Chapter 7: The Cornucopia
The Capitol - Training Center
When Mirarora wakes me up, I rub my eyes, gray light spilling into my room. I missed dinner last night, having gone straight to my room. I'm surprised I fell asleep so quickly considering it was my last night sleeping safely. At least for a while.
Don't concentrate on the Games, the voice in my head whispers while I pull myself into a shift that Mirarora gives me. Concentrate on now. You're not in the Arena yet.
Summer Sands never said goodbye to me, now probably already at the Games Headquarters with Finnick and Emma.
My heart sinks a little.
I never said goodbye to Emma.
In fact, I won't get to see Bale before everything begins either. I didn't get to compliment him on his interview. Rubbing my hands together, I follow Mirarora up to the rooftop of the Training Center. Windchimes sing around us. I look at the view as we walk to the center. The sun is nearly rising beyond the skyscrapers of the Capitol, mountains visible in the distance from this high up. Everything on the horizon is painted in orange, and rose, and yellow, the grey of receding night around me.
A hovercraft appears, almost startling me. I watch silently as a ladder drops down. Without waiting for instruction, I grab the rung in front of me. The second both my feet are on the ladder, something freezes me. The ladder begins to move, lifting me up into the hovercraft.
While I'm stuck to the ladder, a woman in a white lab coat walks up to me, blinking brown eyes. "This is just your tracker, Sea-Pearl. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it."
I close my eyes, and feel the sharp needle poke my skin, as if someone has pinched me until they drew blood. When she's done, and I'm released from the ladder, an Avox girl walks in and silently beckons to me. Mirarora appears behind me, following me and the Avox, the Capitol stylist's heels clicking against the floor. We enter a room with a table displaying our breakfast.
Mirarora looks at me, her golden chain-belt swinging at her waist. The Avox girl leaves. "Go ahead and eat," my stylist tells me. "We don't know how far the Arena is. And we don't know how long it'll be until your next meal."
I sit down at a seat instead, and I glance at my arm.
There is a large lump in my forearm. Now, no matter where I go, the Gamemakers will see me.
"Sea-Pearl, eat," Mirarora tells me.
I don't look up at her. "I can't," I reply.
My stomach is in knots, and just the mere sight of a grape makes me queasy. Mirarora gets me a glass of water which she makes me drink. I still don't eat. I'm with the Careers anyways, and they usually end up with most of the food.
If I survive the - I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, shoving the thought from my mind.
I glance out the window once, watching as the Capitol city flashes beneath us before becoming mountains. Then I look away. I've never flown, but I know now I much prefer to stay on the ground or in a boat.
Below the Arena
An hour later, the view outside the window turns from sunrise to black.
I look up, peering out the dark window as the hovercraft settles to a stop.
"Time to go," Mirarora says, standing up. She brushes off her already pristine, purple taffeta jumpsuit. The breakfast is still untouched, except for the food Mirarora had. I stand up with her, following my stylist as the Avox girl reemergers and directs us to the exit of the hovercraft.
The door of the hovercraft opens and a cool draft of air floats in. Once we descend the ladder again, Peacekeepers step in, directing Mirarora and I. My head spins with dizziness while their boots echo down the long, underground hall.
The Stockyard - which the Capitol citizens call the Launch Rooms - await me.
As I regain my sense of balance, we arrive at a door. In big font on its front is: "Redweed, Sea-Pearl: District 4 Female."
Mirarora opens the door, both of us walking in. I look about warily, settling on the one couch in the room.
I try to ignore the metal plate in the upper-right corner. Mirarora soon leaves, then appears seconds later from the hall with a black bag on a hanger.
"Ready for your outfit?" she asks me.
I don't move, staring at the outfit bag.
"Sea-Pearl?"
Again, I'm as still as a statue, my blue eyes following her.
She sighs, and unzips the bag. Inside is a pair of light-beige cargo pants. She then pulls out a long-sleeved, white shirt made of a sort of waterproof material. Then she takes out the jacket. It's a grey windbreaker with a tough hood lined with fur-like material, the inside a warm, thick wool. On the sleeve is a pale 4.
Finally, after I put that all on, she puts me in skin-tight, heat-reflecting socks and laces up black, waterproof boots with treads on the bottoms. She hands me my bracelet, which someone must have taken from my room last night.
"It cleared the review board, no problem," she says. "Some people had their token's taken. One was a sewing needle and thread, I believe. District Eight."
I nod, and tie on my bracelet, stroking the pearls as Mirarora fixes my hair. When she's done, I have two fishtail braids on either side of my head.
My blood feels warm, flooding up to my fingertips. I can feel my head and heart pounding like something wants to get out. All I want is to go home.
I don't want to be here! I bite my lip, trying to hide my tears. I don't have much more time to think before an announcement comes in.
"Please prepare for launch," a woman's voice says calmly, warmly.
Shaking, I stand up. I'm halfway to the metal plate when Mirarora rushes over to me, and embraces me in a hug. I can smell her citrus and plum perfume.
"Just find water, keep going, and stay alive," she whispers. Then, with a rough shove, pushes me.
As soon as I stumble onto the plate, a glass tube slowly lowers down over me. I look down at my feet, swallowing. For a moment, everything is silent. I look up at Mirarora, my breath fogging the glass of the tube. And then the metal plate begins to rise, and I'm being pushed up. I feel the urge to bang on the tube, screaming for her to let me out.
What was Marley thinking when she rose up in her tube?
And then Mirarora is gone. The world has gone dark. I breathe raggedly, waiting for an agonizing fifteen seconds.
But then light emits from the top, and I'm pushed out of the cylinder. I shield my eyes from the burning sunlight, and suddenly feel the slap of cold air across my cheeks.
When I feel my platform click, I know I'm stable. I lower my hand and my eyes adjust. We're in a massive valley of... ice. Snow-covered trees are behind us, and the Tributes across from me have an ice-chunk filled river behind them. Tall mountains loom in the back, and puffy-white clouds mix with stormy-gray clouds the same color as our coat.
Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes around the Arena: "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games begin!"
60 seconds left, a full minute... I wait and with each passing second, I feel as if my heart will explode out of my chest.
I look at the massive, golden Cornucopia, whipping my head around, watching the ice sparkle. Adrenaline runs through me. A few Tributes down from me, Bale is focusing on the Cornucopia just like all of our alliance. Some Tributes are facing away from the pile of weapons, food, and survival gear.
It's filled with the best things in the far back, or stacked up high. Among the many items, I see swords leaning again sleeping bags, bags of apples and bread, and a plethora of knives. Closer to our podiums are things of less necessity. Maybe seven feet from me is a pack of fruit.
We must be down to the last ten seconds now. I try to think of my family. Normally my eyes would be filled with tears by now, but there isn't time for crying now. The gong goes off, kids leaping off their podiums. I hesitate, memories of old bloodbaths watched on television flickering through my mind.
Finally, I step down and the snow crunches under my boots. I breathe out a cloud of white fog, and try to feel the tip of my nose. Try to ignore the screams already echoing around the golden horn.
Stop it, Sea-Pearl! Move! Do SOMETHING! I snatch up the package of fruit, and then run towards the many figures, people somewhat indistinguishable in our Arena outfits. But my allies are recognizable, darting around, grabbing weapons and putting them to use. I can see Luna here, Elegance there, and then a burst of red makes me gasp.
Amarella smashes into me, and we both fall down to the ground. For a moment, we stare at each other, dazed, then "Sea-Pearl!"
Maxx runs up, and looks at Amarella, then at me. "Did she tackle you?"
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He tries to stab her with a spear I didn't notice, but Amarella rolls out of the way, her red ponytail covered in powdered snow.
Before Maxx can react again, she runs off. He then helps me up, and pushes me towards the horn. "Help us."
I stumble, and feel my stomach convulse as Porclein slits someone's throat open three feet away from me. Then there's blood, so, so much blood. The girl slumps to the ground, her brown braid tucked against her shoulder, blue eyes staring blankly up at the sky. The snow around her neck turns from white to pink to red.
That girl didn't live for more than one minute into the Games. She was separated from her family, lasted through the chariots, training, and interviews... only to die at the Cornucopia, empty handed.
Tears streak down my pale cheeks, freezing at my jaw. Something slams into me, shoving me face-down onto the ground. I scream, my cries muffled by the snow, no one hearing me.
Lights and colors explode behind my closed eyelids. Noises melt together, and for a moment... I feel as if I'm underwater. The darkness... the frigid waves... the quiet, submerged sounds.
I smile, imagining Seagrass smiling at me as we surface from the ocean. And then something slices my arm open, the cold air and hot blood mixing. Everything is too numb for me to pick up my hand, but I can feel the warm flow of blood soaking my arm and frosty air slipping inside the gash of my jacket.
I can feel the tears, frozen on my face replaced by new ones. Snow sticks to my closed eyelashes. I want to go home... I hate this... Just let me die, just let me die already...
Through my cold ears, I hear an angered cry, and the pressure on my back is suddenly gone. Then, my hearing picks up the most horrible crunching noise that I can make out even through the daze.
Suddenly, hands lift me up, and carry me. I don't open my eyes, I don't want to see. The wind on my face stops, but screams still echo around me. I can feel the snow around me as I'm settled back down, my arm being placed on my stomach.
Slowly, for I don't know how long, I lay there with my eyes closed, something eventually putting pressure on my arm. Then it's gone.
Swallowing, I open my eyes and let them adjust again. Screams still sound from around me. I turn my neck to the left, realizing I'm inside the Cornucopia by a bin of rolled blankets. I look outside the horn and wish I had just closed my eyes again.
The bloodbath is still going on, and children are still being killed. I try to stand, but a cold hand touches my wrist, making me gasp. I whip my head to the right to find Luna, who's looking through bags full of supplies, shaking her head.
"Don't move, Sea-Pearl," she says softly. "It's only going to make the injury worse."
Injury? I twist my arm and find what must be a cut covered in a clean bandage. My jacket and white shirt-sleeve are tinged red around the rip, my left hand smeared with dried blood.
"You're right-handed, aren't you?" Luna asks, going back to sorting. She pulls a curved knife from one of the bags, standing up.
I watch her silently. Then I nod. "Yes..."
Luna nods back, her pale eyes focused on me. "Good." With that, she adjusts the knife in her hand and moves back out into the bloodbath. I swallow, realizing that if I'd been left-handed, she probably would have killed me. A Tribute with a serious injury is no help to an alliance. Someone slams against the side of the Cornucopia, making me jump and press myself against the freezing inside.
I try to ignore everything outside of the golden horn. I can't look at it. I can hear the sounds... Each noise makes me wish I could rip my own heart out and crush the caring and feeling out of it.
Just when I think I can't take it anymore, it ends. I turn and watch as the last person on the field gets stabbed through the stomach by Elegance.
Her whimpers last for a few seconds as she dies on the ground, and then a cannon booms. It's followed by ten others. Only 13 of us are still alive. Porcelain, Elegance, Luna, Maxx, Bale and I are six of them. All of our alliance survived. Nine others are rushing through the ice somewhere.
I close my eyes. The bloodbath is over.
As night falls, it becomes clear who's dead.
The Panem anthem plays, all of us looking up. The bodies were collected long ago, all of us sorting through the supplies, deciding to keep camp here at the Cornucopia. Porcelain has shot me glares throughout the day, and I know what it's for. While they were all fighting and killing off Tributes, I was sitting in the Cornucopia, injured.
I pause from stuffing a bag with medical supplies to look up at the clear, starry sky. The Capitol seal floats above us.
Pictures begin to appear of the fallen Tributes from today. First up is the girl from 3. I don't even remember her name, but I do recognize her as the girl who Porcelain first killed.
My allies grin at each other, Elegance clapping Porcelain on the back in congratulations. She smiles smugly. I watch as the boy from 3 appears, then both from 5. The boy from 6 comes next, which means Amarella must have lived. I can't help myself from wondering where in the Arena she could be. I don't think she has an alliance with anyone. The girl from 7 comes next, which makes me frown more than the others. She was one of the younger competitors at thirteen. After her is the boy from 10, both from 11, and finally both from 12.
Throughout the whole thing, my allies cheer whenever one of their own kills appears. I say nothing, noticing that Bale silently watches the photos, his face neutral.
With a flourish of music, the photos and anthem fade. The Capitol seal glows once more and then vanishes.
The Arena goes back to the sound of wind rushing through trees, the flowing river, and my allies chatting.
I go through a mental list of who's left: my allies, Amarella, the boy from 7, the girl from 10, both from 8, and both from 9.
Eleven children dead. The thought makes a lump appear in my throat that won't leave. Those people didn't live to see the next year, the next month, the next week.
Will I?