This is only the third day of the games and Plato is getting impatient. He says we are going hunting every day and every night until everyone is dead. When he says everyone, I assume he means us as well. He reminds me of Zander back in district 2, only worse. I wish I was back home watching the games. I would have loved to see Plato and Zander battle it out for the position of alpha male. A game of bulk and brawn and not a single brain cell to share between the two. I find myself chuckling at the thought and quickly regret it when I hear Plato say, "What's so funny?"
"I don't know…um…just thinking to myself" I reply. That shut me up.
The next week and a half goes by in a blur of pain and fatigue. Plato keeps our bodies moving far longer than we thought possible. Sometimes we make it back to camp; sometimes we hunt through the night and have to sleep on the cold ground. Whenever we make it back to camp, Plato changes the guards. Guarding the camp is bliss. So far, no more surprise attacks. Hunting is a tiresome business but we have not been without reward. We have killed three more tributes. Trizzy stabbed the girl from 5 through the eye socket. I was guarding camp when she did that. She told me in detail the way the blood spurted from the wound. Her cruel face twisted in a smile as she demonstrated how she had twisted the knife. We chased the boy from 6 up a small tree. We flung rocks at him until Plato got a direct hit on the boy's head. He fell out of the tree and broke his neck, yet didn't die. Cass put him out of his misery.
Daimen eventually got his chance to kill someone but screwed it up. We had the girl from 10 cornered. He began to torture her with this horrible serrated hook that he carries. Her screams were unbearable. I was about to slit Daimen's throat but it was Plato who acted first. The humanity in Plato showed itself as he punched Daimen in the side of the head and quickly stabbed the girl in the heart, ending her pain.
When we are not killing tributes, we are walking. The forest is terrible. Twice we have been attacked by packs of wild dogs. I suffered a bite on my arm. I applied first aid and it seems to be healing. It still hurts terribly. Plato has received multiple scratches and bites, but he seems to just shrug it off. The dog attacks are rare. What are worse are the insects. They will seek you out no matter where you are. We find ourselves scratching the bites constantly. We keep an eye out for poisonous insects but so far we have encountered none. I don't know what they look like so the only way I will know is if one of us drops dead. The Capitol mutts known as Tracker Jackers are the only one I can identify. We hear them in the trees. Their low buzzing is always good motivation to keep moving on.
The rocky part of the arena is less hazardous than the forest but still unsafe. Those rocks are not only sharp and uneven but they make the nights unbearably cold.
By far, the worst place to search for tributes is the lagoon. Always wet, constantly swimming, and if you're not swimming then you are trudging through sand and rocks on the countless islands that scatter it. Most of the islands look the same as the next. It is exhausting. The size of the islands can range from a few metres – barely enough to sleep on – to at least 60 metres in diameter. I have decided this is where I will retreat to when I break allegiance with the careers. It has fresh water, fish, edible fruits and nuts, not as cold as the other locations and almost impossible to find someone in. This is where we are now.
We know at least one tribute is here. The boy from 7 who delivered the fatal axe blow to Patreeko. We have seen him a few times, disappearing behind an island or swimming away from us. We give chase but he is a strong swimmer. Cass is our strongest swimmer but she is currently back at camp. It's poor planning on our part. We sometimes see a smoke trail but when we eventually get to his campfire, he has moved on. The splashing our group makes as we near his camps would give him plenty of warning.
It is almost sunrise now and none of us can sleep. Our group consists of me, Daimen and Plato. We are soaking wet. These damp thermal clothes soak up water like a sponge, but the jacket offers some warmth. We didn't bring sleeping bags or any packs because they would weigh is down in the water. We sit huddled together. Hungry, cold and unspeaking. I feel comforted by their warmth despite them being two tributes whose company is the last thing I should want.
I am glad I can't sleep. Every night I have dreamed of the deceased tributes and their horrible deaths, or of Aliss. I am always filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness when I dream of her. I wonder what she is thinking now. Has she cried for me? Does she expect me to make it home? I don't think I can make it, but if I can make it out of here, will our love last? I have been so selfish. I should be with her now. I will be with her. I promised. I am going to make it out of here alive, even if only to look into her eyes one last time.
I watch as the sun rises to begin the fourteenth day of the 31st annual hunger games.