Oshea Taverns, 16
District 3 5th Male
Bolt, Bryony, and I make a pretty good trio. Sure, there's the occasional argument – but now that we've lasted the first four days, I like to think we've got a pretty trustworthy alliance going on. Even so, I can't let my guard too far down. As the number of tributes approaches twelve, alliances become exponentially more dangerous.
But I can't afford to think about that right now. Right now, I've got a nice weapon and a nice alliance in pretty high standing. Right now I'm safe. Right now I'm the leader of the group, which feels really empowering even though it makes me the biggest target for the other tributes.
As late morning arrives, our travels bring us to a largely empty area of water enclosed by a circle of mangrove trees. It isn't much protection from the outside, but it's the best we're going to get.
"I can't stop thinking about Liose," Bryony says a little timidly as we settle down for lunch.
I use my sword like an extension of my arm to help pull myself onto the lofty network of roots. It feels amazing to get out of the water.
"He… he died with honor while we ran," Bolt stammers. It's a poor attempt at consolation, but none of us can come up with anything better to say, so we begin eating our lunch in silence. Our latest sponsor parachute was about three hours ago, bringing us a waterproof bag containing dinner rolls. We each pick three rolls out of the bag, then I zip it shut and set it down in my lap.
Liose had no chance from the start. He wasn't completely helpless – he did score a six – but there's only so far a tribute with one arm can make it in the games. Huxley was always a good friend too, but his death never lingered on my mind the same way Liose did.
No matter how quickly the memories go away, we can't forget to survive for ourselves. Spoken like a true leader.
Once we're finished resting, we drop down into the water one by one. Bryony goes first, her mud-tangled hair flapping behind her as she takes the plunge. The water is shallower here, so much so that my feet strike the bottom as I descend.
"Alright, team. Let's get back to work," I say loudly, beginning to wade briskly. The others follow behind, and soon I'd give almost anything to be relaxing again.
But I can't let that show. I can't even let myself think that way, because I am the leader. I scored an eight. My path is a path of destruction. That's how it's supposed to be.
"Can we go over the different alliances again?" Bryony suggests. "It's hard to keep track of them all."
Bolt starts rattling them off instantly. He has a really good memory. "First, there's the careers, of course. They're Cordaire, Socket, Maizie, and Sorghum. I know there's an alliance of four girls too: Milly, Fusae, Katya, and Gwenith. Othello, Desdemona, and Demi are allied too."
"Desdemona died yesterday," I say, suddenly remembering her cold face as it appeared in the sky last night.
"Oh." Bolt trails off a little. "Well, they're still enough of a threat."
"What about that big group of little kids?" Bryony says.
"They don't really count," I say. "I wouldn't be surprised if they've all gone their separate ways by now. Even if they were still together, and even if they attacked us, we'd take them down right away."
A leader reassures his followers and bolsters them onward. Check. I think I'm doing a pretty good job. I just need to keep Bolt and Bryony happy. I have to assert my strength but I can't make them see me as a threat. Finding that balance is easier said than done.
Taure Sooks, 12
District 3 2nd Male
It's freaky how quiet this arena can get sometimes. Three days ago, there was an enormous tidal wave that killed four tributes. Just yesterday I was swimming for my life, trying to escape a swarm of bloodthirsty duck mutts. But now, the stillness is absolute.
If I squint my eyes just the right way, I can make it look like some muddy old pond back in District 3. In just a few minutes, my mother will call for me. She'll serve dinner; whatever kind of tasteless food she was able to procure today.
I blink once or twice and then open my eyes wide. Thinking about home just hurts.
It's hardly noon, but I'm already on the lookout for land. Last night, I waited too long to start searching, and I was left frantically looking for land in a night so dark I could hardly see ten feet in front of me. I ended up spending the night floating on my back. What little sleep I was able to catch was shallow and scattered. It was miserable.
I'm trying my best to head toward the center of the arena. It's difficult to keep track of direction in a place with so few memorable landmarks, but the last thing I want is to drift into the force field by mistake. This morning, I found a spot where the mangrove trees stopped suddenly, with empty water stretching onward seemingly forever. I may not be the smartest tribute, but I didn't dare explore any further. The force field is a nasty death.
As my thoughts race past, the sun continues moving along its path, sometimes painstakingly slowly and sometimes impossibly fast. Whether that's a trick of the gamemakers or just a trick of my mind, I can't tell.
It must be about three o'clock when I see the island. It's the largest piece of land I've come across thus far, after the cornucopia island of course. The island looks large enough to hold a large group of tributes; certainly large enough for one tired kid to catch some sleep.
I'm too relieved to notice the suspicious splashing noise coming from the shore. I'm too tired to notice the poorly-covered footprints in the mud.
The moment I step out of the water, there is a flash of motion, and strong hands wrap around my abdomen, locking me into place. An instant later, I hear the sound of my own scream: a feral, guttural sound I never knew I could make. I kick my feet as hard as I can, but they only drag helplessly through the mud.
The boy holding me isn't even that old; we could be classmates. But he can't really be twelve or thirteen because he's quite strong. Much too strong for someone just my age.
"Shut up!" he hisses. "I'm… I'm supposed to kill you."
He loosens his grip around my torso ever so slightly. My brain screams for me to swim away, but I can't move a muscle.
Two more tributes rise out of the water, dropping their snorkels to their sides as they come near. A boy and a girl. The girl is short and quite thin, and she has the look of someone from District 3. I recognize the boy instantly, and a spark leaps in my chest.
"Ronan! It's me, Taure! We talked in the training center, remember?"
"Yeah," he stammers. "Spurr, kill him!"
The guy strangling me, who I guess must be Spurr, starts to reach for the knife in his pocket, but his hand is shaking so hard that he drops it instantly.
I fall to my knees, tears rushing out of my eyes impossibly fast. The three tributes gather around, glaring down at me. A fourth ally appears, a boy who slides effortlessly into their ranks. "I'm so scared, and I'm so lost, and I… please help me."
"Oh, for crying out loud," Ronan exclaims. "He's just like us. Let's keep him."
"No," the girl says. Very adamantly too. "We have to… oh, shit, I guess so."
"I… I feel so welcomed," I stammer, my heart still pounding against the inside of my chest.
The girl hands me an old, dirt-crusted towel that nonetheless dries me almost instantly. Her name is Telata. She comes from a cell phone factory. I already spoke with Ronan during training, so the only other tribute that has to introduce themselves is Kenneth.
"Sorry I tried to kill you," Spurr says that night as he hands me a piece of meat from the silver parachute.
"No worries."
Socket Alexial, 17
District 3 1st Male
"Do you think she'll be okay?" I ask.
The scene still plays before my eyes. I woke up to a loud splashing noise and frantically looked over the side of the tree branch, anticipating some kind of attacker. But Cordaire had fallen in the water, smacking her head on the trunk in her descent.
A silver parachute quickly brought her some headache medication and an ice pack, which she still keeps pressed to her forehead.
"I think so," Sorghum says. "If she had a concussion, she would have told us by now. Did they teach you about concussions at the academy in District 3?"
I nod slowly. "Yeah."
"She'll be fine, dude. She just needs time to rest." Sorghum goes back to his thermos in a clear sign that he's done discussing the matter.
I'd be lying if I said I'm not really worried about her. We've been friends since I was thirteen. I can always tell when something is wrong with her. And something is really, really wrong with her.
"You okay?" I say softly, leaning over so she can hear me from her branch.
She laughs a little, then winces, groaning from the pain. "No." She presses her hands over her ears, then lets out another groan.
"Anything I can do?" This is terribly embarrassing. Who's ever heard of a career tribute showing compassion?
"No, Socket" she murmurs. "I just need time. I don't think I can hunt today."
"That's what I told Sorghum."
"He won't listen, will he?"
"No."
Cordaire laughs a little. "Well, if he wants to go off by himself, he will. We can't stop him." She sighs. "I just need to rest some more now."
"Alright. Maizie is expecting us at the cornucopia by midnight though. So we can't stay here forever."
But she's already asleep.
I lean back against the trunk. On his branch, Sorghum sits with his arms crossed, glaring at the horizon like he has something against it.
Even though we have fewer members than usual, I think Cordaire, Socket, Maizie and I make a really good pack. If only we could hunt all day like we planned. Then we might be able to shave down the number of tributes by one or two. Those tributes ain't gonna kill themselves. Well, not yet, at least.
Elodie Pike, 16
District 9 7th Female
My eyes sting from tears. The events of Day 3 still play out in my mind, flashing in front of my eyes like some strange work of art. I watched the anti-careers clash with Desdemona, Othello, and Demi. If I hadn't been able to swim away fast enough, I would have been caught in the middle of the fight.
I'm pretty sure Demi noticed me. She looked suspiciously at the ripples I left in the water, and for a terrifying moment I thought she was going to follow me. Thank Snow, there was a thick cluster of white flowers nearby that hid me from sight. Once the fight was in full swing, I could escape pretty easily without being noticed. But it was still terrifying.
As the day passes, I continue to drift through the water, sometimes lying on my back, sometimes walking along the bottom, and sometimes letting the currents take me where they will.
Just as the sun starts to set, an earsplitting shriek shatters the silence of the arena. My heart leaps in my chest, and my hand rushes to my pocket, where a sharp rock is hidden; my only weapon.
Five minutes pass. Ten minutes pass. Then it happens again. It sounds a lot like a strangled scream, but there's no way a human could ever make a noise like that.
Ten more minutes pass. Then the mutt appears.
It's a duck. I would never suspect it of being dangerous, but then it opens its beak and makes the noise, a noise so loud and shrill it leaves my ears ringing. With no warning, the duck lashes out, swooping down on me and closing its teeth around my arm.
My vision is splotched by crimson streaks of agony as a dark cloud of blood spreads out from my arm. Panicking, I grab the rock and swing it at the bird, but I miss. It takes a few attempts for me to strike it, but when I do, it's a hard hit. The rock cuts straight down the bird's body, almost slicing one of its wings completely off. Black blood leaks from the duck, staining its feathers. It struggles on the surface of the water for a while, then falls still.
Panic starts to take hold of me as I gape helplessly at my wound. I use my other hand to keep it under pressure, but even then, the bleeding is fast and unstoppable.
Just when I think I have the bleeding under control, I hear the noise again.
This time, I'm smart enough to hide before the mutt appears. I paddle to the nearest tree, pulling myself through a cloud of algae, and hoist myself upward, hiding my body from view.
A whole flock of ducks come into view. They're all moving in the same direction, quacking at the same time in such a horrifying chorus that I cover my ears. It takes me a second to realize that they're chasing somebody: Coco, the boy from District 3 who volunteered for his brother.
The scene is terrifying, but I can't look away. Coco is a good swimmer but he can't keep ahead of the killer ducks forever. One of them closes its beak around his shoulder, and from there, it's an absolutely bloodbath. The dozen or so ducks dig in, tearing away chunks of his flesh. I can't bear to watch as they reduce his body to a pile of fleshy chunks.
That's the only cannon shot that fires on Day 5. Even after the ducks clear away, I stay there, trembling in the mangrove tree. At midnight, the anthem plays, and Coco's face flashes across the sky.
There truly is danger everywhere you turn in this place. What a horrifying reminder.
Coco Dorsin, District 3 7th Male
Remaining Tributes (22): Cordaire, Socket, Taure, Milly, Kaicee, Oshea, Laurisa, Bolt, Fusae, Telata, Katya, Spurr, Maizie, Sorghum, Kenneth, Bryony, Othello, Gwenith, Elodie, Harvey, Demi, Ronan
