"If you break down
I'll pull you through."
- Colin MacDonald, 2011.
The 2nd Annual Hunger Games
Charity Green (16), District 9 Female
The Trews - Hope & Ruin (2011)
I wake slowly, and I'm conscious of my district partner, fifteen-year-old Brendan crouching by a primitive fire near me. I can hear the crackling of the tinder as the fire takes hold, and the smell of wood smoke cuts across to me easily. We shouldn't stay here for long. Both the smoke and the smell will attract tributes. Not that there are many left to attract. Only nine of us are still alive.
I open my eyes slowly, and see that the landscape remains unchanged from yesterday. Staying inside my sleeping bag (which is propped up against the trunk of a tree) for warmth, I take in my surroundings.
We're in a dense forest, largely populated by towering pine trees, and the distinct smell of pine hangs thick in the air. Well, it did until we lit the fire. As with all week, the Gamemakers have kept the arena cold. Not freezing, but close. The woodland spreads over both sides of a steep valley, and I can see thick fog settling further down the hill, and I can see the woodland on the slope opposite us. There, amidst the trees, is that the yellow of a- no. Even if it is a tribute, I can't think like that. It'll only get me worried, even if we're a mile away, and encounters are slim.
It's amazing how far we've come without killing. Well, I haven't killed. Brendan says he injured someone badly at the cornucopia (well, that's what the commentators called the golden horn last year) but he doesn't know if they died from the injuries he caused, or if someone else got them. Either way, the face of the boy from District 5 was in the sky on the first night. I've asked him more about it, but he won't go into any details. To be honest, I'd want to keep memories of such events to myself, too.
After several unsuccessful attempts at rousing myself, I finally leave my sleeping bag. The cold bites at me as I fumble with my coat, which I had unzipped in my sleeping bag. Typical. Always too hot or too cold. Never just right. My biggest adversary since entering the arena has been temperature. The arena has stayed consistent, though. Even though it's July, every day I wake to November. Cold, but not quite freezing. Always foggy and misty, but never raining. A slight wind on the sides of the valley, still air by the river.
I hate the river. The one water source in the arena, which consists of a wooded river valley. As it's at the bottom of the valley, everyone can see you when you trek down the banks for water.
I've watched four get killed off down at the river. I know that someone, a good archer whoever it is, has shot three along a certain stretch. Me and Brendan have learnt to steer clear of that sector. I'm worried that because of this, we're starting to get complacent.
I walk slowly over towards Brendan, who is finishing off a pear, and crouch next to him by the fire, thawing myself in its warmth.
"Sitrep?" I ask.
"One packet of beef strips, a few berries, half a litre of water."
"That won't last us long," I say matter-of-factly.
"No," says Brendan, sighing. "We need to return to the river."
There's no way out of it. We need to return to the killzone. I'm sure the other seven who remain know that risking the open is a death-trap, but are prepared to venture to the river because without it, death would be upon them. Even so, tributes are visiting the river with increasing scarcity, trying to make what water they have last as long as possible. I can't deny that we have been doing the same thing. But now there is no option; we've almost exhausted our water supply.
"So how're we getting there?" asks Brendan. "We can't approach as we did before. It was too obvious; someone will suspect something."
Last time we went for water two days ago, we had ran to the highest point of the river, where the river enters the arena through a large culvert. From there, we could see the whole arena.
Roughly a mile and a half long, with steep valley slopes extending roughly four hundred yards out from the river in both directions, until the slope becomes a cliff, and you can climb no higher. The lower end of the river leads only to a lake, surrounded by the steep valley walls on three sides. The higher end is a sheer cliff-face, but for the culvert that provides us with water. I'm sure it could be possible to escape the arena by crawling though the culvert, but we have no means of getting through the iron bars that block the entrance to the culvert, which is roughly three metres in diameter. Maybe if we had the equipment to let us escape, I would. Still, I reckon the Gamemakers would kill us before we get very far.
"So where do we go?" I ask, uncertain of our plan of action.
"I'm not sure," replies Brendan, who is frowning in thought. "I guess we should stay close to the edge of the cliffs, so that we can't be taken from behind. Then we only have to watch one direction."
"Good idea," I say. "What about arming ourselves?"
"Well, I've got my spear," says Brendan. "And we have two knives. It's up to you whether we take a knife each or you have both."
"I'll take just the one, Brendan," I say. "A spear can only be used once; you'll need a knife after that."
"Alright," says Brendan, passing me a knife from his belt. "We'd better get moving."
Brendan stands and smothers our small fire with dirt. We only have to wait five minutes for the embers to diminish to nothingness. Then we pack up what few supplies we still have into a small backpack that Brendan carries, and start the climb up the side of the valley to the cliff face. Brendan walks ahead, checking for potential traps, whilst I watch his back. Not that I'll be able to do much but alert him of another tribute's presence. Armed with only a five-inch combat knife, I guess I'm the worst-armed tribute left in the arena. But let's not worry about that now. Water is our main priority.
When we reach the cliff face, we turn left towards the higher end of the valley and stay close the cliff, as to keep only our left sides exposed to attack. My ankles begin to tire, not only due to the slope of the valley, but due to the uneven surface of the ground. Here in the woods, the ground is coated with pine needles, which offer more give than the usual path surfaces of tarmac, gravel or even dirt. Due to this, my balance fails me every few minutes as we slowly make our way towards water.
It's late morning when the cannon fires. Brendan and I stop our trek to try and catch a glimpse of the hovercraft, and where the tribute's corpse is collected from. Sadly, due to the canopy, we don't even see the hovercraft, we only hear it come and go.
As we walk on in silence, I realise that now there are only eight of us left. Just seven more to kill, and if I want to return home, one of those seven will be Brendan. I know I'll have to confront him eventually, but for now, I'm sure that he wants that circumstance as little as I do. But thankfully, we should still have a few days to wait.
I can almost guarantee that we're the only alliance in the arena, and for now, that gives us a distinct advantage. Last year, only one alliance was formed, and despite the two tributes from District 6 being weak, they survived unarmed until day two. Only then did an unfortunate run-in with the eventual victor, District 4's Fraser Reynolds, end their survival chances.
I knew that this year, District 4 were the real threats. The rules of the Games state that each year, up to two previous victors can 'mentor' the tributes from their district during the Games. As only one Games have occurred, Fraser Reynolds gave Four a distinct advantage at the start of the Games. Both of his tributes scored reasonably highly, with a six and an eight. I expected them to ally in the arena, but the girl who had scored an eight was killed at the cornucopia on the first day. Without his partner, the boy is just an average tribute in the Games. Still, I've kept an eye on the boy from District 4. As of last night, he was still in the game.
The only other tribute that I was certain I knew the identity of was the girl from District 7, who I believe was called Tracy. She was the highest scoring tribute, and the only one of us to score a nine. I'm not surprised she's made it to the final eight. I hope me and Brendan don't run into her anytime soon.
And then there is Brendan. I guess he's just an average tribute. He has a typical District 9 look; light brown hair that now looks untidy, light blue eyes and slender build. Not many of us are ever stocky. Just the lucky few.
He scored averagely in training (a five), and is moderately armed, with a spear and a knife. But he knows how to survive alone, and that's enough to make him a worthy contender. His knowledge of the natural environment has been the difference between life and death for me. Without him, I wouldn't be alive now.
And suddenly I realise how important Brendan is to me. I know that I have to keep him with me as long as possible. With Brendan, there remains the hope of one of us making it home to District 9. If I lose Brendan, I'll be ruined.
The 2nd Games was the first year that the Gamemakers had an active role in what happened once inside the arena. For the first Games, they had merely created a fighting environment, but this year they had designed an arena filled with traps to keep the Games interesting in its latter stages.
Despite the advantage of having a mentor - a privilege only given to District 4 - neither of the tributes from Four made it into the final six. The boy - the only one to survive the bloodbath was cut down on the eighth day by Tracy, the girl from District 7, who was soon taken out by the boy from District 8, who had remained in control of the river for the duration of the 2nd Games.
By the eleventh day, he had seven kills to his name, and there were just four tributes alive; the boy from Eight, both from District 9 and the fourteen-year-old boy from District 11. At this point, the tributes of District 9 split, and Brendan confronted the archer at the river, severely injuring him with a spear wound but died in the process. On the same day, Charity confronted the boy from District 11, but their battle was interrupted by Gamemaker intervention, as they began to flood the valley, raising the level of the river dramatically. The boy from District 8, who was heavily injured, died trying to escape, and the Charity manages to kill the boy from Eleven with her knife as the two tried to escape the floods, crowning her the victor of the 2nd Annual Hunger Games.
