We sit in our nice little cave, somewhere between the coniferous forest layer and the mountain layer, nursing our cuts and bruises from Nutmeg and Elk Face’s clubs and sticks. Night is only a few hours away, when the day should have been at its warmest, but it’s freezing and we’re shivering uncontrollably. We risk a fire, doubting anyone would venture up this far before night. Or should I say, no one is stupid enough – except us.
“I say we go up,” I say, poorly mimicking your tone.
You scoff. “I did not say that!”
“You did too! Let’s go up! Down’s where everyone else is!” I rub my arms because they’re freezing cold. “You know why everyone is down there? It’s warm.”
“Yeah, but that’s where most people have died,” you say, warming your hands over the fire. “Would you rather be warm and dead? Or cold and alive?”
“Is that a trick question?” I grumble, looking out the opening of our cave.
Snow might be falling where we are, but, if you look past the white flakes, you can see the beach. The sun is still warming it and I swear I can see the heat radiating up from the soft sand. I close my eyes and pretend I’m there. Of course, I could probably abandon you here, but, really, where would you get without me? Obviously, I’d have to make the decisions from now on.
“You know what?” you begin and I feel as though I should listen because you have something important to say. Usually I try to tune you out. “I think we should solve this dilemma.”
Here it comes. Crazy, out of our minds time. “What dilemma?”
“We can’t have people bathing on the beach.”
“How? I mean, they’re so warm and we’re so cold.”
From your satchel, you pull out a bundle of red candles. I’m about to laugh when I realize that, wait, those aren’t candles. They’re sticks of dynamite. You pet them with an evil, mischievous grin on your face.
“We’ll blow it up.”
I smile. “I like the way you think… Apart from the ‘Let’s go up’ part.”
“Oh my gosh, Ginger! Are you still on that?”
“I’m good,” I say. “So anyway, how are we gonna go about this?”

After making our plans we rest for the night. True, there were some minor details to work out, but it would take us an entire day’s hike to get back down to the beach. Our sleeping bags are nice and heat-reflecting, so the cold only reaches our faces.
Morning comes, and in the soft rays of early morning, we pack up and head out. The temperature’s even colder, getting to the point where we eventually bring our arms inside our jackets, letting the sleeves dangle. There isn’t an animal in sight as we trek downhill, making fresh prints in the snow. The only prints around.
And we’re hungry. Last night we’d shared our last dried fish and melted snow. But it’s only been a day, so technically we have a week before we should worry about dying from it. Then again, physical exertion usually cuts that time in half. I figure I shouldn’t mention this though. Don’t want you worrying yourself. Unless you’re already thinking the same thing as me, then thanks! I don’t want to hear it.
It’s late evening and we’ve only just made it to the middle of the rainforest. It’s considerably hotter, so we shed our longer fuchsia pants and coats and hike around in our bright yellow shirts and hot pink swimming shorts. We stuff the extra in our satchels.
“Wanna stop for the night?” I ask, exhausted.
“I can go a little longer,” you say.
I grimace, but then smile and pull ahead, taking the lead. “Yeah, me too.” Secretly, I’m thinking: Great… More walking.
It’s night by the time we find a decent opening in the jungle to plop down and sleep. We lay out our sleeping bags and immediately fall asleep. Are we worried about people coming and killing us in our sleep? Not with Slasher, Dasher and Steve around.
Besides, no one comes. I awake just a few hours before dawn and shake you until you do too. You bring Steve up defensively, but you see it’s me, grumble, and roll over. Then you ignore me.
“Don’t you wanna make the beach go boom?” I ask, lightly kicking you. “Sixty foot high plumes of flames?”
You sit up grudgingly. “I want one hundred foot high plumes of flames!”
“… BRILLIANT!”
We pack up camp and start for the beach. It’s considerably warmer down here, compared to the freezing temperatures just miles away. We don’t even need our jackets. The sun’s just beginning to rise when we reach the beach.
Stealthily we crouch behind a bush on the edge of the forest, peering through the thick foliage. There are people littered everyone, some evidently dead, some possibly dead, and others obviously alive. A lot of them are sporting sun burns, bikinis, Speedos, and look! – there’s that whale from the beginning of the games! The same two boys are holding onto it. Then there’s also the boy who harpooned you. I notice most of the girls in the bikinis are with the guys.
The Professional pack.
“So what’s the plan Stan?” I whisper.
“Stop calling me Stan.”
“What’s the plan Ste-fan.”
You scowl at me.
I smile back.
“We blow it up,” you say after a moment of our joyous exchange. You laugh maniacally and paw at the dynamite again.
“We can’t just blow it up! The Professionals are gonna run away before they get a chance to explode.”
You look at me in confusion. “What’s this about the Professionals? I thought we were going to blow up the beach.”
“I thought we were blowing up the beach because that’s where the Professionals are.”
“Are you saying… Are you saying you actually want to kill people?”
My jaw drops in incredulity. “… That’s the whole point of this isn’t it? Where have you been?”
“Excuse me Ginger, but they didn’t say anything about killing anybody.”
“We killed Elk Face and Nutmeg!” I say in a hushed whisper.
“Because they attacked us,” you respond, emphasizing this with a flail of your arms.
“The Professionals are gonna attack us if we blow up their beach.”
“I cannot believe you Ginger! And here I thought we were on the same page.”
I frown and shake my head. I glance at the Professionals. They’re splashing in the shore now. Otac (the one who harpooned you) splashes Twinkle playfully with water and they giggle and cavort. It makes me sick.
“Apparently we’re not,” I say, looking back at you, completely serious. “If we blow up the beach, there will only be a few of us left. I don’t want it to get down to the two of us because you know who would win.”
“Me,” you say, nodding your head.
I point at myself. “Me!”
“Oh come on Ginger, you know I would win.”
I punch my own hand a few times. “The Second Degree Black Belt.”
“I have a harpoon!”
“That’s what I’m trying to say,” I amend. “Let’s just split this off before it gets to us. If we’re lucky, you’ll be dead and I’ll be the vanquisher!”
You give me an evil look. “I hope you die and I’m the vanquisher!”
“That hurts!”
“You said it first!”
“That didn’t mean I meant it!”
We both hush each other when we begin to shout and duck deeper behind the bush.
“Fine, if you want it that way, then let’s split up.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
I stalk off, using Slasher and Dasher to create a path in the trees, hoping it’d lead to you.

My feelings are hurt. I really thought we’d be partners through and through. Okay okay, I know I can’t say that it was all your fault, but I can’t believe you didn’t know the Thirsty Games’ whole purpose was to kill the other contestants so you could live. What’d you think this was? Breaking Dawn where everyone important lives? Anyhow, I wander through the forest, not exactly aimlessly, but my despondency doesn’t allow me to have a clear purpose.
Somehow, I find myself a pair of rabbit tracks somewhere at the fringes of the coniferous forest and follow them until I come to a rabbit hole. Someone’s following me, so I turn to them and say, “Shh, be wery wery quiet. I’m hunting wabbits! Giggle giggle giggle, guffaaaw!”
Then, slowly, I stick Slasher into the rabbit’s hole. Out pops a rabbit munching on a carrot.
“Munch, munch munch… Aaaayah, what up doc?” it asks me.
I falter and glance around. What is this? When did I get transported into Looney Tunes? Keep your cool Ginger, I tell myself. You’ve seen enough episodes to know what happens next.
“How’d you know I was a doctor?”
“I…” The rabbit looks wery confused. “I generally say that to anyone that comes by my rabbit hole.”
“How now brown cow?” I ask and then make a gesture daring the rabbit to respond to that. When I see I’ve caught him off-guard, I continue, “What a maroon! What a nim-cow-poop!”
The rabbit points his carrot at me. “What’s this? You’ve stolen my lines!”
“Hi-yah!” I shriek and charge. When Bugsy is chomping on his carrot no more, I use it to make him into stew. Am I proud of it? No. I personally liked Bugs Bunny, but now that he couldn’t humor me, he’s feeding me. What can you do? It’s the Thirsty Games.
It’s late afternoon and I’m sitting alone by a camp fire I made to cook Bugs. Part of me hopes someone comes and finds me, just so I can take them out and say, “See Frenchy? This is the whole point of this!” But no one came.
I start to become disconcerted by the fact I haven’t heard an explosions yet. Surely the amount of dynamite you had would’ve at least made a bang. Maybe you got killed before you could light them. I shrug. I don’t care anymore anyhow. As long as you’re out of the way I guess.
With a sigh, I take a bite of my stew and think about how it needed some spice. A little spice from Frenchy. It makes me sad again.
Then I hear it. Shouting, screaming.
I drop my stew and scale a tree so I can see the beach in the distance. Just as I stop and look, I see the beach light up in a fiery explosion that catches my ears moments later. I whistle low, in awe at the shear magnificence of the explosion and wonder where you are.
I don’t have to wonder for long.
Out from the hundred foot high plumes of flames shoots a stream of smoke at great speed and velocity. It shoots off to the side and the wind blows away the smoke to reveal a person. You. You soar through the sky, and though it’s delayed, I hear you holler, “GGGGiiinnngggeeerrrrr!” Then you disappear behind the trees and I catch a distant thunk as you land.
Well there you have it. When you play with dynamite, you’re bound to blow yourself up. I just hope you are…. I mean aren’t okay. If you managed to blow up the Professionals along with yourself, then I would become the vanquisher of the Thirsty Games.
Shaking my head, I descend the tree and return to my soup. Anyhow, at least that left less people in the arena to worry about. I was beginning to think there weren’t a lot left, considering I hadn’t seen anybody since you.
My stew tastes even better when it’s laced with the thought of victory. A voice booms over the arena and I’m spewing stew in disbelief as I register what it says. Two people may win the Thirsty Games? As long as they are from the same neighborhood? What in the world? This wasn’t a part of the plan! Abort! Abort!
Then again, you and I had made a great team while it lasted. We took care of Elk Face and Nutmeg no problem. With Steve, and Slasher and Dasher on our side, our chances of winning were all the better!
Before I can stop myself, I call, “Frenchy!” Then I slap my hands over my mouth.
Stupid, stupid. Just alert everyone that where you are! Go for it!
Besides, you probably wouldn’t have been able to hear me anyway. We all know what explosions do to your hearing.
“Darn it!” I curse when I remember you just blew yourself sky high. What am I supposed to do with you if you did survive? Patch you up? Wait… I open my satchel and see the nice rolls of duct tape. Maybe that was exactly what I can do.
Sighing heavily, I pack up my stew and save a little for you. Then I pack everything up, don my satchel and head in the general direction you flew. Maybe I could follow a nice path of destruction when I find you. Only one way to find out.
I spend the entire night walking. Based on your trajectory, you probably landed somewhere in the upper most part of the forest, or the lower part of the mountain. I was hoping for the former. I come to the outskirts of the forest, where the snow is four inches deep and growing, and my breath is steam in the air.
The sun is rising when I see the first sign of you. A few broken trees and a path where someone skidded to a halt is what alerts me. It is still steaming. I shake my head when I find you aren’t in the pile at the end of the skid mark. I see some tracks, scattered snow from someone who wasn’t fully in control of their actions. There’s blood too, which begins to worry me. An injured partner is a hassle and nuisance. No offense.
I follow the tracks until they suddenly end. I frown down at the snow. What’s this? Did you suddenly disappear? What am I supposed to do now?
Hesitantly, I clear my throat and say as loudly as I dare, “Frenchy?”
No answer.
I start forward in the direction of the last tracks. “Frenchy?”
“Don’t step on me.”
I start and jump back, but there’s no one in sight. No tracks other than my own. Then I see it, a pair of mittens in the snow. I pick them up and put them on my frosty hands. Mittens. Mittens. Mittens. I love mittens. They’re good for warmth, and snowball fights too! I place my hands on my cold cheeks and feel the softness of the mittens, smiling to myself. Wait! If there’s a pair of mittens there must be a hat nearby!
“Frenchy!” I call, now digging through the snow.
“Ouch! You stepped on me!” you shout, but I still can’t see you. Then you move and the snow shifts. Your head emerges and you blink at me. You’re wearing said hat. “So you found me.”
“Whoa, Frenchy, you’re covered in snow. I guess all those times we had snowball fights came in handy.”
“Yes snow, the last defense of the dying.”
I look at you seriously. “You’re not going to die.”
You sigh dramatically. “We’ll see.”
I lean closer and grab your hand. “You blew up the beach?”
You choke down tears. “Every last bit.”
“We gotta win,” I say, giving your hand a squeeze.
“We are,” you respond, looking exhausted. “Going to win with the both of us now.”
With that settled, I let go of your hand and straighten.
“Alright,” I say. “Let’s get you out of this snow and taped up.”
“Taped?” you asked, sounding worried.
I nod. “Taped.”
It takes several minutes to exhume you from the snow. Somehow, you managed to bury your legs under three feet of hard packed snow. I tug on your arms for a few minutes, but get nowhere. I’m forced to dig out the snow, but luckily my mittens keep my hands warm. The entire time you’re whining, “My side! Oh my side!”
“Stop complaining,” I say through gritted teeth.
I give another hard pull and you emerge from the snow. We collapse, me panting from the strain, you still whining.
“Ah, my side.”
“What happened to your side?” I ask wearily.
“I blew it up.”
“You blew–” I splutter and then pause. No, I did hear you right. “You blew up your side?” I say slowly.
You nod, grimacing from the pain. You look on the verge of tears.
“Well that’s what you get for playing with dynamite and blowing yourself sky high.”
Now, I’m not going to type what you say next because, quite frankly, it’s mean and rude, and do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I mean, here I am trying to save your life and you call me those names. I could leave you, you know. Anytime. And all you could do is crawl back into your snow and die. So, instead of the words I actually heard, I imagined you saying, “Thank you Ginger. You’re the best partner in the world and I don’t deserve you.”
Minutes later, you have several layers of tape around you, covering up the worst of the hole you managed to blow out of your side. It is only about the size of a pea, but you complain about it anyway. Besides, I’m having fun wrapping the duct tape around you, so, by the time we’re done, there are a lot of superfluous layers. I coax my Bugs Stew into you, which you gobble down only after adding some of your spice, which you managed to keep through the explosion. That and Steve.
“What do we do now?” you ask, still chomping on a carrot (I’m reminded briefly of the thing that makes up my stew).
I look at the sky. It’s probably afternoon by now, but the temperature had never really gone anywhere all day. I am chilled to the bone so I can only imagine how cold you are, having been trapped in snow for a night.
“Shelter,” I say. “But there aren’t any trees or caves nearby.”
You set down the remnants of the stew and look at me as seriously as I had ever seen you do. “Igloo.”
“Come again?”
“We build an igloo.”
I blink, uncomprehending.
“Look, we have all this snow around us,” you say, gesturing at the whiteness. “Snow insulates heat. So if we build an igloo, we should be fine until I’m all healed up.”
“Healed up,” I repeat, nodding. I glance down at my hands, warm and toasty in their mittens. “Alright! Let’s get to work!”

With the igloo done (mostly by me, seeing that your side was “injured” and you were in “pain”) we sit inside it, sipping melted snow with some pine needles and spices in it. It tastes surprisingly good, though I have the insight not to ask you what you put in it. But, admittedly, you’re a master with the spices. It was as though you liked your food to be explosive!
“What now?” I ask between sips.
“Hmm.” You ponder while you studiously categorize your spices and put them away. “There are only a handful of us left.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
You look directly at something I cannot see. “A little birdie told me.”
I set down my cup of tea and frown. “I’ve never really understood that cliché. I mean, birds can’t talk can they? And if they could why would they tell you something. Unless… unless–” I point an accusing finger at you in pure shock “– you’re in league with them!”
“Yes Ginger, I’m in league with the birds,” you say, your voice dripping sarcasm.
“I knew it!” I shout, pointing at the ceiling of the igloo. “And all along you didn’t tell me. We’re supposed to be partners! Allies! If you have an advantage, you’re supposed to share it with me – especially now that we can both win! So, what else can your birds do?”
“They’re birds Ginger. They don’t do much.”
“Oh.”
“Well what about you,” you prompt. “Do you have anything we could use that I don’t know about?”
“Other than my awesomeness?” I gesture generally to myself, smiling smugly. Then I grow serious. “Actually… yes, but I’m not supposed to tell.”
You nod eagerly. “Go ahead! Spill. We’re the only ones in the igloo.”
I glanced slightly to the side at something you can’t see. Then I shrug. “Sure, why not? I am the master of a league of ninja assassins, as well as one Italian assassin whose name he often shouts.”
From outside, we hear a distant, Italian cry of, “I am Ezio Auditore de Florence! Want some pasta!”
I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “That’s him.”
“That’s handy,” you note as you glance at the well constructed walls of our igloo.
“He did kill the Pope once.”
You nod approvingly.
I yawn and stretch my arms as far as I can in the confined space. Grudgingly, I make my way over toward you because you’re occupying the only sleeping between us. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t lost your sleeping bag when you blew yourself up, we could have avoided this situation. But no. You had to go crazy with the dynamite.
“Scoot over,” I grumble.
You do so hesitantly with a dejected look on your face.
“Let’s just face the facts,” I say. “We’re in for a horribly long, awkward night. Might as well get it over with.”
“Let’s set up some base rules though,” you respond. “One: no talking. Two: no sleep moaning. And three: no kicking. If we both remain silent and motionless, there won’t be any issues.”
“Sounds like your first time,” I mumble with a small giggle. Then I cringe as I realize how bad that sounds.
You just shake your head in disgust. I notice for the first time that you’re holding Steve protectively to your chest. Frowning, I pull myself from the bag.
“What are you doing?” you ask as I fumble through my satchel.
I pull out Slasher and Dasher. “If you get to have Steve, then I get Slasher and Dasher,” I say as I return to the back and force my way in. I scowl at you. “You took more space.”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Alright, new rule! No arguing with the injured person!”
“You were barely cut! That doesn’t even count!”
You turn on your side so you facing away from me. “Whatever Ginger,” you grumble. “I’m in immense pain and you don’t even care.”
“Fine Frenchy,” I say in the same tone. “Goodnight!”
You mutter something offensive under your breath.
We both fall asleep, though neither of us is comfortable. But hey, what can you do? It’s the Thirsty Games.
We are both jolted from dreams of sugar plums and… dancing rainbows? I don’t even know how that works! But it’s your mind Frenchy. Whatever. Anyway, a thunderous rumbling awakens us. The entire earth is shaking. Or at least the earth beneath us. It’s hard to tell. We jolt upright in our sleeping bag, ripping open the zipper. I tumble to the side, flailing Slasher and Dasher just in case there’s an attacker. There’s not. And I end up cutting open the rest of the bag, missing you by centimeters.
“Ah!” you scream, trying to lurch to your feet, but two things inhibit you. One: the fact the ceiling in only three or so feet high, so you hit and come crashing down anyway. And two: your injury… or the duct tape. I can’t tell which. “What’s going on?” you ask, rubbing your snow covered head.
“I don’t know!” I shout back because the rumbling is getting loud.
Something happens. Something strange that neither of us can ever know how it came about or what caused it. We’re sent hurtling in our igloo, somersaulting head over heels, rolling and tumbling. I guess that’s not so strange, and that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about how our modest little igloo stays with us, completely in tact, as we roll down the hill.
It seems like hours later when the noise and shaking finally stops. By that time, we are buried in snow that has built up under the foundation of our modest little igloo. We emerge at the same time gasping for air and blinking snow flakes out of our eyes.
“What in the world was that?” I ask, pulling myself free so I can help you out. Your “wound” has opened up again.
“Don’t know,” you say as I pull you free.
We lay, dazed and confused in our modest little igloo for a few more moments, panting. Then, we muster up the energy to try to push our way out of the entrance, which snow had sealed such. I break free using both my ninja skills and awesomeness, and also my shoulder to ram at the snow. I burst out into pure sunlight. The whiteness of the snow blinds me and it takes me until you exit the igloo to orient myself.
We’re in the rainforest layer again. I turn and see a trail of snow and debris covering our path of descent. An avalanche seemed to be the cause. We turn to each other and share a looks. This had the mark of the Fun-Suckers all over it.
“There’s only a few of us left,” you say, and I can’t help but notice a little bird chirped right before you said it.
I twitched slightly. “That’s means we’re near the others.”
You heft Steve up and tighten your grip on it. You give me a subtle nod before assuming a confident expression. I return your nod, bring up Slasher and Dasher, and put a similar expression on my face.
We got this.
I motion with my head in a certain direction and you nod your approval. Together, we make our way through the jungle, prepared for an epic battle to the end. And we are going to win. There’s no doubt about that. Okay, there’s a lot of doubt. We’re two short, white girls from a small town. Only one of us has had combat training, and the other is injured. There is a lot that could go wrong. But so far, due to some sort of divine intervention, we had made it this far, and we would see it through to the end!
Just as I reach this conclusion, I splash into a stream and falter. Odd. I hadn’t seen the stream coming. Frowning, I look down at my feet. Sure enough, water is flowing around my shins. I can’t even see my feet in the murky water.
“Whoa!” I call to you behind me so you don’t follow me in. I try to turn around so I can step back onto dry land, but something’s wrong. My feet aren’t moving. “Oh no…”
“What is it?” you ask, finally catching up to me.
I struggle to pull my foot loose, but thick, goopy mud has it locked in its grasp.
“Don’t come in!” I warn. “I’m stuck!”
“Here!”
You hold out Steve… the sharp end. I only hesitant to grab in for an instant, but my uncertainty vanishes when something tickles my leg. I latch onto Steve like the lifeline it is.
“Pull!” I shriek.
You heave on your end and I do my best to help. There’s a sickening sucking noise and the harpoon digs into my hands. But I’m not free. Not yet… And then your hands slip and you fall back into the thick bushed with an oof. I would have fallen too, if it weren’t for the fact the mud was over my shoes now. I still flail and nearly drop Steve.
“Frenchy!” I shout, infuriated. When you don’t emerge right away, I shout even louder, “FRENCHY!”
“I’m here, I’m here!” You pop out from behind a bush, leafs in your hair.
“Grab it and pull me out NOW!”
I thrust Steve at you and you grab a hold. We try again, and both of our arms are straining, but the mud isn’t giving any slack. It has taken possession of my ankles now. The blade of the harpoon digs into my palm, drawing a small amount of blood. I don’t notice until I hear a single drop of it splash into the water.
Something tickles my leg again.
“Stop!” I shriek.
You cease your pulling, breathing hard. “What?”
“There’s something in the water,” I say, searching the muck around me.
A fish leaps out of the water, its scales flashing in the sunlight like shards of broken glass. It goes about ten feet up, does a fancy little back flip, flashes us a grin, before dropping back into the water. It isn’t just a fish though. It has teeth as sharp as blades.
“It’s a transformer!” I shout, pointing at where it disappeared in the water. “It’s more than meets the eye!”
“It’s just a piranha, Ginger.”
The fish tickles my leg again and I blanch. Then it bites my leg, sinking its teeth in.
“Owee!” I scream, yanking Steven from your grasp. Blindly, I drive the harpoon in the riverbed, feeling it strike something. When I pull it free of the muck, the fish is flopping at the end.
“STEVE! How could you do that to Steve?!”
“It’s a harpoon! It’s for spearing fish!”
“But it’s my harpoon!”
“Arg! Does it really matter right now? Just help me out!”
This time, my feet pull free after a good yank. We collapse onto the bank of the river, breath hard. The fish is still flopping on the end of the harpoon and I see that it has a piece of fabric ripped from my pants in his mouth. Anger over comes me and I stomp on the thing until it falls still. Then I see the blood running down my leg, go still for a moment, and pass out.
You sit up, gripping your side, in time to see me collapse to the ground.
“Ginger!” you say in surprise and concern.
Then, in a moment of pure genius, you rummage through your satchel and pull out the duct tape. Carefully, you roll me over onto my back because I pass out face down – the only way to truly pass out. You proceed to use half the roll of duct tape to wrap around my leg because, as you soon find out, duct tape doesn’t like to stick to wet surfaces and my pant legs are soaking with mug, water, and blood. By the time you’re done, my leg’s an extra inch thick. At least the bleeding has stopped, you think. Then again, you can’t really tell because you’ve covered my entire leg.
There’s a rustling in the trees. You stiffen and look up slowly. Thirty yards away, there’s a trees that’s moving. You hear a whoosh-plunk and the tree goes toppling town. After the debris has cleared, you can see the source. Otac.
Your face contorts in pure terror.
“Ginger!” you stutter, shaking my shoulder. “Wake up! I don’t want to have to carry you!”
I cough and open my eyes weakly. “What?”
“We gotta get moving.”
“Get moving my foot. We’re not going anywhere.”
You hoist me up by fistfuls of my jacket and point at Otac, who has spotted us by now and it industriously hacking at the foliage to clear a path toward us. Behind him Twinkle is grinning and flitting about from side to side.
“You get ‘em Otac!” she says in an overly preppy voice. “You can do it, yes you can. Who can do it? Otac can!” All she is missing is pom-poms. Oh, wait, I spoke too soon. She whips some out from behind her. “Five-six-seven-eight! Kill them now for Peeta’s sake!”
We both bellow in annoyance, “Oh my gosh – SHUT UP!!!”
Twinkle’s lip quivers.
“Hey!” Otac shouts so loud with both jump. “Don’t shout at her like that!”
We both pale and gulp audibly.
“She’s my cheerleader. She encourages me to win when I feel like giving in.”
“Have you ever felt like giving in?” I ask.
Otac give me a looks that’s unreadable, but make me feel like kicking him in the balls. “No, because she has always been there for me.”
“Oh my gosh – SHUT UP!!!”
That seems to frustrate Otac and offend Twinkle close to tears. I wonder, for a moment, if her tears would twinkle… Maybe, I could make her cry. Then I remember my leg.
“Okay Frenchy,” I say under my breath. “Let’s go!”
“Agreed.”
You hoist me to my feet and we stagger off (and by we, I mostly mean me. But that’s what you get when you let your partner be chomped by a piranha). The good news? We’ve caught Otac in the middle of an emotionally stirring speech depicting his traumatizing childhood and how he overcame diversity to singlehandedly win the first football game for the Dub P Panthers in over ten years. Blah blah blah. Nobody likes the football team.
We move quickly through the forest, but we’re hindered by my leg and the fact it feels fifteen pounds heavier because of the duct tape. You’re half dragging me, though, let’s face it, you’re not moving all that great either because of your “wound”.
Finally, we break free of the trees and burst out onto the remnants of the beach. Well, if you even call it a beach. It’s not. What you’ve made of the beach… it’s actually quite remarkable. Instead of the fine sand that so many had been frolicking freely on before, there now lay a barren wasteland of black and crusted earth. No water. I guess that’s why you can’t call it a beach anymore, because a beach implies water. Well. I should never let you have dynamite ever again. If we live past today that is.
The air is acrid smelling, but we don’t stop. Why? Oh, because there’s a pack of piranhas emerging from the trees close to where Otac and Twinkle are chasing after us. They have legs. It’s the weirdest thing we’ve ever seen. If anything, it propels us farther and faster than before.
We reach the Bread Basket, which has descended to what used to be the middle of the lake. The only way we could think of escaping the piranhas is to jump into the Bread Basket. Easier said than done. This time around, you reach the Basket first and hoist yourself in, then you hoist me up. We’re safe for a moment.
“Hey,” I pant. “Maybe the piranhas will get them.”
Oops. It seems I have a tendency to speak too soon.
Otac hoists himself into the Bread Basket, groaning. We notice he’s bleeding from several places and that gives us hope. Twinkle doesn’t follow him, but from the lack of cheers and pep-talks we know where she’s gone.
“This is all your fault!” Otac screams, gripping at his hair. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me!”
We share a look.
“Dude, this is the Thirsty Games. Get over it.”
“You don’t understand! She was the love of my life! Now she’s gone!” he wails, wrapping his arms around himself as though to keep his heart from falling out.
“Well, maybe you should’ve saved her from the piranhas?”
He ignored us. “Ah! I can’t stand the pain anymore!” Before either of us could stop him, and it’s not like we would have, he leaps to the edge of the Bread Basket. He holds his arms out, his head facing the sky. “I’m sorry my love!” he shouts. “Forgive mmeeeee!”
We watch, transfixed in disbelief, as Otac hurls himself over the edge. True, it’s not that far of a fall, and the thunk comes quickly compared to how they are in the movies. Then we hear the piranhas begin to go to town.
“Well,” you say, “that’s one way to win.”
I nod and smile suddenly. I grip your sleeves and give you a shake. “Dude! We WON!”
We grin and look around at the sky, waiting for the usual burst of confetti. But nothing comes. Not a single shred of paper.
Then the announcer is on and it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Completely infuriated, we look at each other. We’re the only ones left in the arena. And there can be only one vanquisher. They changed the rules on us again. What is up with this? Are they bipolar? “Oh let’s have two vanquishers this year! Won’t that be fun?” Two hours later. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Let’s have them kill each other instead!” Whatever. I’ll take the noble way out.
“It’s okay Frenchy,” I say as I sit up. I tear at the duct tape on my leg, knowing if I yank it free I’ll bleed to death. But there’s a problem. “How many layers did you put on my leg? It’s an inch thick!”
“What are you doing?” you ask.
I don’t answer. Instead, I pull out Slasher, because Dasher wouldn’t make sense in this situation, and slash off the tape. It falls away and sure enough the blood starts coming.
“I’ll bleed to death Frenchy, and then you’ll be the vanquisher.”
You shrug and nod. “Okay. Sounds good.”
I stare at you blank faced for a moment. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to try to save me? Aren’t you going to say, ‘No wait Ginger! I’ll die so you can live!’ or something like that?”
“Why would I?” you ask, looking confused.
“Give me that duct tape!” I shout lurching at you when I realized that you’re the one with the duct tape.
“What tape? There’s no more left!” you respond, barely managing to fend me off.
“WHAT!?!” I shriek. I scramble over to the remnants of the duct tape and struggle to reapply it to my leg. “You’re a monster! I should’ve let you freeze to death in the snow!”
“You don’t mean that!”
“I do! A friendship can only go so far!”
“Alright,” you say, your tone changing. You stand up and heft Steve into position so you can throw it at me. “Let’s end this now. Come on. Stand up and we’ll end this once and for all.”
Begrudgingly, I stand up and have Dasher join Slasher. I think about some snarky comments but nothing seems to compliment the situation, so I just shake my head disapprovingly.
“On the count of three,” you say.
I nod and we begin together.
“One.”
You raise your arm in preparation to throw. I tense my arms, ready to slice and dice.
“Two.”
Nothing changes, but I think commentary is necessary here. Oh, maybe a bird flutters by and a distant Italian shouts something.
“Three.”
We yell our battle cries and run at each other.
“WAIT WAIT WAIT!!!” a voice yells from the sky.
“What the hell?” I groan, because I was about to do something spectacular.
“Please welcome the vanquishers of Dub P!”
We share a look. So we were both winning now. I have no idea why. We weren’t going to commit suicide together or something dramatic like that. We were about to fight to the death like they wanted us to. None of this was adding up.
Then we hear a distant shout.
“GINGER! Frenchy’s mom is here to pick her up!”
You and I look at each other for a moment. We still had time to end this now. Maybe we could finish this off before…
We both sigh.
“Coming Mom!” I shout and we rush from the Bread Basket for my home in the distance.
When we arrive, your mother’s car is waiting in the driveway. You grab your stuff and hop in the car. I pound on the passenger window and shout your name because you forgot your socks into my room. But your mother drives away and I’m left alone in my driveway.
I stare in shock even after your car has left my sight. Someone comes and offers me some juice.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, realizing it was my mom. “I was rather thirsty.”