Chapter 22
When I wake, dawn is still several hours away. Sitting up, I see Haymitch pacing in a circle.
Probably to keep himself awake, I figure.
"You can rest now," I say, loud enough for him to hear.
He stops his pacing and looks at me. From the look on his face, Haymitch is about to protest before thinking better of it.
He lays down, head resting on his pack.
Soon I hear even breathing, as I carry on keeping watch. It's an incredibly tedious task, but an important one at that. Where you have a person's life placed in your hand.
Time just seems to move slowly, even with me willing it to go faster. I impatiently wait for the sun to rise, commencing a new day.
There's not much fun in sitting around uselessly.
I stare up at the sky. Despite the fact that the sun will rise soon, the sky doesn't appear to be brightening at all. From what I can see, there is a gloomy grey in the air. Minutes later I distinctively feel a little drop of water land on me. It is quickly followed by more before I realise that it is raining again.
With a grin I look over to Haymitch, expecting him to wake up very soon. Sure enough, he shifts about in his sleep before the rain wakes him.
Haymitch looks to the sky, the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a smile.
"We should collect as much rain as we possibly can," I tell him.
He nods and we both pull out all the bottles we have from in our bags.
I uncap the lids of all the empty orange juice bottles and allow them to be filled with rainwater. Digging into my bag, I find the funnel we recently got and place it into the mouth of a bottle, speeding the process.
Haymitch digs a small hole, much like the last time he did when it rained. This time, he uses the vinyl sheet recently accumulated rather than his jacket to collect the much needed rainwater.
Digging further into my backpack I discover all the way at the bottom the bowl I originally left the Cornucopia with. I laugh, remembering how I had initially overlooked the bowl, not knowing what to do with it. I place it out in the open, allowing it to fill with rain. Once it fills, I eagerly drink it. I leave it to fill up again. Then I offer the full bowl of rainwater to Haymitch.
"Here," I say with a grin.
He grins back before taking it. "Thanks," he says. He drinks it in one mouthful before passing back the now empty bowl.
We then tie a jacket to two trees, again, much like before. I place Haymitch's bottle on the ground where lots of rain falls when the jacket is lifted by a corner. He holds up the jacket.
We are soon alternating between holding up the jacket and drinking from my little bowl.
The rain lasts a long time, more than enough for us to fill every one of our bottles to the brim.
Once I cap off the small orange juice bottles, I pass off half of them to Haymitch.
At first he protests, but I eventually wear him down enough to convince him to take them.
Satisfied, and with all the bottles packed away, we sit down to eat.
The rain stopped around the time we finished salvaging the rainwater. Now the sun shines warmly, drying the world of the recent rain.
We sit on a relatively dry rock and split a drop biscuit. Then I eat a little more raccoon meat, wanting it make it last for longer. Unsurprisingly I still find myself hungry. It's not anything I'm not already used to, having come from District 12.
After the two of us eat as much as we're willing to, we begin moving off again.
As Haymitch directs us forward, I think back to the last couple of days. It is then that I realise that this is the eleventh day. We have officially been in the arena for eleven days now. Eleven days have passed since we first entered the arena.
It feels like it's been months already.
Thanks to the warm sun, soon all traces and evidence of rain seemingly disappears. Even Haymitch and I are dried after a while, from our hair right down to our clothes.
The weather is soon pleasantly nice as we trudge through the arena.
I cautiously remain vigilant of our surroundings. As we pass by animals, I keep a careful eye on them in case they turn out to be dangerous mutts.
Although to my knowledge, most mutts are dangerous.
I soon notice that most of the mutts we pass, however, appear harmless enough, leaving us alone when we leave them alone.
That is, until we come across a wild hog. The thing is alone and so small it may well be considered a pigmy. The pigmy boar is no bigger than the raccoon we took down earlier. I notice that instead of a tusk of ivory the wild hog has one of steel. As it sees us, the tusk actually begins spinning as fast as a tool drill.
It's a mutt.
Before I can properly process what it going on, the pigmy hog charges at us. We move out of the way and turn to see the hog as it crashes into a tree. I smile, thinking that its tusk will be lodged into the trunk and impede the mutt. But much to my surprise, it drills right through it. The tree comes crashing down. I watch in pure shock as it turns to us again, squealing in fury. As I'm unsheathing my knife Haymitch is the one with a faster reaction this time. He has his knife out and aims it at the boar. The knife is in the air for a moment before it lands between the eyes of the mutt. The wild pigmy drops dead.
Haymitch is retrieving his knife as I walk up to him and the dead hog.
"Nice throw," I compliment. "So, should we eat it?"
Haymitch inspects the mutt. "I don't see why not."
"Just as well," I comment, "the raccoon meat won't last us much longer."
I watch with great attentiveness as Haymitch works at the wild hog.
"It's a good thing you're so skilled at hunting," I admire.
Haymitch shrugs. "It was either that or watch my family starve."
The knowledge that he would illegally go over the fence, out of the confines of District 12, hangs heavy in the air between us.
"I wish I had even a little of your hunting experience."
"You don't need it," Haymitch states matter-of-factly. "What with you being a merchant's daughter and all.
"Sure," I say, "but then I could've been a lot more use to you than I am right now."
"You could be useful and start a fire," he offers, looking up from the wild boar he just about finished with.
And that is exactly what I do.
Once the meat is cooked, we sit and try it. Wild boar is surprisingly not bad. I may actually prefer it over raccoon. Food is food. In the Hunger Games, one cannot afford to be picky.
I put the rest of my half of the pigmy hog away and drink some water.
Having finished with his own lunch, Haymitch stands up, signally the end of our break.
I get up and follow him. We walk in silence, me in a particularly good mood.
In the past eleven days, I haven't been this full before. I've had plenty of sleep thanks to Haymitch keeping watch. My food and water supply are at an all time high. And, the fact that I made it to the final five is something to be thrilled about.
Coming in here with forty-seven other tributes, never once did I imagine myself being in the top five. I also never imagined I'd have a reliable ally. Now I've achieved both.
Picturesque scenes in the woods pass us by as we trudge along, too focused on our goal of reaching the end of the arena to notice them. Just as well.
Those deceitfully pleasant scenes are probably just ways of getting yourself killed if you smell the fragrance of the exotic flowers that permeates the air too directly, or get too close to the two fox cubs play-fighting with each other, or wade in the secluded pool of stunning spring water.
The morning feels a little long, considering how we had prematurely set off for the day because of the pre-morning rain.
Eventually we take another rest. Although in a good mood, and determined to see the arena through to the end, I am still left weary after a long walk.
Haymitch and I rest at the base of another tree. It's early afternoon as we split another biscuit. Still slightly full from the wild hog, I decide not to eat anything else. Haymitch does likewise. So this rest isn't really about food, seeing as how we had an early lunch. This break is simply for us to recover and enjoy the sunshine.
As I bask in the warm glow of the sun, with my eyes closed, an unexpected weight suddenly drops on my head. I open my eyes and try to turn and see the cause. Only, I find myself unable to properly move my head. From my peripheral vision I am able to see the reason why.
Haymitch has fallen asleep and his head is now resting on top of mine.
My immediate thought is that I should wake him. I reconsider when I'm reminded of how just this morning I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.
Instead, I slowly sit up straighter, not wanting Haymitch to strain his neck too much on account of how short I am in comparison to him. I decide to let him sleep and be on lookout until he wakes.
The better half of an hour goes by before Haymitch finally does.
He sits up and looks about in mild confusion before seeing me.
I grin, unable to resist. "Finally awake, are we, Abernathy?"
This sentence causes a chuckle of amusement. "You should've woken me," Haymitch states on a more serious note.
I shrug. "You look like you needed the rest."
"In any case," he says, getting up before helping me to my feet, "I'm up. We should get going."
We walk on through until late afternoon. The temperature is slowly dropping, corresponding with the current position of the sun.
"Here's a question," I begin thoughtfully, "say you were never reaped this year. Or the year after. What kind of work do you see yourself doing as an adult?"
"A coalminer, most likely," Haymitch replies after some thought. "Or a builder."
Skilled builders are high in demand in District 12. Not only do they build houses, they also fix them too.
"That's a shame. I always thought you'd make the perfect Peacekeeper," I tease.
Haymitch turns to see the expression on my face, to see whether I'm serious or not. I keep a serious face and stare back at him.
We both end up laughing.
"What about you?" Haymitch asks. "What would you have done?"
I shrug. "Teach, maybe." A teacher's salary is pretty decent, so I've been told.
"You aren't going to take over the sweetshop?"
"My parents plan on running that sweetshop themselves, long into their old age. Of course I'd help out whenever I can."
While we continue through the woods, I think of what a teacher earns.
I had asked my music teacher once. She'd said it was enough to survive on. But not nearly enough as what a Peacekeeper gets. Especially the Head Peacekeeper.
Cray, a young man, is our Head Peacekeeper. He got the job four years ago, when his predecessor of twenty-two years retired.
I've heard rumours that he abuses his power. That he actually pays starving young women in the Seam to sleep with him. Those poor women have no other means of finding money or food and are desperate enough to spend the night with him. They sell their bodies for the money he offers them.
You can imagine that Cray isn't too popular among the other residents of District 12.
It's a sad rumour and makes for an even sadder truth. Still, if any good came from it, it's that Cray all but abolished public whippings.
A public whipping was the punishment for minor offences. Where the person was tied to a pole and whipped until their back split open like raw meat. These happened often with the previously strict Head Peacekeeper. Afterwards the whipped people, on the verge of death, were brought to Jasmine and her healer parents.
"Did you ever think about getting married to a merchant and helping him run his family's business?" Haymitch asks unexpectedly.
Ugh. Boys have never particularly been my area. Never mind marrying one. That was always Meredith and Jasmine. They would chat about whom they wanted to marry and who was going to marry who.
"Not really."
Haymitch turns to me, surprised. "Why not?"
"Because I don't know of anyone who would possibly, in their right frame of mind, want to marry me," I reply, shrugging self-consciously.
We're still seventeen! Why are we even having this conversation?
"Oh I could think of one or two," Haymitch says mysteriously.
"Really? Who?" I ask sceptically.
"Sorry, Donner," he replies, "but I'm sworn to secrecy."
"I knew you were lying, Abernathy."
Haymitch shakes his head, grinning. "I swear I'm not."
I shrug. "In any case, hypothetically speaking, if there is a merchant he should be capable of looking after his family business without me."
There's no point asking if he wants to marry. It's clear he'll marry that girlfriend of his. Besides, it'll probably be wise not to ask. With that thought in mind, I continue on in silence. We both do.
Truthfully, I'm surprised Haymitch even showed enough interest in anything to ask a question, much less about my personal life and marriage. Because of all the questions I asked him, I've got a good idea of his life. He, in contrast, hasn't asked me anything unrelated to the Games or survival, from what I can recall. I must be something of an enigma not only to him but the rest of Panem who don't already know me. Now that he took it upon himself to ask, Panem took a little glimpse into my life. I can't say I care for it.
It's a long day of walking. We trudge on determinedly, now that the number of tributes is dwindling. There's no telling how much time we have left.
"Watch the trap," Haymitch warns unexpectedly.
It catches me by surprise so much, I don't react fast enough. I take a step forward and instantly something wraps itself around my left ankle. Before I can so much as look down, I'm suddenly being pulled forwards and upwards. Hanging upside down, I look around frantically. My pack drops to the ground.
"Haymitch! Please help," I hiss urgently, looking for the person who set the trap. Already the blood rushes to my head.
He had already turned around at the sound of me being lifted into the tree and is now gazing up at me. "Okay," he answers, moving towards the trunk of the tree.
Haymitch starts climbing, already making it up the lowest hanging branch before I realise what his plan is.
"No," I stop him. "You do that and I'll just fall, maybe even break my neck."
"Can you reach your knife?" he asks after a minute of thinking. I grasp blindly for it and finally feel the ivory handle.
"Got it," I say, pulling it out.
Haymitch is back on the ground and right beneath where I hang in the tree.
"Good," he encourages. "Now what you're going to do is sit up and cut the rope yourself."
"Easier said than done," I huff, finding it hard to hear anything but the rush of blood in my ears.
But I try, putting all my strength in my lower abdomen as I reach for the rope. I fall short and let myself dangle by my ankle once more.
"Come on, Donner. You can do it."
Trying once more, I swing up even harder. I reach up and finally grab the rope.
"Alright," Haymitch is saying. "Now start cutting it. Don't worry I'm right beneath you.
I drag the knife over the rope. It takes several good cuts but finally it is enough that I release the rope and fall back, sheathing the knife. The rope is thin enough now that soon my weight will be enough to snap it. When that happens, I'm left freefalling and feeling weightless.
Haymitch catches me before I hit the ground. He has one arm under my knee and the other on my back.
"Thanks," I stammer as he's putting me down. Once back on my feet I go and pick up my pack.
"Just be more careful next time," he replies, already walking off.
After a bit of walking we pass by some thick bushes. As we pass them and cross a particularly dense clump of trees, I get the feeling something isn't right.
I look around and strain my eyes. It doesn't take me long to identify the problem.
The place is completely devoid of any noise. Minimal sunlight pierces through the particularly dense canopy above - it doesn't help that it is around dusk now. And, there is the feeling of being watched.
This feeling is completely different to knowing that there are cameras bugged throughout the arena. With the cameras you could almost ignore them, knowing that they might not necessarily be focused on you. No, this feeling is foreboding and makes my hair stand on end.
Haymitch must feel it too.
He slowly unsheathes his knife. I quickly follow suit. We make our way slowly across the field. Suddenly there is a flicker of movement to our left.
A squirrel climbs down a tree. It reaches the ground and sits on its haunches, its eyes trained on me.
Haymitch gives a sharp intake of breath. I follow where his eyes look and see two more squirrels climbing down. Suddenly, squirrels emerge from the bushes to our right and left. Looking up, I see more and more squirrels poke their heads out from the trees they're in.
Soon, we are completely surrounded by the carnivorous mutts.