The morning of the big day dawns bright and sunny. I have been sitting on the roof of the Training Center for the past two hours, watching the sun rise. I am strangely calm, feeling as if nothing matters, nothing but the colors splashed across the sky in careless perfection. Subconsciously, I'm acutely aware that it might be the last sunrise I ever witness, but for some reason, it doesn't bother me unduly. A breeze lifts the hair off my forehead as I watch the Capitol below me come to life. People begin trickling onto the streets, standing in clumps, gesticulating excitedly. I know they can be talking about only one thing: the Games. My insides knot, the all-too-brief spell of tranquility gone. I rise and return inside.
Breakfast is a solemn affair. Deena keeps sniffing and dabbing her eyes with a napkin. The mentors look grim, occasionally parting with quiet bits of last minute advice. I avoid Regina's gaze, feeling her eyes boring into the side of my head. I sneak quick glances at the other three tributes. Jackson is pale, but still manages to be social ans composed; I can't help admiring his courage. Woody looks the same as always, and I briefly wonder if he'll have enough sense to step off his platform when the time comes.
Then I look at Abigail, and my fingers clench in my lap. She is listening to Regina, nodding and smiling slightly. A wave of red hot hatred and fury washes over me as I realize she is actually anticipating what is to come. My stomach roils, and I clench my teeth, fighting to keep down what little breakfast I have consumed. My vision mists over as I picture myself snatching up a fork right here and now, and driving it into her neck before she has time to blink... A hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my nightmarish fantasy, and I experience a thrill of horror at my own thoughts. I focus with difficulty on what is actually happening. Terrence is guiding me out of the room, and the world becomes a haze, the edges of my vision contracting as panic overcomes my senses.
The grip on my arm tightens, and I realize I must have been falling. My stylist's voice comes echoing down a distant tunnel. "Brandi, are you alright? Sit down, before you hit the floor." I pull myself together, shaking my head to clear it. "I'm fine, Terrence," I say. "Really," I add quickly as he opens his mouth. He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't pursue it, leaving me to reflect on when I have ever been less fine.
The next couple of hours pass more quickly than usual, and before long, we are boarding the hovercraft. I am frozen to the ladder, my heart pounding as someone with a ridiculously long syringe approaches. I have no particular fear of needles, but I hate the feeling of helplessness, unable to move, not so much as a flicker of my eyelids, as the cold point plunges deep into my forearm. Then it is withdrawn, leaving a small dot of blood on my arm. Strangely, the seconds seem to stretch for eternity, and for one wild moment, I am afraid the current on the ladder won't release me. Then I feel motion return to my body, and I let go of the cold rungs. Terrence is lifted into the craft, and we silently enter a room where brunch is laid out.
We sit at the table, but I don't eat anything, barely able to breathe past the lump in my throat, much less swallow anything. Terrence doesn't say anything, but picks up a dark purple plum, polishing it on his linen napkin before handing it to me. I take it, staring at the smoky surface, thinking it is probably the last chance I'll ever have to taste my favorite fruit. I bite into it, the juice dribbling down my hand. The entire ride is spent like that, Terrence selecting my favorite fruits, me choking them down. All too soon, we are nearing the launch site. Terrence holds his hand out to me, and I take it automatically, fighting to stay calm as we are transported to my launch room.
I swing my arms in a circle, limbering up my shoulders as I wait for my stylist to unwrap my clothes. Despite the dire hour, I can't help but be interested when I see my outfit. A dark green garment that is either a very short dress or a long tunic, over tight black pants, belted with a woven brown belt. Leather moccasins with thick soles. A dark brown jacket that reaches to my hips. Terrence helps me into the clothes, then puts my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. "There. You look ready to me." He straightens the shoulders of my jacket, and I notice his hands shaking slightly. I catch them in mine, looking at him questioningly. He flashes a quick, tight smile.
"I think I'm as nervous as you are, Brandi," he says, then pulls me into a tight hug.
"Tell me honestly," I say in a low voice. "Do you think I can - survive?" Terrence strokes my hair a minute, then holds me at arms length, staring straight into my eyes.
"If you can get through the first bloodbath, you'll be fine," he tells me. "You're intelligent and resourceful, quick, and a good fighter. Just make it past the Cornucopia." He gives my hand a squeeze. "I've already started on your victory wardrobe," he says quietly, and I give a little choking laugh, remembering what I had said when I first met him. We sit quietly for a few minutes, and then a cool voice fills the room. "Sixty seconds to launch." Terrence and I stand up. I'm beginning to tremble uncontrollably. I am not prepared for this, nothing could have prepared me for this moment. I walk over to the platform, and Terrence helps me up. I wait, my heart pounding, staring at my stylist.
"Thirty seconds to launch."
Terrence reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. "Oh, you forgot your district token," he says, pressing the object into my hand.
"But I haven't got-" I begin, but he applies a quick flash of pressure, and I stop. "Thank you. Thank you for everything," I say.
"Ten seconds to launch."
My breath is coming in quick gasps now. "Tell Deena thank you! Tell my prep team I'll win for them!" Terrence is nodding as the glass tube descends over me. "I love you!" I yell, and he seems to hear me, for he touches the glass where my hand is resting for the briefest of moments. Then I am rising up through smothering darkness, and Terrence is lost to my sight.
It is just like in my dream. Going up through a dark tube. I concentrate on breathing, feeling dizzy. I squint at the object Terrence gave me. It is a round, smooth stone, with something engraved on one side. I run my fingers over it in the darkness, tracing the grooves. D-i-s-t-r-i-c-t T-h-r-e-e. I don't have time to puzzle it out; already my head it rising into sunlight. I squint, frantically trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. Sixty seconds, already ticking by. As soon as my sight returns, I glance quickly at the arena, scoping it out. The golden Cornucopia and the ring of tributes are in the middle of a large prairie. A wide, silvery river is rushing along on the other side of the circle from me. Dark woods surround the flatlands on all but one side; that section is taken up with a cliff.
Forty seconds remain, and I look around the ring of tributes, searching for Tantore. I don't see him, but when I look to my right, there is Tcheetah, same as in my dream. He is looking right at me, and I know I will not be alive five minutes from now. I am more frightened of that one boy than I am of anything else I might face in the arena.
Panic rises up in me again. There is no way to escape him. I clench my hands - and feel the pressure of the rock I am holding. A light clicks on in my head. District Three.
I yank the elastic band out of my hair, ignoring the strands that part company with my scalp. I have one chance. I slip the stone into the hair band, pulling it back. Twenty seconds...fifteen...ten...five, four, three, two... I let the stone go. The sound of the gong is lost in a deafening explosion.
I propel myself off my platform in a giant leap, and hit the ground running. Adrenaline courses through me as I run, pelting along faster than I ever have before. The explosion was timed to disorient the rest of the tributes within range, and it seems to be effective. I am the first one to the Cornucopia. I snatch a knife off the top of a crate as I flash by, then run straight into the woven gold horn, dodging around boxes a crates, right to the very back. I thrust the knife between my teeth, feeling it hit the corner of my mouth. The coppery taste of blood runs onto my tongue, but I ignore it. I dash right to the tail of the structure, hit the wall, and scurry up it, as high as I can go. I turn around with difficulty, my heart pummeling against my ribs.
I am curved up in the tail of the Cornucopia, my fingers latched into the grooves, my teeth clenched around the blade of my knife. I listen to the sounds of the massacre outside, sweat running down my temples. I am more terrified than I have ever been in my life, and I cling to my precarious perch, cursing myself as every kind of fool. Ever since the reaping, I have been aloof, distancing myself from the others, ignoring the other tributes. In training, I sought to impress the Gamemakers, and dismissed the threat of the Careers. I didn't pay attention to any of them except Tcheetah, and I wasn't entirely sure I had killed him, and not someone else.
I am beginning to cramp, pain shooting through my fingers, legs, and back. I'm almost choking on my own blood, loathe to swallow it, but I am left with no choice. The bloodbath seems like it will never end; the air outside is filled with screams, shouts, the clash of steel, the twang of bowstrings, and the occasional foul oath. Just when I think I'm going to have to let go, the sounds of fighting slack off and eventually die. I hoist myself up slightly higher, bracing my wrists against the side of the horn. Cold metal bites into my skin, but the cramps in my fingers had gotten unbearable. I hold my breath as voices become clearer. The Careers enter the Cornucopia, talking loudly and laughing over the slaughter outside. I ease the knife out of my mouth, knocking it against my teeth. I freeze, and so do the Careers.
"What was that?" one of the girls says. Silence fills the air as we all hold still, listening. After a moment that lasts longer than forever, they go back to choosing supplies, and I let out a quiet breath. The Careers debate at length about who should stay and guard the supplies, and who should go on the hunt. A dispute breaks out; the boys from One are keen on having the girls from Two or Four stay to guard, an idea that is not enthusiastically hailed. There is quite a bit of arguing and weapons being drawn. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for them to go, go, go!
My attention is caught when I hear Tantore's name.
"What about that traitor, Tantore? We should find him and make him pay."
"But he only got a ten in training. That bird-girl got twelve. She's got to be wiped out." More arguing follows. I can't bear it any longer. I let go of the wall, landing as silently as possible, frantically scooting behind several barrels, hoping the others won't come to the back again. After ten eternal minutes, it is decided that they'll all go on the hunt, and chop up anyone they find looting the supplies when they return that night. They equip themselves for the chase, and several heart-stopping times, I am nearly discovered.
At long last, they depart, but I stay crouched behind my barrel, waiting. Then the cannons start. One...two...three...four...five...six... All the way up to seventeen. I am extremely surprised that so few went in the bloodbath. I do a quick calculation: twenty seven of us left. I swallow hard. That was still more than were originally demanded, when District Twelve was still in existence.
I force myself to move. The cannons and the sounds of the hovercraft mean all the living tributes are gone. I'm safe for the moment. I uncurl myself from the uncomfortable position, tears springing to my eyes as the blood rushes back into my limbs. I spend a few minutes working to get my circulation going properly, then I start going through the remaining supplies, selecting weapons, food, spare clothes and blankets. I reject a tent, deciding I'll never risk using one. Instead, I slash all the tents I can find to pieces. Might as well, not let anyone else use them.
I move quickly, knowing I could be discovered at any moment. I stuff spare clothes, a thick blanket, several water bottles, some first aid supplies, a thin, strong rope, and portable food into a compact, waterproof backpack. I select another knife and a light rapier as weapons.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the shelter of the Cornucopia.
Just to clear up any confusion, yes, Brandi really loves Terrence. But she loves him the same way Katniss loved Cinna, and not as a love-interest sort of way. He's way too old for that, it would be gross. XD
