Hello fellow readers! First off, I cannot believe how many reads, votes, and comments this story has!!!! It is all thanks to you guys :) Fun fact: The opening paragraph of this chapter was one of the first scenes I ever wrote.

I had this whole intro planned out in my head this morning, but naturally I completely forgot what I was going to say. Hm...nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! (There are only a handful of chapters left gahhh)

(Also special thanks to you beautiful people that make such amazing comments that motivate me to update ♥♥ ((you know who you are))

Kindest regards,

Ninjafranbow

Chapter Sixteen

Day Nine

The stench is overwhelming. Flies swarm the dank air like a school of fish, their wings creating a disturbing symphony of buzzing. Pockets of moist mud squelch beneath my feet as I tread through the stubborn swamp. As disgusting as it is though, I can't help but smile as my feet sink into the silky cushion of mud. I'll take this over rocks any day. It had only taken us mere hours this morning before we found our way out of the willow forest and into the swampy terrain. The dead grass had finally given way to the sluggish, murky water that runs in a river throughout the swamp, and spindly trees erected from it. Logically, our food supply could have sustained us for three, four days at best in the willows, but according to Ben it was common ground for tributes to lurk. Though I personally have only heard the scream and have found just Ben, I couldn't help but to agree that there was no sense in staying in a place that had no use to us. And so, we decided it be best to see where the swamp takes us.

I don't need my knowledge gained back in Four to know that life is not restricted to land, and one never knows what dangers lurk amongst the murky water. While I can see water striders skimming the surface of the water and various insects humming around us, I would not be the least bit surprised if snakes and alligators of the sort inhabited the area.

"So what do you think they're aiming at here?" Ben pants behind me.

"What do you mean?"

"The Gamemakers. There's always a reason for these ridiculously obscene settings in the Hunger Games. What do you think they want to make us suffer from now? Hunger? Infection? What?"

I suck in a breath and look around, as if a Gamemaker could pop out any moment and slit our throats. "Ben!" I scold in a harsh whisper. "They can hear you." I quickly scan the area again before treading onward.

I hear an exasperated sigh behind me. "You need to loosen up a bit, Mags. What's the worse they could do? Kill us? We've been dead since we got here." He gave a dry laugh before falling in line beside me. "So," Ben says after a moment. "Any sponsors yet?"

"No, I think they all support Lorem." I shrug, dipping my bruised toes into the water.

"Guy's a psycho." Ben mutters.

I dart my eyes up, suddenly interested. "You've seen him in the arena?"

Ben grimaces. "I saw him the night after the bloodbath." He straightens his spine slightly, as if remembering the consequences of the battle. "I was camping out in this..." he pauses, searching for the words, "this boulder region."

So Ben must have fled the complete opposite way I did.... "Was that far from the Cornucopia?"

"A ways, I suppose...nothing was there, just those blasted rocks." He motions at my bruises. "Big black boulders of them." He plucks a leaf off a nearby branch, rolling it between his fingers. "It was almost nightfall, and I had just found a place to camp when I heard him."

A shiver runs up my spine.

"He was by himself, and blood covered his clothes."

Of course, Lorem of all people would participate in the bloodbath, it would be ludicrous if he didn't. I can just picture his tiger-esque face, baring his fangs as he lunged for a tribute...

"There was a girl, District Seven, I think; camping out for the night. He had a mace, but the guy comes up behind her with some barbed wire of all things and—"

"No," I whisper, holding out my hand. "You...you don't have to go any further." Pictures of the boys from District Nine and Seven paint my vision red; I shudder what to think Lorem did.

Ben shrugs, dropping the leaf. "All I'm saying is that the guy's a sadist—if there's one tribute you want to avoid in the games, it's him." Heavy silence follows his words. The thought of Lorem and the career pack back in the aspens still lurking somewhere in the arena makes me feel vulnerable, almost like they're waiting for us to recover before finishing us off.

. . . . . . . .

I stare intently into the murky water, my makeshift fishing hook—some of Ben's rope fashioned around sharpened, whittled wood—dipped just below the water. The water is, to my dismay, still—save for the occasional water bug that skates the surface.

"What a wasteland..." Ben mutters, aimlessly kicking a branch furry with algae. "You know, I'm surprised we haven't run into any tributes yet. A place like this there's bound to be a few." I press my lips together and let out a deep breath. By the time I catch a fish I'll have gray hairs at the rate he's talking. "Maybe they're just waiting for something colossal to happen, like...I don't know, an earthquake or something." I close my eyes, roll my shoulders, and try to steady my breathing. Focus, Mags. "Might as well weed out the weak, right?" He slaps his arm, cursing under his breath. "If the tributes don't kill us, the mosquitos will."

I open my eyes. "Ben," I whisper, "Fish prefer the quiet—they trust the quiet." He grimaces and sits beside me, mouthing the words "I'm Sorry." The water remains still, almost like the surface of cloudy glass.

"Why aren't they coming?" He whispers after a moment, peering down at the water. That is quite possibly one of the things I love most about District Four. People understand the need for quiet; they welcome it if it means food and income for the day.

"They'll come, don't worry. You just have to have patience, that's all." I murmur. The branch in my hand gives a slight tug. The first second I'm pulling at the rod with my good hand and the next a forearm's length fish is out of the water.

We risk making a small fire to both cook the fish and better purify some drinking water from the swamp. "Déjà vu much?" Ben chuckles beside the small pile of dried moss and twigs between us. He rubs a stick furiously against the whittled branch on the ground. I grin, thinking back to the training center. After rather tedious amounts of trying, a feeble fire burns on the ground. The fish, though a delicious change from bread and nuts, brings back a wave of nostalgia. I can almost smell the saltwater, can almost hear the ring of boats entering the harbor, can almost feel the ocean breeze...

. . . . . . . .

By the time night comes, the dank, humid air has stuck our clothes to our skin, mud cakes our shins, and insect bites pepper our arms. We make do with what we have, spreading the remnants of my blanket and our jackets on the mud-ridden land, slightly elevated and away from the swamp. The Capitol seal comes and goes, revealing only one death tonight. Ben volunteers to take the first watch, and try as I might to keep my eyes open; just in case; exhaustion finally pulls them closed, and my mind is met with twisted dreams of a tiger lurking behind me.

My eyes snap open. It feels as if every inch of my skin is itching furiously. I feel a sudden tickle in my ear. I jerk my head up. Dozens of thumb-sized beetles writhe on my body, my ears, my neck. They squirm and crawl over one another in a giant, sickening mass. Their black and yellow spotted shells shine in the moonlight, their razor sharp legs nearly indistinguishable from the antennae that protrude from their heads. I shoot to my feet. They're under my clothes. They're in my hair. They're crawling up the back of my neck. They're everywhere. Ben lets out a shriek. I flail my arm and my legs and my head like some crazed dance.They drop to the ground and scurry away, yet dozens more continue to cling to me. "The water!" I splutter, still shaking fiercely. There's a nauseating sound as my feet crush the beetles as I scramble to the water. I paw at my ears, thrusting them away as more come to quickly replace them. They stick to my shirt, crawl under the bandages on my wrist. I crash into the tepid water, Ben close behind. The beetles unlatch and float to the surface. I plummet under the muddy water, scraping my skin with my nails, thrashing my head and body. When I finally resurface my skin still crawls with the grotesque feeling of the beetles, though by now they will have drowned. Ben spews water from his mouth, running his arms up and down his sides. Not quite recovered from the bugs, I look around. The swamp is bathed in silver moonlight, illuminating the rotten branches and rippling water, too dark and dirty to see through. I hold my breath. The air is eerily quiet. All this noise was bound to attract predators, and the swamp is the best place to hide.

. . . . .

I'm going to be honest, that was probably the most queasiest, disturbing paragraph I have ever written. Also looking up pictures of beetles is not a pleasant thing. It really "bugged" me.(*Shivers* *gags*) Gotta love nature :D I'm thinking about maybe having a side story in Ben's perspective...hmmm...Also I think this friendly squirrel wanted me to finish the chapter this morning. (I swear the squirrels at my house are becoming domestic...)

(In case the pictures don't show up, they are of a squirrel ((obviously))

Awww😂😂 We should give him a name.... ~Ninjafranbow