Chapter Twenty-One
POV: Ludovic Robertson (15), Male Tribute, District 4
The Arena
11.30 am, Sunday 22nd July (Day 8 of the Games), year of the 66th Hunger Games
The journey back to our camp takes longer than usual, as we have to stop for rest regularly after the exertion of the morning. Camp is in the same deserted state that we left it in this morning. Realising that we probably won't be returning again and that we now have far too much to carry with us, we prepare ourselves the largest and most extravagant feast that we've had since entering the arena. It's better than leaving the food to waste. Whilst preparing the food, Robin strikes up conversation.
"So, there's only five of us left," he begins. "Us three, Quintus and Remora. What do we do now?"
I think about Robin's question whilst opening a packet of dried meat, and realise that I don't know the answer. But one way or another, I feel like today is the crucial day. I don't think I'll be spending another night in the arena. From now on, an aggressive strategy might be beneficial.
"We should hunt them down," I say.
"Agreed," says Maddie confidently. "We handled them earlier, thanks to Robin's intervention. We should be able to take them again."
"What actually happened earlier?" I ask.
"Whilst you were fighting Pearl, Remora and Quintus came after me," explains Maddie. "I fought off Remora, but Quintus was closing in. Then Robin showed up and Quintus fled, and Remora followed suit. They abandoned Pearl, and Robin shot her to save you."
I can't believe I've only just managed to add up the pieces. Robin shot Pearl. He killed his district partner. One of the unspoken rules of the Hunger Games is for tributes not to harm their district partners. I hadn't expected Robin to sink that low. Even within the Career districts, where it isn't uncommon for the final two tributes to be from the same district, killing your district partner is still seen as a cardinal sin. The magnitude of what Robin has done is immense; he saved a tribute from another district at the expense of his district partner. I can't recall the last time this happened in the Games. It was many years ago, for sure.
"Where did you go after the mutt attack yesterday?" I ask Robin.
"To the lake," he replies. "I couldn't shake those damned insects. So I hid in the water; they couldn't follow me there. I only got stung once."
He holds out his left hand, and I can see the plum-sized swelling on the back of his hand. Those insects were definitely tracker jackers. Nothing else could cause such a large swelling. I'm half expecting his next sentence when he says it.
"I had a rough night's sleep, too. I had slept in a tree and stayed in it until I realised I had to get down for water. Then I walked back to the lake, where I heard fighting, and you know the rest."
This makes sense. Tracker jackers are known to give terrible nightmares. The Gamemakers managed to give us all plenty of fear from the attacks. And I'm glad he got down for water when he did. Without Robin's assistance, me and Maddie would probably be dead by now.
"So, where do we go now?" asks Maddie, breaking the silence.
"The cornucopia," I reply. "We should hunt down District 2."
"Will they be there?" asks Robin.
"They should be," responds Maddie confidently. "That's where they were heading when you arrived. Plus, they're still using the camp in the clearing."
"Ok, we'll go to the cornucopia," says Robin. "Before we go, how is everyone faring up? Any injuries?"
"No," I reply, aware of how lucky I am to be able to say that. My leg wound has been hurting slightly, but not enough to hinder my performance. Maddie's answer is identical to mine.
"What about weapons?"
"A sword," Maddie replies, holding it our for us to see.
"Three knives," I say, which attracts shocked looks from the others. "Most of them were in the backpack, which I lost during the fight earlier."
I can see that Robin still has his bow and a handful of arrows. He's well-supplied.
"What about other supplies?"
"I lost mine," I say frustratedly. Only now that I'm without it do I realise how important my backpack was. "But you two have plenty, I'm sure we can ration everything out if we need to."
"Ok, Ludo," says Robin. Once he has finished eating, he stands, putting on his backpack.
"We should go and get this over with," he says nervously. He's right. A look in the sky tells me that it's already mid-afternoon. I don't want another night, as I doubt we'll survive it without Gamemaker intervention, and that is the last thing that I want at the moment. I doubt my nerves will cope, either. Of the five tributes remaining in the arena, four of them will probably be dead in two hours. The nerves are getting me. Even though it will probably mean my certain death, I'm too nervous to wait any longer and I just want to start the final confrontation of the long and tiring 66th Annual Hunger Games.
Me and Maddie rise to our feet to follow Robin to the cornucopia.
"Shouldn't we head into the desert?" asks Maddie, generating surprised looks on both mine and Robin's faces. "They'll be expecting us to attack from the woods," she explains. "By approaching from the desert, we'll have the element of surprise."
"Good point," says Robin. "We'll go into the desert."
And with that comment, we follow Robin into the desert, leaving camp for what will surely be the last time.
As the afternoon passes, it seems as though all time slows to a halt. The heat is unbearable, and fatigue is starting to set in. Yet again, I strip down to my vest in an attempt to cool myself, but any victory against the heat is only temporary. We could use water to cool ourselves, but we only have two litres of water to share between three of us, and no idea when we'll find water next.
I also feel like we're getting nowhere. I'd have no idea how long we've been walking for if it wasn't for the sun. By judging from it's position, I'd say that it's two or three in the afternoon. In late July, that gives us about another six hours until night. Plenty of time to hunt down Quintus and Remora.
When we finally stop for a rest amongst the never-ending dunes, Robin is the first to speak.
"Should we head back?" he asks tiredly. I can tell he won't be able to go much further.
"There's no point," says Maddie. "It would be quicker to head towards the clearing now than return to camp. Besides, there's nothing there left of worth."
"I'm not sure about that," replies Robin. "We did leave quite a lot behind. And I could do with a rest, anyway."
"So are we going back?" I ask.
Robin takes another moment to think. "I'm not sure," he replies. "I-"
Robin cuts off as his eyes open wide with fear, his jaw drops and his hand points out over my shoulder. Both me and Maddie turn in the direction of Robin's hand, and find that we mimic his expression.
Fifty yards from us, there is a swirling mass of light brown clouds, moving swiftly just above ground. I notice the wind start to pick up, and I know that the moving body will be travelling towards us. A sandstorm. The Gamemakers have made our decision for us. Run or die.
I turn to run, and get ten paces before Robin calls me back. I stop and turn to face him, but refuse to move closer to the sandstorm.
"Don't run, Ludo!" he calls out to me. "The Gamemakers have designed this for us, and they won't just let us escape. We will be in that sandstorm, whether we like it or not. We might as well prepare for it while we can."
He's right. We might only have twenty or thirty seconds until it arrives, but every second will make us more prepared. I put on my long-sleeved khaki top for added protection, and draw a knife. I might need it.
I end up cursing myself when I look up to find Robin and Maddie putting on face masks. I lost mine when I left my backpack in our spying spot near the cornucopia. It might not protect eyes, but the face mask would be a lot better than nothing. Then the sandstorm is upon us, and my world is flung into chaos.
The force of the sand hitting me almost knocks me over. Suddenly I have almost no visibility as the flying sand blots out almost all light. I can only see about three metres in front of me. Not only do the sand grains sting as they buffet against us, but after hours in the blazing sun, the sand is hot, too. I'm quickly covered in hundreds of tiny scratches and burns, adding to my discomfort. As I'm without a face mask, I have to alternate between covering my mouth (which allows me to breathe without getting a lungful of sand) and covering my eyes (which allows me to see without getting sand in my eyes).
"Maddie!" I shout, eager not to lose my allies in the storm. "Robin!"
The two shapes emerge out of the mist towards me, although I can't identify them until they're six feet from me.
"Where do we go now?" I shout. The whirling sand makes it very hard to hear. Maddie mumbles a reply, but I can't comprehend it.
"What?"
"We should get out of here!" she yells.
"Where to?"
"Anywhere!" says Robin. "Anywhere that's out of this storm!"
Due to the low visibility, progress is slow as we struggle to travel through the storm. Slowly the burns start to irritate more and more, until it's almost unbearable. We need to get out, and fast.
After what feels like eternity, the sand underfoot changes to a hard-baked mud, and we find ourselves in the remains of the forests. The trees stand dead, stripped of both their leaves and their bark by the terrifying effects of the storm. Whole bushes and shrubs have been uprooted by the wind, and the whole place seems inhospitable.
Suddenly Robin drops to his knees, hacking and coughing. He must have inhaled a lungful of sand. It must be ripping him to shreds inside, and burning anything it comes into contact with. The pain must be terrible. I can see him trying to hold back tears as me and Maddie lift him to his feet.
"I'll be fine to carry on," he says, now that he's able to breathe again. But I notice as we stumble through the storm that his speed has been reduced, and that he's constantly clutching his ribs. After his incident, I'm extra careful to cover my mouth by pulling up my shirt before breathing.
About ten minutes after entering the now-dead forest, the ground underfoot turns to a hard-pack dirt and grit. This must be the cornucopia clearing. Only the floor tells me where I am in the arena. About five yards in front of me, the sand seems to be denser. As we push through the dense layer, we're suddenly out of the storm, and the lack of resistance on my body causes me to topple onto my front as I escape. My hands are cut by the dirt, and as I look up I'm dazzled by the mid-afternoon sun. The first thing I can make out as I try to stand is Robin's silhouetted figure crumpling with an arrow in his throat. I stare in shock as I watch my best friend in the arena collapse, never to rise again.
It takes me a few moments to realise how this could have happened, and when I do, my attention is on the cornucopia thirty yards away, and more importantly, the two tributes standing in front of it.
Quintus stands triumphantly, bow in hand. Remora jeers at me by his side. Looking across past Robin's body, I can see Maddie sprinting towards the cornucopia, armed with her sword. Remora runs to meet her, and soon I hear the metallic clang as blades clash, Remora desperately trying to fend off Maddie's blows.
Which leaves me and Quintus. Quintus Cato, the leader. The torturer. The murderer. The enemy. I see him reach for an arrow- his last arrow- from his quiver as I start to cover the ground between us, a knife in my right hand. Instinctively, I throw the knife at him. It misses and buries itself deep into the metal of the cornucopia behind Quintus, but it has served its purpose. It distracted Quintus for long enough for me to reach him without him shooting the arrow at me.
Only once I am with striking distance of him do I realise that I'm unarmed, and that I have no time to pull one of my two remaining knives from my belt. I lunge with both hands at the bow, but Quintus dodges sideways and uses a hand to add to my momentum, sending me sprawling onto the floor. I scramble to my feet and turn to face my adversary. We're five metres apart and start to circle each other, scared to make the first move.
Aside from a bow and one arrow in his quiver, Quintus is unarmed. I have two knives. But we have reached a stalemate. Quintus has no arrow ready, so he cannot shoot me. If he charges at me, I will kill him. I have the knife, and I'll throw at him. If he reaches for an arrow, he'll receive a throwing knife to the chest. But I daren't throw unless I have to. If I miss, Quintus will be upon me before I can draw my final knife from my belt. And I can't charge at him; he'll overpower me. He's nearly a foot taller than me, and much more muscular.
"So, Ludovic Robertson, District 4," taunts Quintus as we steadily and slowly circle each other, waiting for any sign of weakness. "It's a pity that this is your last day on Earth."
I'm not affected by his taunts, I've heard too many from Pearl to take him seriously.
"Quintus Cato," I reply, mimicking his tone. "District 2. You deserved to live your last day many years ago."
"These Games aren't about who deserves to live," he replies. "It's who wants it most. Who feels the desire to win the most."
"And you feel that I don't have such a desire?" I ask cautiously.
"Maybe you do," he replies. "But you desire will never be as strong as mine. My family needs me-"
"And mine don't?" I snap at him, angered by his comment. "What about Maddie's then? Don't they need her? When the only reason why she is here is because she had to take tesserae to support her family?" I know I'm flustered, but Quintus has outraged me. I can feel the anger burning hot in my cheeks, but I don't care. Not now. Quintus remains silent, so I continue.
"What about Robin's family?" I say, gesturing at the body lying on the dirt about forty yards away. The sandstorm has started to recede, and I can see how far his blood has spread. Having lost so much, it's a miracle he's still alive.
As I gesture, the cannon sounds. I guess he was never going to survive for much longer.
"What about his family then, Cato?" I shout at him, letting out all my anger. "You've ruined them for life! They just watched their child get murdered on live television!"
Cato gives a careless shrug. "He was always going to die. Hurst never could have taken me."
"That's irrelevant!" I snap. "How many people have you broken in these games? Not just the twenty kids that are already dead, but the families that will spend years in grief?"
"It's not like I care," he replies. "My family will welcome me like the hero I am."
"Do they really care, Cato? To murder innocents just to get a pat on the back from dad?" I can tell I'm being harsh now, but after how he has infuriated me, I want to inflict pain in return. Not just physical pain; mental torture is somewhat a speciality of mine. I remember how I enraged Pearl earlier.
"Tell me, Quintus," I say, deliberately using his first name to annoy him. "When you die, will your family care?"
He's taken aback by the question, and takes time to answer. "My family has every confidence in my abilities. They consider it duty to fight in the Hunger Games."
"Duty?" I say, surprised.
"My father was in this place once," he says proudly. "And I am here to follow in the family footsteps."
Great, a son of a victor. No wonder he's so headstrong.
"But if you don't make it home, will anyone miss you? Brothers? Sisters? A special girl somewhere?" I taunt.
I can tell that I've hit a nerve. His face turns slowly red and he talks to the floor, not me, as he answers.
"There's no girl," he replies. "Having devoted my life to the Games, there's no time for that sort of interest. But my brother wholly looks up to me. I have to be there for him, so that he can follow in my father's footsteps, just as I am now."
Deluded as Quintus may be, he fights for family, and for that I respect him. Who am I to question his motives, anyway? I'm just a boy with a knife separating him from District 2.
I don't answer him, so Quintus continues.
"Why do you fight, Robertson?" he asks. "What keeps you going?"
I try to answer as truthfully as possible; after all, he's been honest with me. But at the same time, I answer so as to avoid more questions. We've been circling for minutes. As dangerous as it may be, I want to get this fight over with.
"I fight for Finnick," I say confidently in response. "But enough talk. I would actually like to return to District 4, you know."
This forces a laugh from Quintus, but then he suddenly tenses, ready for the upcoming battle. But neither of us dares to make the first move. The arena is almost silent, but for the occasional clang as sword meets sword on the far side of the cornucopia. Then the silence is broken by a harsh scream, and I watch Quintus' eyes drift to the swordfight in the other half of the clearing. This is my chance.
I throw the knife in my hand at Quintus, but unfortunately he reacts quickly enough to duck the knife, and I see him reach for his only arrow. I instinctively charge at him unarmed, and manage to punch Quintus squarely in the jaw, stopping him from grabbing the arrow once again. But his return punch is much more forceful than mine was, and I find myself seeing stars as I recoil away from his powerful fists. Then I'm hoisted up by the neck and thrown against the hot, smooth surface of the cornucopia. As I crumple onto the floor, Quintus dives at me, and I roll to one side, causing him to crash into the cornucopia. But he's on his feet as I draw my final knife, and as I approach him with my weapon arm raised, he grabs my right arm by the elbow and slams it against the cornucopia, forcing me to drop my last weapon. Quintus catches at it falls, and slashes the knife through my thigh. Straight through the old wound.
I'm screaming again, the pain is unbearable. For a moment I'm worried that I might pass out, but I manage to maintain consciousness. I quickly learn to ignore the pain as Quintus brings up his knees between my legs, and the new pain drops me to the floor in front of him. As I scramble to stand up, I'm only aware of his heel coming into contact with me just below my jaw, sending me flying.