Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Suzanne Collins, etc.
Day o5
Lyme Rook, District Two
The second watch passes in silence. Creston isn't much of a talker, and to be honest, I'm not either.
The metal of the Cornucopia is cold to the touch, but I'm sitting inside my sleeping bag, so I don't really notice. I can hear the soft crunch of Creston's steps as he paces back and forth on the other side of the golden horn. He's watching the forest, and I'm keeping an eye on the mountain.
Since the quality of light never really changes, I can study the slopes the same as I can during the day. The caves that used to dot the mountainside have all been covered up by yesterday's rockslide. Strangely, the paths are still intact, and for the most part uncovered. I suppose this is the Gamemakers' doing, though how they could control a rockslide is beyond me. The only caves that remain are the ones that were above the rockslide.
At least that narrows down likely hiding spots for any tributes that might be on the mountain – assuming there are any left. Not that I'll be suggesting we go back to hunting there any time soon – I'm still angry at Cliff, though the feeling has subsided a little in the intervening hours.
It's day five, now. The number of competitors has been cut in half. I try to remember who is still in the running... The five Careers, of course; and the two tributes that got 6's in training – Cecil Cross, whom I remember from his entertaining interview, and the eighteen year old male from District Twelve. I didn't get much of an impression from him, and I can't remember his face now, much less his name.
That's seven... There are five other tributes that I'm forgetting. The only other tribute that comes to mind is the twelve year old from Ten; she must be good at hiding, or something. I doubt she would have come away with much from the Cornucopia.
My watch beeps softly, and I glance at my wrist. It's time for the third watch, then. Sure enough, I hear Creston coming around the side of the Cornucopia, and we exchange brief nods before he goes to wake up Sureal.
The latter joins me a few minutes later, settling his sleeping bag beside me in the mouth of the Cornucopia. His continued presence at my side is still an annoyance, but I am also coming to find it familiar – which is far more troubling.
He yawns once, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair, before turning to me. "So, why did you volunteer, Lyme?" he asks, his voice quiet so as not to wake the others (specifically Cliff).
I shrug, staring up at the dark mountain. "It was this or becoming a Peacekeeper," I answer truthfully. "Or a miner." I grimace slightly. Being a Peacekeeper wouldn't be that terrible, but the life of a miner has very few highlights. I've seen enough miners in town to know that.
"So I volunteered," I finish, not wanting the silence to return. Usually I don't mind it, but right now I'm close to falling asleep, which would not be the smart thing to do in this situation.
Sureal nods. "Not for your family, or..?"
"No; I'm an orphan," I reply.
"Oh, sorry-"
"Don't be," I interrupt. "I'm not. I never knew my parents, so it's not like I miss them. So why did you volunteer, Sureal?" I ask, changing the subject.
He shrugs too. "Fame. Money. You know." He glances sidelong at me, a slight smirk playing across his features. He really is attractive. I look back at the mountain, forcing that thought away.
"Yeah," I agree.
And then I add, because I'm curious to see his reaction, "But not love?"
Predictably, Sureal flinches, the smirk disappearing from his face. He looks away. "I didn't want Luxy to volunteer," he murmurs, drawing his legs up to his chest like a child.
It's tempting to push him further, but I've never considered myself to be sadistic. I don't apologize, but I let it go. "I'm going to take a walk," I tell him. He makes a noise of assent and pulls my sleeping bag over his as soon as I get up. I send him a look that clearly says, I'm not amused. He hunches in upon himself, shivering for effect.
Before he can see my small smile, I turn and walk away. Sureal is too comfortable around me. I'm too comfortable around him, for that matter. I should be able to remain on friendly terms with him, like I am with Creston and Wavy, without becoming so attached.
The cool air clears my head, allowing me to think more clearly. Sureal isn't stupid; I know that firsthand. He knows that there can only be one winner in the Hunger Games – it's everyone for themselves. Furthermore, he was supposedly in love with his District partner, Luxy, long before he entered the arena. If he was so enamoured of her, why the abrupt shift in attitude after her death? Arguably, he's not stupid enough to make himself vulnerable by mourning for her for too long – but that doesn't mean he has to rebound with me either.
The possibility that Sureal might genuinely like me enters my mind, but I dismiss it just as quickly. Developing any bonds closer than those of a casual acquaintance within the Hunger Games is just stupid, and as I've already argued (to myself), Sureal isn't stupid. I like to think that I'm not, either.
The walk clears my head somewhat, the cold, still air waking me up and chasing any foolish thoughts from my mind. I return to Sureal's side – a place where I've found myself the vast majority of the Games, so far, if I'm honest with myself – and he holds the two sleeping bags open, the offer obvious.
He sighs and pouts the slightest bit when I simply pull my sleeping bag off of his and sit down beside him instead. "I get this feeling that you don't really like me, Lyme," he remarks, glancing up at me through his shaggy blond bangs.
"I like you fine," I reply curtly. There's a beat or two of silence, and then we're both chuckling at the obvious discrepancy between my words and my tone of voice.
"So, what about your family?" I ask, once our soft laughter has subsided.
Sureal shrugs. "We're a perfect little family," he responds, and I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or serious. "My dad owns a small diamond-making factory, and my mom is an instructor. I don't have any brothers or sisters."
I nod, digesting the information. If his family owns a factory – even if it's small like Sureal claims – they must be upper-middle class. 'Instructor' sounds kind of vague though. Maybe she trains District One's Careers? I know that One and Four don't have the same rigid system that my District does. I'd always assumed their tributes were trained on a more individual basis. At any rate, if she trains Careers, Sureal couldn't exactly come out and say that. Rules can stay intact so long as no one acknowledges the giant elephant in the room – that is, the fact that some tributes are trained, despite the practice being illegal.
"That sounds like a good life," I comment, though the words sound lame to my ears. I've never been good at carrying on a conversation, which may or may not have been evident.
"Yeah. I never went hungry, always had nice things," Sureal replies, flippantly.
"You would've inherited the factory?" I ask, wondering why he wanted to potentially toss those things away, just for a chance to win the Hunger Games.
The blond nods.
I'm a little annoyed about learning this, to be honest. At least my reasons were actually, well, a little bit reasonable. The life of a miner is terrible, the life of a Peacekeeper isn't bad but I doubt it would be anything worth mentioning. Those were my only options, beyond volunteering and getting out of the system entirely.
Sureal, on the other hand, could have inherited his father's company, or probably have gone on to do something else within the District, if his parents were so well off. I know that some people's reasons for volunteering for the Hunger Games were selfish (even mine could be taken that way, really) yet I can't help but feel as if Sureal had committed some grave offense by volunteering.
"Hm." My reply is non-committal, but Sureal seems to catch on to my darker mood and we carry on the rest of the watch in silence.
We wake everyone a few minutes before the anthem plays, and eat a light breakfast. We finish off the loaves of bread, because they were getting stale and old; the same can be said for the fresh fruit, so we each take a few to eat during the day during our hunt.
It's Wavy's turn to take watch today. Unlike Cliff she is actually mature enough to handle her responsibilities, so she doesn't complain when the four of us leave. Cliff is in the lead, as usual, with Sureal and me walking together in the middle, and Creston bringing up the rear.
"We're checking the river first," Cliff announces, casting a glare at us, like he's expecting someone to disagree. Why would we? The idea actually makes sense, instead of his usual stupid plans.
"Sounds good, Cliff," Sureal says nervously, when it becomes obvious that neither Creston nor myself intend to reply.
My District partner nods and starts off upstream. One thing I will say in Cliff's favour: despite his tall and muscular frame, he moves almost silently through the dead forest. Then again, there's no denying that he's a talented fighter – he would never have qualified to volunteer back in Two if he wasn't – so I guess it's not all that surprising. It just seems to be at odds with that loud, obnoxious personality of his.
To be honest, I wasn't really expecting our – rather, District Four's – traps to catch any tributes, given the lack of camouflage material within this arena, and the first two that we come across are empty. When we reach the third, however, it's clear that someone had been caught in it. The gray-ish rope sways in the rising wind, cut. Someone was caught and cut themselves down, I assume. Probably they fell on whatever they used to saw through the rope with, since there is a visible blood trail leading to the stream. Whoever it was that got caught was smart enough to get in the stream to escape, though. That way, any shed blood would be washed away by the water.
Finally, a challenge.
"They got away," Cliff snarls angrily, turning on Creston.
"They can't have stayed in the stream forever," Sureal interjects as Creston opens his mouth to respond (probably angrily, judging by the furrow of his brows). "They'd have to leave it eventually, right? We just have to follow the stream until we find their trail again. They were bleeding pretty heavily."
"One of us can go back to camp on the other side of the stream, in case they were dumb enough to go that way," I add. "The other three can continue upstream, until we find their trail."
"I'll go back," Creston says.
"You do that," Cliff snaps back.
"Okay, then me and Lyme will take the other side," Sureal says, grabbing my hand. He hurries to cross the stream – shallow but cold, and now my boots and socks are wet and cold – but I don't really notice any of this, too shocked by the contact.
Creston follows us, and immediately begins the walk back to camp. I notice that Cliff seems to be staring at our joined hands.
I jerk my hand out of Sureal's grasp, ignoring the surprised and hurt look he sends my way. "We'd better get going," I say briskly, even though it is still rather early in the day, and start walking.
Cliff just scoffs and jogs ahead. I'm not sure whether to be glad about his absence or not. I don't know if I want to be left alone with Sureal at that moment, even if it means not having Cliff around.
Much as I hate to admit it, I say to Sureal, "We should probably jog as well... Just in case, you know." In case of what, exactly, I'm a bit too distracted to think of, but if we're jogging it will make talking a bit more difficult and I definitely do not want to talk with Sureal right now.
Plus, the flush that I can feel on my cheeks can be passed off as an effect of the running...
This is ridiculous, I try to tell myself, it's not like I'm a twelve year old with a crush. I'm a Career, and I need to get my priorities straight. Namely, the fact that only one person can walk out of this arena alive, and I intend for that to be me.
It's not long – maybe half an hour – before Cliff gives a shout from somewhere up ahead. Sureal and I exchange a glance and run towards him. It turns out he ended up crossing the stream and is now on our side, crouching to examine the ground.
"I thought we were checking this side," I say, trying to sound neutral. I'm more than a little annoyed that he presumed to do our task – but that's not important right now.
Cliff shrugs. "You were taking too long."
Sureal grabs my upper arm before I can do something I regret – like run up and kick my District partner in the face – and I quickly jerk out of his grasp.
"Whatever. What did you find?" I demand quickly, crouching down beside him.
Cliff grins at me and holds up a blood-stained scrap of cloth – probably ripped from the shirt of a tribute, judging by the look of it. "Rat must've had some brains," he remarks. "They bandaged their injury." He gives Sureal a pointed look, like, guess your plan wasn't so good, pretty boy.
Sureal doesn't rise to the bait though. "I can still see wet footprints – the person must have passed through here recently."
Sure enough, I see drying footprints in the dust. It's kind of pathetic that I didn't notice them in the first place.
"Spread out. I'll follow the trail, you two come in from the sides," Cliff decides, and I don't feel like disagreeing with him. Maybe getting the chance to kill someone will calm him down a little. Even the prospect of tracking down and catching the injured tribute seems to have made him slightly more tolerable.
Or maybe I'm just in a better mood. I don't really want to dwell on that line of thought, though.
I hope that he won't insist upon dragging out the kill, like he did with the boy yesterday. I'll admit that there is something satisfying about killing an opponent, but toying with a defenceless child is something entirely different.
Sureal taps me on the shoulder. "Coming, Lyme?" he asks, and I see that Cliff has already run off in pursuit of the injured tribute. I mentally slap myself for the distraction and nod, shrugging off his hand as I rise to my feet. I'm a few inches taller than Sureal, actually.
"I'll take the right," I say, drawing my sword before I set off in that direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sureal follow suit, but to the left. I'm kind of regretting taking two apples – they'll be all bruised after this running around, and it's annoying to have them thumping into my back from my pack.
Then I realize that I'm worried about an apple when, more likely than not, a child is about to be killed.
Shoving all those thoughts away, I focus on scanning the trees for any sign of a gray-clad tribute. One thing I will say in the Capitol's defence (sort of) is that this year the uniforms were good for camouflage. For any tributes who need to rely on hiding – basically all of them except us Careers – it will be an unexpected blessing.
For those of us who actually have a chance of winning out of skill rather than luck, it's just an enormous annoyance.
To my left, and a little ahead of me, I hear Sureal yell, followed by a frightened shriek from the same direction.
So, the injured tribute is a girl. I change directions, not quite sprinting, and through the trees I see Sureal chasing a girl of about sixteen. 'Chasing' isn't really the right word, given her unsteady gait (courtesy of the wound on her thigh) – I think herding would probably be a better description. I'm surprised he hasn't already put a knife in her; I know that Sureal has decent aim, and it's not like the girl is moving quickly or anything. For that matter, he doesn't really seem to be trying to catch her either.
Frightened brown eyes meet mine, and the girl gives a sob, changing course to run deeper into the forest – but then Cliff steps out of the trees. The girl spins around, but it's obvious that she is surrounded.
"Please," she begs, tears leaking out of her eyes as she trembles before us. "Please, don't-"
"Don't what?" Cliff interrupts, sneering. "Kill you?"
The girl swallows shakily, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweater. I wonder if she even realizes what she is doing as she rocks back and forth. "I d-don't want to die..."
"Pathetic," Cliff says, disgusted. He stalks forward, drawn sword held in one hand. "These are the Hunger Games. Obviously you're going to die." I'm a little unnerved that he seems totally calm, matter of fact even – a stark contrast to the vicious triumph he was displaying a few minutes ago.
The girl turns toward me. "Please, Lyme-" Her injured leg gives out, and she tumbles to the ground.
She knows who I am? I don't even know what District she's from, much less her name. Then again, I guess you'd want to know the names of the people who are probably going to end up killing you in the arena for use in just these situations...
Cliff springs forward, intending to run her through as she lies prone on the ground. How heroic. To my surprise, she twists around, causing Cliff to stab his sword into the ground instead of through her chest, as he seemed to be aiming.
Her hand comes out of her pocket, holding a blood-stained knife.
We all forgot that she had managed to cut the rope from the trap.
Cliff is distracted with trying to dislodge his sword, which seems to be stuck fast in the ground – and he doesn't notice that the girl is about to stab him in the chest.
I'm frozen in place, the sword clutched in my hand forgotten. It's not like I could do anything anyway – if I threw my sword, I'd be just as likely to hit Cliff as I would be to hit the girl. As much as I may despise him, I don't think getting rid of him at this point would be a good thing.
Then again, it looks like he'll be dead soon anyway.
In my peripheral vision, I see Sureal moving. Cliff gives a grunt of triumph as he frees his sword, rearing back to strike again. The girl's knife narrowly misses him, and he gives a shout of surprise as he realizes what happened-
A knife comes whistling in from the side and buries itself in the girl's skull. Her cannon goes off almost immediately. Cliff and I both look at the male from District One, who has a smirk on his face.
"That was a close one," he remarks, calmly striding up to Cliff. He kneels and pulls out his knife with a strange squelching noise. Carelessly, the blond wipes the blood (and other things) off on her shirt, then returns the blade to its sheathe.
"What just happened?" Cliff asks, his usual demanding tone replaced with one of shock as his gaze travels from the blond to the knife still clutched in the dead girl's hand.
I guess this is proof that you aren't guaranteed a win just because you got a ten in training. This girl must have gotten a five or less in training, and if Sureal hadn't been here, Cliff would be dead. I'm feeling as shocked as Cliff looks, to be honest. I was just as cocky, thinking that the other tributes didn't stand a chance. The real advantage that we Careers have is our superior numbers...
Sureal shrugs, quickly going through the girl's pockets. "You're welcome," he says pointedly, and Cliff reflexively thanks him in response.
Then Cliff seems to realize that he just thanked the pretty boy. He hauls Sureal up by the collar, and I quickly step forward, ready to intervene.
Sureal returns Cliff's glare coolly, not seeming to be intimidated at all despite their obvious height and size difference. A few moments later, Cliff releases the blond and steps back.
"You're all right, pretty boy... Lusion," Cliff corrects himself, giving Sureal a brief nod.
Sureal gives Cliff a bashful smile. "Thanks." I think I detect a bit of sarcasm, but Cliff doesn't. "What's our next move?" the blond adds, falling back on his more submissive attitude.
A glance at my watch confirms that it's still before noon. We could return to the Cornucopia and rejoin Creston and Wavy, or carry on hunting for a bit longer.
"Let's just go back for today," Cliff says. He sounds a little shaken, but neither Sureal nor I comment on this. Who wouldn't be, when faced with their own mortality like that? From the way things were going, if Sureal hadn't intervened, I think Cliff would have died, or at the very least been seriously wounded before either he or myself managed to kill the girl.
I don't think that I would have made the same mistakes as him – going in for such a flashy kill just isn't my style, for one thing – but the girl's actions shocked me. Though the 'regular' tributes might not have any practical skills with a weapon, it doesn't take any skill to stab someone – if you go for the chest, odds are you'll end up piercing something vital. I'd been so thinking about how the other tributes had no chance that I'd forgotten they sometimes did manage to win, usually through a combination of luck and trickery, but who cares how you win? A victory is a victory.
Not to mention when the inevitable dissolution of the Career Alliance occurs, a lot of trickery and luck are involved as well.
Sureal pauses to pull an orange out of his pack, then calmly begins eating it as we walk back to the Cornucopia. I don't know what he's trying to prove, but Cliff (and me, for that matter, though I never really doubted) now know that he is a serious contender. Also, it would seem that his timidity towards Cliff's abrasive personality was an act, if his actions towards Cliff of a few minutes ago are any indication... And now he's just eating an orange, like nothing happened.
"Do you know who that girl was?" I ask, more in the interest of breaking the silence than actually learning the girl's identity.
Sureal carelessly tosses a piece of peel to the ground. "District Three. Don't remember her name." He pops a piece of the fruit into his mouth, then offers another to me.
"No thanks, I have my own," I say distractedly, pulling off my pack to rummage around for the apples I brought with me. As expected, they're bruised. But food is food, and I doubt we'll be getting anymore fresh fruit after our initial supplies run out. There's no point in wasting it now.
How did Sureal remember who she is? I didn't even feel any flicker of recognition when I saw her. She could have been a stranger I'd met on the street, not someone who went through three days of training with me, among the other activities leading up to the Games themselves.
Creston and Wavy are waiting at the Cornucopia when we return about an hour later. We kept an eye out for any new trails, and checked the traps when we passed, but there was no sign of any other tributes.
"You killed whoever got caught in the trap?" Wavy asks, so I assume that Creston has filled her in on what happened before we split up. She's looking at Cliff when she asks this, probably thinking that he would have been the one to kill the tribute.
"Sureal did," Cliff grunts, and doesn't offer any further information as he stalks past to our dwindling supply of food. Creston and Wavy exchange glances, then look to me and Sureal questioningly. I just shrug.
"Lucky throw," Sureal contributes, smiling.
Neither of the tributes from District Four looks particularly convinced, but they don't say anything else as we settle down to eat lunch.
"So are we going to go hunting again?" Creston asks towards the end of the meal.
"I'll stay and keep watch," Cliff offers, shocking us all into silence. He glares when he notices that everyone is staring at him. "What."
"That's fine. We should start at the other end of the plain, maybe," I suggest, because we have mostly been focussing on the side with the stream.
"Sounds good. Split up into two groups, within shouting distance?" Wavy adds, and the rest of us nod in agreement. Of course, the pairings are Wavy and Creston, then Sureal and me.
Nothing much happens, and I for one find the silence between myself and Sureal to be painfully obvious, but if the blond is unnerved by it he doesn't show it.
Much to my annoyance, we don't find any further tracks – there's no sign of any tributes at all, and as a result it seems like the afternoon drags on forever. I keep checking my watch, which probably doesn't help the time go by any faster, but refuse to break the heavy silence.
Maybe it's only heavy to me. Maybe I'm just looking too far into things.
Maybe I need to calm down and focus on the real goal: winning the Hunger Games.
I sigh. "I guess we should turn back now," I remark, glad that the day is almost over.
Sureal shrugs. "Sure." At the same time, Wavy and Creston walk up and tell us essentially the same thing. Guess all that training must have paid off, since we all seem to have the same instincts. Or it could just be a coincidence.
The camp is undisturbed when the four of us return, Cliff seated on the Cornucopia. He is staring up at the mountain. He's obsessed with that area of the arena, I swear. At least he doesn't bring up hunting on it again.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. I think I'm getting more used to the perpetual twilight... Or I'm coming to rely more and more on my digital watch to tell me what time it is. I can't imagine not having the thing, now, to be honest. I wonder how Cliff can stand it, not being able to tell anything about the passage of time beyond the rising and falling of the wind at the beginning and end of the day, and the playing of the anthem.
Whatever; it's not like his sanity (already tenuous, let's be frank) is my concern. At least his near-death experience seems to have calmed him down.
We decide upon the watch – surprisingly, Cliff volunteers to do two shifts.
He's acting very suspiciously. The other four of us eye him thoughtfully after this generous offer, wondering if he is planning to kill us all in our sleep. But then we (well, I do, anyway) come to the conclusion that another person will be on watch with him, and they would definitely raise the alarm if he tried something. While we do have to kill each other in the end, I think it's safe to say that we have more loyalty to each other than any of us feel for Cliff.
I fall asleep almost immediately after I lay down on my sleeping bag. I find it surprising that my body adapted to the uncomfortable ground so quickly, especially after the luxury of the Capitol's beds. But I guess, in the end, it's a matter of survival.
A/N: Feedback of any sort is, as always, much appreciated.