1
By the time prey shows up, my fingers feel frozen to my bow. When I see the beaver in the stream, I take an arrow from the quiver at my waist, one of two, and fit it to the bowstring. Drawing it back, I aim for the eye. I have gotten much better at hunting since I escaped the arena. The leaf-bladed arrow spears through one dark brown eye and out the other as I release it, killing the beaver instantly. I scramble down my tree, brushing my dark hair out of my eyes as I descend, and pick it up. I remove the arrow and slip it back into the quiver. I only have around fifty, and if we hope to make it home I'll need every one. I take the beaver and rush to our camp a few minutes away, where Myrae is waiting. She looks up.
"Hiya, District Eleven. Shot something, I see. I got a few plants for us." She flicks her straight brown hair over her shoulder and holds out what she has collected. I examine them. There's a species of wild chives, a lot of dandelions and some fruits. The chives, dandelions and most of the fruits are okay, but I spot some berries I know to be poisonous mixed in. I weed them out and throw them aside, returning the collection to her.
"This'll do, Myrae. I'll prepare the meat."
I take my beaver to the centre of the clearing, where we have stayed for a few days. There's a cover of woven grasses over a circle of stones, which is filled with dry sticks. On either side of the circle there's a Y-shaped branch, which holds the arrow I spear through the meat I've shot and stops the arrow from burning. I take the cover and soak it in the stream, then return to the camp, shake it mostly dry and set a fire. Once the fire's lit, I place the cover back over to disperse the smoke. While it crackles, I use my knife to skin the beaver, cutting off the tail and head. I wrap the skin up and place it in a sack, which holds an assortment of other pelts. When we have enough, I'll use the needle I have left over from the Games to stitch them together. I know how to because my family's profession in the Flower Trail was sewing. Thinking of home makes me sad, because even if we could reach it, it'd be impossible to get in, since the fence is electrified, there's barbed wire at the top and it's bolted into the ground. It's also ten metres tall. Instead, we're travelling to the rebuilt District Twelve, Myrae's home. She says she knows a family nearby her home who resemble me a bit, with dark skin, brown eyes and black hair, who I could blend in with. She's hoping to return to her own house but it's near impossible, as she'll be recognised. She'll probably have to go to another person's house.
I take an arrow and spear it through the beaver meat, then place it on the Y-shaped sticks, covering the fire again
Meanwhile, Myrae is separating the roots from the dandelions and peeling the fruit. I walk over and take out the large bowl made from half a coconut we used in the arena. We used to have two, but one broke. I help Myrae cut up the fruit and make a salad of sorts for us to eat. Soon, a mouth-watering scent fills the clearing, signalling that the beaver is cooked. I take it off the fire, pull out the arrow and cut it up, stripping out the bones. I'm proficient at this, having had lots of practice. I drop the sliced up chunks into the bowls, saving one and taking a bite. The taste of the meat fills my mouth. Even here, in the wilderness around District Seven, I am eating better than I ate at home. I finish off my fragment and mix the meat through the sort-of-salad. Myrae and I take turns fishing handfuls from the bowl. Once we're done she takes the bowl to the stream to clean it out. Food poisoning is the last thing we need.
I place my pack under my head and lay back on it. I let the sleep come.
My dreams, as always, are of the arena. Flashes echo. Alexei's death, my almost drowning in Myrae's crazy idea of fun, Myrae being knocked out by Agata, myself spinning my sling while Agata taunts. Just before I let it go, though, her hair suddenly shoots backwards and becomes short like a boy's her eyes slant and her skin darkens. I am scared and I leap for a tree. She follows, and I am up high, she a few metres below me. Myrae's unconscious form blurs, and vanishes altogether. There's a strange robotic thrum in time with my heartbeat. The stone I had been about to sling at what had been Agata slips, and mid fall the grey shape elongates into a silver fruit knife. And instantly I know what's happening.
Agata is no longer Agata, but my brother Ash. The stone-slash-fruit knife impales his hand and he plummets. A sharp crack reaches my ears. I cry out and climb as fast as I can down the tree, splinters lacerating my hands and branches whipping my face. I jump the last two metres and land on my feet, twisting an ankle. I stumble to his limp form. His breathing is infrequent, shallow and rattly. The Peacekeepers come, and I scream, high and loud, as they wrench his body away from me. I race after them, slipping away from the hands that tear at me. One person snags my thin green coat, so I wrench my arms out of it and keep running. The Peacekeepers run towards the Train Station. My heart sinks. It's too serious to be treated here. They climb onboard and I throw myself forward. A Peacekeeper lifts his gloved hand and I slam into it and I am thrown back. The door closes and slowly approaches the sensors. I jump, looking for a handhold, but I slip off. The train clears the sensors and zooms away.
My dreams fade into turmoil, a raging ocean of memories and fears. Agata wielding her knife, Myrae struck by the blade of the axe, not the flat, Boris catching us and snapping our necks like brittle twigs, every terror from the arena haunts me.
When I wake up, the sun is shining brightly through the trees. After my dream, I have an idea on how to get into District Twelve. I explain my idea.
"Hmm…" Myrae replies, "You may be onto something. I just hope that it has a low fence."