Anona's POV
Anona forgot the true nature of the Hunger Games, and the real killer amongst them. She's long since stopped jumping at every clap of thunder. Thirst and hunger have marked the other threats in here obsolete. She hasn't passed a single stream or pond, and the dryness in her throat choking her is her biggest problem right now.
She moves her head from side to side, trying to hear or see anything in the darkness. Night's ability to make everything scarier has always frustrated Anona. She cries out as she passes under a vine. It brushes against her forehead, and for a split second, she thinks it's a snake.
She must look so stupid to the Capitol. What a waste, they must think, for a girl as clueless as she is to have the audacity to survive the first day. Her mentors have probably been rolling their eyes since the games started. Her escape from the Cornucopia surprised even her, if she's honest. Both kids from District 1 almost took her out easily. She managed to slip away with just a small pack of rope only because of the mayhem.
Were the mentors hoping she would die during the night, so they could do what they wanted in the Capitol for the rest of the games? Their sponsor duties are null this year, but from her short time in the Capitol, it's clear to Anona that appearances matter. It would look bad if they galavanted around the city when one of their tributes was still alive.
She makes out two figures in the dark. Her heart skips a beat. One of them sees her and unsheathes the blade from their belt and, holding it out in front of them ineptly. He remains completely still. It's impossible to see his face, but his posture tells Anona any sudden movement from her, and she'll have a sword in her chest. He's well-built and could probably outrun her easily.
"I'm not here to hurt you," she says. She raises her palms to show that she's weaponless. The second boy wakes when she speaks, and he slides an axe out of his belt.
"Please." She pleads. Her voice sounds pathetic. "I have no idea what I'm doing in this place. I'm scared."
She winces. Sounding like a kid is doing her no favors. These boys won't want to have to look after someone. She watches them, afraid to move in case it's taken as a threat. It's quiet for a long time. Then one of the boys speaks.
"Which one are you?" the one with the axe asks.
"Girl from Nine," she says quietly.
"You can stay with us," the other boy says. Axe guy starts to protest, but the broad boy stops him. "Her district partner's dead, Makari. She's got no one else."
Pity is useless in the Hunger Games, but she lets it happen. It's not like she'll chase away sponsors. If it convinces this Makari kid to let her stay, then it'll have to happen.
Makari sighs. "Fine. But if you pull anything sketchy, you're gone."
He settles himself back into his bed of moss and vines.
"Thank you," Anona says.
The broad boy nods graciously. "The name's Yash. District 6."
"Anona."
She settles into a small nook between roots and rests the back of her head against the tree. Moonlight is struggling to break through the canopy, but it still gives some light to the boys' camp. More than Anona's previous one, anyway. The jungle sneers at her, daring her to explore its depths come morning. Unless these boys have the desire to, she's happy here for the next couple of days.
Her stomach growls loudly. She'd be embarrassed, except she's sure Makari and Yash are starving also. She wipes beads of sweat from the back of her neck and tries to think back to past games where there wasn't much food or water. How did the tributes survive? Drink their own sweat and urine? Her mind can't conjure the memories through the fogginess dehydration has brought onto her. She should be terrified at the fact that she may die within the next few days, but no emotion can scream louder than the arid desert on her tongue.
She's begun rubbing sweat from her forehead onto her lips when the Gamemakers end their suffering.
A sudden burst of rain relieves their desperation. Anona raises her head and opens her mouth, desperate to quench her thirst. The Gamemakers aren't going to let them die after all. What boring television that would make for everyone to drop dead from the elements only a few days in.
Instead of beautiful water, a bitter metallic taste invades her mouth. Yash gags on it and swipes at his face. Makari watches with a confused look on his face until he can barely see. The rain is hot and thick, and it rapidly congeals on their faces.
"Run!" He shouts.
He grabs their arms and drags them downhill. Anona rubs at the congealed mess pooled on her eyes and nose with her free arm, but all it does is let her see a couple of feet ahead for a few seconds before she's blinded again. Terror has won against thirst. Her breath comes out in ragged gasps. The rain is heavy and slick. Between the moss and their slippery wetsuits, it's hard to keep traction with the ground.
The air is knocked from her lungs when her foot catches on a rock, and she hits the ground face-first. The moss means her face won't be scraped up, but the hard earth beneath it still hits her full force. She covers her head and keeps her face against the moss, struggling to recover her breath.
Makari bolts past her, but Yash spends several precious seconds bending over and yanking her back up. Anona clenches his wetsuit in her hand, staggering aimlessly, desperately trying to escape this area. She's terrified that if she releases the fabric, she'll lose him to the jungle and she'll be all alone again. The Gamemakers only rig certain areas with certain traps. If they can move out of this zone, they'll be free of the blood rain.
It's difficult to keep up with Makari. He's so nimble and well equipped with the trees prohibiting their flight, but they somehow keep just close enough to him that they don't lose him in the downfall.
The storm is eternal, and once they figure out where downhill is and run for the Cornucopia, it's easier to slide down than it is to run. Then the rain stops. Not gradually like real storms, but like someone closed a window over the canopy.
Anona falls on her backside, chest heaving up and down, desperate for air. She rips large handfuls of moss from the floor and gets to work wiping her face clear of the blood. The boys follow her, and the three of them work in silence to clear themselves of the Gamemakers' trap. Once Anona has cleaned as much of her face as she can, she wordlessly drags herself to a tree and curls against its trunk.
Eila's POV
The thunderous boom of the cannon rips Eila from the veil of thin sleep. Chip, who's standing guard, raises his eyebrow inquisitively. Eila raises herself up on her elbows, half expecting one of the tributes to crash through the vines.
"What time is it?" Visia asks sleepily.
"About three in the morning," Thatcher says, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "I don't know if it counts because it's artificial, but that's what the moon says."
Eila's eyes flit to the canopy above. The moon is barely filtering through its thick tresses. She yawns deeply and palms her burning eyes. She realizes that the longer the games last, the more exhausted she'll become. Waking up on the second day of the games has her more tired than working eighteen-hour weekend shifts back in Seven. In here, when you sleep, it's not really sleeping. It's really more like resting your eyes and listening to your surroundings in case someone comes at you with a spear.
Thanks to the cannon, they're all wide awake, and no one can go back to sleep. Eila offers to stand guard so Chip can get some hours in, but he shakes his head.
"I couldn't get to sleep, anyway," he says.
Unsure of what to do, Eila slides the hatchet from her belt and toddles off to find more nuts and search for water. It's futile. The nuts are plentiful, but the only water is the rivulets of sweat rolling down her face.
It's starting to look like they'll have to make the trip back to the Cornucopia, which is terrifying. As the only one who can actually fight, facing the Career pack there is certain death. At least during the Bloodbath, there was so much going on that you could slip away if you were wiley enough. If her team charges the Cornucopia, their faces will certainly be in the sky that night.
When she turns back to camp, Thatcher and the Threes are shoving their meager supplies back into their bags. Eila's about to relay her thoughts with the group when her voice catches in her throat. Just a few feet from Thatcher is a fluffy, orange monkey perched on a branch. No doubt a Gamemaker's mutt.
There's not even time to cry a warning. There's a shriek, and Thatcher hits the floor. Eila watches, horrified, as his throat is torn out by the beast's teeth. He's gone, there's no doubt about that. Her eyes dart around the trees above them, taking in the hoards of orange monkeys melting from the foliage. There are too many to count. Every second that passes brings more from their invisible hiding places. The monkey on Thatcher's chest looks at her. His cannon fires.
"Stay calm," Eila says to the Threes. "Move slowly away."
Eila cringes on her first step backward, but the monkeys don't rush to rip out her lungs. Eila keeps her eyes on the mutts and her back to the Threes, hoping they're smart enough to handle themselves should things go wrong. Eila gets about ten meters. Visia gasps behind her, one of the Threes hits the ground, and the jungle explodes.
Eila abandons all sense and runs for her life. Somehow, the Threes are already several yards ahead. The monkey's shrieks are terrifying as they leap from branch to branch, swing from vine to vine, in pursuit of the alliance. Eila recoils as bright orange fur flashes past her and rolls across the floor beside her. She kicks it like a ball into the closest tree and skewers her axe through its back.
Desperately, she racks her brain for any information to help survive these beasts. Monkeys are foreign to her. The only animals they have back home live in the trees or pull carts. She remembers something about them liking bananas, but these seem like they prefer the taste of human flesh, given Thatcher's state. There may have been a sort of monkey mutt in the games a decade or so ago, but it's rare for Gamemakers to repeat old tricks.
Eila does the only thing she can do. Start hacking. Her hatchet opens the neck of the closest mutt, revealing purplish insides. Seeking a fight would be idiotic, but she cuts through any posing obstacle for her to reach the beach. She turns into a machine, hacking down mutt after mutt with her hatchet. Every guttural shriek numbs her further, and she loses herself in the orange storm.
Her chest flutters with panic. Visia and Chip are getting further away, and it's getting more difficult to see them through the greenery as time passes. They're leaving her behind, and if she can't reach them, she'll join Thatcher dead on the floor.
As the jungle opens to sand, Eila sees the figures of two inner district kids standing in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Eila wants to scream. What do they do? Where do they go? She could let the Threes get to the beach. The two guards at the Cornucopia would be on them in an instant, and they wouldn't be her problem. But what type of person would that make her?
"To the left!" Eila shouts at her allies, making the decision. The only option they have is to lose the mutts in the dense jungle; she saw the girl from Four's throwing arm during training. The Threes change course at her command and disappear into the lush vines.
Eila cuts into the foliage behind them, feet flying across moss and rocks and fallen vines. Every expansion of her lungs pushes her hammering heart against her ribcage. Her thighs are on fire. The Threes have slowed down enough for Eila to catch up. Visia keeps yelping loudly, and for a split second, Eila considers burying her axe in the girl's head. What she wasn't anticipating was for them to collapse in front of her. Her legs catch on Visia's arm and she goes sprawling across the ground. She hits the floor with a dull thud, and she closes her eyes, waiting for a fury of orange fluff to envelop her and bite out her organs. Ten seconds pass, and she's still alive. No onslaught of death circles them. She opens her eyes.
The monkeys have stopped to glare from tree branches, but they don't approach. The air in Eila's lungs comes out in one harsh breath as she realizes they've escaped the Gamemakers' zone the monkeys inhabit. These creatures won't leave their post, even to attack tributes.
A wave of exhaustion ripples across her body. She barely has the energy to lift her head to check on the Threes, who've also splayed across the floor. Their chests heave. Their emaciated bodies shake as they struggle for air. If I'm exhausted, Eila thinks, they must be a few breaths away from dying. The idea isn't terrible. So far, these kids haven't exhibited any amazing skills that'll give them a leg up in the games. Perhaps it's time to consider ways to shake them off.
The image of Thatcher's throat coming out in the monkey's mouth replays in her mind, and she bites her lip to stop crying out. The sun hasn't even woken yet, and the cannon has fired twice already. Eila's mind goes to Makari and Yash, and then it goes to Clem. She prays silently that the cannon this morning wasn't for one of them and that she'll run into them soon. She can't do this alone.
Thames' POV
"We've been at it all night; please, can we go back to the Cornucopia to rest?"
Glitz folds his arms and stands waiting. He looks like Fintan when he wants a spoon of sugar before bed, and Callista says no. Feet apart, a scowl on his face. Another point to Glitz's immaturity. Amaryllis turns and gives him an unreadable look.
Thames is glad Glitz said it. He has a feeling that Amaryllis will be quick to snuff out any weakness, and it's too early for the alliance to start infighting. She looks up through the trees, her first acknowledgment of the sun that's been in the sky for over an hour.
"Okay," She shrugs. "Better to be rested for more hunting."
Thames exhales quietly through his mouth, relieved at the prospect of lying down. The group shifts course to get back to the beach. Unless there's something crazy going on elsewhere, Thames gets the feeling they're on screen right now. The alliance is always a good focus whilst the tributes recover from the Bloodbath. Interest is still high, and the betting pools will be crazy right now. Everyone in the Capitol will be scrambling for their opening day earnings.
Thames thinks back to Inner-District Alliances in previous years, trying to gage how long he and Brita have until it implodes. There've been a couple of years where the alliance are the last tributes left. But that only happened when the group mutually respected each other. The Ones could royally mess up their chances of lasting until the end. During the fifty-fifth games, the girl from One tried to poison her allies early on. They all died choking on their own lungs. She had the same arrogant gleam in her eyes that Amaryllis has. She ended up dying less than a week in when the pair from Nine took their chances for the Cornucopia supplies. With no inner district kids alive and a huge arena, the games dragged on for almost a whole month. The boy from District 6, Chiron Porcher, was the last tribute standing.
Beatrice has stopped suddenly, and Thames almost walks into her back.
"What is that?"
She backs up. A huge, hulking beast emerges from the depths of the jungle, and Thames' heart sinks.
"It's a Mutt, run!" He screams.
No one needs to be told twice. They stumble to the beach. Unfortunately, this only angers the Mutt, and it barrels towards them. The jungle shakes as it bangs against trees, sending the creatures that call them home tumbling to the ground. As it gains on them, Thames can finally make out what the monster is supposed to be: a gorilla. A giant, gray-furred, fanged gorilla. It roars at them, and Thames swallows the scream pushing up from his chest.
He looks back at just the right time. The gorilla is barely five meters from them, and it swipes for him. Thames throws himself to the floor, hitting his back on the base of a tree. The gorilla ignores him and takes another swipe. Glitz isn't as quick as he was. The gorilla clenches the boy's shoulder and, judging by his scream, probably shatters the bones. The gorilla stops and takes Glitz's arms in each hand.
Amaryllis and Beatrice turn, and their faces show the terror that Thames is feeling. He imagines he's probably got a similar look. The Gorilla starts to pull on Glitz's arms. Thames staggers to his feet and takes off past his allies. They snap from their stupor and follow closely behind.
"PLEASE! HELP ME." Glitz screams. Thames wishes he could block his ears as Glitz roars in pain, and then he goes silent. The cannon fires.
The gorilla roars. Terror is all Thames can feel as he wills his legs to run faster away from the beast behind him. The jungle morphs into a never-ending blur of greens and browns as Thames and the girls run for their lives. Every time Thames' foot brushes against something, his heart leaps into his throat from the fear of losing his footing and sharing Glitz's fate. The beast chases them relentlessly, screaming and bashing against trees.
Thames' foot catches on a root, and he finally goes down. He knocks Amaryllis and Beatrice with him, and they tumble down an incline. He lies there with his eyes closed, waiting for death to come. For his arms to be ripped from his body. But nothing happens. When he opens his eyes again, there's nothing there.
"You almost got us killed," Beatrice croaks.
Something in him bubbles up through his throat: laughter. He chuckles heartily. The girls join in, and the three of them lay there for Snow knows how long, laughing long and hard. When Thames finally pulls himself up, then the girls, they hobble for an eternity until the moss turns to sand.
Brita is standing in the mouth of the Cornucopia with a spear clasped in her hands. He flushes with relief to be with someone familiar. Adriano notices Glitz's absence first, and he jogs over to greet them at the spoke.
"There's no way," he says. His smirk is minuscule, but it's unmistakable.
Thames nods. "There's a huge gorilla mutt around there, and it got him," he says, pointing at the point in the jungle where they came out. He avoids Adriano's eyes. Glitz was annoying, but Adriano's joy at the former's death rubs Thames the wrong way.
"It ripped him in half," Beatrice informs her district partner.
Brita's come over now, and both Adriano and her eyes widen.
"It's only day two, and we've lost Glitz," Brita intones.
Amaryllis shrugs. "Is it really a great loss? We don't have to listen to his bitching anymore."
Thames' eyes immediately dart to Brita, who's sharing his look. That's cold. It's one thing to dislike your district partner. If you're stuck with someone irritating, sure. Thames understands the detest for Glitz. But only an idiot is careless enough to express it out loud for the cameras to hear. District 1 tributes typically have the gumption to save face in the arena, but Amaryllis lacks this skill severely. Her older brother has given her advantages in a long list of ways, but her arrogance may just be the death of her. He can imagine Luster Beaumont now, swearing at the screen.
Thames walks past the group into the Cornucopia and sits on one of the wooden crates, pulling a bottle of water from a box and drinking deeply.
"Once you're rested, you should get back out there," he says to his allies. "The sooner we get through the field, the better. Also, it's mine and Amaryllis' turn to guard, and I'm sleepy."
Clementine's POV
For the second time, the sky illuminates with the Capitol seal, and the anthem vibrates through the arena. The boy from District 1 appears first. Clem tries not to look too smug. 'One lapdog down, five to go,' she thinks. Thatcher is next. She feels some of the tension leak from her shoulders. She doesn't have to worry about her district partner stalking around the arena like on the train. At the same time, she's truly alone now. His absence in the sky last night was oddly comforting, knowing she wasn't the only person from home. The girl from District 13 replaces him, her cool gray eyes burning into the jungle before disappearing forever.
Clem rubs her eyebrow, trying to remember who's still alive. There are still five district pairs left; from Two, Three, Four, Seven, and Ten. The boy from Six. Then, three girls: District 1, District 9, and District 12. Fourteen others besides her. Eila is out there somewhere. She could be wounded, but she's alive for now. Clem finds herself wanting to look for her, an impulse she's been trying desperately to ignore since the first night in the jungle. If she can't handle the games on the second day, what does that mean for the longer she survives?
Her mind drifts to her father, and her heart twists painfully as she pictures him curled up on his mattress, staring at the wall. Her friends better be keeping their promise of keeping an eye on him. If anything, the painful reminder just shows her how badly she needs to win. If she dies in this arena, part of him will die in here with her.
Clem's head twists to her left, towards the low muttering that's come dangerously close all of a sudden. Three Careers are coming through the trees, and they're dangerously close. Just five or so meters. She notices them before they notice her, and she's gone in a second. Unfortunately, they see her make a break for it. Most years, the Careers catch up to their prey easily. The occasional tribute manages to slip away, but more often than not, the pack reaches its mark.
Clem is thankful for the density of the jungle. None of the three can keep up with her. The boy from Two gets the closest, but even then, he's a good five meters behind. Clem weaves through the natural barriers formed by bark and vines, looping around the pack every so often to confuse them. She gets a better look at the three of them. It's the pair from District 2 and the girl from Four. They've already lost the boy from District 1, which means their hunting group is down a member on just the second day. She can see it on their stressed, tight faces. This means the girl from One and the boy from Four have been left behind to guard the Cornucopia.
Clem thinks about it. Could she take those two on? Maybe now's a good time to stake out the Cornucopia and slip in under the cover of darkness; take some rations to last her a week.
She finally loses the pack. The boy from Two screams in frustration, sending birds screeching into the sky. She scales a tree and hides in the canopy for well over an hour. If they're petty enough, they may still be combing the jungle for her. Once she's relatively certain they've moved on, she creeps back to the jungle floor and goes downhill for the Cornucopia.
It takes a couple of hours to reach the edge of the jungle again. She hasn't covered much ground since yesterday, not wanting to stray too far from the only supplies in the arena. Clem's careful not to poke her head out, staying concealed behind vines and branches as she analyses the field. The leftover Careers are only just visible within the mouth of the Cornucopia. By the looks of it, one of them is sleeping. Clem gets on her stomach and crawls across the beach like a bug. All the way around the beach to the back of the Cornucopia. The black sand is soft and soundless, allowing Clem to glide across its surface with no detection. The guards haven't thought to guard this side. As she slips into the waves, she grasps a sand spoke and feeds herself along the body of water.
She's careful to climb out of the waves as softly as possible. Her throat is tight with fear, and she can feel her heartbeat pulsating through it. She peeks around the Cornucopia. Both Careers are actually awake. The girl from One is lying on the sand, humming to herself. The boy from Four has his back turned. Clem reaches around the metal and clenches a backpack in her hand. Slowly, she pulls. The straps catch on a rack of spears, and they hit the ground like a bomb. The boy from Four's head snaps in her direction, his orange curls sending moonlight bouncing off of it. They make eye contact.
"Tribute!" He shouts, pointing at Clem and raising his trident. In seconds, the weapon is sailing through the air, aiming to make its mark in her chest. Clem throws herself out of the way just a moment too late, and the trident slashes across her left bicep. Her arm burns with pain, but she can feel the fabric absorbing the blood pouring from the wound. There's a lot of blood. It's a deep cut. Clem thinks back to the years where tributes have died from infection, and her heart drops to her stomach. This is bad, and Chaff can't help.
She hits the water and sinks beneath the waves, wound burning from the salty water. She thrashes around r for a couple of seconds, going against her better instincts to remain hidden. She can't swim. There's nowhere to learn in Eleven unless you count the ditches when it rains.
She feels like she's sinking, and she starts to panic more. Then she realizes she's moving in the opposite direction. Her head breaks the surface of the water, and a knife grazes her cheek.
She vaguely recognizes the belt on the arena outfit as some sort of floatation device, but she has no time to acknowledge it. The boy from District 4 enters the water with a flawless dive, and now he's somewhere beneath her, gliding through the darkness beyond her feet. She paddles madly for the nearest spoke of sand, but even as she draws closer, time is running out as the girl from District 1 is rocketing toward her.
Somehow, Clem's hands grasp the sand, and she pulls herself up. She has a single moment of reprieve before the girl from One is on her. Clem grabs her by the shoulders, taking her by surprise. The girl's eyes go wide in shock from Clem's strength. Clem heaves with all her might and throws the girl into the water, on top of the District 4 boy who had only just resurfaced. She sprints towards the supplies and reaches for the nearest, heaviest bag.