The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

19. Remembering

I run uphill, stumbling over the undergrowth. Every now and then, I hear movement and stop. It is never another tribute, only an animal. It always spooks me. I expect another tribute to come charging out of the trees, wielding a sword. I expect my scream to be long and echoing.

But no one comes.

I've run what is at least the distance to my afternoon shift from school, which is five miles. I'm exhausted. I look around for a sign of another human. There is no one.

On the way up the hill, I tried to stay as quiet as possible. This was near impossible, due to my being worn out.

The swim was the most challenging part of getting away from the Cornucopia. I've finally worked an efficient swimming style out. I wish Hadrian could show me another style, as mine both looks awkward, and involves a lot of thrashing around.

I sit near the ride of the hill, which is covered in trees. Midday light filters through the leaves above me, creating patches of warmth. I sit in one of them. I'm still soaking, and water runs off my unitard and then downhill.

I open up my packs, eager to see what's inside. I don't want to let go of my weapon for even a second, but I settle for placing it in a position where I can easily grasp it.

Inside the big black pack is a litre water bottle, which is already filled, matches, a loaf of bread, a thick blanket, a coil of wire, bandages, and a spare change of clothes. The clothes are fawn cotton shorts and a white singlet, which seem to be more underwear than clothing. I take a swig from the water bottle, then open the next pack. The dark green pack holds another water bottle, strips of meat, a selection of fruits, a cloth, a dish made out of silver metal, another knife, and a small bottle of something that smells strongly of alcohol. The small bottle must contain something for cleaning wounds, as alcohol is usually sterile. I stuff everything apart from the weapons into the big black pack.

I cover the green pack in dead leaves. It isn't really of any use to me, and I don't want to leave it lying around. I don't need the other tributes knowing I went this way.

To my right is a bank. It's a twenty metre drop and is dotted with rocks and shrubs. A fall down there would be fatal. On the other side of the bank, the hills grow higher.

So far, I'm unsure of how big the arena is. I'm willing to bet it ends somewhere behind the hills.

I walk along the crest of the hill. I don't want to risk going down the bank, as it would only be too easy for me to lose my footing. After a mile or so of walking along the hill, I notice that the bank is slowly rising upwards. I run the next couple of hundred metres, and find that the bank here isn't a bank, but level ground between the two hills. If a tribute were to pursue me, I could easily reach the next hill and evade them. I feel much safer here; I can't fall down a bank.

I want to get closer to shore and see the Cornucopia. It's the one landmark in the arena that I can use to get my bearings. I've only estimated how far I've travelled. The truth is, I could be anywhere.  

I stop suddenly. A loud boom has sounded. The cannon.

There is another. And another. It counts up to seven.

I wonder who has been killed. I’ll find out tonight, when the faces will be shown. Fr a moment, I think of Hadrian. What if he’s gone? What if someone has murdered him? This is near impossible, as he’s a Career. No one would dare to touch him. I still can’t help but worry.

What I think is almost an hour later, I can see the shore again. Except this time, there's something wrong. The grass just drops off, and the water seems to be below it. I find forward, and almost tumble off the cliff.