Damian's fists bumped against his sides as he rose up into the arena, the tube rattling. He had clenched them to stop the trembling. He could be the one they were watching as the tributes entered the game. Wouldn't do to have him disgraced for cowardice in from of everyone in his district.
He looked up. Dove grey clouds were moving with surprising speed across the dull sky. He had hoped for duck egg blue, even if just for something pretty to look at, but this was the arena. It was not designed to be visually pleasing to its tributes. At least he didn't have to squint at the cornucopia, unmissable even with the distance.
A sliver of breeze lifted up the edges of his hat ribbons, but aside from the goosebumps it summoned on the backs of his legs, he felt neither hot nor cold. No doubt that would change. The arena was not supposed to be comfortable. If it was, he should be afraid. They all should.
After spotting the cornucopia, the surrounding area began to attract his attention. The ground he would have to cover to reach the horn was glistening as if a sudden rainfall had just passed and scattered with large black rocks.
And on the rocks, corpses.
They stretched out from mere feet from where he stood all the way to the mouth of the horn. Small mercy that they were skeletons, bones worn smooth of flesh but with their jaws still open in one last scream, their own jumpsuits- scarcely different from the one he was wearing now- ragged and stiff with dirt. The cause of their deaths was obvious. Conflict. The one closest to him had a broken neck and was missing several teeth. Those nearer the cornucopia had weapons- in their hands or between their ribs. One was several feet away from its skull. Another pair were lying twisted on the ground but still holding hands. One, another two, the three over there, another one... he counted. He could see twelve. If those behind the horn could see the same number, then twelve and twelve made twenty four. Twenty four. There were twenty four dead.
He smirked. Black or white, fat or thin, smart or dumb, young or old they all looked alike in death.
Unless they were unusually tall or short. In which case the metaphor just completely imploded. Damn. He gave a snigger. Then rolled his eyes when he realised that he was sniggering on a day when kids were about to be brutally killed. Possibly even by him.
He scanned the supplies that still remained in the cornucopia. Crates were broken open, their contents unevenly spread, a tent, medical kits, a stash of what looked umbrellas- umbrellas? Da f***? Was he high? What the hell were umbrellas doing in the horn of plenty?
But no weapons. In order to reach a weapon, he would have to pull one out of the hand -or back- of one of the corpses that had perished just in front.
He leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet, ready to run.
Shayen narrowed her eyes and wiped her hand across her face. This was not looking good. She hadn't expected it to, but still, this was bad. All her allies were out of her sight, bar Morgan who was still too far away to make contact ergo, not off to a great start. Also, looking behind her at the forest in the arena beyond, she was not filled with any sense of hope. They looked intimidating and, as somebody who had never had the chance to spend an extended length of time in a wood, she doubted that unless she knew actually what direction they had gone in, she would be unlikely to find them before her demise. Turning and running straight away, was not an option.
She looked back and saw, a manageable distance away, a knife next to the shoulder of a small skeleton.
She had an idea that just might work. And if it didn't, well, she wasn't going to live anyway, whatever options she could have taken.
Savan looked around him. Were any of the others totally freaked out by the weird skeleton thingies? Cause he was. They weren't the fake plastic kind you got at Halloween, they were properly science, more real than the kind his biology teacher he had pointed at in class while he pretended to listen.
If he had been sitting at home, watching the games, he would have been as close to awestruck as he could manage, it being a horrible fight to the death and all that. On a screen, all the bones looked pretty cool. In the flesh (or bone) he had to disagree. They were possibly the last thing he wanted to see in the arena, apart from a career advancing on him with a sword, of course.
The supplies right in the middle looked kind of grungy, yet he found himself getting ready to run for them. All of the careers would be after the weapons, they wouldn't miss the odd sack or two. Besides, all the kids who died in the bloodbath died reaching for the weapons. He wouldn't get killed getting a bag. That just didn't happen in the games, right?
And he was fast; and so small their great lumbering bodies would probably not notice him (as long they didn't step on him or something). He could do it. He could...
Morgan groaned in despair.
Sitting on a little cushion, the exact item he needed to complete the circuit of his device, was right at the back of the cornucopia. Are you kidding me.
There was no way he'd be able to get it. Even if his fingers closed around it, they would shortly be hacked off by those who had reached any kind of blade. But without it, whatever he managed to construct would not run.
Maybe he could persuade a sponsor to send it. Or find some scrap metal or something. But the best metal for his need was copper. And what the hell in an arena was ever made of copper?! And even if it did complete the circuit, there was no telling if it would backfire and electrocute him. Which was not his intention at all!
Abort plan. Abort. At once. They would have to go the long way around it. He would consult Shayen. That always worked.
Aden's stomach, for the hundredth time that month, felt like a pancake. Small comfort that he was now used to it. Or was it?
Jenny nodded at him and he felt reassured even as he noted comparing her to the others he could see just how vulnerable she looked.
Get out. Just get out of here. That was all he could think about.
Iresse tapped her foot repeatedly on her plate, twiddling her fingers in time. Someone next to her looked at her quizzically. She stuck out her tongue.
This was SO BORING. Seriously? A whole minute? Sixty bloody seconds? And for what? To hype up all the so-called "tension"? More like sixty seconds of being bored, fed up and surrounded by dead people. The games in a nutshell, folks.
Today was off to a brilliant start. Of course it was.
Matt watched Lynna from across the circle. He didn't know why, he should be paying attention to what was in front of him, yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. Not from her face, but from where she was looking. She wasn't looking ahead either. She was looking behind.
He mimicked her, twisting his neck. At first, he couldn't see anything particular. Thick, leafless black trees, the ground beyond them uneven, almost undulating in waves thanks to the massive crater-like pits. The water in a stream coming up behind him lapping-
Lapping at nothing. He frowned. How was that possible? The water couldn't just halt like that unless there was some kind of barrier there-
Some barrier he couldn't see.
That would be a force field.
Absentmindedly, he slipped the goggles over his eyes.
And nearly jumped in surprise.
Everything was bathed in a dim bluish light and now the water was lapping at the red ripples of a force field.
He turned back and saw that the rest of the plates were within this red dome. Trapping them. Glints caught his eye. Huge arches, blue pillars in this dome, seven gaps were the force field yielded to the arena.
The way out.
Sabella's eyes widened. She had often dreamed of the arena, of being stuck in the arena to be precise. Countless times the closing of her eyes would activate the countdown and she was her mother, isolated on her plate. The bounty ahead was always the same, always tempting and yet however hard she told herself she must leave it, must flee and seek somewhere to hide, no matter how hard she tried to force herself, her legs always carried her deeper and deeper in.
And the spear loomed above her and she was gone.
Until she woke up, that is.
Now, she would not be able to wake up from the nightmare.
But this time, she would get it right. There was no force that would drag her into the destructive bloodbath. She had allies and as the numbers dwindled maybe sponsors too. This was the way to go.
She looked up at the cornucopia. It was even bigger than in her dreams, but not so far away. Close enough to make running for it-almost- a logical solution.
I wonder what Mom thought, when it was her who stood: maybe at this exact same angle in a different arena- was she afraid? Did she think she could win? She must have hoped so. Did she think of me?
Did she ever think that one day I might be here?
Capillo had breathed a sigh of relief when the paralysing beams of sunlight he had expected did not come. But that relief had long since slipped away. He was terrified.
Daisy was not too far. She had seen him. He knew she would follow. He just had to turn and run. Then they would be safe- for now.
The clock was beginning to run down far too quickly. He wanted to shout out or it to stop. To run up and smash the dial.
He wanted the impossible.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Like a knife slicing through the air, the gong sounded.
Capillo almost fell off his plate, stumbling he ran as fast he could, not think about anything but the need to get as far away from the danger as possible.
Before he had even realised what had happened, he smacked into thin air and fell backwards onto the ground. Pain shot through his spine, but he barely had time to realise this before all he was aware of was the hand clutching the back of his jumpsuit.
Damian lifted him clean off his fleet, before slamming back down again. He struggled to scream as the air in his lungs was crushed out of him.
His attacker pinned him down and reached for a large, diamond shaped rock.
Air rushed back to him and he stammered desperately, all he could see was the water dripping off the rock and onto his face, into his eyes but he didn't dare to blink-
"no no don't no-"
Damian cut him, bringing the rock down with weighty force onto the sight of his head. He felt his head almost judder at the impact then his head was wet and ringing-
"I- can't- don't- Daisy..."
She was there, swimming in and out. He couldn't read the expression on her face.
"Daisy- d-d-Daisy..."
She was holding another rock in her hands, what looked like a smooth stone rectangle, flat and blunt.
"no no- not you-"
She shook her head.
"Pillow. For you. pil-low... to sleep."
She lifted the remains of his smashed and pulsing skull, and laid the stone tenderly under it.
"D-d-d-"
He struggled to form her name, his mouth seemed to be growing slack. He wanted to reach out and pull her back but she had gone and he had nothing he could do but lie there and-
Everything went black.
Water splashed under his boots but did not penetrate to his socks. Good. Calion Pharazon did not have time for wet feet.
The cornucopia was getting closer and closer and he was getting faster and faster, the careers behind him keeping pace, a blur in the corner of his eye.
He kicked some dead guy to the side as he snatched up the sword and allowed himself a single pant before he turned and pointed his sword at his first duel of the day.
Velvet.
Charlotte wrenched the bow from surprisingly pliant fingers and pulled back the corpse, shuddering in disgust, to reach the quiver.
It was empty.
She closed her eyes in frustration. Of course, all the arrows were scattered around the area, underneath half of the corpses. Of course.
Here we go.
She was good, there was no denying that. She parried his blows just a millisecond after he had dealt them, but so did he when she had the momentum to strike.
He aimed a swipe at her head, she ducked, one of her braids flew up and vanished with a scratching sound.
He swung down but she leaped out of the way. He advanced, intent on the kill. Quick stabs, each blocked with a clash of sword on sword. He swung again, twisted his blade, her sword flew out of her hand. He raised his arm to strike again.
She aimed a high kick. Crates, stacked unevenly, holes leaking supplies, leaned and tumbled down. He had no time to get out of the way and was promptly buried by the pile.
I could note what he said. But my asterisk button may well break.
Bif picked up the item from its cushion, turned it around in his fingers, frowning. What- did it kill people or something? He pressed it against his palm. Not sharp. No, it probably didn't. Boring.
He stretched back his arm and flung it impressively out into the fray, grinning as it spun an arc and disappeared. He was a talented thrower.
His eye lighted on Savan and his grin widened. Time to put the throwing talent into action.
It was satisfying, the squeals the little squirt made as he picked him up and threw him bodily at the wall of the cornucopia. He almost wanted to record the wailing and the delicious squelching shriek the boy made as he landed on the upturned sword sticking out of the ribcage of the corpse underneath. A corpse on a corpse. Corpse kebab.
Morgan wasn't dead, but he almost felt it. If this was what death felt like, he dreaded the day when it would come.
Shayen lay at the edges of the area, mere feet from her plate, a knife wedged in what looked like her shoulder. She wasn't moving, her eyes were closed. She must be dead. She must. No other explanation.
He wanted to run over to her. To hold her close, to pull out the horrid thing. To see if she still felt warm.
I have to pull myself together, even as I feel like I can only fall to pieces.
Virginia felt like a fly trapped under a jam jar. Savan. Savan was dead.
Of course, this was the games. He had to die, it was the only way. But she hadn't expected it like this. She struggled to find words- struggled to even make them- and wasn't that what she had always done?
It was hopeless. Her sprint for the cornucopia, the moment she had seen him running for it. She was going to drag him back, knock sense into him, get what they needed, get out. The moment she had been torn, looking at the tempting freedom of the woods beyond- not HER woods, the twisted woods, as different from home as it could be. But it would have been cowardice to just leave him. And a cowardice that was treachery. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was a traitor. She would die before she became one.
It had all been for nothing. Everything had all been for nothing.
And she had been so close.
She looked around as tributes fled around her.
Too close. The woods were now far, too far. She would have to hide until everybody was gone.
Without a second thought, she climbed up the back of the cornucopia.
Garcia hurtled at Matt with all her force, pinning him against a rock. Her old friend, the machete, clutched in her fist. His mouth tightened with anger- yes, that would be where he would strike him. Cleave his head off, mouth up. She imagined the shattered lid of his skull flying through the air.
She lifted the machete.
"NOT MY DISTRICT PARTNER YOU BITCH!"
She whirled around and without a moment to spare lifted up her machete arm to protect her face as Lynna's knife flew straight at her. There was a searing pain as the blade split her flesh and dug deep into the bone. She could not contain her howl no matter who was watching and Matt kicked her out of the way, pelted out of her grasp. He pointed at the nearest gap and Lynna did not stop to ask questions but pulled him along with her.
Boiling with fury, her arm an aching burning mess she picked up the machete she had dropped and hurled it at their heads. Without even looking around Lynna ducked, forcing Matt's head down as it whirled over their heads.
"Wow," he smirked. "You really do have eyes in the back of your head don't you?"
Her cheeks smarting with the humiliation, almost as red as the blood that ran in rivulets down her sleeve, making her feel woozy, she stomped back the cornucopia, where Bif was poking the boy from Seven's body with a stick. What, did he really think the boy might live? That is was even remotely possible to survive being skewered?
She felt the sudden urge to laugh manically and did so. The loss of blood made her feel giddily lightheaded. Didn't the idiot know he would be dead so soon?
"Hey Bif!" She was positively gleeful.
"What?"
"Duck!"
"Wh-"
Garcia's machete met his head with a smacking thud that spattered blood, bone and brain on him, on Savan, on her, on the wall.
She looked at him crumpled, face kissing the pool of more blood that leaked out of the hole in his head. She laughed again. She could do this. She had made it. The biggest brute in the games. And she had killed him! She actually had! Little old her!
She sat down on the ground and lay there idly. This killing was exhausting stuff.
Aden's hands met the invisible wall like he was touching the void he could not see, the edge of the world, the wall and gates to whatever lay beyond. He slammed his hands against it. What was this? Why wouldn't it budge? Why- wouldn't- it- move!
His hand slapped with decreasing energy as the hope drained from out of his fingertips.
"I don't understand!" Jenny was hitting the barrier next to him with similar futility.
"They've blocked us in." Sable's voice was fading away- was she running, abandoning them? That was pointless. It would be blocked on all sides.
Aden gulped. This was Faer's work. Sealing them in, she was trying to kill him. He was sure of it. And Colleen and Logan...
"We're all going to die here!" Jenny wailed, her breathing was extremely loud and quickening as hyperventilation fed on her fear.
"And if you keep screaming like that we definitely will be!" Retorted Sable. She furrowed her brow. There must be some way out of here- over there! Tributes were milling around the edges and pouring out in gaps they had found faster than the careers seemed able to catch. Among them, Iresse was walking out of the bloodbath. Yes, you heard that right. Walking.
"Follow me you two! Don't you dare fall behind!"
Somebody slammed into him and Nick toppled over, his glasses slipping off his nose and clattering on the ground.
Mumbling mild expletives to himself, he rummaged and picked up something smooth, a piece of metal it felt like. He lifted it to his eyes to get a better look. No, not his glasses. A few more seconds rummaging and they resurfaced. Wiping them, he restored them to their rightful place on his face and looked again at the object he had picked up.
Goodness knows how it had come about like this. He had seen it right at the back of the horn. In that case it must be valuable, but what even was it?
He looked around for inspiration and spotted, a few paces off, the red hair of the girl from Three. She of all people would know. But there was a knife stuck in her. He had a closer look. It was wishful thinking, but maybe the wound wasn't too serious. He could heal it for her.
Then he realised there wasn't a wound at all. The blade was clenched between her chest and arm under her armpit. Her eyes were closed- a little too tightly for a corpse- and, when he leaned over her, the thinly veiled signs of human respiration.
Grunting slightly with the effort, he hefted her over his shoulder and carried her from the bloodbath.
Charlotte sighed in satisfaction as the last arrow slotted into place. All done. She looked around in surprise. She had heard shouts, screams, all the expected sound effects, seen tributes running past, too busy stocking her arsenal to pay them much attention. But she had expected to see corpses. Arms. Legs. Ligaments. She had not expected to see just three dead bodies- two, the girl from Three's corpse had mystically vanished from sight. Nor had she expected to see Bif slumped with an axe handle where his neck should be. Or Garcia lying on the floor doing nothing- except laughing like a loon. Damian- well, Damian was brooding. That she had expected. But where the hell was Calion?
"Got them all! Ready to go!"
"Wonderful." Damian remarked drily. "Now all you need are targets."
"Oh, very droll. Seen Calion?"
"GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND DO SOMETHING!" Calion's voice was muffled but still oddly authoritative.
"Right. Damian, you help Garcia with her arm. (You're used to nutters...) I'll get Calion out from under these boxes."
"I CAN GET OUT BY MYSELF!"
"Okay.. so you don't need my help?"
"BUT IT WOULD BE SO MUCH FASTER IF YOU DO IT FOR ME!" She rolled her eyes, of course it would.
She heard something slide on the roof of the cornucopia. Forgetting Calion for a moment (not an easy task) she padded out quietly and took aim.
Her arrow flew past Virginia's ear. She yelped and rolled out of the way, landing with a crunch and whimper.
"IF THAT WAS A TRIBUTE YOU'D BETTER NOT KILL THEM BEFORE I'M OUT!"
She sighed. Multitasking. She could do it. Dragging the struggling Virginia, she picked up a trident and pinned her to the ground by the leg with it .
"Don't move. Not that I can, but as a matter of principle."
The crates were light- Calion would not have suffered any damage from them, but there were many and it took a good minute before they were all cleared. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Does the ground smell nice?"
"Beautiful." Calion looked sour, but his mood lightened a fraction at the sight of the helpless Virginia.
"Hmm, how to kill you?"
"I've been wondering that." Garcia's smile was wicked. "I was thinking- fire."
"Too much effort. We... could... play shoot the apple off the top of the head?"
"No apples." Damian was sulky.
"That's hardly an excuse."
"We... could... practice, um, wood carving."
Charlotte was ready to scream in frustration. "You're idiots. We're wasting time."
Her arm bent to retrieve an arrow from her quiver. Time to end this. They could mess around with blood when there were fewer enemies to deal with. And there was always each other.
The arrow notched smartly onto the string, all slid smoothly as she drew back the bowstring to her anchor point.
She did not blink as she stared down the shaft at her target. Her first breathing target. The girl stared back at her, unable to understand what was happening. That didn't make it any easier.
"I've failed," Virginia muttered.
Failed. She must not fail. She did not close her eyes to it, even as she fired.
The arrow smacked through Virginia's eye. She slumped back, her head knocked back and flopped on the ground.
She had done it. It had really all started.
"Come on!" she called as she marched off, refusing to look back at her kill. She certainly wasn't ready to take the arrow back. They could keep it.
"What's all the hurry?"
Were she a less patient person, she would have run her hands through her hair.
"There are twenty tributes left, including us. So far, four have been taken out. Two pathetic boys and with matchstick muscles to boot. In order to get rid of them we've already lost one of our highest scoring allies. Now, we have a week left. Are we going to sit here with sandwiches or get this on the road?"
R.I.P. Our fallen tributes... I'm sorry to kill both of your tributes at the same time dreamzspark! I'll miss writing them. I know, a tiny bloodbath. But it still feels four people too many. :( More will follow... day one has barely started...
24) Capillo Ceritules
23) Savan Walder
22) Bif Insy
21) Virginia Roberts
20 Tributes Remaining
Alliances: Velvet (loner) Calion/Garcia/Charlotte/Damian Shayen/Nick Morgan/Lynna/Matt Iresse (loner) Xavier (loner) Daisy (loner) Jenny/Aden/Sable. Coriander/Jathan Anita/Sadiki
NB. The force field was actually Hassard's idea, not Faer's. But Aden doesn't know that...