Author Games: Dacnomania Nexus Accourt

Semi-Finals - Capitol Roulette - Tommy Barton

District Ten - Tommy Barton

I see the hole a moment before my foot goes over the edge, ankle twisting painfully. The ground bites into my hands, and it hurts like hell, even through the gloves. I rub the palms against my thighs until the sting lessens. I’ve had worse. My ankle gives a throb and I wiggle my boot experimentally. It’s painful, but I can tell it’s not broken. I’ve seen enough ankles snap to know what to look for. A couple of weeks before the Reaping, Pa’s cousin had come off his horse and his foot had ended up tangled in a stirrup. I’d heard the bone bust and the cursing that followed as the horse had dragged him across the field.

This is just a sprain, and for once I’m glad of the too-tight suit – it’s so snug I won’t have to wrap the injury to keep the swelling down. Not that I’d be able to do that anyway, given the lack of supplies. I’ve still got a pack, but it’s pretty much empty; two small packets of dried fruit and the rope I’d gotten at the bloodbath.

I still don’t know if coming is a good idea. No, I know it’s a stupid idea. Heading into a situation like this is nothing short of suicide, but at this point in time I’ve got no choice. Neither will any of the others, and I bet the Gamemakers have left this just long enough for everyone to be desperate enough to do something stupid. All they care about is their show. I wonder for a second if they actually realises that its kids in here. Living, breathing kids. It’s almost easy to forget that, when you’re watching through a screen. When the biggest concern is making sure the cows are ready for milking in time and you can’t smell the blood or see their eyes properly.

The clouds press in, all thick and heavy. It’s hot, and I can’t see the sun, but surely it can’t be long until midday? I’ve got no idea how they’ll make it clear that the feast has started. Knowing them, they won’t, and we’ll have to get in close to see, and then they’ll have their little show. The light glares off the Cornucopia and I go to rub my watering eyes. My glove bumps against the glass of the mask, so I have to make do with blinking violently. I can’t wait until I can get this suit off and be able to move properly again. It’s a little looser than it was a few days ago, thanks to the fact that there’s no food or water in this place, but the fabric still clings to my back, and there’s a raw patch under each arm from where the seams rub whenever I move.

Movement, in front of the Cornucopia, but it’s not a tribute. It’s more of a flickering. It’s there for just a second and then disappears. I’m trying to decide if it was just my eyes playing up when there’s a scuffling sound and a pair of figures lurch out from behind a pile of rubble and head for the golden horn. At almost the same time, someone comes into view on the far side of the Cornucopia. They’re too far away for me to tell who it is, but from their height, I’m almost certain that it’s the boy from One. He’s the one I’m worried about.

Pas’s voice, loud in my head. Get your head in the game! I snap to my feet, stumbling as my ankle protests, but there’s no time for that now. Worry about the damage later. Pain is temporary. Failure here means the end of the line; no second chances given. I can see the two kids nearest me scrambling about, snatching boxes and packages as fast as they can. One of them gives a shout and I see the other duck, the spear of the tall boy whistling over their head. A second later, they’re off and running again, leaping over little piles of stone and earth like a couple of startled rabbits. No idea how they tell what’s safe and what’s not. It’s like a deadly game of roulette. Like flipping a coin – take a chance. Heads I win, tails you lose. Except we’ll always lose, one way or another and the Capitol will always win.

There’s a few small packages scattered around me now, one of them glowing yellow. They’d mentioned a safe package, I’m almost certain of it, although I’d not been paying much attention to all the details. Not once I’d heard they’d poisoned half the stuff they were leaving us. I scoop it up, nearly falling as my ankle wobbles. It’s tiny; no larger than my palm. I have to get more. Have to take the chance, play their game. I grab a few packages, avoiding the big ones. There’s no way they’d be as kind as to just give someone that much in the way of help.

More movement on the far side of the horn; another figure rushing towards me. There’s a shout and a wet gurgling sound, then quiet again, apart from the sound of my heart pounding and the blood thundering in my ears. Every nerve leaps as the cannon thunders overhead. I’ve got no idea where the tall boy is now, or who just died. No time to think.

I’m just stuffing the last package into my pocket when something flickers at the corner of my eye. I start to turn just as the rock smashes into my mask and I go reeling to one side, vision suddenly ruined by the spider web of cracks that cover the glass. My ankle twists again, and I go down hard, spitting curses into the mask. There’s a fractured green shape coming towards me, and something shiny catches the light. There’s a sour taste in my mouth, and a hot feeling in my chest, but my mind is surprisingly clear.

My kick connects violently with the legs of my attacker, sweeping them out from under them. I’ve hit them with my bad ankle. The pain is exquisite and I can’t help the yelp that bursts out of me. Through the ruined glass, it looks like they’re floating for a second, then there’s a thud as they hit the ground and I’m scrambling towards them, knife in hand. I can’t see who it is, but I can hear their gasps. The rock thumps at my side at the same moment the knife drive into their throat and the world turns red.

I’m already up and hobbling away when the cannon goes. I’m half blind, lame and probably loaded with poisoned food, but I’m not sticking around any longer. The boy from On e is still nearby, and there’s at least one tribute I haven’t seen. I just hope I don’t run into them now, thanks to the ruined mask.

I don’t even see the kid until I’m right on top of him. He gives a little moan as my foot goes over his hand, but he doesn’t move. I squint through the mess of cracks. It’s the boy from Five, I remember he’d gotten an 8 for his assessment. Not half bad for a thirteen year old, that’s for sure. He’s curled up in a foetal position, and I can see the packages all scattered around him. There’s no sign of the girl that had been with him at the feast. I keep moving, adrenalin still pumping through me as I realises it could be a trap, and she could be waiting somewhere nearby.

I’m feeling so very alive. Every nerve crackles with tension, and my heart is thundering against my chest. Every heartbeat is a hot throb. My ankle blazes painfully.

He gives another little moan and then he retches. There’s a splattering sound, and I realise that he’s really hurt. I don’t know why, but I stop and turn back to look at him. Pa’s voice in my head is shouting to get out of there, get away, that it isn’t safe. The boy looks back at me, and even through the ruined mask I can see his massive eyes and the red stains on his lips. His body heaves again and a rush of scarlet spills out of his mouth and splatters across the front of his suit. That’s when I see the package beside him, the top ripped open and the food inside spilling onto the ground. Pandora’s poisons work fast, it seems.

He looks like Asha’s colt, the one that broke its leg in a rabbit hole three summers ago. I can see his nostrils flaring, and he’s quivering violently, then he heaves again and again and the blood is everywhere. His back arches and he cries something out. Then he goes limp and the cannon sounds again.

I look at him for a long minute.

Then I take his mask. Waste not, want not.