F8: ROSE TRINITY
With the food in my stomach and only thirteen other contenders, today is already a pretty good day. I look at the remains of the roll. Should I eat it now and have strength for another day to find food, or ration it to give me a tiny bit of strength when I was in the same state I was last night? I shove it in my mouth. I would have eaten it all yesterday, but my shrunken stomach wouldn't have handled that much food easily. As it was, I had to eat in slow, small bites.
Today is the search for water. I saw the black lake, but I'm not sure it's good for drinking. It is a black lake, after all- not clear like the water anywhere else. The apples last night provided some liquid, but it barely felt like a mouthful. I stand and brush the dirt off of my silvery tunic. The leather tie has slipped out of my hair and the red mane frizzes around my head and shoulders. I can't let that run free- it'll give me away for sure if the Careers hunt again. They saw me the first day, but that was in the oak forest where my hair sort of matched the autumn-colored leaves. The pine forest does not offer the same camouflage. I kneel down in order to smear a handful of the grayish dust through my fiery locks.
The mud has already dried in the morning sun on the crest of the pine mountain, but the ground is still slick the further down the mountain one walks. I begin the trek down the mountain, trying to hold my balance on the loose stones and the muddy, steep ledges. I slip once or twice, but I make it to the tree line safely. Water flows downhill, so there has to be some sort of place all the water goes, right? The trees are thriving. There has to be water somewhere.
Somebody is coming. I step behind one of the rough trees and freeze there, panicking slightly. The footsteps are heavy, but the tribute stays silent. No cracked twigs or crunched leaves, no ragged breathing. I crouch down as quietly as I can, hoping the dust has disguised my hair well enough. I have not managed to obtain any weapons yet.
A growl. Fierce and threatening, it rips through the air almost right beside my ear. The connection inside of me, in the back of my mind, starts tingling. This is one of the mutts. I tilt my head to look at the creature and my eyes are greeted by the sight of dripping yellow saber-teeth. Again, it is not my muttation- I can feel it. The thing takes another stride, its muscles rippling under sleek golden-brown fur. A lion, haughty and dangerous. I gulp, and the thing's head snaps in my direction. Its muzzle almost brushes my chin, and its eye is barely three inches from mine. Its long tooth brushes my collarbone. I close my eyes as the thing snarls again and its black lips part. It roars, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a primeval scream.
The lion turns away and stalks into the underbrush. Its tail-tip is stained with blood. Some sort of prey and I don't want to know what kind. As soon as the lion is out of sight, I slip from my hiding place and dash carelessly down the mountain, only bothering to avoid rocks and pine trees. Right now, the lion nearby is my most dangerous opponent.
There's a small, cloudy trickle of rainwater dripping off a mossy rock. Water? Not enough. It's barely a drop every few seconds. I watch, dazed, as one droplet rolls off the rock into a path grooved into the mud. Water… we take it for granted, since it's the only thing that the Capitol hands out freely. Except in the arena, of course. Nothing comes easily in this little patch of death. I tread alongside the dripping stone, ready to find the water that will save my life. The pine trees become more and more dense, and the water disappears several times before I can finally see the green clearing and the golden Cornucopia, glinting in the early sunshine. I can't see any Careers, and I can't see any of their supplies, either. I don't trust this place, though. They may have left guards today. I skirt the clearing, following the trail of water to where it stops entirely and dries up, deep in the willow thickets. I cry out, frustrated. Then I think back to one of my lessons back in Eight- water often can be discovered by digging a well. I've even seen wells when my class took a field trip to some ruins from the Dark Days. If the ground is still wet, the water must not be too far underneath. I dig my hands into the damp soil, my fingernails turning black with the dirt catching underneath their tips. Water wells up beneath my fingers, not even cloudy with the dirt. I smile. This is my secret now- there will always be the water, I just have to dig deep. I cup my hands and fill them with the water, slurping it up in huge gulps. It tastes sort of metallic, but I ignore it. The water in my house had a similar taste on occasion.
I stand and continue up the willow mountain. My belly is fuller than it has been yet and my tongue is wetted. It is a quiet day, but three died yesterday. The Gamemakers will let us be. I make it perhaps fifty yards before I begin to cough. The watery bile comes up from my stomach, disgorging any sustenance I had. The thought of the metallic water makes me dry-heave. Could it have been slightly poisonous in large quantities, or tainted by the soil? I fall to one knee, sick and trembling.
F2: STAVREN MUXAS
"UGH!" The cry is foreign to my hazy mind, still knotted in the realm of sleep. I automatically reach for my slingshot, though, after I put two and two together. I'm woken up by a cry, and I'm in the arena? This is already something worth checking out. My hand twinges in pain where District Five bashed it up yesterday. I had Linley wrap it tightly, but a broken knuckle is nothing that heals overnight. I force myself to pick up a half-empty pouch of stones and my slingshot. The other Career girls stir as I push aside the tent flap, but they don't wake up. None of the boys emerge, either. Another tribute is nearby, and they're alive. I catch a rustle in the willow trees and stalk that way.
"Come out, little one," I coo. The exclamation earlier is definitely another tribute. The willows are still and silent. I wonder if I'm too late, but I doubt it. It's only been a minute since the cry. Whether injured or unbroken, the teenager is nearby. I burst through the first trailing branches for a bit of solo hunting. This is the Games, sweetie. You fumble, you die. I load my slingshot.
A small hole is dug in the soft dirt, with a shallow pool of water at the bottom. Somebody, weak and thirsty, was here. Female, judging by the earlier scream. I wonder if they are injured. I hope not- that makes the death more fun. I hope Felix, back at home, realizes that I won't be like this when I get back home. Father and I have had talks about staying sane in the arena. Detached is the key, Stavren, detached is the key. I scan the pale green trees, watching- watching for my prey. I don't see anyone, but I can almost smell a kill in the forest. So close.
A hacking cough sounds, up the slope. I dash towards the noise, slingshot at the ready. No more bruised bones for Stavren! I shove aside the willows in a mad frenzy, desperate for discovery. What would it be like, getting the first kill two days in a row? So what if Marius actually pulled the trigger on Mallow Greene, I still got credit for being on the team. I finger the sling stone, keeping a close eye on my surroundings. Today is the day my kill number goes up. I promise myself that. It should be easy enough.
I can still see the hole in the willow grove, and I'm about twenty yards from it. Where is this victim of mine? "Come out, little tribute. I promise you won't be long hurting. Much better than starving to death." That seems to be a good deal to me. "It'll be much worse for you if I have to hunt you down, you know. I take longer the angrier I am, am I get angrier the longer you make me wait!" I stalk deeper into the woods.
I feel I'm close; tension thrums through the chilly morning air. Like a true predator, I crouch low to the forest floor and stalk, stealthy and bloody.
Something moves about fifteen feet away from me. I send my stone flying after it and shoot another as I give chase. My prey has shown itself in flight. It will pay. She will die. I'm gaining on the girl, and she cries out when I hit her ankle with a stone. I smile as she falls. It is the girl who shouted earlier, although I don't recognize her. I don't remember anyone with such a weird dusty-red hair color, only the girl from Eight had any sort of red hair. Wait- she's trying to disguise herself. How pitiful! I draw the long knife.
"Running doesn't work, girlie. Not when you leave paths for me to follow." I raise my knife; Rose whimpers and tries to push herself away from me along the ground. A boulder halts her makeshift escape.
"STAVREN!" Reetan's voice echoes through the trees, sending a flock of birds fluttering away in alarm and making me flinch. I automatically begin to turn my head- by the time I remember to not do that, the girl is gone. I curse under my breath and turn on my heel to return to the Career's camp.
The boy is waiting for me with his arms crossed when I stomp out of the willow forest.
"What were you DOING?!" we shout simultaneously.
"You disappeared for no apparent reason and were gone when the rest of us awoke! Explain yourself, girl!"
"For your information, I heard a tribute and I was trying to hunt her down! I would have killed District Eight if you hadn't shouted!"
"You've got your victims mixed up, girl," Alex smirks, "We killed Eight yesterday when we found the alliance." Now it's my turn to smirk.
"GIRL Eight, pretty boy. Keep track of the enemy, no matter how weak they are!" Alex stands down looking ashamed. Goody.
"Quit arguing, guys- there are still seven tributes out there not counting us. We won't hunt today, since we got such a good hunt yesterday, but tomorrow we'll go out again," Marius says, "Can't let the Games get boring, now can we?" Reetan obviously lost this fight; I smirk as he crosses his arms sullenly. I rummage through our consolidated supplies, pulling out a half-finished loaf of bread. I tear it into six chunks and pass them out. Linley and Ebony rip into theirs with their teeth, wolfing it down like it's their last meal.
With Reetan in our group, who knows? It well could be. I lean back against the warm metal of the Cornucopia and toss a sling stone to myself. Today is a pretty nice day- a reward from the Gamemakers? Well, we'll give them some more action tomorrow. Today I just want to let my knuckle heal a bit and go back to sleep.
M1: VULKIN HARRIS
Another day, another trap, another scream, another cannon. Yesterday there were three, sending the tribute pool down to fourteen. Twelve more to finish off, and then we can go home. We'll be the second pair of tributes to go home together. The second pair to survive.
I've seen the Careers-in-training at home accidentally spear each other through the leg or something while fighting, but that's another reason I'm smart and unscarred. I didn't ever join the fights; I observed and learned. Fala dominated the running tracks. Everybody wanted her to volunteer when she was older. She wouldn't have wanted to, though, and I wouldn't have wanted her to do it, either. The Games are risky whoever you are, to put it mildly, and they get more unstable the younger you are.
I formulate a plan for another trap to surround our open clearing. There's only a few crackers left in our pack from the Cornucopia, and we rationed the food on the first day. The water containers were refilled during the rain yesterday, so we've got another full day's worth of liquids, but we need food. I take our knife and shear off the end of the stick I'm holding into a point. Then I lodge it in the ground facing away from our lean-to, among the many other sharpened sticks we've placed there. We can easily slip through the sticks, but anyone who comes in will be impaled. I smile at my handiwork- our camp is entirely surrounded. We could host a party in here and be totally safe. The woven nets we've made can stop knives, so they'll halt any incoming arrows too. We're not going to be that dumb, though. Any arrows we see call for a duck-and-cover.
"Vulkin! Are you ready to head out?" Fala says from inside the shelter. She crawls out backwards, holding a knife in her hands. I spin the other one around and nod. She grins. "Let's go!"
We navigate the maze of handmade pikes, already on the lookout for animals. Our side of the mountain has sparser trees, but much more prey. Hunting happens best on the outer ring of mountains, bare of trees but holding thriving game communities in their bushes and caves. Yesterday I went hunting alone and didn't manage to catch anything, but today Fala and I are going together. The hike doesn't take long, and it's made shorter by the almost-pleasant day. Fala speeds ahead of me, and I remind her to be on the lookout for any mutts. We've noticed a weird connection when we're near one of the things, and we think it'll get more noticeable when we're close to our muttations.
"Come on, Vulkin! Sponsors don't like us and we're basically out of food, so get a move on, slowpoke!" Fala calls. I laugh and jump over a rock on the slope.
We reach the base of our mountain and I scout the bottom of the scrubby gray tower looming before us. A brown tail skitters into the bushes. "Fala! Look there!" I hiss. Her head snaps towards the rustling shrubs and she smiles.
"Really, Vulkin? You're pointing to the scrawniest lizard I've ever seen," she sighs, "but oh well; we are in the Hunger Games. I guess we are stuck with either hunger or lizards. Go left!" She makes a break for the lizard's right side and I dash to its left. The thing is startled and jumps up in the air, trying to turn around. Fala and I end up running the way we had just come from and I roll my eyes as my sister zigzags after our prey. I charge after her and she leaps over the iguana, scaring it again. When it whirls around, I'm ready with my blade. I bring the knife down and the lizard is ours.
"We're eating tonight!" I crow, slapping hands with Fala. She picks up the lizard by the neck and dangles it at arm's length.
"How are we supposed to eat this?" she says, making a disgusted face.
"Well… we have to cook it…" I shift from foot to foot, "We'll need some fire to do that, and a spit."
"A spit? Why would we spit on something that needs heat, brother? Are you starting to lose it from your grueling battles?" Fala jokes. We've been making arena jokes like this since we were nine. Corny, yes, but we love them. I laugh.
"Let's find some tinder," I say. Our brushy surroundings make the task easy. I break an armful of twigs from a dead sage bush and pick up some loose sticks from the dusty rocks. Fala tosses the lizard on my pile and goes to find some strips of bark and more sticks. My arms are scratched up from the twigs, but I ignore them and lift my heap to walk back to our camp. The journey back is a lot tougher, thanks to the balance needed to carry this load. Take that, Corey. We're surviving just fine even though you sent us here to die. We reach the camp and I have to throw my tinder over the spikes in order to get myself back through safely. Unfortunately, we built our trap too well and the tinder flies apart and lands all over our trap. I edge past the first spikes, getting poked lightly in the stomach as I do so. Fala is an inch or so taller than me; even with such a slight advantage she makes it through the spikes still holding her bundle. I weave through our defenses, collecting the tinder. I pick up the last twig and stumble back into the safe clearing.
Fala is doubled over laughing at me. I groan jokingly. "Fala, when we get home I'm gonna feed you to Corey." That just makes her giggle even more.
"Vulkin, for someone with such a brain, you've actually got a pretty good sense of humor!"
"Whatever. Just help me cook this thing."
F3: MIKHAIL FREY
"Crud!" I cover my head and try to slide to a stop on the mountain. The tiny hole farther up the slope made me trip and now, as I lay with my stinging back pressed against a boulder, I feel like I could be on fire. My ankle seems to scream in pain. I struggle to a sitting position and watch as the rat crosses the rock above me. It bares its teeth and squeals, and I shudder. The noise reminds me of nails on a blackboard.
The muttation lumbers past me and I exhale. I didn't even realize I had been holding my breath. With the puff of air comes intense pain. I groan. "Ah!" My ankle is twisted at a funny angle, but I lean over myself to reach it. When my fingers brush against the foot, fresh pain erupts from my leg, but I grit my teeth and probe the injury. It doesn't seem to be broken- maybe just a bad sprain? I explore a little more and then try to do something about it. In a fit of agony, I grab my foot and jerk it to where it would normally be. POP! Something snaps again and my foot is back to normal, although in worse pain than before. I try to control the pain, to breathe deeply and slowly, but the hurt overwhelms me and I flop over, unconscious.
I can literally feel my skin burning. The noontime sun scorches me and I automatically try to find shade. I can see the birch forest not too far to my right, but my ankle is still in considerable pain. I drag myself away from the boulder on my forearms, sore and stiff from my fall and injury. The birch trees offer shade, but even in the burning heat shade isn't my main priority. I grab one of the rough trunks and haul myself to my feet. The lowest branch is a thin dowel of a bough and I easily break it off. Using it as a makeshift walking stick, I hop over to another tree, where I glean a shorter twig and a swath of trumpet vines. I brace myself against the birch and prop my ankle on a fallen log. I set the short stick beside it and tie it up with the vines. The pressure from the splint relieves some of the pain and I'm able to put a bit of weight on my foot before I need my walking stick. My stomach growls in protest as I limp back into the sun and I press one hand against it in a futile effort to stave off hunger.
The water from my supplies ran out yesterday and I haven't had any food since the second day. At least I still have a few knives. Those will come in handy soon enough. I sigh and my belly gurgles as I work my way down the treacherous mountain.
"Shh! I think someone's coming!" I hear voices not too far away. My first instinct is to flee, but my ankle won't let me do that now. I fish around for one of my knives instead. While I'm not dead-on accurate, I'm strong enough with a blade in hand-to-hand combat.
"Who's there?" I demand. The voices are still whispering, but they're speaking too low and too fast for me to hear. I adjust my crutch. "Show yourself!" Footsteps, coming closer. My fingers fidget around the handle of the knife. Then I see leaves part in a bush and hurl my dagger at the disturbance.
"Whoa!" someone yelps, "She's got wicked aim! That almost killed you!" So there are multiple enemies out there. I grope for another knife, but I haven't gotten grip on one when I see what caused the rustling. The tip of a blowgun pokes from the underbrush.
"And again, I ask who's there!" I call to the bush. More rustling, but not from the bush I'm yelling at. The birch tree behind it shakes and a boy holding a scythe drops out of it. The boy from Nine brushes back hair as pale as mine and looks at me with curious green eyes. He has a scrap of purple cloth tied around his upper left arm. His token?
"Ira Spark at your service, Ms. Frey!" I glare at him. He's got a lot of spirit for a thirteen-year-old tribute. The only thing I really remember about him is his six in training.
"How do you know my name?" I ask.
"We wanted to ally with you, but you never accepted." Oh yeah- he did ally with someone.
"Tell your friend with the blowgun to come on out and give me back my knife."
"I can hear you, you know. But you don't get your knife back yet." The black-haired boy from Eleven emerges through the bush and lowers his blowgun reluctantly. He has a white bandage wrapped around his head, but I'm surprised to see him at all.
"Shaka Aastor- the last time I saw you, you were getting cut apart by Dylan Gray!" And before that, the only time I registered your name was when you managed that eight in training!
"Yeah, I'm sort of missing an eye from that," he says curtly.
"And I want that knife." I step forward, but the boy only steps back and I almost collapse thanks to my ankle.
"Hurt?" Ira queries.
"Yeah," I snap, "What's it to you? And, for that matter, I've got no food, no water, no sponsors, and if you haven't noticed, we're stuck in the Hunger Games, not some playground- and we have two ways to die this year!" The boy sets down a blue backpack. It looks full- fuller than mine ever was. I look at it hungrily and the boy obviously notices. He kicks the pack behind him and extends his hand to me.
"Allies?" I shake his hand firmly.
"Yes."
"Welcome to our group, Mikhail. So, what do you need to survive right now?" Shaka asks me.
M6: GABRIEL GROW
The poison is tempting. I stumble out of the oak forest and into the magnolia, holding the only supplies I have in front of me. My alliance is dead- I heard the cannons, saw the blood, and their loss was finalized after the nighttime anthem. I'm not used to working alone, except when I help other folks with their gardening. I clutch the horse charm in my fist, the last memory of Ella swirling through my head. I don't have an alliance to help anymore, so I just have to remain myself for Ella now. There's really no chance my father will see me as the same person ever again, but the girl just might.
The poison is still so tempting. I have no protection and no guaranteed sponsors either. The afternoon is beginning to wane and the sky and its burning sun are darkening. Soon enough, the anthem will play and I will find out if I've missed any cannons, if the pool has shrunk to thirteen. It's hard enough trying to stay alive, but killing is going to be even harder. Mentors always say that it's the part that changes you; they say it's the part you dream about. That's why I didn't let Scar fall off that cliff. I would have been guilty forever if he had died there, even though it wasn't technically my fault.
My journey begins now. I clamber over a log jam and weave between the silhouetted trees in order to reach the passage between the mountains. It's the only one that's really visible in the arena- it's like the other mountains form a ring, but there's an obvious gap between the magnolias and the oaks.
Nocturnal animals begin to stir as I pass who-knows-what in the darkness. The anthem is a little late today- are the Gamemakers waiting for something else to finish happening out there? The nightingales sing as they have every night, and they effectively relax me and remind me of Ella's songs. No danger, they twitter, no danger tonight.
The sky lights up, illuminating the entire arena with a faint glowing light. The anthem plays, much too cheerful for us tributes stuck down here beneath the Capitol seal. Slowly it fades, and it is replaced by darkness. No deaths today. It seems to have a strange pattern in its deaths one day, life the next fashion. I try to find patterns in all things, though. Ever since Ella tried to teach me about reading music. She failed, but now that one day floods my mind with happiness for a moment.
I resume walking when the arena is dark once again. It seems peaceful, but this is the Games, the torture meaning all pain to the districts. When the Capitol says that you can relax, you had better start preparing for some serious stuff the next day. Because this is Panem's circenses; this is the Hunger Games. If you get a break, use it to run away as fast as you possibly can. The poison is still so tempting.