Post by countlivin on Apr 23, 2019 4:16:48 GMT
Chapter 4: Blood in the Water
Marten Lewis
Marten Lewis cast the iron-tipped spear into the midst of the creek with the brutish strength of an ox. When he was sure the bladed end had found its mark, he pulled it from the water and peered at the wound. It was straight through the skull, leaving the muscle full intact. Smiling, he placed the perfect catch in his satchel. This is what life is supposed to feel like. I never want to step on dry land again. A day when Marten caught no fish was no day at all.
"Nice catch, small fry," came the voice of his older sister, Willy, echoing over the creek. She wiped her dirty bangs from her high-boned face and breathed a short sigh. On the tip of her own spear was a fish of better size and quality. She laughed. "Mine's better, but hey, your fish was farther away."
Willy was three years older than him, and was a giant compared to other girls in the District. She stood just above six feet tall and could bench a horse if she tried hard enough. Marten was no different. His family was not renowned for being particularly handsome, but they were tough as bricks. As long as he could remember, no one had ever compared to his strength who wasn't a member of the Lewis family tree. Everyone knew them as "those giant fishermen down in Amber Creek."
"Yup," he replied simply. Marten wasn't anything of a talker. He'd always figured actions spoke far louder than words, and so he acted now, casting his spear into the water again. He enjoyed the silence. It was rather peaceful, and in District Four, peace was a rare commodity. Four was loud, raucous, annoying and everything down to the children playing in the mud smelled of fish. Of course, what could he expect from a District where half the men ride the ocean all year?
Willy, however, was radically the opposite. Any time she wasn't talking, she was knee-deep in the creek with a spear. She was cheerful where Marten was solemn, orderly where Marten was untidy. If the two weren't always the tallest and bulkiest in the room with the same Lewis streak of dirty blond hair, no one would be able to see the relation.
The girl threw her spear into the river once again and only barely missed a giant trout. Almost instantly, it swam to the north and out of view. "I think we'll call it a day, man," she said. She tossed her wicker satchel to the riverbank and tiptoed her way to the shore. Marten did the same. As he sat down in the coarse gravel of the beach, he peered up into the maroon sky, lit with a blistering sun just above the horizon. He knew that somewhere just on the other side of it, the world dropped off completely—on the other side of the ocean… Not even President Snow knew what resided past the Great Sea.
"So, I'm thinking tomorrow… we bring an extra spear… and we bring Jill along." Willy smirked, referring to their cousin who had turned ten years old three days ago. "She's been wanting to come out here with us for months. I say it's time we let her." She glanced to her brother and her elation turned to concern. She could tell Marten wasn't in the best place today. "What's wrong, kid? You usually love sitting out here at sunset." After a brief moment of silence, she knew the answer. "You heard?"
Marten hung his head in concentration. Earlier that day, he had received the terrible call from hospital and from his Aunt Myra. Their grandfather passed away yesterday from his battle with lung cancer. He wasn't normally one to brood, yet today, this had a strange effect on him. It was the first time in his life anyone really important to him had died… and he couldn't shed a single tear. It angered him.
"Grandad wouldn't want us to brood over his death," Willy said, fatigued. "He wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of person who took his fishing spear in one hand and his life in the other." She twisted her toes in the mud. "He was…"
"…the best fisher District Four has ever known," he finished. Marten knew she was right. If he'd been good with words, he would have been the one to say it.
"That's true." She sat down in the water, the cloth of her shirt sticking to her body in the flowing creek. She watched the sunset, or what she could see of it through the trees. "Mom is heartbroken… Did you see her this morning?"
Marten nodded. When he'd passed through their house and out the door, the only thing he'd managed to catch a glimpse of her at the table, head held limply in her hands. He'd only seen that one other time: when their father was sent to prison.
"She's too hard on herself sometimes. She sees situations and blows them up like hot air balloons. I'm not gonna lie. I'm pretty shaken up about this too… So I can't imagine what it's doing to her."
Marten sat in the creek beside her. The water was warm in May, but still the creek was freezing. He didn't mind though; the Lewises had thick skin. He picked a tiny blue-stained pebble from the bottom and chucked it across the river, skipping it four times before it fell into the water halfway to the far bank. The woods were dense and treacherous over there, and it seemed like the moment he stepped in, he'd never be able to find his way out again. He'd never built up the courage to check.
"You know… You're the heir to the company now, little bro," she said, knocking him hard on the arm. It left a red mark on the skin of his shoulder. She spread her arms grandly through the air in a gesture. "Lewis n' Son's Sport and Bait!" she proclaimed for the fish to hear. "I guess the son is the Lewis now, huh? Gotta find a new son."
Marten scoffed, and let a bit of air out his nose. He didn't feel like laughing. "But, Willy, Dad's gonna take over the business when he gets out."
"Dad's not coming home for a long time," she replied, honestly. "We'll be lucky if he even gets out before we're in our thirties… That would be for good behavior, and let's be honest… That's not Dad."
Marten sighed. She was right. Zak Lewis was a good man, and Marten stood by most of his decisions—questionable though they were. But there were times when someone would mouth off to him, or in any other way, prove themselves a threat, and Dad would become vicious and bloodthirsty. Marten remembered times when he was younger he felt genuinely afraid of the man. It wasn't until much later he realized the only reason his father had gone to prison was because the stitcher told him that Marten was a sorry excuse for a son…
The moment the life left from Grandad, Marten became the sole heir to Lewis n' Son's. It had become a tradition to pass it off to the eldest son in the generation. He loved fishing as a hobby, but he had come to dread the day he would take on the business. He only ever came to this creek to relax and spend time with Willy. He was never meant for Capitol trade. He wasn't built like that.
"I wonder what it will be like with a picture of you on the logo instead of him. I bet you'll look even more lame." Marten frowned. "Sorry. Ain't the best time, I suppose."
"Do you want to run the company, sis? If you want the job, it's yours."
"I don't want the company. The world is screwed up as it is without my help."
Marten chuckled and nodded, the she threw her head back in laughter. When the creek quieted down again, she planted the spear in the gravel below the water. She sighed. "The world is a bunch of dead people looking to find life in the wrong place."
They sat in the moment together until the sun began to float gently below the tree line. Willy was the first to stand, and Marten followed at distance. She picked up their spears and jokingly threw them into the deep of the creek. "Better go grab those. I'll meet you at home."
Marten rolled his eyes and slipped out of his sandals to wade back in. Twenty feet in, his legs were soaked up to the thigh and he plucked the spears from the wet muddy riverbed.
When he turned, his sister had fled. In her place were three boys, all slightly older than him, yet not nearly as tall. He recognized the one in the middle as the carpenter's son, Ronn. He had a tuft of blond hair on his head only barely lighter than Marten's own, and his ugly smirk didn't help. The two other boys, one short with dirty brown hair and no shirt, and the other tall with round glasses and overalls, remained behind while the carpenter's son stepped out into the creek to meet him.
"Hello, fish boy," Ronn spoke acidly as the water passed above his knees. He surveyed the scene and settled his eyes on the thread satchel at his side. In a swift motion, he ripped it away, breaking the shoulder strap and peeked inside to find the foot-and-a-half trout. "Is that all you caught? Pity… My family was looking forward to buying from you."
"You still can," Marten replied lightly. The two boys on shore sniggered and advanced. "I'd trade it for a wooden napkin holder, maybe?"
Ronn shook his head and held the fish in the air. "This fish ain't worth nothing." He dropped it back into the river and it floated away, belly up in the current. There was a jolt of anger, but Marten suppressed it quickly.
"Well… it's not now," Marten said. Ronn raised an eyebrow. "Bet it would have been tasty. It was a nice, young trout. The young ones are usually—"
Ronn interrupted him with a hard down on Marten's exposed toe, making him wince in pain. "I don't… care…" He shook his head as Marten regained composure and calamity. "How long is it going to take for you Lewises to get it? We own you. We always have. We always will."
Marten was confused.
"Did your grandfather not tell you?" Ronn scowled, seeing the hurt in Marten's eyes. "Typical. The guy was a git… transferring his debts to his grandson and not even telling him about them. Get this through your thick skull, fish boy. Your family has been taking loans from us since you were still in the crib, and paying back… until three years ago. We're still waiting for that money."
Marten's eyes grew wide. He didn't even know Grandad took loans from anyone, much less forgot to pay them back. "How much?"
"About enough to move to the Capitol."
"I don’t… If your family has enough money to do that, why are you still here?"
Ronn couldn't speak for a moment, searching for a resentful enough comeback. He peered at the creek, which flowed just below his knees for a moment before speaking. It's funny… You see—" he stopped himself to drive a hate-fueled fist into Marten's gut, doubling him over. In the moment of shock, he lifted his leg high into the air and brought it down on the back of Marten's neck, sprawling him face-first in the creek. "You don't wanna pay it, get up and fight me for it." He raised his fists.
"I'm not going to fight you…" Marten replied, trying to compose himself. There was the anger again… No, I'm not going to fight him.
Ronn sent another foot into his right shoulder, knocking him onto a sharp patch of gravel. As his head submerged, his curly blond hair fell wet over his eyes. "You got two options here, Lewis: fight me or be a pushover like your grandfather."
The burst of fury was larger this time, more volatile. Marten quelled it back down to a simmer. "No," he said, choking on water and fighting his way onto his feet.
The carpenter's son's face contorted with rage. He landed a punch full in Marten's cheek bone, and he was sure it was broken. When Marten turned back to the water to recover, a drop of his own blood fell from his face and drift off in the flow. The rage was pulsing hot now. The next drop of blood will be his…
"Why are you doing this?" Marten asked, feeling his bloody cheek.
Ronn bent down to the man on all fours in the creek and began to whisper into his ear. "You are nothing. It's time you got that through your skull, fish boy." Ronn's scowl burned fire-bright. Marten's knuckles were white, and his fingernails bit into his palm. "You're going in that arena, and the moment the timer hits zero, if you're lucky, you'll make a minute." He waited a moment and then scoffed. "You and your bloody inmate father."
67% of readers chose to [A. Fight back.]
Marten Lewis knew he was a monster, and his father's son. At that moment he could no longer deny it. He grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck and shoved him underneath the current in a swift motion. He held him there until he began to gasp for breath. "YOU'RE NOTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING!"
The more the boy struggled and fought against Marten's bull's strength, the more he squeezed. It didn't take long until the river flowed with the boy's blood. Of the two near the shore, one fled back into town and the smaller one came out to try to free his friend. It didn't take much of Marten's rage to throw his arm off.
"What are you doing?" he shouted through panicked cries. "You're drowning him! Get off! GET OFF!" Before he finished the last sentence, Marten let his hands go to find them soaking in muddy water and blood. Ronn didn't rise to breathe, and he knew without a doubt, that the boy lay dead in the stream.
As his body began to gently float to the surface, the second boy, now sitting in the water, was equal parts hatred and fear. "He's dead… You killed him…" he stuttered. He got up to flee. "Oh Lord, you killed him!" He pointed his short stubby finger at Marten. "You're dead for this, Lewis! You hear me?"
Long after the short man disappeared past the tree line, Marten still knelt in that stream, feeling his heart beat. The creek's waters were a muddy pink now, and only he was to blame. Yet, somehow, it was not this that upset him the most. It was something the boy said. "You're going into that arena…" The way he said that, so confidently… He didn't mean the Hunger Games, did he? How could he have known that I would be the one Reaped? He turned the words over and over in his head like a smooth stone, and after the blood had drained from Ronn's body, a bloodcurdling shriek sounded behind him. Willy was sprinting toward him.
"Marten! What the hell happened?" She didn't bother to take off her sandles and simply rushed into the water to her brother. "You're covered in blood… what…?" Her eyes saw the carpenter's son's body floating in the creek and welled up with tears. "Tell me you didn't… Tell me it wasn't you!"
"I killed him," Marten said. He'd never been one to shy away from the truth, but not in this. He knew he was a monster, but no one else could see it. They all thought him a gentle giant. Only a monster would do something like this… "I killed him with my bare hands."
"Get up, man!" she said, pulling him from the water, but she only managed to knock him in the mud. Tears fell like rain down her cheeks. "We have to get you out of here, now!"
"I ain't leaving."
"The Peacekeepers will find you if you stay here!" Willy wrapped her tree trunk arms around him and pried at him. He wouldn't budge. "They'll kill you! Or worse! And it'll be my fault! I left you here!"
"It's my fault," Marten stated plainly. He looked up into his sister's wet eyes in terror. He fought to overcome it though, because to Marten, nothing was worse than betraying your own word. "Leave me here. I deserve whatever comes for me."
"C'mon! I'm not going to leave you here!" She fell backwards into the water. "I lost Dad, and then Grandad! I'm not going to lose you too!"
Marten knelt in acceptance. There wasn't a thing he could do now that the damage was done. He wouldn't lie to the force and tell him he didn't know, or that he didn't mean to, because he did. Every single strike he threw against the carpenter's boy was deliberate. But he didn't deserve to die… I should have let him beat me. I could have taken it.
"Marten… Get up…"
"I love you, sis," he told her, and for the first time since he was a child, his eyes were wet with tears. "Tell Mom not to worry for me, and tell Jill… She can have my spear."
"No." There was a loud rushing sound coming from the left and a giant white-plated truck with the eagle crest of the Capitol emblazoned on the side barreled through the forest road. It halted in the gravel and four of the men inside got out and rushed to the scene, rifles in hand. Beside them was the tall boy with the glasses who had run for help. Willy shook him one last time. "They're coming, Marten! Come on!"
"Leave," he whimpered, as threatening as he could. She closed her eyes and hugged him tight, and planted a kiss on her hand and touched it to his forehead. Marten watched his sister flee through the tree line. Goodbye, he thought…
"Trois and Fender, go after her!" the Peacekeeper in front—the only one without a black visor—shouted at two in the back. They followed his order and ran into the woods and the darkness. Marten knew they wouldn't catch her. She was too quick, too cat-like. The Peacekeeper stepped up in front of Marten, red sunlight bouncing off his white plate, and turned Ronn's body on its side. He then pressed two fingers to his eyelids and closed them. "You…" he scowled, his mouth quivering. "You…"
The last Peacekeeper stood behind him and locked a pair of binders on Marten's wrists. If he wanted to, he could have snapped them, but he had decided even before the white truck arrived that he would go willingly. But they wouldn't hear his apology. Not here.
"Look at me!" The Peacekeeper grabbed Marten's jaw and yanked his head up. He could only barely see through the wet strands of hair hanging on his brow. "It's nonames like you that make this District hell. I want you to take a long look at my face, because it's the last you'll ever see."
The man had short gray hair, and wrinkles about his cheekbones. His facial structure was neither wide nor thin, but his massive jawline made up for it. His hazel eyes stared him down in contempt for a second before he raised his rifle above his head and brought its butt down onto Marten's forehead.
In a way, Marten reminded himself of his grandfather. He was the kind of person who took his spear in one hand and life in the other. Marten had done that too—only the life he took was not his own. He accepted Ronn's words from half an hour ago, some of his last, and fell into their embrace. Marten was nothing.
Consciousness slipped away as easily as Ronn's life had.
End of Chapter 4
Marten Lewis
Marten Lewis cast the iron-tipped spear into the midst of the creek with the brutish strength of an ox. When he was sure the bladed end had found its mark, he pulled it from the water and peered at the wound. It was straight through the skull, leaving the muscle full intact. Smiling, he placed the perfect catch in his satchel. This is what life is supposed to feel like. I never want to step on dry land again. A day when Marten caught no fish was no day at all.
"Nice catch, small fry," came the voice of his older sister, Willy, echoing over the creek. She wiped her dirty bangs from her high-boned face and breathed a short sigh. On the tip of her own spear was a fish of better size and quality. She laughed. "Mine's better, but hey, your fish was farther away."
Willy was three years older than him, and was a giant compared to other girls in the District. She stood just above six feet tall and could bench a horse if she tried hard enough. Marten was no different. His family was not renowned for being particularly handsome, but they were tough as bricks. As long as he could remember, no one had ever compared to his strength who wasn't a member of the Lewis family tree. Everyone knew them as "those giant fishermen down in Amber Creek."
"Yup," he replied simply. Marten wasn't anything of a talker. He'd always figured actions spoke far louder than words, and so he acted now, casting his spear into the water again. He enjoyed the silence. It was rather peaceful, and in District Four, peace was a rare commodity. Four was loud, raucous, annoying and everything down to the children playing in the mud smelled of fish. Of course, what could he expect from a District where half the men ride the ocean all year?
Willy, however, was radically the opposite. Any time she wasn't talking, she was knee-deep in the creek with a spear. She was cheerful where Marten was solemn, orderly where Marten was untidy. If the two weren't always the tallest and bulkiest in the room with the same Lewis streak of dirty blond hair, no one would be able to see the relation.
The girl threw her spear into the river once again and only barely missed a giant trout. Almost instantly, it swam to the north and out of view. "I think we'll call it a day, man," she said. She tossed her wicker satchel to the riverbank and tiptoed her way to the shore. Marten did the same. As he sat down in the coarse gravel of the beach, he peered up into the maroon sky, lit with a blistering sun just above the horizon. He knew that somewhere just on the other side of it, the world dropped off completely—on the other side of the ocean… Not even President Snow knew what resided past the Great Sea.
"So, I'm thinking tomorrow… we bring an extra spear… and we bring Jill along." Willy smirked, referring to their cousin who had turned ten years old three days ago. "She's been wanting to come out here with us for months. I say it's time we let her." She glanced to her brother and her elation turned to concern. She could tell Marten wasn't in the best place today. "What's wrong, kid? You usually love sitting out here at sunset." After a brief moment of silence, she knew the answer. "You heard?"
Marten hung his head in concentration. Earlier that day, he had received the terrible call from hospital and from his Aunt Myra. Their grandfather passed away yesterday from his battle with lung cancer. He wasn't normally one to brood, yet today, this had a strange effect on him. It was the first time in his life anyone really important to him had died… and he couldn't shed a single tear. It angered him.
"Grandad wouldn't want us to brood over his death," Willy said, fatigued. "He wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of person who took his fishing spear in one hand and his life in the other." She twisted her toes in the mud. "He was…"
"…the best fisher District Four has ever known," he finished. Marten knew she was right. If he'd been good with words, he would have been the one to say it.
"That's true." She sat down in the water, the cloth of her shirt sticking to her body in the flowing creek. She watched the sunset, or what she could see of it through the trees. "Mom is heartbroken… Did you see her this morning?"
Marten nodded. When he'd passed through their house and out the door, the only thing he'd managed to catch a glimpse of her at the table, head held limply in her hands. He'd only seen that one other time: when their father was sent to prison.
"She's too hard on herself sometimes. She sees situations and blows them up like hot air balloons. I'm not gonna lie. I'm pretty shaken up about this too… So I can't imagine what it's doing to her."
Marten sat in the creek beside her. The water was warm in May, but still the creek was freezing. He didn't mind though; the Lewises had thick skin. He picked a tiny blue-stained pebble from the bottom and chucked it across the river, skipping it four times before it fell into the water halfway to the far bank. The woods were dense and treacherous over there, and it seemed like the moment he stepped in, he'd never be able to find his way out again. He'd never built up the courage to check.
"You know… You're the heir to the company now, little bro," she said, knocking him hard on the arm. It left a red mark on the skin of his shoulder. She spread her arms grandly through the air in a gesture. "Lewis n' Son's Sport and Bait!" she proclaimed for the fish to hear. "I guess the son is the Lewis now, huh? Gotta find a new son."
Marten scoffed, and let a bit of air out his nose. He didn't feel like laughing. "But, Willy, Dad's gonna take over the business when he gets out."
"Dad's not coming home for a long time," she replied, honestly. "We'll be lucky if he even gets out before we're in our thirties… That would be for good behavior, and let's be honest… That's not Dad."
Marten sighed. She was right. Zak Lewis was a good man, and Marten stood by most of his decisions—questionable though they were. But there were times when someone would mouth off to him, or in any other way, prove themselves a threat, and Dad would become vicious and bloodthirsty. Marten remembered times when he was younger he felt genuinely afraid of the man. It wasn't until much later he realized the only reason his father had gone to prison was because the stitcher told him that Marten was a sorry excuse for a son…
The moment the life left from Grandad, Marten became the sole heir to Lewis n' Son's. It had become a tradition to pass it off to the eldest son in the generation. He loved fishing as a hobby, but he had come to dread the day he would take on the business. He only ever came to this creek to relax and spend time with Willy. He was never meant for Capitol trade. He wasn't built like that.
"I wonder what it will be like with a picture of you on the logo instead of him. I bet you'll look even more lame." Marten frowned. "Sorry. Ain't the best time, I suppose."
"Do you want to run the company, sis? If you want the job, it's yours."
"I don't want the company. The world is screwed up as it is without my help."
Marten chuckled and nodded, the she threw her head back in laughter. When the creek quieted down again, she planted the spear in the gravel below the water. She sighed. "The world is a bunch of dead people looking to find life in the wrong place."
They sat in the moment together until the sun began to float gently below the tree line. Willy was the first to stand, and Marten followed at distance. She picked up their spears and jokingly threw them into the deep of the creek. "Better go grab those. I'll meet you at home."
Marten rolled his eyes and slipped out of his sandals to wade back in. Twenty feet in, his legs were soaked up to the thigh and he plucked the spears from the wet muddy riverbed.
When he turned, his sister had fled. In her place were three boys, all slightly older than him, yet not nearly as tall. He recognized the one in the middle as the carpenter's son, Ronn. He had a tuft of blond hair on his head only barely lighter than Marten's own, and his ugly smirk didn't help. The two other boys, one short with dirty brown hair and no shirt, and the other tall with round glasses and overalls, remained behind while the carpenter's son stepped out into the creek to meet him.
"Hello, fish boy," Ronn spoke acidly as the water passed above his knees. He surveyed the scene and settled his eyes on the thread satchel at his side. In a swift motion, he ripped it away, breaking the shoulder strap and peeked inside to find the foot-and-a-half trout. "Is that all you caught? Pity… My family was looking forward to buying from you."
"You still can," Marten replied lightly. The two boys on shore sniggered and advanced. "I'd trade it for a wooden napkin holder, maybe?"
Ronn shook his head and held the fish in the air. "This fish ain't worth nothing." He dropped it back into the river and it floated away, belly up in the current. There was a jolt of anger, but Marten suppressed it quickly.
"Well… it's not now," Marten said. Ronn raised an eyebrow. "Bet it would have been tasty. It was a nice, young trout. The young ones are usually—"
Ronn interrupted him with a hard down on Marten's exposed toe, making him wince in pain. "I don't… care…" He shook his head as Marten regained composure and calamity. "How long is it going to take for you Lewises to get it? We own you. We always have. We always will."
Marten was confused.
"Did your grandfather not tell you?" Ronn scowled, seeing the hurt in Marten's eyes. "Typical. The guy was a git… transferring his debts to his grandson and not even telling him about them. Get this through your thick skull, fish boy. Your family has been taking loans from us since you were still in the crib, and paying back… until three years ago. We're still waiting for that money."
Marten's eyes grew wide. He didn't even know Grandad took loans from anyone, much less forgot to pay them back. "How much?"
"About enough to move to the Capitol."
"I don’t… If your family has enough money to do that, why are you still here?"
Ronn couldn't speak for a moment, searching for a resentful enough comeback. He peered at the creek, which flowed just below his knees for a moment before speaking. It's funny… You see—" he stopped himself to drive a hate-fueled fist into Marten's gut, doubling him over. In the moment of shock, he lifted his leg high into the air and brought it down on the back of Marten's neck, sprawling him face-first in the creek. "You don't wanna pay it, get up and fight me for it." He raised his fists.
"I'm not going to fight you…" Marten replied, trying to compose himself. There was the anger again… No, I'm not going to fight him.
Ronn sent another foot into his right shoulder, knocking him onto a sharp patch of gravel. As his head submerged, his curly blond hair fell wet over his eyes. "You got two options here, Lewis: fight me or be a pushover like your grandfather."
The burst of fury was larger this time, more volatile. Marten quelled it back down to a simmer. "No," he said, choking on water and fighting his way onto his feet.
The carpenter's son's face contorted with rage. He landed a punch full in Marten's cheek bone, and he was sure it was broken. When Marten turned back to the water to recover, a drop of his own blood fell from his face and drift off in the flow. The rage was pulsing hot now. The next drop of blood will be his…
"Why are you doing this?" Marten asked, feeling his bloody cheek.
Ronn bent down to the man on all fours in the creek and began to whisper into his ear. "You are nothing. It's time you got that through your skull, fish boy." Ronn's scowl burned fire-bright. Marten's knuckles were white, and his fingernails bit into his palm. "You're going in that arena, and the moment the timer hits zero, if you're lucky, you'll make a minute." He waited a moment and then scoffed. "You and your bloody inmate father."
67% of readers chose to [A. Fight back.]
Marten Lewis knew he was a monster, and his father's son. At that moment he could no longer deny it. He grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck and shoved him underneath the current in a swift motion. He held him there until he began to gasp for breath. "YOU'RE NOTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING!"
The more the boy struggled and fought against Marten's bull's strength, the more he squeezed. It didn't take long until the river flowed with the boy's blood. Of the two near the shore, one fled back into town and the smaller one came out to try to free his friend. It didn't take much of Marten's rage to throw his arm off.
"What are you doing?" he shouted through panicked cries. "You're drowning him! Get off! GET OFF!" Before he finished the last sentence, Marten let his hands go to find them soaking in muddy water and blood. Ronn didn't rise to breathe, and he knew without a doubt, that the boy lay dead in the stream.
As his body began to gently float to the surface, the second boy, now sitting in the water, was equal parts hatred and fear. "He's dead… You killed him…" he stuttered. He got up to flee. "Oh Lord, you killed him!" He pointed his short stubby finger at Marten. "You're dead for this, Lewis! You hear me?"
Long after the short man disappeared past the tree line, Marten still knelt in that stream, feeling his heart beat. The creek's waters were a muddy pink now, and only he was to blame. Yet, somehow, it was not this that upset him the most. It was something the boy said. "You're going into that arena…" The way he said that, so confidently… He didn't mean the Hunger Games, did he? How could he have known that I would be the one Reaped? He turned the words over and over in his head like a smooth stone, and after the blood had drained from Ronn's body, a bloodcurdling shriek sounded behind him. Willy was sprinting toward him.
"Marten! What the hell happened?" She didn't bother to take off her sandles and simply rushed into the water to her brother. "You're covered in blood… what…?" Her eyes saw the carpenter's son's body floating in the creek and welled up with tears. "Tell me you didn't… Tell me it wasn't you!"
"I killed him," Marten said. He'd never been one to shy away from the truth, but not in this. He knew he was a monster, but no one else could see it. They all thought him a gentle giant. Only a monster would do something like this… "I killed him with my bare hands."
"Get up, man!" she said, pulling him from the water, but she only managed to knock him in the mud. Tears fell like rain down her cheeks. "We have to get you out of here, now!"
"I ain't leaving."
"The Peacekeepers will find you if you stay here!" Willy wrapped her tree trunk arms around him and pried at him. He wouldn't budge. "They'll kill you! Or worse! And it'll be my fault! I left you here!"
"It's my fault," Marten stated plainly. He looked up into his sister's wet eyes in terror. He fought to overcome it though, because to Marten, nothing was worse than betraying your own word. "Leave me here. I deserve whatever comes for me."
"C'mon! I'm not going to leave you here!" She fell backwards into the water. "I lost Dad, and then Grandad! I'm not going to lose you too!"
Marten knelt in acceptance. There wasn't a thing he could do now that the damage was done. He wouldn't lie to the force and tell him he didn't know, or that he didn't mean to, because he did. Every single strike he threw against the carpenter's boy was deliberate. But he didn't deserve to die… I should have let him beat me. I could have taken it.
"Marten… Get up…"
"I love you, sis," he told her, and for the first time since he was a child, his eyes were wet with tears. "Tell Mom not to worry for me, and tell Jill… She can have my spear."
"No." There was a loud rushing sound coming from the left and a giant white-plated truck with the eagle crest of the Capitol emblazoned on the side barreled through the forest road. It halted in the gravel and four of the men inside got out and rushed to the scene, rifles in hand. Beside them was the tall boy with the glasses who had run for help. Willy shook him one last time. "They're coming, Marten! Come on!"
"Leave," he whimpered, as threatening as he could. She closed her eyes and hugged him tight, and planted a kiss on her hand and touched it to his forehead. Marten watched his sister flee through the tree line. Goodbye, he thought…
"Trois and Fender, go after her!" the Peacekeeper in front—the only one without a black visor—shouted at two in the back. They followed his order and ran into the woods and the darkness. Marten knew they wouldn't catch her. She was too quick, too cat-like. The Peacekeeper stepped up in front of Marten, red sunlight bouncing off his white plate, and turned Ronn's body on its side. He then pressed two fingers to his eyelids and closed them. "You…" he scowled, his mouth quivering. "You…"
The last Peacekeeper stood behind him and locked a pair of binders on Marten's wrists. If he wanted to, he could have snapped them, but he had decided even before the white truck arrived that he would go willingly. But they wouldn't hear his apology. Not here.
"Look at me!" The Peacekeeper grabbed Marten's jaw and yanked his head up. He could only barely see through the wet strands of hair hanging on his brow. "It's nonames like you that make this District hell. I want you to take a long look at my face, because it's the last you'll ever see."
The man had short gray hair, and wrinkles about his cheekbones. His facial structure was neither wide nor thin, but his massive jawline made up for it. His hazel eyes stared him down in contempt for a second before he raised his rifle above his head and brought its butt down onto Marten's forehead.
In a way, Marten reminded himself of his grandfather. He was the kind of person who took his spear in one hand and life in the other. Marten had done that too—only the life he took was not his own. He accepted Ronn's words from half an hour ago, some of his last, and fell into their embrace. Marten was nothing.
Consciousness slipped away as easily as Ronn's life had.
End of Chapter 4