Chapter 10

Having decided on the best shelter, I descended the mountain until I reached a clearing several hundred yards from the frozen lake where the wind had formed hard, jagged patterns of snow amongst exposed dormant short grass. To aid in digging, I sought out a fallen branch amongst the trees and then entered the clearing. I glanced back to study my footsteps, ever watching for my fellow tributes—and muttations, and was pleased to discover minimal traces of my steps left behind on the hard pack snow.

Scanning forward, I picked a spot where the trees first disrupted the drifting snow, disruptions being a snow drift's catalyst. Before me, was a waist high drift that stretched across most of the tree line. With the wind to my back, I walked into the large snowdrift until its depth reached my thighs and then dropped to my knees. Using the stick as a loosening tool, I began burrowing into the drift—just as I would during my youth when my friend Birch and I built our snow forts.

Continuing to loosen with the stick, I pushed the snow behind me with my hands and feet, repeating the procedure until I had carved out a pocket inside the snowdrift big enough for one person. With the loose snow pushed into the entrance, I hope it and the ever continuing drifting snow would quickly hide my location and cover any footprints that I may have left behind.

Secured in my snow fort, I unzipped my jacket to allow the sweat to evaporate from my inner clothing, the sheltered air pocket being plenty warm. And from past experience, I did not worry about running out of oxygen since fresh air would continually seep through the snow.

From the lake, ice song created by the temperature fluctuations in the air and water filled the still air as the forces of nature gently stretched and pulled on the surface ice, which caused harmless cracks to form. The cracks and twangs of the ice began to remind me of home when we would build bonfires on the ice where we would celebrate the darkest day of winter—the fire having no effect on the ice. I always appreciated how the ice song made for a nice accompaniment to the crackle of the fire.

After a few mouthfuls of snow to replace the water lost from winter exertion, I pulled my hood over my eyes and began to mourn the unknown fallen tributes that had entered the arena with me on this first day. Despite this grief, exhaustion and deprived sleep rendered me unconscious before the tears could begin to well in my eyes.

I woke sometime later from my deep slumber in the grip of a throbbing headache. Pulling off my gloves, I scooped a handful of snow from the wall of my snow cave and pressed it to my forehead. Above me, the faint light seeping through the snow indicated that the sun had risen.

Sitting up, I placed snow on the back of my neck and began massaging my sore muscles. My bladder next made its intentions known. With a frustrated moan, I began to contemplate where to urinate. Feeling certain that my previous day's tracks had been covered by drifting snow, I did not want to reveal my location by leaving my snow cave. I also did not want to spoil the inside of my new home. Should I dig a hole? Would it smell? None of this was a consideration when I was a kid. Going outside meant that I would have to find exposed dry grass to urinate on so not to leave any visible signs. I moaned again, wishing that I could shut off my brain and ignore my bladder.

Deciding to wait, I scooped snow into my dry mouth and closed my eyes, determined to wait it out until my bladder could not take it anymore.

A few minutes later, I exited my snow fort through a new tunnel that led out the other side, which in turn, allowed me to crawl safely into the forest. Promptly finding a fir tree with exposed dormant grass at its base, I relieved myself.

My crisis everted, I snugged up my jacket and donned my gloves, for the temperatures had plummeted to deathly levels overnight. I began walking gingerly along the forest line curious of the view. Looking over the clearing at the lake, I found the arena deathly quiet except for the pine needle whispers of the surrounding trees, the brisk winter winds a steady constant. The cold air soothed my sinuses, so I took deep inhales as I continued to gaze out, taking stock of my situation.

Leaning against a fir tree, I realized that I had missed the display of those who had perished in the arena the previous day. To alert the tributes in the arena, there would have been loud music blasted as the Gamemakers projected images of the dead tributes high in the night sky. Furthermore, had anyone frozen to death during the night, the boom of the cannon should have woken me. Having not properly counted the bloodbath salvos and slept through the rest, I had missed a lot of vital intelligence.

Fearing being spotted, I decided to return to my snow cave. Brushing away my boot tracks with a small pine branch, I hoped that the drifting snow would do the rest to conceal me.

At first, I began lying on my back and pondered how long I could hide in my shelter and whether I could actually outlast everyone. I quickly progressed to counting my foraged nuts in the ambient light—still hesitant to take a bite in fear of poison. After counting the nuts a second time, I progressed to sticking them into the wall of my snow fort, forming shapes and patterns, pulling them down to create new decorations.

I quickly became frustrated from the incessant boredom, and my worries manifested themselves into unnerving horrors. The Gamemakers won't let me remain here undisturbed until the end of the Games, I thought, imagining the genetically created monsters descending the mountain with their skinny, serrated legs punching through the roof of my snow fort in search of me.

Should I wait, or should I explore? Sitting up, I began rubbing my thighs nervously, wishing that Maevery would find me. I then recalled from school her preference for summer and that she often complained about our long winters while the rest of us lined up to borrow the limited number of ice skates owned by the school. She won't find me, I thought, succumbing to my anxiety.

It was true that I wanted Maevery to win. I told our mentors to put all their resources behind her. In any other arena, I would be useless—probably dead. Here in a winter arena, I felt more comfortable, where Maevery wound not. Collecting the nuts into my pocket, my spirits suddenly began to rise, for I now had a purpose: I could actually be of help to Maevery.

Exiting my shelter, I slipped into the cover of the trees where I secured my winter clothing and made sure that nothing shiny would reflect light. Being a pacifist and not capable of fighting my way out of trouble, camouflage would be imperative if the others would suddenly appear.

I first patrolled around the edge of forest in search of any signs of life—human or muttation—and found none. Next, from the edge of the forest, I surveyed the frozen lake and found it shrouded in hazy winter overcast as the day before. Even the large gold colored Cornucopia barely penetrated the gloom. With little other clues to where Maevery may have gone, I decided to start at the beginning.

With much trepidation, I stepped out of the forest and headed for the frozen lake. I stumbled down the embankment and onto the ice where I paused. The Cornucopia's silhouette created a dark marker in the center of the skyline, but none of the metal surface shown through. Deciding to venture closer to the starting platforms, I decided that I would continue until the outline sharpened or the gold color came through. If a pack of Career Tributes had made the large structure their home, they probably would not be able to see me in my white uniform from that distance—I hoped.

As I walked on, the thought of anyone sheltering in the cold metal structure designed with a large open end perplexed me; my snow fort was tropical in comparison. However, if Careers had claimed the structure for their base camp, they could be confident that they would not be attacked, which meant they could start a fire. With the nearest starting platform yards ahead of me, the Cornucopia stood out more distinctly through the haze, bringing me to a stop. My eyes searched for movement and thankfully detected no signs of life—though the good news did nothing to relieve my stress.

Turning slowly, I began studying the shoreline, concluding that I had drifted to the right of my original starting point from the day before. To the far left, the tiny peninsula of land seen from the mountain could be distinguished as well the clump of trees that I now called home. Rubbing my boot over the ice, the white hue of the frozen lake indicated a very safe thickness. With the bitter temperatures of the first two days, I assumed the ice to be at least 10 inches thick, strong enough to drive a car over, maybe even a small timber truck.

Walking towards shore, I intentionally began drifting to the left with the hope of discovering some sign of Maevery. I scoured the distant shoreline for heavy tracks through the deeper accumulated snow of the embankment, tracks not yet covered up by drifting snow.

But before I reached the shore, evidence of someone passing this way appeared in the form of frozen blood on the ice. Touching a blood spot with the tip of my boot, the blood broke apart into a tiny red slush. Maevery could already be dead. Having missed the display of dead tributes the night before, I worried that my difficult task may already be in vain. Walking more quickly towards shore, I struggled to keep myself from becoming emotional.

At the edge of the lake, the blood trail led me up the embankment straight towards the nearest pine forest. Losing and rediscovering the blood trail several times, my search came to an end in the middle of a large number of spruce trees.

Unsure of what to do, I plopped down into a small snowdrift and bowed my head in defeat. Johanna must be furious with me, I thought, imaging the profanities she must be spewing at the television. Maybe Maevery will find me...if she's still alive. Deciding to return to my snow cave to wait out the Games, I rose to my feet and glanced about one last time.

Unexpectedly, faint bird song called out in the distance. Since sound travels farther in a winter environment, I decided to test the acoustics by saying with a soft voice, "Marco."

Faintly, a few of the birds replied, "Marco."

Their response told me that the mimicking birds were mockingjays, which the Gamemakers often inserted into the arenas to confuse tributes.

"Marco," I said again just a little bit louder to see if more would reply, but as I listened, movement from a nearby tree caused me to frightfully spin around.

A pine branch wavered as someone—or something stirred beneath it. Then came the familiar voice that said in a hushed, stern tone, "Shut up, you idiot!"

"Maevery?" I ran forward towards the tree, knelling to peer under the heavy snow laden branches.

"Keep your voice down," she said, giving me a stern look.

"Sorry." I lifted the branch so that she could crawl out and noticed how she grimaced in pain when the light of day revealed a bloodstain on her lower snow pants. "You're injured?"

"Yes. I don't think it's life threatening, but it hurts."

Judging the small size of her pine tree shelter consisting of dried leaves and other insulating foliage, I assumed she was alone. "Did your friend die?"

"We got separated, but I know he survived. They didn't show his image last night." Accepting my hand, Maevery rose slowly to her feet. "Didn't you see the display?"

"No. I passed out in my snow cave from exhaustion." I gestured to her tree shelter. "I was contemplating the trunk of a pine too before deciding on a snowdrift. I wasn't sure how trained you were in winter survival."

"I may dislike snow, but I am a District Seven girl."

"Sorry that I ruined your hiding spot."

Her pain evident, Maevery shifted her weight in search of relief. "That's okay. I didn't plan on staying here much longer."

"Do you want to come to my snow cave? I found a very nice drift at the edge of a tree line. It will only take me a couple minutes to widen it for two."

Shivering, Maevery accepted my invitation. "Okay, but I can't move very fast."

"That's okay," I replied with a smile. "I'm naturally slow."

As we progressed through the arena, I kept peering over my shoulders. "I think we're alone on this side of the lake. We can take our time…if we have to. I haven't even seen any human tracks until I stumbled upon you."

Needing a rest, Maevery paused and began testing her leg by gingerly shifting more weight on to it. "Maybe they all went up into the mountains."

"I wouldn't recommend anyone going up there." I glanced up at the foggy mountaintops.

With a restrained groan, Maevery shifted her weight back to her good side. "Why not?"

"I bee lined it up there to get away from the opening blood bath. There are Jabberwockies up there."

"Jabberwockies?"

"They're muttations that I've never seen before. I just call them Jabberwockies. They are fast and deadly, tall as black bears with four skinny serrated legs. They look sort of like giant praying mantis with a tinted ice-blue exoskeleton. I watched one devour Mister Rabbit."

"Mister Rabbit?" Maevery's eyes began surveying my head. "Did you crack your skull on the ice?"

"No." I threw an arm around Maevery's waist and gently urged her to keep moving. "I saw three Jabberwockies during my short time up there. They can scale the vertical sides of the mountains like spiders. From what I can deduce, the safest place in the arena is near the shoreline."

"Did you slip on the ice and possible not remember that you hit your head?"

"No," I replied, with a frown. "The mutts are real. I saw them"

"Okay."

When Maevery stopped to snug up her zippers, I glanced at the lake. "Did you notice the ice?"

Maevery turned towards the frozen lake. "What about the ice?"

"It's perfect. Except for some natural cracks, the lake froze perfectly smooth. They must have frozen the arena before they added the snow. What I'd give for a pair of ice skates right now."

"Are you kidding me?"

Smiling, I shrugged. "Why not? No one would be able to catch me."

"No. But I'm sure they wouldn't have a problem shooting you with an arrow."

"Oh."

"Oh," repeated Maevery, eyeing me. "Have you forgotten that other tributes are hunting us? Let's get out of here before we are seen."

I gestured at the bloodstain on her snow pants. "When we reach the snow cave, I'll look at your wound and try to camouflage the blood stain."

"Just get me out of this bone chilling wind," she muttered behind chattering teeth.

As we progressed slowly towards my snow cave, I recalled a first aid technique used by our loggers. "I could break off a large pine branch to use as an emergency sled. It would be easy to pull."

"No, thank you. It will leave a large needle trail."

"Oh, you're right. If we had some plastic tarp, I could make a decent sled. With a couple pine branches for stabilizers, it would be quite functional—and comfortable. You'd be able to rest your leg, and we could use it to collect wood if we ever needed to build a fire."

"Fire would be easy to spot in this arena." Maevery's foot slipped on something beneath the snow, and the pain forced her to stop, her weight pressing down on my shoulder.

"When I collected firewood back home, my dad used to say that, quote, 'For a big pussy, I had the stamina of Babe the Blue Ox.' For my dad, that's quite a compliment."

"Pahl."

"Yes."

"Shut up."

Happy that I was no longer alone, I adjusted myself under Maevery's arm and continued aiding her in silence, smiling unabashedly for the remainder of our trek.

When we reached the trees near my snow cave, Maevery unzipped her jacket, wiping the traces of sweat from her brow. "Do you even own ice skates?" she asked, taking a seat at the base of a birch tree.

"No," I replied, searching for my snow loosening stick. "You know that only merchant kids own their own skates."

"Can you skate?" asked Maevery before scooping snow into her mouth.

"Yes. I learned on the ones at school."

With my loosening stick found, I entered my snow cave and got to work, sufficiently widening the cave in a matter of minutes.

Without needing my assistance, Maevery crawled inside, rolling onto her back on one side of the cave. She pulled back her hood and bunched it under her neck for a pillow. "Pahl, what were you thinking with that Marco bit? You know sound carries in the winter. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"I didn't know you were so close. I was actually talking to the birds, hopping they would reply with the word Polo."

Maevery glared at me.

"I was. There are mockingjays in the arena."

My exhausted district partner draped an arm over her eyes and sighed. "This is great; I'm stuck in a snow cave with a psychotic."

"You don't have to fear me. Remember, I'm a pacifist."

"Gee, that makes it better."

With a nervous smile, I positioned myself next to Maevery's leg and took a deep breath. "Are you ready for me to inspect your wound?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Maevery took a deep, calming breath. "If you can, I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about Jabber-thingies or other monsters while you look at my wound."

"Bandersnatches."

"What?" Maevery peered at me from under her arm.

"If there are other monsters, they would be the Bandersnatches."

"What do they look like?" she asked.

"I don't know, but if we seen one, we'll know."

Maevery groaned. "I change my mind; let me die."

"You're grumpy when you're wounded."

With lightning speed, her fist struck my thigh, making a loud thump despite the padding in my snow pants.

Unable to mask the pain, I said with a whimper, "And strong." As I rubbed my new bruise, I could not help but compare Maevery to Johanna, both sweet when need to be, but ultimately fierce. This made me think of all the others I admired back home, which were all strong like my late mother. With a smile, I began to think how much I'd enjoy being bossed around by one of them if I were their husband. Feeling the throbbing in my leg, I began to think, Then again, maybe not.