding them. With the dappled sunlight and the murky water varying in depth, together they create an impenetrable camouflage which makes it near impossible to see any prey... or predators, for that matter. Vesper simply hopes that discerning animals and other tributes will become easier as time goes on in the arena. But for now, the easiest possible target she and Icarus can make out in the natural camouflage are the frogs hopping along the rare patches of raised land, or swimming contently through muddy water.

     Vesper doubts she will need a machete for such an easy task, but still wields it as she sizes up a small frog perched on the bank. Poised with her machete, she crouches in front of the unassuming creature, its bulging inky eyes unblinking as its chest inflates and deflates with each breath. She stills herself, feels her skin tighten around the handle leaving an imprint in her skin. Waiting for the right moment...

     She wobbles. Her leg gives underneath her and she careens to the side for a moment, catching herself before she can be submerged in filthy water. But when she looks back at her target, it has vanished, hopping far away from her. Icarus himself appears to be struggling, barely missing frogs as he fires arrows sparingly at them.

     Vesper releases a discouraged sigh. This had been her apprehension since she first thought of the idea of hunting. From previous years watching the Hunger Games, it was always an initial pitfall she saw tributes from District Six try and overcome — with most of it urban and the more rural areas only inhabited by the occasional hut, they never had to hunt for their own food before. She always bought here at the market (admittedly, she had stolen some of it too). She didn't know how to creep up on prey without spooking it. The only food that had ever run away from Vesper was already skinned, wrapped and laid out at butchers stalls in Vagary.

     No matter, she thinks. I'll just have to learn.

     Practice makes perfect. Vesper waits for more frogs, missing the next two as they swim or hop away from her. With every failure she corrects herself on something new; her distance, her balance, her composure. The fourth frog she has seen hops into her range and she barely reacts. She cannot startle it.

The tip impales the frog's back — it emits a guttural squeak, briefly writhes in pain on the end of her machete. When it goes still, Vesper picks it off from the end and holds the limp frog in her hand, feeling its bare yet heavy weight in her hand.

Icarus has also caught another frog, and miserably plucks his arrow out from its head. "I didn't enjoy that," he murmurs, handing the frog to Vesper.

Vesper can't say she did either. Neither of them are used to killing animals, but they are going to have to get used to it. "It's food. Could be a lot worse."

They get back to hunting again — two frogs is good, but this spot seems to be teeming with them, unless it's the same family of them returning again and again. She would like them to make the most of it if they can. Vesper manages to catch another one of her own, stabbing it mid-swim as it wades through the translucent swamp.

She suddenly hears the strain of string being pulled, the concentrated breath pattern falling into place. Behind her, Icarus is aiming his arrow at something shrouded in the cypress trees, on another small bank of land. Vesper shifts through the water as quietly as she can, wading

A white-tailed deer. It cranes its head down, searching for vegetation on these banks.

His bow noticeably trembles. Icarus's tongue flicks out to dampen his chapped lips, his stare intensely fixated on the jackpot of a target. Vesper can't believe how much prey is concentrated into this one area alone. She knows not to take it for granted. It's too good to be true — nothing about the arenas is wholly natural, and the Gamemakers can alter nature's ways however suits them and their audience. But if he did hit it... she tries not to imagine how full their bellies would be after that feast, not wanting to levitate her expectations above what they should be.

Icarus releases his arrow. It whistles through the air, streamline, but buries itself in the tree trunk of a nearby cypress tree. Alarmed, the deer lifts its head and stares back at them before charging off through the water, splashing around its hooves. Icarus danger his bow by his side, huffing with disappointment.

"Sorry..." he mumbles. "I just couldn't do it."

"Forget it. You did good. Besides, we've got these frogs to keep us going."

The pair of them start a mediocre fire, huddling around it. Vesper feels much more at ease not having to rely only on the dim fire for a source of light now. Drinking any water without a purifier around here is still out of the question. She still isn't sure how to solve that situation. Is Irma not seeing them parched down here? Or will they have to pray for rain first? After she has skinned the frogs — a new feat, which she can just about stomach but prompts Icarus to shield his eyes desperately — they cook them painfully slowly over the fire.

     When they are finally done, they take a frog each, saving the last one for later. Vesper holds a frog leg awkward between her fingertips and tears a piece of it off. She chews it slowly, trying to figure out the taste. Icarus does the same and chews thoughtfully.

     "It's kinda like... chicken," Icarus finally says.

     Vesper raises an eyebrow. "What kind of chicken have you been eating?" she jokes. But she can see what he is trying to get at, although chicken tastes arguably better than this. Asides from the texture, although considerably tougher, Vesper cannot think for the life of her why rich Capitol citizens enjoy this as a delicacy. It's somehow sourer and is paired with a strange aquatic aftertaste — although she is sure the Capitol people drown that out in a lake of fine condiments and soups.

     Nevertheless it does the job. Even with a small frog in her belly, she feels as though she could function for a while on this small burst of stamina.

     Icarus twirls his remainder of frog leg between his fingertips, a ghost of a smile visible on his lips. "You know what I could really do with right now?" he murmurs quietly.

     "What?" Vesper asks quietly.

     He manages a grin now. "A pot of my mom's hot gumbo."

     "Oh God, don't," she whines in despair, reminiscing of the wonderful flavours as the frog leg in her mouth tastes more and more like leather.

     "Do you remember that cook-out she did last summer?"

     Of course she does. It was one of her last great summer memories. Vesper remembers coming back from a long week working out at the rails, her pores heavy with sweat and her limbs heavy from the labour. But then she had drawn nearer to her neighbourhood — Axel, Kirk and Bolt in tow — and the rich aromas of Gloria Brunel's gumbo had drifted down the back streets like a warm welcome home to Birkinshaw, and oh! How Vesper rejoiced! Almost instantaneously her mouth pooled with saliva and her stomach growled eagerly, gleeful at the surprise after a week of odd eating patterns with shabby sandwiches and edible slop. Gloria's gumbo was not an easy feat either — it wasn't something she could make in such large supply very often. But when she did, every neighbour in the Birkinshaw square was drawn out from their little homes, drawn to the hearty scent like a moth to a flame.

     Vesper can recall the joyous sight when she first turned the corner in there. Heads popping curiously out of windows, even managing to coax the timid, elderly Ursie out from her door, sewing needle still pinched between her fingers. Gloria brought out that giant pot, and neighbours queued in great bulking lines with bowls held out like giddy children, marvelling as she ladled spoonfuls of the goodness into their bowls and their bellies. It wasn't even that much, but it was food for the soul. And for that it filled everyone up to the tips of their heads. In fact, it was so good that Vesper's father even managed to make it down the stairs and join in with his condition — his joints allowed one special evening. He, Vesper and Blythe sat underneath the cool summer sky, relishing in spoonfuls of gumbo and watching the kids run around and play tag before their mothers called them in; the Peacekeepers would soon be on patrol...

     It was a really good night. One of the last, before things went downhill.

Now memories of the past, her life before the Reaping, feel like the warmth of a candle just out of arm's reach; barely flickering to stay alight. The world outside this arena ceases to exist.

     Vesper's gut starts coiling itself slowly without warning, surprising her as it wrenches with homesickness. That familiar image plays in her head on a loop, again and again, unfiltered happiness injected into this unforgiving place. And then there is her. Blythe. Is she watching her now? She hopes so... or does she? Vesper hopes Blythe will at least have the courtesy of looking away if Boaz finally catches up to her. And Axel had better be taking good care of her...

Icarus's eyes suddenly light up with a newfound hope, so starkly bright that she can almost hear them twinkling. He nods behind her and she turns to squint through the trees. That's where the sound is coming from. Vesper's heart flutters with greedy hope as a silver parachute drifts down into the swamp, right in their direction, a soft tinkling accompanying it. Anticipating its landing, she steadies herself onto her feet and catches the silver capsule in her hands, sunlight winking off the rim.

"Is it...?"

She doesn't wait for him to finish. Already her hands are grappling at the lid, rotating it until it pops off. Atop a silver flask within the capsule is a small slip of paper, the pristine white a shocking contrast to the grimy swamp. Vesper takes it out and reads it out quietly to Icarus:

Make it last. I'm working on purifiers in the meantime. — I.

I for Irma. The first external contact from the outside world, reminding Vesper that this is all one big game that she and Icarus are just pawns in. She hands the slip to Icarus, who curiously folds it in half and slips it into his trouser pocket, before picking up the flask underneath.

     The glorious sound of sloshing liquid inside almost makes her whoop for joy.

     Pace yourself, she reminds herself reluctantly as she pops off the lid and peers inside, in awe of the crystal clear water. Icarus first. She hands it to him, telling him only to take a sip. She watches carefully but with relief as he takes two sips of the water — practically dissolving at the pleasure of it. "It's cold too," he says with a smile, handing it to her. Vesper presses the opening to her lips and lightly tips back the flask. Cool, marvellous water trickles into her mouth and she keeps it there for a moment, letting it cool her down. Remember this while you can. Remember clean, cold water. Then she gulps it down, the coldness so fresh that she feels it travel down all the way down her chest. It takes every scrap of willpower in her not to greedily drain the whole flask. But with no knowing if or when the next sponsor gift would ever come, she has to be patient.

     Now reasonably fed and hydrated, Vesper and Icarus start making their move through the never-ending swathes of swamp. The humid air smothers them, squeezing breathable air out of their surroundings and leaving them groggy as they push their leg through the knee-high water masses. Every now and then something slithers by her ankle and she grimaces.

"I wonder what our folks back home are doing right now," Icarus murmurs thoughtfully, just in front of her so she never loses sight of the boy. "Mom, Dad, Axel..."

"With a bit of luck, they're watching you right now," says Vesper. She strains hard to yank her foot out of a particularly muddy spot underneath the water, where she feels the ground giving beneath her slightly.

     A cannon shatters the air, stopping both of them in their tracks for a moment. The first death outside of the Bloodbath; as far as Vesper knows, anyway. One person closer to getting him home. But she can't help wondering who that might have belonged to. She sincerely hoped it was Boaz, although that was unfortunately unlikely. What if it had been Levin?

"Who do you think the—"

Vesper doesn't hear the rest of what she says. With her next step, she finds a startling gap beneath her foot and suddenly plummets all the way underneath the water's surface. She has just enough of a split second to seal her lips before she sinks in, blockading the algae and mud and bugs to rush into her mouth. Her boots hit the swamp bed. Muffled cries from Icarus above alert her to his presence. He needs her.

     She punches her fist through the thick water's surface and shatters it, feeling humidity wash over her exposed skin and Icarus's hand latch onto hers. Vesper pokes her head above the surface and finally draws breath; even if the air is stuffy and humid, at least it's better than the filthy water she almost inhaled. Icarus dares not let go until they have gotten back to knee-high ground, and they stare back in awe at the spot where Vesper had suddenly gone under.

     "Are you okay?" Icarus asks, eyes wide in shock.

     Vesper coughs and disgustedly pulls a strip of algae from her bottom lip. She feels filthy, now soaked head-to-toe in the swamp. She can't escape it now. "I'm fine," she grumbles, wrinkling her nose as she brushes away a revolting-looking bug that had made its way onto her arm under there.

     But she will not be making that same mistake again. On the next bit of elevated land they find, Vesper and Icarus manage to find a long stick each to guide them with their walking. No more blindly sinking into holes for them...

     For a few hours more, they keep trekking on, slowly but surely; only taking breaks to take precious sips of water and nibble on remaining crackers from yesterday. Soon enough the sun sinks below the cypress trees, the dappled shadows upon the swamp surface now slanted and twice as disorientating. Time for dinner. They find a spot to make a small fire once again, right by a thick amalgamation of bamboo plants that tower over them in unnervingly straight stalks like prison bars. They share their last frog of the day, and to Vesper's relief, they can still hear plenty croaking around them — as well as those damn mosquitoes...

     At least someone is having a feast, Vesper thinks enviously of the mosquitoes, as she bites off a chunk of her frog leg.

     Once the sun has entirely sunken beneath the horizon, the sky now an inky canvas, it is painted with the bright hologram of the Capitol emblem accompanied by its grandiose fanfare. She holds her breath, pleading naïvely for one of the first images to be a Career tribute...

     There is only one face tonight. It belongs to the girl from District Ten, Merona.

     Levin is still alive. But that was his ally, from what she remembers. The non-Career tribute he had felt he was rebelling with by making an alliance. Had he still followed through with that plan? And if so, is he alone now?

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     Vesper had taken over night watch duties again, over the masked fear that she might sleep through something that happens to Icarus. Either way, she still finds herself lightly snoozing halfway into her shift. She knows this isn't wise. She knows that she can be more careful. After the Bloodbath explosion, the bone-rattling detonation that wiped Telle from the board and sent everyone else into a frenzy, she has been trying to put the pieces back together; searching for them in the debris. Basic skills she's learned over the past week have escaped her memory. Like, for instance, the basic principle of taking turns with sleep patterns. She knows she needs it, and Icarus isn't stupid. He can take care of himself.

But that doesn't mean she is at all prepared for the following morning.

It starts with a small rummaging. Half-dreaming still, Vesper foolishly dismisses it, thinking Icarus has simply woken up and is looking for something in his bag. Her eyes slowly open, her head sluggishly pulling back from the tree trunk she had rested it on for the night. It must be early morning — it is light enough to bathe the swamp in a blue hue, sheens of humid sweat shining off their skin.

     Icarus is still soundly asleep as he can be, curled up in the foetal position and hugging his sheath of arrows. He's still asleep. Vesper furrows her brows. That can't be right.

     That is when she sees the extra pair of feet at his side. She rapidly runs her eyes up them to identify the silhouette of Edison, the weedy-looking boy from District Five, who is gulping down mouthful after mouthful of water from their precious flask. Vesper sits up straight — her mind kicks into a strange calm, something she didn't even know she possessed. Her hand curls around the handle of her machete.

     "Hey!" she snaps.

     Edison jumps, caught like a deer in headlights; the flask tumbles from his hands and leaks the remnants of clean water onto the ground. Icarus is awake now; he initially stirs slowly before waking fully to the action and scrambling backwards. The boy is already reaching into his pocket for something. A knife. The blade glints in the dying moonlight. He staggers towards her and takes a swipe at her — he misses by a long shot, especially with her dodging him.

She hacks her machete into his gut. Away from it comes crimson, death spurting from severed veins and arteries as he stumbles backwards with a helpless squeak. Vesper's brain goes into overdrive. In the confused mess of it all, she takes another swing at Edison's chest with full force — she feels a crunch, the blade's tip plucking his heart strings as his electric blue eyes go cold.

Edison sinks to the ground onto his back. He twitches for a few seconds, his body deliriously attempting to still pump blood around, but instead drenching his shirt. Then he goes still. She stands over him, heaving in ragged breaths.

His cannon fires.

That's when it hits Vesper with no mercy. Her knees feel as though they might buckle in beneath her, the adrenaline abandoning her and leaving her an empty shell. The machete slips from her hand, clattering onto the ground. She turns to Icarus, who is curled up in a ball and trembling with wide eyes that fixate in horror on the body.

"Are you hurt?" Vesper's voice shakes, more than she intended to. "Icarus, are you hurt?!"

"No! No..." Icarus stares at her now. There is something so detached in the way he looks at her for a brief moment, so hesitant that she suddenly feels more alone in here than ever.

"I had to do it..."

"I know..."

Vesper bends down to pick up the flask. She has to focus on something else. The light weight of the flask almost pushes her over the edge, but she swallows back the tears. She gives the flask a shake. Edison had drained it entirely. As she turns it over, she notices five streaks of crimson followed by a larger smudged patch on the metal. Blood.

She has a kill count. She killed someone who couldn't even put up a fight. And what's worse, she didn't even feel a thing when she did it.

Or is that better? Would that make her a monster?

Unable to look Icarus in the eye, she wades into the swamp water and crouches, scooping handfuls of the filthy stuff to cleanse the blood from her hands. All she can hope is that Irma is making progress with the iodine. In one handful, she notices a bug swimming in it — Vesper tosses it angrily back into the water and lets her head fall into her hands.

But when she closes her eyes, she sees him. She sees Edison writhing as she hacked into his body like a hunk of meat, the life dissipating from his eyes as they rolled upwards to the sky, where a hovercraft would eventually take him, then seal him into a wooden coffin and ship him back home to District Five.

Vesper looks at her hands again. The crimson has been washed away, but the blood still stains her hands.

And she has a feeling that for as long as she lives, the blood shadow will remain.

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A/N;

*sees the last time i updated was 27th may*
me: 😳😳😳

surprise... i'm still alive? i'm so sorry for the lack of updates. and i know there isn't a need to explain myself, but basically life has just been very crazy since i last updated this book. and recently i've had a huge bout of inspiration for my stranger things fic, which is honestly still ongoing (i updated something ridiculous like six chapters in a row... now i'm just over halfway through it!). by the way, shameless self-promo, my stranger things fic is called paranormal and i'm super proud of it, so if you're in the fandom... feel free to, you know... *wink wonk*

you have NO IDEA how painful this chapter was to write though, it took me ages (as you guys know lmao) 😭 it is probably one of my least favourites, because up until the very last scene it was just like a filler to be honest. although that last part... so vesper has had her first kill on day 3 👀 this will be explored more throughout the book as well, but i'm afraid it will not be the last either. but either way i hope you enjoyed reading it!

as always, please leave a comment if you could about what you thought, i really appreciate feedback wherever possible 🥰 thank you for reading and i hope you have a lovely day/evening.

(p.s: i think my google search history looks very concerning after this chapter, so to anyone who is curious, NO i'm not planning on killing any frogs, I'M A WRITER I PROMISE)

(p.p.s: adding onto that, is it bad that i found killing the frogs more emotional to write than killing edison? oops...)

[ published: 22nd august, 2021 ]

— Imogen