Chapter 13

The volcano in question is very much active. Hot red lava spew over its edge and slowly makes its way down south. Huge trees fall at the touch of lava while grass scorch and burn.

The horrible screams full of anguish and pain continue and it is clear the tributes who have camped in what they took to be the safety of the mountain have only just discovered the truth.

More trees fall. As they continue to do so birds nesting there take to the sky at amazing speed. No trees now drenched in lava had previously been scorched by fire, for volcanoes only shoot fiery boulders at a far range from what I remember from what little we learnt about active and dormant volcanoes in school years ago.

Fortunately, this part of the arena seems to have taken the worst of the volcano. Now, it seems, the carnage is on the other side. The screams of agony are like those of wounded animals; loud and prolonged.

I grind my teeth hard, setting my jaw taut, as the screams continue, and focus with great difficulty on the immediate surroundings. Taking advantage, for the first time, of such heights and allowing myself a somewhat birds-eye view of the arena.

The volcano is far to the left. The golden Cornucopia remains miraculously unscathed on the meadow that stretches for miles in front of the active volcano. Several large smouldering boulders lay in the meadows, creating massive black patches here and there. Looking further on and the woods are nothing but a splintery mess every which way. Trees that looked hundreds of years old have been reduced to fine kindling.

To the right and more woods continue stretching out as far as the eye can see. The wildfire has finally stopped but now most of the trees have either fallen or stripped bare and black. Looking straight-up I judge the time to be one or two hours after noon based on the actual position of the blazing sun.

The smell has got to be the worst, though. If it had just been that smell of smoke, ashes, and soot I could simply close my eyes and fool myself into thinking that I am back home in Twelve. However, in the air in addition to those three smells is the underlying smell of burning meat. Whether it is just that of animals too slow to outrun wildfire, or whether it is something else completely, it is more the unknown that makes me feel slightly sick when the smell reaches my sensitive nose.

I'm more than a little reluctant to head back down for fear of what may still be there. I can still remember the smoke bringing tears to my eyes and the very heat of the fire seeming to singe and lick the exposed skin of my arms and neck.

Almost as though to calm myself down and prove to myself that I am safe, I inhale deeply once. Waiting for five seconds I finally release my breath slowly.

Just as I finally begin to relax, basking in the warmth of the sun and fresh open air, a violent rustling of leaves causes me to snap my eyes open in an instant. There is the sensation as of my stomach dropping at the sound. I remain silent as a grave.

The rustling becomes too insistent and loud to ignore. Steeling my last ounce of nerves and strength I duck back into the thickness of the trees.

I'm able to barely make out the outlines of small objects making their way at alarming speed through the trees several feet below. My initial thought was that the golden squirrels are back. But then my rational brain quickly registers that these darting figures are slightly bigger than even the Capitol squirrels.

A whole new level of panic begins to build at the unknown until the figures past beneath me, seemingly uninterested in me in the slightest. As the last few make it from tree to tree I am able to glimpse black and white fur and a long black tail. From what I could make out of them, they looked to be capuchin monkeys. I breathe a sigh of relief and continue calming my nerves. Right about then, a cannon sounds from off in the distance.

Curiously, I poke my head out of the trees again. The cannon is quickly followed by eleven more. It doesn't take me long to realise that the screams have stopped. Putting two and two together, I gathered that twelve tributes had hid in the mountains and there they met their end due to the volcano. With any luck, the entire Careers pack may have been eliminated now. Maybe when the volcano started spewing liquid fire, the two from District 1 guarding the Cornucopia headed for the mountains once they figured only the woods and meadows were being attack by flying rocks and fire.

But that's just wishful thinking.

I watch with detached interest as a hovercraft collects all twelve bodies. Within just a little over a minute the hovercraft is gone, leaving behind no evidence that it was ever there at all.

Eventually, when the sun beating down gets too hot, I duck down once again into the shade of the tree. Leaning against the main trunk, I start to feel extremely itchy where the butterfly stung me. Somewhat reluctantly, I rummage through my supplies and put out the bottle of water and a strip of bandage. I pour some water onto the cloth and drink the rest. Then I tie the wet bandage around my neck, effectively covering the wound. Fortunately, that stopped the itching.

My stomach growls loudly and I figure now is a good a time as any to take a break and really eat. I take out two crackers and quickly devour them. Then I get through three slices of fruit and two more strips of beef before I'm close to being full.

Resting with my head against the truck, while sucking on a mint, I allow the gentle rustling of the entire canopy by the wind lull me into a sense of peace. The feeling of serenity is nice as it is something I haven't felt since before the reaping. Absently, I begin scratching at the scab on my left temple. The blood has had sufficient time to heal that scratching it off leaves no mark. That wound I sustained four days ago from a tribute from District 8 during the bloodbath no longer even hurts.

My main cause for concern is the nasty gash on my forearm. I'm rather enjoying this relaxed feeling and decide redressing the severe cut can wait. Even that small cut on my cheek can wait, I decide.

Above in the sky, birds make their presence known by calling loudly to each other. With my newly-found feeling of peace and the sound of nature, this morning could all have been a dream. Right now, it doesn't even feel like, sound like, or even smell like a volcano erupted just this morning. The wind has done an exceptional job of carrying that waft of burning meat elsewhere.

Lulled by the pleasantly warm weather, and the peaceful sounds of nature, I soon fall asleep.

By my estimation, at least two hours have gone by since I first took my nap. The weather is now on the colder side now that the sun is much closer to the western sky than the east. As a result, the world has a purplish tint with the lack of proper sunshine.

Deciding to say here for the night, and not willing to risk unnecessarily further injuring my sprained ankle, I get comfortable and strap myself to the tree with rope.

Not long after tying myself securely to the trunk of the tree, and just when I was about to give into sleep once more, the anthem resonates loudly throughout the arena. Quickly untying myself, I scramble up in time to see the seal of the Capitol displayed clearly on the portable screen.

Tonight's death reaps is a first in that they feature Careers, much to my elation.

The face of a girl from District 1 is first to appear. Next appears both girls from 2, then a boy from 2, both girls from 4, a boy from 4, Matt from 5, and the girls from 7. My heart quickens as the girl from 10 appears. Finally, the face of Adam Finch of District 12 is shown. My stomach drops as I try to wrap my head around the fact that District 12 has lost yet another tribute. Adam, dead!

The Capitol seal reappears, accompanied by Panem's anthem, before all goes dark and silent again.

Today has been eventful, to say the least. A dozen tributes have been wiped out by an erupting volcano disguised as a picturesque mountain. Adam of District 12 being one of them. Seven Careers are dead, levelling the playing field radically. Doing some mental calculations, I conclude that there are still thirteen tributes left in the arena. Districts 5, 10, and 11 have lost all four of their tributes.

That brutish female from 1 who scared Evelyn is still alive out there, as are the two male tributes from her district. The Career pack now consists on those three, a guy from 2, and a boy from 4.

Securely strapped back to the tree trunk, I reluctantly give in to sleep after tiring myself out with trying to figure out exactly who the other dozen tributes still lurking in the arena are.

My dream is extremely vivid.

I stand in front of the Justice Building, wearing the same dress from the reaping. Suddenly Adam, Meredith, and Evelyn appear. They stand several feet from the Justice Building, facing me with lifeless eyes. After several minutes of just staring, they turn and walk to the bakery. Looking at that bakery, I make out Tyson and Ace from through the window. Adam, Meredith, and Evelyn enter the building. The bakery is then hit by a bomb from a hovercraft that suddenly appeared from nowhere. The building instantly goes up in flames, the massive blast rippling my dress and hair. Just as I run instinctively to see if there are any survivors, someone grabs hold of my wrist. I turn and see Haymitch. He's in his reaping clothes of black shoes, trousers, white shirt, and suspenders. Unexpectedly, he leans a little closer and says urgently, "run". Even more unexpectedly, I find myself listening. As we run the other direction, from my view behind him I see Haymitch's clothes start changing. His white shirt and suspenders shift into a pain black shirt; his trousers into comfortable black running pants; and his shoes morph into sturdy combat boots. I realise he's now in what other male tributes this year wear. Looking down, I see my clothes have changed into my tribute outfit too. We're heading towards a gap between two buildings when they catch fire. The flame spreads, consuming both buildings and creating a wall of fire in our path as they collapse in on each other. Even as I falter and try to slow down, Haymitch pulls more insistently and speeds his pace. Just as we make contact with the wall of flames, I wake up.

I sit up with a start, panting heavily. Sweat trickles down the side of my face despite the cold weather. I look around, forgetting for a moment where it is I actually am. As I am gathering my thoughts, a flicker of light down on the ground catches my attention. I remain frozen in place as the light gets closer and closer. As it does, my ear catches the sound of voices. From what I can make out, there appears to be three people. They continue walking until one of them speak up, "Look, Dylan. I know you're still upset about Tempest, Aqua, and that other guy dying on you, but why are we taking a walk in the middle of the night?"

The person in the lead stops two trees away from where I am, causing the other two to stop. With the torch illuminating his face, I recognise the leader as being a tribute from 4.

"I told you," Dylan was saying, "We're hunting."

"Also," added the third voice, "We're looking for Ruby and Hunter." This third voice belongs to a boy tribute from 1. So he wants to look for his fellow district tributes. I recall now that Ruby is the name of that brutish girl from 1.

While they continue talking I focus back on the original speaker. He's from District 2 and from what I hear the others call him CC. I don't remember anyone in 2 by that name, but I do remember a Cameron Cross. They must call him CC as a nickname.

Now that I confirm that this is a Career group, I grin at this rare opportunity to take them unawares. Slowly and quietly, I reach for my pack and cautiously pull out the loaded blowgun. Just as I'm about to place it to my lips, they begin heading off again.

"It's too bad about Clearwater. She was really hot," was the last thing I heard one of them say.

From memory, Clearwater was the surname of one of the girl tributes from 4. It might have been Aqua.

As they head further away, I mentally kick myself for not reacting sooner. I'll never have this chance again to take out such strong competition. Shrugging, I put away the gun before trying to catch more sleep.

I wake up the following morning early and feeling hungry. Allowing myself to eat, I get through two strips of dried beef and am halfway through a cracker when a cannon sounds.

It sounds far way but nevertheless I push past the overhanging branches, to see where the hovercraft will pick up the body and therefore determine how close they were.

If they died within reasonable walking distance from here I might not feel safe and, as a result, decide it is time to move on.

Poking my head out, vast green in the corner of my eye draws my attention first. I stare long and hard before my brain finally accepts the truth of what I'm seeing.

To the right, what was desolation left by both the destruction of wildfire and volcano only yesterday, is now a fully grown forest again. Just as it had been at the start of the Games, before any volcano erupted.

At first, I find it hard to actually believe, until remembering where I am and what the Gamemakers actually are capable of doing.

The hovercraft arrives from off in the distance, eventually stoping to fulfil its purpose. One look and I decide it's still too close for comfort. So after eating one slice of fruit, and packing everything away, I carefully pick my way down after determining that the coast is clear below.

Popping a mint into my mouth, I sigh as the image of a single fruit in a seal-up bag reappears in my mind. I only have one fruit, two pieces of dried beef, three crackers, and several mints left. After checking my supplies before climbing down the tree, I also confirm two completely empty water bottles in my possession.

The going is slow and the distance covered even slower, what with my ankle hindering me. Fortunately, it's healed enough that I am able to put my whole weight on it.

Hiking back through the woods, I eventually lose my bearings.

A cannon goes off from nearby. My heart pounding wildly, I turn my head every which way, trying to determine from where the sound came from. Unfortunately, it was so loud, that I can't say for sure from where that sound originated. Mind reeling, I simply choose a direction and sort of wing it from there.

As I walk, I pull out the blowgun. Making sure that it's loaded, I take cover behind the shadiest of trees.

Before long, I reach an area where the trees thicken. A sense of finally being safe washes over me before I eventually hear the sound of grunts and muffled shouts. They come from right on the other side of the trees from where I'm standing. I groan at my own stupid luck, but nevertheless remain perfectly still.

Risking a peek, I first see a battle ragging on between two male tributes in a clearing in the woods.

One is clearly bigger and stronger than the other tribute, but the smaller one is much faster. So fast is the battle, though, that I am barely able to follow it – never mind trying to see either one of their faces.

While their battle continues, I look further on and see a motionless body on the ground. The body is on its back, with a bloody knife lodged in its throat. A little ways out is another body. This one, too, isn't moving. But because only one cannon has sounded, it is easy to tell that they are not dead yet; but merely incapacitated.

Unable to tear my eyes away from the scene, I watch as the bigger tribute knocks the smaller one to the ground. They tumble until eventually the bigger one is held to the floor by the other, his back towards me. With nothing else to do, the bigger once reaches up, trying to get in a few good scratches. For some unknown reason he is soon screaming in pain. When the smaller one turns his head to the side and spits something out, I can only assume the bigger one got two of his fingers bitten off. The smaller one lunges away. As he reaches for the knife that fell out of his hand when he got knocked down, the bigger one knocks him away again. They begin tumbling and wrestling for the knife. The bigger one eventually wins out, pinning the smaller tribute and grasping the knife just seconds before his opponent was about to get it. He then proceeds to stab the tribute beneath him, missing by mere inches when the other tribute has sense enough to move his head to the side. Just as the bigger tribute is about to take another stab at his opponent, the smaller one stops him by getting a hold of both his hands. The bigger one pushes the knife towards the other tribute, who pulls it away from himself with just as much determination. They release their strength at the same time. The smaller tribute pushes the knife to the side just as the bigger one pushes it downwards. The tribute underneath takes advantage of the bigger one's imbalance and knocks him over with his shoulder. The big one ends flat on his back. Before he can do anything other than groan, his opponent snatches up the knife and slices his throat.

Another cannon sounds.

With both our attentions turned to the now dead body, neither the smaller tribute nor I see the third tribute stand up.

He charges quickly from behind, effectively knocking out the smaller one's knife. They scuffle about, landing punches and kicks whenever the opportunity presents itself. At one point the smaller of the two tributes nimbly elbows the bigger one right in the jaw. Eventually the bigger one has the other subdued, however. Their backs to me, I am still able to watch the scene unfold as he holds the enemy in a one-handed headlock, the other hand reaching for a deadly knife from a sheath belted to his pants. He does this slowly and deliberately.

"Too bad that hot blonde girlfriend of yours isn't here to save you," he taunts.

On his knees, the smaller tribute squirms about uselessly. Using his hand to claw at the enemy, he turns his head for a moment. Only a moment. But it's enough for me to clearly see that the smaller tribute who is about to get his throat sliced opened is Haymitch Abernathy.