A/N- Here is the 1st Part of the 71st Hunger Games. I'm planning on dividing this into two or three chapters, depending on ideas that pop into my head. Please enjoy.
When I see the arena, I immediately think that it's the perfect place for the Duchu Lodi. As the camera pans out, showing everything, I get more and more drawn into these Games. A forest of towering dead trees makes up most of the arena, with icicles dangling from the barren branches. A dusting of light, powdery snow lines the arena, and the light breeze causes it to swirl, ghostlike, right over the ground. The camera flashes to a hole in a hollow tree, revealing nothing but dangerous yellow eyes, so similar to Orica's that I shiver.
Other than animals lurking around, and the tributes preparing to kill, I don't think that there's a single thing alive in the arena. With some imagination, I can definitely picture the Duchu Lodi leaving her ship to haunt this forest. The almost visible chill in the air, the cracking of frozen trees in the background, everything screams her name. I know that Amana probably has nothing at all in common with the ghost in the stories, but I find myself thinking that this is the perfect place for her.
Amana, however, doesn't seem to share that opinion. Her eyes grow to the size of oranges when she sees the shadowy forests. None of the tributes look totally comfortable, and the ones from the constantly warm districts like 11 and 10 wrap their thick coats a little more tightly around them. The clock on the screen ticks down, second by second, as the more experienced, smarter tributes get ready to run. Amana and several others are still too busy looking around.
Then the gong sounds, and about half of the tributes take off for the forest, leaving only a few bigger tributes willing to fight it out at the cornucopia….and Johanna Mason?
Actually, as I see just seconds later, she doesn't fight. The little angel of a girl simply darts into the middle of the battle, grabs what appears to be completely random stuff to me, then runs away untouched. I guess no one bothered to take care of her, especially not when there are more threatening tributes ready to hack off your head.
I keep one eye on the monitor that shows the bloody duel at the cornucopia, and another on Amana, who came away with nothing. See, that's where mentoring would really help. I wouldn't exactly have told her to go right to the mouth of the cornucopia and start hacking away with a sword like Arowana had done, but to run away with no supplies at all in an arena like this? That's a death wish. Sure, there are animals, but she has no way to kill them, and there are no plants that would do her any good, not that I could see. Not to mention the cold, which really makes a sleeping bag, or at least at blanket, a dire necessity.
"Mags, that dumbass ran away with nothing," I tell her. I turn my attention from Amana to Adair, who at least has a medium sized pack on his back. He's running away from the fighting too, other than Amana, who's spending too much time walking. Even if she is looking for a decent place to go, she has time for that later. Now, she should just be trying to get away.
"Only pay attention to her if need be," Mags reminds me, knowing that she has zilch chance of winning. That isn't what really bothers me, though. It's the fact that she would have such a good chance if she just worked at it, if she had any brain at all. It may be a little masochistic, but I keep watching her for that reason, hoping that something will kick her into gear, maybe bring out her potential.
I don't watch her closely, not now anyway. She's not doing much, so I pay attention to the other tributes for now. Adair has stopped running, now jogging along, searching for a shelter. The bloodbath at the cornucopia seems to be finished, with a pack of five Careers slowly picking over the remnants of the supplies and starting to set up camp. Nothing going on there.
I glance at all of the other screens, then focus my attention on the main one, where Claudius Templesmith is making comments about how the action should pick up soon, seeing as there is about none whatsoever right now.
"I'm bored," I announce to Mags, not meaning to sound so brusque, but it is boring. I'm not saying I'd like a huge killing spree to start, but really, there'd be nothing wrong if I did. It doesn't matter if the tributes die now or later, but all of them are going to eventually die, save for the one that gets to come out into this hell. So, actually I will say that I hope for some kind of huge massacre that takes out all of the tributes in one night. It'd be easier for the families anyway. I mean, why give anyone hope when it's not going to lead anywhere anyway?
"Be patient. It won't be "boring" for long," she says in a voice that lets me know she isn't thrilled with my attitude. Sadly, I'm not what you would call offended.
Things pick up a couple hours later, when the sun that was sort of peeking through the thick clouds sets, plunging the arena into eerily darkness. There are no stars, and those same thick clouds completely cover the moon. The stupid tributes that didn't get anything from the cornucopia, including Amana, are freezing their butts off, that's obvious. A couple of the really stupid ones, again including Amana, even start fires. That really pisses me off, especially since the pack of Careers always goes hunting at dark.
I search through the list of supplies I could send her, looking for something that'll get her to put out the stupid fire. She doesn't have too much money to begin with, not like the numbers I'm heard that Mags had to work with during my Games, so I don't want to be careless. A blanket would be nice, but I don't have the resources for that. I could send her a bottle of water, which would be totally unnecessary with all the snow. If she had a brain, she'd figure I'd want her to use it on the fire. But she doesn't, so that would be a waste of money.
"How do I get her to put that stupid fire out?" I ask Mags. She shakes her head.
"You don't. If she's foolish enough to start it in the first place, then you won't be able to get her to put it out." That's when I go over to my bed, squeeze my eyes shut, and pray for sleep. To my shock, it actually comes.
When Mags wakes me up a few hours later, the weather has changed dramatically. The wind has to be tearing through there at around forty miles an hour, because the snow that's falling from cotton ball clouds seems to be coming down sideways, causing the entire arena to turn into a solid chunk of white. I doubt that the tributes can see two feet in front of their faces. Even the cameras, with technology to be able to see through this stuff, have trouble picking up any more than fuzzy outlines.
Oh, and if you're wondering, Amana's fire is out.
"They're going to freeze to death," I tell Mags, looking at all the screens and seeing nothing but tributes. Any groups of them are huddled together, and single tributes are wedged into tight places, begging for warmth. I look at a little chart we have that lists the dead tributes. Ten are already gone, and a couple of faces are flashing, meaning that they're on the brink of death.
Amana and Adair aren't that far yet. In fact, Adair is curled up in a sleeping bag that must've been in his pack, so he looks better off than most of the tributes. Amana is huddled in a ball, which isn't exactly smart, since she probably won't be able to move if this lasts too long.
I'm somewhat shocked when I look at Johanna Mason's screen and realize that she's not only alive, but she's being smart, a lot smarter than Amana. She's dug a little den into a big pile of snow, and is curled up in there, a thin blanket of snow lying on top of her. All of her supplies must be shoved in a big bag that she's basically hugging. Maybe for warmth, or maybe so that she can make a quick get away. I guess I don't know.
I don't think she'd need to go anywhere very quickly, though. Not only is she going to be warm with this arrangement, but if another tribute would be pass her in this storm, he wouldn't see anything at all. I guess that having that resourcefulness isn't completely unexpected, though. In every picture of District 7 that I've ever seen, there have been loads of snow in the background. She's probably grown up breathing that stuff. Even so, I can't help but being mildly impressed.
"I'd rather have that runt than Amana," I tell Mags, pointing to Johanna's screen.
"Amana would actually stand a chance in a fight," Mags tells me.
It soon becomes pretty apparent, however, that there isn't going to be much fighting going on with this particular arrangements. After a day and a half of tributes sitting out the blizzard, the snow stops. Three more have died of cold, and another had stupidly tried finding better shelter and wandered right into the Careers camp, leaving ten.
Amana's picture is flashing at the moment, and I can only imagine why. She hasn't eaten, she tried to drink snow once, and she has to be freezing. I look at that flashing picture, decide that she's beyond help, and watch as the Careers break out of their little huddle and start hunting. It isn't for food either.
They break up into two groups, trudging through the knee-deep snow with swords in their hands and bows on their shoulders. For about an hour, it seems like they aren't going to find anyone. Then I notice how close they're getting to where Johanna has buried herself. I check out Johanna's screen, and sure enough, she's peeking out of her little den, hugging this huge axe to her chest. I can't imagine her being able to lift it, yet alone use it, though. Especially not against two Careers who are twice her size.
"I don't want to see her die," I tell Mags. "She seems too sweet."
"None of them deserve to die," she answers, peeking over at the screen. "I pray that boy doesn't use that mace."
I open my mouth to speak, but then notice that the Careers are walking straight over to where Johanna is hiding. One of them notices that the snow isn't completely right, then starts scanning the area, just feet from where she is. He takes another step, then another. Then I jump fifty feet in the air when he gets an axe lodged into his face. In another instant, that axe flies through the air and buries itself into the back of the other guy's head, about five feet away.
"Holy shit," I breath. Mags' eyes are the size of saucers. I keep looking at the screen, sure that I saw something wrong, sure that the person who was wielding that axe wasn't Johanna Mason. But it was. I watch in shock as I see her carefully make her way over to where the Career with the axe in his head is lying, then yank it out of his head.
There's some regret in her eyes, and I know that she's getting that sick feeling that you get after you kill someone for the first time, but I also know that it isn't going to stop her one bit. She cleans the blood from the axe in the pure white snow, then gathers her things and plods through the snow in search of another place for her to hide. No, not hide. I have to wonder if she was ever hiding. She was waiting.
That little angel of a girl was waiting for people to come by because she knew she could kill them with that axe in seconds. I remember when she was telling her story, how she never specified what job she had back in District 7. Well, it wasn't giving cookies to the lumberjacks, that's for sure. She's probably been cutting lumber since she could walk. I'm sure that it's to make money for her mother, I mean, if a tribute lied about something like that, Snow wouldn't be very happy.
I really don't think that she lied about anything. It's just that sweet, offhand way she said every single word that made us believe that she was as fragile as she looked. It's the fact that she must've blown her training score, so she wouldn't have gotten that ten or eleven that would've giver her away. And most of all, it was those tears that everyone saw the day of the Reaping, that got every single tribute, every single mentor, to count her out. Now, I can tell that she's going to make them pay. In my opinion, she's probably the smartest tribute that's even played these Games.
Now, going back to the not so smart tributes…. After I've gotten over my shock of watching Johanna chuck an axe that's as big as she is, I look at the list of dead tributes again. Amana is still alive, but I figure that she's going to die any second. I start to retreat to the bed, hoping to get myself to go to sleep before she does die, but then the siren flashes in our room, signaling a tributes death.
I can't help myself. I look at her screen. Then I start laughing. It's all I can do. The laughter is hysterical, and I don't think anything is truly funny, but I can't stop. Maybe it's my way of ensuring that I'm not sad, I don't know. I just know that Amana's death is the craziest thing I have ever seen.
Her lips are purple, her face drained of all color, and her violet eyes staring ahead blankly. Her blonde hair is blowing wildly behind her, putting the finishing touch on the Duchu Lodi. You could call Silvia psychic, or say that whatever messed up God lets these Games continue has a sense of humor, but I'm just going to say that it's karma. Crazy, twisted karma. Yet, I laugh. Really, it's the perfect solution to keep from crying. I didn't like Amana, I thought she was evil, but this is just too morbid. I vaguely wonder if maybe people will stop telling that story back home now. Or maybe they'll tell it more, because there's a certain proof to it now.
Think about this. Amana never took the time to help anyone. She was a careless flirt, and she cared about herself above all things. The Duchu Lodi froze those who refused to help her. If you really, really consider it, maybe it wasn't the Games that really killed Amana. Maybe something else possessed her to run from the cornucopia, to curl into that ball in a senseless, random spot. Maybe the Duchu Lodi didn't want someone like that impersonating her. Maybe the cold didn't cause Amana to freeze to death….
But that's crazy, isn't it?
This is the Hunger Games, however. If Johanna Mason can kill like that, then spirits at work wouldn't be weird at all.
"Do you think….?" I ask Mags. I notice that she's looking at me strangely. Maybe it was the laughing.
"Finnick, no." I shrug. It was worth some consideration. Mags is right, though. I can't blame an evil spirit for the wrongdoings of an evil man. Snow is to blame, and nobody else.