Part 3: The Chase
The second I find myself concealed by the dark shadows of the trees, I collapse on the ground. Thirst and fatigue have already settled down on me. Every breath reminds me of the dryness in my mouth, and the sweat pouring off me does little to cool me down.
What kind of a tribute am I? I think disgustedly at myself. Only half the day has gone by and already I feel too tired and too weak-willed to continue. Who would sponsor me now? I'm never going to win against opponents like the male tributes from District 1, 11. So large and powerful. I'll never outsmart the cunning, fiery tribute from District 5. Never get the sympathy vote like District 12. Who am I kidding, I can't even outrank the tiny twelve-year-old in training scores, and she's so slight she'd never make it against the others.
As if on cue, my stomach growls, letting off a loud whine of protest. One week in the Capitol and already it can't handle missing a meal.
I throw down my jacket, the purple knapsack, and make sure to tuck the matches safely into my shirt pocket. I'll just take a short break, I tell myself, to look through the knapsack and get a bite to eat if there's any food in it. I rummage through the bag and to my delight find a bag of mixed nuts, dried fruit, and a package of dehydrated Capitol food. Mmmmm, Capitol food. My mouth salivates at the thought. If only I had water…
But it's no use. All I find left in my knapsack are bandages, a few sharp needles and some thread, and a gun of some sort that lacks any kind of ammunition. Useless as of now.
Grudgingly, I pick up my knapsack and begin to wander. Where to, I have no idea. Maybe I'll stumble across some water, or food. I doubt I'll find food though. I've never gotten the chance to be in the wilderness before. You'd be hard pressed to find even a blade of grass in District 8. And the trainer at the Capitol who dealt with the edible food station told me never to eat what I can't identify. I try to recollect any memory of what an edible, forest-dwelling plant looks like, but it's no use. Any one of these leaves look the same as any other. I'd kill myself testing them out before I found the right one.
No, my best bet would be to try and catch an animal. If I can even manage that. Excitedly, I recall watching the girl tribute from District 12 learn to work up a snare at training the first day. The same girl I saw fly into the forest ahead of me! She's probably set up a few traps by now. If I could just steer clear of her but find her traps, I bet I could copy the design. How different can it be than weaving the intricate designs of rugs and clothes back home? I'll just have to be very careful of being detected by that 11.
Energized by new hope, I set off in the direction I judge to be where the District 12 girl ran off. But soon I'm stopped by a new dilemma. The dryness in my mouth has come back to me full force. I start day dreaming about the cool, refreshing water breaks the Peacekeepers sometimes let us take during the summer days stuck in a hot, stifling sewing room.
I look up into the azure sky through the leafy branches of the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of a gray storm cloud, promising a cool breeze and refreshing water. But I have no such luck. The bright sky is heartlessly empty. Not even a wispy-white baby of a cloud to blow across the searing sun and offer a few minutes shade from this heat.
I give one last, disheartened glance at the sky before I hear it.
A twig snaps on the ground and instantly my muscles tense. My nerves stand on end and I hold my breath, listening for the next sound of my attacker.
My stomach gives out a loud growl and I slap my hand across it, silently cursing my empty stomach for giving me away. But it growls again, louder this time, and I realize it's not me making that sound. It's my predator.
And I'm the prey.
Another stick breaks and I hear the low grunts and whines of a pack of vicious beasts. Before I give it a second thought, I'm running as fast I can, blindly crashing through the undergrowth. The thrashing sounds of the forest behind me warn me that the beasts are close behind.
I run faster, faster than I ever have before. My chest feels like its on fire, my muscles are screaming at the exertion after the long day. But I press on, willing my legs to go faster. The beasts give a loud bark behind me and I yelp. All I can imagine are the sharp fangs and rabid claws of the creatures sinking into my flesh. One swipe and I'm done.
I'm really panicking now, flying through the trees, barely missing the trunks. Branches whip my face and blood begins to run down my cheeks and into my eyes. I move to wipe the red from my eyes, but not before my vision has been blocked for the briefest of seconds. My foot catches on a vine, and it's all over. I'm tumbling head over heels through the mud and the effect is so dizzying, I can't orient up from down.
Before I can catch my bearings and stumble upwards once again, a sharp pain enters my calf and I cry out. I pull my leg free from the mouth of a barking, crazed dog. It's not like any dog I've ever seen, the ones the wealthier people in the District keep as pets. No, this one is much larger, it's fur matted, teeth snarling, shackles on edge. I scramble through the mud to my feet and sprint for anywhere but here. Every time I land on my left leg a stab of searing pain radiates through my body, but I grit my teeth and keep running. Tears mix with the blood on my face. This is it. These are the last seconds of my life. I'm going to die at the hands of a pack of wild dogs. Not even a tribute!
That's when I splash into the cold, murky water. I'm waist deep before I even realize where I am. Oh, no. I can't swim! Now I'm going to drown while these beasts fight over the bloody remains of my body.
But the dogs have hesitated at the bank of the water, slowly dipping a paw into the spring, testing the currents. This is my chance. But what can I do?
Quickly I remember my knapsack. Thankfully, I'm so thankful, it's still on my back. It's survived the rough run for my life through the woods. I rip it off my back and plunge my hand in, willing the bag to contain something I can use.
My hand closes around the empty gun and I pull it out. What can I do with an empty gun? Come on, Loo, think. What else have you got?
Then I remember the needles, and I plunge my hand once more into the bag. Please let this work, I think. Please! I fumble with the gun, trying to find an opening as quick as I can. A latch pops open and I jam a needle into the gun, aim the nozzle, and fire at the beasts on the bank.
I almost lose my grip on the gun as the force of the needle shooting from the nozzle bounces the gun back towards my face. One of the dogs gives out an almost instantaneous yelp as the needle finds its target almost too well in the beast's eye, bringing it down dead in one shot.
The rest of the pack howls and yells at me from the bank, but they don't dare move closer. They know they can be brought down just as quickly as their brother.
A few minutes pass and the dogs lose interest, carefully picking their way through the mud and out of sight. I stand motionless in the water for what feels like ages, waiting for my heart beat to return to normal. I'm paralyzed by fear. Finally, the setting sun and the creeping chill of the night force me to crawl onto the muddy bank. My left calf throbs as I continue to crawl to the base of a tree and curl up, trying to block the sounds of the outside world from my mind. I'm soaking wet, I'm too afraid to look at my leg, and the cold keeps coming. I fumble around my knapsack for my jacket, anticipating the little warmth it will bring me.
But I find nothing. Frantically, I pull everything out from my bag, but my jacket is not among the contents. Where did I leave it? Where is it? Have I lost it?
Then I remember the first stop I made in the woods. I had put my jacket and my bag down, found the food in my pack… and left. I hadn't remembered to take my jacket with me. The realization hits me hard, and I feel the panic creeping back into my system. Slowly, so slowly, I crawl through the woods and onto the broken path I created from my frantic chase. The fading light leaves little to see by, and the tears running down my face feel hot against my icy skin.
I'm in for a cold night.