Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 17 - The Girl From 11

My hand trembles as I frantically dig into my arm, pulling out the small knife that had been embedded. Without hesitating, I thrust it into Fletcher's hand and urge him to run. My heart races as I take off in a full sprint, leaving behind the useless weight of my bag. The sound of Fletcher's footsteps echo behind me, but I can hear four other pairs approaching from a distance. But where is the fifth? Did they leave the boy from District 3 behind? Or is he waiting somewhere ahead?

I quickly glance back at Fletcher, making sure he's still following behind me. His voice echoes through the thick air as he points ahead, signaling for me to look. But before I can even fully turn back around, I collide with a solid figure, causing my breath to leave my body in a gasp. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus and realize it's Peeta. "Oh my God, Peeta," I exclaim breathlessly, feeling a mixture of emotions— relief that it's someone familiar, worry for our current situation.

I slam my palm against the ground, frustration and desperation pulsing through every muscle in my body. "Get up, now!" I shout at him, my voice strained and raw. He scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He has no clue what's going on, but he can sense the terror emanating from me. The Careers are closing in, their silhouettes growing larger with each passing second. I push myself forward, grabbing Peeta's arm and pulling him with me.

I hear a sharp twang and an arrow whizzes past my ear, narrowly missing me. Glimmer's aim is off once again, but I'm worried it won't be for long. We twist and turn, desperate to escape our pursuers, but they're relentless. Suddenly, a loud thud and a cry pierce through the air. I turn to see Peeta collapsed to the ground, a painful groan escaping his lips as an arrow protrudes from his leg. Glimmer's shot was perfect this time. They're getting closer, and we're not going to be able to outrun them. Not like this.

"Peeta!" I cry out. The Careers are closing in on us, their mocking laughter echoing in my ears. Peeta is struggling to stand. "Peeta, we have to go, come on," I urge him.

"Just leave me," he gasps, his voice strained with pain and resignation, "get out of here!"

"We can't just leave him like this," I insist, turning to Fletcher who rushes to Peeta's side without hesitation. Together, we help him to his feet, he drapes his arm over my shoulder for support.

"Listen to me, (Y/N), you're going to run," Fletcher's voice is urgent and commanding, "don't look back, just get out of here. As far as you can go."

Fletcher, you can't," I plead desperately.

"Peeta's hurt, you have to go now," Fletcher insists, his gaze steady. There's determination in the way he looks at me, a silent command that brooks no argument. "Go!" Fletcher charges toward Cato with his knife, my heart lurching in my chest as I watch him disappear. I tear myself away, forcing myself to obey his command. My wobbly legs run as fast as I can. Peeta hobbles beside me, his breaths ragged and short, but he's keeping pace.

Boom! The sound of a cannon reverberates through the arena, each boom a reminder of another life taken. We press on, our breaths ragged and uneven, our hearts thundering in our chests. Boom! Peeta and I teeter on the edge of exhaustion, each heavy step a battle with fatigue.

Amidst the tangled undergrowth, a glimmer of hope emerges— a cave, barely discernable against the backdrop of shadowed foliage. It promises seclusion, a place to rest. Boom! We hasten towards it, our bodies begging to lay down. I think about the cannon fire. Did he manage to fend off the Careers? I brace myself for the fourth boom, the final Career, but I'm met with silence.

Fletcher's unknown fate gnaws at my insides, leaving me with a sense of dread and anxiety. Has something terrible happened to him? Is he hurt, or worse? I gently guide Peeta to sit against the cold, rough wall before taking a seat beside him. As the adrenaline subsides, I'm hit with a searing pain in my arm, worse than when I had initially been hit. Cato's blade had sunk deep into my left arm, thankfully avoiding anything vital. Though the bleeding had slowed, I can still feel warmth trickling down my arm. I need to clean it soon— before infection sets in.