Part 1: The Betrayal
I start running as soon as the gong sounds. I run about thirty yards, scoop up what looks like a dirty old potato sack, then sprint for the woods.
I should have known that his would happen. This time, the odds were not in my favor. But then, they never really were. Even now, at fourteen years old, my name has been entered into the reaping ball fourteen times. I remember how my heart stopped beating when the obnoxious Capitol lady announced my name to all of District 12; to all of Panem. Terrica Fink.
Jareth Damian, the boy tribute for District 12. Fainted dead away when his name was called. Believe me, I wanted to. But I knew that I had to stay strong, at least for poor Jareth's sake. This is his first year of eligibility for the annual hunger games. He's a rather puny twelve year old, with dark hair and eyes. My first thought when he was called was, "Oh, no, poor Jareth." I mean, the kid didn't need this! He was the smallest kid in his class at school. But at least he has a family.
My parents were both killed; publicly executed after the stupid Peacekeepers of our district discovered that they had been poaching in the woods, a crime punishable by death. My parents were only trying to feed us. And by us, I mean me and my twin little brothers, Ram and Rafi. They were sent away to live with some distant relatives, leaving me with my uncle, Harrison. What's so bad about that? Harrison is head Peacekeeper of District 12.
All of these thoughts race through my head as I escape into the forest. I run for what seems like forever, then slow down after I reach a small clearing. After surveying my surroundings and making sure nobody is following me, I plop down on a boulder and open my potato sack.
My mouth drops open at what I find inside. It was too good to be true! A rolled up sleeping back, a flashlight and packet of batteries, a tube of chapstick, three packets of dried fruit, a small bottle of iodine, and a metal flask full of cool water await me inside the sack. I pull aside the sleeping bag to find a pair of gloves, a first aid kit, and a plastic packet. Opening the packet, I find an array of six different knives. How could I have gotten so lucky?
Then it dawns on me. This must be some kind of joke on the Gamemakers' part. I suddenly get a mental image of the Careers opening a backpack to find it empty. A crossbow falling apart with a single touch. I smile to myself. The Gamemakers switched everything! Instead of the supplies increasing in value the closer to the Cornucopia, they decreased.
I hear a cannon in the distance, followed by another. I wonder if the bloodbath is over yet. Suddenly, I think of Jareth. Small, vulnerable Jareth. All alone with a pack of Careers loose. If he's still alive, that is. I feel horrible. What was I thinking? Jareth couldn't defend himself against a whole army of Careers!
I take a few small sips of water and wonder what time it is. I quickly make sure that nobody is around, then slip into my sleeping bag, which I situated in a cavelike cove of rocks. Right when I begin to doze off, I hear something. My eyes fly open, and I realize that it is raining. I stuff my supplies in my sack, arrange the throwing knives in my belt, and try to get a good look at what caused the noise. It is a who, not a what. Jareth glares at me through a cluster of bushes. I sag with relief.
"Oh, Jareth, it's just you." He steps out of the brush.
"It took forever to find you," is all he says, shining a flashlight in my face. Suddenly, I realize that he has a deadly looking dagger in his right hand. I draw my own. Jareth steps across the opening of my cave. He does it casually enough, but then I notice that he is blocking my only exit. I'm trapped.
"So, now," Jareth polishes his dagger on his T- shirt. "You die," he points it at me. I just stare at him in confusion. I still feel groggy from sleep.
"Wha….? But… I thought we were allies," I stammer. Jareth laughs harshly and lunges. Everything goes into slow motion. Since my uncle is head Peacekeeper, he always insisted that I learn how to fight and use weapons. As Jareth comes at me, six years of training under Peacekeeper Harrison kicks in. I roll to the right, and his knife sinks into the earth where I was just laying. There is a moment of confusion, and he hesitates. In that moment, I kick the dagger out of his hand and pin him to the ground. His forehead and upper lip are drenched in sweat. We are both breathing hard. Slowly, an odd smile creeps onto Jareth's face. Before I can react, he whistles three unwavering notes loudly. I find myself laughing at his pathetic defense.
Then the realization that he was signaling someone hits me. I swear under my breath and grab my sleeping bag, stuffing it into the potato sack hurriedly. As I stumble to the entrance, Jareth grabs my foot from behind and twists; hard. I cry out in pain before I remember that I am being hunted. I kick back as hard as I can, and am rewarded with a satisfying crunch and a shrill string of obscenities that I never knew were in Jareth's vocabulary. I smile in spite of myself and take off through the forest, as fast as my throbbing foot will allow.
After several moments, as I limp along, I hear twigs snapping and dry leaves crackling under someone's feet. I stop at a large oak tree and start to climb, dragging my injured foot along behind me. Finally, I reach a high enough branch. Geez, it's a good thing Harrison included tree climbing in my training.
As I pull myself up onto the sturdy branch, a cannon goes off in the distance. Someone runs by my tree. It's Jareth. Only, he is running from something or someone. I see a flash of red, and a muscular looking guy comes barreling after Jareth, leaving a clear trail of blood on the forest floor. My first impulse is to jump down and help Jareth escape, but then I remember how he betrayed me. If I help him, and he lives, won't he just turn on me, too? And then there's my twisted ankle to worry about. I'd probably be dead within minutes.
Curiosity wins out, and without a second thought, I secure my bag to a branch, check my belt to make sure my knives are there, and begin my descent of the tree. When I reach a low enough branch, I peek through the thick foliage. The sight that awaits me turns my blood to ice.
Jareth and the boy from District 11 are hacking away at each other, Jareth with a dagger, his enemy with a sword. This should've given the guy from 11- Flick, I think he is called- a serious advantage. Jareth is bleeding profusely from a gash in his arm. Flick has got blood pouring from a neck wound. Suddenly, I realize that Jareth is gaining the upper hand. Flick desperately dives at Jareth, who somersaults to the side, then comes up on one knee and plunges his weapon into Flick's back.
I want to shut my eyes and plug up my ears, but my eyes stay glued to the horrific scene in front of me. Blood spurts from Flick's maimed body, and I know that his agonized scream will haunt me forever.
So, it turns out Jareth is going to be a serious threat. And earlier, I was feeling sorry for the kid. A cannon booms. Just then, the Capitol anthem begins to play. I hoist myself back onto the higher branch and watch the Capitol seal appear in the twilit sky. Many faces appear, but I only recognize some of them from training. Then, Flick's face appears, followed by the Capitol seal. The sky goes black again. I count up the dead tributes with my fingers. Fourteen of us left.
That night, I get little to no sleep, because I can't stop thinking about Flick. Was he the one I should have protected? But then, he was wounded. I remember the trail of blood through the forest. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see his lifeless, bloodied body, and hear the shriek of agony.
When morning finally comes, I haul my pack down from the tree and hop down. I wince as my injured foot comes in contact with the ground, and begin the long trek downhill, away from the Cornucopia. As I hobble along, the ground starts getting muddier, the air thicker and more humid. By the time I stop to rest, my clothes are plastered to my body, my hair in disarray. I sit down. Take a swig of water from my flask, and munch a piece of dried fruit, pondering my situation. I seem to be heading into swampland, so I won't be near fresh water for a while. Suddenly, I regret how much food and water I have consumed since entering the arena. I should be rationing my provisions!
"Terrica…" hisses a almost reptilian voice off to my right. I draw my dagger, instantly alert. A cannon goes off. 13 tributes left.
"Terrica…" now the voice is behind me. I whirl around, trying to find the source of the noise. Something wraps around my waist and yanks me off my feet. I face my attacker, perspiration dripping in my eyes. I gasp in horror at the sight that awaits me.
End Part 1