The 73rd Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 11- How Hard Can it Be?

Cyrus and I watched as the Capitol's seal faded from the sky.  12 tributes down, I thought to myself. 11 left that need to die. I looked over at Cyrus's face, semi illuminated in the growing moonlight.

"What's our strategy?" He asked me without looking.

"We find a good camp and stay. If they want us, they can come get us," I said.

"I guess you're feeling confident, then. Well, I guess we can't be that easy to kill," He said.

"Yeah, if only I had a trident, so I could be somewhat useful," I said, downcast. "Come on. We need sleep. Do you want to take the first guard?" I asked.

"Sure, I'll take the first guard. But we need to hide to camp. We're not necessarily safe in the middle of a clearing."

"Of course," I said. "I'll get the backpack." I picked up the black backpack,  and we set off in the woods. I scattered leaves and dirt off of our previous campsite. I looked for a place to make camp, but the tropical forest didn't provide anything safe. I picked a small nut off of one of the bushes beside us and threw it in front of us.

"I wonder how far that this forest stretches," I wondered aloud. "Like, when we'll reach the force field."

"Well, we've come at least seven or eight miles so far. How far do you think they'd want us to get away from each other?" Cyrus said.

"It can't be too far. I mean, If all three of the regions between the river's Y shape went ten miles, then it'd be a pretty big arena," I yawned."And the Gamemakers would probably want us to all be in the same place, basically."

"But how does the arena end? Is it like, a cliff, or...." Cyrus asked.

"It usually ends in a force field," I said.

He thought about that for a second as we walked. We kept walking and walking, and I was happy because we were putting lots of distance between ourselves and the other tributes. Though, I wonder how many tributes are in this tropical jungle. Maybe lots. Who knows? Any number of tributes could be following us now, or worse- watching us. I peered into the jungle for any signs of followers. I was glad that the jungle floor was soft and spongy, so we didn't leave footprints.

We came to a clearing. There was a little outcropping in the rocks, like a liittle cave. It was at least 6 feet deep, so there was plenty of room to set up camp as far as I was concerned. "Home sweet home," I said, followed by Cyrus's reply "Close enough, anyway."

We sat down inside and scooted all the way in, and I realized that it was like a miniature cave. The ledge above us was like a roof. If it were to rain, we'd be the driest.

"Okay, you take first watch, and I'll sleep. Wake me up in four hours," I said. I got the sleeping bag out and unrolled it. I laid it out on the floor of the mini-cave, slid into it, curled up, and slowly fell asleep under Cyrus's watchful eye.

When Cyrus woke me up, a cold front had settled in the otherwise tropical jungle,but I was warm. Apparently, the sleeping bags mirror your body heat to keep you warm. I realized that it was my turn to keep watch. I slid out of the comfprtably warm sleeping bag, and wordlessly switched spots with Cyrus. It was around 3:00 in the morning, which, in my opinion, is the worst time to wake up at night.

I slid on one of the extra jackets that Cyrus picked up, and, it turns out, they mirror your body heat too.

Cyrus slid into sleep as I watched outside for any movement. If there is, we have to be up and ready to go in seconds.

I picked up some vines from the forest floor, barely having to stretch, and started to fashion a net while Cyrus slept. I made three medium sized nets, a watertight basket, and a rope just because I wanted to. The sun had just peeked over the horizon when Cyrus woke up.