Chapter 23
Despite the sheer number of squirrels, the small field is completely silent.
They sit motionlessly, staring at us with black eyes. As they continue staring, I notice these eyes change to a blood red colour. White needle-like teeth protrude from their mouths. I immediately understand what Haymitch meant by them having the sharpest teeth of any land animal. Because surely, there is no doubt about it, these are the same squirrels Haymitch and I both encountered on separate occasions. And then once more.
There is no mistaking those golden tinted fur.
I intend to turn my head and ask Haymitch about what we should do.
The moment my head turns in the slightest, the squirrels all move at once.
The ones on the ground rush forward and begin gnawing on our shoes and leg. The squirrels in the trees all jump down at once, falling towards us with their teeth bared.
I react by first shaking off the ones on my legs and feet by kicking the air, putting in as much power as I can muster. The squirrels there are sent flying into the air.
Then I quickly turn my attention to those that jumped down for the trees. I slash my knife at the ones which landed on my head and arms.
Just as I've gotten rid of the ones bitting at my skull and arms, the ones I kicked away come rushing back. I jab my knife downwards at the squirrels that are slowly making their way up my leg and body.
I am aware that they're biting. But because of the rush of adrenaline flowing in me, I only register a light nipping sensation.
Haymitch seems to have some trouble of his own.
If it were even possible, there looks to be about twice the amount of squirrels on him as there are on me. He jumps and slices about, throwing the squirrels off him.
Countless squirrels continue climbing all over me. Overcome by their numbers I take a step back. And another. And another, until my back hits the tree, cushioned by my backpack and the squirrels there. I lean forward before slamming my back against the tree.
The golden squirrels drop down, incapacitated.
I then start stabbing at the squirrels that I find are biting me harder than the others.
Soon, there is a pile of dead squirrels at my feet. But new ones replace the dead just as fast as I'm killing them.
My entire body starts aching, both from exhaustion and the bites it's sustaining from the squirrels. I'm panting and sweating with tiredness. My vision becomes blurry as sweat and blood pours down and into my eyes. My head and heart both pound painfully.
"There are too many of them!" I yell out to Haymitch.
This battle between humans and mutts has been going on for five minutes. But that's five more minutes than I would like to spend with them.
I'm now more exhausted than ever. My arm feels like it is about to fall off and my legs like they will give way any minute.
"We have to run!" I continue yelling, trying to catch a brief glimpse of Haymitch through the blur of golden fur obstructing my vision.
"Okay," I hear him call back, "follow me!"
Getting rid of the squirrels climbing around my head, I see Haymitch do the same.
He quickly looks around for me. Our eyes meet and he gives a reassuring nod. I watch as Haymitch kills several more squirrels before taking off in a sprint. Quickly killing those that get in the way of my running, I hurry after him.
Several squirrels clutch on to me as I run, the more ferocious ones latching on with their teeth. I stab at them and they drop dead. Looking back, I can see a small pack of squirrels chasing us. The pack gets bigger as more and more join them in the pursuit.
I run faster at the sight.
Despite my best efforts, I still struggle to catch up to Haymitch. Cursing my smaller and weaker body, I exert more energy into running.
The golden squirrels don't gain any distance on us, but they do give chase for a lot longer than I would expect for one so small.
I begin to develop a whole new appreciation for the saying of never judging a book by its cover.
We run for a good ten minutes before no sounds are heard behind us. Haymitch glances back to confirm our safety before slowly coming to a stop.
Once I've finally caught up with him, I double over in exhaustion, hands on knees and head bowed.
After a full minute in this position I slowly straighten, a hand at my side to clutch at the stitch there. The world still hasn't seemed to stop tilting around yet.
From the moment we stop until the next sixty seconds, the only sound I hear, apart from the massive pounding of my head and heart, is mine and Haymitch's constant panting.
The moment I've recovered somewhat, I gulp down mouthfuls of refreshing water. Between the drinking and the panting, it is a little difficult getting oxygen into my lungs. But I persist, knowing I need to keep hydrated and make up for the immense amount of water I've lost.
Finally gaining back some ounce of strength, I smile at Haymitch. "We did it," I huff out weakly.
He smirks back. "I'm more surprised you had the strength to keep up with me, Donner."
"Maybe you're just not as fast as you thought, Abernathy," I jest back.
This soon has us laughing a little. It's odd, considering the circumstances.
We eventually decide to rest, ducking into a tree for safety. Haymitch and I continue to drink a lot more water, watching as the day grows later.
I examine my arms and the current state of my clothes.
There are puncture marks and scratches everywhere. Thankfully the wounds have stopped bleeding. My clothes are in tatters. Dozens of claw marks decorate my singlet and leggings. Fortunately my jacket is unscathed. I had left it in my backpack.
With the exception of this morning's rain, today had been relatively warm.
Inspecting my backpack, I see that the squirrels had even got to that. The bag looks like it had been mauled by a dog. I check the contents of my pack and am relieved to find everything relatively unharmed.
Then I inspect the tears in my clothes more thoroughly.
Each tear is at least as long as my pinkie finger. The edges around them are pasted to my skin with my own blood. Despite the blood drawn from the cuts, plenty of skin is clearly visible through the holes.
"How did you survive your first encounter with those things?" I ask in wonder.
"There wasn't nearly as much of them then as there was today," Haymitch replies. "Besides, you've encountered them once yourself."
"There wasn't much of them then either. Also, they couldn't catch my scent since the wind was blowing in the other direction."
"Strange how we just happened to come across so many of those bloody mutts today," Haymitch comments offhandedly.
I had actually been wondering the same thing myself. It could've possibly been the work of our dear friends the Gamemakers.
Perhaps this is their retribution for Haymitch's insolence. Their vengeance for that pawn comment he made two days ago.
I certainly hope so, if it means that's all they'll do.
"We should get going," Haymitch says, already beginning to move.
Looking up to the sky, I figure we'll only walk for another two maybe three hours. That's something I can do. So, putting on my backpack, I go after him.
The world transforms into a completely different place, as dusk turns into night.
Animals active during the day hurry in search of shelter from the fast approaching moon. Nocturnal animals slowly emerge from wherever it was they had been during the day. The sounds are all different. The shading and tones of the woods are different too.
It's closer to four hours then three when we come across a clearing. Seeing as how we're both hungry and tired, Haymitch and I agree to stop for the day.
We rest on the ground, where there is a small bed of grass. And no flowers grow, thankfully. Above, we have a breathtaking view of the stars sprinkled across the clear sky. Tonight is a full moon.
I eat the rest of the raccoon meat and some boar. As is routine, we share a drop biscuit.
My spirit dampens when I see that we've already gone through half the tin.
Once done, Haymitch lies down on his back, his arms behind his head. He has his legs sprawled out comfortably. His eyes are wide open so I know he isn't planning on sleeping just yet.
Shrugging, I lie down next to him in the grass.
I stare up in wonder at all the stars high above of us.
"Do you know any constellations?" I ask Haymitch, keeping my eyes fixed to the sky.
"Surprisingly, I do," he answers, not elaborating anymore than that.
"Who showed them to you?"
"My father," Haymitch replies. "He pointed them out to me when we went hunting."
"When you went-"
"Yeah," he interrupts, knowing how the rest of that question would go.
"Would you show me some?"
Haymitch lies in silence for such a long time I'm beginning to think he doesn't want to.
I'm about to tell him to never mind, when he suddenly points at a cluster of stars.
"That, there, is called Cepheus; named after a king in Greek mythology who ruled the land of Ethiopia."
He points to a smaller cluster to the right of Cepheus. "That is Cassiopeia. Another Greek myth, she was the wife and queen of Cepheus."
"That's amazing," I exclaim in wonderment. "What else can you remember?"
Looking at Haymitch, I see his face knot in concentration as he searches for constellations.
He suddenly smiles and points to the sky again. I follow the direction and see a particularly long huddle of stars.
"That's Hydra. The longest constellation, and the largest in terms of area, it takes more than six hours to rise completely."
"Another Greek myth?" I guess, recognising the name from I book I read once.
"Yeah," Haymitch confirms. "That one, there, is Virgo." He points out. "Also known as The Maiden, it is said to represent almost every famous and powerful female in mythology."
"Like Athena, Artemis, Persephone, and Demeter," I suggest, listing all the females that I can remember from Greek mythology.
"Exactly," he agrees. "See how she appears to be holding a staff and a grain of wheat."
I see it.
"That gain of wheat happens to be the brightest star in the constellation by the name of Spica," Haymitch continues.
"Are there others you can remember?" I ask somewhat quietly, not wishing to disturb the peace that comes with stargazing.
"Just one more; Draco the Dragon," he answers, pointing to it. "The easiest way to spot Draco is by his head. It consists of four stars in a trapezoid."
"He doesn't sound like something from out of a myth," I comment.
Haymitch shakes his head. "No, he is. It is said that a dragon guarded a golden apple tree from which the demigod Hercules was expected to steal from as part of his twelve labours."
"Oh, I remember that story with the dragon."
"Well that's him," Haymitch says, nodding towards it as he speaks.
We lie in silence, just staring up at the sky. And it's the most serene and at ease I've been in such a long time. There is something peaceful about listing to Haymitch pointing out constellations; his voice quiet and gentle, soft like the rain when it isn't storming.
We could almost be lying in the woods just outside of District 12. Not that I've ever been out there myself, of course. But I can imagine that it's similar in appearance to where we currently are.
We don't bother waiting for a death recap tonight. There isn't going to be one. No one died today. Haymitch and I did narrowly escaped being eaten alive by golden squirrels however.
As thoughts of the Games return, my newfound feeling of serenity disappears. Wanting to get it back, I focus on the stars.
"It's moments like this that makes you realise just how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things," I finally comment.
"It really does," Haymitch replies quietly. So quietly I almost miss it.
I allow myself to wonder what it is my family is doing as of right now. It hurts a little to think of them, but I can't exactly help it.
Are they watching Haymitch and me as we observe stars? Do they even dare tune in to the Fiftieth Hunger Games every night, knowing this could be the day I die? Or are they currently trying to move on and convince themselves I'll definitely come home soon?
I can't even begin to wonder what they are possibly going through. The closest I've ever been in their position was when a girl in my class was reaped. This was two years ago. She used to sit right next to me. We never talked or anything. I can still remember sitting at home, watching as the Games began.
She rose up from underground on her platform with her head held high. Originally from the Seam, I could still tell she had put on some much needed weight. Her soft but murky eyes had scanned the arena and her surroundings most critically.
That year, the arena was a muddy swampland. Not a particularly great year with mosquitoes passing off malaria to half the tributes.
My classmate needn't worry about, having died in the bloodbath.
She had been speared through the heart while trying to make a run for it away from the Cornucopia.
I still remember the look of shock on her facing, looking down to the tip of a spear protruding from her chest; the look on the face of the Career from District Two as he pulled the spear out of her; how he cackled about her being his first kill.
She had left behind three younger siblings.
I sit up quickly, suddenly feeling cold and like I'm about to throw up.
Haymitch looks at me curiously. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," I lie, "just cold is all." I put on my jacket, zipping it up for warmth. Then I drink some water to quell my stomach.
I lie back down, breathing deeply to calm myself down.
"It's late," Haymitch comments after awhile. "You should rest."
I hesitate, afraid of what sleep will bring.
Bad dreams, no doubt.
"You sleep. I'll take first watch," I offer.
Haymitch pins me with a stare. "What's wrong?" he repeats again.
"Nothing," I answer, doing my best to sound normal; even going so far as giving him a reassuring smile.
Finally breaking the stare, he looks back to the sky. "Then you should have no problem sleeping."
Unable to argue back to the logic of that argument, I close my eyes.
I force myself to relax and be lulled to sleep by the sound of Haymitch's rhythmic breathing.
It takes quite awhile but I eventually do fall into a restless sleep.