A Song for Snakes and Rats
Day 7 in the Games
Female Tribute from District Nine, Tassia Morrone
It's been two days since we saw faces in the sky. Proteus and Rahni are uneasy this morning, pacing back and forth, attempting to seem casual with their scans of the jungle. We all know that time is ticking, the gamemakers already bored.
Our little alliance is like grain ready to be harvested, I think. And if we don't slash it down ourselves. Someone else will be the scythe.
"I'm going to walk around," Rahni says. She picks up her club. Briefly, she glances over to Proteus, before starring back at me. It's obvious she doesn't trust me. Our small sentences. Our tight smiles these past few days. Without the Careers to keep us together, the cracks are widening. And at this point, the girl from District Two is nowhere to be found. At night, Proteus and Rahni have went out searching for her, but they've come up short. Seems the remaining tributes have turned to ghosts. Their lives haunting us.
Denim wakes next to me. I look over to him, the bandages needing to be replaced, but I'm not going to replace them. Not today, at least. We've linked ourselves together. Not intentionally, either. But out of default, I suppose.
"I'm going to walk with you," Proteus says. He looks at me then over to Denim. "You got this?"
"Of course," I say like a good little healer. Oddly, the bandaging of my mother has come in handy. Of her telling me how to wrap bandages to cover her drunken falls or fights or whatever gave her cuts and scraps in the dark. Children learn with ease. To hurt or to help, I think.
"Already off?" Denim says. "No good morning? How'd you sleep?" He laughs, but Rahni says nothing. She's hardened over the course of the Games. Where some break, others grow, I suppose. And she's grown into something cold, something new, something more dangerous.
She's grown into a Career, I think. I watch as she only carries a weapon, leaving her pack, leaving a first aid kit. Her hands no longer shake as she squeezes the club, as her fingers touch dried blood.
Proteus smiles, but it isn't the same smile we saw days ago. He's changing, too. But that's not surprising—the arena changing us all with time.
Proteus and Rahni walk away, whispering, talking just low enough where I can only pick up certain words. "She'll show." "Eventually." "We're starving her." "Watch."
Denim exhales. "I have a plan."
The announcement is so sudden that I have to stop myself from smirking. I have to nearly bite my tongue from laughing out loud. What is he thinking? Sharing with me? But then again, we're a team the same way District 7 is a team. It's in how we sleep. How we take watch. How we eat. We're always on the same schedule. District 7 on theirs.
It's no longer one alliance, but two. So why wouldn't he share? We're trusted allies. And why wouldn't I listen?
"To kill them," he adds. As if I needed him to explain further.
"And District Two?" I ask, curious.
"One threat at a time," he says. He glances over to the vines. "We're running out of time."
True, I think. Time is running out, but not at the rate he's thinking. He's just paranoid. He's just not used to playing games. Only used to fighting in the streets. Sometimes you plot before you strike. Other times, you strike before you plan.
"So what's your plan?" I ask.
"We use the vines," he says. He looks down at the ground. Surely, he's remembering Zenna and how she died by them.
"How?" I say, keeping my voice calm. A part of me becomes worried and I have to fight the urge to stop my hands from shaking, from the nerves from bubbling. But we have the same plan, I think. Am I that simpleminded? Predicable? No, he's just clever, too. Still, more than likely the execution will be different.
"We lure them in," Denim says.
"How?" I ask.
"Supplies," he says.
"No," I say. Supplies wouldn't motivate Seven. "We lie." And already, I have it. How District Two is still alive? How she's managing to make it without supplies? She's nesting inside the Cornucopia. She's nursing her strength back up, taking her time to strike. It makes sense, given most Careers fall as soon as the Cornucopia does.
"Huh?" Denim says.
"Trust me," I say. "I've got this handled." He looks at me, smirks at little. "Now, we just need to figure out the timing."
"It has to be soon," he says. In the distance, I see Rahni and Proteus making their way back. "They're getting restless."
"It's not them I'm worrying about," I say. I'm more concerned with the gamemakers, with the audience. "They'll send mutts in, if we don't get this ball moving."
"We have to keep them entertained," Denim says.
"No," I say again. "We have to give them a show."
Male Tribute from District Seven, Proteus Anche
"The alliance is over," Rahni says.
"What?" I say, confused. We haven't killed Rowena yet. Did Tassia and Denim say something? Was it something I missed? "What about Rowena?"
"We'll deal with her later," Rahni says. She stops me, touching my wrist gently. "But we have Denim and Tassia to worry about now."
"What do you mean?" I ask. Where is this coming from? What about loyalty? "I thought we'd split after all the Careers are dead."
"Plans change, Proteus," she says. She looks at me, and for a moment I don't know whose eyes I'm looking into, with the bags underneath, with the glassy haze. A part of me wants to shake her, wants to tell her not to go down this route, where we're killing allies. Where we're acting like Careers. Killing our own to satisfied the crowds. But like a coward, I say nothing. I let Rahni lead.
"She's running," Rahni points. I turn to see Tassia coming towards us. When she reaches us, she's winded, hands propped on her knees to catch her breath. So she's not in good shape, either? How exactly did she escape the boy from District Twelve?
"I think I know where Rowena is," she says.
"Where?" Rahni says. She even stands taller at the mention of her name. I try not to think about it, but Chime's words come to mind. How he called us Careers before Rahni bashed his skull in. How he called us Career Killers when Rahni denied it. She said we weren't. Yet here we are, killing yet another one of them.
But I didn't kill any of them, I tell myself. Well, except Nile, the boy from Two. I killed him, but I wasn't there when the others died. Rahni told me what happened. How it was Yorik's plan. So my hands aren't as bloody as the rest, right?
Wrong. Blood is blood.
"Where is she?" Rahni asks.
"In the horn," Tassia says. "Think about it, how else would she still be alive?"
"We would have saw her," Rahni says. But I don't know. The grass is tall and Rowena a trained tribute. She wouldn't get seen unless she wanted to.
"I don't think so," says Tassia.
"So what should we do?" I say. "Corner her."
"Yes," Tassia.
"But what about the vines," Rahni says. "Aren't they a threat?"
"Only when fire is introduced," I say. "But it's daylight."
"So we do it now," Rahni says. "Just rush in."
"Why not?" Tassia says. She looks at me, calculating. I glance down, slightly intimated. "It gives us the element of surprise."
"And Denim?" I ask.
"It was his idea," she says.
"Okay," Rahni says. "Let's end this." She moves forward, following Tassia. I catch her arm.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Guess this is where we find out if we can trust her," Rahni says. But I don't think she's waiting for an answer. She knows we can't trust them. She already said it, minutes ago. So what she getting at? Why go along with a plan if she doesn't trust the planners? I don't get it.
Then again, maybe she believes them. It would make sense. How Rowena has managed to stay alive without supplies. In previous Games, the Careers die when they don't guard the supplies well. They starve or dehydrate or eat something poisonous. They can't face hunger like the rest of us.
"Let's corner the horn," says Rahni when we reach camp. "Denim, left. Tassia you take right." She points at me. "We'll take center."
"I don't think she'll come out," says Tassia.
Rahni smirks. "I know. That's why we're going in."
We approach the horn, cornering it. Rahni gives Denim the signal to go around and he does.
"On three," she says. She points to Tassia to go around. Silently, she does, fading into the tall grass. For a moment, I think I see her fidgeting with her pack. It causes me to hesitate. What she got? I wonder.
I'm still glancing at Tassia when Rahni yells, "Three." She rushes in. I'm right behind. She leaps over the nearest crate, swinging. I stop, not wanting to get hit.
"It's empty," Rahni says.
I turn around, getting ready to tell the others that she's not here. But that's when the smell of smoke overpowers me.
The wall of flames comes at us. I see the vines uncurling, swinging out. I see Denim there, running. Pale face a spotlight amongst all the dark smoke.
Betrayed. It's all I think as I throw the axe.
Then I'm running into the flames, not really thinking, letting them lick at my skin. I feel heat. I feel pain. My skin goes numb, only to feel like I'm bathing in fire. I feel I'm rolling in the sun. I scream, swinging out with my fist. It connects with air and smoke. I cough. Then I think I see Denim's face again.
The vines are there, too, reaching out for me. I leap forward, slamming into the dirt. My fingers grip the earth. Desperate, I pull myself forward. Tears want to come as I stand back up. I don't want to die. The words scream inside my head. I don't want to be like Zenna. Crushed by the vines. Alone.
For another second, I fumble around, looking, searching through the smoke. I hear coughing in the distance, but I can't see. Around me has become a field of flames.
And if I don't get out, I'll burn in it.
More coughing comes from my left and I know it's Rahni.
"Proteus." She coughs. I don't answer. I can't be the hero, I tell myself.
The flames rise higher. Rahni screams. I think of the vines coming. I think of Tassia planning this. More warmth wraps around me and I scream out, too. All at once pain tears at me. And then I'm running, panicking, gasping for fresh air. All I smell is rot and flesh and smoke. Tripping, my body slams to the dirt, but I pick myself back up. I keep running, not bothering to look for my axe, not bothering to stop as a canon echoes behind me.
Female Tribute from District Two, Rowena Austal
A canon sounds as smoke pillows above the trees. I sit there, watching, eating the last of seeds of the pink fruit I found on the girl from District Eleven. If I hadn't killed her, taking her dried meat and beans, I would be dead. Starved to death.
A part of me feels restless at the sound of another canon, of the thought of another tribute has died and I didn't kill them. No wonder why I haven't received any sponsors. I haven't put on a show.
Not like the anti-careers have, at least. I wonder how many of them are left. Three still? I wonder if one of those canons belonged to them. If I'm lucky, I'll see the face of Seven or Eight in the sky.
But you don't need luck, says the voice in my head. It's the same one I used to tell myself to volunteer. It reminds me that I'm a Career. That it doesn't matter. Three or two left, I'll take them all down.
They'll be my kills in the end, I tell myself. But I don't sound so confident. Maybe because they're the real killers here. . .
Again, it's why I haven't gotten anything. It's why I'm eating purple seeds I found on a dead girl.
As if to prove me wrong, I hear it. The chiming. It starts right above me and I look up, taking in the silver parachute. As it falls, I can't help but smile. Maybe they haven't forgotten about me. Maybe they still think I can win. Maybe Medusa convinced them I can still be a victor.
I open up the box, revealing a small pouch filled with liquid. "What is this?" I ask. It's pointless, though. I'm talking to trees and monkeys and birds.
I fumble with it in my hands, debating if I should drink it, or if it's poisonous. Of course, they wouldn't send me poison, would they? They don't think me so lowly as to go that route. As to have to poison the other tributes because I'm terrified of a fight.
No, they know I'm not afraid of a fight. I take the pouch, putting the lid in-between my teeth, and squeeze. The liquid is sweet and warming and as I swallow it down, I feel the anxiety wrestling awake inside. What were you thinking? What if you were meant to put it on your skin? Your face? Your slashed open forehead?
You idiot. You drank it. But I keep swallowing, keep guzzling it down, like it's water or wine or hot chocolate. And by the time I finish the pouch, I feel better. I feel stronger. I feel like I've slept. I feel like I've eaten more than pink fruit in days. I feel full. I feel alert. I feel suddenly capable to run and jump and swim. I let out a laugh. What is this? Some type of Capitol medicine I bet? Still, I feel peaceful. The anxiety inside of me seems to be wrestled to silence. I don't feel afraid. I feel brave. I feel bold.
I slurp from the pouch some more, drinking it dry.
Then I toss it to the ground, before scooping it back up, worried someone else might find it. Or worse, someone might think less of me for just leaving a gift behind.
Who knows what I'm supposed to do with sponsor gifts? Maybe Medusa will tell me. But before then, I'll just hold on to it. Just in case it's rude to toss them.
You're overthinking it, says the voice in my head. It's just trash. And that might be the case, but I'm not going to risk it. I've just gotten back on the side of the audience. And I don't want to do anything to risk going back in the silence, where they leave me with survival skills, where they leave me to live off the land.
As I walk, my stomach doesn't rumble. It doesn't feel as tight. I don't seem as desperate, but determined. I don't seem as discouraged, either.
You're going back to the Cornucopia, I tell myself. I'm going into the smoke. I'm going to start behaving like a Career. District 7 is going to die for what she did to Avanelle. District 8 for what he did to Nascha.
I won't let them win this. Not while I'm still breathing, any way.
And I'm tired of hiding. Tired of being in the shadows verses the spotlight. With six of us left, I could win this. No, I am going to win this.
I'm the only trained tribute left, which means this should be easy.
And again there is the voice, repeating back to me, then why hasn't it been easy? The image comes to mind of me screaming at Eight and Seven, asking why can't this just be easy? Why can't they just die? As if anyone just greets death willingly, Rowena.
I move forward, a new hope blossoming in me. Of course, I know nothing after this is going to be easy. Of course, I know becoming a victor won't be without its trials. So I have to stop expecting anything less than a fight.
A/N: I feel like this chapter was a little rushed, but I needed the tributes to be restless, a little desperate, a little on edge, and a time gap seemed reasonable. With the scene with Rahni and Proteus rushing into the horn, I thought it made sense. That they would believe Rowena to be hiding because Careers are incapable of using survivor skills. In a way, it was their underestimating of Tassia and Rowena that got them caught in the trap.
Oh, Ace and Sophia guessed their tributes number. Proteus was 3, Rowena was 7. So that definitely changes up the game. Recovered, Rowena is coming for the smoke. Prepare for a showdown or maybe a rat race, who knows?
Questions / Interaction:
Thoughts on the chapter?
Who do you think died? Rahni? Denim? Tassia?
With six left, predictions for victor?
Deaths are based on realism, plot development, and if I struggled to capture your character's voice.