Day 4: Birthday
The following day is July 16. My 19th birthday. Waking up, I have the impression of having slept particularly long today. However, I don't have a way to actually determine how much time has passed. After all, the lamps are burning down here at all hours of the day and night, and I most definitely won't go out into the desert to watch the sun. So my only assessment is from my gut and the hymn with the photos of the deceased.
It's not really a bitter blow to be stuck in the arena on my birthday, but a sigh escapes me nonetheless as it occurs to me. Although my family could have easily afforded to celebrate my birthdays with cake or small gifts, this day was never a day of joy in the Brunel house. And could I really have expected May and Ed to celebrate the anniversary of their daughter's death? Of course not. Accordingly, congratulations came at most from outside, otherwise it was 24 hours like any other day.
However, I can imagine that the significance of this very day is seen differently in the Capitol than in District 5. A birth in the arena – that was a first back then! And that same child in the Hunger Games a few years later? I almost expect gifts, at least a party on my behalf, but then I yank my thoughts back. I've just had to take a bust. As much as I've been told for the past 19 years, I'm not the undefeated queen of this arena, at least not yet. Right now I probably don't seem very strong. But if that's the case, I'll just have to prove to them one more time what kind of tribute I am. They'll see, and then they'll be angry that they didn't help me even more. Who knows, maybe even a victory in record time is still possible? I am the message. The message that my family won't let itself be kept down – on the contrary.
But in my head, Porter is screaming at my grandparents, "You're too cocky!" I roll my eyes. Yes. And no. "You need to stop acting like you're something better than the other tributes." I make a mental note to rub it in her face after my victory. But in the end, I know deep down that my sponsors have already helped me enough, expecting more just distracts me from winning. Because at the end of the day, I'm alone in these metal corridors.
And speaking of alone: Now that the boy from 12 is dead, there are only four tributes left besides me who are out in the arena outside of the career tributes. Whether there are any alliances among them, I don't know – Tic never mentioned anything, anyway. I can't believe he's still alive!
Four individual tributes in this huge arena. Maybe some of them are even still out and about, up in the desert? Although the heat there and the lack of food sources would have been too exhausting for me after just a few hours. The hour I spent in the sand was enough! With sun exposure like that, the Cornucopia is not the only thing that can burn you. Fortunately, my wound on the side of my hand has healed well – I guess I didn't touch the metal long enough for a serious injury.
Once again, I spend some time on this day just waiting. No one had ever prepared me for this – spending so much time in the Hunger Games sitting around waiting for the others to kill each other first. I had never planned that tactic for myself, but the arena seems predestined for it this year, at least to me. Plus, the backpack I stole from the career tributes is really chock-full of food: Crackers, shrink-wrapped sandwiches, apples, canned ready-to-eat meals. Only water is missing, but I know how to get something to drink. And so I eat more that day than any other day of the Hunger Games so far, then do a few laps around the empty hallways and otherwise try to look busy. Mostly I just carve useless sketches into the wall of my hideout with the tip of my knife – my eyes have gotten used to the light conditions after all this time – and mutter incoherent scientific terms to myself, but it apparently suggests a new master plan to the Gamemakers – at least they leave me alone with all the deadly nastiness they're sure to have in store.
Towards the afternoon, it bangs again. Two cannons, in relatively short succession. I wait quietly for a while, but it remains at two blasts. No screams, no sounds of fighting, no nothing. Probably the two tributes died far away from me, in another sector. I am all the more surprised when the lights dim in the evening and the pictures of the dead are shown outside in the corridors.
The first face I see bears a scar on its lip and messy hair – Romulus. A tribute from District 2? Surprised, I let out a chuckle. Damn, the career tributes are dying like flies right now. I almost hope that the second bang also belonged to one of their troupe, but I'm disappointed when only Riva's pretty face lights up. The tinny hymn literally mocks the dead, but I can't help humming along gleefully. Four deceased within 24 hours is a lot, it's nearing the end of the Games. There are only eight people left in total now, so it's time for the interviews with the families at home.
Riva's features blur after a few seconds, then I recognize the skinny girl from District 10. She was the one who burned her chin and throat on the hot water on the first day in the arena, and I didn't manage to kill her. Presumably the career tributes came upon her and overpowered her shortly after she killed the already injured Romulus. When the boy from 12 also flares up as the second killer of a career tribute, I realize that the others aren't that strong anymore. Maybe some are even injured. The alliance will at least weaken soon and they will have to go for each other's throats, just as I predicted Saylor and Angel would during training.
More seconds pass, then the song fades away. It's dark for a moment, then the lights come back on, just like every time.
And I am almost a little disappointed not to have received any gifts for my birthday. Apparently my notoriety in Panem isn't enough for that sort of thing. Apparently, I have to go hunting.
As midnight approaches, I have packed my bag. I don't want to give up my hiding place completely, but I plan to reach the outermost sector of the arena today. Sector A, where I have stayed almost without exception since the beginning of the Games, has been almost deserted for days. If I'm going to find other tributes, it's probably going to be further out. So I take my sleeping bag with me and about half of my supplies. I leave the blanket and the rest of my food behind, then carefully close my camp in the wall.
Instead of heading north as I did yesterday, I follow my map west. By now I know the locations of the traps in Sector A, and since they don't change positions like the sinks do, I can virtually stroll up to the heavy door that separates the areas of the arena. In front of the double doors I pause for a moment and listen for sounds, but nothing can be heard. Apparently the career tributes are still farther north or have moved east or even into the farthest ring of the arena.
In Sector B, the gold of the walls surrounds me. Now that I'm here for the second time, I'm struck by how much warmer it seems. The lamps are reflected iridescently; perhaps the Gamemakers have actually set the temperature differently here. In any case, I move through the corridors without much difficulty, paying attention to the smallest movements, the quietest noises, but all I hear now and then is the crackling of a power line or the rumbling of pipes in the walls. At one point, there is a dull falling sound near me, followed by a grinding, and in my search for the recipient of the sponsor's gift in the ceiling, I even stray a little off course, but I merely end up in a dead end – a dead end of which there were none in Sector A.
Startled, I realize that this blind curiosity could have meant my death had another tribute been nearby. But I am alone, cursing the Gamemakers for the wasteland of the labyrinth. After some time, I finally reach one of the large gates that take me to Sector C, the only sector of the arena for which no traps are marked on the map. Again I look around, then carefully, with my weapon drawn, I push the door open.
Sector C is not made of metal.
The walls, floors and ceilings here are not made of silver or gold plates.
Sector C is made of glass.
I'm standing there as if struck, and behind me the partition gate silently clicks shut. Glass panels as far as the eye can see. The mere attempt to orient myself seems futile. I stare straight ahead, trying to make out anything in the tangle of wall interiors, pipes in the ceilings and the transparent boundaries of the corridors, but my brain merely remains confused. Where does the hallway I'm standing in end? How far can I go before I slam into a windowpane? I lift up the map, but orientation is not so easy when you can see the hallways on paper but not around you. So I turn my head a little to the side, stretch and bend down to get my bearings. Is there anyone to be seen? Would any tribute dare to sleep here at all? By now, the next day must have dawned. Day 5 in the arena. I have no doubt that someone has already made it this far, but why stay?
I realize my head is starting to spin with exertion. I need to get out of here.
I turn around and want to push the double door open again, but behind me is only a thick, golden wall. Dumbfounded, I spin around on my own axis. My way back to Sector B has disappeared. No! There's the door, a few meters away from me! I turn left, one hand on the wall, but the farther I run, the farther my escape route moves. Cursing, I accelerate, finally sprinting after the spinning wall and my exit.
Then a clang.
The sound of shards pelting down.
A particularly firm step on my part has broken a floor tile. My first thought is of the impossibility of this – glass doesn't crack that easily. Then I dart to the side, but the break spreads, haunts me. My left foot sinks, down into the darkness, and I take a pike, getting up on all fours and rolling until I'm back on my feet. Then I run as fast as I've ever run before. Behind me the hallway shatters, no, the entire sector disintegrates into thousands of shards into nothingness. The noise is deafening, but it is even worse to look at all the falling glass. My vision blurs in the ironic opacity, and with all the iridescence of the breaking light, I literally have to force myself to keep my eyes only on the door. The door. The door, my way out. My feet on the floor. I run, gasp, remind myself that I have to make it.
Then, finally, I reach the saving gate, push it open, and escape into the golden safety of the next sector. Breathing heavily, I turn the next corner, realize at the last moment that my map locates a trap there, stagger, and then see only a light brown shadow flying toward me.