Pyromania | The 60th Hunger Games

SIXTEEN

The night passes by slowly. No one slept, not by choice anyway. I purposely sit away from the others behind a crate, Mahi paces on the sand around the cornucopia like a predator waiting out its prey. Gemma and Sly have been whispering since we watched Wade’s face join four others in the sky. I watched Martial tentatively join them after hours of tossing and turning and hoping for sleep.

    I flicked the lighter, shielded by my hand, and watched the flame flicker ever-so-slightly. Since the game makers smoked us out earlier, I seem to have been the only tribute to have noticed how a breeze had persisted.

    A nagging in the back of my mind told me to be grateful for this breeze- for the cool relief from the scabby burn on my face. But, if years of watching the games, of private convening with Trix and Gia taught me anything it’s not to trust the games. Ever.

    We’re one death away from the final seven, five of whom are careers. I’d be a fool not to feel the fear of those with lower odds, and this breeze, the one catching the others in a state where they feel secure enough to lose sleep over the days’ events, was the work of the game makers. A lull in the games, just before they made things interesting.

    I need to figure out what to do when the next cannon goes off.

    Do I have any more allies? I don’t believe Martial would cause my downfall, he isn’t desperate enough to kill me. There’s no doubt he would find a way to make it to the end; but could he land the killing blow? Willingly?

I must have dozed early in the morning because I woke up to the sun in my face and the distant sound of bickering.

    When I emerged from behind my crate to collect a breakfast apple, I could see the others out in the sun, scattered away from each other, weapons in hand and seemingly in a heated discussion.

    Taking up a knife, I approach the edge of the cornucopia but remain in the shade. I watch them as I peel the apple, Mahi’s scrunched up face, Martial’s hands waving in the air indicating his frustration. But, a few moments later, he huffs and stomps back towards me while the others turn to the trees.

    “You alright?” I ask around a mouthful of apple, feigning nonchalance despite my grip tightening on the knife.

    “They wouldn’t let me go on the hunt.” He slumped onto the sleeping bags in the shade and tossed his blade carelessly across the cornucopia. Shaking my head and turning away from the sand, I try to suppress a bemused grin.

    “I mean, it would be irresponsible to leave the cornucopia defenceless.”

    “It wouldn’t be defenceless, you’ll be here.”

    “You’d leave me?”

    He looked up, eyes wide and mouth agape, “Never,” he whispered, cut off by the boom of a cannon. We waited, staring up at the sky and when no more cannons followed, I watched Martial out of the corner of my eye. I wonder if he knows we’re down to the final seven.

    “Sure you don’t want to run?” He watched me warily, eyeing the knife in my hand as I cut a chunk out of the apple. Unwilling to offer my answer, I chew on the apple and meet his gaze, narrowing my vision on him. “Well?”

    “You really want my answer?”

    “I do,”

    “I-” A second cannon interrupted his answer and I can see the panic climb onto his face, his legs stretching as though about to stand up. The breeze had dropped, heat descending onto us like none we had felt before. His face drew tight with anticipation, looking everywhere and watching me closely.

    “You should figure it out soon,” I tell him, opening the food crate to pack some into a bag, “because the others won’t wait for you to figure it out.”

    “What are you doing?” He stands up abruptly, hands clenched, flinching as a third cannon broke through the air. I took his distraction to zip up the pack and shrug it onto my back, risking a look at the treeline for the others. The scuffling behind me catches my attention. “Terra-” he trips over the sleeping bag at his feet- “what are you doing?”

    I spin around to face him, backing towards the exit when he adjusts his grip on the machete in his hand.

    From the trees behind me, Gemma and Sly emerge with the same ecstatic laughter as the previous days following successful hunts. Martial falters slightly and I glance back to see that Mahi had yet to follow them. It seems that each of us recognise the current situation and Martial makes the mistake of huffing out a breath and grunting before he moves at all.

    I spin around as he waves the machete through the air, slicing downwards and forcing me to throw myself against the wall.

    Catching his eye, I lower an eyebrow at his pleading eyes and cock my head to the side at his clear reluctance. Despite everything his face was showing I could see his body gearing up to try another strike.

    I grab the rack of spears next to us and shove it towards him, climbing over the crates and toppling with the top one onto the concrete floor. Gemma and Sly were drawing close and I pulled myself up before Martial could fully take stock of himself. Without looking back, I scramble towards the edge of the cornucopia and dash onto the sand only looking back when what had been laughter transforms into screams and yells of shock.

    Through the rubble of the fallen crates, I can make out the other three running away from the cornucopia with dark wiggling lines chasing them in the sand.

    Movement in the ground nearby catches my eye and I see similar dark figures emerging from the sand heading towards me.

    Moving backwards steadily, I watched the mutt snakes begin to speed up and target my movements. As the target was now set, I turned and bolted for the nearest tree, crashing over the bushes and continuing to hurtle into the forest deep enough to ensure the mutts weren’t following.

    But, when I slowed to a walk, I could make out the rustle of leaves and a low hiss. Forcing myself into yet another run despite my throat clenching and sweat drenching my skin, making my shirt cling to my back, the sleeves of my jacket cling to my arm. Sweat drips into my eye, the salt stinging and forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut to ease the pain.

    The snakes persisted despite the pain. They hissed at my ankles, purposely bit at the ground next to me as though the game makers were trying to tease me with my own mortality.

    Ahead, a few low hanging branches come into view and I huff out a large breath and a final burst of energy to reach them.

    Heart pounding, head spinning, I leap into the air and grasp onto a low branch when it comes within reach. The snakes snapped at the air as I pulled myself further up the tree, they began to wrap around the trunk. And, for one terrible moment, I fear that they can climb trees too.

    An hour stuck in the tree passed by.

    The snakes never climbed up to me but I didn’t doubt the game makers wouldn’t have programmed them to have such skills. But, when they turned and disappeared back towards the sandpit without a cannon firing, I was left to wonder if they were never intended to kill us but split us up. Did the game makers want me to survive? Had they injured another tribute in order to make the games easier moving forward?

    With these confusing thoughts and a slowly spinning consciousness, I take a generous drink of water and catch my breath before forcing myself further up the tree and into the canopy.

    The heat of the sun was incubated in the canopy, but it was the only place where I could rest indefinitely out of view of the other tributes.