The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 11

Many of the other tributes are moving more slowly than I would think they could otherwise, disoriented from the sudden start to the fight. It's definitely more sluggish than it would be in a normal Games, but there are still some who are seizing the opportunity of hesitation from the rest of the tributes to pick up the weapons before anyone else can collect them. Victoria is among them, already with an assortment of knives held in her jacket and hands, a grim smile on her face.

I quickly formulate a plan to get in there with her without being killed. The rest of the tributes have been shaken out of their daze, and if I try and run straight into the thick of things, chances are that someone who is skillful with a weapon will take me out before I can do anything.

I run to the shelter of the Cornucopia with the rest of the tributes, careful not to be seen. I guess my young age and small size is good for something, since I don't think anyone notices me. The amount of people that are still in the clearing thins, some tributes running away, but a few fall to the ground, dead. I stiffen at the sight of the blood pouring from the wounded. A girl about 15 is killed by a spear to her stomach, and in the Cornucopia, I see a boy smiling widely. Leander. He'd always felt the need to mock me, as well as many of the other people who went to school with us who were younger than he was. But he'd always had this special hatred for me. Maybe he thought it was because his parents' importance to the country was always overlooked, being shadowed by the legacy of mine, but I don't see how it matters at the moment. Still, he'll be trying hard to get me in the arena. Some old fights just don't end.

Out of the edge of my vision, I see a glint of silver and a knife landing squarely between a tribute's eyes, and they collapse, groaning. In the direction of the killer, I can see Victoria stepping back in shock, placing her hand on the wall to steady herself. The Games can make any one of us a brutal murderer. I've heard that the original Gamemakers said that it brought out the essence of humanity. Is it really in our primary instincts to kill?

I'm not sure how I manage to make it to the Cornucopia, but somehow I do, my heart thumping against my ribs with every footstep.

"Victoria," I hiss urgently. The remaining tributes have begun to disperse, but I still don't want to take any risks, to draw any attention to myself.

She spins around, a blade drawn. When she sees me, her arm drops to her side. "Oh. It's you."

"Of course it's me." I attempt a lighthearted tone, but fail completely, sounding miserable.

"Let's get out of here," she says, pulling me to the mouth of the structure, as I take a quick look outside to my left to check for our opponents. Good. I think they've all left.

I take the small bright backpack from Victoria, and we start looking for a place to hide out.

—

By noon, at least, judging by the sun, we're both exhausted and our throats are parched. I wish we could find one of those streams that we saw at the beginning, but the greenery seems never-ending, and we can't tell what direction we're even going in. The scent of the wildflowers makes me feel lightheaded and I can't quite think straight.

"Let's stop here." I can tell by the strain in Victoria's voice that she's exhausted too.

I nod, all too eager for a break from the walking. But I know that we'll have to go soon. We'll die an excruciating death if we don't find water quickly.

I can hardly focus because of the thirst, but I bring my trembling hands to unzip the small backpack and find a small water bottle, strips of dried fruit, and a slingshot. No water itself.

A cannon sounds in the distance, followed by four more. Five tributes are dead. 19 left. Not as many as in a usual Hunger Games, but then again, most of us haven't been trained to kill like the kids from 1, 2 and 4 have been. We haven't been prepared to fight in an arena.

We last a few hours longer before I finally have to pick between the two evils of fear of confrontation and my desperate need for water, and we go looking for something to drink. Two more cannons fire while we search. It's cruel and selfish, but all I can do is wonder who it was and the cause.

Night has begun to fall, and I hear an eerie, shrill scream ring out in the distance, which chills me to the bone. An eighth cannon shot follows quickly after, and I rub my arms, reminding myself that it's not Victoria, that it's not me. That I can't care about the victim of whatever attack they suffered. But even though my field of opponents has been narrowed down by one more and I am closer to the crown, I hate the districts with a passion for doing this to us. Surely there are better ways to get vengeance for the past and to right the wrongs that have been done to them before? Surely they know better than anyone that the Games were a horrible, sadistic creation that should never have existed? Surely they have seen the suffering that it causes, have seen the horrors that emerge from it? But no, they continued on with it anyway. I guess it doesn't matter to them, now that it's not really their problem.