Chapter 18
Having slept several hours, I wake with a start. Sitting up, I feel my erratic heartbeat pounding against my chest. Sweat gathers on my head and tickles down my neck.
"Nightmare?" Haymitch asks from where he sits. In the dark, I can just make out his profile. He leans against his bag, casually tossing his knife and catching it with the precision of an expert.
"It was-" I stop, not even able to remember what my dream was about. If I did in fact have one at all.
I shake my head. "In any case, I can switch with you now if you want." I'm probably not going to be able to get back to sleep even if I tried.
Nodding, Haymitch puts his knife away before lying down.
I then begin keeping watch.
Staying on sentry duty quickly becomes boring and so my mind inevitably wonders.
Before I can stop myself, I'm suddenly coming up with a list of things I'll never get to do should I die here.
The foremost on the list, for some reason, is marriage.
I'll never get to do any of the little traditions involving weddings that District 12 has.
I'll never get to wear the lovely wedding dress my mother wore and has been saving for Meredith and me for our own weddings.
Usually in Twelve the bride rents a white gown that's been worn countless times before.
Seeing as my mother's dress was handmade many generations ago and handed down throughout the years, Meredith and I are spared having to rent a gown.
Anyway, the groom would wear something clean that isn't mining clothes. Then the couple would go to the Justice Building and sign some forms before being assigned a house. Relatives and friends gather for a meal and cake, if it can be afforded. Even without a cake there is always a tradition song the congregation sings when the new couple crosses the threshold of their new home. Then the real ceremony begins when the couple make their first fire, toast a bit of bread, and share it.
I snap out of these thoughts as it becomes almost too painful to think about. Forgetting the list, I become positive and come up with a list of the things I'll do if I ever get out of here.
Dawn approaches slowly. Several times I almost fell asleep at my post. I was only able to keep awake by getting up and walking several circuits around the shrubbery we hide behind.
I'm sitting, watching the surrounding area, when Haymitch wakes.
"You're up early," I comment.
"Couldn't sleep," he admits.
We remain like that in silence for a little while until I suddenly get an idea. "Want to watch the sunrise? It's really beautiful."
"Sure," Haymitch finally replies.
Gathering our things, we climb a tall tree. As we reach the top and push our way through the branches, we are rewarded with the sight of the rising sun.
The sun looks almost white as it emerges from the horizon. The surround sky is a gorgeous wash of colours. Slowly the sleeping world begins to wake as the sun rises higher and higher.
We decide to eat breakfast in the tree, seeing that we are already in it.
As we eat, Haymitch frowns slightly. "These biscuits won't last forever," he says.
There is silence as I slowly come up with something, applying logic to my reasoning.
"We should hunt."
Haymitch gives me an odd look. "Donner, you-"
"Think about," I reason. "The only animals in the arena are specifically designed to kill us the moment we get close to it. The Gamemakers aren't going to suspect someone of actually being insane enough to try and hunt down those things first - least of all to eat."
This new idea intrigues Haymitch. "What about the food they eat and the water they drink?"
For some reason, the Gamemakers have made all the animals immune to the poisons of this place. That's how they've been able to survive off the land.
"If they eat any food and drink the water found in this arena and survive, it means their body has a means of fighting the poisons. I'm willing to bet it gets broken down in the body somehow."
"Okay," Haymitch nods. Then he grins. "Let's hunt."
Even though the woods teem with life, Haymitch and I don't actually encounter any animal until about an hour and a half of walking.
A small raccoon suddenly bounded from out of a tree. It takes one look at us and hisses loudly. The moment we try to get just that little bit closer to it, the raccoon lets loose a small ball of fire from its mouth. Completely and understandably shocked beyond words, I dodge the flaming ball of fire just before it can hit me. I do notice that the tip of my hair is singed. Haymitch dodges the other way. From where I stand, I see him draw his knife. Quickly, I drew mine and aim it at the raccoon before Haymitch can do anything. The knife lands in between its eyes. The raccoon promptly drops dead. I hastily put out the fire caused by the raccoon. The last thing we need right now is an uncontrolled fire. When the fire is out, I make my way back to the lifeless body of the raccoon.
Haymitch is already there, drawing out my knife and handing it back to me. "Good aim," he remarks. "You can prepare the meat. I'll get a fire started."
I hesitate.
"Its broad daylight," Haymitch says, seeing the look on my face, "so the fire won't be that easy to see."
"That's not it," I say.
"Then what?"
I chew my bottom lip, slightly embarrassed. "I don't know how to prepare it."
And it's true. Back home, we brought meat from the butcher. At the Training Centre there was no to time for me to learn that.
"Okay," Haymitch says, "you get the fire started. I'll do this." He gestures to the raccoon.
"Can I watch you first? I'd like to learn, even if it is just by watching."
That throws Haymitch off a little. But he quickly recovers. "Sure," he replies.
So I watch as Haymitch guts, skins, and get rid of any internal organs he deems not edible.
As I watch in fascination at him work away expertly at the raccoon, it occurs to me how often he must do this back home. It all seems second nature to him.
"Done," he announces, looking up from the raccoon. "Your turn."
I begin looking about for dry twigs and sticks. To my surprise, as does Haymitch.
"You don't have to," I protest.
"It'll be faster," he rebuts.
Once we have a sufficient amount of sticks, I stack them in a pile and get a fire started. As I do that, Haymitch spears the raw meat onto two sticks, having cut it in two.
I finally get a fire going. We then each hold our piece of meat over the fire, turning it every now and then.
After awhile of roasting over the fire, Haymitch deems the meat ready to eat.
I quickly extinguish the fire by kicking a handful of dirt over it. Once it has cooled down enough, I take a bite of the cooked meat. Immediately my tongue is flooded with the fatty juices that meat produces.
It doesn't taste bad. I take several more bites before wrapping the rest in the roll of paper I got from the cabin. Haymitch does the same. After cleaning and packing everything up, we're off.
As we hike onwards, I lick my lips still smeared with fatty grease. I relish the taste and think back to the last time I had proper meat. It's been too long.
With my stomach full for the first time in days, and my mind clear with plenty of sleep, I've never felt better since entering the Hunger Games.
Admittedly I'm homesick but between my mockingjay pin, Haymitch, and the drop biscuits, I have plenty of reminders of home.
"So your mother's a seamstress," I say cautiously. Talking of home can be a dangerous thing. It can be even more painful though.
Haymitch flinches visibly but recovers quickly. "How did-"
"I saw her once on my first trip to the Hob."
"Didn't take you for the exploring type," he comments.
"Jasmine and I were curious and really wanted to see it," I explain.
Haymitch doesn't say anything.
"Why is a wooden pawn piece important enough to be your token of home?"
This question clearly shocks Haymitch. "How could you possibly-"
"The morning of the day we had our private sessions with the Gamemakers."
"Ah. Well my father had been collecting the pieces. He said that once he collects them all, he'll teach me to play chess. And he almost did complete collecting them. It took him weeks of searching and trading at the Hob. That was until…"
Haymitch trails off, but I know he means that that was until he died.
"But why a pawn?" I ask.
"That was the first piece he found, along with the board."
"Oh."
"I bring it to every reaping to remind myself that even a pawn like me might be able to change the tide of war."
My eyes widen in alarm at that one word. War is the very reason we are here right now. The Capitol will still be on high alert for any signs of unrest and insubordination. I just really, really hope that President Snow and the rest of the Capitol aren't watching us this instant.
I glare at Haymitch, who looks unperturbed. Maybe this is him punishing me for asking questions.
"You mean in this case, a pawn like you can change the tide of the Games you get reaped in," I add quickly, hoping to translate that extremely dangerous sentence into something less harmful. The Capitol has never been a bright bunch. Dumb people they are.
"Yeah sure," Haymitch allows.
Sighing with relief, I glare at him again. "Okay, no more questions," I say, and then whisper so only he can hear, "So no more suicidal statements that will get us killed, okay?"
At these words, he gives a genuine laugh.
"Donner," Haymitch says, "we're already sent here to get killed. Might as well have some fun." He flashes a devilish grin.
At that moment I seriously question whether or not it was ever a good idea to accept him as an ally.
Now thanks to Haymitch, my guards are completely up should the Gamemakers decide to retaliate or punish him. Because you can bet that if they decide to do anything to Haymitch, as his ally, I will be affected too.
Soon, after constantly being on the alert, I practically forget the meaning of relaxation. The toll it takes on my body is nothing compared to the mental damage it does on me. My stress level is at an all time high.
Vaguely I am aware that I dealt with the news of becoming a tribute a lot better than I currently am dealing with this situation.
In complete contrast, Haymitch carries on normally as though he didn't just doom us both.
I can't go on much further constantly looking over my shoulders, both literally and figuratively. Briefly I consider breaking the alliance now while I'm still safe and more or less uninjured, and am therefore perfectly capable of fending for myself. I quickly discard the idea. The safest place for me is with Haymitch. He may have gotten us into deep waters, but I simply feel safer knowing he has my back.
As the hours go by without incident, I begin to think that maybe I've been thinking too much into this. Maybe no one even heard our conversation.
To distract myself somewhat, I take out my blowgun and examine it once we stop for a rest. The blowgun is essentially a small hollow tube. One end is made of rubber and is obviously where the mouth goes. There's a rubber handle grip and just above that is an open chamber where the two dozen darts were originally. Counting the darts, I confirm that there are now only twenty. I remember losing one to the boy from 9, one to the Careers from 1, and two during the confrontation with the two from 1. There was no time to search for the darts, with the cabin catching fire much too quickly. That accounts for the four I'm missing right now.
Deciding that the possibility of the poisons on the dart wearing off is too high to risk ignoring, I pick a fruit off a tree and begin dipping my darts into it.
We rest for a few more minutes, in which time I gently rub my sore legs, before it is time to go again.
Haymitch maintains the same direction, which leads us further into the woods. I'm tempted to ask him where he plans on going exactly but think better of it. He'll probably just ignore my question anyway.
No point wasting energy and strength asking something that won't get answer.
It's the early afternoon when we agree to stop for a lunchbreak. As usual, we split a District 12 biscuit. Then I allow myself a few small bites of the raccoon.
From my knowledge on woodland creatures, raccoons aren't meant to be able to shoot balls of fire from their mouths. Therefore, with great certainty I deem the raccoon a Capitol mutt; a mutt being the shortened term for muttation. The Capitol experimented on and created many a new animal during the Dark Days. Even today, for the sake of the Games they continue this heinous act, or at least include existing ones in as an added form of entertainment. Haymitch called the squirrels and dragonflies mutts. It wouldn't come as a big surprise if every animal here was a mutt too.
As we rest, I notice some plants growing on a vine. Looking at it, I recognise them to be poison ivy. Ignoring it, I sit and wait for Haymitch to say that it's time to move on. He does so without failure.
We march through the seemingly endless arena in silence. That is, until a flock of pink birds fly into view. They are unlike anything I have seen before, with their long, thin beaks.
Not willing to trust any living thing in the arena anymore, apart from Haymitch of course, I ask him whether he thinks we should hide. Maybe because of the great number making up the flock, or because it's still uncertain what they are capable of, Haymitch decides it best to hide.
Silently, we hide in the recess created in a huge boulder.
It's a bit of a tight squeeze, but being the naturally small person I am, it's not all that unbearable. Haymitch, on the other hand, is sure to be somewhat uncomfortable. I can't see him but considering his stature, it's not all that hard to imagine.
We stay completely silent, barely willing to risk breathing. The birds, for their part, land not five feet away from where Haymitch and I are hiding. They remain there, tweeting and singing amongst themselves, for the next ten minutes. Consequently, we are forced to remain as we are for the duration of that time.
It's not until I hear the sound of flapping wings that I feel safe enough to open my eyes. Pushing my forehead off the wall where it had been resting, I look at Haymitch.
Our faces are really close there isn't enough room left for me to move my head back any further. Almost nose to nose, I stare, entranced, into Haymitch's stormy grey eyes, which are staring up into mine. I stay like that until I realise I've been staring for too long. Quickly looking down, I take in our current position which I didn't really give much thought to. Until now.
Haymitch has his head against the rock, his legs bent at the knee and resting on the opposite wall. His arms outstretched behind him, supporting him in place.
I have my head against the opposite wall, facing Haymitch. My legs are on either side of him, virtually straddling him at the hips. My hands, for some reason or another, are clutching onto his shoulders.
Absentmindedly I remember struggling to get over Haymitch in my dash to get away from the opening in the rock, and, as a result, away from the birds. Only to be forced to stay still when I heard them land.
"Sorry!" I apologise earnestly before hastily crawling out of the rock, perfectly aware of the fact that my cheeks are burning hot.
Once I'm completely out in the open, I stand up and brush the imaginary dirt off myself. Haymitch comes out then, bringing with him our two bags which we had ditched in there first.
"Here," is all he says, holding out my bag. I take it with a mutter of thanks.
We carry on trudging through the woods. Again, there isn't much to hear. Just the comforting sounds of nature. It's comforting because I could almost fool myself into thinking I'm just outside with Meredith, playing in our backyard, if I just closed my eyes. The sounds which can be heard here is very similar to that of which can often be heard back home in Twelve.
It's been a long day of walking. I look up and note that it must be close to early dusk now. That means there is still several more hours of this until we can finally rest for the night.
Making the most of the fresh air, and trying to convince myself that this is good exercise, I get out my water bottle and have some water. As I'm putting it away again, I hear a noise up ahead.
"Did you hear that?" I whisper, suddenly tense and overcome with a bad feeling.
"It's probably nothing," Haymitch dismisses.
I scowl slightly. "You could have a little more concern for your own safety."
Keeping a lookout for any movement I hesitantly follow closely behind Haymitch.
We make a turn left and suddenly come to a stop. For standing there in front of us, evidently coming from the other direction, are the remaining boy tribute from 6 and his ally from 8.