CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN;
to the death

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( warning: graphic gore/injury detail, violence )

Broken fog billows around Vesper in cold curls as she runs, runs as far as she can. The swamp still swipes back at her, though the attempts grow lazier with distance she puts between the violent branches. Indeed, the arena has finally had enough of its tributes — it tries to churn them up and spit out the last man standing.

     At last she stops in a quiet clearing, with little water to soak in if she rests. The sky, wherever it is, has turned dark. Only the slowly-fading cloak of fog lights up the surroundings. Vesper's wounds, opened up with movement again, throb and pulsate with a fresh ache. Her back against the tree, her knees buckle in as she sinks with an ungraceful thud onto her tailbone. Boom, boom, boom. Her pulse still powered by adrenaline drumrolls in her ears.

     The air is cool around her, and yet she feels like she can't cool down. Swallowing thickly, she presses the back of her hand to her temple, then her cheek, then the skin underneath her jaw. All of them feel hot to the touch — almost feverish. Vesper thinks she anticipates what she might see next. Still, it doesn't feel any better when she unwraps one of the bandages around her arm, only to find the skin around the wound inflamed and slightly swollen. The wound itself glistens with freshly-shed blood, along with some small dots of pus. Vesper is no doctor, but she thinks she knows infection when she sees it.

     That's not good at all.

     Her head hits the bark, a sharp exhale escaping through her nostrils. She finds that a number of her other wounds — a rather large sum over the last few days — are similarly inflamed. Perhaps it was only a matter of time. Another sigh of the swamp trying to finish her off. Vesper does the only thing she can do right now, which is to begrudgingly sit and redress her bandages.

     She knows she needs to take a breather, some time to herself... however much of that she has left.

     But surprisingly, no one seems to be seeking her out to attack. At least not in her range. Vesper unpacks her bag, still filled with leftover food (frankly a miracle after the last couple of weeks) and cautiously chews on the tough chunks of bread. Then, washing them down with water, she hopes it replenishes her energy. She doesn't dare start a campfire — any smoke could alert the remaining tributes, and stupidity cannot be afforded at this crucial stage.

     While sitting by herself, the Capitol fanfare suddenly booms through the arena, and the usual charade plays out in the skies. The holographic image of a stoic Hero comes up first; the fresh memory of her body crushed under the tree replays mercilessly. Next is Coral, her lovely face framed by golden curls; Vesper instead shudders, as she recalls the District Four girl's jaundiced complexion at the bitter end. Was she ever sucked into the Career machine? Or did she strike out like Levin? Vesper would never know.

     Then, just like that, the sky goes dark again.

     The silence is deafening.

     Vesper, alone with her thoughts — a dangerous, uncharted place to be — realises something. As in, truly feels the weight of the possibly fate ahead of her. She no longer needs to count the remaining tributes on her fingers. She has made it to the final three. This is the last act. The epiphany almost winds her for a moment, her mouth parting slightly. Vesper had never expected to make it this far, especially not without...

     She swallows the lump in her throat, blinking away tears again. She has a feeling it's going to feel like this every time she thinks of Icarus.

     ... And then there it is again. The realisation that Vesper could have an every time in her life. Because, now more than ever, she could get home. She could win this whole thing. Maybe she wouldn't even have to do anything — perhaps Talon and Fern would just battle it out and leave her as the survivor. But she knows that would be wishful thinking, especially in her current condition. Vesper certainly doesn't feel like a fighter right now. Feverish, beaten down and exhausted, the only thing she wishes to do is curl up and wake up to a different world. Even if there's the risk she might not wake again...

     Her eyes growing heavy, Vesper's body takes that chance. It slips and falls into slumber.

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The sharp sting of cannon fire to her ears wakes Vesper abruptly. Half-asleep, she imagines it to be a familiar explosion at the Cornucopia, emanating from a young girl with a mane of red hair. But once she chokes on a gulp of air and looks around, she sighs. It's still dark, so she can't have slept for long... or very deeply. She can't say it has made her feel any better. The fever feels like it's getting worse along with the ache in her wounds.

No face flashes in the sky, since the cannon fired after tonight's fanfare. Out of habit, Vesper rubs the sleep from her eyes and racks her brain for the remaining tributes. She doesn't get very far before she stops at the chilling number:

One.

One tribute left to take on.

If things didn't feel real before, they do now. The air turns tight with tension. Vesper sits up slowly, her muscles contracted with some sudden strength she didn't know she still possessed. Her mind hops around different memories like stepping stones — a flashback to the final duel in a previous Games, shouting after Axel as he's dragged out of the Justice Building, watching her mother step onto the podium, holding Levin in her arms, and then Icarus... it's all such a mess. But out of it comes one thought, sharp and crystal clear to her that re-ignites a flame within her:

Vesper doesn't want to wait to find out her fate. She wants to know today. So if they can't wait forever... she will simply have to seek a way to end this, once and for all. Suddenly she's ready to say goodbye to this place — to hell with it, from the animated trees to the dry and tough frog meat, and the vicious gators along with the silent killers of serpents. Her determination could practically eject her straight through the arena's invisible ceiling right now.

Whoever she has to meet in the end, she figures this is the best choice. Talon doesn't seem the type to wait around, regardless of their strange but fleeting alliance. As for Fern, she seems bloodthirsty enough to be hunting down the last tribute for herself right now. In Vesper's eyes, by grim necessity, locating whoever is left is simply delaying the inevitable.

For the last time, Vesper takes great pride in packing her bags up. She tries to be careful about the clang and clatter of capsules or tins that she slips into her pack, not wanting to alert attention too soon. Memories come back to her as she goes along — old notes from Irma's parachutes, some old resources which Icarus used to carry. All of them carry weight of the journey she has been on, and is about to end whether she lives or dies after this. The most poignant relic of them all is, of course, the necklace. Vesper presses the wishbone onto the skin of her collarbone again, feeling its contour imprint faintly. It's almost as if it has become her token; her lucky charm.

     Well, she thinks with bitter sarcasm, don't let me down now. I'll be needing the luck more than ever.

     She imagines Levin laughing at that, but his eyes glowing with the encouraging look he always had. She hears Icarus's voice haunt the water like a ghost, telling her to come home.

     I'm coming home, Vesper replies in her head.

     The plan is simple on paper — venture to the Cornucopia, and somehow wait for the last tribute to arrive. She figures the Gamemakers would soon shove them back to that place anyway, for it always proves a great space for a final showdown. But the trouble is the fog's still so thick. While it has thinned out over the time she snoozed, it still obscures her vision too much for comfort.

     In past days, Vesper would have been afraid to draw attention to herself. But this time it's different. This time, she has nothing to lose.

     "Screw it," she mumbles to herself.

     She finds the driest sticks around the swamp that she can, bunching them firmly together with some vines for thickness. Vesper bites down on some fabric of her old shirt and tears off a long piece, wrapping it around the top of the bunched sticks. Her memory of her training coming back, she scrapes out some tree resin and bark for fuel on the cloth. Finally, the vital ingredient — the flint. Quietly thanking Irma for the overdue donation, she strikes it a couple of times to get a spark over the cloth. It soon turns into a burning flame, the fire so bright and warm that Vesper already feels like she is home. With the sight problem fixed, she looks around for a solution to lure the last tribute in.

     She steals a glance at the torch light she has just created. Got it. Clenching her jaw, she holds the flame up to one of the trees and waits for it to burn. Tendrils of smoke soon rise as the fire catches, and Vesper coughs. As she starts to boldly stride away from the lit tree, she can feel the flames behind her growing and getting warmer. A little way down the swamp she does it again to another tree, one of the drier ones.

     It screams one message: Come and find me. I'm right here.

     Vesper knows it's bold, and probably highly insane, but she continues with the demonstration after a little bit of distance every time. The swamp is perhaps too damp to be set alight completely; instead the fires are isolated in phosphorescent balls like magma through the fog... just like wisps. Indeed, Vesper is turning the tables, quite literally blazing a trail that no one could ignore. And it will all lead right to the Cornucopia.

When she reaches the Cornucopia, it appears to her like a barren battlefield. The mud has been trodden one a few too many times, gaping with sloshy footprints that will never walk again. The fog has started to thin to a veil of mist, blades of grass fresh with the dewdrops of early morning. Dawn may break in an hour or two; Vesper has no idea if she will see it. Clenching her jaw, she imagines those left at home watching. Are Blythe and Axel wide awake, unable to miss a minute? Are Cheyenne and Bolt sleepily glued to the television set? Is Kirk moved to stony silence for once in his life, for her?

All those faces... she wants to see them again.

She goes to stand near the giant metal horn. All the snakes have abandoned the circle. It is merely Vesper and, eventually, her opponent. Her torch still burning with a lesser flame, she wields her sword in her other hand, pointing the blade out into the mist for whoever might run out at her. Vesper digs her heel into the ground as she waits. Meanwhile, the flames in the swamp burn through the mist, beacons of destruction. The wait is agonising, but she remains stoic. For once, numbing herself to it all is the best thing she can do right now — she cannot afford to break down now. Not that she was trying to keep it together at this point. It happened automatically, like a fight or flight reaction.

     Vesper perks up at the faint pitter-patter of footsteps in the distance. She whirls around with her sword, looking for the sound's source. At last, she comes face to face with the only remaining tribute; looking at her, she digests the thought.

     So Talon is gone.

     After brief surprise that he was taken down so easily flickers away, Vesper stares long and hard at Fern from her spot, her chest slightly puffing out. I'm not scared of you, she tries to say. Unexpectedly, Fern doesn't lunge immediately into battle — the tall, slender blonde whitens her knuckles around her spear and stares down her competition for a few moments. Vesper does the same. There is almost a bitterness in the air; no ferocity, just the grim willingness to accept it has come to this. But they both seem as tired as the other. Let's just finish this, Fern seems to say with her eyes.

     Vesper almost mistakes this as a sign of understanding between them. But as soon as Fern starts charging for her, teeth gritted and eyes wild, her heart lurches with distrust. She deflects an overhead blow from the spear with her sword as it comes. And just like that, they are in the thick of desperate battle. It is messy and intense, Fern throwing everything she has into making sure she's the last tribute standing. Unlike Boaz, she isn't blinded with rage — she knows what she is doing. The girl from District Seven knows how to play the game, and she has Vesper on a string. In one swift manoeuvre, she dodges a blow from the sword and jumps straight behind to knock Vesper to the ground with the butt of the spear. The pain throbs through her back as she hits the earth.

"I will prove everyone who underestimated me wrong," Vesper hears Fern's verbatim from her interview echo in her head, "And I'll make sure no one stands in my way."

But she isn't weak either. Vesper wrestles against the strength of Fern's spear with her sword, teeth grinding and sweat beaded on her skin. The clang of metal pierces the air as the fight continues without a chance to draw breath. The feeling dawns on Vesper more and more that Fern has the upper hand — she is incredibly nimble with the spear, able to move much quicker than she can with the sword. And she can't get near enough to even scrape her with the blade, when she's wielding the giant spear. It's getting harder and harder to avoid attacks at this point.

Fern suddenly jabs the long weapon towards Vesper's abdomen. Yelping, she sucks in her stomach and jumps back, feeling the tip of the blade graze the air in front of her shirt. In retaliation, she swings her sword at the spear. But the unthinkable happens — the sword breaks. Shards of metal fragment and fall down onto the grass, worn down from weeks of almost constant use. Being submerged in swamp water probably didn't help, either.

Vesper stares at the shattered blade in horror like a death sentence. "Oh, sh—"

Just in time, she rolls away as Fern throws the spear her way, the tip burying itself into the ground where she was sat moments before. There is only one thing Vesper can do now — run for her life. Her life depending on it, her boots pound against the dense and muddy earth as she disappears back into the swamp in surrender. Of course, that isn't stopping Fern. The District Seven girl retrieves her spear and starts chasing her, the sound of louder and louder footsteps behind putting Vesper on edge.

The ground grows slippery beneath her feet and she skids. Vesper falls painfully on her tailbone, a shock of pain shooting through her bones, along with all her wounds opened up... again. Mud and water splattered across her skin, she scrambles to drag herself behind a tree, raggedly regaining her breath. Her hands try to clench the handle of the sword. Nothing. Her heart drops.

     Where is the sword?

     In the struggle to get away, she swears the sword flew away in the struggle. But on her hands and knees the water is up to her torso, and apart from flames it's too dark to see anything. Vesper's hands desperately plunge into the depths and pat the swamp bed for any sign of it. Behind her, Fern's footsteps and breath grow louder. No time. There's no time. Gritting her teeth, Vesper smacks the water's surface in frustration and lurches behind the tree again, holding her breath. The fire still rages on other nearby trees, lacing the air with slowly-suffocating smoke. Privately, her hands search for the wishbone around her neck, clenching it so hard it digs into her skin. Just for good luck.

     "Come on... COME ON!" she hears Fern cry. Daring to peek around the side of the tree, Vesper sees the fierce way the girl grips the spear. It's her prized possession.

     But how much use is she without it?

     The eureka moment strikes Vesper. Staring down at her empty hands, she plucks up the courage to make her next move. If she could just disarm Fern, then they might be on equal ground again. But it would be a brutal fight to the death. Then again, isn't that what the Gamemakers want?

     She anticipates Fern throwing the spear her way. Vesper waits until the very last moment, so she won't suddenly take a more accurate shot; then she careens to the side as the spear flies above her head and lodges into the tree. Fern hesitates momentarily, before she takes the risk to go retrieve it — wrong choice. Vesper runs towards her instead and shoves her down onto her back. She waits for the blonde to get back up again, balling her fists in front of her face with a grim expression. It seems reflected on Fern's face, although hers is much tighter with desperation. She gets to her feet again, the two girls standing shin-deep in the water which reflects the flames.

     They start throwing punches. The attacks feel lazy and unplanned at first, hitting anywhere the skin can meet. None of it makes a difference. Fern clips the side of Vesper's face, then tries swinging her leg around to kick her; Vesper lunges forward before it can make a real impact and her own fist flies right into the girl's kidney. Fern coughs and staggers back in pain, while her attacker waits for her to get up again (but mainly to regain her energy). Vesper still doesn't know how to go about this. She doesn't want to have to kill her, even though she knows it's the only way out. She hates how cold it felt with Edison — even with Boaz, no matter how he despised and threatened her. The blood already staining her hands is enough.

Whether Fern feels that way is unclear, as she gets up and swings a punch right into her diaphragm. Vesper gasps as her lungs spasm, gasping for breath through her bruised throat. Then another punch; straight into an old bandaged wound. This time she screams in agony. While she is distracted by that one, Fern knocks Vesper squarely in the face. Her eyes watering, she falls back into the water with a splash onto her side. As she does she almost swallows a mouthful of swamp with it; Vesper's limbs tremble on all fours as she spits it out, a dribble of saliva mixed with small streaks of blood. Her strength gives way and she collapses into the water. Her vision swims in a sea of flickering black, threatening to go out completely. Nearby, Fern seems to be savouring the moment. Taking her time in the glory she's about to get. You coward, Vesper manages to think, just get it over with. But she's mainly just so scared... and so exhausted.

Is this how it ends?

She thinks of her mother and her father. Telle and Levin. Icarus...

They all surround her, just when she thinks she might give up. All of their faces stare at her. Her mother, young and brave. Telle, wide-eyed and alarmed. Levin, kind and passionate. Her father, patient and forgiving. And then there is Icarus. She sees the boy crouch in front of her, shaking her awake as if she's just a little sleepy. "Get up," he implores, "Get up!"

Vesper sees the light...

Something glinting in the water. At first she wonders if this is the end, but then she blinks. The flames above illuminate the sharp edges of the light to her; her missing sword shard from earlier. It's a miracle — but only if she makes it one.

Dragging herself over on her elbows, Vesper plunges her hand through the water and grabs the shard. At the same time, Fern reaches to grab her shirt and yank her upwards. In one swift motion, she spins round on the way up and thrusts the shard forwards as far as it will go.

Fern gasps.

They are almost caught in an embrace, Vesper tightly holding the shard embedded in Fern's chest, while the other grabs onto her back tightly. Time almost slows down, neither of them reacting. Then her legs slowly give way, dragging Vesper down with her. Onto her knee, then the other, then onto her back. Fern comes to rest on the water's surface, gently still held in one of her arms while the other hand still holds the fatal shard. Suddenly all of the ferocity is drained from them both — everything slowing down to an isolated moment. In an instant, Fern's opal eyes flash with a childlike fear, like she has become a scared little girl deep down. All the cunning has left her completely. Vesper almost says sorry. Then, her eyes glaze over with vacancy, her grey lips painted crimson.

Nothing happens for a while.

The sloshing of water, the crackle of flames, the sound of her own solitary breath. Vesper doesn't know what to expect next. Did she do it? Is it over?

When the cannon finally sounds, it is totally drowned out by the Capitol fanfare that blares simultaneously. It makes Vesper jump out of her skin and crawl back away from the body. Over that fanfare booms the voice of a joyous Claudius Templesmith, as he announces:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the victor of the Sixty-Eighth Annual Hunger Games, all the way from District Six — Vesper Alfaro!"

It hits Vesper all at once. A choked sob involuntarily escapes her, while the rest of her body goes numb. She falls onto her back, feeling the water rush into her roaring ears and slosh around her skull. Her first impulse is to grab the necklace — when her fingertips find the wishbone, she presses the cold metal shape against her lips and squeezes her eyes shut. The lucky charm. Above her, the mechanical sound of aircraft soon filling the air. A bright light splits the sky as it dawn breaks and, out of it, a giant hand reaches down to scoop her up...

She still isn't entirely sure she's alive.

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A/N;

YAYYY THE HUNGER GAMES ARE OVER!! and vesper is the victor!! i'm so happy we finally reached this stage, because when i tell you i'm absolutely sick of writing about swamps and frogs at this point... the relief is so real you guys.

i hope this chapter was a worthy conclusion to the 68th hunger games? i was worried it wasn't a big enough climax, or that it felt broken up wrong, but i'm also quite happy with how it turned out. the next chapter explores the immediate aftermath of vesper leaving the arena, in which she struggles physically and mentally. indeed, a lot of what she has experienced is going to start catching up to her, and you'll see her try and adapt to coming back into the 'real world' again. anyway, that's for next time, so i don't want to spoil more!

there are only three chapters left now. i'll probably keep saying this over and over, but thank you so much for reading. this has been a mammoth task of a fic for me to write, and getting to the end is a huge milestone. so if you've stuck around this far, thank you.

[ published: 22nd november, 2022 ]

— Imogen