CHAPTER TWENTY;
a sinking feeling

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( warning: some descriptions of violence and gore )

     It was pneumonia that got Vesper's father in the end.

     In many ways, things could have deteriorated so much sooner — he developing rheumatoid arthritis that only got more vicious with his age, which was still so tragically young. Even when she was a toddler, Vesper knew her father could only carry her for so long before his back hurt. Then his joints began freezing and turning crooked to the point where he could barely work. That was when she and Blythe knew they would have to step up. So in that sense, maybe deep down Vesper always knew that one day, their luck (if any) would run dry and she could lose him.

That final week in October, it had started with a cough.

     Vesper has never usually been one for dwelling on the past. It was irreversible and pointless to get your head stuck there. But in her darkest, rawest moments, she finds herself returning to those rushed last minutes on that Monday morning — hastily getting dressed to go and bidding her father goodbye. What would she have said if she knew it would be the last? Would she have hugged him a little tighter than usual? Laid down with him and talked about old times? Maybe she would have told him she loved him; so, so much, and that sometimes knowing her dad was around made this corrupted world a little more bearable.

But that's the problem. She didn't know. Like every Monday, Vesper caught the early train to work and spent the whole week away. The thought crossed her mind of trying to squeeze in extra shifts to afford his medication; anything to avoid the shady business of black market again. It was expensive stuff, but she had always been willing to risk life and limb for the medicine. Once time she almost got arrested for stealing some... when things got really desperate.

     Either way, Vesper was fully expecting to see her father again when she came home that week.

     A few days later on Friday, dusk had settled over Vagary. Vesper walked home, her bag hauled over her back with her tools and earnings; including brand new vials of medicine for her father. She doesn't recall whatever Kirk was teasing her about at the time, or what Axel and Bolt were doing. All of that crumbled into irrelevance when she spotted Blythe crumpled on the fire escape steps. At first, maybe she thought she was getting a scolding again — "What are you doing home so late? I've been waiting for hours!" — but something was off. Blythe was leaning her temple against the cool metal of the railing, one hand gripping onto a bar with whitened knuckles. The moment her eyes met Vesper's, her breath seemed to hitch in her throat.

     She didn't have to say a word.

     But Vesper wasn't believing anything until she saw it with her own eyes. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the ground with seismic impact, setting her balance off as she staggered towards the fire escape. She couldn't hear anything Blythe was telling her, just waved her away and heard the bang bang bang of her boots pounding against the metal. Vesper had thrown her body weight into opening the door, scrambled for her father's room and burst into it...

     The most pertinent thing about that memory is how still everything was. Vesper had waited by the door, watching him, waiting for him to breathe. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

     When she eventually accepted it — when she realised he was gone — that was when the feeling started. The stabbing sensation. A sudden wrenching in her gut, twisting, gnawing at her from within. For a few brief moments, she thought the world might cave in on her.

And then, complete numbness. Her pain an afterthought; her grief locked away safely, shackled before it could tear her limb from limb.

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Vesper is filled with a similar numbness when she wakes up in the arena the next morning. Having the luxury of sleeping upon their bamboo raft had been swept from underneath their feet like a rug, after the alligator mutts splintered their hard work to bits — but she cares little about that when she comes to. When she feels the sun bake on her clammy skin that morning, she knows she has to move on and keep going.

If Levin's death has taught her anything — at least, anything she lets herself be reminded of — it's that life is a lot more fragile than it looks, and she of all people should know that. They had become too comfortable in the arena, perhaps. Too expectant of any threats. But with Levin perishing, Vesper feels the raging sting from a harsh slap of reality; the stakes are back, and they are high.

Somehow, after everything, Icarus is still fast asleep. Vesper takes the liberty of hunting their breakfast, all within close range so the boy can't possibly vanish from her sight. Every snapping branch or trickle of water has her head turned, her fingertips grazing Levin's — no, her sword in its sheath. That's one positive to come out of this, she thinks bitterly. While her machete may be rusting at the bottom of the swamp, Vesper feels more secure than ever with a sword in her possession. She always worked better with one. Already she tests it out on the couple of frogs she impales for breakfast, unable to find minnows in these shallower parts.

By the time she has a small fire going, Icarus seems to awaken, tempted by the smell of charring frogs. He seems groggy with humidity and sleepiness, hunching over his knees to prepare to stomach some cooked frog.

     "You couldn't find any fish?" he mumbles.

     "Nope," says Vesper abruptly, handing him a cooked frog's leg. "These parts are shallower than where we were before."

     The pair of them begin peeling off strips of the meat and chewing it laboriously. The dryness in their mouths turn the meat into bleak bark-tasting chunks on their tongues, unappetising and hard to swallow.

     In a matter-of-fact tone, Vesper starts thinking ahead their path for today. "You know, if we keep going in the direction we went with Levin, I think we could reach higher ground. It'd help if we didn't have to sleep in mud and sludge every night. It also means we might be further away from the gators... assuming they prefer staying in the water, that is."

Icarus nods slowly, seeming occupied by something else. "What?" she asks.

"It's just... aren't you sad about Levin?"

Vesper's blood freezes in her veins. Noting her rigidity, Icarus carries on with what he means. "I mean, I know he was our ally and it might've ended sooner or later, but... he actually seemed nice. Like one of us. And he didn't look down at me like some of the other tributes do. But I don't know. Maybe I'm just lookin' at things too plain and simple."

Swallowing thickly, Vesper's hand searches for the chain of Levin's wishbone necklace, tied around the sword's handle; she weaves her fingertips tightly between them and feels the indent of the cool metal. "I... I miss him too," she finally manages. "But Dale was right about allies. They're that, and nothing more. They aren't our friends. And if we keep dwelling on it, we'll just be sitting ducks melting into a puddle, and sick freaks like Boaz would just love that."

She doesn't know who she is trying to reassure then: Icarus, or herself? Either way, it isn't working.

"Now, if you're done eating, we should get up and go."

     With bitter reluctance, Icarus nibbles the last bits of frog and slings his bow over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Vesper secures her sword safely in its sheath with a sense of security. Before they get going, however, the pair grab some large walking sticks from the bank to use in the muddier parts — the first days after their Bloodbath where they first used them feel like a lifetime ago. But if Vesper's calculations are correct, or unless the Gamemakers are messing with them, then today marks a week passed since they were released into this godforsaken arena.

     Trudging through the swamp again like this reminds Vesper of their lost luxury — back when they had the raft, it felt so much easier to cruise along the surface. But a half hour of swamp water seeping into her boots with a skin-crawling pack of bugs later, she feels much more humbled.

As they go on, the sun beating down in dappled bursts through the trees, she notices the mounds of ground visible start to creep in closer to them. A good sign, she thinks. The not-so-good sign that perplexes her is that with that, the water level seems to be rising too... if they can even call it water. By now, the muddy masses have crept up to the bottom of her chest, and are rising higher up Icarus's. Of course the mosquitoes love that. And the swamp bed is so soft and deep, her boots keep sinking into them like dough; Vesper only hopes and prays there isn't another sinkhole waiting for her...

"Jesus, my legs ache like hell," Icarus complains in a mumble behind her.

That's the other thing. The swamp bed below them feels thicker and heavier than ever. Each laboured step completely winds them, as if their feet were locked in metal boots. It is probably due to the mud. Vesper stops for a second, wanting to catch her breath, and surveys their surroundings. Small bits of land are dotted around their current landscape, elevated further thanks to the low tide. One patch, so close yet so far, must be about ten metres away — if they can just get there, they would stop being sticks in the mud.

     "See that bit of land over there? You think you can make it?" Vesper pants, snapping her fingers at Icarus and pointing his attention over to it.

     Icarus nods wordlessly, too breathless to speak. Vesper takes a step forward into the muck and feels her body weight sink into a muddy patch. A cluster of bubbles brew at the surface as she does, sending an uneasy sheen of goosebumps across her skin. Something about this doesn't feel right... Still, the pair try their best to advance forward a little further. They only get two or three metres through at best before they have to stop again. The minuscule distance has already broken her into a pungent sweat that drives her crazy.

     "What is with this stuff?" Vesper thinks aloud, wiggling on the spot. "It's not even water anymore, it's just like... thick mud."

     "Yep," Icarus agrees. He slaps the surface of the mud to demonstrate. It doesn't even make a splash, just a moist-sounding thump.

     "Screw this, it's too hard. Let's turn back."

     "Good idea."

     But before they can, a faint slosh behind them puts Vesper on edge. Cemented to the spot, she tries turning to look without pulling a muscle in her back — headed into the muddy abyss themselves are two tributes she hasn't seen in a while, who appear to be allies now. Fern from Seven and Briony from Eleven wander straight into the thick trap themselves, except located two or three metres away from Vesper and Icarus. They struggle against the density of the mud, before they too find themselves stuck and writhe in the struggle.

Good. At least you can stay over there while I think, Vesper thinks, although her nerves are starting to fray.

Beside her, Icarus grimaces as he huffs and puffs whilst trying to get out. "Man, this stuff, it's– it's almost like quicksand..."

He seems to realise what he has said as soon as Vesper does, and the sinking feeling hits them. Like quicksand. Now she looks at him, she notices the mud has crept further up his chest, and on her she now feels it seeping further up her own chest too. She wants to try and wriggle out one more time, but deep down knows that it would be futile to try. Vesper glances across at their accomplices in the mud, and knows they won't be budging any time soon. Briony's throwing knives are strapped to her hip and obscured deep underneath the mud; meanwhile Fern's spear is being used as a walking stick and is therefore also stuck, but even if it weren't, Vesper knows she couldn't manage a clean throw without the momentum that the mud currently stifles.

Of course the Gamemakers would make a move like this. Attract a cluster of tributes like flies, and drown them slowly and painfully in the mud — unless something or someone else gets them first.

Another thought occurs to Vesper then; the same one that seems to flash across Fern's eyes in a cunning glint. If they are all flies caught in a web, whoever gets out first will have the upper hand. It will be an easy kill... it's just a matter of who and when.

Gulping down her panic by force, she tries to clear her head and not think about the mud swallowing her slowly. "Icarus, whatever you do, don't move! And don't panic, just... stay there." Vesper instructs him. The more they move, the more it's only pushing their body weight down further into the mud; digging their own grave.

     "Believe me, I'm not going anywhere," Icarus replies, although he too seems frantic.

     Vesper pulls her walking stick with great effort out of the mud, the thick brown sludge coating her hands and forearms, and places it in front of her for a moment. She then reaches around and shrugs off her backpack, hoping to use it as leverage to lift herself out of the mud. Her logic is that if she can figure out what works, she can instruct Icarus on how to get out first — then she can follow. Or, if worst comes to worst...

     Don't think about that, Vesper reminds herself. You're not dead yet. And if you are dying, it's not going to be drowning in freaking mud of all the damn, stupid things.

     Trying to heave herself out proves no use. The mud still restricts her like a python. Panting, she turns again to see how Briony and Fern are doing. Whilst Fern struggles to figure out an escape route, her District Eleven ally seems to be calculating a useful method — she takes her stick out and plunges it into the mud at her side. Vesper observes curiously, watching as she wiggles the stick around and leans to the side, until suddenly her leg seems to move a little freer. Of course she would know. Now she thinks of it, she remembers stories of the workers back home who'd travelled through District Eleven and delivered goods there; apparently there were areas of swamp in parts of the district. With this knowledge plus her affinity with knives, it's no wonder to Vesper that Briony has survived this long.

     "How did she do that?" Icarus asks, voice trembling.

     Vesper looks back to him, remembering something from earlier. "The air bubbles... trapped air." To test this theory, she retrieves her walking stick and plunges it into the vacuum to let in some air. The wait feels agonising, but after a few moments and attempts, Vesper feels some movement return to her leg as it can pass through the mud.

     "Alright, so listen to me," she now says to Icarus, who listens carefully and mimics her. "Can you get your walking stick? Slide that into the mud next to your body, right there... okay good, good. Now, wiggle it a little to let some air in." Icarus obeys her diligently, wiggling the stick like his life depends on it, but with a steadiness that he didn't have at the start of the Hunger Games. He seems to have learned how to keep a cooler head in a crisis. Miraculously, he finds he can move his leg around again and his face lights up.

     "Okay, keep going!" Vesper encourages him. Icarus takes off his backpack like she did and leans his stomach on it, trying to transfer weight from his feet.

     While he does that, she checks behind her to monitor the progress of the other two tributes on their tails. Briony seems to have just broken free, her lower half completely soaked with squelching mud. She is ready to escape but Fern, still struggling, calls out to her: "Briony, help me! Please!" Her plea seems to send Briony into a moral conundrum for a moment. Vesper watches the District Eleven girl glance down at her belt of knives — if she wanted to, she could kill them all right now and have the upper hand. But she seems better than that. Briony ends up caving in and going back to help Fern out, getting stuck back into the mud into the process.

     Meanwhile, Icarus manages to break free, relief flooding Vesper as she watches him fall back with a splash into the comparatively more dynamic waters. She continues trying to free herself with her walking stick, unsticking her legs from the insatiable swamp bed beneath her.

Icarus holds out the end of his walking stick across the mud to her. "Okay, now you..." he says encouragingly, with a tinge of panic as if to say: We're in this together. Don't leave me alone now.

Vesper suddenly feels herself lurch forward, now having freed both of her feet from being stuck. She army-crawls forward over her backpack, using her elbows to prop herself up, and grabs onto the end of the stick. With a large heave, Icarus pulls from his side and she feels her legs lift out a little more. "That's good, keep going!" she says. A couple more tugs later, a deafeningly loud squelch rings out as Vesper is freed from the mud, specks of the stuff flecked onto her face. She flops face first into the swamp water but clenches her eyes and mouth shut before she does. When she emerges, drenched and gasping for air, she haphazardly grabs her backpack and stick.

     "Run, just run!" she yells, but it's easier said than done. The two wade through the water as quickly as they can, circling the muddy patch as they find their way to the raised mound of land. A dripping Vesper and Icarus finally make it onto land; the sudden ability to run faster catches them off guard, and initially they take a tumble before scrambling to their feet. They duck behind some bushes just as Fern breaks free from the mud.

     "Okay... now help me out here..." Briony pants, stuck back into the mud. She is already reaching for her own walking stick to head start the escape route.

     But before she can use it, a spearhead nudges it out of her reach. Between the branches, Vesper observes as Fern considers the scenario before her. She can see something gloss over her gaze — something cold, numbing. Briony seems to clock it too, for she freezes in her place, paralysed with fear of what might happen next.

     "... Fern?" Briony's voice shakes with anticipation.

     The District Seven girl wrings her hand around the handle of her spear, knuckles whitening with decisiveness. Standing back a little, she poises the spear above her shoulder, aiming it for the bullseye at her former ally. This seems to send Briony into a complete, blinding panic as she flails and shrieks:

     "NO! PLEASE DON'T, PLEA—"

     Briony's shrill scream is cut short by Fern driving the spearhead into her chest with a crunch — Vesper and Icarus have the good sense to look away before they see the graphic details. Shock crackles through Vesper's nervous system, hearing the chilling silence that settles over the swamp, followed by the sharp boom of her cannon some ten or fifteen seconds later. She dares to look back again, just as Fern inspects her spearhead glossy with crimson; still sinking into the mud, Briony's upper body has lulled face first into the trap. Her backstabbing ally wipes the blood off her spear in the fabric of her clover green trousers, the stain invisible. Then, surveying her surroundings, she sets off in the direction Vesper and Icarus had just come from.

Once they are absolutely sure Fern is out of range, the pair release their tense breaths and exchange equally horrified glances.

"That was insane," Icarus says with a sharp shake of his head. "She just betrayed her own ally like that."

"I told you. These people are allies, not our friends," Vesper reminds him. But even she is shocked by just how brutal the exchange between Briony and Fern was. She thinks back to speaking with Fern in training, how for a split second she viewed the skilled spear-thrower as a potential ally herself. But something about her interview with Caesar had felt off. There was something almost cutthroat about the girl. Like she would do anything to get her place in the Games. It was the kind of mindset you expected from a Career, not a girl from District Seven. In hindsight, Vesper knows she made the right decision avoiding Fern — she doesn't feel comfortable letting her anywhere near Icarus. It's a shame, she thinks to herself. Fern seemed like one of the more self-aware tributes.

     She's just mulling this thought over in her head, when Icarus asks a question so unexpectedly innocent that it throws her for a loop:

     "Levin wouldn't have done that to us... would he?"

     Vesper's hand tightens around the sword's handle, feeling the indent of Levin's wishbone in her palm again. She thinks back to how he was from the beginning — how he let her go at the Bloodbath when he could've ended things there and then; how he saved extra ointment for them, when he could have just hogged it himself; how he tended to Icarus's bite as if he were a long-time friend; how he opened himself up so easily to Vesper, not even afraid of what might follow. Vesper could only think of what hurt she might let herself take if she opened her heart — and that was to anyone in her life, let alone a tribute from another district.

But for a moment, just one moment, Vesper allows herself to lift away her numbness and feel. A stinging grief weighs her down, remembering how Levin slowly bled out in her arms... although attached to it is something else. There is a small, flickering appreciation for the brief time they did have. And it festers when she can confidently say, in her mind, that Levin would not have betrayed them that way.

"No," she smiles weakly, answering Icarus's question. "I don't think he would have."

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A/N;

apologies this update took so long! there were a number of reasons: A) i was studying for and doing exams, B) i was in a deep stranger things phase after s4 came out and only wanted to update my fic for that, and C) honestly i was in mourning after the last chapter. it was good for me to step back after writing levin dying, because now i think about it, that might be the biggest death scene i've written so far on here. but now i'm ready to come back!

this chapter was kind of shorter compared to others, and the next two might be a little similar too. i was going to fill it out a bit more, but there's only so much contemplation-while-walking-through-the-swamp you can write, hence why the next two might feel a bit filler-y at times (and yet they're very important to the story too?). but after that things REALLY kick off, and from there i think i'll probably feel very inspired and suddenly finish this fic very quickly. only ten chapters left now! i can't believe it!

also a quick shout out to the random youtube video i found of a guy stuck in a muddy swamp, this 100% helped me out in this chapter and figuring out how to write it, because until then i was clueless...

p.s. i attached another soundtrack at the top (yes it's from 1917 again) which is like *tense music* for the quicksand/mud scene, so maybe that will add some ✨atmosphere✨

as always, thank you for reading, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

[ published: 7th august, 2022 ]

— Imogen