Victor by Night | Finnick Odair

Boys will be Boys : 17

Chapter Seventeen

Tiny, searing stabs. Wherever the droplets of mist touch my skin.

"Run!" I scream at the others. "Run!"

Katniss snaps awake instantly, rising to counter an enemy. But when she sees the wall of fog, she turns to pull at Peeta. Peeta is on his feet but not as alert. Katniss grabs his arm and begin to propel him through the jungle. Finnick rushes and grabs his tridents quickly as he tosses a still-sleeping Mags onto his back and takes off.

In a matter of seconds, Finnick and I have caught up with Katniss and Peeta.

"What is it? What is it?" Peeta says in bewilderment.

"Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!" I urge. I can tell that however much he denied it during the day, the aftereffects of hitting the force field have been significant.

He's slow, much slower than usual. And the tangle of vines and undergrowth, which unbalance me occasionally, trip him at every step.

I look back at the wall of fog extending in a straight line as far as I can see in either direction. A terrible impulse to flee, to abandon the others and save myself, shoots through me. It would be so simple, to run full out, perhaps to even climb a tree above the fog line, which seems to top out at about forty feet.

I remember how I did just this when the quick sand appeared in the my Games. Took off and only thought of myself when I'd climbed the high rocks. But this time, I trap my terror, push it down, and stay by their side.

I think of the eyes glued to the television screens in the districts, seeing if I will run, as the Capitol wishes, or hold my ground. I think of my promise...

Fuck the Capitol.

I quickly point to my feet as we run, striding slowly next to Peeta, I say, "Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step." It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels. Droplets spring free of the body of vapor. They burn, but not like fire.

Less a sense of heat and more of intense pain as the chemicals find our flesh, cling to it, and burrow down through the layers of skin. Our jumpsuits are no help at all. We may as well be dressed in tissue paper, for all the protection they give.

Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes I haven't caught up. But this is not a thing you can fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more.

Peeta's leg catches in a knot of creepers and he sprawls forward before I can catch him. As I help him up, I become aware of something scarier than the blisters, more debilitating than the burns. The left side of his face has sagged, as if every muscle in it has died. The lid droops, almost concealing his eye. His mouth twists in an odd angle toward the ground. "Peeta-- " I begin. And that's when I feel the spasms run up my arm.

Whatever chemical laces the fog does more than burn -- it targets our nerves. A whole new kind of fear shoots through me. Katniss yanks us forward, which only causes Peeta to stumble again.

By the time we get him to his feet, both of my arms are twitching uncontrollably. The fog has moved in on us, the body of it less than a yard away. Something is wrong with Peeta's legs; he's trying to walk but they move in a spastic, puppetlike fashion.