CHAPTER 12

When I open my eyes, I am in the Arena. I know this because I can see all the other tributes on little silver circles beside mine. I quickly scan my surroundings. Trees are in front. Good. A thick pine forest is just what I need. Behind me is a lake. Should I run for the lake? I wonder. No, the woods are my best option.

And that's it. That's the Arena.

Thresh is on my left, Looking determined. To the right of me of me is District 12's boy: Peeta. He's looking at Katniss. I try to look round him to see her but I can't make it without stepping off my circle, and everybody knows that if you step off before the gong, you get blown to bits. For a moment I actually consider doing it on purpose – ending everything quickly. Then I remember my plan.

My plan. Of course – I close my eyes, trying to remember it. What was the first step? Supplies – yes, I need supplies. I look around for the Cornucopia, or what ever it was called. Yes, there it is. I can see the weapons and bags around it. Everything I could possibly need is there: sleeping bags, food, weapons. If I got everything, the other tributes wouldn't stand a chance. I squint at the supplies, singling out the things I need. I spot a bow and arrow and long for it. I know I'm hardly any good with it, despite all of the practise I've done, but it's my best weapon. Then I remind myself that I won't need weapons.

Suddenly, the gong rings, making me jump in surprise. But I know what to do. I dash for the supplies, hardly knowing what I want. I make up my mind to just grab whatever I can and run for the woods. I see Cato stab somebody holding a blue backpack. He grabs the bag and runs off with the careers. I see Katniss struggling with the boy from District 9. The boy is killed by another girl who I do not recognise. Suddenly, I feel sick. I grab a small yellow bag and sprint for the woods. I'm not risking he bloodbath there. I hear Cato shout my name but I keep running, hardly daring to open my eyes, breathing quickly, heavily. Gasping and shaking as I run for cover.

I'm in the woods, I realise frantically. I look behind me, not letting my legs stop for a second. Nobody is coming after me but I can still see the lake through the trees. I need to go further in. I stumble over a log and let out a cry as I am sent sprawling to the ground, landing on a thistle that digs painfully into my ankle. Ignoring it, I haul myself up and pause, catching my breath and looking around. I can hear voices. Suddenly I realise what I should have done the moment I entered the woods. I frown, wondering how I didn't think of it. I don't hesitate. I climb up the nearest tree quickly and easily. I keep climbing until I am at a good height, at least 10 metres above the ground.

I run across to the end of the furthest branch and then spring onto the next tree. I love the feeling; I feel like I am a bird, so free and nimble. None of the other contenders know about it. I can escape this way and leave them wondering where their pray has disappeared too. I'm faster like this, too, and much better hidden.

Eventually, I decide that I am far enough into the woods. All I can see around me are trees. I find a comfortable spot in the branches and open the bag. I have been climbing and running for a few hours and I am tired, thirsty and very, very hungry. I pray there is some sort of blanket in the bag, or at any rate something of some use. I empty its contents into my lap.

There is a pair of socks, a box of matches, a water skin, a small knife and a metal tube. And that's it, I realise in despair. I have a pair of socks, a box of matches, a water skin, a small knife and a metal tube to survive on. I open the water skin and to my relief I find it is filled. I drink about a quarter of it. The water tastes a lot better than the water we have at home but it's not clear, like the Capitol water. These are the Hunger Games, I think. At the mere thought of 'Hunger,' my stomach growls. I decide it's time to go and find some other things to live on. I think of every plant, medicine and source of food I have ever used in District 11 and spend the next few hours searching.

Over this time my throat becomes as dry as sandpaper again and I am forced to drink more of my water. I know I will have to find a new source before long. Then I remember the metal tube in my bag and I pause to sigh in relief. I have all the water I could need and I know it. For the first time since I grabbed this tiny bag, I am glad to have got it. I gulp more water down greedily, saving only a drop in case I can't find the energy to stick my tube into a tree to absorb the moisture from it. I can't remember what the hollow tube is called but I remember all the lives it has saved back in District 11, when people get lost and have only their day sacks with them. Providing they have this with then, they can't die of thirst. And neither can I.

By the time I settle down with enough supplies, it is very dark and my eyelids are drooping. The day has gone considerably quickly. And well. I know that there are many, many Tributes who will be starving, gasping for water at this very moment. There are more who are dead. I have heard the cannons all day. And I'm here, my thirst quenched and my water skin re-filled. I have socks on my hands to stop my fingers from dropping off over night. I have many, many berries I have collected from the forest that I recognised from home. I have tried and tested each one to make sure they are not poisonous and my stomach is more or less filled. I also have several large leaves that I found. I know, from home, that if I add water, they will become a source of medicine and will drain poison out of wounds.

I am very, very lucky and I know it.

But when the tributes faces appear in the sky, the scene blackens and the air grows bitter, I am unable to keep the tears from my eyes. As each tribute appears, I know that they are dead. They will never live again. Their families are grieving. Their Districts are solemn and sad. The Capitol has murdered their children for their own entertainment. Right then, I hate the Capitol more than I have ever hated it before.

But after the faces, I come back to my senses and realise that I need to start thinking about myself. I don't want to; I can hardly tear my thoughts away from the children who have died, but I know that I must. My teeth are chattering violently and when I force my eyes to stop staring distantly into the black, I realise that I am absolutely freezing. My breath comes out in gushes of steam. The whole place is pitch black and I wonder if my jacket has frozen to me. I move my fingers to warm them up but they are too numb to be any use. I realise that I am never going to be able to climb and find a warmer place to sleep. I am going to have to stay here and grit it out until morning. I take off my jacket and huddle myself in it, pretending it's a blanket. It's slightly warmer like this, but still hellish. I lean against the branch, about to try and sleep when I suddenly remember something: my matches.

Almost not daring to believe my luck, I wrench the socks off my hands and reach for my bag, gritting my teeth in the pain of the cold. I stretch out each finger in turn, trying to retrieve the matches. I know I can't start a real fire; I just need a single flame to warm my fingers. I could usually have made a fire from sticks and stones but I don't have the strength or warmth to do that. Even this is going to be difficult, I realise.

Eventually, by clenching my fingers together and using my thumbs as levers to prise the matchbox out of the bag, I have it on my lap. My fingers are shaking violently, along with my hands, my arms and the rest of my body and are going to be of little use. I long to slide my hands back into the socks, although they are also becoming stiff and cold now, but I take a deep breath and slide the match-tray out. The moment my fingers make contact with the box I close my eyes in pain. Who would have thought the cold could be so painful? But very clumsily, I take a match between my middle and index finger and strike it against the side of the box. My hand is still shaking and it barely brushes it. I push harder the next time and the match breaks. Crying out with frustration and cold, I take another match, this time in a better position and strike it three times again. First nothing – then a small spark – and then a tiny flame comes, making my smile muscles come back to work for a few seconds.

The warmth reaches my fingers first, and they seem to burn for a few seconds. It's hardly much warmth but it's a lot better than nothing. The flame licks my fingers and the temperature change is so sudden my hand starts to shake uncontrollably, sending the match flying down through the branches beneath me.

'No!' I cry out as I watch it tumbling down. It lands in a pile of something which makes a rustling sound. Leaves. The match disappears and the light dies out, and for a moment I think it has extinguished. (I do not want to be tracked down by lighting a fire.) But then a yellow claw emerges from the centre, licking the leaves around it which set alight too. Within a few seconds, the pile is burning brightly.

Fearfully, I rush higher up the tree until I must be completely out of sight and cannot go any higher because the flimsy twigs are hardly holding me up at all. Sure enough, it is only a minute before I hear Glimmer's voice:

'Over here,' she says softy, 'I saw it.'

'There!'

I hear footsteps running in my direction. They skid to a halt.

'Well, fancy that!' says Marvel, 'Some idiot really has lit a fire. But where are they?'

'I don't know. Not here anyway. Let's just go. I'll bet it's a trap.' This voice is different. I frown in concentration.

'Shut up, Lover Boy, what do you know about killing?'

Peeta? I wonder if he's really down there with the Careers.

'I'll bet you they've just heard us coming and run off,' says Clove, looking around nervously as if somebody was going to pounce on her with a knife. (Who knows, maybe they are?')

'Who'd be stupid enough to light a fire here?' asks the boy from District 4, whose name I can't remember, 'I mean, in the Arena?'

'Maybe it's Lover Boy's girlfriend?' suggests Marvel, 'Catnip, wasn't it?'

'No, no,' Cato tells him haughtily, 'she's too clever for that. I reckon it's Girly.'

'Girly? How did she survive the first day? You mean that little runt from 11?'

There's a moment of silence and I assume Cato is nodding as he's making 'hmmm' sounds. I am suddenly so scared that I lose my balance and the twig beneath me snaps sending me sprawling to the branch below. I feel ever head below turn upwards. I hardly dare to breath and I keep my eyes tightly shut.

'She's up there,' Glimmer whispers pointlessly.

'We'll get her right here and now then,' I here Marvel declare.

'How?' asks Clove, 'I'm not climbing up there in this light, I'll break my neck!'

'Use your night-glasses, you stupid girl!' Cato tells her.

Night glasses? They have the name wrong I'm sure, but I know what they're talking about. How did they get those? I hear Cato bring two pairs out of his bag and give one to Clove. How come they got all the good bags?

'We can see you up there, Girly!' calls Cato. I wonder if he really can see me. 'Come down and fight or we'll come up and wring you're neck.' His cheerful voice doesn't suit his words. I stay exactly where I am, holding my breath at all costs.

'Are you climbing?' asks Peeta anxiously. Anxiously?

'No! I never said I was climbing.'

'Yes, you did.'

'I said we'd come and get her.'

'Well if we all go up there,' argues Glimmer, 'then the tree will break.'

'Go up on your own then!'

'No!' she squeals. 'Just kill it from down here.'

I release my held breath in one big gush, trembling all over. I see a knife fly past me and hit the wood beside me. I shut my eyes to stop myself crying with fear, and try to block the whole thing out.

'Let's leave it for now,' Peeta says gruffly, 'It may be a trap you know.'

To my surprise, the others follow him away. Clove even yawns. Maybe they really do just want to go to sleep. I'll be ready for them in the morning though, whatever. Thinking about sleep makes my eye's droop. I swing down a few branches and stare at the burning leaves until my eyes shut and I dream about Cato and Peeta pinning me to the ground whilst glimmer carves patterns in my face with her knife.