I had expected sunlight.
Whilst the gamemakers may have prided themselves on their ability to continuously think up new and ambitious ways to kill us, the games almost always begin under similar circumstances. In a wide, open space, with enough light to ensure that the Capital's eager viewers didn't miss a single grisly death. And so, I'm surprised when I find myself in a heavily wooded area. The only break in the darkness coming from the few streams of sunlight that have managed to fight their way through the trees. Enough to ensure everything is visible, if only just.
Frantically, I try to let my eyes adjust to the surroundings. There are trees everywhere. Blocking my direct path to the cornucopia, making it difficult to find who I am looking for. Where's Murray? For a moment I worry he's on the other side of the cornucopia. If he is, there's a good chance I'll be dead before I reach him. As much as I wish it wasn't the case, I am relying on him to keep me alive during the initial bloodshed.
For a moment, I consider running. Forgetting the plan to join with the careers and simply getting as far away from the action as possible. Maybe I can track the group down after a day or two, if I last that long. Without thinking, I find feet turning away from the cornucopia, ready to flee the moment the countdown has reached its conclusion. And then I see him. Partially obstructed by a knotted willow that looks like it had lived in that spot for generations, rather than being brought in by construction workers in the weeks leading up to the games. He's already spotted me, brow raised in a way that suggests he is more than willing to follow me and drag me back to the group if I make any attempt at fleeing.
Ten seconds. I feel sick. Whilst I've already turned myself back towards the cornucopia, my knees are shaking so frantically that I'm worried any attempts to move from my starting plate won't go well. Nine. Eight. Seven. I squint through the dim light, trying to find something to aim for. Swords, a bow and arrow, knives. Six. Five. Knives. The knives are my best bet. Four. Three. Two. One.
And then there's chaos.
I'm already running, legs carrying me towards the cornucopia long before my brain has registered what is happening. I almost trip over the knotted tree roots than line the forest floor, and those handful of seconds cost me. People have reached the centre, or have at least gotten close enough to find themselves armed. The knives however, have yet to be claimed.
Trying to be more careful of my footing, and all too aware that many of the other tributes now have weapons. I don't immediately notice that I am not the only person going for the knives until my hand clasps around a blade, just as another hand reaches for them. He falters, staggering back as he realises he's lost the race. He's not much bigger than me and perhaps knows that trying to take the knives through brute force may not work out in his favour.
For a moment, our terrified eyes meet, and then he turns to flee. My hand is still wrapped firmly around one of the knives and I know what I should do. Letting him escape means one more tribute that will need to die later, and despite the commotion there will be sponsors watching this moment between us. Letting him go will suggest I'm weak.
I raise the knife, watching his retreating form. He's not yet gotten more than a few meters away from me and lacks the sense to vary his movement. It would be an easy kill. But I can't do it. Instead, my aim is purposefully wide. The knife grazing the boy's arm but causing almost no damage as he scurried through the trees into the darkness.
I'm an idiot. I know it the moment the knife leaves my hand. I'm an idiot who is going to die in this arena.
Lingering on that particular thought however, is impossible. Not unless I want my death to be sooner rather than later. I'm frantically tucking a handful of knives into my belt when someone stumbles towards me. I scrambling to my feet, torn between drawing my knife and the overwhelming sensation to run and leave the rest of the weapons for their picking.
And then I realise.
It's the boy from Eight, only distinguishable by the mop of red curls on his head. His face had been disfigured by what I can only assume was a sword, the deep laceration starting at his cheek and finishing somewhere around his navel. His clothes are soaked with blood, eyes rolling vaguely as he reaches for open air.
I'm transfixed, unable to move as he finally loses is footing and falls towards me. Instinctively, I move to catch him but he's too heavy. He crumbles to the ground, the last of his life disintegrating in front of me.
"Annie?!"
The word pulls me out of my daze, hurriedly reaching to wipe my blood-soaked hands on my trousers. Leaving the dying boy behind as I try to follow the noise, a silent apology on my lips.
"Annie?!"
"I'm here!" I call, making my way around the cornucopia trying to locate his voice. He's already accumulated a collection of swords and a spear. Looking relieved but triumphant as he closes the gap between us, stepping over a body as he goes.
"Lost you in all the madness. Did you get anybody?"
I shake my head as a response, only just noticing how quickly things have settled. Most of the tributes had already fled, presumably taking off into different areas of the woods, a good number were dead, or in the midst of dying. The latter was far worse. With dead bodies, at least you can tell yourself there was nothing you can do. With the dying, ignoring them feels like you are playing a direct role in their death.
It's selfish, awful even. But I can't help but hope one of the other tributes put them out of their misery quickly, if only to lessen the guilt that is sitting heavy in my stomach. I should be sitting with them, easing their way out of this life. Instead, I am letting Murray lead me along as we begin to gather the remaining supplies.
It doesn't take long before the other's join us. Antony has scratch marks down his cheek and one of Satine's fingers looks broken, but as a whole they are relatively unscathed.
"Why aren't the cannon's going?" Satine asks, she's already rummaging around in one of the packs trying to find something to bandage her fingers together, though so far she's not been successful. "Aren't they all dead?"
The twitching and moans had only taken a few minutes to subside into nothingness, and I can't help but be thankful. The noises had felt like an accusation.
"They won't go until we're out of here." Murray retorts, sifting through the weapons undoubtedly trying to find a trident.
We had all already agreed that we couldn't stay in the area long term. There was too little visibility, and with no immediate source of water it would require leaving the camp frequently. And so, the plan was settled on. Find everything we need and destroy the rest, so nobody else could make use of it.
Sorting through packs, every so often I find my gaze flickering towards Antony as he removes the jackets and socks from each of the dead tributes and tucks them into an empty pack. We had all agreed it was a good idea. He however was the only one who had seemed particularly keen on the task. I still can't quick the feeling that he shouldn't be trusted. Then again, neither should Honour, or Onyx, or even Satine. Whilst we are a team for now, eventually they will be the enemy too.
It's Honour who notices them first. She and Onyx had already given up theirs attempts at sorting through items and were busy sparring with swords when she paused, her harsh features contorting in confusion before shushing the rest of the group.
One by one, we all hear it. The unmistakable sound of insects.
There's some argument over what to do, but eventually it's decided that there is no point hanging about to discover the source of the noise.
Packing everything, however, takes more time than anticipated. Even after ditching our methodical packing attempts in favour of stuffing everything of use into various packs, we're still only half done when I see them. The swarm of insects beginning to gather around a body laying thirty or so meters from the cornucopia.
For a moment we watch as the creatures hover around the body, curious to see what they are doing. Then suddenly Satine winces, swatting at something on her arm before three insects drop to the floor. They creatures can't be larger than a few millimetres in length, and yet a steady trickle of blood stems from her arm from the spots the creatures had punctured.
Slowly, we turn back to the body. Even from a distance it's clear the colour has changed; pink skin turned a chalky white within minutes. "It's draining their blood." I whisper, horror distorting the words. The discomfort over the creature's initial arrival now something else entirely. Finished with their initial meal, they were starting to shift. Lazily moving from their now finished feast in search of something new to drain.
"We need to move."
No-one needs to be told twice.
Scooping up whatever we can carry, we run in the opposite direction of the creatures blindly trusting whoever is leading the pack. Behind us, the insects follow.
Stumbling through the woods, I wince as I feel bites on my leg and neck. The warm trickle of blood that eases down my skin as I frantically swat them away. Murray is in the lead, trying to guide the group to somewhere safe. I can see several of the creatures attached to his arms, blood staining other areas of his skin.
We're going to die.
None of us stop running. I have no idea how far we've come. A mile? Two? The stitch in my side is screaming, though fear has allowed me to keep moving, knowing that giving into the pain and daring to rest would surely mean death. In the distance, the trees are starting to thin out as the woods subside, bringing about new terrain.
The more the light pierces the forest, the less the flies seem like an immediate threat. In fact, the buzzing is almost quiet. Finally daring to look back, I see no more than a dozen of the things. One of the insects flies into a patch of sunlight and immediately drops to the floor, twitching. The other's turn back.
The closer to the sun we get, the softer the ground becomes. What was once solid dirt is now sinking with each new step. By the time we clear the trees, we are struggling through marsh.
Marshlands seem to make up the majority of the area, though a large lake is the main feature. A gamemaker made dam keeping the water in place.
At least we won't need to worry about dying of thirst.
Sinking down into the mud, we take a moment to go over our injuries. Everybody has received bites, though Satine seems worst affected. She is already on her back, her beautiful features pale as she tries to catch her breath. The other's start to discuss camps whilst I sit beside her, rummaging through one of the bags trying to find some food for her.
"Do you think this is it?" I ask, shifting my gaze up from the bag to look around. It's a huge area, but there is almost nothing to it. Woods that are impossible to say in, and a marshland that seemed relatively safe but is so flat and open it would be impossible to hide from other tributes. Maybe that's what the gamemakers want, tributes drowning one another in mud. I try not to shiver at the idea.
Satine simply groans in response and accepts the bread I hand her. She'll survive, but will likely spend the next day feeling like she has been hit by a wagon.
When the canon goes, we all stop, counting the dead tributes. Nine. I can remember six bodies at the cornucopia, though I suspect the other three succumbed to the insects that drove us out of the woods and into the marsh.
"Fifteen people left." Onyx notes, voice cheerful as beginning to skin a furry looking creature he found near the edge of the marsh. We aren't alone in the marsh, there are creatures everywhere. Everything we had encountered so far however, had been small and more likely a food source than a predator.
That however, hadn't stopped us being wary of venturing further in.
We need to, eventually. The lake's our only source of water and its closest point sits at least thirty meters away. But whilst we can still avoid the task, everybody seems happy to do so.
I'm struggling to start a fire in the mud when Honour shouts. Delight filling her tone as she points to the tribute on the other side of the marsh. He's no more than a dot in the distance, wading through the ever deepening marsh to reach the lake. Honour is already gathering up her weapons when Murray reaches to stop her, shaking his head. "He knows we can't get to him. He's too far away."
This is true. The marsh is awkwardly shaped, and not easy to navigate. By the time Honour has found a safe route over the boy would likely already be gone. She brushes him off harshly, clutching her sword and instructing Onyx to accompany her. The pair have barely travelled five meters when she realised Murray is right, they'll never get there.
With a hiss of frustration, the brunette clenches her fists and turns to make her way back to the group, glaring at Murray as if her inability to reach the boy is somehow his fault. For a moment, I wonder if she's going to start an argument. Perhaps her two kills already today simply aren't enough for her. Murray waits for the impending comment, his expression challenging. Neither is helping the situation.
I shift my gaze between the toy, searching for something that will diffuse the tension as quickly as it erupted. But I don't need to. Instead, it is all too quickly pierced by a sound from across the marshland. Despite the distance, the noise is clear and filled with agony.
The boy in the marsh.
We all turn, expecting to find another tribute. Somebody closer, who had found a way to sneak up on him. Instead, he is being dragged further into the marsh by a creature. An alligator? Something gamemaker made? It's too far away to see more than the struggling figure of the boy as he tries to beat the creature away with his knife, all the while being dragged deeper into the marsh until suddenly he is gone.
Somewhere in the distance, the cannon booms.