The Incoming Storm: The Tale of the 325th Hunger Games

Chapter 27

 When I rise, it is well into the day. Ross sits on the outside of the tree cluster facing the woods. I tap him on the shoulder and he flinches, "Your snoring is going to get us killed," he says.

I feel blood rush to my face, "I snore?"

"Loudly," he says, "I'm surprised we're even alive right now." I have never seen Ross like this before, he's a whole new person. I wonder if he's gone unhinged or maybe getting that secret off his chest finally allowed him to let go... probably a little of both.

I make a fake scowl, "Shut up," I say. "Want something to eat?"

"I already ate, had some of the jerky and fruit, left the rest for you," he says. Guess things are back to how they were at the beginning of the games, minus Spoola and Bran of course, what's mine is his and what's his is mine.

As I eat, Ross climbs back into the hideout. "See anything in the night?" I ask.

He shakes his head, returning back to the stoic personality I originally knew. "Thought I heard something but nothing happened," he says.

"I thought I did too," I say, but am cut off by Ross pointing to the sky. A silver parachute drifts between the openings in the tree and lands on the ground between us. Ross reaches out and picks it up. It's a small metal can of cream-colored slime.

"What is it?" I ask. The smell is potent like strong chemicals.

"I think it's medicine," Ross guesses. I stick my finger in it, it is cool to the touch.

"Maybe it's for your burn," I say, I unroll part of the bandages and put my finger with the medicine on his skin. He lets out a noise that makes me withdraw my hand so fast that I knock it on the branch behind me. "Sorry!"

"No, that's what it's for," he says, "That was a relief." We take a few minutes gingerly spreading the balm on his arm, and all sorts of noises erupt from Ross's mouth that I don't think he is fully in control of. When I have finally coated his arm in a layer of the cream, about half of it is used up.

"Alright," I say, wiping the remaining cream on my face to hopefully help with the sunburn that I've slowly accumulated during the games. I place the bandages and gauze back around his arm and put the rest of the balm into his first aid kit.

The next thing we know, another silver parachute sits between us. "Must be crowd favorites," I say. Ross gives the smallest hint of a smile.

We open it revealing a large tub of rice and lamb stew. Alongside it are two plates, cloth napkins, and silverware. "Thanks, Jason," whispers Ross to his mentor.

"Thank you, Quin," I whisper too. A moment later a pitcher of sparkling water and 2 cups descend from the sky. We set out the porcelain plates and split up the stew, careful not to overdo it with the stew. I pour us glasses of sparkling water, but I am careful drinking it since I don't want to upset my stomach.

As Ross puts a spoon full of the rice in his mouth and freezes. His eyes are fixed at a point behind me for a moment then he resumes as if he didn't see anything. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as if someone is watching us. I know someone is watching us. Ross turns around as if adjusting something on his pack. "Amey," he says barely above a whisper.

I don't respond, instead, I tap my finger on my knee to indicate I can hear him. "There is someone behind you," he says. He jostles the first aid kit, pretending he can't find it.

"Who?" I breathe. If it was the careers they'd have likely attacked already.

"Girl. 3 or 7," he replies.

The sound of a snapping twig sends both of us to our feet. Machetes in hand we tear after the noise, better to attack than be attacked. Braided black hair swings wildly from behind the girl like an animal's tail. I recognize her from her short stature and black hair as the District 3 girl, Pix.

I gain on her quickly, she isn't very fast. I trip her and she collapses to the ground, I land on top of her, machete at the ready to kill. "WAIT," she screams. Her face is full of fear, and I freeze. Ross catches up beside us, his machete at the ready. "Please, don't kill me," she pleads. I can't do it, I'm frozen and unable to move. I stare into the eyes of this girl, her eyes are fixed on me shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Please," she whispers, her voice cracks.

I know I won't be able to kill her. Her eyes. They pierce deep into my soul. I can't let her go, we're down to the final seven, there is no sparing lives now. "I can help you," she says, breathing heavily under my weight.

"How?" I say.

"I can see the traps," she says. "I know how the arenas work. I helped build it."