Get away (Gemma)

He stirs under my grasp, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I passed out. Thank you." I manage a grunt in acknowledgement; it’s all I can manage as I continue to drag him along the uneven ground. He woke up just in time, too, as we’ve reached my entrance point. If he was under any longer I would have had to wait, which could lead to our discovery. I drop him, roughly but without malice, and rub and stretch my back; as usual, it is aching from hard work. I’ll be folded in two by the time I’m an old woman. "How do you cross over?"

I point out the carefully balanced log that rests against the concrete monster. I’m not fond of the thing; it’s rotting and rocks under my weight, who knows if it will be able to bear two of us? The wall is a metre thick, though, providing us with a safe, sturdy perch halfway over. "I'm going to need your help." I sigh internally, frustrated. Why not just kill him? a dark corner of me whispers. It will be easier. Why not just go on alone?

Because I’m not like that, I answer, and help him up onto the natural bridge. Once he’s secure I begin to climb, too, used to the footholds of my old enemy. My blisters and splinters burn on my fingertips and on my palms, but I grit my teeth and get stuck into it, knowing for a fact that Jack has it worse off than me. It’s not long before we are seated on the wall above, panting from the exhaustion and ready to drop down dead.

Well, perhaps not drop, I consider, looking down. It’s not very far at all, in terms of trees, but a good ten feet up in the air is not an ideal height. Luckily, I am prepared, and begin shuffling along the top of the concrete, my legs dangling over the inner side of the fence. After a couple of minutes I reach a stack of aging logs; they’re slippery from the rain we had, and could roll away at any given moment, but, like the stray log, they serve as my usual ticket in and out of the confines of District 7. I grip the corner of the wall with one hand; sliding my body off the top I twist, flinging my other hand back onto the wall so that I am facing the rough, brutal surface. I stretch my legs downwards, feeling out for the wood. Nothing. I take a peek down; they’re only a few centimetres below my reach. I wince, fearing a loud crash or a painful landing, then let go. My feet slam into the wood; I nearly lose my balance, but somehow I stay upright. Slowly, slowly, I make my way back onto the hard packed earth, then look back up at Jack, waiting for him to try. “I can help you, Jack,” I say, whispering loudly, “It’ll hurt if you land on your legs like I did.”

He manages to make it down off the wall, but at the cost of an agonising scream, and tells me to go if we are being hunted. I grab his hand and lead him along; I won’t leave him now, not after he’s done so well. I lead him through the maze of stocked wood, heaps of sawdust and old, battered warehouses until we come across an ancient gate. It is waist high, and usually I would just take a run-up to it and leap over, but this time I simply go to open it. The latch is rusty, slippery, but I manage to coax it out of place, squeaking unpleasantly. It swings open, only just holding together, and I usher him through.

We come out at the richer area of my district, further south than my home. My house is nothing compared to these giants; we have only one floor, the cheapest available – even my boyfriend, from a family of five, has two floors – but I suppose that if it means that we can feed ourselves, then cramped conditions are a small price to pay. I think fondly of home, itching to be back by the fire with my parents and sister. I daydream about baking, dancing; even chores like chopping firewood come to mind. "Where are we going?"

I whisper over my shoulder, “There’s an old stable around here. No one uses it, so you shouldn’t be found. Still, you’d better lie low while you’re here. Once you’re settled, I’ll head home for some money to pay for the medic.” I pray and pray that it is still abandoned, still exists. The roof might have collapsed, or rats might be everywhere, or someone else might have turned it into a home. But there’s no going back; I carry on slipping through the shadows, the District 10 stranger following closely. We round a corner, and I see it, up ahead. It appears as lonely as always, the doors swinging on the light breeze, the neighbours rejecting its presence.

“What do you think?” I ask Jack, drawing closer to the structure. “Could you call it home for a few weeks?”

"Why can't I go to a doctor now? Trust me, this is the first time I'm asking for one. I'm just hanging on my a thread, Nee!" I know, I know, I think. But the only reason I've dragged him here first is that I can move faster without him. "You want to see you family. Go." I'm reluctant to leave him, in case he thinks I won't come back. Does he really think I would just abandon him? His hope in me might be the only thing keeping him going now.

I watch, helpless, as he stumbles into the darkness, and I catch his farewell. "Just don't forget me. Thank you so much for risking your life for me. I'll never forget that." I won't Jack, I promise, leaning my axe against the wall of the structure - it will only slow me down. I turn without checking where his body is and push my body into a run.

I make it back home in under five minutes, but I'm crippled from exhaustion and excruciating pain. I collapse as quietly as I can at the back door, clutching my sides as they throb. It even hurts to breath. I allow myself only a few seconds before slipping in through into the dining room. The fire is still glowing but there are no flames, and I can hear the faint sighs of my family as they sleep in the next rooms. I tip-toe to the kitchen, remove a large amount of coins and slide back outside, careful to lock the door again for their sake. I groan and force my legs back into a sprint. He's running out of time!

After a few wrong turns and ducking out of sight from patrols of Peacekeepers, I manage to get to the old doctor's house. I knock urgently but gently on the front door, coins still in my hand. A moment later a shrunken, cantankerous elderly man appears, demanding to know why I've woken him at this late hour. "There's someone dying... in the old stables..." I manage to pant out. "You don't know him, he's not from here... I've got lots of money to pay you if you'll save him and keep quiet." He holds out his hand to inspect the coins, and I tip so many in that he has to bring his other one up to hold the pile of gold. A crooked grin appears, and he follows me at a smart walk back towards the hiding place.

It takes us a good quarter-of-an-hour to get back to Jack, and I'm wondering if his heart is even still beating. I plonk myself down into some hay, utterly spent, while the ancient medic does his work.

I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep while the old man does his work, but now I hear him say, "Ah, you're awake. It's medicine to fight the infection." I smile softly; although I didn’t catch what Jack said he must still be capable of speech. But I can tell that the process before me is difficult to bear. I’m not the one with the damaged leg, yet I feel sick to my stomach and have to turn away. After a while, things go quiet and I turn to hear the diagnosis.

"I'm afraid too much tissue is damaged and infected. I don't think I can safe your leg, son." Oh dear, is all I manage to formulate in my mind at first. Then more words come. That’s the completely wrong thing to tell him. He needs his leg. He can’t get home if he’s crippled; and even if he did, how would he earn a living? It occurs to me that Jack relies on his health for survival in more ways than one. He’s a delicately balanced person, and if the slightest thing upsets that balance he is done for.

"No! Don't take my leg. No way." He looks my way, begging with his eyes. I can’t refuse that desperation. I put myself in his place. What use would I be in the lumberyard if I was missing an arm or a leg? My life would be over. No money, no food, no hope. At least I would have a family to fall back on, though I can’t speak for Jack. And if I was stuck in District 10, could I ever get home? No. I would need that limb.

I shake my head. “He needs it. He’s-“ I stop. I don’t want to give too much away about my friend. ‘Wrangler’ would give everything up about him, so instead I say, “-He’s in manual labour. And he’s got to get home.” The old man sighs and rubs the back of his neck; I can tell he’s in a tough spot.

“Well, I suppose that even if I removed it then it could kill you from the strain on your heart and the blood loss. I can try you with special herbs and a few doses of morphling – this young lady paid me enough for it! If that still doesn’t work, well, you’re looking at losing it as a final resort. Which is likely.” I nod, then turn to Jack. Is it a good enough shot? He must know that losing his leg is better than dying.