The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 25

Another day, another night. Another broadcast to show us who has lived through the day and who has died. Another round of pain.

The blood that streamed from the wounds the Marianna gave me has caked around the cuts, dark red and dirty with the soil from doing little more than sitting for the past few hours. Both Victoria and I are scraped up from the fight, though me more than her. She was always more of a fighter than I am. She was always more of a fighter than I could ever be.

When the arena is filled with sudden noise and light, we can only anticipate what's to come. It's always the hardest when there are people there who we've killed. That would be tonight.

I look away for the entirety of the projections, trying my best to forget about the hurting and the mental torment of the violent memories. Doing my best not to think about how most of the rest of them aren't even alive to see this.

Although it feels like an eternity, it's probably hardly a few minutes long. I lay down on the dust, grinding my teeth and hoping that the wound won't open up again, and fall asleep, Victoria right beside me.

—

Boom. Boom. The sound is loud and frightening, as if created solely for the purpose of scaring us and inducing panic in my mind. I am jerked quickly from sleep, wide awake, though only moments ago I was sleeping. It takes another second for me to place it, recognize what it means. Two consecutive cannons. Two more deaths. Two more tributes gone. Our list of opponents left has shrunk further.

It must have been Leander and his other ally hunting. They're the only ones who would use the night to their advantage. I don't know about his friend, but Leander has always been much too competitive and unwilling to lose. Maybe that'll work to his benefit in the Games. But I can't see why someone would be so cruel. At least I don't have to worry about killing them.

It won't be much longer until they have a winner. No, not a winner. A survivor. Because who wins the Games? No one. You can only survive them, not win them. Do we really win if we do things we regret to get there? No. We sacrifice. We survive. We do not win. These are the Games.

I lay back, still paralyzed with fear, but in disbelief that we've managed to make it this long. I would never have guessed it. Those two cannons? They could just as easily have been us. But we're still here. We're still alive. We're still in this game. And maybe we can win. Survive.

Maybe, just maybe, one of us could be the victor.

—

I awake to whistling in the branches above us, and find the back of my shirt soaked with sweat. Wasn't it just freezing a few hours ago? It's the sticky, humid kind of heat, the one that you simply cannot escape. The kind that warns you of a rainstorm to come. That's not so bad. We could use more rain.

The whistling has grown louder, like a rumbling murmur of the jungle.

We've been safe here for the night, but it sends a chill through my body even in the engineered warmth. Something's not right.

Louder, louder, louder. It's impossible to pretend that I don't notice it now. Even Victoria is sitting up, wide-eyed at this point.

A dark cloud bursts through the foliage of the trees, the buzzing even more prominent. It takes me a moment longer than it should for me to place what it is. Insects. Not your normal ones, like the flies or bees or butterflies that you might see normally. No, these ones are dangerous.

They're faster than we are. Much faster. Especially with the genetically created need to hunt us down and drive us together so that we'll fight. By the time we've managed to stumble out from our camp, leaving practically all our supplies, everything we weren't already holding, the insects have caught up to us.

They are mainly black in color, with red splotches that dot their abdomen. Their wings beat fast and furiously, almost transparent and seemingly fragile. That's not the worst part. They are three inches long and their long stingers are visible even in the chaos.

I try to beat them away with my hand, but it does nothing to keep them at a distance. One lands my hand, and there's a stab that makes my skin feel like it's on fire. Once the initial feeling has subsided, I can barely move my hand. It's stiffening up and swelling. It's not a tracker jacker, but it's something like it. I stifle a screech that threatens to emanate from my lips as more and more overcome us.

Keep going. Keep going. They'll stop soon. Empty promises. If nothing else, they make me feel the tiniest bit better, but I'm limping and staggering as I try to somehow elude the wasp-like creatures.

Not much longer. You're almost there.

This time, it does nothing. All I can do is to keep running, try to outrun them even though for every step that we take, they can catch up in half the time. They're in a swarm around us, and I can't see anymore, can't hear anything but the continuous hissing of them. I am on my own against them. It is an internal battle to keep moving and not give into them.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

Can't I just stop now? The pain is almost unbearable. Is it worth going onwards? Suddenly, I am reminded by the people back home, and I just have to do it.

I'm going every which way, with no sense of direction whatsoever. The only compass I have is to get away from the insects. It is worth it to keep going. I have to. I need to. I have to live for the people who I care about.

I've nearly made it back to the clearing that we started in. The Cornucopia. I can't stop yet. I'm so close.

Another sting makes me grit my teeth, but I clamp down too fast and bite down hard on my tongue, making the iron taste of blood coat my mouth. I've felt worse in the past couple of weeks. It won't last for long.

We burst into the area of the start of the Games, which is still filled with the heady scent of wildflowers that makes me feel slightly nauseous. Maybe it's just the abundance of plants, but I can hardly hear the sound of the insects anymore.

When I glance behind me, no, I realize, they are gone. They're gone. We're free.

My sigh of relief is cut short when I hear voices. Of course. They wouldn't have just set the wasps on us to scare us, only to have them retreat when we're about to be killed by them. They stopped because they have achieved their goal, to put us in a dome where we are trapped and the only way to get out would be to kill. Kill or be killed. The rule of the Games. It's the one that everyone would know, if you asked them what the Hunger Games are. One arena. Twenty-four children. A fight to the death. Kill or be killed.

A face peeks out from behind the horn of plenty where the supplies were kept at the beginning. A flicker of recognition registers on both his face, mirroring the one I think I have on my own, and he glances me and Victoria over to check and be sure.

He opens his mouth, but just as he starts to get the name out, his voice breaks off into silence.

"Lea-" he had called out. He had been calling to his ally to help him overcome us.

But it was right then that he keeled over forward, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. A cannon fires to signal his death.

"Jason!" I hear the call back.

The toxin from the mutts is wearing off, but I wish I could have figured out sooner what had happened.

It was only when he collapsed that I noticed the arrow that had pierced his back; his blood pooling on his clothes.

And the tribute that steps out from behind him only moments, holding the bow that killed him.