Quell
Chapter One
Earth rises around me and then slowly vanishes below my line of sight as the lift pushes from within the earth and sets me and twenty-three other tributes onto the playing fields of the Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games. I squint, eyes still adjusting to the blinding light of the morning sun. Someone inhales sharply as the announcer's voice booms around the landscape. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the First Quarter Quell begin!" No one moves. The arena is deathly quiet as twenty-four pairs of eyes sweep their surroundings. I stare across the circle at the female tribute from District One who is crouching on her silver disc, prepared to spring into action once the gong sounds. I cock my head to the side, momentarily confused. The Cornucopia is missing. Several of the other tributes are looking around, panicked by the lack of the familiar golden horn. The girl from District Four catches my eye and points down. The GameMakers must be sick men. The Cornucopia, packed with supplies and weapons, is nestled snugly at the bottom of a dirt pit in the middle of the tribute circle. There's barely enough room for it and maybe a few people. Bright orange packs are littered around it in an attempt to entice us into the hole. The sound of the gong shatters the still air and somewhere in the distance, water fowl cry out. Then all hell breaks loose.
The tributes from Districts One and Two are already climbing down into the crevice and snatching the closest packs, slinging them onto their backs as they search for their weapon of choice. They already have some sort of unspoken alliance. I slide down the edge, boots scrambling for hold against the compacted dirt. The female from Two, a lanky redhead, pulls a sword from the pile of weapons at the mouth of the horn and holds it to the light as if she has time to inspect it. The tributes from Five are already out of the hole, one pack between them, and dashing off towards a crop of forest beyond the circle of discs. I reach for a pack and it's snatched away with a grunt. I'm face to face with the massive male from Eleven but he turns and lumbers towards the Cornucopia without attacking. We're from neighboring districts and similar circumstances, unfortunate but natural allies. I move closer to the fray of swinging weapons, ducking to avoid the blonde girl from One's whip as it cracks towards a small boy from Nine. I seize a backpack and scramble back to the edge, pulling myself up and over the ledge. My feet hit solid ground and I'm about to run when a high pitch screech rends the air and everything—and everyone—in the arena stops.
The redhead with the sword has her cornered against the pit wall. She's a tiny brunette from Eight—barely twelve years old. "Melle!" Her fellow tribute is crawling back towards the pit, screaming her name as if it might save her. The redhead's sword glitters in the sunlight and swings. The tiny girl's head rolls away and the cannon sounds.
The boy from Eight is hysterical, practically asking for death as he attempts to jump back into the pit. The girl from Four has him by the arm and is dragging him out and away, heading towards the cover of the forest. The cannon sounds twice and I turn, stomach turning as I leap over the bleeding body the tribute from Eleven who stole my first pack. The cannon sounds again and the thick boy from One is making off with the pack. I turn and run without looking back.
The forest is cool and dark but rocky underfoot. Nearly everyone has run into the crop of trees closest to the pit but I've taken the long way into the other larger forest, closer to the sound of birds I first heard after the gong. The sounds of water birds means water is nearby and if I'm going to survive, I'm going to need it. Nothing moves in the underbrush and all is eerily quiet. The cannon fires twice more and goes silent. I don't know how long I've been walking but the fray at the Cornucopia must be over by now. Somewhere, a pack of Careers is surely on the hunt. I round a tree and turn randomly in the opposite direction. I'm not willing to let myself make mistakes and be hunted down. A mild breeze rustles the trees. I expected the arena to be deathly hot or maybe freezing but instead the weather reminds me of spring back in District Ten. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend I'm out with my flock and far away from this death trap the Capitol calls a game. I sit on a larger rock protruding from the plant life and examine the contents of my pack. I've got a jug for water that is woefully empty, a small bag of unfamiliar nuts, a flashlight, and a thin sheet of plastic as long as my arm. The nuts smell salty so I bury them in the bottom of the bag, unwilling to give into hunger at the risk of dehydration. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. No sound. The Careers surely followed everyone else into the closer forest. I have a moment to rest.
Spring in District Ten is more beautiful than all the Capitol's twinkling lights. The hills roll gently, dotted with flowers and low trees. In the valleys we keep our herds of cattle and flocks of sheep. There they graze, protected by the natural barrier of the hills. Nearly a week ago, I was just a shepherd; the lowly son of a cattle rancher and brother to six sisters. We'd celebrated my seventeenth birthday days before the Reaping. And then the broadcast came.
In honor of almost twenty-five years of slaughter and horror in the games, the President announced that the Reapings this year would be different. My mother held my three eligible sisters close. Each district would vote on which two children would receive the honor of being tributes in the Games. Elza breathed a sigh of relief. At least our two younger sisters were safe. No one would dare offer up two scrawny girls as representatives of the District. They'd die before the first moon rose. My mother forced a smile. "No one will vote for Atanas. We need him to keep the sheep." But tears stung her eyes.
Something rustles in the bushes and I leap to my feet, startled from my thoughts, and grab the first available weapon: a branch that has fallen from a nearby tree. It isn't as thick as the staff I keep to fend off wolves that bother the sheep but it will leave a mark if I swing right. I creep towards the sound. "Who's there?" No answer. I lower my stick, convinced I am harassing a bunny.
She barrels out of the trees at a speed much too fast for someone so obviously dying. Blood stains her thin maroon uniform. She stumbles over the rocky ground and lands at my feet. My stomach turns when I see the arrows protruding from her back. I kneel beside her and pull the arrows from her with a swift yank. She tries to cry out but sputters instead, probably choking on her own blood. Her skin is pale and cold beneath my hands. Blood sprays from her wounds when she takes a breath and dots my uniform. The arrows have found hold through her lungs. She would have died anyway, I tell myself when the cannon sounds, marking her death. I brush the pads of my fingers over her eyes, closing the lids, and smooth back her dark hair. Her face is serene now, almost child-like. I lift her onto the rock where I was sitting and cross her arms over her chest. The wind stirs and I know the hovercraft is coming to retrieve her body. Back home her parents will bury her, pretending that she died with honor for her District. Her name was Dinah and she was their only child. I take her token—a silver rock engraved with a symbol for strength hung on a black cord—and hang it around my neck. The wind whips through the trees. The hovercraft is almost here. I kiss her forehead and steal away into the trees.
"How can they do this to us?" She's not sobbing like she was when they called her name at the Reaping, or like she has been since we left the Justice Building, but tears are still leaking from her eyes. They are tears of anger now. "It's murder!" I sigh but I don't correct her. I don't even bother to point out that we're probably being watched. This train belongs to the Capitol. But who would care about the angry ravings of a hysterical girl probably only days from her death? "They take everything away from us and then they have to make us fight too? I can't win, Atan; I can't!" I can't argue with that. Dinah is thin and small with dark eyes that pierce through my very soul.
"You could get lucky. Maybe everyone will die off and leave you standing." It's a crap answer but it's the only thing I can think to say. "Maybe the odds are in your favor this time."
"No one from Ten has won since the Sixth Games!" Her hands are shaking so violently that she can't hold the glass of water our escort, Divinia, had them bring her. "You might win but I…I'm going to die." She says it with such finality that I have to believe her. Her dark eyes meet mine and I look away.
"I'm not going to win."
"But you could! You know how to protect the sheep from wolves and bears…you can protect yourself!"
"Scaring off bears isn't the same thing as killing!" I don't mean to raise my voice but I'm shouting.
"You'll stay alive longer than I will." There's defeat in her voice.
"I'd rather die in the bloodbath and get it over with." I grab an apple from a decorative basket and hurl it at the compartment window. It bounces off with a thump and rolls across the floor.