The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 22

With shaking hands, I lift the water bottle that we had gotten from the Cornucopia to my lips, taking a sip of the near-empty container. We had filled it up in the rain – a blessing of sorts – but between the two of us, Victoria and I, there is not much left anymore of it. Only a few drops of water, which I have drained from it, leaving it empty with only the residue of wetness around the walls of it. They hardly satisfy my thirst; the small amount of liquid that I got from it is barely able to wet my parched tongue. When I swallow, it is awkward and unnatural, and there is almost no saliva in my mouth.

We have to go. It's dark and dreary and ominous beyond our current camp, and I can scarcely get my weak, trembling legs to support my full weight, but if we don't go now, we may just die right here. If we cave into the desire to just fall asleep here and never wake up, then the districts get their victory over us. They will have gotten what they wanted. We will understand. There's only one flaw in that plan – there would be no one left to tell the story.

I force myself to a standing position, trying to hide a grimace, and pull Victoria up beside me.

"Where are we going?" she asks me.

"I don't know," I respond, unsure. The one thing that I do know is that if we don't, if we just stay here, we'll be dead – or as good as dead, though I suppose we already are – in very little time at all. "But there's no use in staying here. We don't have anything here. No one's going to help us." As soon as I say it, as soon as I acknowledge the fact, the truth begins to sink in. They won't. We have to help ourselves.

We pack our things, which are admittedly very little, into the small bag that we got at the start of the Games. No, "pack" is too neat of a word for it. More like stuff our things into it, because neither of us can spare the energy to do any better than that.

And then we're off. Once again, we are headed into uncharted territory. We can only guess what might await us.

—

I begin to count my steps to distract myself from my unending hunger, the mysterious darkness, the gloom that surrounds me.

One, two, three...

Am I hunting, or am I being hunted? I am the predator. But I am the prey. Their prey. Their toy. This is their masterpiece, these Games, this finale is.

Four, five, six...

What will we find? Another trap? Another tribute? They are all one in the same. All against us. We are on our own.

Seven, eight, nine...

A chill runs through my body. I can't tell whether it is the cold or the idea of being watched. I don't know what's out there. I don't know who's out there. I don't know who is on our side, who is an enemy, who is hiding, who is to be trusted. At least I have Victoria at my side. I squeeze her hand weakly for support, and she squeezes mine back. I tense beside her, shaking in the breeze and in the pangs of starvation, as an owl calls.

Ten, eleven, twelve...

Twelve districts. Or thirteen, rather. I hear the tolling of bells in my mind, echoing from the last Games, the Quell. Twelve o'clock. A new day. A new hour. More horrors. More death. Another day of waiting for the end.

I hear a rustle in the branches nearby. I move closer to Victoria, tensing my muscles to be ready for anything. Looking over my shoulder, I can't see anything. Must have just been the wind. That's good. We're safe. For a short while, though, at most.

A crackling noise makes me alert to what's around me again. I see a glint of blond hair illuminated by the dying embers that engulf the branches amidst the dampened leaves, before the flame goes out. I'm shivering, but we've seen time and time again how easily making a fire can show your position to the rest, and how quickly it will make you a target. It's only lucky that there aren't many of us left. It's only lucky that we are the only ones in range.

But that's when it hits me. I've seen enough Games in my lifetime to have figured out by this point what happens. I am not so blind to be unaware that this is what should happen, what they expect to happen. They expect us to kill her. They expect us to become the hunters. They expect us to put aside whatever we might have had in coming from the same place, the same origin, to choose our survival over hers. Because it's us or her. Someone has to die.

Who is it going to be? The lazy drawl – much too uncaring for the Games – is faint in my head, and I feel as if I've heard the voice before. You or her? You have to choose.

The last whisper is the most haunting. There's no way for you to save both.

Even though we're outside, it's like walls are closing in on me, getting closer, closer, closer. I've never been claustrophobic, but this is what I would imagine it to be like. My breaths become more ragged and uneven, and soon I am hyperventilating. A strangled gasp escapes my lips.

Choose. Who will it be? Who is going to die here?

Violent images of the death of Leander's ally fill my head. Blood everywhere. More deaths. Alana's, my father's, my grandfather's, the dream Victoria. Who am I to choose who gets to live? Who am I to put an end to another's life?

Help. I need air. I can't do this, I can't do it.

You or her. Pick one. You will never be the victor if you don't make sacrifices. Your survival needs you to make them, after all.

The girl's head is whipping around from side to side. She must have heard me. I was too loud. I have even less time to make up my mind. Her or me? Nobility or survival?

She is on her feet, the footsteps clear in the near silence of the night that I once would have found peaceful and calming. I can only think of the quiet as eerie after a few nights in the arena. Quiet means that something is wrong. Quiet means danger.

And before I have time to decide beyond that, she's right in front of us, wielding a sword and holding out to defend herself from me and Victoria. A wild and desperate look is in her wide blue eyes.

So I pull the knife from my jacket and close my fingers, damp with sweat that have surely lost all the liquid from before, around the metal hilt.