Mouse had reached the rock face after what seemed like hours, was in reality maybe ten minutes, and slipped through the exit into the mountains. After that time still went slow, but he dashed behind a protruding rock and sat for a moment, chest heaving, and he realized there were tears in his eyes. He wasn’t a robot, he’d cried before—from frustration with a mathematical or electrical issue, from being picked on, from seeing his sister sick—but it felt different now. He didn’t know if he was on the verge of crying because he was so glad to still be alive, hands and arms and legs moving, untouched even, or because of what he’d half-seen in his flight. He tried to count the faces, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He would know tonight anyway, when the anthem sounded.
His backpack. It was a dark grey-brown, blending in with the mountains, but it would be distinct against the snow he saw further up. Snow. Well, you didn’t get socks for nothing. Mouse opened the backpack and pawed through the items, feeling his gut twist at the lack of a weapon. Food, water, that was good. Sewing kit. If Iaso made it.. they would be able to survive. The sunglasses he took out, made a face at, and then put on. There would be several cameras pointed at the exit from the meadow—he guessed where one might be and grinned at it, amazing he could still do, and tipped his sunglasses. “Are the Gamemakers trying to tell me something?” he said, clearly to an audience—he was alone, otherwise. “Maybe the odds are in my favor.” But then he put the sunglasses away and went quiet.
Iaso would take at least twice the time to reach this spot. Mouse was jumpy, he was too close to the exit’s line of sight, and the Careers, he knew, would regroup and choose one of the exits to start hunting. He climbed haphazardly until he was able to crouch behind an outcropping of rocks several yards away from the exit and above it on a hill face. He could see who came out. He waited, and hoped.
What Iaso wouldn’t do for something to cover her wound right now. She could use her clothing, of course, but it wasn’t so serious as that yet. The bleeding had already started to slow, and the biggest concern was cleaning it at this stage.
And, getting out of the arena and finding Mouse. Now that she was clear of Jet, she slowed her running, glancing to see if he’d been caught by anyone. But there was no fighting near where he’d been, he’d been lucky enough to get away from the Careers that had surrounded him. Her gaze skipped over the fights, the bodies left in the grass. The part of her that was a healer wanted to go to them, to see if there was anything she could do for them. But that sort of thinking would get her killed. If she got out of here, she could help so many more people. Risking her life here unnecessarily was just stupid.
She was jogging by the time she reached the exit, and started to move through the pass. But there was no sign of Mouse. She slowed almost to a stop, taking a moment to take stock of her surroundings, He could be hidng anywhere here -- and if he was sensible, he would be hiding. There’d been no guarantee she would be the next one through.
“Mouse?” She asked cautiously, not too loud -- but not too quietly either. She got ready to run in case someone else appeared, attempting to catch her with her guard down.
He had fallen into a trance from the excitement and adrenaline fading away when Iaso appeared. Instead of shouting out, he whistled a low and then high note, clear and sharp in the more mountainous air. But it was here, and the sooner they put distance between the meadow and them, the better. He stood with a groan, stretching muscles that had already gone tense, and smiled wearily at her.
“I’m fucking glad to see you,” he half-whispered. A pause. “Come up here—look, that handhold, there. Then we can see who comes out this way, y’see? And,” he furrowed his brow, “look at your… thing. What happened?”
Iaso just nodded and started to climb, wiping her bloody hand on the bag she held. It hurt, skin stretching as she pulled her way up to Mouse’s hiding spot, pulling at the wound that was starting to bleed a little more now that she was using her arms.
“D2 boy. It’s just a scratch, it’ll be fine.” As long as she kept it clean. It was the sort of wound that her father would insist on stitches, and perhaps a sling for her arm, just to keep it immobile and give it a chance to heal. But she didn’t have the luxury of stitches, and a sling would just make her look weak.
“You got out okay.” She smiled at that, the only time she’d smiled since she’d smiled at him before the gong had sounded. Before they’d been thrown into the bloodbath that was the start of the Hunger Games. “Go District 3.”
He scowled. “Careers,” he said, as if the word was synonymous to asshole. It was. “Go nerds,” he said, grinning for real now, a wide and genuine one. “You get anything good?”
“Not much.” She shook her head. “Rope, and this bag. I haven’t checked it out yet.” Once she got settled in next to Mouse, she actually opened the bag to take a look. It was small, handbag size, and she pulled out a collection of throwing stars.
“Well. That might be useful.”
At the throwing stars, Mouse let out a long, low whistle, then looked around, cutting himself off. “Need to get used to bein’ hunted,” he mumbled at Iaso. “Got raisins, a little bit of water. Don’t think we should drink til we got a handle on where the next mouthful is, though. Obviously. Sunglasses. Don’t know why, but there’ll be a reason. Nothing useless that Gamemakers put in the arena. And..” he looked at her collarbone. Then, he grinned. “Special surprise for you. Needles and thread.”
“... needle and thread.” Iaso sounded incredulous, shaking her head. “That will be handy. We shouldn’t move from here until we know no one else is going to come through. I don’t like our chances of taking on any one in that pass.” She glanced at the bag with the throwing stars. “At least we’ve got an advantage if anyone tries.”
“Range weapons are the best,” Mouse agreed. “Least chance of injury. Only problem is getting them back. Hope your aim is good.” His own aim, he knew, was more or less useless. What Mouse needed was a knife, a big one—the kind of thing where if you got up close there was no fighting it, just injury. Maybe he would even tie it to his hand.
He was about to speak, a trap forming in his head, when he saw movement by the entrance. He made a short noise, a cross of “shh” and a hiss, and slunk lower to the ground.
“My aim is --” She broke off when Mouse hushed her, a quick glance at the entrance before she slid down, hopefully out of sight. She winced as her wound pained her again, and she pressed a hand against it. It was still seeping blood. She’d need that needle and thread sooner than she would like.
They had been walking for so long, and Laurel was starting to lose faith that they would find the other tributes. Sick, bleeding - although Buck had managed to bandage her wound fairly well - and struggling, Laurel’s time in the arena wasn’t going so well. It seemed to be older as they progressed through the eastern pass of the arena, and she was glad for the extra gloves to cover the bandages and provide some warmth. Walking with Buck, she was keeping an eye out for movement, and she’d been mostly silent. She tugged on his arm as she heard a noise up ahead, hesitant to go further in case it was another Career.
Buck helped Laurel along as best he could. He tried to ignore the fact that he didn’t know if their short-term solution to the accidentally amputated fingers was the best thing for them. He couldn’t know that. They needed help. They’d find the threes, and go from there. It was a mantra in his head, and he had to believe it, or he’d lose all hope. He paused at the tug on his arm, putting his own out to stop her from going any farther. She was already wounded, he could take this chance. He crept up a little himself, around the entrance so he could see in without them seeing him. Logic told him a Career probably wouldn’t hide in a cave, but he’d never been the best at logic, and so he waited without saying anything for one of them to peek back out. His feet flexed, ready to run away at a moment’s notice.
“It’s okay.” Iaso called down to them, though she didn’t move quite yet. “Laurel, right? From District Seven. It's Iaso, D3. Our mentors talked about an alliance?" As she spoke, she inched a throwing star out of the small bag, getting ready to throw it just in case.
“Yes!” Laurel called out, hopeful that she’d found them. “Me and Buck, I knew my mentor told me to find you guys. We can share our stuff - I picked up decent things.” She started to walk again, ignoring Buck’s hand. “I’m glad I found you all.”
Just the threes. Buck let out a sigh of relief, but kept his spear at the ready. Just in case. He lowered the warning hand, since Laurel was coming up here anyway. He hoped this was enough to convince the Threes he was safe, part of the Alliance too. His mentors hadn’t made any special deals with the Threes. “I’m Buck Tanner. Ten. I’m with Laurel.” He was quick to say. “I’ll help you too, if I can.” He peeked around the corner and tried to offer a smile that wasn’t also nervous.
Mouse crept into sight without speaking, and then he stood. You made decisions in the Arena: there was no use waffling. Either trust them or not. And he silently congratulated himself when he spied Laurel’s hand—some kind of damage, probably something Iaso could fix. They need her, he told himself, and he looked sideways at Iaso. And if they need her, they’ll need me as long as she keeps me. Hopefully for a while. “Mouse Madden,” he announced, if they needed a refresher. “Looks like we’re all in a good position to rough it together for a spell.” He grinned wide, though he kept thinking of that spear through his throat. “Plus,” he said, “our Districts add up. Three plus seven’s ten.”