Running

Sixty seconds... simultaneously it is agonisingly long and far too short. We are here; we have arrived in the arena and in less than a minute I will have to run. I stare around wildly, trying to work out where we are: The tributes are standing in a wide half circle around the enormous, carved horn; the Cornocopia. We are in a valley with steep wooded slopes rising up on either side of us. In front of us, behind the carved golden horn, is a perfectly circular lake and beyond that tall cliffs of grey slate rise up to jagged peaks. A stream runs out of the mouth of the lake. Just before it reaches the Cornocopia, it splits and runs down on either side. There's nowhere to hide up there and I turn on my metal plate to look back down the valley. The two streams circle the tributes before they join together again and further down the valley I can see that a third stream combines as well; by now the small stream has grown into a wide river. The valley that opens out beneath us is covered with sparse trees and the tumbledown remains of an old village and in the far distance I can see a wide expanse of grey water where the arena must end.

I shiver and turn back to the Cornocopia, suddenly becoming aware of the incessant misty rain, falling from the bank of dark rain clouds above us. It sticks to my hair, plastering it to my head and I fumble for the strings on my hood. Directly above me is a thin break in the cloudbank and a piercing ray of sunlight illuminates my plate. It feels like a good omen.

Thirty seconds… for the first time I remember Sheb's instructions and my eyes fly around the half circle of tributes until I find him. He is twelve tributes away from me but even so his eyes burn into mine. His glare tells me pointedly that I ought to have looked for him thirty seconds ago. Almost imperceptibly he nods towards the wooded slopes behind me. I give a minute nod to show that I have understood.

Twenty seconds... I take a closer look at the Cornocopia. It's mouth is piled high with weapons of all variety and boxes and bags of food, shelter material, medicine… all the things that will help us to stay alive in this arena. The gifts decrease in value as they get closer to us. My eyes fall on a brown leather rucksack ten meters away. Is it meant for me? I scan the ground and I am almost sure that no other tribute has a bag quite so close. I remember the tall female Gamemaker who was one of the most enthusiastic about my demonstration at my individual assessment and wonder if she placed the rucksack there.

Fifteen seconds… Sheb told me to get out of here as soon as I could but… my eyes dart around the other tributes again; I'm fast and I'm sure that I'm able to grab the bag and run before any of the other tributes get close to me.

Ten seconds… standing on the plate beside me is the blind girl from District Nine, Maisie. Her head turns towards me, almost as if she senses my eyes on her. A sudden, blinding smile lights up her face and then she takes a small, deliberate step off the metal plate. As if in slow motion, I see her foot come down on a tussock of rough grass. Her knee trembles as it takes her weight. And then, just when I think that nothing will happen, the ground explodes.

My scream is drowned out by the buried mines. Chunks of warm flesh and cool earth fly through the air, hitting my exposed face and I throw up my hands to shield my eyes. I am trembling so violently that I can barely stand but I lock my knees in place; if I fall off my plate then I will go the same way as Maisie. She stepped off the plate… stepped off… my mind has trouble accepting what has just happened.

The air clears and the gong goes off. For a few seconds we are all frozen where we stand, staring at the empty plate which until seconds ago held a living, breathing girl. Then one of the Career tributes gives a wild yell and jumps to the ground and the spell is broken.

I hit the ground running, my feet flying across the rough grass. I reach down to grab the bag and swing it up onto my back as I turn to run back the way I came. As I sprint past my metal plate, I stumble on a grass tussock and fall to my knees. My hands slam into the ground, my left hand coming down on a thistle and my right onto something hard. My hand closes around the object as I scramble to my feet and take off again. I feel a surge of adrenaline fuelled power thrilling through my legs as someone's hand caresses against my back. I half turn; the boy from Nine, Maisie's District partner, is writhing and choking out blood and his arm must've touched me as he fell. There's an arrow lodged through his throat.

I gasp and speed up, not looking back again to see who is shooting the arrows. I jump down the bank and I splash across the stream, up to my knees in murky peat-filled water. About half way across, I slip on the slimy bottom and fall again. Icy water trickles down my neck and up under my shirt but the waterproof clothing has protected me from the worst of it. I struggle to my feet, almost losing my balance again and clamber up the bank on the other side of the stream.

I run across the remains of an orchard, jumping the dry stone wall at either end. The trees here tell me that it is early summer. Tiny green swellings on the branches promise apples in three months' time. In front of me is one of the tumbledown cottages; one remaining wall made from light grey sandstone with damp green moss in the cracks between the stones, and a large pile of rubble. The remains of a chimney rises above me, complete with a single chimneypot. I don't hesitate to look at it closely as I sprint past.

The ground gets steeper as I hit the trees and my stride shortens, the air tearing in and out of my lungs in time with my steps. The trees here are beech and the smooth grey trunks have a calming effect on my frayed nerves. The ground is littered with brown leaf skeletons and they crunch beneath my boots. It is far too open for my liking; beech woods are very beautiful but they are also very sterile and the ground is devoid of any plant matter, leaving me with no place to hide. My steps falter and I strain my ears to hear if anything or anyone else is moving near me. Sheb told me to get into the tree line and to wait for him but I don't feel safe on the ground; I'm too exposed.

I open my clenched fist, surprised to find that I am still holding on to the hard object that I picked up when I fell by the Cornocopia. My heart slows as I stare at the thing in the centre of my palm; it's a tiny crystal heart, threaded onto a short piece of frayed silk ribbon, stained dark with spilt blood. I recoil sharply, almost dropping the thing in my horror; this must be Maisie's token. It must've been around her neck when she was blown to bits by the mines.

I want to throw the thing away but somehow I can't seem to do it. It would be too disrespectful because this is a piece of Maisie. A part of the girl who refused to play the Games on anyone's terms but her own. The girl who defied the Gamemakers in the only way that she could. It should be returned to her parents, but since it's unlikely that I'll ever see anything outside of this arena, I'll settle for something else; I take a small step forwards and tie the charm to a tiny beech sapling, growing in the shadow of the huge trees above: Let this tiny tree grow and thrive in a way that Maisie never could.

I walk for a further five minutes before selecting a tree with a trunk slim enough for me to swarm up. As soon as I reach the green canopy, I feel safer and I swing my leg over a thin branch and make myself comfortable. I can still hear distant shouts and screams from the battle but slowly, I also become aware of other noises nearer to me; birds sing in the canopy around me and something is rustling through the leaves below me on the ground. I tense as I hear footsteps and peer down through the branches. Whispered voices tell me that it isn't Sheb and I freeze as a boy and girl appear. It takes me a couple of seconds to recognise the tributes from District Eight. Both are bloodstained and the girl's waterproof jacket hangs in rags down her back as if it was ripped as she ran away. Neither have packs and I clutch mine tighter to myself, willing Sheb not to come now because I don't want this to end in a fight. The couple pass under my tree and continue on up the slope. I watch them out of sight before I let myself relax again.

A streak of black and white flies across the corner of my vision and I smile as I remember Sheb's third instruction. I made a mess of the first two so it's the least I can do to follow this one; use the mockingjays. I listen hard for a few seconds to ensure that nobody else is close, before I whistle the four note tune that we sing at quitting time in the orchards. Since we are usually the highest in the trees it is generally Rue or I who see the flag that tells us that it's time to stop work. If one of us sings this tune, then very soon all the mockingjays in the area pick it up and this tells all the other workers that we can stop. Very soon, the air around me is full of bird whistles; the notes colliding with each other in a beautiful harmony that reminds me so badly of home that I feel my eyes tearing up. Gradually the sound diminishes as the birds pick up other melodies. I sing it to them two more times until I hear another human-made four note melody oozing through the foliage. Relief washes over me and I swarm back down the tree trunk to meet my brother.

I hear him before I see him. His feet pound through the dry leaves making a rhythmic crunching and I slip behind the trunk of a beech tree, just in case that it isn't him. He comes into view almost immediately, running hard with his head down, pounding up the slope so fast that I don't know where he found the breath to whistle to the birds. In one hand he holds a curved sword and the other is holding a long bladed knife. On his back is a large pack made of some artificial, black material.

'Run… think I was followed…' He grabs the pack off my back and throws it over his shoulder.

We run uphill for a couple of miles, Sheb matching his pace to mine. The trees gradually turn from beech to pine, interspersed with oak and ash. I try to concentrate on them as we run past because my calf muscles are burning and my lungs feel as if I'm sucking in hot ash and I honestly don't know how long I will be able to keep up this pace.

The rain turns to a heavy drizzle as we run. Down here, we are protected from the worst of it but occasional drops make it through the thick canopy above. They soothe my hot face and hands and I lick my lips, wetting my parched tongue and throat.

'Stop…' I bend over and my lungs spasm as I try to suck in oxygen. 'Can't… run… anymore…' I can barely speak.

'We have to keep moving, Maya.' Sheb's voice catches on the last word. When I finally manage to straighten my back, I take a close look at him and see that his lips are trembling.

'What happened?' He gives a harsh, bitter laugh and I take an automatic step backwards, uneasy around this new brother that I have never seen before.

'I…' Sheb swallows and then his legs give way and he collapses onto the trunk of a fallen tree. He drops the weapons and puts his head in his hands. 'I killed her… I didn't want to but…' My stomach drops at his words but I edge closer to him and place a hand on his trembling shoulders.

'Sheb, we're in the arena.' As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back; they sound so lacking in even a shred of comfort and support. In the arena we all know that it's kill or be killed, but that's not why I said it: I was trying to remind my brother that there's no such thing as a 'private' moment to cry over what you've been forced to do and showing emotion over the deaths of your enemies will not win you any sponsors. But then I have not had to kill and I don't know how I would feel if I knew that I was responsible for taking someone's life away. I bite my lip and lower my voice.

'What happened? Who was it?'

'The girl… from Six… I'd gone in to get… the sword and the… pack… coming back out… she was just there… tried to stab me…'

'Sheb…'

'Don't tell me that it was self-defence!' Sheb snaps, finally looking up. I see that his face is wet but I don't know if it's from rain, sweat or tears.

'But it was,' I say weakly.

'I didn't think, Maya! I just lashed out! What does that make me?' I blanche; I honestly don't know the answer to his question.

'Sheb, she was going to kill you,' I say firmly, after a long pause. 'If you hadn't reacted then you'd be dead and I'd be on my own in the arena.' I shiver, partly at the thought and partly because now that we've stopped running it's chilly. Another thought comes to my mind and I shiver again. 'Who followed you?'

'Ruby saw me leave but she must've gone back to the fight.' I strain my ears but we are now too far away to hear the bloodbath. We haven't heard any cannons yet either which suggests that it is still going on.

'We should keep moving,' I say, picking up the curved sword and running my fingers over the smooth hilt. To my relief, Sheb's shoulders straighten and he nods.

'Let's just look through the packs. Yours first…'

I crouch down and unbuckle the straps of my pack. The leather is stiff and new but I know that the rain will soften it in no time. The first thing that I pull out is a thin black sleeping back in a waterproof cover. It's made from the same material as my jacket and I know that it is designed to reflect body heat. I sigh; the Gamemakers obviously have no plans to change the weather and I can already feel the cold and damp seeping into my bones.

The next thing my hand reaches feels like a stiff leather belt and I gasp as I draw it out; there are four sheaths hanging from it and each holds a small knife with a weighted handle, perfect for throwing. I buckle it around my waist, immediately feeling less vulnerable.

I then pull out a thick fleece jumper. I know without trying it on that it will fit perfectly. Stuffed in the pocket is a pair of gloves and a spare pair of socks. Then comes a water skin, a box of matches and a large roll of camouflage tarpaulin. The final object fits so snugly in the bottom of the bag that I have to prise it free. When I finally get it out, I see that it is a rectangular leather case with a zip running around three sides. When I open it, the case folds out in two halves, each filled with first-aid supplies. There are tablets for fever and infection, iodine, sterile dressings and bandages... there's also a small pouch containing a tiny curved needle and thread.

The contents of Sheb's pack are far less personal. Inside we find another sleeping bag and another, larger, roll of tarpaulin. There's a bag of desiccated food; pasta, grain, dried fruit and oats, a large two litre plastic water bottle, more matches, a metal pot for cooking, a coil of wire for snares and a coil of thin rope. The final two items are a pair of night vision glasses, like the ones we are given to work in the orchard during the harvest, and a large sealed bottle full of some sort of liquid. Closer examination revels some sort of liquid fuel, probably kerosene or something similar. Added to this we have a loaf of bread that Sheb removes from the front of his jacket and the weapons he picked up; the curved sword and the long hunting knife.

Mid-afternoon, we stop again by a small stream to rest and rehydrate. By now I am exhausted, even though we have now crossed the watershed and are heading down the other side of the hill. The slopes are still wooded but the trees here are smaller and closer together. The canopy is less thick though and it offers less protection against the rain and although I am wearing waterproofs and several thick layers underneath, I still feel cold and damp.

'We should probably look for something to eat; we don't want to go into our precious stocks just yet.' I know that plants will form the majority of our diet here in the arena because neither of us has much practice in hunting or snaring animals.

'Shall we have a look around…?' My question is cut off by the distant boom of a cannon. The sound echoes; down here in the valley under the cover of the trees I can't see the line of jagged peaks but I assume that is what is bouncing the sound waves. The cannon is followed by another and then another and another… the bloodbath must finally be over and now the Gamemakers are tallying the deaths. Nine tributes dead… nine children who will never grow up… never marry… never have kids themselves. I feel a wave of sadness threatening to drown me and quickly get to my feet to search for food; I will not let them see me cry.


Thanks for my reviews so far; please keep them coming. I'm going to tell you the deaths as Maya knows about them.

THE FALLEN

Girl from Six (Megan)

Boy from Nine (Rye)

Girl from Nine (Maisie)