Chapter 7: Feel It Burn Me

Another cannon blast wakes me at what I judge to be the rough equivalent of first light, effectively bookending a dreamless slumber. Preparing to de-camp as I gather my things, I curse myself for being careless enough as to sleep on the ground all night. Any tribute could have come across me at any time and slit my throat. From now on, I'll be much better served burrowing up in the trees for the night – they're not that difficult to climb, and I already know how from retrieving my parachute yesterday.

A grateful relief washes through me as I remember to take another tiny sip of the precious liquid before I begin hiking. I study the bottle: only about 1/16th of its volume has been consumed; I still have plenty left. I'm touched that Brutus worked to get me water so quickly…. although, now that I think about it, it casts his final instructions to us on the rooftop in a way that doesn't make any sense. He told us to find water; he never gave any guarantees that he would just hand it to us. If there's one thing I've learned about my mentor, it's that he isn't going to hold our hands throughout the process. His was a tough-love kind of mentorship, even towards poor Gilla – a pang goes through me as I think about my fallen friend.

The question, however, still remains: why would Brutus just give me water when he somehow knows that I could just find it myself? I resolve once again to hunt for a natural source of water, before the reservoir I do have runs dry.

Also, I may not be desperately thirsty at present, but I am hungry. I haven't eaten anything except a tiny wad of beef jerky since yesterday morning. I almost dive in my pack to chew on another wad, but refrain, despite the growling of my stomach. A wad of jerky will dry out my throat, compelling me to drink from my bottle again – if I want my supplies of sustenance to last, I'm going to have to abstain, fast when and where I can afford to, so I can really go the distance. I resolve to skip breakfast today.

The hunger pangs I feel remind me, though, that I also need to find a more consistent food source too. I kick myself for forgetting to set any snares last night. I decide to set a basic one at the base of this tree, go out in search of freshwater sources, then circle back in about an hour. Committing myself to a singular direction, and counting my paces, I set off.

As I walk, I have plenty of time to think, although I am conscientious enough to keep one eye out for any tributes nearby in the woods, my naginata unsheathed and at the ready. Eighteen cannon blasts yesterday… followed by one just as I was nodding off last night, and another that woke me up this morning. Unless I slept through any more during the night, that means twenty kids so far lie dead. I never thought I'd outlast one tribute (but I did, and he died at my hand), let alone twenty. That's when I realize: the small Career boy from District 2 was not only my first kill, but also the first kill of the Games. My stomach growls again, but not from hunger this time. It takes much effort to not give away the disgust on my face. Tributes aren't supposed to be disgusted by the unspeakable things they do – not if they want to win. The Careers commit murder without showing any emotion all the time. And besides, there are cameras everywhere. I don't want an involuntary facial expression to be misconstrued (or even accurately construed) and put off sponsors, like the one who clearly intervened to send me that bottle of water.

Meanwhile, my second search for more water proves to be just as fruitless as the first. Halting and performing an about-face, I retrace my steps back to the tree. Though I pursed doggedly a single direction, I still fear ending up lost anyway, but luckily, I find my tree with the snare again.

The trap is just as I left it, taut and empty. I frown, trying not to despair. Breathe: in, out. Stay calm. In all my years watching the Games, there have always been elements of the arena that are… unnatural. This year's arena has certainly given off that vibe, for how much I felt that I have been transported into a strange kind of paradise. Is it possible that a forest devoid of any natural wildlife is but one of the many twists the Gamemakers surely have in store? How can anyone eat if there's nothing to hunt?

I stab the blade of my naginata down into the dirt and kneel next to it, continuing to ponder. Is it possible that the only source of food in this arena is what comes out of the backpacks, like the beef jerky I found? Do I really want to risk circling back to the Cornucopia – and almost assuredly get drawn into battle with a Career Pack ten kids strong – just in the hopes that I can steal a backpack and escape with my life? I can't very well make The Run every time I need to have a decent meal. Even if I was lucky enough to make it out once without being drawn into battle, it's almost guaranteed I wouldn't get so lucky in tempting fate a second time. Luck eventually runs out for most people, and for me, that would be mean death.

I start as inspiration strikes me: the plants! From the time I spent at the edible plant station, I know that there are plants that are safe to eat. That can give me protein, equivalents of veggie supplements, among other benefits. And being the best friend of Belle Foley for more than a decade has taught me the power of living off the land – she and her parents harvest herbs all the time to use in their remedies in the apothecary shop. I've picked up quite a few tips just from watching Belle work, healing injured miners.

With renewed vigor, I rise out of my crouch, scanning the landscape for any kind of foliage. For leaves that look edible. I lift my eyes to the sky, to the pine above me. Thick, green leaves grow. I could climb up, pluck some leaves from the branches and munch off those. Complemented with the beef jerky, it might even make a somewhat nutritious meal…

Before I can haul myself up into the tree's limbs, however, a chattering sound makes me spin around, my naginata blade held aloft. But it is only a squirrel with almost golden fur, brushing its tiny paws along its face as it cleans its snout.

I relax in relief. And hey, the squirrel hasn't seemed to notice me yet. If I can sneak up and kill the little beast quickly, I could cook it and get some fresh meat. Treading softly, I lift my naginata, poised to strike.

What I don't expect is for the squirrel to bare its teeth at me and strike first.

I let out a shriek and slash my blade out involuntarily as the squirrel flies towards my throat. The little monster is beheaded with one, clean stroke, its tiny body landing at my feet.

Panting, my eyes dart wildly about. A tiny little voice keeps yelling at me not to panic, but I can't seem to pay it any mind. What was that?

My gaze guides me upwards, so that I can now see the golden balls of fur nestling amidst the trees. Suddenly, there is a chorus of hissing, and the squirrels leap down to the composted leaves, charging.

Yelping in fear, I pelt blindly through the woods, hacking and stabbing at any squirrel that gets too close. Only one manages to land on my forearm and sinks its teeth into my skin; I scream in pain, stab it through the temple and dislodge it. The squirrel's corpse takes a chunk of my flesh with it.

Finally, I burst out of a thicket and fall to my knees, panting. Glancing back, I prepare to defend myself, but the squirrels melt back into the trees.

A sharp gasp makes me whip my head back around: a boy is across the way from me, eyes wide and petrified. He can't be any older than 15. I reach back in my memory to the interviews, trying to place this face with a district….

"District 6?" I guess. As I recall, there's still only one of theirs left.

The boy warily nods. His hands are cupped in front of his face, like he's begging. Or in the midst of some kind of prayer. The sunlight glistens off the clear and transparent water he's been slurping from the stream.

The water he's been slurping from the stream…. !

I let out a happy shout and leap to my feet. A natural source of freshwater! I found it! And oddly enough, a bunch of carnivorous squirrels that can only be Gamemaker mutts drove me right to it!

"Water! Where did you find it?!" My grin is so wide, it must be nearly insane.

The boy's Adams apple wobbles in his throat as he continues to eye me warily. "I just came across it. Was about to take a sip. I'm parched."

"Well, go right on ahead," I smile. "I won't hurt you."

It's unclear whether or not he believes me, but he raises his cupped hands to his lips and slurps, keeping his wary gaze locked on me the entire time. I am just about to ask him if he wants to be allies in the next moment when –

The boy from Six suddenly gargles, his hands flying to his throat and clawing there. The blood icing in my veins, I watch with growing alarm.

"Kid….?"

I rush to the embankment of the stream, traversing the gap to the other bank in a single bound. The boy from Six is now convulsing on the ground, mouth foaming. His eyes are darting about like he's having some kind of seizure, until he focuses on me.

"Help…. me…" he glugs.

Tears prick at my eyes. This boy will be dead in a moment whether or not I do anything, but he shouldn't have to go in this kind of pain.

Raising my naginata blade in an executioner's pose, I bring it down hard on his neck. His hands, still grasped around his throat, get in the way, so that I hack off a few of his fingers in the process.

A mercy killing. I don't know if the Gamemakers will grant me or the arena credit for the kill, nor do I care at the moment. I sit down heavily besides the body of the boy, and when the cannon fires to announce his death, I choke out a sob.

He's dead…. he's dead just for taking a drink…. and I didn't even know his name….

I make the connection exactly half a second after my brain does, as I follow my gaze to take in the bubbling water of the stream – so close and yet somehow still so far away. I consider the bottle of pure water sitting in my backpack; I should have offered this boy some.

Wait a second: the bottle of pure water…. The one that Brutus sent me… Just like that, and taken together with the boy's death after drinking from the stream, and the carnivorous squirrels driving me here, I am able to turn my mentor's action from the previous day completely on its head.

That bottle of water wasn't a gift, or even a reward for killing the Career boy – it was a clue.

Add in the feeling of how unnatural this arena is, even more than usual, and everything makes sense, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle to grant me the big picture.

The water in this arena – at least any water that flows in here naturally – is poisonous.

I gulp, my deep blue eyes scanning the trees above me. I shudder when I think about how I almost drank from this stream. How I almost ate leaves from the trees – even if I had recalled my informal tutelage from observing Belle or any lessons in the Training Center and identified those plants as being safe to eat… they probably wouldn't have been anyway.

For I have to assume that, if the arena water is poisonous, then so is everything else. The leaves. Even any of the meat I could have gotten off those damn squirrels – for all my luck, any attempt to cook meat over a fire and perhaps smoke the toxins out still wouldn't have done any good.

A poisonous paradise. No wonder 21 tributes have already perished and we haven't even been in here for a full day.

I turn back to the corpse of the boy. The hovercraft is probably waiting for me to move so it can take his body away. A backpack, the clasp open, sits next to him, and I dig through it.

Apparently, my luck hasn't run out just yet. There's a kit of bandages in here. I glance back to the bite wound that squirrel took to me; I nearly hurl when I see some bone. Turning my face away, I manage to wrap a tourniquet around my forearm without looking, staunching the blood flow. I hope I haven't lost too much. There's also an apple inside the pack, and a second bottle of water. Good – but I'm still going to conserve ridiculously between the two.

As I sling one backpack over my shoulder, and fasten the strap of the one I've now claimed to my belt, it dawns on me:

If everything in the arena is poisonous….then maybe…

In Hunger Games History class back in school, not much is taught about the 10th Hunger Games, or of how our very own Lucy Gray Baird won it. An entire unit is devoted to District 12's only Victor, and though it's sparse and lacking in content, what is known is that poison was a key element to helping Lucy Gray win. Supposedly, she used poison as a weapon.

Maybe, since the arena has so generously offered it up, I can too.

I decide to test my theory. Finding a nearby flower with an open bud, I procure one of the darts from the set in my pack, and dip it into the nectar I find there. Carefully loading the dart into the blowpipe, coated end first, I take aim at a nearby tree, put the hollow end to my lips and blow.

THUNK.

The dart shoots out and impales itself in the trunk. I watch, waiting. For a moment, nothing happens. Then–

There is a HISSING sound as I observe the poison on the dart eat away at the trunk's bark, turning it a grayish color and eating away at the tree's health like acid.

Lowering the blowpipe from my lips, I smile triumphantly. Perfect.

In the distance, I hear two more cannons fire. BOOM. BOOM.

23 down. 25 left to play – still almost an entire arena's worth to go.

Let's do this.