Chapter 43- Terra Coppersmith
The sun rises over the dunes, sending beautiful streaks of pink, gold, and purple into the sky. "It's gorgeous," I say to Fletcher.
"It's not as pretty as you," Fletcher says, flicking my hair.
"Stop it," I say, but I don't mean it. "Is it always this cold in the mornings?" I ask, shivering.
"Maybe this is just a cool morning?" Fletcher suggests, stretching.
"It's not cool, though, it's downright cold," I say, climbing out of our den. The word I would use to describe it is crisp. Like winter, almost. It'll warm up again this afternoon, and I'll be wishing the cold stayed, I'm sure.
"So, what's the plan for today?" Fletcher asks.
"We need food. Water's not a problem, but we definitely need some game today," I say, reaching for my bow and arrows. Grabbing these was certainly a good idea, but as I pick them up, the tribute I took them from flashes before my eyes. I put the boy from 11 out of my mind. It hurts inside to think of him.
"Welcome to Day 5," Fletcher says, climbing out after me. His leg is much better, I can tell. I wish I could have stitched it, though. Never mind, he'll be okay.
"Day 5 already?" I say. "We've been in here for almost a week now."
"Time flies," Fletcher says, zipping his jacket up to his throat. "I wonder how everyone's doing back home."
"I've been wondering that myself," I say. Iry and Deecey won't be awake yet, but I send good thoughts to the both of them. "I hope my sister is doing okay."
"You'll see her soon," Fletcher says, smiling reassuringly. But if I see my sister, that means you're dead, I think.
"What do you say we go hunt?" I say, changing the subject.
"Let's wait a bit. Sun's only just come up," Fletcher says, looking up at the sky. "Besides, look at those clouds. It looks like we're in for some rain."
The clouds that are quickly overtaking the sky are dark, storm grey. Maybe Fletcher has a point. And maybe Woven and Shuttle can send us some more food, if we've got the sponsors for it.
"They'll be driving us together today," Fletcher continues. "I feel it. We're all spread too thinly in the arena; they'll want some action."
"How do you think they'll do it?" I ask, still looking at the sky.
"I don't know."
We watch the sky for a few minutes, trying to figure out what's going on. I think something's going to happen soon, like Fletcher said.
"How do you think Postumius is doing?" Fletcher asks, grinning at me. "I wonder if he's still on his orange kick."
"I hope not, it was dreadful," I say, then laugh. "Remember how they had to drag him away after the Opening Ceremonies?"
Fletcher laughs too. "And everyone was looking at us." It was humiliating in the moment, but now that most of those people are dead, it's not as embarrassing anymore. Just a funny memory.
"I hope he changes his color for next year," I say, then a horrifying thought hits me. "What if he goes and dyes himself orange to finish it off?"
"They'd never allow him back to District 8," Fletcher says solemnly, which causes us both to laugh.
Something cold lands on my cheek, making me jump. "What was that?" I say, looking around. Another falls, then another.
"What the-" Fletcher says, looking at the sky.
"What's going on?" I say, suddenly scared.
"I think it's snowing."
"Snowing? In the desert?" I say doubtfully. Now that I look at them, the clouds do look like snow clouds.
"That would explain the coolness," Fletcher says grimly. Snow? This will be the end of some of us; we're not dressed for winter weather. They dressed us for heat and sand, not cold and snow.
"So what do we do?" I say as the flakes start to come down heavier. They're fluffy and icy cold, catching on my eyelashes and curls.
"The temperature's going down," Fletcher says. "We need some better shelter than what we have here."
"We could climb up the mountain and see if there're any caves or nooks or something up there we can hide in," I say, looking around for our options.
"Might be our best shot. I'll grab some water, before that pool freezes over. I know it's going to," Fletcher says, picking up the water bottles. Suddenly I'm scared that the storm will get worse and I won't be able to find him again.
"I'm coming with you," I say, grabbing his arm. He looks at me, and nods.
"Together," he says.
"Together."
We gather up our gear as quickly as possible, slinging the packs on our backs. We're just about to start out when Fletcher holds me back.
"Nock an arrow," he says. "There's people coming."
"How many? How can you see?" I ask. The snow is falling even harder now, making it difficult to see long distances. Are those shapes in the distance what he's talking about?
"There's a few, not sure how many exactly. But I saw some figures coming closer through the storm. We're in for some company."
"I hope it's not the Careers," I say. "There's more of them than any of us."
Fletcher and I look at each other, then at the approaching tributes.
And the snow falls faster and heavier than ever.