12

Prim tried not to vomit in the hovercraft. If she did, then stuffing herself during breakfast was a waste. She needed to keep all the food in her that she could.

Her arm still stung from where the woman in the white coat inserted her tracker. Cinna rejoined her and she clamped onto his hand. "Cinna…will you tell…tell Katniss I love her?"

"Shh, little primrose. Don't talk like that."

The hovercraft lowered. If only the windows weren't blacked out, Prim could figure out where they were. They hadn't flown very long—a half hour or so at most. They exited the hovercraft and followed instructions into the Launch Room. Prim showered as long as Cinna allowed her to, soaking in the hot water, wishing she could somehow drown in the spray instead of step into the glass tube that would lift her into the Arena.

"Time to get ready," he said through the door.

She stepped out and pulled on the undergarments. Cinna then helped her with the light brown pants, green blouse, belt, and long hooded jacket. They fit perfectly. "The material in the jacket is designed to reflect body heat. Expect some cool nights."

Helpful, if she lived long enough to sleep in it.

Maybe she should try to connect with Rue first so that she could give Rue her jacket for extra warmth.

Maybe.

"You're all set, unless you want to eat more."

Prim shook her head. "I'm already about to throw up."

He chuckled probably to help ease her tension, and they sat together on a bench, waiting. Prim hated it. She wanted it over with. She could barely feel her legs, was she even breathing? Why all this waiting? Was it just to torment her and the other tributes?

"Do you want to talk?"

"I'm going to die," she blurted.

He took her hand in his. "Probably, little primrose. But you seem ready."

His words released her tension like a drain that unclogged. Finally. Someone got it. "No one else seems to agree. They keep telling me I can fight, I can survive, I can hide. They just don't get it, Cinna."

"I understand."

She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, like she used to do with Father. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. When she came up into that arena, she needed to look strong and brave…for Katniss who'd be watching from home.

"Please prepare for launch," a pleasant female voice announced.

Panic slammed Prim against the wall. No. Not yet. No. "No!" Pressure built inside. She was going to be sick. She was going to faint. She was about to die.

"Let it out," Cinna urged, leading her to the circular metal plate.

She gulped for breath.

"Just let it out."

She did. She screamed—a high-pitched frantic shriek that rang around them like a banshee's echo. Then she breathed out a feathery, embarrassed laugh.

"There we go." Cinna grinned and double checked the zipper on her jacket. Prim smiled, a wobbly one, but a smile none the less. She'd miss Cinna. "Remember to find water. And find Peeta, he'll protect you."

And find Rue. If Prim planned to survive, that's what she'd do.

But she didn't plan to survive. In less than two minutes, she'd be dead.

A glass cylinder lowered around her, cutting her off from Cinna. He held her gaze—fierce and assuring—until the cylinder began to rise like an elevator. She entered darkness for several long moments and then sunlight blinded her. Wind. The scent of pine. For a brief moment, she felt free.

Claudius Templesmith boomed all around them, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The projected 60 started its countdown, with a deep click that reverberated in Prim's chest every time a number changed. She wobbled on her metal circle, but caught herself. She blinked until the scene cleared and she could make out the other tributes on their circles. Forest to the left, lake to the right, green grass ahead.

…55…

…54…

…53…

The golden Cornucopia sat in the center of a ring of tributes. All eyes were fixed upon it. Prim faced the mouth of it and could see piles of weapons, backpacks, crates, food, etc. For a moment, she imagined the tributes in there, fighting for different weapons, blood flinging left and right.

…42…

…41…

…40…

But she was fast. If she was going to die, she at least wanted Peeta or Rue to win. Maybe she could get some things from the Cornucopia for them.

...30...

...29...

...28...

Peeta crouched on his circle to her right, angled toward the forest to Prim's left. Prim couldn't see Rue. She must be behind the Cornucopia. From that vantage point, Rue wouldn't head for the pile of things inside the Cornucopia, it'd be too dangerous for her.

It was up to Prim to get them their weapons.

And if she died trying…then she died for a good cause.

…10…

…9…

…8…

She positioned her feet and focused on her target, just like when she ran races at school. Always look at the finish line, never look at the racers. A knife for Peeta, a slingshot for Rue.

...3...

...2...

...1...

The gong rang out and she sprinted forward. She could hear Katniss's scream in her mind, urging her on. Run! Run, Prim, you can do it!

She ran.

But her legs were like jelly from all the nerves. And giant boulders of over-eaten food rested in her stomach. She was slow. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone else heading for the Cornucopia, too. Same speed.

It was a boy. And he was huge.

But Prim didn't give him a full glance. If she was going to die right now, she wanted it to be from behind. She didn't want to know it was coming. And big boys killed fast.

She reached the pile and grabbed the first things her hand came in contact with—a brown backpack filled to the brim with who-knew-what. Her left hand shot out and snagged a slingshot that lay on a crate. Now, for a knife. There, on the opposite wall in a bracket with other weapons. She rushed over, stuffing the slingshot into her belt.

Someone screamed behind her. She spun around and screamed herself. Blood and tributes—some on the ground, some standing over the dead ones with bloody swords. Her hand hovered over the knife on the wall.

Cato, the biggest tribute of them all from District 2, stood on the other side of the Cornucopia opening. Blood splattered his bright blond hair. A young boy tribute lay slashed on the ground. Dead. Cato lifted his crazed gaze from the body at his feet…and looked straight at Prim.

.

.

To be continued...

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(New posts every week, sometimes sooner.)

~Feel free to check out my own dystopian book, A Time to Die (by Nadine Brandes), on Amazon~

"How would you live, if you knew the day you'd die?"