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Lacie Whatcott, Age 15, District Eight Female
For those of us Districters left outside of the two major Alliances, life becomes more precious to hold on to. We build small Alliances wherever we can, and hope against hope that we might be able to manage something before we all die. We hope that one of us might get away.
As the faces of the boy from Two and the girl from Seven flash in the night, I sigh heavily in relief. A few feet away, little Carla sobs quietly. Chip and Jaq look on grimly, and I understand why. We're nearing the end of the Games, and somehow the four of us are still alive.
It's been just over a week since we were first launched into this marshy forest, and already we are down to eight tributes. Our little band of four, Districts Three and Eight, have managed to outlive five of the Careers and three of the ABCs. Somehow, we have become the biggest Alliance left in the Games, a feat I don't think anyone outside the two powerhouses have managed in years.
I might actually go home.
I awake to the sound of the cannon, followed by a shrill scream. In a moment I'm on my feet, and a quick sweep of the area nearly stops my heart. The remaining members of the outer District Alliance, the girl from Nine and the boys from Five and Seven, are in our camp. Jaq's mangled corpse sits hunched over where he must have had his watch, and Carla is being held by Nine, a knife to her throat. Chip is nowhere to be seen, which is unsurprising as he always preferred to sleep away from the rest of us. Only now I see the wisdom in the Three boy.
Before I can act, Seven's hatchet has slammed into my shoulder, throwing me back and onto the muddy ground. Carla screams again as Seven stalks over to me, and Five shouts something. Nine argues back for a moment before the wet sound of a knife slitting Carla's throat reaches my ears, followed by the thump of a corpse hitting the mud. Seven turns to bark at Five and Nine as they continue to argue, but I don't listen. Blood flows freely from my shoulder, and I feel my life draining with it. I freeze as I look into the trees, catching Chip's eye as he watches on in horror.
Run. I mouth, and he nods. I cry out as Seven rips the axe from my body and scream as he slams it back into my stomach.
Run.
Chip Voltaire, Age 17, District Three Male
There are five of us left as the sun rises on Day Ten. It's hard to believe that less than thirty-six hours ago I was sitting with Jaq as the recap showed the dead from Day Eight, promising that we'd do all we could to get the girls to the end. All at once I lost them, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.
Run. The dying wish of my last friend in this godforsaken place, before that brute from Seven finished the job his little band had started. If they had looked harder they might have seen me, but Five and Nine were already at each other's throats and it was all Seven could do to keep them in check. I followed them back to their camp last night, careful to pay my respects to my friends and stay far enough behind that they couldn't hear me. They had become complacent in their time here, and they settled in solemnly as I carefully picked out a place to hide. When night fell, I found my way back into the trees.
I barely slept, not that I really could have in the treetop, but all the same I was awake when the three of them made their way from camp, hunting me and the boy from One. Long after they were gone, I slipped from my perch to plunder supplies.
It is well past midday when the cannon goes off, and I clutch the spear to my chest as I heave myself back into the tree. Snares had been my specialty in training, but I still only managed one in the time my adversaries had been gone. As expected, only the one cannon sounded, and I wait, heart racing, as the pack makes their way back into camp.
Two hours pass before they return, and it's perhaps another ninety minutes before the pretty Nine girl excuses herself from the firepit to use the restroom. My smile is thin, and I glance toward the boys. Seven sits stoking the fire. Five sits in his tent, resting. He'd taken the brunt of the One boy's sword.
From the side of camp opposite my position, there's a cry, cut off quickly before the cannon sounds. Seven jumps up and runs after Nine, Five running from his tent, sword drawn, practically naked.
On the Recap after the Games, I'm allowed to see what had been veiled by trees and tents. On her way to the area they had been using as a latrine, the Nine girl trips a wire I had lain across the path I had figured she'd take. From the trap I had made, an axe flies out of the trees, burying itself in her neck. I had meant for it to find itself a home in her chest, but whatever. Seven is standing over the corpse as Five finds them, and, after noting the axe, Five acts quickly. Without considering the fact that Seven's axe was still bound to his side, Five stabs him in the back. Seven roars, his bulk slamming the axe into Five's skull, crumpling it like paper. Seven stumbles a bit but trips over Five's body. He doesn't get back up.
The camera pans from the corpses to me, spear help at the ready as the last cannons sound. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Victor of the One-Hundred-Sixty-First Annual Hunger Games, Chip Voltaire of District Three!"