Thanks to everyone who's read TS so far! I know it's not super exciting so far but I really appreciate you staying with me. I like to think the story gets better as it goes along, and it definitely gets more interesting.
Normally, the Hunger Games kick off early in the morning. This year, they're starting at sunset. Just another way they're trying to keep things interesting after seventy-four years, I guess.
It might be better for Gale, but I hate it. Waiting for sunset is so much worse than starting the Games at dawn, and by dinner time, the anticipation is driving me mad. Mother has asked me if I'm okay at least half a dozen times, and all I really want is for it to be over.
Except…this is just the beginning. "Over" is ages from now.
The three of us squeeze onto the loveseat as the clock ticks ever closer. I can feel the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, as if I'm the one about to go into the arena. I can only imagine what Gale is feeling right now, and I'm not even granted the small comfort of seeing him, because they're still showing the commentaries, discussing who they'd bet on if they were allowed to.
I can't make myself listen. I blank out until Caesar says, "And here we go!" and the camera switches over to the arena.
I lean forward, although it really makes no difference for what I can see. I won't be able to get a good visual of the arena until daylight, but I can tell we're looking at a grassy clearing right now, with the angular metal Cornucopia in the center, filled with weapons and supplies the tribute will have to fight over.
I really hope Gale will avoid that initial battle. Sure, he could walk away with some useful stuff, but it's just as easy to die.
There are twenty-four pedestals surrounding the Cornucopia, and a tribute pops up on each one from underground. I scan frantically for Gale, but in the dark, I can't pick him out. There are a number of big burly guys that could be him, and they're all dressed in the same black jacket and cargo pants now.
When every tribute has emerged, the countdown from sixty begins. I feel like tearing my hair out, and Prim clutches my hand so tightly it threatens to cut off circulation.
On "ten", half a dozen spotlights flick on from the outside of the circle, bathing the tributes in a blinding white light. Almost all of them cover their eyes, not expecting the harsh change, but I only have one thing on my mind.
On "three", I spot Gale. I cross my fingers and make two wishes: one, that he'll avoid the Cornucopia. Two, that he'll take off on his own.
I get one out of two. The countdown ends with Claudius Templesmith saying, "Welcome to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!" followed by a drawn-out beep. Panic claws at my throat as I watch Gale (and everyone else, I guess) leap off his pedestal and flee. He pauses momentarily to scoop up an orange backpack left on the outskirts of the circle, and again to shoulder-check the female tribute from Six, but he's outside of the circle by the time the bloodbath has really begun.
Except, he leaves with Madge. The camera gives them no attention, but I spot her golden head next to Gale's new orange backpack, and they bolt into the surrounding woods together. I gnaw on my lip. It's wrong, I know, to want him to abandon her, because she doesn't stand a chance on her own, but in the end, she has to die for Gale to live, and I've already decided that's what's important.
I try to take some comfort from knowing Gale will be safe for tonight. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia could last for hours, and surely none of the survivors will be foolish enough to start hunting anyone down in an unfamiliar place at night. Hopefully, Gale and Madge will be long gone by the time everyone else has recovered.
They're not the only ones who flee, though. It seems several other tributes are equipped with common sense, and they run into the woods with little to no supplies. I'm unbelievably curious about what's in those woods- water sources? Huntable prey? Edible plants? All I can tell right now is that there are trees.
I won't find out for a while, I'm sure. The camera always follows whatever is "most interesting" and if people are dying, that's interesting. Gale and Madge scrambling through the woods could not compare to the bloodbath- not by a long shot.
I don't think you get used to it, watching people kill each other for next-to-no reason. The Games have always made my stomach turn, but this year it sickens me even more. Knowing one of the tributes makes it much more real, not just sick and twisted television that's mandatory to watch. I've never cared before, never watched more than what's truly required viewing. But it's all different now.
The bloodbath is in full swing. In the shadow of the Cornucopia, it's hard to see exactly what's going on, and I'm glad for it. I don't need to see Clove from District Two slit throats in high definition, and I'm sure Prim will have nightmares as it is. She's covering her eyes, but the screams of pain are still making an impression.
I can't look away. As grim as it is, I feel I need to know what's happening. For Gale. I can tell that a Career pack has formed, the tributes from Districts One and Two. Two of them are holding the mouth of the Cornucopia while the other two rummage through the loot and take what they want. The rest of the tributes, wanting a share, bravely- or arguably foolishly- attempt to take them on. Some of them make it out with a weapon or a scrap of food, but most are slaughtered quickly and mercilessly.
Caesar was right to call attention to Clove. She and her district partner, Cato, are both ferocious in the arena. Neither of them hesitate to kill, which just confirms my suspicion they were trained for the Games in advance. Illegal, yes. Common, also yes.
The battle goes on for what feels like years. Prim eventually excuses herself to bed, and Mother follows soon after, citing an early appointment in the morning. Now it's just me, and still, I cannot look away.
The last rallying tribute finally comes to her senses and flees, blood trailing from a shoulder wound given to her by the boy from District One, Marvel. He starts to chase after her, but Clove stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Let her go."
Marvel sighs. "You're no fun."
"We'll have lots of fun tomorrow," Clove replies, although she's not looking at him. Her beady eyes are locked on the fleeing girl, probably imagining putting a knife between her shoulder blades. "We need to make camp now."
"And a bath, maybe?" suggests Glimmer, the girl from District One. "I'm covered in blood. It's disgusting!"
"Get used to it," says Cato. "Or did you forget what we're doing here?"
"I wouldn't have blood all over me if I'd forgotten," Glimmer retorts. Then she flashes him a thousand-watt smile that reminds me she's the "sexy" one. "Gonna wash up in the lake with me?"
He shakes his head. Sneers, almost. "No. I'm keeping watch. We'll spend the night here, and make a proper camp tomorrow. Clove, are you gonna pull your knives out of those dead kids, or are you just gonna let the hovercrafts take 'em?"
The bloodbath is over. The cannon that announces the death of a tribute finally fires- not just once, but for everyone who died in the initial battle. I lose count, but right after the last explosion, the Panem anthem plays and the faces of the dead tributes shine in the sky. The girl from Three, the boy from Four. Both from Five and Six. The boy from Seven, and the girls from Nine and Ten. Nine dead, fifteen left to play.
While the Careers settle in for the night, the screen finally shows something other than the clearing. My heart races at the thought of seeing Gale again, but the camera first shows the District Eight girl, shivering in a bush, then Thresh, hunkered down in a grassy meadow. He holds an ax, but he nurses a wound because of it. I don't even remember seeing him enter the bloodbath- everything happened so fast.
Then, it's him. It's Gale! And Madge. I gasp, probably loud enough to wake everyone in the house, but in the moment I feel no remorse for interrupting my family's sleep. Even though I knew he was alive, I've never been so relieved to see a person in my life.
They're halfway up a tree in the woods. I can hear their breathing; they must have just made the climb. They're both looking up at the night sky, where the faces of tributes were projected just moments before.
"Bloodbath's over," Gale observes.
Madge nods. "They're either going to rest, or hunt us down now."
Despite the gravity of the situation, she manages to sound fairly chipper. I'm surprised. Personally, I expected Madge to crumple under the pressure of the arena almost immediately. Maybe I've underestimated her.
"Hopefully the former," Gale says grimly. Although it's hard to take him seriously when he's perched on a tree limb like a squirrel. "We're in no shape for a fight right now."
"We don't even know what we have!" Madge reminds him. "I think we're safe up here- let's open up that pack."
Precariously balanced, Gale slings the orange backpack off his shoulder and they start pawing through it. Before I can see what they have, the camera switches to Rue, perched in a different tree, then Finch from District Five, laying low where the woods and the prairie meet, and the girl from District Seven, foolish enough to make a fire. I wonder if the Careers will change their minds about resting when they notice such an easy target.
After a few more tribute check-ins, the screen stops playing the Games entirely. Back to the studio, back to Claudius and Caesar. They're both dressed in what I assume is the Capitol's take on pajamas, and Claudius has a sleep mask propped up on his forehead. He yawns as he says. "Well, that's quite a first night, isn't it?"
"Quite a night indeed!" Caesar replies. "The controversial evening start, nine tributes gone today to a very strong pack- but that's not even the only alliance that's formed!"
"Unusual, isn't it?" Claudius comments. "Normally you don't see tributes from weaker districts pairing up until they get a bit more desperate."
"Well, normally you don't see tributes that are dating each other either!"
I shut the TV off. I have every reason to believe Gale will be safe through the night, and if I don't sleep, I can't hunt effectively, and if I don't hunt, I can't afford to sponsor Gale, and that is the only thing getting me through life right now.
They have survived the bloodbath. That's something to be grateful for. I pick myself up off the loveseat and crawl into bed next to Prim, and I surprise myself by falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
§
The first thing I do the next morning is turn on the TV. First I see Marvel stoically guarding the Cornucopia as the sun rises, but that doesn't make for interesting television, and soon Gale and Madge are onscreen. This time I don't gasp, just stare a little. Alive. Still in the tree. They seem to be just rising- they have each belted themselves to a strong bow so they can sleep out of the other tributes' reach.
Once Gale has freed himself from the branch, he starts rummaging through the bag again, double checking it. "Well, we have some food. That's good. But no bow, nothing I can use to make snares…once we run out of jerky, we'll be surviving on nuts and berries."
"And the generosity of sponsors," Madge jokes, carefully climbing down to Gale's branch. "What about these? Can you hunt with these?"
She points to a trio of small tempered blades. My thoughts match up exactly with Gale's words. "They'd work for cleaning an animal, but throwing knives aren't much good for hunting."
"Unless you're Clove," Madge points out. I guess the brunette from District Two must have showed off her skills in training too. "…but I see your point."
"What we really need to do," Gale declares. "…is find water. Ideally without seeing any other tributes. Let's start with that."
Although I know it won't necessarily work, I'm relieved that their strategy seems to be "hide out and outlast". Gale is talented, obviously, but it would be just as well if he never saw combat. It's worked for people before.
As Gale and Madge pack up their humble camp, the screen switches back to the Careers. They're just starting to wake too (except for Marvel, on watch) and by the sound of it, they're going after the girl who started the fire last night. I shudder. I don't want to see that.
I shut the TV off and get ready to hunt. Now that I know where they stand after the first night, it seems doubly important that I bring home as much game as I can. Even the smallest item could make a big difference for Gale right now, and I haven't forgotten my promise to keep his family well-fed, either.
Just as I'm about to leave, I hear a knock. "I'll get it!" I call automatically, even though no one else in the house is out of bed yet.
I open the door, and it's Peeta, holding a paper sack of muffins, as promised. "For Gale," he says simply, pressing them into my hand.
"You made muffins already?" I ask. It's a dumb question. The muffins are right there. "It's barely dawn!"
He shrugs modestly. "I have to work the morning shift anyway. And…I know how much he means to you."
My grin falters. Gratitude turns to wariness. He sounds a little too knowing right now. "You mean…because he's my best friend."
Peeta gives me a look. I hate getting looks. "You don't have to pretend with me, Katniss. I know that you're-"
I clench my teeth. "Shut up" is on the tip of my tongue, but I waste time trying to think of something more derogatory and he gets to finish the sentence. "-in love with him.'
"You don't know what you're talking about," I snap. "Don't talk about him. Don't talk about me like that."
"I didn't mean-"
"I'm going hunting!" I shove the bag of muffins back into his hands and shove past him, breaking to a run as soon as I'm off the front step. I don't look back. I don't care.
I try to cool down before I get to the woods, knowing how much my emotions affect the way I hunt. But the heat of embarrassment has a grip on me. I'm so frustrated with all-knowing Peeta and his stupid condescending "there for me" act that I want to just smack my head against a tree for six hours.
It's not fair, really. I've kept my (childish, private) feelings for Gale a secret all this time. Now it seems to be on everyone's mind. It's one thing that I let it slip out to Gale himself. It was the last time I knew I'd see him alive; it had to happen. But Peeta? I never implied any sort of thing. He hardly saw Gale and I interact. Is it really that obvious?
It's absolutely mortifying, to care for someone as much as I care for Gale. For a moment, I consider giving up the whole sponsorship crusade and moving to the woods by myself, but I give up the thought quickly. I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for Gale, and I would endure much worse embarrassment to contribute to his survival.
Besides, if someone had to find out, at least it's Peeta. He might be annoying and try to tell me it's "all going to be okay" or whatever, but at least I can count on him to keep his mouth shut. This doesn't have to be weird. Nothing has to change.
I take a couple deep breaths and duck under the fence. Moving on. I need to hunt.
My determination is rewarded with a hell of a catch: I stumble across a flock of wild turkeys and take down two of them, great fat roosters. Considering the value of the feathers, not to mention the pounds of meat on each bird, that would be enough for the day, but there's more. I harvest a large clump of mushrooms, a rare delicacy that someone will pay a huge sum for.
I clean the birds in the woods; I'll be mobbed if I bring whole turkeys into the district. I'll have to make at least two trips, but I've already decided it'll be worth it. I pack what I can and hurry home. It'd be better to go straight to the Hob, but I promised Prim I'd let her help with the "organizational side" of game distribution. Whatever that means. No one's home when I bring in the first trip, but by the time I get back with the rest of the turkey and mushrooms, Prim is washing bandages in the sink.
"Is someone hurt?" I ask, shrugging off my game bag.
"Someone's recovered!" Prim replies, turning off the tap. She's always so happy when one of her and Mom's patients gets better- her natural empathy makes her a great healer. "The one with the dog bite, remember? Mom's staying there for dinner, but I wanted to be here when you got home."
"Then you have great timing. Come here, look at this."
I show her my catch, and she's just as excited as I am. "This is wonderful!" she exclaims, organizing the food into several different piles. "All we need is some bread!"
"Bread?" I repeat.
"Well, yeah!" As if what she means is obvious. "We've got turkey…mushrooms…I'll add some cheese…but it's not a meal without bread!"
"We've eaten many meals without bread," I point out.
"Yeah, but this isn't for us! It's for someone who wants to buy it, and I bet they'll pay more a turkey dinner that includes some rolls!"
She might be right. Strong "might". "What if we made some rolls?" I try. I don't want to go to the bakery and buy bread. Peeta told me himself he's working the morning shift and I'm not ready to see him. Not after he (albeit in a very polite way) accused me of being in love with Gale and I yelled at him.
I really have to stop doing that. But for now, I think it would be best if I just stay away from him. Do I not have enough other problems to worry about?
"Right, as if what we can produce with your tesserae grain would be as good as what-" I think she's going to say "Peeta" but she stops herself and says. "-the baker could make."
"I could get some flour-"
Prim will hear no more of it. She pushes one turkey breast and one drumstick into my hands. "Go sell these to the butcher. Take that money and buy some rolls. Then take the whole lot- besides what us and the Hawthornes are going to eat- and sell it at the Hob."
"Prim, I really don't want to go to the bakery," I complain. That's as close as I'll get to telling her about this morning, although I'm sure she could guess if she really tried.
"But you promised you'd let me help!" she wheedles, and my sister is impossible to say no to. So I find myself heading to the butcher shop, where I haggle with Rooba over the price of turkey, and then, to my dismay, outside of the bakery.
I linger at the window, not wanting to go in. I can see Peeta at the counter, but he hasn't noticed me. He's immersed in the try of cookies he's frosting; he has the tip of his tongue stuck out the way he always does when he's concentrating hard. I know his mother hates it when he does that. I find it funny.
Well, now or never, I decide, pushing the door open. A bell rings, announcing my arrival, and I wince as Peeta looks right at me. "What can I do for you?"
Okay, maybe he's not going to make it weird. Maybe we can just act like nothing ever happened- that would be my preferred strategy, but it's not just up to me. "A dozen rolls, please," I say quickly, digging the coins out of my pocket.
He packs the rolls for me. Neither of us is saying anything about it, but the air between us feels stiff and awkward, and that's never been us. Ever since Peeta and I first met at age eleven, our friendship has been as natural as breathing. Fighting with him- unlike fighting with Gale, which is standard for us for whatever reason- feels seventy kinds of wrong. I'm angry with myself for being the one to mess it up, for running away when I should have just handled it on the doorstep this morning.
Could I handle it now? I'm not sure. All my instincts are really just telling me to flee again, but I'm under the impression that would just make things worse.
Peeta hands me the package of rolls over the counter, and his hand bumps mine, forcing me to acknowledge how clumsy even the smallest of interactions with him feels right now. I jerk away and smack the handful of coins down next to the register. "Thank you for the bread," I say more to the ground than to him, and I don't think I take another breath until I'm out of the bakery.
I hate that he knows the most personal thing about me.
I hope this stupid bread is worth it.
Just a note- for some reason when I was writing this, I was REALLY sure the countdown was from 100. No idea why. FYI, keeping track of 24 people is HARD.
This chapter stressed me out for lots of reasons, because I had to change it so much from my first draft (which was WAY too out of character as opposed to a little too out of character) but eventually I produced something I'm kind of happy with?
