She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible. She walked with the universe on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.
| the hunger games |
| catching fire |
| finnick odair // oc |
| completed |
| book two |
Started: 10/2...
┌───── · ° ➶ ✧ ➶ ° · ─────┐ Chapter Thirteen THE SHROUD OF DEATH └───── · ° ➶ ✧ ➶ ° · ─────┘
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───── · ° ➶ ✧ ➶ ° · ─────
Tiny, searing stabs. Wherever the droplets of mist touch my skin.
"Run!" Katniss screams at the others. "Run!"
Finnick snaps awake instantly, rising to counter an enemy. But when he sees the wall of fog, he tosses a still sleeping Mags onto his back and takes off. Peeta is on his feet but not as alert. I grab my bow as Katniss grabs Peeta's arm and tries to propel him through the jungle after Finnick.
"What is it? What is it?" he says in bewilderment.
"Some kind of fog." I tell him.
"Poisonus gas." Katniss says at the same time as I answered him. "Hurry, Peeta!" She urges. I can see that however much he denied it during the day, the aftereffects of hitting the force field have been significant. He's slow, much slower than he should be. And the tangle of vines and undergrowth, which unbalance me occasionally, trip him at every step.
I look back at the wall of fog extending in a straight line as far as I can see in either direction. A terrible impulse to flee, to abandon Peeta and save myself, shoots through me. It would be so simple, to run full out, perhaps to even climb a tree above the fog line, which seems to top out at about forty feet. But instead I trap my terror, push it down, and stay by his side, with Katniss on the other side. This time my survival isn't the goal. Katniss is. I think of the eyes glued to the television screens in the districts, seeing if I will run, as the Capitol wishes, or hold my ground.
I lock my fingers tightly into his hand following Katniss' lead. "Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step." She tells him. It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels. Droplets spring free of the body of vapor. They burn, but not like fire. Less a sense of heat and more intesnse pain as the chemicals find our flesh, cling to it, and burrow down through the layers of skin. Our jumpsuits are no help at all.. We may as well be dressed in tissue paper, for all the protection they give.
Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes we're having problems. But this is not a thing you can fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more.
Peeta's artificial leg catches in a knot of creepers and he sprawls forward before Katniss and I can catch him. As she helps him up, I become aware of something scarier than the blisters. The left side of his face has sagged, as if every muscle in it has died. The lid droops, almost concealing his eye. "Peeta —" I begin. And that's when I feel the spasms run up my arm.
Whatever chemical laces the fog does more than burn — it targets our nerves. A whole new kind of fear shoots through me and Katniss yanks Peeta forward, which only causes him to stumble again. By the time we get him to his feet, both my arms are twitching uncontrollably. The fog has moved in on us, the body of it less than a yard away. Something is wrong with Peeta's legs, he's trying to walk but they move in a spastic, puppetlike fashion.
