CHAPTER 18 - Freefall

JOHANNA

The mountain is angry.

I feel the tell-tale shake of the ground hours after I've already set off. My first instinct is to grab my axe - a futile attempt to do something against enemies that I can't harm with any weapon. The tremor begins as something small; rippling through the earth, like a stone thrown into a pond. Instinctively, things seem to burst into slow motion. My eyes dart around for any sign of a stampede of angry mutts heading in my direction, but nothing comes bursting through the dense foliage. The tremors beneath my feet grow just the smallest bit stronger. I take a sharp breath of the cool, mountain air. Think, Johanna. Think.

It clicks in my head just a second too late. The seismic activity beneath the ground, further up the mountain- the rumbling of the ground - it all meshes into one, very tall, very rapid sea of white that crests like a wave over the treetops in my direction.

I let out a scramble of words that might be considered a curse, and break into a run. The cornucopia is a good bet for safety, but I'm still half a day's travel away and there's no way I can outrun an avalanche for that long. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember the few that we've had back in Seven. I'm not unfamiliar with them; they're common in the winter months, but never so unpredictable. Never so big.

Something goes flying past me, as for a second I'm worried I'm being pursued not just by the Gamemakers, but by other tributes. Whirling around, there's a sense of security that comes from the sight of animals fleeing the woodland with me, skittering and sliding down the steep slope downwards. I continue pushing forwards, but in my haste to gauge my surroundings, my boot makes contact with a stray tree branch, and I go tumbling. It's not far, and not steep, but I feel the old wound on my arm rip open, and a gash on my temple floods with blood. Wiping as much of it as I can away to see, I keep running, cursing at being slowed down even the smallest amount.

A canon fires, so deafeningly audible above the roar of the avalanche above me that I'm sure it could be heard miles and miles away in the Districts. The wave seems to be moving far slower than the natural avalanches I'm used to, and I wonder if the Gamemakers are toying with us. Seeing who can outlast the others and make it to the safety of the other mountain. Perhaps there's some kind of trap lying on the other end too, luring us into the narrow mesh of the valley, where we can duke it out between ourselves. Hand tightening on my axe, I make a silent vow to not let go. If I'm dying, it's kicking and screaming. Not by being bashed in by a pathetic wall of snow.

There's a break in the treeline, where I catch a glimpse of the cornucopia, glistening on it's rocky beach. To my front and right is more woodland; a safer bet to the bottom, though slower. To my left is a winding slope of rock, with a narrow pathway that zigzags down the mountain side. I'll get down faster. I might also fall.

My feet scramble, split between two decisions. The rumble of the avalanche gets stronger. I choose left.

The pit of my stomach dislikes the decision, sinking downwards like the rumble of snow above me as it sees the drop below. But, I stay steady, keeping my hands and feet as close to the jagged stone face of the mountain without slowing me. I feel surprisingly calm as I edge my way down, and a small part of me feels almost at home in the bare, empty air. For a second, I'm reminded of how it feels to sit at the top of the redwoods, deep in Seven's loneliest camps. I'd only been once, a trip with the school to prepare us for the shifts we would have to take once we turned seventeen. From up there, I'd felt so blissfully, peacefully alone, that it was almost like the Capitol, and the Districts, and the Games didn't even exist.

They do, however. The avalanche makes sure to remind me.

And so, I keep running as fast as I can. The sound is almost deafening, and I can't tell what is ringing in my ear and what is the rushing of snow and rock and timbre. Another canon fires, and for a moment I feel a spark of hope. Surely, after last year, the Capitol has had enough of the Gamemakers employing their murder tactics. Surely, they want to see us kill one another.

It's not my thought that trips me up, because the avalanche does slow. It slows in the unnatural way that all Gamemaker traps do; all at once, like someone's pressed a 'stop' button in some clean, white room somewhere. I stop just as suddenly, gasping for breath as if my lungs have shrunken to half their size, heaving and spluttering down the side of the gap below. What does trips me up is the ear piercing scream that comes from just ahead of me. It's a girl's. A raw, ripping sound which takes the place of the avalanche as ringing in my ear. It seems like everything stops to listen to it, and my heart does a funny thing where it skips three beats, and my brain tells me to run again.

It's not Twine. She's dead. It's not her. It's not him.

I can't stop my feet from moving to run, and so I fall.

I swear to myself, I will never complain about feeling pain ever again, because nothing could compare to this. Every bone in my body feels like it's been beaten by a sledgehammer. My skin is crawling with flares of agony, and my head seems to have been implied by a million different shards. As my eyes drift in and out of focus, I find myself staring out into a shocking blue sky. I'm lying on my back, somewhere. If I focus to my left, I can make out most of the rock face I'd been climbing down, and high above - but not too high - the tell-tale path of my body's descent.

So, I must have found myself at some kind of ravine on the way downwards. It's a brilliant stroke of luck that I didn't hit my head hard enough, let alone that the ravine exists in the first place, but the blanket of snow I find myself in must have been heavy enough to cushion most of the damage. Still, I've seen enough people fall from trees to know that an injury to the back can be devastating.

First call of action. I try to clench my fingers in my left hand into a fist. It takes a moment, everything is so slow and painful, but they cooperate. That's a good sign. Next, I try to move my legs. Again, the agony is nearly unbearable, but it's possible. I lie there, for the next hour, coaxing every one of my limbs into function again. Nothing's broken - a bruised rib and maybe a concussion, if I've been unlucky - but I can barely sit up without screaming in pain. Fortunately my backpack survived the fall, and my axe lies a few feet away, if I'm able to reach it. I'm hungry, and thirsty, and everything is terrible, but I'm alive.

I don't know when the tears start, or even why I begin to cry. I've never been much of a crier - not before I was reaped, anyways, and even that was all intentional. But the tears come, hot and fast, and it doesn't take long before I'm gasping for air. I try my best to stuff my fist in my mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn't do much except prolong the awful sobbing that has been caught in my chest for days on end now. I know I'm on camera and I know this makes me look weak and undesirable, but right now, I could care less.

It feels like hours until dusk sets. I remain, lying there, eyes blank up at the sky. Sometime between my fall and my crying fit, I managed to drag myself closer to the wall, hoping to keep with some of the remaining shreds of warmth from the dwindling sun. My backpack lies propped behind me like a makeshift pillow, and my axe lies at my side. It's a miracle it stayed with me in one piece, and I count my blessings, holding it close like it's my ticket back home. For all I know, it might as well be.

Though I do nothing but stare at the sky, the sound of the anthem and the bright projection beamed onto the darkness manages to make me jump. The first face in the sky is Titus. I blink, sharply, as if willing my brain into making sure this isn't an illusion. But no, that's him. Plain, unremarkable face, shaggy brown hair. Are they sure this is Titus in the sky, and not some copy? Where are the wild, untamed eyes and skin stained with gore? Where is the trembling body, the matted nest of locks? It seems, almost as quickly as the face appears, it vanishes again. Even the Capitol refuse to give him glory.

He's dead. He's dead. I'm safe. I'm okay.

The other casualty to the mountain is the girl from 10. Almost unremarkable in her death, compared to Titus, though I recognised the shaven head and intense brown eyes as hers. And then, just like that, she's gone, and the sky is dead.

Two gone today. One yesterday. Twine, the girl from Five, the girl from Two. Twelve at the bloodbath. Six of us left. I count them off on one hand as I lie, struggling for breath against the shooting pain that runs up my body. Love and Paris from One, the boy from Two. Circe from Four. Me. The girl from Eleven. That's it. Five to go. Eleven will be an easy kill, and but it depends on if the Careers will turn on themselves before turning to us. I am counting on everything I have that it's the latter.

I know I should find somewhere to rest tonight - here on the floor I'm in the open and susceptible to hypothermia, but the pain is too much. Instead, I can't seem to focus on anything but what's right in front of me. Snow, scuffled and tousled from my fall. A plain, grey rock face. A silver parachute.

A silver parachute! It must have been sent during the anthem, where nobody would be able to track me. With the last ounce of energy I have, I manage to pull myself up for the last few feet I need to grasp it in my hand. It's a small thing - a vial, maybe - that rattles as I grasp it. Wrapped around it is a small sheet of paper. I'm about to toss it aside into my pocket - maybe keep it as a fire-starter - when I notice the ink, slightly bleeding from the snow. Pulling it flat as fast as my shaking hands permit, my eyes devour the words.

'For the pain. Only two a day, remember Ainsley? See you soon - H'

Hazel.

I let out a shaky breath and pull the cap off the bottle, letting a single round pill fall into my hand. By my guess there must be a dozen or so, enough to get me through a week. This must have cost a fortune, maybe more. The message is simple. There are people rooting for you. We're waiting for you.Fuck. I miss Hazel. I must be desperate to get home.

"Thank you," I breathe, tipping the pill into my mouth dry. It isn't like the dry, gross stuff packed with bitter herbs that we get in Seven. This is sweet, almost like sugar. I let it linger on my tongue for a second before swallowing. "Thank you, Hazel."

It doesn't take long for the medicine to kick in, but it's not soon enough. I have to breathe a sigh of relief as the pain leeches from my bones like smoke into the air. I hate the Capitol with every fibre of my still-shaking being, but right now, I could give my sponsors a hug.

There's not much sense making out of the gully in the dark, and I'm pretty certain the Gamemakers won't send more tricks after us today, so I start out by finding somewhere to sleep. I'm about halfway through excavating a semi-cave in the side of the wall when the third cannon goes off.

It makes me jump back, nearly slipping and falling back into the snow. Another one? Today? I'm about to count my lucky stars when I hear the wail coming somewhere to my left. And it's close. Real close.

It's a man - a boy, more specifically - who screams and cuts off, as if aware very quickly where he is. My eyes narrow and my heart rate increases tenfold. There's someone with me, in this gully.

Is it worth it, Johanna?

I grab my axe and head off into the night.