Chapter Fifteen.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Day One in the Arena
As the tributes emerged from the tubes, the ice surrounding their pedestals started to crack from the vibrations. The twenty-four pedestals were positioned in a circle around a frozen lake, a handful of smaller streams jutting out from the edges of it. The lake was ringed with tightly-packed birch trees, their barks reinforced with a thick layer of ice and the branches coated in a light dusting of snow.
The sky was gray with slivers of sunlight peeking through the gaps in the thick clouds, shining down on the cubic, horn-shaped Cornucopia made of white, shiny metal. The curved tail of the structure spiraled upwards. The tributes looked around them, turning side-to-side, looking up at the sky and down at the frozen water beneath them that led to the depths of the unknown. Beyond the frozen lake and the densely packed forest, out of the line of sight of the tributes, thick blocks of jagged icebergs encircled the arena, stretching high into the air.
The wintery scene was frigid. White. Quiet.
Above the Cornucopia, holographic numbers appeared, and the countdown started.
24…
Caspian groaned, rubbing his temples to brush away the grogginess. He didn't feel well. His mentors let him have a drink – or two, or three, he couldn't remember – to celebrate the Games. He had to remind himself that he was now in the arena, not a bar in District Four. He would've preferred to be in the latter, though.
23…
Donegan found his allies, locking eyes with each of them, and when Rhea smiled at him, he looked away. He had not spoken to her since the last night of training, and for a moment, as he watched her hunched over, her fingers balled into a fist, he wondered if he was wrong for how he treated her. She was clearly not the same girl who was reaped in District Ten. She seemed stronger – emotionally, at least – but Donegan didn't think that was redeeming enough.
22…
Cassia stared at the tributes around her, noticing the eagerness on their faces. Their eyebrows were furrowed, they bit down on their lip, and they were in a running stance, prepared to run as fast as they could once the gong sounded. She tried to mimic their expressions and put her own game face on. She wasn't the happy-go-lucky girl from District Three anymore.
21…
Beau thought of his mother. Of her standing on her pedestal during her Games. He thought of the other District Twelve mentors, Celosia and Axel, standing on their pedestal, just like he was. He thought of Celosia consoling Ashra, who he assumed was hysterical. He thought of Axel watching him on his television screen, sitting in a dark, cold room. Beau wanted to win, just like everyone else in that circle. If his mother could win, so could he.
20…
Hardy almost secured a spot in the Career alliance. But, almost wasn't good enough – not for his father, for his friends, for District Six, for the Capitol. Not for himself. Like Georgia said, if he wanted to join the strongest alliance in the Games, he would have to kill, and he planned on doing so. He would do anything to be the person he so desperately wanted to be.
19…
Renour repeated Georgia's last words to him in his mind. They didn't sit right with him; he was not putting on an act. He was different from the rest of the Careers, from the rest of District Two. But, he wasn't willing to die. He would do what he had to do to return to District Two, to start a new life for himself. If that meant playing the part of a Career, then so be it; he focused on what would come of him after the Hunger Games.
18…
Kit had it all figured out. She had two allies that she could depend on, and they would all survive the bloodbath, find a hiding spot, and relax and cook dinner for the night. They would sleep, and as the number of tributes dwindled down, she would eventually leave them. Then, she would win and return to District Five, where she would serve as a mentor in her free time but her main passion would be revolutionizing the way Panem generates energy.
17…
Amias scanned the circle of tributes, locating his allies first and foremost, and then looking at the tributes near him to strategize. To his left, the girl from District Four stood tall, her heels angled upwards, prepared to leap off of her pedestal as soon as the gong sounded. To his right was the girl from District Six who was looking back-and-forth from the Cornucopia to the trees behind her. To run or to fight. Normally, Amias would feel compelled to run, but he felt like he had no choice to fight in the arena.
16…
Rhea was still the scared girl from District Ten, but she felt different. Empowered. She did as much as she could in the short amount of time she had in the Capitol to train. To learn. To listen to her allies and her mentors. Really, there was never enough time in the world to prepare her for the Hunger Games. She blamed her father for this, and she resented him for it. She hoped he was happy with his life decisions.
15…
Ciana thought that, although she was scared, she did this to herself. She volunteered, knowing that she would be in the arena, even if she didn't think too much about it at the time of the reaping. The old Ciana would have wallowed in self-pity, mad at the world, at anyone else except herself, but this was her doing. Like she realized at the meet-and greet, Ciana was in charge of her own future. She was ready to start anew.
14…
Nereida was focused, like always. She stared intently at the Cornucopia, noting the arrangement of weapons and supplies, devising a plan of action. She would run straight for the Cornucopia, circling around the edges, grabbing whatever weapon she could find. She would kill if she had to, but that wasn't her priority; securing supplies and weapons, and – although she was indifferent towards them – protecting her allies were more important.
13…
Cara nervously played with the plaited leather bracelet on her wrist, counting down the seconds in her head. She spotted her allies, Amias, Donegan, and Rhea, who were spread out among the circle of tributes. She hoped that they would all make it out of the bloodbath, but she knew not to be so naive. She prepared herself for the inevitability of them dying. I come first, she reminded herself. My allies come second.
12…
Avena rubbed her face, her cheeks burning from the cold air. She was scared, but the mere sight of Aedan, only a few pedestals away from her, made her feel safe. He would protect her if anything bad was going to happen. That provided her with a fleeting sense of comfort. She would be okay – he would make sure of it.
11…
Cleo stood proudly on her pedestal – literally and metaphorically. Nestled deep into the Cornucopia, she spotted a bow and arrow; that was going to be her weapon. As her allies took care of the tributes that dared to enter the Cornucopia, she would deal with those who were running away, trying to escape through the trees. Her allies were meddlesome, but they were useful. Somewhat useful, she reminded herself. Not useful enough that they stood a chance at winning. Winning was reserved for her and for her only.
10…
Marcella's lips trembled, the piercing cold bringing her back to the frigid nights on the streets of District Twelve, huddling closely with her sister's for warmth. Not even the Hunger Games would threaten their inseparable bond. She was used to these conditions. She was used to fending for herself. She was ready for whatever the Hunger Games would throw at her.
9…
Everett started the morning at an all-time high but as the realization settled in – that there were twenty-three other teenagers who wanted to survive, to win, just as badly as him – it dropped to an all-time low. He felt jittery and he shook out his hands, counting down the time in his head, and although his allies weren't too far from him, that wasn't enough to calm his nerves. This is my chance, he thought. To improve my life.
8…
Alden did want to be there; he was cold and tired. He spent the night before arguing with his mentors, and in retrospect, they were not helpful to him at all. All they did was nag him to not complain, to talk to the other tributes, to not whine about wanting to talk to his father. Speaking of, he hoped that his father would stick to his promise and send him food in the arena. He'd be hungry soon.
7…
Gunnar processed his surroundings, an anxious feeling tugging at him; the arena, the bloodbath, the tributes were all too unpredictable for his liking. Him and his allies devised a plan, but it wasn't concrete enough. Get supplies and run, that's what they decided. It was too open-ended for Gunnar, but that's what he planned on doing regardless. They would figure out the rest of the Games later when they reunited.
6…
Drachma floated the idea of betrayal – killing one, or two, or all of his allies – but he knew the bloodbath wasn't the time for that. All of his allies, including Georgia, were starting to get under his skin. The shit-talking. The gossiping. The cliqueness. It was all so juvenile. Drachma was too dignified to stoop to their level. They'll be gone in due time.
5…
Aedan was cold, but it was nothing new for him. The weather conditions reminded him of District Nine in the winter-time, with the icicles hanging off of the branches of the trees and a gray overcast in the sky. He located Avena on the other side of the circle of tributes, the distance between them making her appear more petite than she was, and he ignored his own ambivalence towards her. He needed to protect not only her, but also himself. They both needed to survive.
4…
Caris wanted to run far away from the bloodbath, avoiding it altogether, but the conditions in the arena made her think otherwise. She wouldn't be able to survive in the cold without food, water, or another layer of clothing. She thought of her sister, who was once in her position, standing on her pedestal, counting down the seconds until the gong sounded. She died within seconds and Caris swore to herself, to her brother, that the same wouldn't happen to her. I can do this, she reassured herself. I can win.
3…
Orion – the local wild child that rarely took anything seriously in District Seven – shocked himself as he stood on his pedestal, his toes and fingers tingling. Now that he was in the arena, he was taking the Hunger Games seriously. He was in a life or death situation, and he cherished his life – what is the purpose of life, anyways? – and didn't want it to end anytime soon. There was ample time to cause a ruckus after he won.
2…
Denali smirked to herself, wanting to wave and blow a kiss to Nero and his family, but she shook her head, focusing on the Cornucopia and her allies. She knew what her strategy was since she stepped foot into the Capitol; the bloodbath was not her scene – none of this was, but she was managing – and so she would avoid it at all costs. She'd stay back, scouting the area, keeping an eye on her allies to make sure they were safe.
1…
Georgia looked at the faces of each tribute one last time. She thought of each one of them dying, bringing her one step closer to the prize. Ever since she was a child, she revered the Hunger Games and everything it had to offer. She trained and volunteered to win, and in order to do that, she had to kill. Unfortunately for the other tributes, that meant nothing to her. This was Georgia's game to win and she would do whatever it took.
"Let the One Hundred-and-Twentieth Hunger Games begin!"
Georgia leaped off of her pedestal, her feet slamming down onto the ice. She jumped at the immediate sound of a crack, glancing down at her feet to see cracks rippling through the sheet of ice. She took one more step, and there was another crack. Crack.
Georgia was tickled by the feeling of something cold grazing her face. She wiped her face, looking up at the sky to see small, indistinguishable flakes of snow falling from the sky, coating the lake and Cornucopia.
"Fuck this," Georgia snarled, barreling forward, and as she neared the Cornucopia, she spotted an indvidiual in her perihperal vision, their frame smaller than most. She picked up her pace, arms pumping with every stride, and jumped forward, grabbing the first item she could get her hands on. It was a small, hand-sized pick.
She spun around, nearly colliding with the boy in front of her, and she drove the pick right into the boy from District Eight's stomach. He froze, yelping, and she retracted her arm, flipped the pick around in her hand, and stabbed him again in the neck. Blood squirted out, and Georgia's eyes trailed it as it dripped to the ground, dark red seeping into the white snow.
One down.
At the sight of another tribute, she hurled the ice pick out of her hands, completely missing the girl. Georgia's grunt and the incoming weapon startled the girl and she dropped to the ground. The pick clashed against the Cornucopia, the sound of metal hitting it masked by the heavy footsteps crunching against the ice and exasperated panting as the tributes rushed to get their hands on supplies and weapons.
The girl attempted to flee the Cornucopia, but Caspian jumped in front of her, no weapons in his hands. He spread his legs out, raising his hands, trying to predict which way she'd go. Georgia rushed forward, scooping up an axe on the way, and she gripped her fingers around it, unfamiliar with the curved handle and blade. She raised the weapon above her, swiping at the girl as she scrambled to stand up, nipping her in the arm, tearing through her jacket and thermal, blood dripping from the wound. The girl collapsed back on the ground, putting her hands arm over head, struggling to stand back up.
"Move," Georgia snarled, pointing the axe at Caspian. Fucking useless. "She's mine. Find someone else."
Caspian mumbled to himself, turning around to see the girls from District Three and District Twelve moving through the Cornucopia in unison. They didn't leave each other's side and they watched over each other as they reached for supplies. Caspian was more in awe at how in sync they were, at how efficient they were as allies. He couldn't say the same about his own alliance.
The two girls were around his younger sister's age, who he vowed to protect. To give a new life, far away from their father. He couldn't kill the two girls, not when his sister was probably watching her older brother on the television screen.
While Caspian was daydreaming about his life back in District Four, Georgia swiped at the girl again, the girl reactively jumping to the right, tripping over a crate. She toppled over, and Georgia raised the weapon again, plummeting the axe deep into the girl's back. Georgia took a step backwards, leaving the ice axe in the girl's back, the sunlight reflecting off of the metallic print on her back. It was a 10.
Two down, Georgia thought. Twenty-one more to go.
If Caspian didn't get out of her way, he would've been number three.
As Beau ran towards the Cornucopia, he slid on the ice, falling forwards, legs flailing behind him. Everett was distracted, ignoring his immediate surroundings as he was trying to find his allies, and suddenly, his feet dug into something, and he fell forward, noticing it was a boy on the way down. He threw his hands in front of him, cushioning the impact, and he instantly flipped onto his back as he hit the ice.
Before he fully realized what he was doing, he balled his fingers into a fist, throwing one punch out towards the boy as they were both on the ground. It was instinctive. His fist collided with the boy's arm, and Beau tried to stand back up, slipping on the ice again. Everett grabbed the boy's leg as he tried to get up, bringing him back down, falling on top of him. Everett pushed the boy off of him, hunched over, and straddled Beau.
Everett punched him. And then he punched him again. Everett wouldn't stop thrashing out at Beau, blood pouring out of his nose, his eyelids tightly shut. When Beau stopped resisting, Everett stood up, stepping over his body as he ran towards the Cornucopia, leaving Beau's limp body. Beau was inhaling sharply, gasping for air, and he let out muffled groans, reaching his hand towards the Cornucopia, attempting to drag himself along the ice, but it was futile.
No one was going to save him.
Denali was right all along – being a victor's son wasn't going to protect him in the arena.
Everett met his allies, Gunnar and Kit, half-way towards the Cornucopia, backpacks already in their hands, and Kit glanced at Everett's bloody hands. Everett wasn't sure how much time passed from his scuffle with Beau, and Kit grabbed Everett's shoulders and spun him on his feels. They started to dart towards the trees, and suddenly, Gunnar let out a pained hiss, falling to his knees. Kit surveyed his body to see an ice pick lodged just below his back near his shoulder, and Kit forced him to his feet, tugging at him to continue running.
Caspian readied another ice pick in his hands and released it, but the three were gone before it could find its target.
"Get it out of me!" Gunnar shouted, arching his back, grunting with every step. "Kit, get it out!"
"Not yet!" Kit shouted back. "You'll bleed out!"
Everett was distraught from what had just happened with Beau, Gunnar was lightheaded from the excruciating pain, and Kit was not prepared to emotionally and physically take care of her allies just yet, so under Kit's discretion, they ran as far away from the Cornucopia as they could.
On the other side of the Cornucopia, as soon the gong sounded, Denali jogged towards the Cornucopia; it was a light, casual jog, as it was never her intention to actually go anywhere near the Cornucopia. She stayed back, watching her ally, Renour, dart past the other tributes, grabbing two weapons and two backpacks. Denali intentionally fell forward, landing on her knees, scooping up some snow in her hands and sprinkling it onto her suit.
Denali was not going to risk her life for a pack of crackers. That's what her allies were for.
As she was on the ground, she couldn't spot her other ally, Beau. She only saw Renour popping in and out of the Cornucopia, pushing the male from District Ten down to the ground and stepping over him. Renour slipped behind the Cornucopia, and Denali stood back up, jogging backwards towards the trees. She stepped off of the frozen lake, gripping her hands around the trunk of a tree, watching the bloodbath unfold in front of her, trying to locate Beau.
He was nowhere to be found.
"Over here!" Denali called out, waving her hand in the air to get Renour's attention. When he came over to her, she started rubbing her knee, feigning injury. She did technically fall, and to her disappointment, Renour was either less concerned with her well-being or was unconvinced, and he stood on the lake, spear held out in front of him. Beau would've fell for it. Denali started to panic that she couldn't find him.
"Are you okay?" Renour asked, scanning the bloodbath to find Beau.
"I'm… I'm fine," Denali replied, panting. Renour wasn't looking at her as she responded. "It hurts."
"Where is Beau?" Renour said, his voice sounding deeper, more solemn, than usual. "We need to go. The Careers are too close."
"I don't know," Denali replied. "I haven't seen him."
Renour and Denali hid behind the trees, and as the other tributes started to scatter, fleeing the scene of the bloodbath, they still couldn't find Beau. Renour was intent on leaving him behind and getting as far away as possible, but Denali was set on finding him.
"Let's go!"
"No!" Denali quipped. "We need to wait for Beau!"
Beau hadn't served his full purpose yet.
Hardy ran heavy-footed towards the Cornucopia, snow crunching underneath him with every step, and grabbed the first weapon he could see. He spun around, tightening his grip around the hilt of the shortsword, looking to see who the closest tribute was. He was on a mission to join the Careers and he did not plan on letting Georgia down. On letting himself down.
Then, he saw her. It was his District partner, Caris.
Caris saw as Hardy took a step closer to him, and she took a step to the side, sussing out what his intentions were, convincing herself that her own District partner wouldn't try to kill her, but as he raised the weapon, she realized what he was doing. She attempted to scurry away, but he brought the sword down, slicing through the back of her suit, tearing through her skin. She screamed in pain, falling forwards, and Hardy eyes widened.
What did I just do? He thought, dropping the weapon to the ground. Caris lied there, her fingers twitching, trying to reach for anything she could reach. Caris.
"I…," Hardy uttered. He killed his own District partner. "I… Caris…"
Hardy did have what it took to be a Career. He killed, just like Georgia wanted. He proved himself worthy after all; to the Careers, to District Six, to Panem.
His image was more important than his own morals.
Amias was grabbing as many backpacks as he could and as he reached to grab a knife that was sitting on top of a crate, he noticed another hand going for it. He looked up, locking eyes with the girl from District Nine, and as they stared at each other, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her ally, Aedan rushing towards them.
Oh no.
To Aedan, Amias was too close to Avena, and although Amias wouldn't have done anything to her – he wouldn't hurt someone so young, so weak, so helpless – Aedan couldn't take that risk. She was his ally and he needed to protect her. Amias threw his hands up, but Aedan forcefully pushed Amias down, and he slammed against a crate, his head colliding with the thick layer of ice covering the water.
Aedan grabbed the knife and pressed his foot firmly into Amias' stomach, hovering over him with it, the blade facing Amias. He stared up at the blade, and although he wanted to beg for his life, the amount of pressure Aedan was putting on his chest told Amias all he needed to know. Aedan wasn't going to let him run away.
It was over. He wouldn't be returning to District Eleven.
Amias closed his eyes as Aedan plummeted the knife into his chest.
Drachma was vying after Ciana as she was trying to flee the bloodbath.
Cleo raised her bow, trying to focus her aim; it looked like Drachma and Ciana were doing a dance, jumping back and forth, trying to out-maneuver the other as they slid on the ice. Cleo shot an arrow, missing Ciana, and Drachma reactively took a large step backwards, losing his balance on the ice, nearly falling. Ciana and him both started to slip as they scrambled to run not only from each other, but from Cleo too.
Drachma swung his axe at Ciana, and she threw up her arms in front of her to deflect the blow, and the blade cut through her jacket and thermal, tearing right through the skin. Ciana shrieked, and Drachma lunged forward, swinging his axe, and she pushed back with all of her body weight, tears forming in her eyes. He swung again, and this time, he grazed her shoulder, blood staining her suit.
Cleo shot another arrow, and although it missed the girl, it distracted the both of them. She wanted to kill her. She deserved it. Not Drachma.
Drachma and Cleo locked eyes. In the brief moment of repose, Ciana slipped away, moaning with every step, clutching onto her wounds, and met up with Orion, who was hiding behind a few of the trees, peering out from the side. When Drachma started running towards her, scooping up his axe, raising it in the air, Cleo raised her bow.
What the fuck is he doing?
Cleo released an arrow, her aim completely off, and the arrow skid across the ice. Drachma continued to barrel towards her, reaching her before she could nock another arrow, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, both of them falling back into the wall of the Cornucopia. Cleo grasped for the bow as it slid on the ice, but Drachma swatted her hands away, losing his own weapon.
"Dra–"
Drachma grunted, his hands clawing at Cleo's face, and Cleo tossed her head back-and-forth as Drachma's fingers dug at her eyes and in her mouth. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he pinned her down, hovering over her face, and when she spit directly into his eyes, he winced.
Suddenly, he stopped flailing, his body collapsing onto Cleo.
Nereida kicked Drachma's body off of her and extended her hand to help Cleo stand up.
"Th-thank...," Cleo stuttered on her words, rattled. "Y-you…"
I didn't do that for you, Nereida thought. Nereida didn't do it for Cleo's sake. She did it because she trusted Cleo more than Drachma, and more than Georgia and Caspian, for that matter. She couldn't let Cleo die just yet.
Cleo gawked at Drachma's body, unable to form any coherent words or thoughts. It must've been part of a bigger scheme to get rid of her, and she had an inkling who told him to kill her.
On the other side of the Cornucopia, Denali and Renour were standing over Beau's body, going back-and-forth about what to do with Beau. He was technically alive – barely breathing, but alive – but when Georgia saw the two of them dawdling, she sprinted towards them, weapons by her side.
Cleo had the same idea; not to run after Denali and Renour, but to run after Georgia.
"We have to leave him!" Renour shouted, dropping Beau onto the ground. He glanced down at his body, and when looked back up at Denali, she was clearly frazzled. Her eyes darted from Renour to Beau to Georgia. "Denali!"
Renour disappeared behind the trees and reluctantly, Denali followed, looking over her shoulder to a glimpse of Beau one last time. Georgia and Cleo reached the tree-line at the same time, and Georgia slowed down, letting Denali and Renour slip away through the trees. Cleo, however, was still barreled over, and as she approached Georgia, she bent down, grappling both of Georgia's legs and bringing her down with her.
"What the–"
Georgia and Cleo wrestled with each other, struggling to overpower the other, but it didn't seem like a violent fight. Georgia wiggled her hands out from under Cleo, and with one swift motion, slapped her across the face.
"You tried to kill me," Cleo said, huffing, her skin red from Georgia's hand's impact. "You told Drachma to kill me!"
"Nah," Georgia replied, the casualness of her response infuriating Cleo even more. "It wasn't me."
"You're lying!" Cleo accused. "You want me dead!"
"I don't care enough about you to want you dead, sweetie," Georgia retorted. "Not everything revolves around you."
"You're lying!" Cleo screamed. "You told him to!"
While the two of them went back and forth, Cleo accusing Georgia of plotting against her, Georgia responding indifferently, Nereida followed the trail of blood, leading to Beau who managed to crawl through the trees. She could hear her allies' voices, still shouting at one another, and she bent down, slipping out an ice pick from her jacket pocket.
"You're lucky I found you," she whispered. "Georgia would've done much worse to you."
Georgia always hated the victor's son. There was always something about him that she despised. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Beau looked up at her, his eyes swollen, already starting to turn black and blue, his lips crusted with blood. His face was deformed, his delicate features barely recognizable anymore. Nereida pressed the blade against his throat, and in one swift motion, dragged it across, and turned away before she could see any blood.
Nereida killed Drachma, and now, she killed Beau. The former was out of defending her ally and the latter was ending someone's suffering. It wasn't the type of kills that Nereida thought she would get in the bloodbath, and if anything, the two deaths proved that the Games were not going to be what Nereida anticipated when she first volunteered.
"I didn't tell him to do shit!" Georgia shouted, and Cleo, flustered, let out a high-pitched shriek, and walking towards Georgia with her knife raised. Georgia stood her ground, firmly planting her bloody spear into the ice. "Watch where you point that fucking knife, Cleo."
"Are you going to try and kill me too?! Try it! I dare you!" Cleo shouted, and she spun around, pointing her knife at the other Careers, and when she spotted the male from District Six getting closer to Georgia, she pointed it directly at him. "And what the fuck is he doing here?"
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sound of six cannons boomed throughout the arena, silencing the Career's bickering.
Caspian wanted to make a joke – one shot of liquor per dead tribute? – but he decided against it.
"Oh, by the way," Georgia said, shattering the silence that the Careers grew to cherish. "Meet your new ally, Hardy."
"New ally?" Nereida asked.
"And we don't have any say in this?" Caspian perked up. He was rather quiet during the bloodbath – too many cocktails the night before.
"No," Georgia said shortly. "We're down a few; first Renour, then Drachma. Who killed him, anyways?"
"I did," Cleo deadpanned. All of the Careers glanced at Drachma's dead, limp body. Nereida cocked her head, confused why Cleo would take responsibility for it. "And if anyone else lays a finger on me, your cannon will be the next thing we hear."
"I saw those arrows you were shooting at him," Georgia replied, smirking; she was just as suspicious of Cleo. "Seems suspicious. Did he attack you or did you attack him?"
Cleo shook her head; she was trying to kill the girl from District Seven. Drachma got in her way. If her arrows provoked him in any way, then that was his fault.
"I'm gonna' miss the little guy," Caspian said, and Cleo glared at him. "I prefer you, babe. Don't worry."
When the conversation didn't involve Georgia, she grew impatient quickly. Now that they were in the arena, she really had no reason to pretend to be interested in what any of them had to say.
"You're all dismissed," Georgia said with a wave of her hand, interrupting the conversation. She nudged Hardy with her arm, and they walked towards the Cornucopia, ready to do an inventory of everything in the Cornucopia. "Great job today, everyone!"
Georgia knew Cleo was up to something, and she wouldn't be surprised if Cleo somehow got Caspian and Nereida on board, so she was prepared to feed into whatever image Hardy was desperately trying to piece together. Hardy was bummed he didn't receive any more acknowledgement from his allies; not even a pat on the back for killing, but he wasn't seeking the Careers' approval.
The Careers spent the rest of the day in silence, internally processing what had happened that morning.
Scheming for what was to come.
Donegan led the way, guiding Cara through the trees, but he suddenly stopped, digging his spear into the ground. There was a trail of blood. He followed the dots of blood here and there, leading to a tree that had a bloody handprint around the trunk.
"This way," he said, and Cara trailed behind him. Cara wanted to suggest otherwise, but she was still rattled by the loss of not only one, but two of their allies, Amias and Rhea. She watched the boy from District Nine stab Amias, and as the pair from District Nine ran away, Cara wanted to run after them.
She witnessed both Rhea's and Amias' death. Now, she was left with Donegan, who she didn't trust all that much to begin with. In terms of the Games, Donegan meant nothing to Cara. He was nice, but she didn't let herself form more of an opinion than that.
Suddenly, Donegan saw two figures dart between the trees, one of them evidently bleeding out. Their voices were faint, and Donegan ran forward, zig-zagging through the trees, continuing to follow the trail of blood.
"Ah!"
The girl from District Seven tripped over a rock, screaming as she fell and slipped on the ice, and the boy from District Seven looked over his shoulder. Donegan saw this as an opportunity to run faster, and although Orion contemplated running back and picking up Ciana, she continued to put distance between them all. Ciana watched Orion run away, hopping over rocks and twigs, and curled her knees up to her chest. Her white suit was covered in blood, oozing out from the deep wound across her chest. When Donegan got closer, Ciana let out another shrill scream, her voice full of desperation and pain.
"What do we do now?" Cara asked, still alert to make sure that Orion was gone. "You brought us here. Now what?"
Donegan was silent. Cara stepped closer to the girl, weary of her surroundings. Ciana had tears streaming down her face, whimpering as she patted her hands on her wounds. Blood was seeping through her suit and she whispered incoherent words in a faint voice.
"It… it hurts," Ciana mumbled, wincing as she tried to lift up her head. "I'm bleeding…"
"I know, I know," Cara replied, scowling at Donegan. Why did he want to follow the trail? Why did he want to run after whoever was injured? This was his fault and Cara wasn't sure why she was the one dealing with the poor girl.
"I want to go home," Ciana mumbled, and perhaps that was the closure Ciana needed. She hoped her parents could hear that, that they too would understand that this was all a mistake. She closed her eyes, shortly breathing in and out, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain. Orion left her, but she wasn't mad at him; she was mad at herself for ever putting herself in this situation. She would've put herself first in that situation too.
Ciana would've done anything to go home. She wanted to see her parents again. All of her siblings.
Cara placed her hands gently on Ciana as she lied in the snow, shivering, and reached for the backpack next to her. She tossed Ciana's backpack to Donegan, and as Cara stood up, he began to walk away.
"Should we leave her?" Cara called after him. "She's injured."
"Oh," Donegan uttered. "I…"
"Please," Ciana mumbled, hands shaking as she held them out to Donegan and Cara. Please don't leave. I can't be alone. "Plea… please…"
"I don't know what's worse," Cara said, mostly to herself. She didn't want to leave Ciana to die alone. She didn't want to leave her to bleed out. As Cara paced back and forth, Donegan rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a first aid kit and a vial with a dark purple liquid.
Donegan sighed. "It's like they do this on purpose."
"What?" Cara asked, reaching for the vial. "Oh. Poison."
"Yep," Donegan replied. "So, there you go. Take your pick. Waste our medical supplies or kill her."
Ciana was drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyelids twitching, her hands falling to the ground limply. She was losing copious amounts of blood, the snow and ice tinted red. Cara gripped the vial tightly, bending down next to Ciana. Cara tilted her head backwards, looking up at the sky, and twisted the vial open.
Cara didn't want to do it, but the girl was suffering.
Cara tilted the vial, dripping only a few droplets into Ciana's mouth. Her throat twitched, and as she swallowed it, Cara tossed the vial onto the ground, burying her face in her hands. She let out a muffled scream and turned around, gesturing for Donegan to follow her. He stepped over Ciana's body, but first, he scooped up the vial. He looked at his ally, and with the vial in his hand, he contemplated running the other way, but instead, he followed her.
He slipped it into his pocket for future use.
Ciana gurgled, a white foam bubbling out of her mouth, and her body flailed. After a few seconds, she fell motionless. No more groans. No more twitching. Nothing.
Boom!
The sound of Ciana's cannon – the cannon that Cara caused, is how Cara saw it – rang throughout the arena. Donegan caught up to Cara, and for the rest of the night, they didn't say a word to each other. Cara wasn't sure if she would've killed her without Donegan's peer pressure. She knew it was one or the other – they would have to kill her or leave her there – and Cara would've felt guilty either way.
Cara wasn't sure if she made the right choice.
About killing her. About her allies.
Denali and Renour explored the arena in silence.
Denali watched him skeptically, assessing her remaining ally. Seeing how he treated Beau, how he just abandoned him, was telling. He could have fought back. He could have made more of an effort to save him. She was also partially responsible for leaving him there, but Renour was stronger. He had a weapon, while Denali had a hurt knee – at least she pretended she did, but Renour didn't ask about it.
It was clear that Denali needed to have a different approach to Renour than she did with Beau.
"You're unusually quiet," Renour commented, dragging his spear through the snow behind him. "Do you miss him?"
"No," Denali replied a little too quickly. "I mean, yes, I do. He was nice."
"Then what's wrong?"
"My knee," Denali said, rubbing her right knee. "It still hurts."
"Oh, right. How does it feel?" Renour replied. His tone, his words, were indifferent.
Denali dropped the act. "I'll be okay."
Denali would be okay, now that she had Renour as an ally. He wasn't one for dramatics, apparently, and wasn't as easily persuaded as Beau. In only a matter of seconds, her whole strategy for the Hunger Games changed, pivoting from Beau to Renour.
Beau offered her something – he was a victor's son, after all, and she expected there to be an endless stream of sponsor gifts – but Renour offered her something different. He was physically strong. He knew how to use a weapon, while Beau wouldn't even lay a finger on a sword in the training center. Beau proved himself to be weak, to be useless in the arena.
Denali saw potential in Renour.
Rest in peace, Beau, Denali thought, smirking. But, good riddance.
"We're almost there, Avena."
"I'm tired!" Avena whined, sluggishly dragging her feet through the snow. "Aedan, I'm tired!"
"We need to keep going," Aedan snapped. The tone in his voice, how deep it sounded, startled Avena. She stopped in her tracks, staring at him, and when he saw she wasn't following him anymore, he turned around. Avena's lip was trembling, fighting back tears. He wasn't being mean, Avena was just scared. Tired. Cold.
Avena's eyes drifted to the knife in his hands. The knife that killed Amias. He killed someone and that confused Avena. He did it to protect me, she reminded herself. He saved my life. Yet, as she watched Aedan kill him with pure terror in her eyes, she saw Aedan differently.
"I'm sorry," Aedan said, concealing the knife behind his backpack.
"My legs hurt," Avena whined, and Aedan resisted the urge to snap back again. To roll his eyes. To sigh again. To do anything that would convey his frustration with her. "Can you carry me?"
"Uh, sure," Aedan said, hunching over. Avena hopped onto his back, wrapping her legs around him, and he hoisted her up. Aedan continued walking, struggling to keep going now with the weight of Avena on top of him, but he persisted.
Avena rested her head on his head, closing her eyes. She was happy Aedan chose to save her, but he still killed Amias. He was just as bad, as scary, as the Careers. He was a killer like them, even if it was to save her. A thank you wouldn't express how Avena felt; she wasn't thankful that she killed Amias. She didn't know how she felt about it. It was either Amias or her, she knew that much. Aedan could have ran away, letting Amias kill her. She was too small, too frail, to fight back.
If Avena wanted to survive, she needed Aedan.
She wasn't sure if he needed her.
After a swift, forceful motion, Kit ripped the blade out of Gunnar's shoulder. He yelped in pain, and Kit lathered ointment on a bandage and tightly wrapped his shoulder with it, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. His thermal and jacket were already stained red, but Gunnar wasn't one to complain. His shoulder throbbed and he stood up, his legs trembling, and immediately sat back down in the cold snow.
"That's going to hurt," Kit said, tossing a packet of dried fruit to Gunnar. "Everett, are you hungry?"
Gunnar took a bite of out of the chewy, sweet dried fruit, wincing as he swallowed. His whole body hurt, but he wasn't sure it was from the pain alone or if it was intensified from by his nerves. By the pure shock of almost being killed. He left the bloodbath alive, but with a deep wound. At least Kit was willing to help him, unlike Everett.
"Everett?"
Everett sat on the ground, hunched, his head bowed between his legs. He rocked back and forth, thinking about the boy from District Twelve. The boy he thought he killed. He thought of Beau's screams. All of the blood. He looked down at his own hands, digging them in the snow to wash away the stained blood.
"Everett?" Kit repeated, placing her hand on his back. Everett looked up at her, his eyes glassy. "Oh. Are you crying?"
"What's stopping me from killing you?" Everett blurted out. "Like I killed Beau."
"Self-control," Kit deadpanned. "Besides, you don't even know if you killed him."
I did, Everett thought. I killed him.
Kit's words were only to distract Everett, to make him think that maybe – just maybe – one of the Careers finished him off, but Beau's bloody face was ingrained into Everett's head. He left him there, unconscious, bleeding. Everett was convinced he killed Beau.
Somewhere in the arena, Nereida's ice pick had Beau's blood on it, but Everett didn't know that. The guilt of a nonexistent murder ate him alive.
"You're not that strong," Kit replied, and she meant it; she doubted that Everett could kill a boy by only punching him. "It was only a few punches."
Gunnar pointed to the sky. "We'll see what happened soon enough."
"Not helping," Kit snapped, glaring at Gunnar. Gunnar was sorting their supplies, dividing the food and water, weapons, and medical supplies evenly between them. He was frustrated with Everett's mopey reaction to Beau. Perhaps his mentors didn't give him the same advice Gunnar's mentor gave him; to kill in the bloodbath if you have to. "Even if you did kill him, Everett, it's okay."
"What?"
"This is the Hunger Games," Kit replied. "Where you either kill or get killed."
As the sun began to set on the arena, the clouds disappeared, and the moon rose in the sky, illuminating the arena. A frigid breeze drifted through the arena, and Marcella and Cassia shivered, their teeth chattering. Marcella and Cassia slumped against the trees, panting, using their backpacks as a cushion.
"No more running, please," Cassia said, inhaling and exhaling a long, deep breath. "We're far enough."
Marcella nodded, and although she wanted to continue running, to continue putting more and more distance between her and the other tributes, her body resisted. They were both tired, their bodies aching, and they needed to rest.
The national anthem of Panem blared throughout the arena, the sound of trumpets and string instruments ringing in their ears. The faces of the deceased tributes appeared in the sky, starting with the boy from District Eight. The boy's face was replaced by the girl from District Ten, smiling down at them.
"This is so morbid," Cassia whispered, scooting closer to Marcella. They sat side-by-side, bodies resting on top of each other, peering up at the sky. It was cold that night and each other's body heat was all they had.
The girl from District Six's face was up next. She was around the same age as Cassia and Marcella, and they leaned into each other, thankful that they both survived the bloodbath. It was an easy feat for both of them, surprisingly. They ran in, grabbed whatever they could, and got out of there. Cassia didn't get her hopes up, though; she knew it would only get harder as the days in the arena went on.
The girl's face faded into the boy from District Eleven's face. Marcella and Cassia were surprised at the face that came after him; the boy from District One was up in the sky and they wondered what happened. A fallen Career on the first day wasn't normal. Then, when the District Twelve boy's face appeared in the sky, Marcella's eyes widened and she gasped. It looked like one of Marcella's dreams finally came true; she did see Beau's face in the sky on the first night after all.
"Beau."
"Oh," Cassia uttered. "How?"
Marcella didn't know and didn't want to find out. That's exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? For him to die? She didn't feel bad for him, but she felt bad for his mother. Marcella imagined her in hysterics, weeping that her son died. She was a warm, caring mother with a wicked son.
The final face in the sky that night was the girl from District Seven. Cassia remembered her; she was the volunteer, the ally of the boy she climbed on the monkey bars with in the training center. Her face disappeared, revealing the bright white stars in the sky, and the music stopped, the arena now silent except for the two girl's breathing. Marcella and Cassia leaned into each other, resting their bodies and closing their eyes for the night.
They survived the first day.
Together.
Orion rested his head on his backpack, shivering from the cold breeze. He dragged his fingers around in circles, making designs in the snow, thinking of all the tributes that died. Of Ciana, who he felt partially responsible for. When he saw two individuals approaching them, he pleaded with Ciana, begging for her to keep going. For her to not give up. For her not to die. But, Donegan and Cara got too close. He had to make up his mind – to run or to help her – and he chose the former. It was two against one.
I'm sorry, Ciana.
An apology wasn't enough. An apology wouldn't bring her back.
Orion closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but he felt tears starting to build up in his eyes. He flipped onto his back, staring up at the sky, and as the tears streamed down his cheeks, he wanted to scream. At himself for abandoning Ciana. For whatever Donegan and Cara did to her. At the Capitol for being the reason any of them were there.
Ciana's blood was on their hands, not his, and he would make them pay for what they did.
Who's them, though? Donegan and Cara? The Gamemakers? The President?
They were all responsible.
One thing at a time.
First, Orion would sleep. He would figure the rest out tomorrow.
Alden Kellett, District Eight – Placed 24th
Rhea Shetler, District Ten – Placed 23rd
Caris Layart, District Six – Placed 22nd
Amias Yarrow, District Eleven – Placed 21st
Drachma Veitch, District One – Placed 20th
Beau Cairne, District Twelve – Placed 19th
Ciana Mavaro, District Seven – Placed 18th
Author's Note:
APOLOGIES FOR THE LONG CHAPTER.
Do you like my bloodbath format? I came up with it on my own. I'm, like, so smart and creative.
… Just kidding… Thanks jakey121 for the inspiration. I'm not sure what I want to do in the rest of the Arena chapters; do y'all like omniscient? Or do you prefer individual third-person POVs?
To clarify some stuff: The deaths in this chapter were chronological, but read it as different points of the bloodbath, most of them starting from the gong sounding. As you can tell, Day One was truncated; I didn't want to split it into two chapters. The following Arena chapters won't be this long, I promise!
Also, I used to write some type of apology/eulogy to the creators and tributes that died, but honestly… it's a SYOT. Twenty-three need to die and deaths are based on realism, plot potential, personal preference, reviews, etc. There's SO many reasons that go into a death. So, if your tribute died, I hope you stick around, but I understand if you don't! Thank you for submitting and I really enjoyed all of the characters in this story :)
One more also: Poll results are up. Congrats to Aedan for winning!
Last also: Please submit to District11-Olive's SYOT, To the Wolves – submissions close on June 10th!
So, onto questions:
Did anyone die that you didn't expect to in the bloodbath?
Thoughts on the arena? Bloodbath? The tribute interactions?
And a random question: What would your bloodbath strategy be? Would you run away? Go for the supplies in the Cornucopia?