The Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games

Chapter 17- ADDIE

Another snowflake burns through my clothing, making me pick up the pace even more.

"You think this storm is all over the arena?" I ask.

"Probably," Art calls back, breathing hard. "We gotta get back to the cave."

The cave is a long ways away, and I know that there's not much of a chance that we'll get there in time, based on the time it took us to hike from there to the Cornucopia. The snow is growing heavier by the minute.

"We won't make it," I call. "No way!"

Art hesitates for a moment. "I know." Another snowflake burns its way through my uniform. "I don't have a better idea."

I don't respond. I'm too busy thinking. There's no way we can hide under the rocks, but the trees?

"What if we hide in the woods?" I say. "Make a roof or something."

Art considers this for a moment. "It could work. If we're fast enough."

With that, we change our course to head towards the trees. Once we reach the forest, we start to frantically gather long branches, making a sort of clumsy lean-to. We quickly throw the sleeping bag and blanket over the top, and then huddle underneath, hoping that the snow stops soon. It's a relief to be out of the wind that had begun to buffet us as we ran. Sitting here, there's a peaceful feeling inside our hasty structure, almost like the feeling I used to get when I'd listen to the rain pattering on the roof. The difference is, I was safe from the rain at home, and here, it could kill me.

Glancing up, I check on our makeshift roof. The cloth sags with the weight of the snow on top of it, and I reach up to poke the snow off. I can see several tiny holes in the cloth, which worries me. Soon enough, it'll fall completely apart.

When I look outside, I see that the snow has increased to the point where I can barely see, but I can just make out the Cornucopia, or what's left of it, in the distance. It doesn't look as if it's snowing there.

"Hey guys?" I ask, a spark of hope lighting up. "I don't think it's snowing there."

James leans over to look out, squinting. "You're right."

"Think we could make it?" Art asks.

There's probably a good chance either way. We're fast, but I'm not sure how bad the snow would be right now. Impulsively, before I can think it over, I stick my hand out into the snow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Art yells.

James grabs my arm, pulling it back, and I try not to wince as I see it. It was out in the snow for maybe thirty seconds and it's already covered in a nasty rash, and there's burn-like marks on the tips of my fingers.

I stare at my hand. "Well then."

"I was not expecting that," Art says, his face surprised.

"What do we think?" I say.

Art rubs his face. "I dunno."

The snow on our roof decides to take that moment of indecision to suddenly rip the blanket in half, spilling acid snow down on all of our heads.

It's hard to see, and amid the yelling (some of which coming from me) I am able to grab James' wrist and pull us out of the lean-to, which is leaning much more than its name implies. I hear it collapse behind us, and I can only wonder if Art is following us. The snow stings my face, and I feel that strange sensation that I get if I hold my hand under water that is so hot that it feels cold. The acid snow feels like that, except with an element of pain added into it.