The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 17

The pale light washes over the creatures' golden-colored fur, which practically shimmers as the droplets of water from the sky slowly roll off its pelt, keeping their perfect figure and not even losing their form. The mutts resemble a cat, with their pointy ears and body size and shape, like that of the house cats as pets that were abandoned in the war, but they are much too large to be one. They have giant pads and claws that extend out inches from them, and the mutts paw at the ground, just itching to rip our flesh into shreds. Their fur is bristled out in aggression, sticking out in every direction. They bare their teeth at us, snarling ferociously, and I see the sharp, pointed fangs that their mouths would otherwise hide. They eye us hungrily, looking ready to make a meal of Victoria and me.

I thought I had seen all the Games had to offer, both over the live broadcasts of previous ones that I watched with my family – as per the usual – and the course of my Games as well, but this is a new species that I've never seen before.

I slowly, very slowly, bend down to retrieve the backpack lying on the floor, doing my best not to make too much of a sound and startle the three cat-like animals before us that will soon attack us if we aren't careful not to disturb them. But either way, this is the Hunger Games, and they're clearly programmed to hurt us, even if we don't frighten them. We can only hope not to make it worse.

I feel the fear creeping up on me, and I try to squash it down, remembering the cameras and how many people must be watching me at this very moment over the television.

Don't be scared. Back away slowly. Don't let them see that you're afraid.

But that's much easier said than done.

I turn my head ever so slightly to my right, locking eyes with Victoria and communicating a silent message.

A long time ago, I read an old book that had said to back away slowly, making yourself look the least threatening you can, when you encounter a wild animal. I gulp, hoping with all my might that the book was right and that I'm not about to become a cat mutt's dinner.

I lift my foot above the dampened leaves on the soil, trying my best not to scatter them or step on one of the discarded branches and make a sound that would send them running at us.

Setting it down gently, I risk a quick glimpse of the beasts before me, and I see that they're still in the same place they were, eying us with contempt, deciding whether or not to chase us down now or wait until we're in a more vulnerable position.

I take another step backwards, away from the impending danger of these terrifying genetically modified animals. If you can even call them that. It's a human-made creation that only has the instincts of an animal – the all-consuming desire for survival that makes them willing to do anything in order to stay alive. Is this what the Hunger Games are meant to do to us? But there's no time to stop and think about it in the heat of this encounter.

I feel a hum of energy, my blood quickening with the nervousness. At the moment, we are simply staring at each other, waiting for the other to act first. Not for long, I'm sure. One wrong move could set them off.

I place my foot on the floor behind me, my other set firmly against the fallen leaves, standing my ground. But when I hear the loud crack I can sense that it's over. I look down and see the broken branch beneath my foot.

The creatures are much bigger and stronger and no doubt faster than we are, and are trained to hunt any being who chooses to disrupt them. I've set off the alarm, and the reaction could not have been more instantaneous. There's nothing holding them back, since we've made ourselves a threat to them.

They break loose of whatever had been holding them in place, and tear through the arena, their padded feet pattering as they hit soft mud in a consistent pattern and splashing the puddled water beneath that pools on the ground.

We run, faster than ever before, hoping desperately that they will not be able to make those few extra bounds and catch up to us in the chase. All I can hear is the pounding and roaring blood in my ears. Everything else is irrelevant.

My muscles burn with the effort, and I want to give in to the creatures, to stop this horror, to finally be finished. But I must not. I keep pushing, pushing, pushing through the pain, because I just have to keep moving. I can't let them catch up to me. To us.

They're only footsteps away from us, so close to destroying us. My breath is coming in short bursts, and I can only wonder how long it will be until they've got us under those enormous paws that will crush us to the ground in moments. How long do we have until they are upon us? Minutes? More like seconds. If that, even.

They're gaining on us, only a few bounds away. They could be on us with one leap. And suddenly, they turn, looking frantically around, ears twitching, as if on the hunt for something new.

It's selfish of me to say that I want them to go, to chase after whoever has just caught these strange creatures' attention. Either way, I still do. I can't help it; it's in human nature to want to survive. I thought that you could suppress it, but it's a lot easier when you aren't actually in a scenario where you have to choose between your life and another's.

Disregarding us completely, the mutts take off in the direction of another tribute. I smile internally, then catch myself, because it's not right for me to be glad. They stopped chasing us because of another target. I have defied this sadistic system for years, never taking pleasure in watching each year's annual Hunger Games, but in the immediate danger, I have forgotten that in the moment.

We sit in relief for a few minutes under the shelter of some trees before I hear it. The agonized scream full of pain and anguish. When the cannon fires only moments after, I know that the mutts have killed their target. It won't be long until they come back after us, or until the Gamemakers send more attacks into the arena.

They don't care about us. They just like to pretend they do, to play with us. It's the same thing that we did to them. Act like we're their savior, when we were the ones that were the cause of their misery in the first place.

Play the savior, be the villain. It's a sick game to us all.