Chapter Seven

It was bright and hot.

Haymitch licked his lips and already felt the moisture evaporate. Clearly dressing in a black rain jacket was overkill.

His eyes soon focused on the sight before him: a beautiful azure sky, the rolling green meadows, a distant mountain range and nearby woods. The meadow smelled sweet like after a fresh rain. His eyes were transfixed on the large silver cornucopia. A slew of weapons, including swords, knifes, spears and nets littered the ground. There were large crates throughout the area and bags with supplies. Haymitch eyed the other tributes around him, getting a feel for what they wanted to grab.

Head for the woods, Haymitch reminded himself. He looked around the area and saw a few bags just below the tree line. He would make a run for it and grab one of the bags on his way out.

The countdown was reaching the last few seconds and Haymitch felt his legs grow antsy. His fingers began to twitch by his sides. He wasn't the only one, another tribute — just five spots down — began to grow antsy. So antsy, in fact, he stepped off the platform three seconds too soon.

One down. Gone. Just like that.

Haymitch then realized it was a planned distraction on District Two's part. The first fallen tribute wasn't older than thirteen; his role was a distraction for the other Careers, who were already in the middle of the Cornucopia taking their pick of weapons.

Haymitch jumped off his platform and ran for the tree line. He weaved in and out of tributes in battle: two boys from District seven and nine were sword fighting; a girl from three and boy from ten were in hand to hand combat.

He was almost to the red bag when he saw something shining in the grass. Haymitch slowed his pace so he could see what the item was: a hand knife. The dented silver blade was set in a black and silver handle. Haymitch quickly picked it up and ran over to the bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

Haymitch ran as fast as he could for as long as he could. He stopped after a few minutes and tried to catch his breath. Running was certainly not his thing. He gripped his sides and bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He found a nearby log to sit on to collect his thoughts.

Okay, I'm in the woods. Now what?

Haymitch took the bag from his shoulder and opened it, peering at its contents. He had rope, an empty water bottle and a piece of flint. Haymitch nodded his head at the items and looked at the knife in his hand. The way the handle curved and fit his hand made Haymitch wonder if the item was meant for him.

He couldn't think about this any longer when he heard a few branches break. Haymitch collected his items and took off running. He wasn't sure where he was going, but Haymitch wanted to get enough distance from where the Careers and other tributes were.

Soon, he heard the sounds of the cannon.

Haymitch counted along with each boom. Three, four…eleven, twelve…seventeen, eighteen. Eighteen dead within a matter of minutes.

That meant there were thirty left.

Haymitch hung his head. How long would this Game go on? If the tributes didn't kill enough, the Game Makers would certainly solve this problem. Haymitch shuddered at the thought. Anything the Game Makers created would be ten times worse than anything a tribute would do.

Haymitch continued traveling, this time at a fast walk, until his legs grew tired. He began to look for an area to hide himself. He saw a tree with branches that looked perfect to hold his body as he slept. Haymitch started to climb the tree, but soon found himself on the ground, looking to where he just was.

Oh yeah, I've never climbed trees before, he reminded himself.

He saw a huge hallow tree trunk a few feet away. Haymitch got up from the ground and climbed into the space. He slid the backpack from his back and put it against his stomach. He took the knife from the side pocket and held it in his hand.

He lent his head back against the tree and tried to ignore the fact that he was starving and thirsty.