Day 5: Metal on Metal
The other tribute catches me in the side with all their force. A gasp escapes me, I stagger against the wall, bruise my shoulder and fall. The map and my bag fall to the floor. Despite the pain in my ribs, I instinctively roll over and just barely dodge the hammer hurtling toward me. There is a hiss next to my ear, then metal bangs on metal and the hammer head leaves a dent in the floor. I almost expect another part of the arena to shatter, but the gold holds firm. While I'm still gasping for breath, the owner of the weapon doesn't take long. She throws herself at me and before she has even brought the hammer back into a striking position, she lets the fist of her other hand thunder into my chest. Again I gasp and retch, then vomit rises in my throat. Fearing to choke, I yank my legs up, grab the girl between my knees, and turn to the side with her. As I throw up onto the floor, her hammer crashes into my arm. We both scream out, me in pain, her in anger that she didn't aim more accurately. I push the girl off me and move my arm as I get to my feet. It is not broken.
Again she runs at me and I force her to dodge by pulling out my knife. We circle each other in a crouching position, both ready to attack. Th fact that she doesn't makes me suspicious, and just for good measure I pull out my second weapon. Fear spreads across the girl's face, and though she still twirls the hammer, her courage seems to have left her. Now I realize how pathetic she looks. She is quite small, with skin so pale it might as well be made of paper. During the interviews a few days ago, she had looked in the pink next to her sick district partner – but the Hunger Games seem to be ill-fated for both tributes from District 3 this year. Her black hair is shoulder-length and has become quite greasy during her time in the arena. I probably look the same – but her best chance against me was the messed-up surprise, she got that right.
I tighten my shoulders, then lunge forward. My blade misses her, and in turn I duck away under her hammer. The second knife digs into her leg and she stumbles toward me. I jump backwards, remembering at the last moment that behind me is the trap marked on the map, and instead decide to throw myself to the ground, right at her feet. The girl reacts in astonishment, but she wastes no time and lets the hammer come down on my upper arm again. I groan in pain, but put more focus on getting away from the dangerous floorboard. Then I feel the hard tread of her shoes on my hand, feel my fingers pressed to the ground, feel my pinky break. I howl and again instinctively dodge an attack to my head. Again the girl is on top of me, the blood from her leg staining my clothes.
Then I kick.
She falls backwards, one step, two steps.
And the trap is triggered.
A huge heavy block of metal crashes from the ceiling and separates her side of the hallway from mine. I hear her screaming like a banshee. Has she been crushed? But I don't hear a cannon. When the metal block is pulled back, the girl is still screaming and I have to throw up against the wall again.
The block has buried her right leg underneath and turned it into the most disgusting mass I have seen in my life. Flesh and muscle are completely torn apart, her lower leg bone, toes and knee are crushed to a fine powder that mixes with the blood to form a viscous mush. The girl's femur has been cleanly severed and now protrudes from her body as a stump with the rest of her left leg. The entire floor between her and me is stained red. Scraps of her overalls hang from the ceiling.
I stare at her and she returns my gaze. Finally she stops screaming, the shock is too great, the shock, and the realization that her chances of victory are hereby lost. Her eyes open wide, she begins to slide backwards, tears rolling down her face, leaving a wide trail of blood behind her. As if controlled by a stranger, I pick myself up, bend down for my belongings and grip my weapons tighter.
The girl presses herself against the wall, whimpering, as she watches me get up. With each passing second, her gaze becomes emptier, glassier, finally she looks as if she doesn't know where I've come from so suddenly, as if she's forgotten that we fought. That she attacked me.
Without taking my eyes off her, I feel my left hand. Clearly, a finger is broken. The arm, however, is fine – at least all the injuries are on the same side. I put one weapon away, but in my right hand I wind the knife and turn the wrist back a little. So that I can throw the weapon well. Just in case, I think, but I know that these are the rules of the game. The girl from District 3 won't attack me in her condition. She's as good as dead anyway. And every dead tribute is one step closer to my goal.
She tears her eyes open as she realizes that now is truly the moment of her death. Her look is as desperate as that of her district partner who died before my eyes the day before yesterday. The people in District 3 probably won't be so kind to me right now, but I know I don't really have a choice.
"Make it quick, will you?"
Her voice sounds soft, but it cuts so sharply through the silence that I feel as if every word is echoing off the walls a thousand times. I shudder and bite my lip until I bleed. I want to tell her I'm sorry. She probably wants to live as much as I do, but I can't be considerate. Not now. In my head, I count the remaining tributes. Angel. Saffyr. Cassia. Saylor. Tic. The girl from 9. Her. Me. Only seven more deaths separate me from victory. Knowing that the career tributes won't take into account that she won't last another hour anyway with the severed leg and her shock, I can't either.
A powerful flick of the wrist. My knife flies through the air, hitting the girl right in the chest. She groans in pain, but her last look in my direction is ... grateful? Distraught, I wait for the sound of the cannon before I leap over the trap, run over to her corpse, and pull my dagger from her lifeless body.