Chapter 13: Playing Again
Shortly after Sterling's and Stark's burials, as part of our training, the trainers begin taking us outside the District once a week. Cato, Caleb, and I are careful never to show that we know some of the areas. We're careful never to excel at navigation because that could give us away. The trainers split us up into groups at first, when we're beginning to get acclimated to the mountains that we've theoretically never traversed before. We split off and search for water, or practice hunting, or build shelters for inspections, collect specific plants as instructed, learn what to touch and what not to touch. One day, they tell us we're going to play a game as practice for those of us who might one day enter the Arena. Not all the Peacekeeper trainees are seriously planning to go into the actual Games, but it can't hurt to be prepared.
They train us to use all sorts of weapons back at the training center. Knives, swords, spears, maces, anything likely to be in any arena, you name it, I've held it, practiced with it, and know how to use it. Guns are not in the category of, "Likely to Show Up in an Arena," but as we're going to be Peacekeepers, we know how to use them as well, how to clean them, put them together, aim and fire. The trainers explain the nature of our game today.
"It's a sort of scrimmage," a woman explains to us as other trainers hand out large backpacks. The woman's name is Avery. She trained when she was my age, but she was never reaped and never volunteered, which means she's not a victor and therefore is not a qualified mentor, but some former trainees, if they're proficient enough, are invited back to help even if they don't join the Peacekeepers or go into the Games. They're the really lucky ones. Training pays well and keeps you out of the quarries. "To test your abilities in everything from accuracy, to ability to conceal yourself, to the mental capacity to shoot or throw or strike a real human opponent. Guns won't be provided in the arena, at least, they never have been thus far, and therefore, don't expect them to be, but for today's Game's sake, and because if you're sent to another District as a Peacekeeper you may need to shoot at a moving, thinking target, you'll have them as well as the special weapons and armor you've used before. Open your packs." We do. All of us find a random assortment of the special electrical weapons we've used in training. Collapsable spears, knives, Cato even finds a sword that extends as you pull it out of the sheath. It's much too heavy for its size when it's covered, but we understand why when he removes it. Also in the packs are the fitted black clothes we wear when we use these weapons.
"Suit up, but keep listening," Avery instructs. We all do as we're told. "These aren't real guns. When you hit a target, all that will happen is that the projectile will burst, splattering your target with paint. If you're hit in the head or over a vital organ, you're done for the game. If in a fight your opponent falls unconscious or taps out, they're out, unless you're stupid enough to let them up again without making sure they turn their suit off. If you're fighting with the other weapons, you know your own limitations as to how much pain you can tolerate. When it's too much, turn the suit off and you're out. Each suit is tagged with a marker that signals a computer when it's turned off. They will not turn back on. The last one still playing wins, just like the Games. Understood?" Nods of assent. "Good. Collect one gun apiece and position yourselves." We form a line and collect our guns as instructed while Avery continues. "From this point you have a two mile radius as your arena. There are trainers posted as sentries along the perimeter so you don't go too far." Once we're all armed, she gives the line of us one last once over before saying with a grin, "May the odds be ever in your favor." There's a pause as we wait for dismissal. She checks her watch and tells us, as she pulls a starting pistol from a holster on her belt. "You have sixty seconds to position yourselves. When you hear this, let the games begin. Go."
Without a doubt, I know Cato, Caleb, and I will be a team up until it's no longer possible. There's no risk of dying here so it's really all just one big joke, but I take it seriously because winning will earn me points with the others. The boys and I take off running, but take cover as soon as we find it and hold our guns ready to fire. When the starting pistol goes, we begin to shoot at any opponent within range. I'm good at this, even with trees and leaves in my way. Two girls and one boy end up with bright orange paint spattered across their chests. When hit, one of the girls lets out a squeal of pain. The other lets her gun fall from her fingers and drops to the ground, apparently not keen on being hit again, or totally willing to allow any friend or ally behind her to be hit as well. The boy, after a moment's pause, raises his own gun anyway, aiming for the place the shot came from, aiming at me though he can't see me. If he hits me, I'll be done because no one will make the exception for me, "Well, you got hit but he was cheating so continue playing." I'm about to hit him where it really hurts because I'm just low like that when I see his head snap to the left, my left, his right.
With a yell of pain he falls to the ground. One hand supporting him, preventing him from falling all the way down, the other at his temple and now covered in paint. "You're out! You're done, Ewan!" I hear Cato's voice from my right and know he's the one who covered me.
"I knew that!" Ewan shouts back, irritated. "But you didn't have to shoot me in the head." He gives an exasperated sigh as a couple of vulgar retorts cross my mind, but then I hear Caleb's voice from his position.
"Shut up and get back to camp or I'll shoot you, too." Ewan grumbles, picks up his gun and goes back. The two girls follow him. There are shouts a short distance away from us, shouts and laughter and sometimes angry words from irritated people. I put a finger to my lips, and move toward the sounds of the fighting, being sure to stay hidden. Between the three of us, we should be able to take out this crowd. Cato and Caleb move in beside me and we take positions. I tap the trigger of my gun three times and then look at them. I need no words for them to understand. My tapping asks the question, "On three?" Both of them give the tiniest of nods. We take aim and Caleb taps once, then I copy him and Cato finishes the code and we open fire on the group.
The central fight immediately ceases as everybody reaches for weapons to fire back at us, but we take them down before they make any kind of direct hit to us. Their orange paint smatters the trees. Drops of it fall onto us, but not enough to indicate that we look like we've been shot. To prevent a situation like the one with Ewan, namely that someone who isn't too badly hurt tries to shoot even though were these real weapons they'd be dead, we're careful to make the shots that hit them painful enough to stop them shooting back. There's some swearing as we stand up again and move on but we only grin back at them.
There are no cannons here, obviously, which is unfortunate because I'd like to know how many more people we've got to face. I'm not sure how many of us there are in this age range. I guess I should have counted. As we move through the fake arena, I ask Caleb what he thinks. "Probably forty or fifty," he answers. "And we took out three at the start. There were at least another ten that we shot back there and we can't be the only ones taking people out so there are probably between fifteen and twenty-five left."
"Easy enough," I say. "But the next few people we knock out of the running, we should probably take their weapons. What if we run low on these paint things?"
"These guns will hold a lot of them. They're really little. But we can take some if you want. What good will it do them if they're done playing?"
We spread out, hoping to catch and corral a few opponents between us. But either Cato or I (honestly probably Cato because my sense of direction is unrivaled) ends up off course, because we meet up, which wasn't supposed to happen quite yet. He presses a finger to his lips and points to his right, my left. My eyes flick to try to find whatever he was pointing at, but I don't see it. He slings his gun across his back and steps closer to me. I feel his hands on my head, turning me to face the correct direction. My heart jumps up as I see them, the two girls. They're talking quietly to each other. Cato moves his right hand from the side of my head to my shoulder and leans down to whisper his plan in my ear. When he's finished, I turn slightly to look at him, feeling my heart do that drumroll thing in anticipation of the stealthy attack.
"Ok," I agree and we separate as his plan dictated. Both of us give the girls a wide berth until we're even with them. I'm facing the girl I'll shoot and behind the one Cato will shoot. Cato and I make eye contact over their heads. There's no need for subtlety so he nods once, then I do, also just once, then we wait a beat and on the fourth beat we both fire once. Both girls squeal and fall backward off the logs they'd been sitting on.
"You could've warned us!" one of them says to me. She's joking. She has to be, so I respond in the same tone.
"That's a good way to guarantee you two stay put."
"We're taking your guns, too, ok?" Cato says.
"Whatever," says the other girl. "At last then we don't have to carry them anymore."
They walk away and I turn to Cato. "What do they train for then if they don't so much as want to carry guns?" He shrugs.
"You guys having all the fun without me now?" Caleb's voice reaches our ears. He must have heard the shots and come to check it out.
"Well, you weren't around and ––" I begin. It doesn't sound apologetic. It's just an explanation, but he pretends to be hurt anyway.
"No. No. It's fine," he says fake-stoically.
"Aw, we're sorry, Caleb," Cato adds, moving closer to him.
"No," Caleb says, raising a disciplinary finger. He's dropped the fake-hurt/fake-stoic attitude entirely now, knowing it'll only result in something amusing for me and something relatively unpleasant for him.
"Aw, Come here." Cato says, still fake-sorry. He wraps his arms around his brother in a bear hug. I laugh at Caleb's protests as I sling the girl's gun over my back. Those two. . .
Shortly after this exchange, we run into one of the sentries. Are we really that far off course? The path we were taking wasn't one that was going to lead us into the edge of the "Arena". "We're closing it in now," the sentry explains. "There are only six of you left and we want you to find each other so we can get going. We don't have all day to do this, you know? The winner is being driven back to the District in a truck. That's the reward. But the rest of us are hiking."
"Avery didn't mention that," I say. "We didn't know one of us was getting to go in a truck."
"Well, we know now, don't we," Caleb says, wrapping a hand around my head and pulling me back farther into the arena. "Come on." I push him off me and give him a slightly playful, slightly dirty look.
They must really have closed ranks, because it only takes us another fifteen minutes to find the other three, who have also formed a team. Probably someone told them along the way that Cato, Caleb and I were working together and they figured their best chance of taking us on was in a pack. Actually, saying we find them is giving us a little too much credit. What really happens is that I think I see something that looks suspiciously like a human eye about ten yards in front of us and I stop to examine it. Sure, I could just spray the area with paint, but if I've just imagined the eye, if our opponente aren't really here, the noise would draw them to us, which I don't want. I want to meet up with them on our own terms.
But while I'm looking, another sound to my left has me snapping my head around just in time to see Caleb step in between me and the girl who had tried to tackle me. What stupid moves on both their parts! The likelihood of that girl being able to bring me down was slim, though I guess more probable than her taking out either Caleb or Cato. But the way she ran with her knife raised and the way Caleb blocked her, she was able to stick him in the chest. There's no real damage done of course, but the electrical shock they have wired to go through the suits when you get stuck in the chest is enough to bring Caleb to his knees.
He gives a yell of pain, lets go of the girl and drops to the ground breathing heavily. I can hear the effort it's taking him to draw air into his lungs. The pain would stop instantly if he turned his suit off, but he doesn't want to do that. Unfortunately for him, he's going to have no choice. The suits are designed to hurt worse depending on the severity of the injury you're supposed to have sustained. Therefore, what would have been a knife in the chest, is going to immobilize him on the ground. He's out.
Maybe cruelly because he's only about ten feet away, Cato fires his gun and the paintball hits the girl in the cheek. At the same time, I draw a knife from where they're tied to my belt. I haven't used them thus far, preferring to shoot from a distance, but as she's just stabbed Caleb, I get her back. She shrieks and collapses completely. Caleb's voice reaches my ears, pained still because he's too stubborn to turn off the suit. "Turn!" I do just in time to clock the boy, who had been trying to attack me, in the side of the head with the barrel of my gun. That knocks him sideways and Cato tackles him the rest of the way to the ground.
I end up engaged in combat with the second boy of their little group. It's clear by his posture that we're to fight this out hand-to-hand. No guns. That sounds fine with me. I'm not so stubborn that I keep a hold on my gun, but drop it to the ground to keep my hands free to defend myself. The boy takes a grip on my suit up by the left side of my collarbone with one hand and with the other gathers the material at my right elbow. There are a hundred moves he could do from here and a hundred things I could to do prevent it. The alternatives begin racing through my mind and, curious about his plan, I allow him to pivot on the spot. A shoulder wheel then. When he flips me over him, I land hard on the leafy ground, but not so hard that my plan goes out of my head. I get a grip on his hair and bring him down as well. He wasn't expecting that. Probably didn't think I'd have the leverage from here. But I did because he didn't want me to rip a handful of hair out of his scalp. From there, I have no trouble putting him in an arm bar. He knows instantly what could happen if he doesn't tap out. I hear it in the panicked cry he gives and feel it in the urgency with with he taps on my leg. I don't complete the move, don't bridge up and break his arm, but I keep a firm grip on it and tell him, "Turn off your suit then."
I watch him do it and then let him up. We stand and look around. The girl Cato shot/I knifed still lies curled up on the ground. She doesn't say anything, but I know she wasn't as stubborn as Caleb. Her suit's been turned off. She's done, but being a baby anyway. Caleb holds up his hands and tries for a grin. "I'm out too."
"Sissy," I tease him.
"Oh, shut up," he says. Cato stands up, leaving the boy I whacked unconscious on his back.
"He's out too?" I ask, casually taking up my gun again.
Cato nods. "I turned his suit off for him. He's out cold." He tries, but is unable to keep the grin from crossing his lips and he puts together in his head what has to happen now. "Just you and me then." He raises his gun and trains it on me. I grin as well, take up my own gun again and mirror him. There's a pause while we communicate without words again. He raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch asking me, "Like before? On three?" I hold his gaze. I don't dare do something as obvious as nod, not with the others all watching us, but I pause, blink a little slower than usual and then fix my eyes on him. He taps three times on his gun, giving me the tempo so that we shoot exactly at the same time. Then he does it once more and this time I shoot on what would be the fourth beat.
For a moment, I'm confused. I hear only one shot and immediately wonder if he held out on me. Did he just let me shoot him in the chest and not fire back? I know I pulled the trigger and I'm confused until I see the orange blossom over his suit and feel the impact of his shot against my own chest. It hurts, stings, but isn't unbearable. Caleb laughs and then so do we. The boy I fought goes to help the girl to her feet and Caleb rouses the boy Cato knocked out. Together the six of us return to the start of the Games.
"Must have been some fight," Avery says upon seeing her. We watched the suits activate and then go off. What happened?" We explain the fight. When we're done, Avery says, "So, who was hit first?"
"They hit at the same time," says the boy I fought. "That was it. You should have seen it. I don't know how they managed it."
"There's no way," Avery says. "There had to be some discrepancy." The boy whose arm I nearly broke launches back into the story starting from when I picked up my gun again and Caleb tries to explain a little calmer to Avery.
"There was," Cato interjects after a minute. All of us look at him, confused. "She hit me first. I felt the impact right before I saw her get hit. She won." I see where he's going with this. We have to end the argument somehow and there's no way Avery would believe either of us if we insisted that we one, so we have to deny it, say that the other won, and the game will end in confusion, but with both of us as victors.
"You did not!" I counter him. "Don't pretend to be so chivalrous."
"What are you––?" like the beginning of "What are you talking about?" from Caleb.
"Jumpy over here pulled the trigger right before––"
"Oh, shut up!" Avery cuts me off and I glare at her. "Fine. Both of you can get in the damn truck. See if I care." Cato and I grin at each other. Sure, we've both just given each other welts from the paintballs, but we've outsmarted our trainers. No matter what they did, they would have had to change the rules. Either they let the two of us win because we were the last two still playing up until we shot each other, or they have us fight again even though we're technically both supposed to be dead. Either option is going to bring dissent from the group at large, but I think Avery knows the truth and therefore wants to change the rules accordingly. There's a pause before she gives the rest of the group their instructions. "If you haven't taken off the suits yet, do it now. Pack up. You're carrying your gear back to training." If this were a normal crowd, there'd be some grumbling at that, but these kids will be Careers and Peacekeepers if they aren't quarry workers. They're tough and they know better than to grumble at something so trivial. Cato and I take off our suits again, leaving just our regular clothes on beneath them. The others begin preparations for departure as our ride shows up. "See you tomorrow, then," Avery says to us.
"See you." We swing our packs up into the bed of the truck and climb in.
The driver, another trainer, steps out and goes over to Avery. He looks irritated but we know they won't want to show disagreement. Usually the trainers try to stay united as one big decision making body. She shakes him off and he returns to the truck, muttering a hurried "Congratulations," to us as he passes.
As the truck begins its careful path back down to the District, Cato and I relax. We laugh a little at the whole thing because it's funny that we changed their minds by shooting each other. We sit with our backs against the cab of the truck, watching the world move around us. It's curious how effortless such quick movement now feels. I've never been in a car, so the sensation of sitting just about motionless while you're actually moving at fifteen miles an hour is new.
As we drive down the little mountain where we played our game, the ground is very bumpy and it jostles us around a lot, but then it begins to flatten out. Carefully, I stand and face the direction we're traveling, letting the wind rush through my hair. I grip the black bar on top of the truck, the one usually used to tie things to, for support and drop the other one down. Cato takes it, letting me know he's there to cover me if we hit some unexpected rock.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
AN: Oo. A new kind of playing. Not quite the Games but definitely not the violin either. Thoughts?
Also, sorry I haven't updated in what feels like a long time to me. I just got hooked on Game of Thrones and that's basically been my life for the last nine days.
I hope you like the chapter. Please do review. I love hearing from you guys :)