Victor by Night | Finnick Odair

Planning Plans : 23

Chapter Twenty Three

When I wake, I have a brief, delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with Finnick. Happiness, of course, is a complete absurdity at this point, since at the rate things are going... Everyone'll be dead in a day.

And that's the best-case scenario, if I'm able to eliminate the rest of the field, including my friends, and get myself crowned as the winner of the Quarter Quell.

Still, the sensation's so unexpected and sweet I cling to it, if only for a few moments. Before the gritty sand, the hot sun, and my itching skin demand a return to reality.

Everyone's already up and watching the descent of a parachute to the beach. I join them for another delivery of bread. It's identical to the one we received the night before. Twenty-four rolls from District 3. That gives us thirty-three in all. We each take five, leaving eight in reserve. No one says it, but just like Johanna said... the rest will be divided up after the next kill.

Somehow, in the light of day, joking about who will be around to eat the rolls has lost its humor.

How long can we keep this alliance? I don't think anyone expected the number of tributes to drop so quickly. What if I am wrong about the others protecting Peeta? If things were simply coincidental, or it's all been a strategy to win his trust to make him easy prey, or I don't understand what's actually going on? Wait, there's no ifs about that.

I don't understand what's going on.

And if I don't, it's time for me to clear out of here. Maybe tonight, slip away while I'm on watch.

I sit next to Finnick on the sand to eat my rolls. For some reason, it's difficult to look at him. Maybe it was all that kissing last night, although the two of us kissing isn't anything new. It might not even have felt any different for him. Maybe it's knowing the brief amount of time we have left. And how we're working at such cross-purposes when it comes to who should survive these Games.

After eating, I walk towards the water in plunge into it. My suit feels refreshed, after being stuck to my body for the past days, with sweat. My remaining scabs are starting to peel off. By gently rubbing a handful of sand up and down my arm, I clean off the rest of the scales, revealing fresh new skin underneath.

"Hey, Finnick, come on in! I figured out how to make you pretty again!" I call. Katniss and Peeta follow.

The four of us scour all the scabs from our bodies, helping with the others' backs, and come out the same pink as the sky. We apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for the sunlight, but it doesn't look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle.

Beetee calls us over, and it turns out that during all those hours of fiddling with wire, he has indeed come up with a plan. "I think we'll all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he says mildly. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

"Do you think they've figured out about the clock?" I ask.

"If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock," says Beetee. "So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."