Strange plants snag my jacket as I run blindly through the foliage, desperate to get to thicker cover. These woods provided little to no concealment. Lowly set tree branches scrape against my face and I frequently trip on exposed tree roots. I'm surrounded by a blur of trees and plants and I'm frantically trying to see through the vegetation when I collide with something; another tribute.
Another tribute! We both crash to the ground. It's the girl who was beside me on the plates with the dark braid… the Girl on Fire! We stare at each other, unsure if the other is going to make a move. I could strangle her now, but I'm frozen. I watch her to see if she'll lunge at me. I can tell she's doing the same. What the hell am I doing here? She got an eleven in training. I have to go, I have to go. I stumble backwards and sprint away from her, hoping the trees offer enough concealment. I just hope she's not armed.
After another hour or so of travel, I nearly jump out of my skin with fright. A cannon booms from somewhere in the distance. The bloodbath must have finally ended. I count silently to myself as each cannon sounds throughout the arena. The blasts stop at eleven blasts. Eleven tributes dead and I'm not one of them.
I'm mildly remorseful, as those eleven families will be pulling their shutters tight tonight, but a small part of me is glad they are dead. Eleven people I don't have to kill myself. I count how many tributes are remaining. Thirteen left to play. Looking around, I wonder if the camera's on me. I doubt I've had much screen time when the bloodbath has been going on, and I'm glad I can have at least a bit of time to myself.
I assume it is late afternoon, in the way the sun threatens to dip below the tree line and let night come. I'm tired, but I don't dare stop moving. I need to get as far away from the other tributes as possible if I am to have a chance in this thing. Resting seems highly desirable, but I fear that if I sit down I won't be able to get back up. So I contain it, along with the urge to collapse in the dirt and sob.
The air is cooler now, less harsh now that the sun has disappeared behind the canopy of trees. My throat is dry and I keep licking my lips. I need to find water, and soon. That's one of the main things I remember from training.
"Many of you will die from natural causes."
Damn it, Atala. Was this how I was really going to die? Keeling over from lack of hydration? I always thought it'd be an axe to the head or something of the sort. Sweat pours from my body, and I'm conscious of how much water I'm losing this way, but I need to keep going. I have to.
By nightfall I am satisfied with the land I have covered, for the most part. I burrow under a thick shrub, surrounding my body with pine needles. Concealed enough. Hopefully the night is too dark to notice me here. I draw my knees to my chest and fold my arms around them, making myself as small as possible and clinging to any body heat I have remaining.
The Panem anthem begins to play and the faces of the fallen tributes haunt the inky sky above me. The first person to appear is the girl from Three. So everyone from One and Two lived. Not good. The boy from Four. Then I see Jayson.
I want to scream, to furiously rip out my hair and cry. I shudder instead. That's the consequence of getting to know him. I knew that, but I went ahead anyway. He was from home; he understood. Most of the tributes from Six to Ten are dead, too. Suddenly, the sky returns to darkness. So both from Eleven and Twelve had lived. The girl I ran into was alive, too. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or weary.
I tug the zipper of my jacket up higher to protect my neck from the biting cold. The temperature has dropped extremely rapidly, my sweat long since frozen away and replaced with goosebumps. My hands shake uncontrollably and the colour is drained from my skin. Thirst tugs at the back of my throat at a craving for water, but if I were to leave this cocoon I would surely and slowly freeze to death. It's a major miracle that I am not freezing to death even here.
The sun is only just beginning to rise when another cannon fires. I manage to convince myself that I'm next. Twelve dead. Sleep won't come. I stare into the cloudless void of the sky, dawn slowly taking over the speckled blackness. You can rarely see stars back home, the smoke and waste filling the sky at all hours. It makes me wonder if these were real stars, or just an image projected by the Game-makers.
When the sun is up dangerously high and staying put any longer would get me killed, I remove myself from my den and attempt rubbing warmth into my icy limbs. My stomach feels hollow with hunger and I'm dizzy with thirst. I hadn't eaten all yesterday. Upon standing up, I stumble, the blood rushing from my head.
I will myself to get back up, pushing back my light-headedness. I force myself to walk, to test my muscles. Now I can stand okay. Now I need to walk. I go left from the direction I came in, hoping to find something to eat or fresh water to drink.
I can't believe my luck when I find a deep green leafy bush dotted with plump, purple berries. I run over to it and, with trembling hands, begin to relieve the berries of the bush and place them in the palm of my left hand. They weren't much, but from the small berries I could hopefully get a little bit of hydration. Suddenly it dawns on me. I think of the edible plants station in the training centre.
"These berries look like familiar berries externally, but the inside is usually abnormally coloured. If you are ever unsure, do not eat them, despite how hungry you are."
I take one, roll it in my fingers and squeeze the plump centre. Blood red juice explodes from inside, splattering on my hand. I brush the rest of the berries off my hands and stare down at the red stains covering them.
"Nightlock," I whisper to myself.
My head feels heavy and I stumble backwards and away from the bush. If there is one thing I remember clearly from the training centre, it is edible plants. And this was not edible.
.
By sundown I was exhausted and without thinking too much about where I was, I fell straight asleep. I was only vaguely aware of the fact that the District Eight girl appeared in the sky that night. As I woke up, I thought to myself that it had to have been the first time I had slept properly in days. That's when I smelt the smoke.
I had to pause. Yes, definitely smoke. Far away, though. Had a tribute's fire gone out of control? I need to keep going. My head is kind of foggy. Walking, walking, walking. Walking is the only thing I remember how to do. I had almost walked completely into the clearing before I realised.
At once, all my senses flood back to me. My heart thuds loudly in my ears as the blood flows back into my head. It's a miracle the earth is so soft and spongy, and that I can backtrack without making any sound. Convinced that I can no longer be seen, I allow myself to look at what I had almost walked into. I should have seen the signs; I can see them now. Boot marks on moss, a scuff in the dirt, a patch of little white flowers, trampled by no animal. Whatever was here is having difficulties walking.
Scanning the clearing, I see what set me off; the remnants of a hastily covered campfire. Definitely not an animal. I press my hand into the upturned earth to find it warm. This fire couldn't have been put out more than an hour ago. Making sure to remain as quiet as possible, I look for the direction the person had travelled in. They have to have water, right? I've circled the clearing twice, looking for something, anything to direct me, and am about to give up when I see it.
It's tiny, but it's there. I press my hand to the tree right in front of me. A little bit of tree bark has been chipped off, the tell-tale soft green bark beneath. Renewed and determined, I follow the trail. Suddenly signs are jumping out at me. Sometimes it's obvious like flattened grass, but other times you have to look twice to know it's there, like a snapped twig you would normally turn a blind eye to. But I knew this was no animal.
When I found him, he was asleep. Upon closer inspection, I realised it was the boy from District Ten. He is concealed under a willow tree, leaning against the trunk in a sitting position, his leg splayed in front of him at an awkward angle. Of course; only the boy with the crippled foot could have made such tracks. A pack is tucked up beside him. I eye the pack eagerly. Whatever is inside, I probably need it.
I can do it. I can probably get to that pack and take whatever I need from inside. But there are so many factors that can affect the outcome of what I'm about to do. What if he wakes up? Even worse, what if he wakes up and is armed? I bite my lip. Not taking this chance could mean my certain death. I'll perish without water, and that seems awfully soon. But what if he doesn't even have water? No. I have to do this.
On light feet, I skirt the tree until I'm behind him on the other side of the trunk. Slowly, tentatively, I curve around the tree. I can see his face close up now. His lip is split, but that's where his injuries end. He didn't look thirsty. My hand is on the zipper. I contemplate my options. I could rip it open right now and take what I need. Sure, it'd be loud, but it'd be over quickly. The quieter option is to slowly unzip it, no noise, but what if he wakes up and has time to put a knife in my face?
My situation is precarious; crouched in front of a sleeping boy who could wake at any moment, hand on his pack. I'm still considering my options when the boy stirs and I think my thirst is making me irrational because suddenly I've ripped the pack out of his grip and am shooting back through the woods. What the hell did I just do? The pack's clutched to my chest and I'm running and running but not as quick as I'd like to be, slowed by thirst.
Was he awake, was he following me? No, he couldn't run after me on that leg. Even through my exhaustion I could probably still outrun him, running purely off adrenaline. A satisfiable distance away, I tell myself I can stop. I sit on a fallen tree, the leaves charred off. Everything around me is slightly singed, and the further I keep going, it just gets blacker and blacker. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and I have to recollect myself. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
I undo the zip quickly, desperate to know what is inside this bright green bag. On top, the first thing I see is a short length of rope. Could be useful, but not a priority. I sort through everything else inside the bag. A packet of matches, three being burnt-out stubs but the rest usable. A rolled-up sheet of canvas. Waterproof, but an annoying bright orange. No wonder he hadn't been using it. Then I almost start crying of happiness. Wrapped up in the canvas is some cooked rabbit and a water canteen.
With fumbling fingers, I unscrew the lid of the canteen. Just by shaking it, I know there's not much in it, but that's how I know it's safe to drink. He wouldn't have lasted this long if his water was poisoned, considering he'd drunk a majority of the bottle. So the water in this arena is safe, I think. Thank God. I finish off the water slowly, conscious of how little there is to spare. Then I turn on the rabbit. Well skinned and cooked, but you would expect so from someone from Ten. District Ten, livestock. Those people must be familiar with animals since they are born. I allow myself to eat a small portion as I pack everything back into the bag.
Maybe I would've felt remorse for stealing the boy's back if I weren't so desperate. Stealing, I think, almost laughing to myself. Stealing doesn't exist in this arena. Only survival.
As I walk through the ashy residue of the fire, I use some charcoal to try and camouflage the bright green bag. It kind of works, but I'd need something thicker like mud to do a proper job. For now it would have to do.
That night, I went to sleep feeling satisfied with myself. Not only had I disadvantaged someone else, but I now had supplies. I wasn't running around completely helpless. As the anthem played in the sky, I set myself up in a tree just beyond the charred area, completely sure that nobody would come to this part of the woods for a while now. Strapping myself in with the rope so I didn't fall from the fork I'd found, I positioned my pack as a makeshift pillow. I was getting charcoal in my hair but I didn't care. The only thing I cared about was the fact that no faces appeared in the sky tonight. Surely the Game-makers would be getting bored and would begin to mix things up. I just wondered how soon.
And soon it was. In the morning, I wake to the unmistakable sound of a cannon firing, and then another, meagre seconds later. I shiver; were my shivers derived of the cold or of the two lives were just ended? Probably both.
x x
