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Plume's breath came out in ragged huffs as her group barrelled deeper into the jungle. The heat bore down on her like an ant under a microscope, and even with the thin layer of nylon against her skin, she felt heat cramps begin to form in her calves. She had been babied by air conditioners for a week, and now that she was thrown back into nature, she found herself perspiring much more than usual.
Her allies weren't looking too sharp either. All of them were sweating profusely, trying to quiet their exasperated breaths for the sake of pride. It didn't matter whether or not they were out of shape. Even the fittest of athletes would be struggling to catch oxygen through the thick cloud of humidity that clung to the air. Beetee looked the worst, however. His back was stained red, although Plume wasn't sure if he was still bleeding. His dark complexion had paled significantly, and he struggled to keep up with the group. Johanna led the pack, not sending a second glance back toward her allies. Plume lingered beside Beetee, behind Blight. She still didn't trust the male from District 7. He hadn't said a single word since they'd entered the arena.
To distract herself from the burning in her lungs, Plume mentally ran through her anxieties about this particular situation.
One: there was the very real threat of disease transmitted by mosquitoes or water sources. Plume recalled her days from schooling, where her teachers talked about a pathogen that originated from the jungle called malaria. It left the victim in a state of severe pain, including vomiting, fever, and confusion that would soon lead to death. Plume had yet to spot mosquitoes, but she could never be too careful. The Gamemakers might have cooked up a superbug to take down half of the tributes. Mosquitoes liked humid environments. Perfect for Plume.
Two: Beetee might bleed out if the group didn't set up camp soon. An accelerated heart rate, as well as a lack of dressing, meant more blood coming out of the wound and more germs coming into the wound. None of them had proper first aid, which was also an issue. Plume couldn't exactly pull a bobby pin out of her hair and start stitching his wound shut. They might have to resort to stuffing plants or roots into his laceration to stop the bleeding. Plume wished that Aries was there. He would've known what medicinal plant to use to help Beetee.
Three: her ear was most likely unsalvageable. The blood had ceased pouring from the wound, which was a good sign. But when Plume reached up and ran her finger delicately over the skin, she found that half of her cartilage was gone. Her ear canal was left largely unscathed, but the upper portion was completely mangled. Plume didn't have any sentimental attachment to her ear. The part that worried her was infection. If she survived her first Games only to die by an infected ear, she would gladly haunt President Snow to his grave.
Four: they had no supplies. First aid would've been amazing at the moment, but they also had no water, food, matches, ropes, or anything other than that stupid coil of wire that Beetee almost died for. Besides their weapons, they had absolutely nothing. With the heat boring down on them, their internal water supply would deplete faster. They could have a matter of days before their major organs shut down.
