Chapter 17
"We need to collect as much as possible," Haymitch says, looking up at the rain too.
I nod, knowing instinctively that the rain will be safe to drink. First I get out several empty bottles of orange juice I've been keeping and place them a fallen log, letting them slowly fill up with rain water. Haymitch digs a small hole in the ground, and then covers it with his jacket. He then finds several rocks and places them around the edge of the jacket. Finally, he places some smaller rocks into the centre, causing a depression where water collects.
As Haymitch finds the rocks he needs to keep his jacket in place and to create the indent, I tie my own jacket onto the outstretched branches of two trees. I specifically selected these two trees as they stand far apart enough that the rain falls straight from the sky onto my jacket. It doesn't touch the trees or the leaves.
I hold up one end of the jacket at a steep angle and watch as rain slides down and lands in one spot. Then, looking up I see that Haymitch has finished setting up that water collection system of his.
"Haymitch, let me borrow your water bottle," I call out.
He gets it out and, seeing what I'm doing, places the bottle where the rain lands after taking its lid off.
The bottle is one third of the way full when it starts becoming a heavy burden to keep my arms up. Haymitch takes over and only drops the jacket when his bottle is completely filled.
I check the orange juice bottles and start capping on the lid and putting them away once they're filled too.
As though right on time, the minute I put the last bottle away the rain stops.
Lastly, I get my empty water bottle and begin filling that with the water that got collected on Haymitch's jacket. It doesn't get filled all the way to the top, but there is more water than I expected.
Having taken care of everything, we shoulder our backpacks and resume our hike.
Haymitch leads the way, cautiously watching his every step. It still doesn't prepare him for the trap.
One moment he's there. And the next he isn't. I look down and set that he has fallen into a hole. It's small and a lot deeper than I thought. Even as he jumps it is plain to see that no one can get out of there without assistance of any kind. Accepting this, and as calm as ever, Haymitch gets a line of rope from out his bag. He tosses it up high and is able to actually snag it on a branch. Then he's pulling at it before I stop him.
"Let me help," I offer, climbing the tree and tying the rope securely around the base of the branch, where it grows from the main trunk. "All done," I call down.
Haymitch quickly climbs out from the hole. Once he stands back on solid ground, I untie the rope and toss it back down to him.
"Thanks," he says, putting the rope away.
"Anytime."
Before very long, we're on the move again. Walking away from it, I look back at the hole from over my shoulder. I wonder about its insane deepness. This then raises the question of who had the time and implements to make the hole in the first place. Let alone get out of it all by themselves.
As we rest on some big rocks after several hours of walking, I sit there, rubbing my sore legs, when an idea suddenly comes to me.
"Haymitch," I blurt out, "I have an idea."
He gives me a probing look. "What is it?"
"First, I'm going to need the parachute and the box it came with."
The tin of drop biscuits had been placed inside a box, which had been attached to the parachute.
Unquestioningly, Haymitch takes out what I ask for. As he does, I pull out the rest of my nightlock supply from the pouch of my backpack. I then proceed to place the nightlock into the small box and retie the parachute as it originally was.
"There," I say, passing the parachute back to Haymitch, who puts it away. "Now the next tribute to get a gift will be in for a big surprise."
It takes Haymitch all of five seconds to understand my plan. When he does, he is grinning. "You," he begins, "are a genius."
I can't help but smile at the compliment. Haymitch smiles back and I'm suddenly wracked with the most terrible feeling.
It's been unspoken and unacknowledged, but nonetheless impossible to ignore. This alliance is only temporary. Only one of us will survive, if at all. Having Haymitch around for company these past few days has made it easy to forget the exact situation we're in. He being here has made me feel safe. Getting to know him a little better ever since the reaping, I don't think I could ever kill him. Secretly, I'm hoping that he wouldn't be able to kill me either. But then it occurs to me; Haymitch and I are in an alliance either of us would be hard press to break if either one of us wish to make it back home.
When Haymitch offered this alliance, I only really thought about the advantages. It never occurred to me that we would fall into the trap of the disadvantage I told Caesar and all of Panem about. There's got to be something ironic or poetic about that.
"Donner," Haymitch calls. He's looking at me with concern written on his face. An unspoken question.
I shake my head in reassurance. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
Ignoring his concern, I get up and turn back to him. "Let's go." And that has got to be the first time I ever offer to end a break. Usually, I enjoy them and make the most before they inevitably end.
We hike through the woods at a leisurely pace. Through the small gaps in the canopy of trees above, I can make out that the sky is an azure blue. The sun beats down pleasant warmth for a late afternoon. All around, the woods teem with life. Truthfully, the woods look all the same, so it's a wonder Haymitch seems to know which way to go.
"Where are we going?" I don't expect a reply.
I'm not disappointed. Haymitch remains silent. Rolling my eyes, I continue following.
"Can we take a break?" The last one we took was about two and a half hours ago. My legs are beginning to ache painfully again.
"Not yet. We have to keep going."
"Why?"
Silence from Haymitch. I huff in annoyance but follow along behind him.
Finally, we rest. Sitting on the forest floor with our backs against a tree, Haymitch breaks a drop biscuit in half and hands me a piece. I take small bites, savouring the bland taste that only drop biscuits can produce. A bland taste in the arena only Haymitch and I would agree is priceless, seeing as it is from our home district.
Leaning my head back and closing my eyes, I let the memories wash over me as I continue chewing.
I remember being in our small kitchen with Meredith and our mother. She's making drop biscuits with dark ration grains. We help out with the easy stuff; pouring and mixing. Once the biscuits are ready to come out of the oven, we place them on a cooling rack. I remember being impatient as the drop biscuits cooled. Once they aren't so hot anymore, we placed them in a bowl. We then sat around the table, eating one biscuit each, spreading either butter or jam on them as we wished. That was what we were doing as our father walked in, having closed up the sweetshop for the day. Instead of getting a new biscuit from the bowl sitting on the table, he went right over to our mother and took a bite of the drop biscuit in her hand. She had hit him jokingly. We had laughed.
Then I'm remembering as our family of four sombrely walk to the town square. Meredith and I were a bundle of nerves as we walked in silence. We were twelve and this was to be our very first reaping. Despite the fact that between the two of us, our names were only in the bowl two times, we were absolutely terrified of the prospect of getting reaped. How naive we were.
I think of my very first trip to the Hob with Jasmine. We had snuck out when both our parents were busy running their respective store to even realise their daughters were missing. As we walked there, we chattered away excitedly, speculating on what we can expect of the Hob. There were a lot more Peacekeepers there than either of us expected. Rather than issuing their authority as they usually did, the Peacekeepers were just like any other customer. They sat around eating hot bowls of soup from a big pot sold by Greasy Sae, a scrawny woman who looks to be about sixty. They haggle with a women they call Ripper on the price of the bottles of alcohol she sells them. The Peacekeepers even get some of their uniforms and regular clothes mended and washed by Sasha Abernathy. Now knowing what I know, I figure it must have been hard for her to mend and wash the clothes of the people who killed her husband. But she grits her teeth and does it, because they are willing to pay good money.
Haymitch is nudging me gently. "We're leaving."
Sighing morosely, I get up.
With Haymitch leading us on, it feels like the arena will never end. The woods stretch endlessly. I trudge on sullenly as Haymitch still refuses to answer any questions. The day actually seems longer than usual, prolonging my suffering of being forced to walk. It occurs to me that it is perfectly within the power of the Gamemakers to keep the sun up however long they so wish. Maybe they are intentionally keeping it up longer in the hopes that it will drive me to the brink enough to kill Haymitch. I wouldn't put it pass them.
Resting after three more hours of hiking, I sit, exhausted. After drinking several small sips of water, I begin to feel better already. My mind and head is clear. My shoulders feel better as soon as I take off my backpack, which is somewhat heavy with supplies. However, I know that I need to tend to the cut on my forearm.
Slowly unwrapping the bandage around my arm, my nose is instantly hit with a foul smell. Judging from that putrid odour, I expect the worst. To my relief, it didn't look too bad. Sure, the dried blood looks crusty and the skin around it a little yellow, but it could be worse. I thoroughly clean the wound with some water before wrapping it up again, this time with toilet roll paper.
Still with a little time on my hands, I unclasp my mockingjay pin and give it a little polish. I wipe off the splatter of dried blood that fell on it. Whether it's my blood or that of somebody else's, is beyond me.
Once done, I sit and stare up at the towering trees gently blowing in the wind. We must've been sitting for five minutes. And yet, Haymitch hasn't said anything about resuming our walk. In fact, Haymitch has been more quiet than usual since I began redressing the bandage on my forearm.
Turning to where he sits next to me, at the base of a tree, it is to discover him asleep. Surprised, I watch him breathe in and out rhythmically. Up close, it dawns on me how young and strong he looks, if a little weary. That is only to be expected, given what he's been through. Given what we've both been through.
Shrugging, I lean my head against the tree and close my own eyes.
I crack my eyes open once. In that short time, I am vaguely aware that my head is no longer leaning against the tree. It is tilted to the side, like it were on my shoulder. But it's not my shoulder my head rests on. I'm also aware of some weight resting on my head. That is the last thing my sleep-addled mind registers before my eyes close again.
When I wake up properly, I notice that I'm still resting with my head to the side. This is strange because it's supposed to be leaning against the tree. And what is it even resting on right now anyway? I sit up, noticing something black in the corner of my eye as I do. Turning, I see Haymitch looking back at me.
"Finally awake, are we, Donner?"
"Where was I-"
I look at Haymitch's broad shoulders.
"Oh," is all I can manage. "Sorry for falling asleep," I quickly add.
"It's fine. I was the one who fell asleep first."
I get out my bottle and take several sips of water, preparing myself for a long hike. Because if I know Haymitch, which I unfortunately do by now, he's going to want to keep burning daylight by hiking until night.
As if on cue, he stands up with a "come on" before walking off.
Yawning once, I follow.
It's only early dusk, so now I'm sure the Gamemakers are messing with my head. Grumbling, I try to keep pace with Haymitch who with his longer strides, makes me almost power walk.
Dusk brings along with it plenty of mosquitoes. Tiredly, I swat them away after putting on my now properly dried jacket. Despite the Capitol-allocated jacket being water resistant, the outer lay still took some damage and was there slightly wet.
The mosquitoes buzz around us insistently before a welcomed gale of wind sent them flying elsewhere. Fortunately the jacket fares well in the wind and as a result, it keeps me comfortably warm.
I allow myself the occasional sip of water as I plod along behind Haymitch, both to keep myself hydrated and to keep my strength up.
My legs feel heavy again and I wonder when the last time I exerted them was. Over the past few days, they have worked exceptionally hard. I am rather amazed at the sheer strength of them.
While we continue walking, my mind returns to thoughts of home. Those in District 12 must be glued to their screens, watching as two of its own continues to make it so far in the Games. I'm willing to bet that we are giving them hope they haven't had since Konrad's Games. Our district can really do with the extra gifts of food and spices and delicacies the victor is rewarded. It has been twenty-one years since Twelve produced a victor. Haymitch and I weren't even born. I'm sure Konrad is driven further and further to insanity each year, being forced to watch his tributes die year after year. It has been a couple of years since an outlying district has even won. So if District 12 wins this year, they also achieve being the first outlying district to win the Hunger Games in several years. If Twelve did win this year that still assumes that either Haymitch or I died.
"I wish two people can win the Hunger Games," I suddenly blurt out.
Haymitch gives me an odd look. "You know-"
"But it should be allowed if they were from the same district, don't you think?"
As usual, Haymitch doesn't say anything. He just has this intense look on his face as he mulls over something evidently important.
I huff in annoyance. "You know, Konrad should've made your interview angle reticent and mysterious or something like that."
"How do you figure?"
"It's definitely something you could pull off. You could've been evasive answering all of Caesar's questions. And instead of calling us all stupid, you could've said something about no one caring about what you think."
Haymitch gives a brief laugh. "I didn't call all of you stupid."
"Yes you did." I maintain, amused.
"Okay, fine. But I definitely didn't mean you."
"You better not have," I joke.
"Funny," he drones humourless, a small smile on his face nonetheless.
Secretly, I'm glad Haymitch is talking again. He's been rather quiet and a little cynical since entering the Games. He is no longer the juvenile delinquent he was back in Twelve. I wonder how the Games have affected me; negatively no doubt. But I don't feel like I've changed that much, despite the blood on my hands.
"Do you think I've changed?" I suddenly ask.
"If you mean since the arena, then no," Haymitch replies.
"Seriously?" I ask.
"All things considered, you're doing great."
"All things considered?" I repeat.
"Considering all the things you must've seen and done in the arena, you've done well not to let it get to your head."
"Thanks, but I'm probably still just in shock. I might end up with PTSD."
Post-traumatic stress disorder is something very common among victors.
"What brought about this question?" Haymitch asks.
I hesitate. "No reason," I assure him, "Just curious." Thankfully he doesn't push the subject.
Eventually the world is shrouded a deep shade of purple and we stop for the day.
Choosing a spot behind some thick shrubbery, we rest for the night. We then split another ration grain drop biscuit between the two of us.
Usually, something like half a biscuit would certainly not be enough to sustain me. These biscuits, however, are from home and somehow give me the extra strength I need to function.
After eating, we both sip some much need water from our bottles.
Despite the nap from this late afternoon, I'm still somewhat tired. So I don't question when Haymitch offers to take first watch.
He draws out his knife, ready for a surprise attack should one occur.
Gratefully, I lie down. Resting my head on my backpack, I then pull my jacket over myself.
Nights in the arena usually are cold. The days are sometimes uncomfortably warm.
I close my eyes and allow myself to soon fall asleep. Under the watchful eye of Haymitch, I've never felt so safe sleeping in the arena, and am therefore soon able to fall asleep very quickly.
Tonight there is no death recaps to be shown.