Day 11

Rosemary

They stayed in their camp for another day, only leaving to retrieve more water and food, and by the afternoon, Rosemary was a nervous wreck. Her survival skills were screaming at her that staying in one place for too long was going to be their doom.

Haymitch's voice also echoed in her head: "Keep moving!"

She brought it up the night before, just as they were settling down to sleep. Xavier was on watch first that night, after a few hours he would wake up Kyler, then it was Rye's turn and lastly, Rosemary finished up as the sun rose into the sky. Rye was exhausted and wanted to stay the night, and so did Kyler. Xavier didn't have a strong opinion–in fact, he stayed quiet, only letting out a grunt or two in acknowledgement–so it was one against two. They did not move in the morning other than to hunt down their snares and bottle up some more water.

In the meantime, Rosemary and Rye took some time exploring, heading in the direction they hadn't yet gone through. It was mostly the same terrain as their campsite, but further out, maybe a mile or so, the ground sloped downward. Rosemary assumed that it was the mountains descending, but when she and Rye got to it, two hours later, they found that it was a cliff.

Deep down below the cliff, they could see nothing. It was pitch black, like it was a tunnel straight into the earth that had no end in sight. More interesting, Rosemary saw, was the forcefield shimmering, waving like liquid glass in the sunlight.

"I think we're at the edge of the arena," she told Rye. "It's a forcefield, just like the one on the roof of the Training Center."

Rye raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

He squatted down and picked up a small rock nearby, tossing it toward the forcefield. It bounced off of the invisible wall and headed straight back toward Rye, who simply stepped out of the way with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I guess we need to turn around then," he shrugged and waved a hand at his sister, gesturing at her to lead them back to camp.

Rosemary did so, but the whole time she was thinking about the forcefield and the way that the rock bounced back. If Rye hadn't stepped out of the way, the rock would have pelted him. That meant that other objects could do that as well. It was an interesting way that one could defend themselves, she supposed. The risk of it was huge, though. If one's competition threw their weapon at the forcefield, there was no guarantee that it wouldn't take them as well. A spear, sword, or staff could take out two people easily compared to knives or arrows.

"We're lucky the Gamemakers didn't turn us around," Rye told her. "You remember a couple of years ago?"

Rosemary nodded.

In the 67th Hunger Games, a Tribute had walked and walked throughout their whole Games until they reached the edge of the arena. Rosemary didn't know their motivation, but maybe they wanted to see if they could just walk out of the arena. When they did reach the forcefield–which Rosemary, nor the Tribute had known was there–muttations chased them all the way back to the Cornucopia. The Tribute died from that horrific excursion and it was all down to the Gamemakers.

"Cowards." he scoffed and Rosemary nodded silently.

It was one thing to be killed by another kid for entertainment, but when the Gamemakers stepped in, it really rubbed salt in the wound. Rosemary knew that Rye agreed with her; he was always of the opinion that if they must have such control over the Hunger Games, the Gamemakers should not be allowed to interfere. The two of them had whispered such agreements in the middle of the night over weeks that the Hunger Games played in previous years, waiting until Peeta fell asleep to discuss what had happened that day in the Games.

Still, to say such things aloud, and while in the Games was crazy. She stopped walking for a second so she could elbow him in the ribs. "Don't say stuff like that aloud. They'll hear you."

"What are they gonna do? We're already in the fucking arena."

"Because you have a real chance to survive this." Rosemary replied seriously. "And you promised me you'd fight. Antagonizing the Gamemakers is not fighting to survive, Rye."

Rye pressed his lips together angrily, but she didn't care. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly as they continued walking, keeping him close and using their physical touch almost as a leash. She wanted to get back to the campsite; she was afraid that the Gamemakers were going to come after them.

-

By late afternoon, Rosemary and Rye had been back at their camp for a while. An hour or so before the sun was supposed to set, Rosemary grew tired of sitting and looked at the boys, hands on her hips.

"I'm going to wash in the river."

She felt disgusting. She had done her best at keeping herself clean within the week and a half they'd been in the arena, but she still felt gross. Her nails had a mixture of blood and dirt underneath them, her hair had been braided and unbraided, but no washing had been done, and though she didn't stink like the boys did, she knew she smelt.

Just the thought of being able to wash off, even if she didn't have any soap, made Rosemary infinitely more content.

Rye started to stand up. "I'll go with you."

"No, I'll be fine by myself," Rosemary stopped him. "Why don't you guys look for dinner? One of the snares should have gone off by now, and you know some of the plants that are edible. I'll take the water canteens and fill them back up for the night."

"Take this with you, then," Kyler tossed her the ice pick. She caught it clumsily and stashed it in her vest.

Rye looked doubtful still. "Are you sure?"

"I don't need you to accompany me while I bathe, Rye," Rosemary said sternly. "I have my knives, I can protect myself."

"You suck at throwing knives."

Rosemary frowned. "I know how to stab someone."

"Oh, I shouldn't be worried then?" Rye raised his eyebrows at her and she shrugged, knowing she would be if their positions were reversed. "Take the bystaff."

Xavier gave her a doubtful look. "You know how to use it?"

"I taught her a little," Rye stated before she could open her mouth. She was grateful, afraid that Xavier would catch her in a lie. "I'm only letting you go if you take the bystaff, Rosie."

"Fine, take the knives then," Rosemary unzipped her vest and shrugged out of it, walking over and handing it to her brother.

Rye tried to slip the vest over his shoulders but it was too small on him. Rosemary giggled as he pouted and took the knives out of the sheathes, stashing them in the various straps around his jumpsuit. "Damn, I thought that would look better on me."

"I doubt it," Rosemary smiled and put the vest back on. "Give me your water bottle, dork."

Rye gave her his water canteen, as did Xavier and Kyler.

"Meet back here before the sun sets," Rye ordered them all, looking at Rosemary particularly. She nodded, knowing that he was seriously worried about her. "All right, see you soon."

They split up, Kyler and Rye headed toward the snares, while Rosemary went to the river, and Xavier wandered around, looking for edible plants.

The river was maybe half a mile away, far enough where they couldn't hear the water rushing over the top of the falls where it ran under a bed of thick ice. Each time they went to get water, they used a different spot in the river, and Rosemary decided to visit one of those places so she wouldn't have to spend time picking out the ice.

It took her a few minutes to maneuver the ice out of the way, but when there was finally a human-sized hole in the ice, she first filled up the water canteens and treated them with iodine. Then she started to undress. She kept her spandex bottoms on, along with her sports bra, unbraided her hair, and jumped into the freezing water.

For a second, she couldn't breathe as she adjusted to the temperature. But, as she swam back to the surface and poked her head out, the water felt a little warmer. It was warmer than the air, at least.

Rosemary gave herself five minutes to bathe, otherwise she would spend too long in the ice water and heighten the risk for hypothermia. She scrubbed at her scalp and under her nails and then tried to wash off as much dirt and grime that had gotten on her skin as possible without soap. What she wouldn't give for that bar of soap she used back at home, it wasn't anything special by any means, but it was nicer than no soap at all.

Snap!

Rosemary instantly stilled all movement at the sound of a branch snapping. It was nearby, but as she looked around, she didn't see anyone. She didn't move for another ten seconds and then there it was again, more branches snapping.

Deciding that someone was definitely approaching, Rosemary placed her bare palms on the ice and used it to push herself out of the water. Just as she got to her feet, someone jumped down from the nearest tree, landing easily, like they had done it a million times before.

Rosemary's breath caught loudly as she recognized Mars from Eleven. He was her age, her size. She was hoping they shared the same strength as well.

Mars had a machete in hand and there was no look of animosity on his face. He genuinely didn't want to kill her, much like most of the Tributes in the arena. She didn't want to kill him either, but at that moment, she knew she had to.

In a flash, she grabbed the bystaff, laid right next to her discarded clothes. She wished she could ask Mars to pause for a second and let her put them on, but she knew that was very unrealistic. She didn't feel the cold at the moment anyway, and if this went wrong, she wouldn't at all.

Just as Rosemary held the staff up to defend herself, Mars swung the machete down. She blocked the blow with a squeal, surprised by how much strength he used. He was definitely stronger than her.

Damn it.

Rosemary lowered her staff while not allowing it to leave the machete's blade, and moved her arms swiftly to the left, creating a small arc with the weapons. She used her right foot to kick at Mars' stomach and pushed him away, coming out of the encounter without a scratch so far.

Mars was relentless, though, and struck again. Rosemary screamed as the blade sliced open the skin on her left arm, close to the bicep muscle. She jumped out of the way and swung the staff, and when Mars' ducked out of the way, she went right back in. She ended up hitting him with the blunt end of the staff, but it was enough for him to grunt and back away to catch his breath.

"This sucks," He was breathless as he spoke and Rosemary thought it was strange how casual it was, like they weren't fighting each other to death. "You seem pretty nice."

"Thank you?" She was so confused. Was this one of his distraction tactics? Because it was kind of working! "Uh, same to you, I guess."

"Thank you."

With that, their little break was over and Mars swung the machete again. Rosemary couldn't get the bystaff up in time, but she was able to duck and crawl under his spread legs. She popped back up and twisted around, using the bladed end of her staff. Mars yelled as the blade sliced the jumpsuit on his side and it let Rosemary know that she got his flesh as well.

I might do this, she thought to herself.

Of course, no sooner had she thought that, that Mars got her stomach. Thankfully, she was too far away from him to be disemboweled, but a cut still stretched just above her pelvis, hot blood dripping down her legs. The shock of the temperature difference was what affected her the most, as her skin was numb from the cold.

Rosemary let out a strangled gasp and stumbled backward, panic causing her to swing the bystaff wildly in front of her. She heard Mars grunt and guessed that her flailing must have done something, but she was too busy trying to compose herself.

The adrenaline in her body must have taken over, because she no longer felt the drastic difference in temperature between her lower, bloody half, and her top half. It turned out that while she was flailing, she nicked Mars on the face. Blood dripped down his brown skin and she wondered if the temperature was polarizing to him as well.

Rosemary shook her head, cursing herself for thinking too much. She was fighting for her life, she was fighting for Rye and Peeta, and she was being too casual about it all. Anxiety pumped through her veins and it felt like a speaker had been set up right outside of her ears, playing the sound of her heartbeat over and over again, and she hurt, but she needed to move. As much as she didn't want to, she needed to kill Mars.

Rosemary screamed as she swung the bystaff at him, using the blunt end to hit in the side. Her scream had distracted him and he took the blow with no defense. With quick movement, she went to hit his other side, dodging his defensive swing and hitting his ribs there, too.

Waves roared through her head and she didn't hear anything as she continued to fight Mars. She didn't hear his grunts of pain, or his pleads for his life. She hardly noticed when she got him pinned to the ground. She allowed herself the benefit of floating away, disassociating so that she wouldn't have to witness Mars' death.

His murder at her hands.

Boom!

The cannon was what brought her back. Rosemary's eyes widened and she screamed again as she took in Mars' body, the blade tip of the staff buried in his chest. Her legs gave out under her and she dropped down next to his body, chests bursting with sobs.

While she cried, she carefully removed the staff from Mars' chest and threw it several feet away.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she chanted over and over again as she wiped the blood from his face with her bare hands. Tears dripped down onto his skin and she wiped those off of him too, before kissing him on the forehead.

Rosemary didn't even know Mars, had never spoken to him outside of the brief exchange during their fight, yet she was miserable. She felt like a friend had died.

"Mars, God of War," she neatly situated his hands over his chest to hide his wound. "I am sorry."

She got to her feet and picked up the bystaff before walking back over to the river. She dropped the weapon by her discarded clothes and jumped back into the water. The wound on her stomach stinged so badly that she cried out, water filling her mouth, and swam back to the surface. When her head popped out of the water, she heard her brother.

"ROSEMARY! ROSE? YOU BETTER NOT BE DEAD!" he screamed frantically. She knew he was running in her direction and dragged herself out of the water, pressing a hand to the wound on her lower stomach to apply pressure and staunch the warm blood. "ROSEMARY!"

"I'm here!" she called out weakly, voice cracking. Tears sprang to her eyes again as she reached for her clothes with her free hand. "Rye, please help me."

Rye pushed out of the treeline–Xavier and Kyler right behind him–and ran straight to her. His arms wrapped around her and her tears quickly escalated into loud cries as she clutched his jumpsuit with her free hand. She didn't care about her semi-nudity in front of virtual strangers, she just cared about the comfort that her brother was giving her.

"I had to kill him."

"I know, Rosie."

"He was gonna kill me."

"Shh," Rye kissed her forehead and pulled away from the hug, wanting to see her wound. "Let me see your stomach, okay? Kyler, do you have your pack with you?"

"Yeah," Kyler answered with wide eyes and knelt down next to the siblings, shifting his pack off his shoulders and unzipping it. He pulled out a roll of gauze and some disinfectant and while Rye held onto Rosemary, started to treat the wound.

Rosemary let out another sob from the pain. "I wanna go home."

"I know," Rye hid his face in her hair and pressed his lips to her head, his eyes stinging.

-

Night 11

Rosemary

It was the middle of the night and Rosemary couldn't sleep. She had waited fifteen minutes to see if she could, before she relieved Kyler–who set up his bed on her left side–of his shift nightwatch and let him rest while she stayed up.

She had calmed down now, but she still couldn't help the painful twist in her chest when she thought about Mars. Though she had thought she had been grieving the boy, she soon realized that grief and guilt was not all that was affecting her.

Rosemary had been changed when she killed Mars. Killing someone took something from her and she was afraid she'd never get it back.

She could feel it...Or she thought she could feel it. Underneath the shame, guilt, and anxiety that made her chest heavy, she could feel a small, empty spot in her heart that unsettled her. It made her hurt more than the wounds on her stomach and arm, or the bruises that littered her delicate skin. She had taken a life, she had lost her innocence and she could never get that part of her back.

Rosemary wondered if Mars had a family. Surely, he did. Maybe he had siblings, like her. He probably worked in the orchards like a lot of people in Eleven did. He most likely had friends and people that he cared about, just like her...

She had always hated the Hunger Games, but this? It all felt different now that she was in it, that Rye was in it. The anger she felt at the Capitol was stifling. They, who put her in her in the arena with twenty-three other Tributes, made her turn to violence just so she could live to save her brother. She hated violence and had sworn she'd do anything to get rid of it in her life, and yet here she was, murdering a boy her age. 

It seemed that Rosemary would never know a life without it.

A warm hand wrapped around her bare hands, where her nails were digging into her palms. She flinched and gasped before realizing that it was Rye, who had set up camp on her right side. She sighed in relief, her racing heart thumping unevenly, and wrapped her fingers around his hand

"Sorry," Rosemary said, noticing his worried eyes. "I'm a little frazzled."

"Don't worry about it," Rye sat up so he could be closer to her. "Are you okay? You're crying."

What? I'm not cry–she unclasped his hand in order to bring it to her face. There was wetness on her cheeks that were undoubtedly tears. She didn't bother wiping them off now, holding Rye's hand again and leaning her head down onto his shoulder. She hadn't even realized that she was crying, how hadn't she realized?

"I'm sorry," she rasped."I didn't realize."

"It's okay," Rye squeezed her hands. "It's okay to cry. You're grieving."

"I don't deserve to grieve Mars. I killed him."

"You did it to survive, Rose. You didn't want to kill him, did you?"

"No."

"Did you get Reaped just so you could kill a bunch of kids?"

Rosemary furrowed her eyebrows, aghast at such a thing. "No!"

"You were forced to protect yourself. Mars understood that, too, I'm sure. So, yes, you're allowed to grieve."

"I didn't even know him, though."

Rye shrugged. "So? You didn't know him personally, but you still know him. You know who he was." he paused and shook his head. "It's the same way you know all of the Tributes. Because you are him, he is you, they are us. We're kids who were stuck in this arena and forced to fight to the death. We're all different people that come from different places, yet we are the same."

Rosemary had always admired the way that Rye was able to speak pure poetry out of nothing. He had the ability to lead a crowd, calm a storm, and get anyone on his side with just a few words, whereas she stumbled and had difficulty putting her feelings into words and conversation. This was another one of those times of admiration.

More tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes because Rye was right.

Rosemary wasn't just grieving Mars, she was grieving all of the Tributes of the 70th Hunger Games. She was grieving for herself. For all the things that she would miss out on, for the memories she would never get to make, for the life she was being robbed of.

Rye sighed sadly when a sob escaped from her lips and tugged her into a proper hug. "C'mere," he squeezed her tightly and she reciprocated the action. "I'm sorry, Rosie. I wish we could both go home."

Rosemary buried her head into his shoulder, relieved that Rye was finally accepting her death. That relief flooded through her and added to the emotional distress that brewed throughout her body. It took all she had to keep her breathing even so she wouldn't fall into an anxiety attack.

It took minutes for her to calm down and remove her head from Rye's shoulder, but when she did, she laid her head into his lap. Rye's fingers played with the bumps of her braid as they both stared at the sky.

The absence of stars was still sorely obvious.

"I miss the stars." Rosemary told him quietly.

"Me too," Rye agreed. "At least if the North Star was here, we could make our way home."

Rosemary shook her head slightly. "The North Star doesn't guide you home, it tells you what direction north is in."

"What?" Rye asked, indignantly. "No, the North Star is said to guide one home. I know I've read it somewhere."

"Well, whatever you read was wrong," Rosemary's voice, while still quiet, was matter-of-fact. "The North Star is a symbol for physical growth. If you find your 'North Star', you know where you're headed. It's like a beacon in your own mind, a destination."

"Something worth living for," Rye mused just as quietly.

"Yes," Rosemary smiled and yearned for the stars and moon again. "When you go home and when you and Peeta watch the sunset and the stars come out, will you think of me?"

Rye inhaled deeply and she could feel the stutter of his chest on her back. Her question had upset him, and while she wished she didn't have to ask hard questions like these, she had to.

"Yes, of course we will," his voice cracked and he had to pause to keep his composure. It made her eyes sting. "We'll look at the North Star and we'll think of our Rosemary."