I can't stop my shaky breaths as they rip out of my body. I try to calm myself, to focus on what's in front of me, but now everything is spinning around me. I shake my head, but the spinning gets worse. I glance over my shoulder, the sounds of the bloodbath echo back at me. It's OK, you got out before they got you. The thought comforts me and the spinning starts to subside. For now.
I need to keep moving. I glance up and down the corridor and start jogging in the direction that leads away from the sounds of slaughter behind me, glancing over my shoulder every other second to make sure I wasn't being followed.
Brian and I had been told by Liza that the arena could take any form, but every Games I had ever seen had taken place somewhere in nature. A desert, a jungle, one year they did it in what I guess would be described as "tundra" (although that year hadn't been as exciting as over half the contestants died of exposure). I had never heard of it taking place in somewhere as man-made as a mall, something I've only ever seen on television.
The corridor I'm running down ends and forks in two directions. I choose right and kept moving, faster now, scanning the stores I pass for something that might be useful. We don't have buildings like this in District 12, and I doubt the other contestant have ever seen a place like this either. Maybe 1, 2, or 4, but even that's doubtful. No, this arena is entirely for the viewing audience in the Capitol. Only they have enough shit to require a hundred different stores to sell it and, on top of that, an entire building to keep all the stores in.
Some of the stores I pass don't even make sense to me. One looks like it sells everything entirely in red and white. Another sells only pretzels. Another is packed with what looks like thousands of bottles of lotion. Still others sell food and clothes and really anything you would ever need. I'm glad I skipped the bloodbath. There's enough supplies here to keep me alive for years, but the one store I'm actively looking for I don't see anywhere. I need to find a weapon.
I slow down to a walk, breathing heavily again. I was not incredibly active back in District 12. The other kids at school had called me a nerd and I embraced it. I do like to read and learn. But running? Exercise? No. My parents had never pushed me to go out and play with the other kids and I was fine with it. But once my name was drawn, I instantly regretted it. I'm not fat-nobody in District 12 is-but my lungs are burning and I've barely been on the move for ten minutes.
I should be far enough away for now. I need to concentrate on finding a weapon. One store pops out at me. Dick's Sporting Goods sounds promising. I enter the store carefully even though there's no way anyone has gotten this far yet without me seeing them. It's brightly lit and catchy pop music plays softly over the speakers. I instantly know I've hit the jackpot. Baseball bats and hockey sticks line the walls. Something that looks like staves are in another corner. On closer inspection they're surrounded by boxing gloves, mouth guards, and nun chucks. Then I see what's on the back wall: hunting equipment. It's mostly bows and arrows, but on the highest shelf, about twenty feet out of reach, is a hunting rifle with a scope.
I need to find a way to reach it without breaking my neck, but first I need to make sure I won't get murdered trying to get it. I head back to the front of the store, dodging racks of workout clothes and running shoes. There's no signs of life at the door. I listen of a couple minutes, but don't hear anything. I'm good for now.
On my way back to the rifle, I stop at the first display I saw and examine the baseball bats. I never played any sports in District 12. I think I once kicked a ball around with some friends, but that's about it. I have never even seen bat before, but I'm guessing it's not a complicated concept. Hold the skinny end. Swing. Kill. Sounds simple enough. I pick a silver one that looks about my size and pull it off the shelf. Or at least try to pull it off. It won't budge. I grab it with both hands and pull as hard as I can, but it doesn't budge. Fuck. I feel myself start to panic again. I try to grab another bat, this one large and red. It won't leave it's place either. I run to another display and try to grab a pair of shoes. It's like it's glued in place.
I sink down to a sitting position and stare in horror at the objects around me. These things could save my life, but they can't be moved. Everything I would ever need in the Games was close enough to touch, but, in the end, utterly useless. I feel tears start to blur my vision, but I shake them off. This is not the time for crying. I've wasted way too much time here. I need to go, to find something I can actually use to help myself.
I reach up to pull myself to my feet when I feel something give way under my hand. An automated voice comes over the speakers, interrupting the music. Running shoes. Cost: 2 tokens. Before my eyes, a slot shoot out of the display, waiting for me to enter my payment. I look closer at what I touched and finally see what I had been missing in my rush: small buttons accompany every item in the store. I push another by a sweatshirt. The automated voice sounds again. Running jacket. Cost: 2 tokens.
I run back to the baseball bat and hurriedly press its button. Baseball bat. Cost: 10 tokens. So there wasn't one set price. I guess it has to do with how valuable the Gamemakers think each object is. And what are the tokens? I quickly search the jeans they gave us and then the pockets of the light hoodie. I find one. It's small, not much bigger than a quarter. I'm not surprised I didn't notice it before.
The coin is a bright gold color. On one side is a profile picture of President Snow and on the back, the number fifty-three, for the fifty-third year of the Games. I'm happy to have figured it out, but now what? I need another just to buy a pair of shoes. What could only one buy me? How do I get more? I have too many questions... But then I have no questions because I hear someone laugh and all I can think is oh shit.
"His head just fucking exploded. I thought that only happened in movies and shit." I can't see the speaker yet, so I still have some time. I get down on my knees as quietly as possible and crawl behind the closest cover, a large bin filled with basketballs. Maybe they won't come in here. But my luck isn't that good. "Oh look, sporting goods. There's probably some good shit in here." Another voice answers him more quietly.
I press my back against the basketballs and pray to any god I can think of. They're getting closer, but, on the bright side, they definitely don't know I'm here. I could surprise them and...what? Throw balls at them? Actually, no, I can't even do that because who knows how many of these goddamn coins they cost. I want to scream in frustration.
"You should probably be a little quieter." It's a girl's voice. I hold my breath and peek around the edge of my hiding spot. It's the tributes from District 7. They're both powerfully built, probably from chopping wood since before they could walk. The boy has what looks like a pipe that's been broken in half. It has blood on one edge. The other doesn't look like she's armed, but I can't get that good a look before they're gone, heading deeper into the store. I wait, knowing what's coming. When I hear them exclaim over the gun I get up as quickly and quietly as possible and head for the door.
My foot catches on the metal edge of basketball case and I trip. I try to catch myself and grab out wildly. My hand connects with a tablecloth, but I still go down, bringing the cloth with me...and sending a display of about two hundred tennis balls crashing to the ground. They go everywhere, bouncing around me as I try to right myself. I get to my feet, untangling from the tablecloth and almost go down again on one of the fucking tennis balls. They're still bouncing everywhere, the noise echoing through the mall.
I hear laughter and whip around and, sure enough, there they are. District 7 boy stands with his broken pipe held loosely in one hand dying of laughter at the sight of me and the mess I made. The girl looks less than amused. "Trying to sneak up on us?" She asks, her voice hard as nails.
"Um….No, I just…" I have no idea what to say. Instinct says beg for my life, but I know that won't work. Mercy doesn't belong in the Hunger Games.
"You just what?" Without waiting for an answer, she punches the boy on the arm. "Jordan, shut up. Go kill her." The boy sobers up quickly and scowls at her.
"Why don't you do it? I killed the last one."
"Pussy."
He glares at her and then rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever." He takes a step forward and his foot hits a tennis ball. I'm out the door before he hits the ground. The girl's angry shout echos in my ears as I sprint down the mall. I need to get out of here. I vaguely process that it probably wasn't the best idea to go running at breakneck speed through the arena, but now wasn't the time for caution. I glance over my shoulder as I run and see them coming out of the sporting goods store at a full sprint. I need to lose them.
But they are fast. Really fast. And I'm starting to slow down already. I've never been very good at running. They're catching up with me now and I can see the murder in their eyes, blood leaking from the boy's temple where he must have cracked his head on the tile floor. I push harder. I can make it if I really try. I just need to lose them and then I'll be fine. It'll all be fine. The pipe catches me in the knee and, as I fall, I hope it'll be over quickly.
