Chapter 14

The bigger tribute finally draws out his knife. "Never mind though. I'll just kill you now and her later," he continues taunting. "That'll teach you both to stare boldly at us in the Training Centre."

Just as he's actually using the knife on Haymitch, I reflexively raise the blowgun to my mouth and let loose a dart.

The dart lodges itself in the back of the big tribute's neck. Soon he starts coughing, a gurgling noise telling me that he must be coughing up blood. He releases Haymitch, who holds onto his neck and quickly moves out of the way. The bigger tribute falls to the ground just as a third cannon fires.

Haymitch finally gets back on his feet. He looks to the dead tribute that was just about to kill him. Then he looks around, searching for other tributes in the area. Without me giving it any orders, my legs carry me forwards. I am vaguely aware of stepping out of the woods and into the clearing. My movements catch Haymitch's attention. He watches, evidently shocked, as I cautiously cover the distance it takes to get to him.

We never take our eyes off each other. The blowgun is deliberately held to my side, pointed downwards and away from Haymitch. He seems to understand that I mean him no harm but doesn't offer to say anything either.

"We'd live longer with two of us," I venture cautiously, keeping a wary eye on him.

"Guess you just proved that," Haymitch replies, rubbing his throat. "Allies?"

I think of that word and what it means; the benefits and drawbacks of being in an alliance with anyone. Finally deciding that the benefits definitely outweigh the downsides, I nod.

Blood trickles between the fingers Haymitch clamps over his throat. Wordlessly, I dig into my bag and pull out the last of my sterile cloth. "Do you have any water?" I ask, to which he shakes his head. "Then I won't be able to clean that wound on your throat, but we should at least bandage it up. What do you say?"

"Sure," Haymitch agrees. He takes his bloodied hand away and I bite back a gasp. The cut isn't big but it sure looks deep. It's a wonder Haymitch is still even conscious. Gently but firmly, I manage to bandage up the wound. With his neck now bandaged, I think back to my own neck with its covered cloth. The sting doesn't itch anymore and so I take off the bandage. Haymitch looks at the mark on my neck before saying, "I have something for that rash." So it did turn into a rash.

From his own pack he produces a small white tube.

"What is it?" I ask apprehensively.

"Some Capitol cream that heals burns, scratches, and rashes." He hands it to me.

I rub some cream on my neck before passing the tube back. "Thanks."

He nods in acknowledgement, putting the tube away.

I turn my attention back to my second kill and recognise him as being from 1. What's more, I know him to have been part of the Career pack from last night. Then I look at the other dead bodies. The one with a knife in his throat looks like CC. And the one Haymitch just killed, after biting off his fingers, is Dylan of District 4.

Haymitch retrieves his knife from off the ground and I search the three bodies for weapons. The only weapon 1 had on him is the knife he tried to kill Haymitch with. I pick it up and examine it. The black handle is extremely smooth ivory and the blade itself is Dao-shaped. Deciding that it is a good weapon, I take the sheath and belt it on. After placing the knife in its sheath, I examine Dylan. He doesn't have anything on him. The only weapon on CC is the knife in his throat. Not exactly thrilled with the idea of pulling it out, I leave it where it is.

When a hovercraft comes and collects bodies, any weapons on them will be permanently removed from the Games. Any chance of getting rid of even one less weapon that could be used against either Haymitch or me sounds too good to pass up.

I then look around for their supplies. When I find it piled against a tree, I tell Haymitch.

Together, we begin rummaging through the supplies of the Careers we just killed. A long spear and electrified net solves the mystery as to why Dylan didn't have any weapons on him. These must be his, I think, examining them. Altogether we are able to scavenge some cans of coke and bottles of orange juice, ham sandwiches, chocolate bars, mints, and a torch.

Not being a huge fan of coke, I give them all to Haymitch. As such, we agree I'll keep all the orange juice.

"They didn't even bother to collect any medical supplies or plain water," I say incredulously, adding some of my mints to their nearly empty container. "Not to mention they didn't have as much things as I expected them to."

Wordlessly I pass the Careers' containers of mints to Haymitch. He takes it with a nod of thanks, putting it in his pack.

In silent agreement, Haymitch and I dump the Career bags back against a tree.

"So," I begin, turning to Haymitch, "which way should we go?"

"This way," he responds, heading to the edge of the clearing and back into the woods.

"And where exactly are we? I got lost after a while."

"The centre of the woods."

Just before I renter the woods, I look up and judge the time to be about an hour after noon.

We walk for a very long time, with Haymitch leading the way. He certainly seems to know which way to go. Breaks are few and far in between, with each lasting no more than five minutes.

Eventually, it gets too dark to walk any further. We settle against a log, finishing off the rest of my fruit and beef strips. Soon, the anthem is played.

Haymitch and I climb the nearest tree to get a clear view of the night sky.

Tonight's death recaps begin with the boy from 1. My kill. Then his face is followed by CC of 2, Dylan from 4, and the boy from 9. I can't shake the feeling that the boy from 9 looks really familiar.

"I wonder how he died," I wonder out loud as his photograph is replaced by the Capitol seal.

"He suddenly spewed out blood and collapsed. No one touched him," replies Haymitch unexpectedly.

I turn to him, intrigued. "And if you were to hazard a guess, how exactly did he die?"

Haymitch shrugs. "Poison; this is a poison paradise, after all."

Thinking back to the last five days, I suddenly remember why 9 looked so familiar.

"Haymitch," I call in an urgent tone, "did he have a bag on him?"

Haymitch shakes his head.

"I knew it." I whisper.

"Knew what?"

"Knew why he looked so familiar. Two days ago, while I was hiding in a tree he happened to walk by. He was alone and I wanted to test out my improved blowgun. The first dart missed him but he got grazed by the second one. As he was running away, he dropped his backpack."

It takes awhile for Haymitch to process what was just said. "So he really might've been poisoned," he eventually says. "If so, then he would be considered your kill.

I feel Haymitch's eyes on me as I take that statement in. So my kill count may very well be three – not two.

Not entirely sure how to handle it, I begin the climb down. "It's late. I'll take first watch," I offer.

Haymitch soon follows after. "No, let me."

"It's okay," I say, remembering the dark circles under his eyes and the occasional yawn he lets out. "I don't mind."

"Donner, please. I said I'll do it."

It's more the tone than the words that changes my mind. There was definitely some pleading and wiriness to it, but also an underlying steadfast resolve.

"Okay," I give in, albeit reluctantly. "Make sure to wake me when you're feeling tired." I lie down and, using my backpack as a pillow, pull my jacket over to serve as a crude blanket.

For all intent purposes, I appear to be sleeping. But I'm wide awake with my hand wrapped around the hilt of my knife. The truth is that I don't completely trust Haymitch. There must be a reason he insisted on taking first watch. Maybe he doesn't trust me. The idea is ludicrous, seeing as how I saved his life and, by extension, given him a reason to trust me.

In contrast, he has yet to give me a reason to trust him. Sure he shared some cream and food, but that could have been a ruse to get me to lower my guard. Be that as it may, I don't want to die a stupid death. Being too trusting and dying in your sleep is to me considered a stupid death.

A tactic I try to keep myself awake is mentally listing those tributes still out there based on the death recap shown tonight.

Of the Career pack only two are left, both of whom are from 1. The brothers from 7 are still alive too. And obviously two from 12 are also alive. There is a handful more, but they are the only ones remaining of their district. I'm only interested in listing the pairs.

It also comes to my notice that now Districts 2, 4, and 9 are out of the running to produce a victor this year.

Someone is shaking me by the shoulders. Immediately, I tighten my hand that is holding the knife. A panic engulfs me as I feel nothing but air. I grasp around blindly until a voice halts my action.

"Donner, awake up. It's your turn to keep watch." I recognise that voice.

Opening my eyes, I see a silhouette of someone crouching beside me.

"Don-"

"I'm up. I'm up," I say, slowing sitting up. Haymitch moves back to his original spot, only instead of leaning against the fallen trunk he lies down. "How long did you let me sleep for?"

"About five hours."

Guilt eats away at me. "You shouldn't have let me sleep for so long."

A grunt is the only acknowledgement I get that he heard me. Huffing in annoyance, I keep quiet so as to allow Haymitch to sleep. Lifting my jacket to put on, I see where my knife went. I pulled it out of its sheath in my sleep. Considering myself extremely lucky not to have been stabbed by it, I put it back.

Leaning with my back on the fallen tree trunk, I curse myself for falling asleep so quickly. I had resolved to stay awake as long as possible but evidently that wasn't long at all. I guess I never realised how much sleep I needed to catch up on. Being in this arena, I've been averaging about three hours of sleep each night. Getting these two extra hours feels great. Also, the fact that I'm alive means that I can trust Haymitch after all.

Musing over current events, like gaining an ally and killing more people, I dutifully fulfil my duties as a watchman. I strain my ears for any suspicious sounds and strain my eyes for any moment. Feeling as though my breath must smell awful I pop a mint in my mouth, cursing the deprivation of a toothbrush.

Nothing out of the ordinary occurs during my shift. Nocturnal creatures roam about freely in their domain of darkness. Bats fly overhead, using echolocation to hunt prey. Spiders sit patiently on their webs. Owls of different kinds dart swiftly between trees.

Needing to stretch, and wanting a better vantage point, I climb the nearest tree and continue the rest of my watch from there.

Watching the radiant sun rising in the east, I'm overcome by a peaceful sensation. The brilliant colours displayed in the sky looks like something from out of a painting. And below, slowly as the sun rises higher, the world comes alive with colour. It's a slow but steady progress.

I continue to sit and watch the sun bring new life to the world. Soon, my attention is turned back to the sleeping form of Haymitch.

Despite the hours he has spent sleeping, he still looks extremely exhausted. I briefly wonder how much sleep he has had since entering the arena and if I look as tired as he does.

Feeling that he deserves to sleep more, I decide not to wake him up. He can get up on his own. And that's exactly what he does four hours later.

Haymitch sits up so fast, I am shocked enough to nearly fall down from my place in the tree. He looks around wildly, for what or who, I cannot say. It's difficult to say for sure from here, but his face looks like a mixture of hurt, anger, and betrayal.

I open my mouth and am about to say something when he suddenly gets up, putting on his jacket, and shoulders his pack. As he takes one step, I find that I am no longer able to keep quiet.

"I hope you aren't planning to ditch your ally."

Haymitch quickly finds me perched on a low hanging branch. "There you are. And no, I –"

"Save it. Let's just eat," I say, getting down.

We finish off my plain crackers and have one ham sandwich each.

As we stand and get ready to move off, Haymitch stares at me intently.

"What?" I ask defensively, feeling self-conscious. Instead of answering, Haymitch moves in closer to me. I automatically take a step back. He moves forward again, eventually backing me up against a tree. Haymitch places his right hand on the tree behind me, trapping me on one side with his arm. He blocks the only other exit by placing his body slightly to that side.

"What?" I repeat weakly.

Haymitch then lifts his left hand towards my face. I move my head away futilely. Holding my face in his hand, Haymitch slowly brushes my lower lip with his thumb.

Then just as quickly, he lets go of my face and takes a step back.

"Drink some juice. Your lips are dry," is all that he eventually says.

I self-consciously touch my lips to confirm the truth in his words. Sure enough, they are chapped. Taking out a bottle of orange juice, I turn to Haymitch. "Fine, but you should have a drink too."

Haymitch obediently takes out a can of coke and wordlessly begins forging through the woods. I follow without compliant.

The day seems much longer than usual with Haymitch insisting that we cover as much distance as we can. But like a good ally, I comply without as much as a word of protest or objection.

It's the late afternoon before I convince Haymitch to take a break.

Sitting comfortably in a tree, Haymitch and I each eat another ham sandwich.

"Here."

I look up one branch above me to where Haymitch sits and see an almost empty packet of Oreos in his hands. Taking it, I notice only one left.

"It's okay. You have it."

Haymitch shakes his head and pushes the offered Oreo packet back towards me. "You shared your food. It's only fair you have the last one."

"Thanks," I say gratefully, eating the Oreo in three bites. Thinking about it, I notice Haymitch has a handful of deep, angry bite marks all over his arms.

"Haymitch," I ask, "What did that to your arm?"

He looks down at his arm, as though just now remembering it. "Oh, squirrels."

"But I thought squirrels are nucivorous."

Haymitch barks once darkly. "Not those Capitol mutts."

"I thought it strange that their fur had a golden tint," I muse.

"And the sharpest teeth for any land animal."

"So, are they carnivores?"

"Yeah," Haymitch answers, "I saw them ravening the corpse of a wild deer."

"Delightful," I remark sarcastically.

"They're small, but they outnumber their prey easily." We then each have another drink of juice or coke before moving off again.

We trudge along the dense woods. As we do so, I notice birds of all kinds including hummingbirds, woodpeckers, and sapsuckers. Several trees have acorns buried within them, evidently the work of woodpeckers. The bigger species of birds perch on trees, preening their feathers. Spider webs dangle precariously from the undersides of trees. A pair of chipmunks chase each other around a thick tree before disappearing into that same tree. Once, as we took a break, I noticed the corpses of insects infected by the Cordyceps fungus.

We head deeper into the woods, both of us constantly watchful and alert.

During another break, Haymitch takes the opportunity to sharpen his knife.

He takes out a whetstone from his pack and unsheathes the knife at his waist. With the knife out in the open, I get a good look at it.

Haymitch's knife has a grey leather handle and the blade is a spear point.

"Nice knife," I blurt out.

He doesn't look up from his task. "Thanks."

"Did you take it from another tribute or-"

"It came from the Cornucopia; along with this whetstone."

"Ah" I manage, and with that it's time to go again.

It's a good deal after dusk when I suggest that we stop for today. He eventually agrees when hunger wins out.

This time we hide amongst the bushes.

We eat more of the Careers' ham sandwiches and drink our respective drinks.

Just as I think that's all the dinner we are getting tonight, Haymitch pulls out half a loaf of garlic bread from his backpack. He shares half of it and I accept the loaf appreciatively.

After a decent dinner, we sit in comfortable silence for awhile.

"I'll take first watch," Haymitch states.

Not having an ounce of strength left to protest, I lie down and get comfortable.

Needless to say, there are no deaths to announce tonight.