Chapter 10
Once the countdown finishes, and the gong sounds, the landmines around our podiums become disabled, making it possible to safely step off.
Although my mind is racing, my body is still in a lethargic state. This becomes a massive disadvantage as, in those fraction of a moment when just about every other tribute is disorientated by the beauty of the arena, I could've had ran off already.
As it is, I don't gather my wits until other tributes begin moving off their circular podium.
An arrow pulls me out my reverie when it narrowly misses my eye. It still does manage to graze my temple. I look wildly towards the general direction in which the arrow came from. A girl from 8 has already reloaded her crossbow and re-aims it at me before I can even register what just occurred in the short span of no more than ten seconds. Before she has the chance to shoot me again, however, her mouth abruptly explodes in a shower of thick red liquid; blood. The head of a spear protrudes from the centre of her throat. She collapses on the ground. The owner of the spear is nowhere to be seen.
A sudden movement in the corner of my eye has me turning to the left too late. There suddenly comes a sharp burning pain from my left rib and side. I double over, wheezing for air. As I bend over slightly, I glimpse a hand fashioned with a knuckle buster. Twisting my head out of the way, I barely avoid getting hit in the face with the dangerous weapon. By turning my head I lose balance and agonizingly fall on my knees. I hold out my hands to break the inevitable fall. As I try to get up a hand grabs one of my ankles and pulls sharply. I end up flat on my stomach. As they pull me towards them, I claw uselessly for any weapon nearby. When still no weapon can be found, I lift my weight onto my hands, so my torso is off the ground, and do a backwards kick with my free leg. Unable to see, I aim high, hoping to kick the person right in the face. There comes the sound of broken bones and a groan from behind. Immediately the pressure around my ankle loosens. I pull my leg back and turn to see a male tribute from 6 with a hand covering his face. Through his fingers his eyes burn with rage as he takes a couple of steps towards me, a fist balled up, and the knuckle buster glinting sinisterly. Taking advantage of my position, I hastily sweep a leg under both of his. He falls with a crash on his back. I get up and run to a body. Without even thinking, I pull out a throwing knife lodged into it. Turning around, I direct the knife at the same tribute from 6 running towards me. The throwing knife ends up protruding from his forehead. There is time enough to see him crumple to the ground before I turn and run in the direction of the small backpack. I bend and grab the item without slowing down my running pace. All over the meadow there are rings as weapons clash, battle cries, and screams of pain. As I run, scenes of horror register vaguely.
A little girl gets cut in half by a samurai sword. Another tribute takes the full blow of a war hammer right in the stomach which soon looks like nothing more than a black hole mixed in red.
Bodies lay scatter all over the meadow and around the Cornucopia; the foolish ones having risked going towards the heart of the Cornucopia, where even now the Careers prowl the perimeter.
I somehow miraculously make it to the end of the meadow and stand right on the edge of the woods. I stop to catch my breath a little and scope out my surroundings. There doesn't appear to be any tributes around but nonetheless I enter with extreme caution.
Trudging through the woods for what seems like hours I hide behind trees and crouch below bushes whenever footsteps are nearby.
It has not even been safe for me to check the weapons and supplies I left the Cornucopia with.
Eventually I climb up a sturdy tree bearing plenty of leaves excellent for concealment. Perched on its bough and digging through the little pack I discover a bowl, some dried beef, and a blowgun with two dozen darts. I first examine a dart before inspecting the blowgun. What an utterly weak weapon. Small wonder it was placed so far away from the Cornucopia.
A cannon disrupts my bitter thoughts. It is quickly followed by seventeen more. The bloodbath is over, I think. Eighteen died during the initial bloodbath. The cannons usually sound immediately after a death. But given the fact that the number of deaths is hard to monitor during the bloodbath, the cannons sound afterwards, when they can get a definitive number. If the Cornucopia is no longer guarded by living tributes, hovercrafts would be sent in to retrieve the bodies. That doesn't happen until the killer or other tribute is a good distance from the body.
An apple hangs from a branch right in front of me. So ripe does it look that I reach for it when the distinct sound of a leaves rustling and snap reaches my ears. The unmistakable sound of crunching comes next as someone takes a bite of the fruit they had just picked off a tree; the tree right next to mine.
I begin to panic when the person suddenly begins to cough viciously. Then there is a horrible gagging and wheezing sound as they struggle to get oxygen into their lungs. After about half a minute of this, a sudden disquiet falls on the woods. The expected thump of something falling to the ground is muffled by the fire of the cannon.
When the thought of the cannon attracting bloodthirsty tributes occurs, I decide this tree is no longer safe.
The body lies in front of the tree. I examine it, positive no one else was with her. If there were, there would have been some screaming.
The female tribute of 6 looks almost unrecognisable. Her face is an extremely deep shade purple and forever contorted in pain. A thin trickle of blood runs down the corner of her eyes and nose. It also covers her mouth and chin as though she had tried to cough out her heart. Her eyes, staring blankly ahead, are completely black all over. Her throat had swollen to four times the normal size. Mouth gaping open, a severely enlarged tongue lolls to the side limply. Deep red claw marks cover most of the abnormally big throat. An apple with a single bite mark lies next to her.
Looking up, a bag hanging on a branch is visibly. I climb up swiftly for it. Once back on the ground, I stealthily head deeper into the woods.
Walking for several hours, I stop when my ears perk up at the sound of a splash. Not one to take reckless gambles I climb a tree to get an aerial view.
A pond full of clear water surrounded by a shallow bank lies right in the middle of a clearing. Small fish swim in the pond and occasionally leap into the air. Bushes with juicy-looking berries sit on the edge of the bank. If I could just get there, I could hide, get water, and collect berries to eat. But where to hold the water? I rummage through the new backpack and find rope, a thin pair of gloves, a small container of mints, and an empty 600ml plastic water bottle. I pick up the water bottle and grin. Well that's convenient.
It is the unclear knowledge of whether or not the pond is the only source of water in the arena that keeps me restrained in the tree. Other tributes will surely be looking for water too.
The sun is low in the west when my theory is proven right. Five tributes chatter amongst themselves as they enter the clearing. Plainly they feel safety in numbers. That's still not reason enough to be as loud as a herd of elephants! I feel like screaming at them. Together their faces seem vaguely familiar when the last figure emerges into the clearing. I rub my eyes, unable to believe the irrefutable proof they're telling me. This is indeed Adam Finch's group.
"Don't be so loud," he reprimands them, "anyone could hear you a mile off."
"Yes, boss," answers one of the District 5 tributes. She adds her supplies along with the others and bends down at the bank of the pond.
Cupping her hands together she gulps down several clear, cold draughts of water. She stands up and turns to the rest of her group setting up camp. Her hands go to her throat as she begins making an all-too-familiar gagging and wheezing noise. Her district partner is the first to notice.
"Clara? What's wrong? Clara, speak to me!" He runs to her just as her legs collapses from underneath, causing her to fall. Clara continues gasping as the rest of her group turn their attentions to the two from 5.
"What's wrong with her?" her partner asks wildly, "Why can't she breathe?"
"It must be the water," speculates Adam. "It's not safe to drink."
"Well is there nothing we can do for her?" asks a frightened female tribute from 7.
A female tribute from 10 answers before Adam can. "No, there isn't. None of us have an antidote of any kind."
By now Clara is bleeding at the nose and the corners of her eyes. Her partner places her head on his lap and cradles her close to him. Finally, with the sound of air being released from a balloon, Clara takes her last breath. A cannon sounds right on schedule.
Adam begins shouldering his bag. "We should go. Too much noise will undeniably have attracted attention." The others begin following his lead. All expect the one from 5, who still has Clara's head on his lap. The other female tribute from 7 places a hand on his shoulder.
"Matt, let's go. It's time to go, Matt," Her voice is firm yet sympathetic. He nods, closes Clara's eyes, and gently places her head on the grass. Once everyone has their supplies in check, Matt holding Clara's share, they take off through the woods again.
I remain in the tree, processing the fact that the water source is not really a source of water at all. So close yet so far. I climb a little higher up the tree; not at all feeling safe. A hovercraft comes and snatches away the body of Clara using a metal claw.
Soon the day wanes and clouds part to reveal a bright moon, with stars twinkling all around. The anthem is played, signalling the nightly recaps of the deaths that occurred during day. In the sky, a massive screen transported on a hovercraft reveals first the Capitol seal. After the anthem and seal fades away we are again in darkness.
Viewers of the Hunger Games are able to watch in full the coverage of each and every death. Inhabitants of the arena are spared this as it is considered to leave living tributes at a disadvantage. It wouldn't do to reveal to our competitors who we've killed and using what weapons. Rather, we get the simplified version, where the same photographs used for announcing training scores are shown to inform us of the dead. This time training scores are replaced with district numbers.
One-by-one the faces of the 20 dead are revealed.
First to appear is a girl from District 3. She was the one that got run down by a samurai sword. This means all eight tributes from districts 1 and 2 survived. Then the other female from 3 is shown. Followed behind is a boy from District 3. Then Clara's face appears in the sky. Next it's the other female from her district. Next, the other boy from District 5, who is not Matt, appears in the sky. Unsurprisingly no Careers from District 4 died today either then. Next to appear is the girl from 6 who died a tree away from me. Then it's her other female district partner. She's the one who got killed by a war hammer. Then it's the boy from 6 from the bloodbath. My first kill. After is the girl from 8, who tried to kill me with a crossbow. Both males from 8 are next. Then it's both females from 9. Next is a boy from their district. One of the females from 10 – not the one in Adam's group – is then shown. Both males from 10 are next. The last two to respectively appear in the sky are the older girl and boy from 11.
The seal reappears followed by the anthem again. I let out a long breath. We all four of us from Twelve made it; even innocent Evelyn. Unbidden, a specific memory of Evelyn comes to mind.
We had just come back from our interviews with Caesar Flickerman and were sitting down to supper. While in the middle of her bacon double cheese stuffed burger, Evelyn unexpectedly put her burger down on her plate. She stared dejectedly at it be before confessing, anxiety evident in the quiver of her voice, "I don't think I will be able to kill anyone."
There was uncertain silence as no one knew quite that to say. Finally Konrad takes a stab. "If you feel as though you can't, Lyn, perhaps you're better off killing yourself. Save everyone the hassle," he states, unfazed by the other adults' cry of indignation. "If you find you can't do that," he continues, "then that's when you know you are more than prepared to do it - to fight to the bitter end to survive. It's a perfectly natural instinct to want to survive. Just remember one thing: in the Hunger Games, its kill or be killed."
With his clean shave, Konrad's already sharp facial features become even more defined. He looks younger too, I remember thinking.
Going back and doing a mental countdown, it becomes clearer who the twenty-eight remaining tributes are.
Much too worried about the possibility of other tributes hunting under the cover of darkness, I resolve to stay awake in the tree for as long as possible. As a way of keeping myself awake, and to make things easier to carry, I transfer everything in my backpack into the bigger one courtesy of District 6.
I tie myself to the tree using the rope as a precaution, should I unexpectedly fall asleep.
My mind keeps bringing back the image of the boy from District 6. His family are mourning his death right now and I should feel more guilt, but I just don't. I have no regrets for I did what I had to do to survive. I should also feel more repulsed from being surrounded with all this death, but again I don't.
Sixteen years of watching the Games has left me that completely and utterly desensitised to death.
For the most night I am able to remain awake.
Nothing eventful really happens, apart from earlier on in the night when a wind did seem to carry with it the smell of smoke from the mountain. Someone must've been stupid enough to risk a fire. The way I figure it, they must be either extremely suicidal or Careers.
Lighting a fire is a sure proof way of drawing Careers like a moth to a flame. Since Careers have nothing to be afraid of, they can afford the luxury of an open fire. If they weren't the one who lit it, they'll see a fire as an opportunity to eliminate opponents.
Lighting a fire is understandable, however. Most of the night is nothing but freezing cold and blistering winds. Thank goodness for the thermo jacket. It's only when there are about two hours left before sunrise that I unwillingly give in to sleep.
Dawn seeps through the leaves in the trees early the next day long after I've woken up already. Since having had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, hunger wins out and I take out a strip of dried beef. Nibbling the dried beef ever so slowly, I contemplate the next cause of action – which mostly seems to go back to searching for water.
After the single strip of dried beef is completely gone I reluctantly leave the relative safety of the tree. Heading west and further into the woods I strain my ears to sounds of footsteps or water. The slightest rustle or snap of a twig sends me crouching below bushes or taking cover behind thick trees. As such, the going is slow. It takes the best part of an hour to cover a distance of one mile. The extreme precaution is not without its benefit. Life-saving and vital information had been gained in this way.
One time as I vigilantly crouched below a bush, a pair of tributes happened by. They were the brothers from 7. Much to my horror and dismay the younger one ran straight to the bush I was hiding behind.
"Damien! Damien! Look, berries! We've found something to eat!" he whispered urgently and excitedly.
"Don't touch them, Axel. For all we know they could be poisoned. You remember what happened to 6 when she took a bite of an apple." How did they find out about that?
"Oh. Right," Axel answered dejectedly. "That's why we didn't risk the water in the crystalline stream either."
"Correct. It's said even the scent of the flowers when inhaled too directly is deadly poisonous." And with that they were off again.
I myself had a look at the berries when it was safe to do so. Damien was right. The berries turned out to be nightlock. Jasmine had once explained that one bite of this will instantly get you killed. When asked how she knew about nightlock, she bashfully admitted Tobey told her about them.
I stripped a few berries and secured them in a small pouch on the side of the backpack. Not entirely sure of the reason, I become positive they'll come in handy in the near future.
Another time yet another pair of allies made their way through the dense woods. From my perched position in the bough of a tree I was able to identify them as being from Districts 6 and 8.
"Why don't we make for the mountain?" asks the last remaining tribute from 6. In his hand he holds a war hammer which rests on his shoulder.
"Because," his ally replies, "to get to the mountain we have to pass the Cornucopia. We know that two from 1 are guarding it."
"Besides," she continues, "even if we somehow make it across to mountain, we're dead anyway. That's where the 10 from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are right now."
District 6 laughed. "You've got me to protect you. We're the last ones remaining from our districts. We're literally all our districts have left. As long as we're alive, our districts have something to root for. Let's not disappoint them." Soon they disappear behind some tall trees, 8 holding a deadly-looking sickle at her side.
Around midday I come across the crystalline stream Axel was talking about. Upon closer inspection the stream water looks perfectly normal. But then again so does nightlock. The only thing stopping me from drinking the water, like I desperately want to, is the memory of Clara's reaction to drinking from that pond.
After two or three more hours of walking I take another break in a tree.
Fiddling with a dart, and thinking of the nightlock in the backpack, my mind constructs a brilliant idea on how to turn this useless weapon into a potentially deadly one. For the first time since entering these thrice-damned Games, my lips curve into the briefest of smiles.