Chapter Five
In the lower districts, all children unanimously feared being chosen for the Hunger Games. They weren't fools, they knew their chances of winning were closer to zero. By the time they turn twelve, they had all seriously asked themselves if they could ever kill another human being. They knew that with each additional tesserae they signed up for their odds of being picked increased, but could do nothing for they desperately needed that extra food. At the orphanage, the Matron forbade more than five tesserae per person. Still, it had never been enough to feed everyone through the year, and many took more on the sly for the younger children.
Nightmares were very common in the weeks and days leading up to the Reaping for the newly turned twelve years old. Will had his fair share where he found himself in one past arena or another. He never lived in those dreams and having watched so many Games he had plenty of gruesome deaths for his subconscious to choose from. Most of all, he feared dying a prolonged, drawn-out death. Dehydration, hunger, infection… He'd rather have his throat cut. At least this way he wouldn't suffer long.
Not that the rest of his nightmares were any better, featuring the people he loved best in the same arenas in his stead. Spade and Basil most frequently because they were the oldest and had the most paper slips with their names written down. Hazel and Heather, less regularly, but always together when they died. Little Eva, eternally screaming for him, begging to be saved with blood dripping from her mouth and her guts falling out.
Finding himself living the stuff of his night terrors wasn't such a surprise to him as one would expect. He'd steeled himself to this possible outcome the first time he put down his name for tesserae and he understood there will be no volunteers for him. Not in district 11. There was no glory in it like in 1 or 2. Rather, it was considered suicide to do so. They had exactly two volunteers in the entire history of the Games. Both times it was for family. Neither survived the first day.
Will takes one deep breath, then another, trying to think past his rising panic. This wasn't another of his dreams, this was reality. He had to concentrate because he has just sixty seconds to get his bearing before he can step off his metal circle. Any earlier and he will be blown up to kingdom come by the landmines buried underneath. The previous Games, one of the female tributes had dropped her token, a wooden ball of some sort. They Gamemakers ended up having to scrap pieces of her from the ground. That too had features in his nightmares once or twice.
His head turns from side to side as he attempts to take everything in at once. They had been raised from the underground complex in a circle with the Cornucopia, a twenty feet high shining horn made of gold metal standing in the middle. From its mouth spilled out the things that will help them survive in the arena; food, water, medicine, and of course, weapons. As usual, the farther away the supplies lie from the horn, the more their value decreased. If they wanted the best items, they will have to fight for them. Much of what little food he could see was right in the center of that pile.
Unlike most arenas, they weren't on a large and flat, open stretch of ground. Instead, it was a small clearing covered in snow, surrounded by an enormous wall of cloudy, entirely smooth ice that rose to maybe two hundred feet in height. Here and there, it was interrupted, breaking off in favor of openings as tall as the walls themselves of various width. Some were wide enough for only one person, others for approximately five people side by side. From what he could see from his position, each led to more passageways and corridors.
He catches Rosie's eye from where she stood almost opposite him and inclines his head meaningfully towards one of the smaller openings closest to her. She nods quickly and readies herself to run. The numbers projected above the Cornucopia count down, five, four, three… He slides his feet into position, aiming for a small pack not far from him. Two, one, the gong sounds, ringing loud and clear. He lunges forwards, scoops the pack up, instantly slinging it over one shoulder and turns in Rosie's direction.
It was chaos, all around him. Some had aimed to escape right away, but others had stayed, fighting for the smallest scraps. The Careers were already at the weapons, fiercely defending their prize. A girl falls, then a boy, their blood staining the snow bright red, and their eyes glassy in death. Another tribute is chasing after his little sister, a sword in hand. He's too far to help, not fast enough to reach her in time, but he had seen a spear lying not far from his position, so he abruptly changes course and dashes towards it. He had promised to do his best to come back home, but he can't let his sister die this early in the Games. Even deliberately standing aside while someone killed her, would just as surely destroy him from guilt as if he did the deed himself on the off chance he survived this. He's going to keep them both alive for as long as possible.
He reaches the spear, kicks it off the ground in one smooth motion as he did with rakes or brooms to conserve the few precious seconds he had, takes a couple more steps, and flings it forward with all the strength he had. By some miracle, it lands on target, and the other boy stumbles and collapses face down on the cold ground, the metal shaft prodding from his back. Will doesn't have time to stand around awed by the success of his desperate gambit, he had taken off running again as soon as the spear was in the air, focused on reaching his sister who had by then disappeared in the corridor none the wiser. He doesn't waste time getting the spear back as he passes the body. It was lodged deep into the muscle and bone, and he couldn't afford to dawdle around trying to dislodge it. Better leave before anyone noticed him.
He enters at full speed the roofless corridor of ice and follows the trail of clearly evident small footprints in the snow. That was going to be a big problem. They weren't going to be able to effectively hide if they were so easily tracked. He takes one turn at an intersection, then another and another. Before he knows it, he's hopelessly lost. The sound of battle slowly fades, so he must be getting farther away from the Cornucopia after all, and he slows to a brisk walk to conserve energy. It's quiet. Too quiet. The only noise is the snow crunching underneath his feet and the howling of the wind in between the cervices of ice. It's also bitterly cold. Despite his warm clothes and his constant movement, he's already chilly.
"Willy?"
"Rose." He exhales in relief and envelops the quivering girl in a hug. "You're alright." He whispers to her, pressing a kiss on top of her head. "We're alright."
They stand that way for a long moment, calming down and suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline left their systems. Eventually, he steps back reluctantly, tugging Rosie's hood back on from where it had fallen around her shoulders.
"What are we going to do now?" She asks, tucking her hands in her armpits to keep them warm.
He drops down onto the snow, leaning against the wall and pats invitingly the spot beside him. "Let's see what we've got first. You grabbed a pack too, didn't you? That's good."
"Is that safe?" She questions cautiously and glances back the way they came.
He shakes his head in response. "If someone was coming, they'd have caught up by now."
Rosie shuffles in place nervously, considering, and finally slumps down, sliding her pack off from her shoulders. They're both light blue, which was not necessarily the most convenient of colors, but hardly the worst. The Gamemakers could have effortlessly made them a vivid pink. It would have been their idea of a joke. Bright beacons seen from far away, and impossible to camouflage in this snowy wasteland.
In the distance, the cannons boom. One time, three times, four times. They pause, exchanging alarmed glances. Only four dead tributes at the Bloodbath. That was unheard of. There always had been at least seven of them. Rosie visibly swallows, and he hopes the Careers track down a few more tributes by the end of the day to lower their numbers.
They go back to carefully laying out their supplies. First, they pull out a woolen scarf with a hat, which he passes on to Rosie ignoring all protests, taking for himself a sort of half-mask that covered the lower half of his face and his neck instead. There were also a pair of huge goggles with mirrored glass, several packs of jerky and crackers, enough to last them for a couple of days, a coil of rope, a bottle of foul-smelling liquid, a small knife, a portable bug zapper-like thing, some kind of attachment probably meant for their boots with wicked spikes jutting from the bottom, and two ax-looking sticks with a much thinner head than a real ax. He'd say it wasn't a bad haul, only there was barely any food, nothing to keep them warm other than their clothes and they had no idea what half of those items were used for.
Nothing to drink from either, but that was the least of their problems unless the Gamemakers had poisoned all the surrounding snow and ice.
"Oh!" Rosie exclaims suddenly and reaches into the pocket of her coat. She pulls out a slingshot and a bag of a dozen small, hollow glass marbles. They were filled with some sort of swirling gas inside. "I also got those. Here, take them."
"No." He refuses firmly. "Keep them. Just be careful with the marbles, angel. I wouldn't like to find out what that gas does on ourselves."
She hesitates. "Are you sure? You're better than me at this."
"I want you nowhere near a fight, but I can't leave you without a way to defend yourself either," Will replies distractedly, busy attaching the sheath of the knife to her belt. "just in case you run out of ammunition and you need to fight close combat, love."
"And what exactly are you going to do?" She wails almost desperately.
He says nothing, picking up one of the axes, thoughtfully dragging a hand over the gently curving shaft. He suspected they were meant to aid in climbing up the ice, but the head was sharp and pointy. They'd work as weapons too in an emergency, Will decides, sticking both handles through his own belt. Easier and faster to reach there than hidden in his bag.
He refills the packs, keeping the heavier one for himself and stands. "C'mon. We should get moving. It'll keep us warm and maybe we'll find something other than those endless corridors of ice. I'm already sick of them, and it's been barely half a day."
They go back to moving at a hurried pace, trying to put as much distance from the Horn of Plenty as possible. The scenery doesn't change much, the same ice rising on either side and the corridors sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing. Occasionally, they face dead-ends and have to back-track, other times they come across their own footprints again after taking a wrong turn. It doesn't take them long to guess why that happened, why they kept returning to places they have already been. A maze. Their arena was a giant labyrinth of ice with no exit and the Cornucopia likely as its center.
Evening starts falling. Snow too, lazily twirling across the darkening sky. That was the good thing, it'll cover their tracks before anyone could hunt them down. The bad news where the softly glowing walls. They were illuminated from the inside, providing a constant source of light. Nighttime wasn't going to be as safe as they'd expected when they were planning with their mentors. No one will be needing flashlights and torches to continue searching for them.
Their frantic speed falters, Rosie beginning to trail behind. With nowhere to conceal themselves, they settle down in the middle of a short corridor, away from any large intersections, and huddling together for warmth as the temperature dropped sharply. Hopefully, they'll hear anyone coming long before they see them, giving them time to run in the opposite direction.
The anthem soon plays, the sudden noise shocking in the former silence. The seal of the Capitol appears to be floating in the sky. He knows the people in the Districts will be watching the full coverage of every death, but they, the tributes, will be only seeing the same headshots with their district numbers as when they were given out their scores. It was considered unfair otherwise. The Gamemakers didn't want them to know the skills of their adversaries before they faced them in battle. It was the same reason why their private training sessions remained secret.
Will flinches when the first image appears in the sky. The boy from 5, Dean. The one he killed. He didn't know whether to be happy or cry. He was a killer now, but he did it to protect his sister. Did that still make him a good person? The boy's family and friends will certainly not think so.
District 6's sickly volunteer Luna, no surprises there. And District 8's twelve-year-old male, not unforeseen either. Flint, of 12. The Capitol symbol appears again with a final musical number, then the night sky is dark again, not even the stars visible behind the thick clouds. There was twenty of them left.
"Willy?"
He hums inquisitively, looking down at the little girl snuggling into his side.
"Are you alright?" She asks, peering at him in concern.
"I'm fine." He lies with the ease of long practice. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours."
She must have been exhausted because she's dozing in seconds. Will leans his head back against the wall, watching the snowflakes fall. They were a rare sight back in the District. Idly, he starts playing with the bug zapper-thing, twisting and turning it in his hands. It was small and there was a ring at the top to attach it to something. His fingers find a button on the bottom and he presses it. With a soft crackle, it turns on and starts radiating a gentle heat. Rosie sighs contently in her sleep, shuffling closer to the warmth. The bottle of unknown liquid must be the fuel for the heater, he realizes. They'll have to conserve it carefully. With the lack of wood, this was the only thing that will keep them from freezing to death.
There's a sound, like the creaking of ice, and his head snaps up, guarded. He turns off the heater, stuffing it back into the pack, and gently shakes Rosie awake. Before she can speak, he clamps her mouth shut with his hand and raises his other to his own, a single finger extended. She nods her head frantically in understanding, and he releases her, straining to hear more of that strange sound. It repeats again, louder and longer, and slowly the walls begin shaking.
"What going on?" Rosie whispers, clutching at his arm, eyes darting about.
"I don't know." He murmurs back. "But I'd bet it's nothing good."
There is a loud boom, and under their disbelieving eyes, the walls gradually move. They stagger away from them, falling to the ground in the mad scramble, mouths dropped open wide in incredulity. It felt as if the whole world was shaking. Will blinks, in his shocked state having difficulty comprehending that their passageway was narrowing. They were going to be squashed in between like bugs into pulp.
Move, he wants to scream, but his voice isn't working. He stumbles to his feet, pulling at Rosie insistently until she follows him up and takes off in a dead sprint. They make it out just barely, sliding across the ice and into a new corridor as the walls slam shut behind them. The horrible, bone-rattling grinding sound stops, and the silence returns to the maze.
They lie in the snow, panting. There is another boom, and they bolt up again, ready to run, but the walls remain motionless.
Rosie collapses back to her knees and breaks down into tears. "It was just the cannon. Someone died, that's all."
That's all indeed. Was it wrong that he only felt an overwhelming sense of relief it wasn't them? That there were now five less people trying to kill them because they were dead?
He releases a shaky breath, which misted in the air in front of him, and positions himself against a wall again, now infinitely warier of it. Rosie crawls back under his arm, and he couldn't force himself to ask her to stay awake so that he could grab some sleep too. Someone needed to keep watch and she wasn't in any state to do it.
When dawn finally begins to break Will's so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. Thankfully, it wasn't the first time he had an all-nighter and he knew from experience that as soon as they start moving again he'll feel alert again. If he could spend a day working in the fields after a night with no sleep with no problem, he shouldn't have any trouble in the arena doing the same. Rosie shakes herself awake soon after, used to waking up this early for her work in the greenhouses and school. They share a bag of crackers for breakfast and have a mouthful of freshly fallen snow instead of normal water as a drink to satisfy their thirst. It's freezing cold and hurts their teeth but it's better than nothing.
When they start walking they don't have any specific destination in mind. They are aware, though, that staying in one place will be suicide. With any luck, they will find something other than the unending hallways of ice and more optimistically, something alive other than another tribute. They wouldn't last long with the little food they had, even with their familiarity in going hungry for long periods of time.
Snow begins falling again, having stopped sometime during the night. Once they come across marks deliberately carved into the walls at an intersection but no footprints. Someone had clearly passed by the previous day. They debate for a long moment in which way to go before Rosie mentions that it could be a trap. Maybe someone wanted them to follow the unmarked path right into an ambush she suggests. With that, they resolutely turn around and walk back the way they came, rather than take the risk. They'll return to the last intersection they had found and go in the other direction.
They end up regretting that decision when they find themselves face to face with a wolf after making the wrong turn. It was bigger than them and had jagged spikes of cloudy ice shaped to resemble real fur. Its eyes glowed a menacing blue from within as its head unhurriedly turned towards them. A mechanical parody of the beloved genetically-engineered mutts the Gamemakers adored to use in their Games. Each newly created species were met with delight by the Capitol crowd and horror by the districts who yet remembered the devastation they had brought during the Dark Days. Tracker Jackers were still a big problem in District 11.
"Run," Will whispers, taking a slow step back. The wolf takes one forward then another, silent except for the sound of ice grinding against ice. "RUN!"
I don't own the Hunger Games.