Anonymous

Training

The next day, I find a butter knife by my door.

I'm not stupid enough to try and use it. I'm being watched, I'm sure of that. And if I want to have any hope to get out of here, then I need to convince everyone to let their guard down. I didn't try to escape last night, so that's one step.

I kick the knife away as I head down the hallway to the dining room. Dawn tells us that we have to go down to training, three days that we will be given basic survival skills for whatever the arena may be.

Sounds simple enough. And it won't hurt to learn a little.

Nolan and I take the elevator down. We're not the first, we're not the last. Somewhere in the middle.

The hall is set up in stations, with trainers at each area. Some of the tributes are grouping together, working together at or talking. Are they making alliances? There doesn't seem to be a point in this- we'll all be dead sooner or later- but it's useful to take what you can get. A little bit of help could save your life, even if you have to abandon them later.

But I don't trust these people, and I don't need to. What they want is to kill me, not to try and survive a little longer. Only one can survive this.

One of them. I'll get out of here before that happens.

I pick an isolated station, wandering around for a few minutes as everyone settles. The food preserves station is unoccupied, and I go over there. I can understand why. Most of these people don't expect to be in that arena long enough to preserve food. But if I'm going to be on my own, I'll need the knowledge.

The trainer explains how fruit can be dried, meat can be smoked (although I should watch my fires, so they aren't seen) or salted, and anything fresh can be put in a cool place to last a little longer. He gives me some plastic food and lets me decide what to do with it. I sort the fruit under "Dried", the meat under "Smoked" and the greens under "Cooled". He gives me a nod, and I move to another station.

There's a treadmill, meant for measuring how fast you can run. It'll adapt to your speed as you go, and record your score. While it won't save your name, it'll tell you how others have measured up.

I'm not the fastest, but I'm far from the slowest. Somewhere in the upper third.

The first few days are spent moving from station to station, avoiding the others. I see Nolan a few times, but I skirt around him. I'm almost certain that he was the one who put the knife under my door.

I'm at the first-aid station when a girl walks over. "What sort of first aid is this station teaching? The basics?"

"Pretty much," the trainer replies. I look back to my pile of bandages. I can't just get up and walk away. I might make an enemy.

"Oh, good. That would be a good skill to possess for the games. Mind showing me how it's done?" the girl asks.

"Sure. So we've already started a little, but you can catch up pretty easily. We're working on burns. At this point, you've already gotten cool water on it, and have to determine what type of burn it is. There are three degrees- first is minor, third is major." The trainer pauses for a second.

"Oh, fun. Back at 6 in the transportation units, the welders would always get burned. But I never taken care of a burn. After applying water and identifying the burn, what do we do?" the girl interrupts.

So she's from District 6. Okay. The trainer continues.

"Well, there are the three degrees. First degree burns only need to be bandaged, maybe with some ointment. Third degree burns will be blackened, and you might not even feel any pain because your nerves are destroyed. But that's very bad. Based on what degree it is, you'll decide how to treat it."

"Oh, I understand. Can you teach me how to bandage up a burn?"

"Why don't you two practice on each other?" The trainer gestures to me.

Practice on each other? Aren't we intended to kill each other in a few days? But they're waiting for an answer, so I roll up my sleeve.

The girl smiles and sits down next to me, grabbing a roll of gauze. "Hey, I'm Cherokee. District 6 female tribute. You're Theresa, right?" Cherokee says. She slowly wraps the gauze around my arm. It's too loose, but I don't comment on it.

"Yes," I reply, sitting still as stone. "District 8." If we're exchanging district numbers, it can't hurt to give her mine. At least, the one I was given.

"That's nice. It's a pleasure to meet you." Cherokee says, not looking up from bandaging my arm. When finished, she glances at the trainer. "How was that?"

"Good," the trainer says, and I take that as a signal to undo the bandages. They're nearly sliding down my arm. "Now switch."

I'm supposed to wrap her arm now? I don't want to, but it'd be rude to refuse. Hesitantly, I pick up a few and move towards Cherokee's arm.

She extends her arm easily, and I start. Tighter than she did mine, but not enough to cut off circulation. "Are you good at first aid?" she asks.

"I guess," I answer. It seems familiar to me, and I get the feeling that I've done the bandage well.

"Nice," says the trainer. "Let's move on to stings. If you're stung by a bee, your first move is to remove the stinger. After that, you're going to need to wash the area and apply ice. So, let's say that you both get stung. What do you do?" She gestures to the materials.

Cherokee sets her palm under her chin. "Well, I would pick something that would get that nasty stinger out. What would you pick, Theresa?"

Well, yes, something to get the stinger out. Otherwise it'll get infected. Tweezers would be best, but you can't guarantee access to them. But the metal clips on a bandage would work just as well to scrape it out. "This would work." I pick one up.

Cherokee watches and picks up two flat objects. "I would use these first and then the bandage."

I shake my head. "That's not what I meant."

She blushes. "Oh... sorry..."

I shake my head again. "Never mind."

We continue in an awkward silence.

***

When I'm at the edible plants, the instructor is testing me. She hands me an unfamiliar berry, one that I hadn't seen a minute ago. But a gut feeling tells me no, it's a trap, it's poisonous.

I go with it, and the trainer is pleased. I'm correct.

Something similar happens later, when I'm near the weapons. I pick up a spear, and when the instructor tries to tell me how to throw it, I don't need the advice. I launch the spear forward, and it hits the center of the target.

I'm as stunned as the trainer is. I try again, this time hitting just a few inches away from the center. But it's close enough.

When I'm tying knots, my fingers seem to know better than I do. The names are unfamiliar, but I only need to watch it be done once before I pick up on it.

It's disconcerting, how my body seems to know what to do when my mind doesn't. But I don't question it too much. It's got to be a good thing, if I'm starting to remember who I am.

And that's not Theresa Linen.