2.3 : Johanna

When I awake, it's still dark, and the air is stagnant and quiet. My eyes shoot open all at once, taking in the dim grey canopy of leaves above my head. For a moment, I don't even dare to move. I stay deathly still, listening out for any noise, any hint that anyone or anything could be nearby. There's not much. A slight breeze. The sound of distant birdsong, breaking the peace of the evening. And if I pay really, really close attention, the sound of a river, somewhere in the distance.

I don't move, even though I'm certain that I'm alone. I can't. I cannot will my body to move, even though my limbs are stiff and sore from sleeping up a tree, in the cold, all night, and I want nothing more than to get up and get my blood pumping. My breathing is even, but I don't feel steady. I feel horrible. I feel sick.

I was worried that I would get into the arena and, once I fell asleep, I'd start being plagued with nightmares. Now I know that isn't the case. Fear won't break my sleep, but it will visit me when I'm awake. Lying here, perfectly still, I cannot stop the rush of images that speed through my head. One after another, like the pages of a flip-book, like the one my father drew for me, when I was a child. The mutt from yesterday, inches from my face, its breath coming in hot and furious. The way it had flung itself at me - how sharp its claws were, how heavy its frame was against my body. How it had shuddered before it died. The smell of its blood. And the boy from Five, grabbing at the gaping black wound behind his knee. Raw, flapping skin. Had it been his tendon I'd seen? I open my eyes, but it does nothing to quell the panic I feel, or the images that keep flowing in.

It's stupid. I'm safe, or as safe as I can be right now. Nobody's nearby. I'd hear them. I had an encounter with one of the Gamemaker's tricks last night, so they won't play with me for a while - certainly not when there are other, untested tributes left to toy with. Apart from the fact that I'm in the Games, there's not really any difference between here and home, when I think about it. But no matter what, no matter how many times I tell myself, I can't seem to calm down enough to move.

It takes about half an hour to coax myself up into a sitting position. By this point, the sun has begun to rise, and the sky above me is streaked with orange. The woods in the early morning always have a strange, liminal feeling to them. It must be something about the way the light hits the leaves - some part of it just doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel as though I'm entirely awake.

The woods have come to life, though. In the light, I can see that the path I took last night is almost certainly the direction I was aiming for — north. Thankfully it doesn't look like I created much of a trail in my panic, though a skilled hunter would probably be able to tell that someone was here at some point. The tree I picked is in a sparser area of the woods. Not exactly the most covert of locations, but at the very least, my tree has dense brush, and I would be able to see anyone approach long before they spotted me. Right now, I can tell my surroundings are devoid of much life - apart from a squirrel, climbing up the trunk of a nearby tree. Good. So there's something to hunt.

But I don't hunt. I don't know how to. And even if I did, back home, there's practically no way to. The woods surrounding the populated areas of Seven are so loud, there's no game for miles. Hunting is very strictly forbidden. I've heard rumours that they're more lax about it at the logging camps, but those are miles out from anywhere I've been. And there are checkpoints, if you're given permission to go to the areas where there might be something to catch. But even if there weren't, there'd be no possible way for anyone to sneak away long enough to hunt. There's at least two armed Peacekeepers patrolling every excursion. Obviously. Wouldn't want an army of district workers all armed with axes to think of doing anything.

There was talk of it, about three years ago. I didn't catch much of it. I was fourteen, and as far as I could tell, it was mostly between the oldest kids at school - the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, the ones who were about to enter the workforce full-time, instead of just hauling logs in the summer and on the odd afternoon. I think a handful of them had been planning to storm one of the northern camps that they'd been assigned to and hold the Peacekeepers up there hostage. I'm not sure what for. I'm not sure what they would have even achieved.

Apparently, they got caught out planning by school administration, and were issued detentions every evening for the next two months. Nobody got turned in, and by the end of it, whatever thoughts of rebellion they held had been squashed out of their heads entirely. It was Lynn's father that dealt with most of it. I remember at the time, I'd been desperate to know anything about the situation, but she'd sworn to me that he wouldn't speak a word about it. At the time, I hadn't believed her. Now, I think that's probably true. If anyone had officially caught wind of what they had been planning, those kids would have probably been hung.

That would have been Ashley's year, I realise. If he hadn't won when he did. I wonder if he knew those people. If he was friends with them. If he hadn't won, would he have joined them?

I doubt it.

By any rate, the squirrel's long gone, and my stomach is starting to protest. I have two slices of dried fruit for breakfast, as well as a precious few sips from my water bottle, and swear to myself that I have to find a way to hunt, or at the very least forage, today.

But, staring down at the forest floor, I can't. I can't move. I can't get down, because suddenly, all I'm thinking about is the boy from Five, and the yellow eyes of the mutt. My breath hitches again, and, somewhat angrily, I will myself to stop this, because there's no way I'm going to survive if I start panicking at the idea of climbing down a tree.

It also occurs to me that, if I'm not already, I'll be on camera soon. I can't bear the idea that someone might see me and assume I'm afraid over nothing. My fight with the mutt last night - it was just after mandatory viewing, so not everyone will have caught it, but surely this morning, they'll be showing a replay. If they cut it with me, looking as though I'm scared of heights, they'll see my kill as nothing more than a fluke. I need to act now, because if I don't, I could lose any small level of credence I've gained with the audience so far.

It still takes ten more minutes until I feel steady enough to get up. It takes me fishing out my piece of amber from my pocket. I sit, cross-legged at the bend of the branch, back leant up against the trunk of the tree and observe it, rolling it back and forwards between my fingers. I think of my father. I wonder how he's doing. I wonder what he's thinking. Is he at home, or is he still being taken care of by that victor - Sylvia? I hope he's alright. I wonder what he would be thinking about me now, if he had the clarity to think about me properly. Would he be proud of the fact that I've made it this far? I close my eyes. I think he would.

The second I feel like I'm able to, I let my feet hit the forest floor. The ground is damp with dew, which muffles the sound of my jump, and the air is fresh. I let myself look up, and breathe. Pack my bag. Take a moment to sharpen my spear. And then, I start to move.

I decide to follow the sound of running water. I must not have recognised it last night, but somehow, in my trek up north, I must have travelled parallel to a river. It takes me a while to find it. There's something about these woods that seems strangely unnavigable. I'm not sure if it's the constant slope upwards, or the identical trees, or the rock formations that crop up every once in a while, but I get the sense that I'm walking in circles.

Eventually, I stumble upon it. It's obviously a Gamemaker creation. Instead of running downhill, like a normal river would, it snakes around northward, staying in-line with the forest elevation. I have no idea where it leads. The only river leading out from the lake that I recognised back at the Cornucopia ran off from the other side of the arena. Is it possible that this river leads all the way around there? I'm not sure. There's almost certainly a reason it's here.

Despite the lack of slope, the water runs rapidly. Eyeing it, I assume it must be about waist-deep, and obviously freezing cold. I need to be careful not to fall in. Even with my experience back home, I'm not sure I'd make it out. There are probably some very sharp rocks in there.

I do observe it for a moment. It looks clear enough, and it's either coming from the lake, or from further uphill, via some sort of glacial source. Either way, it's drinkable with purification - which I have. I walk a bit until I find a flat stone overhanging the water, and once I can tell that it's sturdy enough to bear my weight, I fill up the rest of my water bottle and wait.

As I do, I watch the water run past. I wonder what the Gamemakers have planned for the lake. It must be something. There's no way that they would create such a large fixture in the arena and not do anything with it. It's probably in my best interests to stay as far away from it as possible. I frown, peering into the river. Could they possibly send something upstream? Some kind of water-virus. They did that, in one of the older games. Invited everyone for a feast, and then sent in a sort of gas that made everyone completely paranoid and unaware of their surroundings. My mind is just running through the possibility when I see the tell-tale sign of a fish swimming downstream.

I pause. I wait. A minute passes, and then, yes! Another one. So there's another source of food here. I look around. My makeshift spear won't be good for much when hunting on foot, but maybe, I'll be able to catch something in the water. I look up. It would do some good for the audience to see me hunting, I think. They'll see I'm self-sufficient. I'm a survivor.

I walk a little bit upstream, until the water gets shallower, and peel off my shoes and socks. The river is ice-cold, like I suspected. The bottom is made up of rocks, like the lakeshore, and I let them roll under my bare feet. Something about the cold water on my bare skin invigorates me, and I find the world around me pull into sharp focus. I take my spear, place myself into position, and wait.

It takes about an hour and a dozen failed tries, but I eventually catch what I think is probably a salmon. The sun has fully risen, and is beating down on my back in full-force, but the water is refreshing. I'm aware that if there's fish nearby, there will probably also be bears. Normally, I wouldn't be on alert, because my rare experience with bears has told me that they will avoid noise at all costs, but after my run in with the mutt last night, I'm keeping my eyes peeled. I pull myself out of the water and sit on the shore, sipping water and eyeing my surroundings.

Daytime is when to light a fire, but I wait until I've found a sheltered, thick grove before I even think of touching firewood. I need to rest anyways. The end of my makeshift spear has splintered with the exertion of fishing, and I don't feel confident going about with only my flip knife to keep me defended. I use the old spear to form a sort of spit, which I roast the fish on, and go about sharpening the end of a new stick.

It's not going particularly well. I'm not very happy with it. I haven't been able to find a branch as easy to whittle in this part of the woods, but I don't want to risk travelling that far down. I shake my head, check the fish is done cooking, put out the fire, and set off again. I walk another hour or so north - keeping the sound of the river to my left - before settling down to eat lunch. I'm just thinking about seeing if it's worth it to try to head further downhill when the parachute comes.

It's gentle on the wind, and I leap up to my feet. I see it fall, but I examine the branches of the trees above me before I run to open it. Tied to the end of smooth, silver silk, is a pointed spile. I frown at it for a second. What does this mean? I had assumed it would be more food. Certainly I'm not able to afford anything else yet. I have a source of water. Why would Ashley send this to me? I pause, and try to think. It's made of metal, cold to the touch. Is he sending me a message? I don't know what he'd be trying to say. I roll it around in my hands, and the sharp end runs against my palm. It's sharper than I expected. It almost hurt.

I pause. I take the sharp end and press it against my palm with my other hand. Yes. It's sharp. I look at the end of my spear, and then up at the sky.

"Thank you, Ashley," I say.

Using the string of the parachute, I manage to find a way to tie the spile to the end of a branch, like a spearhead. It takes a bit of fine-tuning, but eventually I manage to get something far better than my original weapon. It won't get damaged over time, at least. Once I'm done, I find a rock formation, climb to the top and sit, looking out at my little part of the woods.

Where do I go from here? I frown. I can probably bide my time for a day or two, but what then? I'll need to act. And what about the other tributes? Is anyone nearby? I run through the remaining names in my head. There are thirteen of us. Five in the Career pack, so that's eight of us. Based on the way the Cornucopia was set up, odds are that means there's four in the woods and four in the rock-lands. So, three others in the woods, maybe, at least. This isn't a particularly large arena. Discounting elevation, I could probably ring around three quarters of it in a day.

But my sponsor gift. I pause. Why would Ashley have sent it to me while I was eating lunch, instead of when I was actively working on the spear. That doesn't make sense. I probably would have gotten its purpose immediately. And it's not like he only just got the money in. Anyone who sent me sponsor money would have done so after my fight with the mutt yesterday. Unless. He told me he'd be very specific about when he sends gifts. So maybe, maybe, he didn't send it, because someone was nearby.

Not the careers, that's for sure. My fire wasn't easy to spot from far away, but anyone nearby would have noticed smoke. Someone hiding nearby - too afraid, or weaponless to approach. But still, someone . I think for a moment. Or am I making this up? I wish Ashley could send me notes, but of course, that's not allowed. I put my head in my hands. Okay. No going back. I pack up again, and continue north.

It's a good idea. By nightfall, there's a cannon, and the hovercraft that comes to pick up the body is in the exact place that I'd stopped to light the fire.

The next two days pass relatively uneventfully. On the third day of the games, the boy from Eleven dies, leaving just eleven of us in the arena. I've narrowed everyone down now. Love from One. Cassius and the girl from Two. Both from Four. Me. Caraway. Twine, and Hatch. The boy from Nine. The girl from Twelve. Eleven of us left by the fourth day, and as far as I can tell, the boy from Nine and I are the only two not in an alliance. Everyone else has been hunted down.

I wonder how Caraway is doing. Is he still with Twine, or did they get separated at the Cornucopia? I can't imagine either of them making it far without the other. Is he healthy? Is he going through withdrawal? Somehow, the idea that he's sick, somewhere in the arena, makes me feel unsettled.

The fourth day passes on without a death, and I know something will happen soon. It's why I start moving downhill again. I've spent the past two days travelling up the mountain, following the river. The spearhead has been useful in catching fish, and I've not been needing for much over the past few days. I've almost settled into a feeling of calm. Every so often I'll jump at something behind me, or remember the look in the boy from Five's eyes, but mostly I'm at peace. It's almost peaceful here. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I'm home.

That's why, when I find the tracks on the fifth day, I don't panic. They're manmade - easily. One person. A boy, by the look of it. Someone with a heavy tread, who isn't used to travelling through the woods without disturbing the brush. The boy from Nine, likely.

I don't know why I follow them. I just get the feeling I have to. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Attack him, maybe? Ask for an alliance, maybe. I don't like the idea that I'm one of the only unallied tributes in the arena. It's something remarkable, for sure. They'll be commenting on it. The audience might even like it, if I offer. I know nothing about this boy. Maybe he'll try to kill me. If he does, I'm ready.

I think.

I think I'm not going to think about it too much.

It's crazy, how easy he is to track. He leads me straight to a cave, a handful of hours' travel from the lakeshore. I'm uneasy, being this close, but I'm confident enough in my ability to stay silent. It's about mid-afternoon when I find it. It's located in a grove of other caves, and is almost entirely unremarkable. Certainly not a terrible place to stay, all things considered. I hesitate before I approach it, holding my spear at the ready.

But as I get close, it becomes obvious that the cave is devoid of life. Not empty , per-se. There's a blanket rolled up in the corner, and the balled-up remnants of a parachute. I eye it, carefully. So he has sponsors. This could work for or against me. If he agrees to ally, we can pool funds. If he doesn't, he might have a weapon too. Maybe a better one than mine. I try to remember anything about him at all, but I come up empty.

The cave mouth is small. Near the back, it narrows into a dark point, curving to the left. From the entrance, it doesn't seem as though there's anything, but as I get closer, I realise there's actually a bit more space than I expected, around a bend. It's tiny, and I'm not sure I could fit in there - at least, not if I wanted to jump out to surprise him. I'm not sure if I want to surprise him. I'm not sure what I want at all. I don't know why I'm here.

I decide to wait for him to come back.

And he does. Around sunset, I hear his footsteps coming. My heart shoots into action and I grip my spear tighter. I'm around the front of the cave, back against the wall, so I won't be caught unaware. I've just got a plan formulated - talk first, attack second - when I hear the sound of running feet in the distance.

The boy sees what I don't. He tries to run, but they're on him in an instant. I can tell who they are by their voices. Love's voice comes high and nasal.

"Oi! You been hiding in one of these caves?"

"Yes - yes," the boy stammers. He's gasping in pain. I can't tell what they've done to him. There's only two of them, I think, but I can't tell who the other is. "Please, just leave me alone, and I'll -"

"You'll what? " she says.

"I'll help you?" he tries.

Love laughs even louder. "With what? With you around, everyone in the whole arena will be able to follow us anywhere. You're piss easy to track."

"Please!"

"Which cave's yours?" she asks.

"Sorry?"

"Which cave is yours? If you tell me, maybe we'll let you go."

"Really?" The boy sounds woozy with pain.

"Yeah. We'll just take your shit."

"The third one," he says. "Just, please -"

There's a horrible noise, and he's cut off. Love scoffs again. "Stupid."

I'm so caught up listening to the situation that I completely forget where I am, up until the canon fires. Then the conversation catches up to me. His cave. The cave I'm in. My heart does a sort of dance, and in a panic, I scramble back. I can't take these two unprepared. Not with my shoddy spear. Love and the other one - whoever they are - will have real weapons, from the Cornucopia. I'm no match for that.

I don't even realise I'm squeezing myself round the back - to the hidden curve - until I'm already there. It's a good thing too. I've just pushed myself flat against the stone wall when the footsteps grow close, and then stop.

"Bit of a shithole," Love remarks. "Look, he even got a sponsor gift!"

Footsteps pace around. I'm not sure I remember how to breathe. If they find me, I'm fucked. There's no way I can fight like this. There's rummaging.

"Leave it, Love," a voice says. Male. I try to place it. It must be the boy from Two, Cassius. He sounds tired.

"What? I'm trying to work out what they gave him!"

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. We have enough."

"I'm curious," Love says. She sounds annoyed with him. "Where's your sense of fun, seriously!"

"They need to take the body," Cassius replies. "Come on."

I can almost hear Love roll her eyes. "Fine."

I swear I hear them walk away. I swear. I swear I wait long enough. But when I feel like I can finally breathe - when I feel like they're gone - and I move an inch, enough to peer out from behind the bend in the wall, Cassius Cybele is standing at the mouth of the cave, staring at me.

I don't move. He doesn't. He looks at me. Curiously. Jerks his head to the side.

"Cassius, come on !" I hear Love call. "I thought you wanted to get out of here!"

He narrows his eyes at me, and smiles.

And then he walks away.

I must wait for another ten minutes. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. What was that about? Why didn't he just kill me? My heart beats at a million miles an hour, and I think I might be sick again. But I'm certainly on television now. There's no chance I'm not. I close my eyes, and try to steady myself. I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm okay.

I need to get out of here, because if the hovercraft doesn't come, Love will certainly get suspicious. I hold my breath and leave the cave. The body of the boy from Nine lies a few feet away. His throat has been slit, and he has an arrow piercing his lower leg. I look. I can't stop looking.

My hand finds the piece of amber in my pocket, and I keep moving.

It's only after about five minutes that I realise I'm travelling in the same direction as Love and Cassius. At first I panic, before I realise that this might be a good idea. To the audience, it will look like I'm tracking them. And if I'm quiet, I can work out exactly where they're based, so I know where to avoid.

But not only that. I want to know. I want to know what Cassius was trying to do. Why didn't he kill me? Why did he smile at me? It was almost as if he knew something I didn't. As if he was trying to tell me something. But what? I frown. I can't think straight. There's still adrenaline in my system. Everything around me is swimming. I can hear the sound of the boy from Nine having his throat slit. I want to run, but I'm standing still again. I can't move. Why can't I move? I need to move.

A hand closes around my shoulder.

I whirl around, spear at the ready.

"Johanna!" Twine whispers. "Hi!"