Chapter 11
Water is the next major priority I have once my weapon had undergone a few alterations. Hiking through the woods and wandering aimlessly for water yields no results. I try to look more determined than weary for the sake of my family should there be any cameras trained on me. It's not likely though. Especially if any fights are happening at this very moment. If there is a fight to the death happening cameras will be sure capture it so the Capitol audience is able to watch it live. Sick bastards.
The tranquil arena is so deceptively stunning that it is really easy to forget there are cameras just about everywhere you go. The weather is amazingly warm, with a gentle touch of a breeze here and there. Small puffs of white clouds peacefully glide across the sky and can be seen between the gaps in the leaves hanging high in the trees. The ground many be scattered with death leaves, overgrown roots, fallen logs, crispy grasses, and broken twigs, but under sturdy boots it suddenly becomes as smooth as freshly turned soil. Teeming cicadas and other noisy bugs can be heard from their places in trees and on rocks. Almond-brown towering trees rise up from the ground in every direction. Luscious mushroom of giant size grow under the shady roofs of the woods. And yet no reliable source of drinkable water. Not to mention the possibility of people lurking about with every intention of killing you.
Unable to go on any further I rest once again in the bough of a tree. The bun of my hair is loose and so I retie it into a high ponytail. Sucking on a mint, hoping to subdue my intense thirst, I watch the sunset and the extraordinary range of colours that splash across the sky. A butterfly of exotic shades of blue, black and white flutters beneath my hair and underneath my ear. I suppress a giggle as its paper-thin wings brushes against my sensitive skin. All of the sudden there is a tremendously sharp sting on the side of my neck, as though it had been struck with a red-hot poker. Reflectively, my hand comes up to the source of the pain. There is something small protruding from the side of my neck. Something much like a splinter. The butterfly disappears. I have the sense to pull out the splinter only to discover what looks like a stinger usually found on a bee or wasp. What's going on? Butterflies don't have stingers.
Unsurprisingly the wound begins to bleed. Putting pressure on the sore, I begin to feel a massive headache coming on. The world begins to spin in all different directions. Long shadows casted by the sun leap off their surface and shift into the form of humans. They begin dancing around in a circle. The leaves on the tree suddenly transforms into thousands and thousands of butterflies exactly like the one that had just stung me. Such is my immense shock that I let out a gasp of surprise and squirm uneasily on the branch. Abruptly the world turns sideways and I'm facing the sky. It takes a good long moment for me to realise that I am falling. Just as I come to that realisation my back slams into the ground with a crash, literally knocking the wind out of my lungs.
Lying spread-eagled on the ground regaining my breath, I notice the looming trees begin forming faces. One has red eyes and a mournful expression. Another one has black pits for eyes and jagged teeth. One blink and both the stinging butterflies and the faces on the trees vanish as if from thin air.
As I try to decide whether or not everything I had just seen were hallucinations, vomit begins making its way from my stomach up my oesophagus. As it nears my throat I force myself on all fours before spewing out the contents of my stomach.
Feeling much better already I gather up my supplies and move off in search of another tree, wanting to get away from the foul and putrid smell of mine own vomit. After scuttling up yet another tree, I lean against the sturdy trunk as the moon and stars appear in the distant sky. Bright stars twinkle dazzlingly from behind the gloomy clouds obscuring them from vision. Little winged insects that illuminate in the dark thanks to the tiny light bulb on their thorax add their light to that of the stars in the misty sky. They float in and amongst the trees and try to land on me on occasion. I swat them away, not wanting a repeat of what happened with the butterfly.
There were no deaths today.
This is definitely not good as the cursed Capitol audience will be surely restless for blood. If things continue on this way the Gamemakers will have to intervene. And there is nothing worse than Gamemakers intervening in the Games. I think of the worst case scenarios of Gamemakers getting involved in our Games and the intervention techniques used in the past for most of the cold night before unintentionally falling asleep.
I wake up long before the sun has even completely emerged in the east, feeling stiff and sore everywhere. Like the previous day I stretch and rub away the tautness in my joints and muscles. Blood begins flowing properly again. That's the price of staying up in a tree overnight. But it is certainly much better than the alternative of having one's throat slit in their sleep.
Water is the first thing to come to mind when I acknowledge how dry my mouth and throat feels.
Once I've eaten another measly breakfast of a strip of dried beef I despondently resume the desperate search for water, all the while sucking on another mint.
Trudging westwards and over the woodsy terrain, the sun slowly makes its way through the sky. Gradually as the day drags on the weather gets warmer. Eventually it gets so warm that I risk taking off the camouflage jacket. More exposed than ever, I avoid and swat away butterflies as well other deceptively mundane-looking creatures or things.
At one point, as I rest on a particularly overgrown tree root, a cannon sounds. The booming cannon blast is so loud it actually resonates in my skull. Another one goes off not half a minute later, but not before a bloodcurdling scream echoes through the trees. I become fully aware with shocking realisation that the scream and cannons were not that far away from where I am at all. So close in fact that I feel uncomfortable lingering here for even a minute longer. Hastily gathering all my supplies and silently moving on, a third and final cannon blasts around the same time.
Ahead, a single hovercraft silently makes for the general direction of the scream and cannons. No doubt there to fulfil its sole duty of collecting the bodies of the deceased tributes.
When I'm what I deem far way enough, I dash off in a sprint as swiftly and silently as possible. Not ever once looking back.
Once at a reasonably safe distance I lean against a tree in order to catch my breath. Still not feeling entirely safe I begin scaling it. Right around this time a figure emerges from behind the dense trees: the only remaining tribute of District 9. And he's all alone too.
Seizing the opportunity to test out my newly improved weapon I slip on the thin gloves before carefully loading a dart into the blowgun. I take aim and let loose the dart without much thought of the consequences to come. Unfortunately he chooses that precise moment to take a tentative step forward. The dart misses its intended target by a mere hair. As he crouches down and examines the dart, having the sense not to touch it, I reload again. He looks in the direction in which the dart came from just as the dart comes whizzing his way. Sustaining a mere graze, he scrambles off in the woods again. His backpack falls off his shoulders and lies on the ground. Inside are strips of soft sterile cloth, a 600ml water bottle two thirds of the way full, sliced fruits in a seal-up bag, and a small packet of plain crackers.
Water! There's water! This can't be a trick and the water isn't poisoned. He wouldn't have given up his fruits or crackers over a trick. Therefore he did not deliberately leave behind poisoned supplies.
It takes all the self control in my possession not to guzzle down the entire bottle immediately. Instead, I forcibly take small, careful sips of water and relish in the sensation of rehydrating myself.
After transferring all supplies into the one pack I immediately retrieve my two missing darts. Only one can be found amongst the thick bushes and fallen leaves that cover the woodsy floor.
Kneeling and carefully picking it up, I recall just how this dart has suddenly come to be such a deadly and formidable weapon.
Thinking of the nightlock in my pack while fiddling with a dart I was stuck with the ingenious idea of combining the two items and turning them into a single lethal weapon. Donning on the gloves, I tenaciously smeared the poisonous essence of the deadly nightlock berries onto the dart by plunging the latter into the former. I then proceeded to do the exact same thing with the rest of the remaining darts left in my possession.
Placing the dart right back along with the others, I move off again and soon come across a particular clearing enclosed and half obscured by tall thickets. The sun shines brightly on the patches of colourful flowers that grow in the green clearing. In the surrounding trees, marks have been left everywhere on their surfaces. Quick sharp line marks; like that made by an arrow. There is a sudden dull twang sound as of something being released. Instinctively I turn a little and bring my pack up to protect my head and upper-body, ducking my head as low as possible, so my chin is basically touching my chest. A moment later a severe pain shoots up my left forearm. I yelp in pain but run all the same. From behind, a sharp thud can be heard as something strikes the ground. Another arrow zooms by and manages to graze my cheek enough to draw a small amount of blood as I hurriedly escape.
Once completely out of harm's way I tend to my wounds. Under the shade of a willow tree I sit on a rock and critically study my arm, trying to recall anything Jasmine or the first aid instructor said about cuts and what to do to prevent an infection from occurring.
A deep gash covers my forearm just below the elbow. It looks to be approximately three inches long and is bleeding quite heavily.
Risking a little of the precious water I clean up the cut. It stings immensely but I grit my teeth tightly and endure it in relative silence. Afterwards I carefully and cautiously bind up the wound with a strip of white cloth, using it as a bandage. Risking a tad more water I clean up the scratch that mars my cheek.
Not feeling all the best as it is, the butterfly sting injury picks the perfect time to start itching like crazy. The skin around there begins to feel as though a rash may be developing soon. Placing a cool hand on the skin I resist the urge to scratch at it with nails.
As the shadows become longer I make the decision to trek on a little further more before night arrives. Continuing on the path west, and therefore placing further distance between the Cornucopia and the Careers, seems like the safest trail to take.
Above in the sky with its many hues of orange, flocks of raven black birds soar care-freely, irrefutably flying back to their nests.
A little over a mile from where the flock of black birds were seen, a small pack of fluffy squirrels scurries into view. Their fur has a golden tint to it. Not trusting anything in the Games ever since encountering the stinging butterfly, I remain perfectly still, not daring to move a single muscle. I do, however, blink hard several times to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks. Squirrels don't have golden fur, do they? As if to prove their abnormality, the one that appears to be the leader – the one at the very front of the pack – sits on its haunches and lifts its head high before actually smelling the air with as much concentration as a dog with their keen sense of smell. Somehow I just know it would be extremely bad for the animal or prey if that squirrel got a whiff of their scent. Fortunately the whistling wind is blowing eastward as of the moment. And so the golden squirrels cannot smell me. Eventually the alpha scuttles away, leading the rest of the pack with it.
Nothing else eventful happens for another two miles or so. As I stride over the woodlands a sudden deep rumble sounds from beneath the ground. The rumble escalates until the very ground itself begins to shake violently. Branches in the trees tremble with the ferocity to match that of the shaking ground. Birds squawk loudly and leave their trees in a blur of wings. The rumbling reverberates all throughout the entire arena. An earthquake?
Then as suddenly as the shaking and rumbling began, it stopped with the same suddenness.
This rumbling continues to occur over a period of every three hours and doesn't last for more than ten seconds.
Pushing onwards in spite of the periodically occurring earthquake, I manage to cross a distance of 3 miles before voices come within hearing distance.
Making a snap decision I turn southwards under the cover of dense trees and continue on as quietly and cautiously as possible. Soon the only sound comes from my soft footfalls underneath crushed leaves and fallen twigs. In my haste to put as much distance between myself and the voices as possible a tree root slips my notice. A foot of mine gets caught underneath it and would have sent me crashing face first into the hard packed earth had I not broken the fall with my hands.
I sit up and pain instantly shoots up from my ankle all the way to my hip. Tentatively untangling my injured foot from the blasted tree root I take a good careful look at the injury. My ankle is a deep purple and is painfully swollen. Immediately I determine that it has become sprained. Several ligaments may have been stretched or even torn mildly.
Rummaging through the backpack and pulling out the bottle of water, I am relieved to find it cool enough to be an adequate substitute for an ice pack. On initial contact the pain causes my eyes to almost well with tears. I furiously wipe at them before they even have a chance of appearing. Once the ankle begins to feel the tiniest bit better I find a stick to use as a sort of brace to stop my ankle from moving too much. Wrapping it up to my ankle I then search for a stick with enough girth and strength to support my weight. Shortly after said stick is found it becomes a single crutch of a sort.
Rests become more frequent now with the sprained ankle and climbing will be out of the question - at least for a little while. I try to keep my ankle elevated during breaks as suggested by the instructor of the first aid station back at the Training Centre. She said that in order to speed up the healing process, the ankle should be elevated above the level of your heart for two to three hours a day. That will help reduce swelling and bruising.
As the last light of the sun sinks slowly in the west I rest for the night, deciding enough walking has been done for the day.
I lean against the tree, my sprained foot propped up on a rock. Ahead is yet another massive tree which appears to have a small spilt in the middle. The gap the small spilt creates reveals the inside of the tree. It appears to be hollow. A bush or two in front of that gap and it would become the perfect hiding place for one who is injured and consequently is unable to climb trees. Obviously a bush cannot be moved but several fallen branches with plenty of leaves still on it can serve the same purpose. A quick skim around reveals two such branches not five feet to the right of that tree. Feeling satisfied of having found an ideal place for seeking refuge for the night, I begin to relax.
For now I drink another mouthful of water, conserving it as carefully as possible. Then, I eat three pieces of sliced fruit. The fact that these sliced fruits have not been seen to grow on the trees in the arena reinforces the fact that they are safe. I consciously avoid eating the plain crackers as they tend to require lots of lubricating saliva for chewing and swallowing.
Munching on the fruit, I can't help think about what is going on back in District 12 at the moment. What must my parents be thinking, seeing their daughter struggling to survive in the despicable Hunger Games? And how is Meredith and Jasmine holding up?
The sky turns from orange to a dark purple. Shadows grow long and connect until the world eventually becomes shrouded in darkness. Stars appear one-by-one.
Crickets chirp noisily throughout the woods. Somewhere in a tree an owl hoots delightedly. An unseen critter scampers across the woodsy floor and has my skin crawling in surprise. Somewhere towards the west the soothing trickling of a gentle stream can be heard. Frogs croak mournfully from unknown places.
All these ordinary sounds of nature suddenly get interrupted by a manmade sound; the sound of Panem's anthem, indicating that the death recap for today will shortly be publicised to those still remaining in the Games.
Although it gives us a moment to prepare for seeing any face in the sky, it in no way prepares me for the faces shown tonight.