The falling out of the Cornucopia, Chapter #9: Cannons in the Night.
I rushed through the woods, trying to wipe Arman's blood off my face. Foliage hit me in my face with every step, my hands knocking branches and leaves out of the way. My heartbeat was running a mile a minute, and I don't know when it seemed like it would stop anytime soon. It must've been running for five minutes by now, but I don't know how long I'd need to run. Who knew how far the arena went? It couldn't go on forever, of course, but the thought of never being able to find the end slightly freaked me out.
It hit me, then, that I was covered in someone else's blood. Regardless of it being Arman's or not, someone's life essence was splattered all over my face, starting to dry and coagulate, starting to stick. Had you told me a Career would've died - what was it, fourth out of everyone - in the bloodbath, something that usually doesn't happen, I would've called you crazy. A Career could die at the end of the first day; it's happened before, but this seemed rather extreme. An axe to the back... a rather gruesome way to go. Quick? Yeah, it was. Still painful.
Another quick death that I recognized was the girl from District 9, the one who tried killing Katie. I didn't even hesitate. I remember having conversations with Bailey, way back when, about the Games, should we have ever been reaped. It would've been just a few days after Bailey's last brother had been killed, her and I sitting in the woods together on that same old log with her using that same old harmonica. Bailey told me she wouldn't have been able to kill anyone, had she been picked. I said the same thing... but here I am, betraying myself over and over with that.
My left foot snagged on a tree root, causing me to trip. I yelped in surprise, before quickly throwing a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the groan of pain that followed from me hitting the ground. I couldn't let anyone hear me! Some tribute that isn't my ally... y'know, the other seventeen tributes in this arena, hear me? I'm a dead man. My fall had me lying in front of a tree, a rather massive oak. I scooted over as far as I could to be sitting in the middle of the tree, just to catch my breath, one hand clenching the bow handle.
It also occurred to me, then, that I just thought about Bailey, which I connected to Lucas, and then from Lucas to my mother. I hadn't thought about my family in several days. I didn't have a way to contact them while stuck in the Capitol, and I have no idea in Panem where this arena must be located, but it probably didn't matter where. Regardless... not having thought of them, that scared me? Would I forget about District 12 come long enough stuck in this arena? There's nothing to do then walk around and hunt and hide. You talk with people, sure, if you had allies, but you had to be on guard for long enough. Sleeping? What was sleeping? You hunt tributes in the dark, that could get you somewhere.
Loud screams and the sounds of metal rang through the area I was in, not having been very far from the Cornucopia. Either the arena was designed for this sound capability to be like that, or I just hadn't run as far as I'd like. Enough to not get spotted immediately, I hope. The sun was already starting to set. Here, with this arena, did time truly mean the passage of time like we hope for? Was twelve hours for AM and twelve hours for PM truly what the Capitol said it was? The reverberating sounds were starting to hurt my skull, the sounds of battle never truly ceasing. I wonder how many were dead... something you always wonder.
There was some rustling in my right ear, like someone running. My hands went straight to the bow, drawing an arrow, keeping the weapon down in my lap. It had to be another person, there was no way it would be anything else. Someone went past my field of vision, a few yards away from me, running so fast, had they even noticed me, I might've been just a blur as well. A tribute was taking flight beside me to my right, the sound of rustling being the trees and leaves and all of that. I realized it was Colby, the boy from District 3, the one with the broken leg. How could he be running so fast if...?
He had no crutches with him, given how fast he ran behind me. He was holding a knife, I think, and something long, as if it was made by bamboo strapped to his side. What could that have been? A dart gun like object? Seeming him run by without crutches made me shake his head. That son of a bitch. He had played the weak card. He had us all write him off, right away we'd forget about him being a threat, ally or not and there he is... there he is, running away while everyone else is too focused on all the others.
I had to hand it to him. He's from District 3; he's smart.
I couldn't stay here forever, so close to the Cornucopia. One of two things were most likely. Either the Careers, as they usually do, would still be there, or Lone's group forced the others out. That girl from District 9, the one I killed... she seemed like the outlier, not as strong as Thatcher or the District 6 siblings. I imagine, though, just between the three of them, that they could be formidable enough to ward off any Careers. Struggling to my feet, keeping the arrow drawn, the string terse, the bristles resting against my pointer finger, I ran off from that vantage point.
For another half hour I went running, not another tribute to be seen. The violence would've had to stop. Sometimes the Cornucopia fighting could be over in two minutes, sometimes it lasted a half-hour, but that was only if the Careers decided to break themselves up then and there. I came to what seemed like a good location, down under a hill, nestled a bit up against a small pond. There was a decent sized placed to sit, I found a rock large enough for my body, and sat down. Should there be an enemy, unless they were exceptionally gifted in ranged weaponry, I should be safe. As far as I'm aware, I was the only one to pick up a bow. That's all I need, to pick someone off me or above me, that didn't matter. Should it be a tribute using a melee, hand-to-hand combat kind of weapon, there was nothing for me to fear, as long as I could outrun them.
I shrugged off the backpack I had taken from the outskirts of the Cornucopia, placing it down. I opened the it up, and in my haste, hadn't noticed exactly how light it had been; there wasn't much in it. At first, what I retrieved, which caused my heart to elate, once I saw it, was a sleeping bag; the color a neon green. Immediately my moo soured. Neon green? That wasn't something the Gamemakers would paint a life saving object to be. This neon green meant the sleeping bag was a liability, which would glow in the dark. No go.
Also in the bag was a canteen of water, bone-dry, but I didn't expect it to be full, I expected that it would be empty. The Gamemakers weren't practitioners of good faith to the tributes. It was their job to make my job of getting out of here alive a living hell. A small package of nylon which was to protect me in some downpour I guess followed, but it didn't look as if any rain would be sprouting up soon, and also it was neon green in color as well. You've got- you've got to be kidding me.
There was a jacket of some sort which had these weird pills that seemed like acid resistant. Who knows what the pills would do... I didn't. They were a pasty white color, but besides that, their abilities led me to think acid resistance. I didn't have a clue for what they were for. A small plastic sack of dehydrated fruit and meat were in one package together, and a shot filled with some sort of clear liquid packaged next to the meat? A saline shot, salt to keep the meat fresh, perhaps?
Then I heard the cannons.
A cannon was a mix between a drumbeat, a heartbeat, and the loss of a life. Each shot represented a dead tribute.
There were eight in all, each after the other, no censure in them to maximize what they meant. When the Capitol would show the faces, it would be their face and their district number underneath the mugshot, a final remembrance of the bodies, of those who died. I just hoped it wasn't Katie among the group. After all the violence at the Cornucopia ended, only then was the body count finalized. If someone were to die away from the bloodbath, but the Cornucopia still wasn't finished with conflict, that person would be roped in with the others as a victim.
It couldn't have been super late, having been woken up rather early in the day, but honestly, who knows. The faces would appear when it got dark out... and the Gamemakers wanted to mess with us, I suppose... as the very next thing that happened was the arena sky starting to darken, the sun blotting out. My circadian rhythm was not going to have a fun time with this, I tell you.
Then the pictures came into the sky, always announced by trumpet fare, the theme playing on speakers you couldn't see, Panem's national anthem. Through the trees, it seemed I could barely, just barely make it out. First was Arman, who died unmercifully at Lone's hands. He caused me so grief, for a single day, and I had entertained the thought about killing him. What would I have done had Lone not sent an axe into his back? He may have not even been gunning for Arman, just happening to be in the way, and all Lone saw was a body distracted, another tally for his kill list. I like to think I had the body strength to send his own spear through his back, a poetic sort of death... but that wouldn't have happened, no way.
Then the girl from District 3, and the boy from District 5 followed afterwards. Colby and Felice have lost their district partners. Obviously, whenever a tribute's face was skipped, it meant that the tributes skipped didn't die. Leeane, both from District 2, Colby, both from District 4, and Felice were all alive. So far, for the track record of allies, we were doing good.
I'll admit it now, I don't know why I agreed to an alliance in the first place. We didn't interact in training, on the second day. We talked a bit before the second day of dispersement, having lunch together, but train? Nothing. Talk about a game plan? Nothing too. Perhaps our alliance was tentative and flimsy, not real. Maybe it meant should I run into one of them in the arena we wouldn't immediately try and kill each other. As long as I found Katie, I would be okay.
I was unprepared for the next picture, obviously since only three faces were shown in the sky by this point.
Leema. I stifled a scream, by biting into my fist. For the few seconds that her face is hovering in the sky, color added to the picture, her cheeks are rosy, her flaming red hair scarlet on the blue background. She looks sort of... happy? Now she's dead, and I don't know who did it. I wonder who killed her... and had I not run off, perhaps she'd still be alive. She had to die after that, my running into the trees, since I only saw the girl from District 8, Arman, and Felice's district partner besides my own kill gone by that time. Had I been there... I could've killed them myself. Did Lyon get to redeem himself? Did he?
Then there were both tributes from Eight, and the girl from District 9 like I expected, the one I killed with an arrow to the temple. I paused, waiting for the last face. That was only seven, still an eighth missing. I don't know if it was me going crazy, since my head was searching for a possibility. Between Thatcher, District 10 and 11, and then Katie, forbid, that was six tributes, each an equal chance to be the last face we, the remaining tributes, would see. There was a preemptive pause, a pregnant pause, after that girl from Nine's face disappeared, like it was messing with me. Was- it couldn't be, right?
Was in Katie? No.
It was Madison, someone else I was supposed to protect, to ally myself with. Felice, Colby, Lyon, and Ramon now alone, their district partners dead. Only Katie and I remained alive together, and that could brew jealousy. I sunk to my knees, actually starting to shed tears. Yes, I cried, and I don't regret it. Madison and Leema were two allies I was going to meet up with, now dead. I wonder how Lyon and Ramon were taking their partners deaths... certainly worse than me. It was only a few hours since I landed in this accursed arena and eight children were dead, under the cruel barbarity of the Capitol.
They were only children... they were twelve year-olds, and the Capitol did this.
I looked up at the sky, the light draining fast; twinkling stars now coming out. Who knew what time it was anymore. I certainly didn't.
Who'd that leave? I ran over a quick list in my head. Katie and I, immediately, crossed ourselves off the list. Leeane, Altha and her district partner, both from Four: five left in the Career pack. Myself, Katie, Ramon, Lyon, Colby, and Felice: six together in the alliance that was supposed to exist, it just hadn't formed. Lone and Rachel, Thatcher, and both from Ten: five in Lone's gang. Sixteen tributes left, all in alliances, and surely all scattered away by the wind.
My eyelids started to droop some, keeping the list together in my head. We could win this, I wanted to think, but I know that wouldn't happen... not with ten literally lethal tributes between two alliances scouring for the others that weren't them. As far as I'm aware, with me running amok, and Colby by himself, we were scattered. Katie was probably running around, lost, right now... and who knew about the rest.
I fell asleep, soon after that, and though I cannot say I was a very religious person - perhaps not even in the slightest - I prayed, to something for Leema and Madison, hopefully there were in a better place now.
And here I am... stuck in the 99th Hunger Games.
My heartbeat echoed the cannons in the night as I slept.
He had gotten up away from the mentor table long ago, having some victor from District 1's hands around his throat the moment Arman died, unable to kill Jonathan. All he could do in the other's face was laugh; he couldn't help that some other districts just had tributes that were far stronger than the rest. The only reason why Henry Kraving was targeted and not District 6 was due to their age, guaranteed.
Henry stood a bit away from the Victor mentor table, having been the only one occupying that seat. The other victors, save for District 8 were still there, chatting to some degree. Even out of the Hunger Games, no longer being a participant, these victors would get enraged when one of their tributes would die; that not necessarily meaning they were out of line in somesuch capacity. It just was that the animalistic spirit in them couldn't die, regardless of where they were.
The victor from District 12, for as young as he was, felt more knowledgeable than most of the others gathered in the room. He was still the youngest on the block, just a year or two under a few recent Career tribute victors, but since Henry had been thirteen when he won, due to hiding and only killing someone at the very end in the final three - a knife to the back, a coward's way of fighting - he was in line with some of the youngest ever. His district partner did the rest for him, succeeding his victory, having already prepared to let Henry go home.
"Do you want to be with me now?" she asked him, her hair smelling like clovers, the body of the dead Career just a few feet from them.
Henry licked his lips, unsure of what to say, simply staring down at the bloodstained knife in his hands. Did he just...? He just killed someone; he killed a Career, the head honcho from District 4, and now it's just the District 12 tributes left. "Marley, I-"
His district partner, by the name of Marley, swallowed heavily, her throat bobbing up and down. This was final, this was it. "Don't worry; I am going to make that decision for you."
He holds her in his arms as she dies, she having slit her own throat with the knife used to kill the Career. Henry Kraving, at thirteen years old, is the victor of the 93rd Hunger Games.
A hand rested against his shoulder, causing Henry to jolt out of his train of thought. He scared Georgia half to death, she having been the person to approach him. She was the one to be more calm than anything, having asked with special permission from President Lee Snow to be allowed in the room. Usually the escorts weren't required to be in the room, let alone did she ever want to, but she stood her ground, shaking with a firm head that she wanted to be; it was the only way. For something, that was known. For what, though, Georgia didn't make known.
"You alright?" she asked him.
Henry hated that question. Of course he wasn't alright. Just seven short years ago, not all that long of a period of time, he had been in that arena as well. Not the same exact one, of course, but another like it, killing kids his age - still his age, that caused him to shudder - and having no one watch for the District 12 tributes. That would've been the escort's job by then, but that didn't matter.
"Yeah, Georgia, I'm fine," he said, voice hollow.
"Perhaps you should get some sleep? I think the night will be quiet."
"You're advising me now?"
Georgia raised an eyebrow. "Even victors of the Hunger Games need rest."
"A victor of the Hunger Games never gets to sleep," Henry locked his jaw. Marley's slit throat, with the jagged bits of upturned flesh still bleeding, the blood still stuck somewhere on his body no matter how hard he tried washing it off, and the copper sliding down her neck... it appeared in front of him. He didn't kill her, she had killed herself, but Henry still liked to think he did. It made the situation ten thousand times better for everyone. "Our nightmares are too long, the hours to sleep too short."
The escort turned away for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. This was the fifth year she had been with him, having joined just after he had won, since the other escort gave up, not wanting to work alongside a quote unquote 'weakling'. Georgia pressed her fingers up against her eyelids, sighing heavily. "Why do you have to always make things seem so difficult..."
Henry gave her a grin back, but the smile meant nothing. "And why do you let me get under your skin so much?"
Georgia flashed him a glare. She didn't want to change districts; she never did, she had always wanted District 12, having heard the rumors that they would have spells of brilliance - their first victor from eons ago, then dullness, then Haymitch... nothing, Katniss and Peeta... nothing, Henry... nothing. Could Jonathan and Katie be District 12's saving grace? - followed by dryness of winning. She had to see what it was all about, and now she's stuck along for the ride with Henry Kraving of all victors, a craven.
"We still have both tributes alive in there," she gesticulated to back behind her, there referring to the arena. "A Career is dead. Jonathan has killed someone. He has his weapon of specialty, and Katie's armed. We're doing a lot better than many of your victor friends in there."
Henry snorted. "No one in there is my friend."
"Why do you have to be so pessimistic?"
He hung his head at her. "Are you honestly asking me that?"
"Regardless!" she raised her voice for a moment, causing him to step back. Did Georgia Heffner ever get mad? He didn't think so, and neither did she. "They're both alive, and they're both armed. We cannot quit on them!"
The victor / mentor shrugged. He didn't know what to say to her. "Listen, Georgia. You do whatever you want to do, but I can already see the writing on the wall. He and her aren't coming back. I tell them that they can, they maybe will survive... but let's be realists here. Five Careers, and another alliance just as bloodthirsty, compared to our two tributes by themselves in the arena? We can give up. Eventually, they will to." She opened her mouth to say something, but he overrode her. "Now, if you could excuse me, I'm going to go try and sleep. Wake me up if something happens, okay? If either Jonathan or Katie die, I don't want to be there to see it. Good night."
With that, the victor from District 12 stalked away, leaving Georgia standing there in the middle of the lobby, the escort's arms down at her sides, hands curled into fists. His dark hair disappeared behind the corner of a building, she glaring in his direction.
She wanted to rip her hair out, to curse and stomp the ground, but Georgia Heffner isn't a quitter; she doesn't just throw in the towel due to years of pessimism.
"I am not going to give up on Jonathan and Katie," Georgia said, aloud, as if to make it mean something. Then, softer, and moreso to herself, "And I am not giving up on you, either, Henry Kraving. I'll try to get all three of you out of this mess, if I can."
Damn the girl from District 9.
Damn to her hell.
Katie doesn't cuss at people usually, in her head, aloud, or otherwise. And when she does, she's pissed. Pissed.
She had stopped running after doing so for what felt like ages, her head pounding, the wound in her shoulder screaming in agony. It hadn't been anymore than a cut, although not necessarily a shallow one either. She pressed a couple of fingers against it lightly, through her jacket, hissing as flesh came into contact with flesh. Retracting her fingers away, they came back bloody. A cut on the shoulder, next to the clavicle, while high up and not close to the ground, lest she fall... that could become infected.
It would be rather ironic for Katie Wenshaw to die via infection than a death by another tribute.
It was an interesting sight to see, to watch someone die. She watched multiple tributes be ended right there on the cornucopia, but Katie had a close up and personal view of the ordeal, as the girl from District 9 towered over her with the blade gleaming blood. She thought her name was Annie, the girl she fought the knives over, the same girl having been by her side when the plates rose. Then, all of a sudden, her attacker was down on the ground, not even uttering a cry of pain as the arrow embedded itself into her temple.
A bloodless death, and for a second, Katie was so stunned that she forgot how to breathe. She knew it would've only been Jonathan to be the one who killed her, with the arrow after all. She, as well as she could remember, thought Jonathan was the only tribute in the arena who could use archery, as stupid as it seemed for any of the other tributes not to have tried picking up that skill. It was almost quite silly for Jonathan not to learn any other skills as well, but it wasn't her place to scold him about it.
He saved her life; Katie should be forevermore grateful.
"Grateful that he saved me from humiliation, and grateful that he saved my life..." she grumbled to herself, picking at her ponytail. God, it was hot, and God her hair was not going to be having fun with this arena, at all. Just a bit colder, Gamemakers? Please?
Oh, be careful what you ask for, Katie Wenshaw. Asking for it to be colder in the arena means that when you wake up, the biome will be freezing and you dead due to hypothermia.
Darkness was starting to settle in, and Katie needed a place to rest. Doing these sort of actions: the constant running, the looking over your shoulder, the touching of a wound... it was tiring. She needed the time to rest, but resting meant closing your eyes and hoping not to be dead by the morning. Katie paused to catch her breath against a tree, and barely through it she saw the gray stones of the mountain, picturesque and lonesome.
How many tributes went into the forest and were going to stay in the forest? How many dedicated to hiding out in the mountain? Katie knew, if she went into the direction of the mountain, she'd have to climb it. Climbing the mountain meant dedicating yourself to reaching the top. What could any Gamemaker do to cause everyone to retreat down off of it? She perked her head up.
That made perfect sense!
Most tributes would get exhausted and would not commit to getting up to the top. It'd take a few days of constantly trekking it... maybe not, Katie wasn't an expert on something like that, distance related to time and all... but what if...?
She packed the pocket of knives resting against her side, the cloth draped over her non-wounded shoulder.
Katie Wenshaw was going to climb that mountain, and since she knew she wasn't some sort of fighter, the Careers and Lone's gang would rather dedicate themselves to the sea-level ground and hunt tributes there, instead of scouring through a mountain. Equal vantage points on both sides to escape... three directions, truth be told. The plan seemed better and better, bearing fruitful results the more she thought about it.
However, this new idea that popped into her head caused her to pause?
What about Jonathan? What about this alliance she entered?
She saw the faces in the sky, having the Alliance Rule resting on the back of her mind. The six of them left: Lyon, Felice, Ramon, Colby, Jon, and herself... they could win this if the other two alliances were to run into each other and kill themselves, if they were lucky like that. Her going up this mountaintop meant she was excluded from them, and whatever damage she would run into she'd have to deal with herself, by herself, and for herself.
Would having Jonathan benefit her?
Katie bit on her bottom lip, starting to get fatigued from the constant spells of running. She had to make a decision soon, since, once the light hours would start and the sun would break over the horizon, the Careers, and Lone, they'd go hunting. Anyone not well hidden would be snuffed out like rats, publicly executed in front of the others, and made a sport of.
She was not going to be humiliated again, and certainly by not another tribute.
She came to a stop, turning around and resting her back against the nearest tree.
This was good enough for now, and tomorrow, she and the mountain had a date with destiny.
Katie would make sure to sleep with one eye open, knife attached to her side at all times.
Leeane, the girl Career from District 1, blonde-haired and now partner-less, examined her wound that was nicked on her leg. Some stupid tribute, who she thought was the boy from District 8, actually having been Huron, one of Lone's allies, the boy from Ten, had tried, stupid albeit, to attack her. All Huron got was a lucky shot at the leg, but it made running a bit more difficult.
The Careers occupied the beach, the only large identifiable source of water, despite the water being salt. A beach, a cold mountain, a valley, and a forest... quite the strange biome world indeed. No one would encroach upon their camp; besides, this place was temporary and she'd be having everyone pack up in seconds to go to a new place on the morrow.
She ended up taking the smaller bow, the one she saw that poor girl from Eleven try to use, bless her heart. Somewhere else in the arena, in the forest no doubt, was Jonathan Crimson with the other bow, the larger one, the one she envied. It has always been Leeane's prerogative to get the largest weapon she could find, the bigger the better.
Altha tossed her knife in the air, idly, laying down on the white sand, being injury free. Unlike Leeane, which she bitterly remembered, Altha managed to get a kill. She was waiting for her district partner to coax a fire from the rocks he was snapping together over a couple of twigs. It wasn't going to be a fire; the Careers weren't that stupid. They'd create embers to light individual sticks, tree branches that could be used as torches to light the way at night, but the way the male from District 2 was working, it'd be eons before they'd have their light source. Leeane stood up, having tended her leg wound well enough.
She needed to practice moving, see what she could and couldn't do. Wouldn't want Lone bearing on the alliance and she being unable to run, get massacred.
"I'm going to go walk down the beach and see where it ends. I'll be right back," Leeane said.
Altha gave her a withering look. "Don't go dying like Arman. If you see Lone... shoot him in the heart."
Leeane smiled back at her ally, the gesture faint, but there nonetheless. "Don't remind me about that, please."
It's just another angle, she realized, to herself. She didn't particularly care that Arman was gone, Leeane never liked him from the beginning, but that really didn't matter. She'd use this angle, distressed district partner, as a reason for revenge. Killing tributes in the Hunger Games needed to be done for a reason, not just mindlessness. No citizen in the Capitol, and certainly no one in the Districts, even her own, wanted a killing machine who was cold, ruthless, reckless, and solidified. Revenge, fake revenge even... that was a justified reason for going after someone.
If only Leeane could be a decent crier.
Leeane walked down the beach line, the cool sea blue water combing her feet, quiver and bow attached. She noticed many things she didn't notice in her district, where all the beauty and glamour was fake. If everything around her upbringing was fake, did that mean she was fake as well? Leeane saw how the sun shined on the ocean, or the number of fish that smiled back at her when one would leap out of the water. There, lingering on the air. The smell of pine and other fragrances of the world.
Caught up in the newness of all this, she bumped into the girl from Four, her ally, who was perched down onto the sand, staring at something. Once she hit her, the girl looked up at Leeane, scowling, a spear in her hand.
Arman's weapon of choice.
Not that it saved him, of course.
"Sorry, Zelina, I didn't see you there," Leeane said sheepishly.
The girl from District 4, her name being Zelina, huffed angrily. "Watch where you are going Leeane. I know Arman is gone and all, but you need to pay attention."
This caused Leeane to crouch down next to her, close enough to the water where no camera could pick up on what she'd say. "Between you and me, I don't care."
Zelina was shocked to hear this, eyes widened. "Leeane? What? I-"
This was the truth that the blonde-haired Career wanted to shout from the very beginning. Leeane has always been a practical girl; seventeen years-old, she saw the world in moral greys, not black and white like many people in District 1 did: young and old. There were hardline statements she had to get out there, and off of her chest. Just because she and Arman were Careers from the same district together, alliance members... she didn't have to miss him.
"He was an asshole to me," she said. "An asshole to all the others as well, thinking he'd lead us and we'd all win..." a pause, followed by a snort. "Just because we were allies and district partners, I don't appreciate an asshole who is like that for no reason."
"You're not upset that he's gone?"
"Why would I be?" Leeane retorted, giving Zelina a 'what for'sort of look. "I knew Arman for years; we were picked as the volunteers for the Games this year, and I always wondered why the Academy would pick him. He was arrogant, and while we all have the reason to be, that blinded him." She put her hand in the water, swirling it around, the salt clinging to her pores.
Zelina faced the water. "Whether you liked it or not, Lone's dying for what he did."
"Of course he is. That won't go unpunished, I promise you that." As she said his name, bile rose in her throat. Even the thought of this lucrative killer made her sick. Yes, Leeane was trained in District 1 to be a killer, a Career, but she wasn't going to just kill because she could. Leeane was perhaps the most humanistic one in the Games, out of those with the true, capable potential to win. She's not wasteful.
A long pause. "I imagine you're going to be the one who'll want to kill Lone?"
Leeane sidestepped the whole question entirely. "You're on first watch tonight."
Zelina rolled her eyes, noting the avoidance of the question. "Whatever. As long as I get to kill any intruder, I'm fine with that."
The Career from District 1 got to her feet, drawing an arrow from her quiver, loading it into her bow. The one back in the training center was the same exact type that Jonathan must've taken, this one a bit smaller, not as much of a breadth for firing. Leeane eyed the ocean, standing on the beach, a smile playing across her lips. Was there anything out there? A barrier? A forcefield? Something?
Zelina watched, not daring to say anything, as Leeane fired the shot. The arrow went sailing through the air, whistling as it went, before landing out in the water with a splash.
"What was that for?"
"Think about this sand," Leeane said, mysteriously. "It isn't real; it's just lightly, lightly colored dirt. If that's the case here, than is the water even real? What do you think is out there?"
"I don't know Leeane..."
She didn't - Leeane, that is - turn to look when Zelina got up, trailing her spear behind her. Something was amiss with this arena... she could sense it. She could also sense a danger building behind her back, one that lingered against her skin, causing the hair on her arms to stand still.
Leeane locked her jaw, loading another arrow, tilting her head to the right some.
The feeling went away, whatever it was.
She didn't even know how much danger she just put herself and all the other Careers in.
Tribute List (Boy - Girl)
District 1: Leeane (District 1 Female)
District 2: Unnamed D2 Male (District 2 Male) - Altha (District 2 Female)
District 3: Colby (District 3 Male)
District 4: Unnamed D4 Male (District 4 Male) - Zelina (District 4 Female)
District 5: Felice (District 5 Female)
District 6: Lone (District 6 Male) - Rachel (District 6 Female)
District 7: Lyon (District 7 Male)
District 9: Thatcher (District 9 Male)
District 10: Huron (District 10 Male) - Amelia (District 10 Female)
District 11: Ramon (District 11 Male)
District 12: Jonathan Crimson (District 12 Male) - Katie Wenshaw (District 12 Female)
From this point forward... no one's safe, to be followed by Chapter #10: Call of the Lion.