A Song for Snakes and Rats
Day 3 of the Games (Early Morning)
Female Tribute from District One, Avanelle Aran
I splash water in my face, washing off the day old grim and sweat. Finally, we've killed someone, acting like Careers instead of cowards. I expected a sponsor gift to come down from the sky as some sort of congratulations, but it didn't.
"Fourteen of us left," I say. I think about how Chime is alive and surviving on his own. It isn't a surprise to say I'm shocked that his face hasn't made an appearance in the sky yet. But then again, there were several stray dogs that made it on the streets back home. Seems Chime is adapting. From pampered prince to actual contender in these games.
"I'm still hoping to see Chime in the sky," I say. I laugh. "Okay, maybe I'm not. Maybe I miss him." I know Blest and Luster are probably scrambling, saying that it's all part of some act to take down Two and Four before linking back together. But the truth is Chime was a parasite. A little leech.
Still, there's a performance to give. I can't seem too eager to have him killed. That will only get me hate back home and despite loving the drama, I don't want to add any more needed stress to my little sister. She deserves the good life I'm willing to give her. I'll deal with the baggage.
"You miss him? Really?" Rowena says.
"I said maybe," I say. I splash more water in my face, relishing the coolness of the liquid against the heat of my face. I bet I'm unrecognizable, covered in dirt, hair resembling some sort of rat's nest. I bet my prep team is squealing at the sight of me. I roll my eyes. The little imbeciles and their fear of unibrow and underarm hair.
"What's next?" I ask. I look over to Nascha, who seems to be pulling out a canteen and filling it. "Should we head back to the Cornucopia?" I ask. "We don't have many supplies."
"I think that's a good idea," Rowena says.
"And we can finally give Fishboy what he deserves," I say. I shift the axe in my hand. Nascha looks down at it, before shifting back focus on the canteen. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Doesn't she understand this is a show? That there are cameras set up everywhere? And sometimes, you get more screen time if you're the villain.
"Look!" Rowena says. I turn around, seeing a beam of light break up through the lives.
"This day keeps getting better," I say. I dry off my face with my sleeve, before stepping out of the river.
I look back at Nascha. "This ones mine, okay?" I don't wait for her to agree, to mumble something back. I just take off, sprinting, hair bouncing against my back. The thick leaves slow me down some as I push forward, darting towards the light as it bounces in the night.
The idiot, I think. Oh, how they'll regret making the mistake of being afraid of the dark.
Behind me, I hear Nascha gaining so I sprint harder, moving faster. I need to get this kill. No, I have to get this kill. It's what's going to get us sponsors. It's what's going to help me gain the crown.
The smell of rat piss slams into me as I break into the clearing. The image of home appears. My sister screaming as we find a colony of them under her bed. I shake my head, forcing it away.
But the scent of rats is stronger on me. I'm looking around for the light, attempting to find where it went. Did they hear me coming? No, there it is. I sprint past the flowers, the scent of rat piss getting stronger, more pungent. I hold back a gag. I keep my eyes focused. Vomit lurks at the edge of my throat and I force it down.
I won't puke on national television. I won't be that tribute.
I arrive at the light, swinging, but I'm only met with the spraying of what seems to be plant guts. My eyes water. The scent of rat piss is all over me. I'm bathed in it. I gag, the vomit coming up this time. I lurch over.
And when I come back up, I see her. The girl from District Seven.
Male Tribute from District Eight, Denim Lane
The axe wedges in Avanelle's chest. She's dead before she realizes it's a trap, before she can scream to warn the others.
The canon sounds and that's what has Nascha breaking as she stumbles through the brush.
"Avanelle!" she yells.
Rahni whistles and I know that's the signal. I emerge from the brush and throw the spear with all my might. It's off, catching Nascha in the shoulder instead of the neck. She screams, falling to the ground. Yorik is on her, running form the brush.
Nascha scrambles to get back up, to find her footing. She screams, pulling the spear from her own shoulder. Yorik is there, trying to skewer her, trying to finish it off. We've completely forgot about Rowena. Or at least I've forgotten about her until she sends a knife sailing in my direction. It catches me across the shoulder, sending me backwards.
I stumble to the earth, knocking the wind out of me. I hear another canon and start to crawl backwards. I take another knife from my belt. I can send it in their direction if I need to.
"Why couldn't you just run!" Rowena screams, losing it. "Why couldn't you just be like normal outer tributes?" I hide behind the flowers close to me, watching as enters the clearing. In her hand, she grips an assortment of knives. My eyes shift over to where Nascha fell. And to my disbelief, I see her standing there, attempting to stop her shoulder from bleeding. She's taken off her jacket and attempted to wrap it, attempted to form some type of tourniquet. Still, she seems distracted with the amount of blood that's pouring out of her arm. I tell myself that it's fatal. That she won't make it past the day.
There's another bird whistle. I know then that Yorik is the one who is dead. I grip the knife, anger pouring through me. I won't let them leave this time. I won't let them kill more of us like they did with Blair, Sesame, and Alys. Today, they'll all die.
I don't know if Rahni has a weapon. Inwardly, I hope that she had the sense to pack another axe or knife.
Rowena moves closer, spreading the gap between herself and Nascha.
"I can't see them," she says. She glances around the flowers, searching for us. I know now is not the time to move. I know that if I try to kill one of them, the other will kill me. Plain and simple.
Rahni whistles again.
"Over there!" Rowena says. And it is the distraction I need. I send the blade into Nascha's direction. She attempts to dodge it, but it catches her in the chest, sending her to the ground. I sprint, barely dodging the knife Rowena sends in my direction. Laying on the ground, I pull another spearhead from my pocket.
I hear Rowena coming my way.
"Denim, run!" Rahni says. I jump up, barely dodging another knife before stumbling back to the Earth. Rowena is on me now. I swing out with the blade, nearly gutting her. She goes to stab me, but I roll. I grapple at the earth, pulling myself back up. Rowena slashes at me again and I dodge it. Lucky, to have been fighting enough on the streets to know how to dodge a blade.
She swings again and I step back. I lash out this time, attempting to catch her in the throat, but missing. Then I have the sudden sense to target what's already wounded.
I lunge out, punching her in the side, hoping I've hit the wound Proteus inflicted. Rowena swings out, catching my hand. Blood goes everywhere, spraying out from my hand. Two of my fingers are missing, completely cut off. I stumble backwards in shock. Rowena throws the knife, but her aim is off. She's fighting not to bend over. She's fighting not to be overtaken by the sudden pain.
Rahni is there, grabbing me, shoving me forward.
"Run!" she says.
But then there is Rowena, lunging forward. Rahni swings out, catching her with some sort of club. Rowena crumbles to the ground.
And with that we run. We run, hoping that we hear another canon in the distance.
Female Tribute from District Six, Tressa Whitelock
"That makes four," I say.
"Two back to back," Errol adds.
"Only twelve of us left now," I say. "More than half dead." We shuffle underneath the roots of the tree. "And it's only been two days."
"This is only the start," Errol says. "You know that."
"True," I say.
"We should move when it gets light," Errol says. "We've stayed her too long."
"We've stayed here because you're going through withdrawals." It's what I want to say, but I don't. I let it slide, biting my tongue, because I know it won't be productive to fight.
"Agreed," I say. But I don't really know where we will go, what direction we should head in. But I do know we need water. "We need water."
"Agreed," he says. He shakes a little before he shifts.
"You need my jacket?" I ask.
"No," he says. "Thanks, though."
"You're welcome," I say.
There's this moment of silence. "You really shouldn't have volunteered for Alex."
I half chuckle, half smirk. "Why? You aren't enjoying the company?" I try to turn it into a joke, because honestly I wish I hadn't volunteered, either. It was stupid. Reckless. Selfish, even.
"Seriously," he says. He looks up at me, trembling despite how hot it is in the arena. I'm dripping with sweat and he's shaking as if we're in a snow storm. "I mean it."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because you're a decent person," he says. "You deserve better."
"Just decent," I say. For a moment, I feel like we're back in the Parade on the chariots.
"It's a compliment," he says. He half chuckles, half smirks, mocking me. "Take it or leave it, Pilot."
"Glad to see you know whose in charge," I say back, thinking it's witty.
"Oh, I know," he says. He shifts next to me. Body shaking, he attempts to stop it by wrapping his arms around his waist. "Can I ask you something?"
My heart flutters a little at the question. Can I ask you something? It's always an invitation into something heavy, something delicate, or something heartbreaking.
"Sure," I say. Birds sing above us. I hope they stay in the distance as we head out.
"If I become deadweight," he says. He looks at me and I can't stop staring at the dark circles under his eyes. They're larger than they were yesterday. His face seems yellow or pale or both. I want to cough, to laugh, to do anything, but look him in the eyes. But we stay there, staring at each other. "If I become deadweight, you drop me. Okay?"
"That's not really you asking," I say. For the cameras, I seem witty. Inwardly, I'm withering though. I feel like everything inside of me is drying up, freaking out, turning in on itself because I'm afraid to be alone. I'm afraid to just be a pilot without a plane.
He laughs, breaking the tension. "Sorry. Can you do that? Can you leave me if I become deadweight?"
I swallow down the spit stuck in my throat. Yes, I want to say. I have to think about my family. I picture my parents, holding me, kissing me again. I see my father crying. My mother wraps her arms around me, squeezing me. I picture what it would be like for them to see me again. To have a million more hellos to forget that one goodbye. I could do it, I tell myself. I could leave him to die if it meant for me to live.
And at the very thought of that, I wonder if the games are already changing me, already making me into one of the less decent people who usually win them.
"Tressa," he says.
"Yes," I say.
"You could?" he asks. His eyes flicker down for a moment. Is that pain? Nervousness?
"Yes," I repeat. "I could." I could leave him if it meant I'd get a million more little hellos.
Female Tribute from District Two, Rowena Austal
I wake up to the sun. Bright, hot, and breaking through the branches. Pain comes to life with the light, electrifying the left side of my face. I feel nauseous. I feel dizzy. Blinking my eyes seems to help. Somewhat. For a few seconds, at least.
I tell myself to get up. To stand, to walk, to do anything. But instead, I just lay there, sweating. Waiting, listening to birds sing and monkeys howl, I lay there. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how I got here.
Was it my name? Was it the money? I think. Did they really pick me? Or was it my parent's name that got me here? And do I even want this? This life. This shadow that now hangs over me. I think back to Medusa. Her dress unbuttoned. Would that be me if I left here? Escaping one hell only to live in another.
I blink again. Focus. You're in the arena. You and Nascha. And it's the thought of Nascha that gets me up, that has me gripping at the dirt and throwing myself forward. I'm sprinting, head throbbing, slightly dizzy. I feel like I might faint. Like I might vomit. But I manage to find her, laying there, unconscious.
"There's so much blood," I say.
She blinks her eyes open, "I know."
I jump backwards, caught off guard. Then I'm crouching, right next to her. "Can you move? Is it bad?"
"Yes and yes," she says. She pulls back her jacket, fingers coated with blood, and I see the gravity of her wounds. The blade is wedged deep, right below the shoulder, just barely out of the chest range.
"Who threw it?" I ask, the anger seeping through.
"Eight," she says.
"I cut off his fingers," I say. As if that makes it better, as if that equates to him throwing a blade into her chest.
"I need to bandage it," she says.
"Okay," I say. I lean up and away. Birds chirp louder and the monkeys seem closer. I dig in my pocket for a knife. "Let me check the bag for a first aid." I pull the backpack off of her and sort through it. Nothing, no first aid. I have to fight against the urge to panic. More bile rises in my throat as my head pounds.
"Nothing," she says.
"Nothing," I repeat back. I glance around the bushes, taking in the flowers, the neighboring trees. We're vulnerable so it means we're even easier prey to pick off. Prey, I hold on to the word. But we're not prey. We're predators. We're Careers.
We're meant to be feared. But then why do I feel so afraid, I think.
I tell myself to come back to reality. I need to think. I can't get preoccupied with thoughts or feelings or fears or whatever. I just need to stick with a plan. I just need to lead. For once.
Then I think of it. The river. We could go back there.
"The river," I say. "We can go back there. Wash it."
"Water can also help clot it," she says.
"Good," I say. I swallow down the nerves. I don't know what else to do. "We have a plan."
Nascha looks pale. So pale that I don't even ask her if she can walk, I just help her up, slumping her arm around my shoulder.
"I think I can walk," she says. She hobbles a little, but it's too slow.
"Best not to use all your strength," I say. I take on some of her weight and the world seems upside down. Everything goes hazy, too. Only for the trees and leaves to come back a brighter, deeper green.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Yes," I say. Then I blink. Once, twice, three times and finally the world seems normal. I exhale, already straining, already feeling the weight. I take a few steps out of the clearing, only to be stopped by an eruption of howls.
"They're close," she says.
"I know," I say. I appreciate Nascha trying to still lead, but I have to do this now. I sit her down, taking in the howling as it becomes louder. There's no way to lose them. Not now, anyway.
I pull knives from my jacket pockets. Whatever they send, I can handle. I tell myself this while squeezing the blades.
But it is a lie. The monkeys are everywhere, covering the branches. My hands shake as they appear from nowhere. Hundreds of them.
"Run," Nascha says.
"No," I say. I swallow down fear as one of the larger ones climbs down the tree. He hisses at me, front canine teeth bared.
"You have to run," Nascha says.
"I can't leave you," I say.
"I'm already dead," she says back. "Save yourself. Run."
I turn around and look at her. "No," I say. "Now, stop calling the shots. I'm in charge." I muster up my strength. The monkey seems to take this as a challenge and comes sprinting. I send the knife into its chest, killing it.
More come. I send more knives into them, taking them out. I try to guard a circle, but they are so many of them. After throwing the tenth knife, I know I should have run. I know they're not going to backdown like I thought.
When Nascha screams, I am only more aware of my mistake to stay. I turn and the monkeys have her. I throw a knife, catching one, but it's replaced by another. They grab her, carrying her up the tree. I throw a knife again. And it hits the smallest one holding her.
Slowly. She falls. And when she hits the ground, I'm running.
Her eyes are open, her neck bent oddly. The canon comes, saving my life. Because I'm spinning, wide awake, and throwing a knife. The leaping monkey falls, dead. And then I'm running, sprinting, leaving her and the monkeys.
The world flips upside down. But I keep running, crashing into bushes and leaves.
And then I'm falling, covered in sweat, and the sun blacks out above.
A/N: I'm still determined to finish this story. We're almost halfway there with only twelve tributes left: Chime, Rowena, Tressa, Errol, Rahni, Proteus, Denim, Tassia, Dasenia, Lukas, and Viridian.
Deaths are based on realism, plot development, and ultimately if I struggled to write your character.
14th. Female Tribute from District One, Avanelle Aran. Nate, Avanelle was definitely one of the most interesting characters I've had submitted to a story. I really enjoyed her background and how really almost everything about her was a facade and how inside of her head she was a completely different person. Thank you for submitting a chameleon to my story!
13th. Male Tribute from District Four, Yorik Questor. Little brother, I really liked Yorik. And bias or not, in some of my original drafts, he actually won, coming back and owning all the other victors who did him wrong. But then as I outlined more and started writing, this outcome happened. He died in this battle with the Career Females. Thank you for submitting a rebel to my story!
12th. Female Tribute from District Four, Nascha Martlett. Katie, from the start, I worried that I never did her justice. At least not how she deserved. You gave me such a complex character on form and I worried that I made her one dimensional. Still, I think she's been one of my favorite leaders so far when it comes to Careers. And honestly, it was really hard to write her canon sounding. Originally, she died end of Denim's POV, but I held off so Rowena could say goodbye. Thank you for submitting a wonderful leader to my story!