The Perfect Truth: A Finnick Odair Novel

Chapter 8

A/N: well what would you say if i told you that after this chapter, we're over halfway?

Warnings: swearing?, violence, death, blood

Word count: 1265

Peeta drops the quiver and buries his knife into the monkey's back again and again until the monkey releases its hold on the morphling. He kicks it away and braces himself for more. I have the arrows, my string pulled back, Finnick at my back, splattered with blood and panting, but unengaged. But the monkeys withdraw, backing away. Slowly, I release a breath, realising that the Gamemakers have decided that it's enough for tonight. Peeta scoops up the morphling, carrying her to the beach so we can see her in the moonlight. He lays her on the sand, and I cut away the material from her chest, revealing four deep puncture wounds with blood dripping thickly from them, leaking into the sand. Something vital's been punctured, her lung or her heart. Either way, she won't have long.

Abruptly, Finnick stands and walks off, calling over his shoulder that he'll watch the trees. I'd like to join him, but the morphling has her fingers locked around my hand and I don't think I'm cruel enough to prize them off. Peeta crouches on her other side, and starts talking about his paints. I remember the morphlings, painting pink flowers on each other's cheeks, and I watch the surviving one, soon to be dead, eyes staring into Peeta's, entranced by his words. Slowly, she raises a hand and paints what might be a flower on his cheek with her own blood.

'Thank you,' he murmurs, and her eyes light up one last time. And then the cannon fires, and her grip on my hand releases. Immediately, I stand, staggering away, choked by a sob. I kneel in the sand and hold in my gorge, because we can't waste a meal.

Finnick returns, bringing something to the water, then turning to me, placing a warm, steadying hand on my shoulder.

'Thought you'd need these.' He holds out my array of weapons, washed clean of monkey blood by the seawater. I go to the edge of the jungle and gather some moss to dry them, noticing that all the bodies have vanished into thin air.

'Where did they go?' I ask.

'Don't know,' comes the reply. 'The vines shifted and they were gone.'

I glance back over at Peeta and Finn from where I stare at the vines and find that they are both itching at their skin where the fog touched. The blisters have scabbed over, and I dimly remember that itching means healing, so it's probably best not to help along the infection by ripping off scabs.

'Don't scratch,' I tell them, gritting my teeth to suppress my sudden need to do the same. 'It'll only bring infection. We should go drink something.'

We head over to the hole Peeta made, and Finn and I stand, weapons ready, while Peeta pushes the spile in and adjusts it. He's found a good vein, and water gushes out. We slake our thirst and let the water pour over our irritated bodies.

Once we're done, we go back to the beach. It's still night, but it can't be too far from dawn.

'You two should sleep.' I say. 'I'll watch for a while.'

'No, Ryn, I'd rather,' Finn says, and I search his face and realise he's barely holding back tears. And that Finnick on the beach? The flirty one? That Finnick is the one that comes out when he needs to hold it together. The least I can do is give him the privacy to mourn Mags. I feel my eyes soften as he looks anywhere but me, biting down hard on his lip.

'Hey,' I say softly. 'You'll bleed.' I chastise, touching his chin. He releases his lip and looks at the space over my head. I sigh and rise on the balls of my feet, hearing his breath hitch audibly as I kiss his cheek, find his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes back, repeating that he'll go on watch.

Sadly, I sigh. 'Thanks, Finn.'

I turn away to give him space and go to lie down on the sand beside Peeta, but he reaches out and snags my fingers, pulling me back towards him as he sits down.

'Please,' he says softly, and I give him a tired smile and curl up beside him, resting my head on his shoulder, wondering how the something between us now is so much more real here - where even the sky is fake - than it was back at the Capitol.

~

I wake up to find a suspended mat of grass shielding my face from the sun. Sitting up, I see that Finnick's hands haven't been idle while I was sleeping. Two woven bowls are filled with fresh water, the third holding a mess of shellfish. He sits on the sand nearby, cracking them open with a stone.

'They're better fresh,' he says, ripping a chunk of flesh from a shell and popping it into his mouth. Getting up, I pad over and kiss his forehead, ignoring his puffy red rimmed eyes for both our sakes.

My stomach begins to growl and I reach for the food when the sight of my fingernails, caked in blood, stops me. I've been scratching my skin raw in my sleep.

'You know, if you scratch you'll bring on infection,' says Finnick. I turn and give him a dirty look from where I'm heading to wash them off in the water. Turning my face upwards, I stand.

'Oy, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.'

It's funny how quickly the parachute appears. I reach out and catch the tube in my open hand.

'About time,' I say, but I can't keep the smile off my face. Plunking down beside Finn, I eagerly screw the lid off the tube. Inside is a thick dark ointment with a pungent smell. Wrinkling my nose, I squeeze a glob into my palm and start rubbing it over my skin. A sound of pleasure leaves me as my itching disappears completely into the distance. My skin is stained a ghastly grey green, but I toss the tube over to Finn.

'It looks like you're decomposing,' he says doubtfully, but I guess the itching wins out, because he starts to treat his skin too, and the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks pretty hideous.

'Poor Finn,' I tease. 'Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?'

'How have you managed all these years?' He says dryly.

'Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it.'

'Not if I keep looking at you,' he replies, and I laugh.

Just after I wake Peeta, a loaf floats down on a silver parachute. It's tinged with the green tint of seaweed that the bread from District Four has. I tilt my head.

'It's yours.'

'It'll go well with the shellfish,' he replies. As he prepares our breakfast, Peeta coats himselfs with the ointment, and I notice it causes my scabs to start peeling.

Almost as soon as we finish eating, a scream sounds, and we all leap to our feet. A huge wave crests high on the hill, roaring down the slope. It hits the seawater so that the surf bubbles up around our knees, but thankfully we manage to collect everything before it's carried off, except the jumpsuits, which won't help at all. A cannon fires, and I see a hovercraft appear and pluck a body from the trees. The water has just calmed down, and we've settled back on the wet sand, when I see them. Three figures. Stumbling towards us.