Hope and Nightmares - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The mountain lion looks almost beautiful as he digs his paws into the dirt, preparing himself to kill me. His tawny fur glistens in the pale morning sun. His slippery teeth gleam as he bares them in a ferocious roar. Then, he lunges.

As cheesy as it sounds, it all happens in slow motion. The majestic mountain lion leaps out of its place lurking in the treeline towards his new meal: me.

I let out a piercing scream, then, as if it was a natural instinct, bring my knife back and let it fly. It pierces the large cat in the stomach, but does nothing to slow it down. He's bounding towards me like a cat chasing a ball of yarn, and when his fangs are just inches away from tearing my throat out, I plunge my second knife into the heart of the lion.

He goes limp mid-roar as if he was a windup toy that had suddenly had its batteries taken out. Unfortunately for me, he was close enough when I killed him that he now lies dead on my leg.

As I drag my leg out from underneath the no-longer hostile kitty, I'm wondering if I could eat him or not. Obviously not the whole thing - he's got to weigh at least 250 pounds - but cut out part of his...overall meat. Now that my burning desire for water has been quenched, my stomach is churning in anticipation for food.

There's only a couple flaws to my Operation Eat-the-Cat plan. 1) It might be unhealthy to eat the cat raw. If I light a fire, the smoke will lead the Careers and an any other tribute right to me if my scream already didn't. 2) I have no idea how to skin the beast. 3) Once I skin it, do I just rip out a hunk o' meat and chow down?

We learned how to skin and cook game in training. But those were squirrels. And rabbits. And fish. What do I do with a 250 pound mountain lion?

I eventually decide to just leave the mountain lion there, but do retrieve both of my knives, which are getting far too much use lately.

I need to do something. Show the potential sponsors that I can survive. Hunt. Cook. Kill. Though honestly, right now, I still need to figure out myself if I can do those things.

I follow the creek bed on the hunt for food. Animals have to drink at some point, don't they? At first, I attempt to wade ankle-deep to avoid leaving tracks for the Careers to follow. But the water is verging on freezing temperature, and apparently the boots were made for hiking, not keeping out water. So I just walk along the edge for awhile.

After an hour of walking, I've only come up with a rabbit, which I eat raw, since I don't want to take the chance of lighting a fire, which will pretty much be a flashing neon sign on fire pointing the other tributes to my location.

My suspicions about the dangers of fire are confirmed when I see smoke billowing up a mile or two to my right - probably from the woods on the opposite side of the lake. After what could be ten to twenty minutes - I have no grasp on time in the arena - I hear the scream echoing across the lake, which is cut short by the cannon signifying the tribute's death.

That's 3 tributes dead on the second day. I had never anticipated the deaths to be this quick. I don't know how the Careers are taking out these people so quickly, but I know that they're running out of victims and if I'm not careful enough, I could very well be their next one.

Night is falling, and although I've eaten a rabbit today, it is not nearly enough to satisfy the hollow growls of my stomach. I manage to pin a squirrel against a tree with my knife (finally my throwing skills are paying off) and hungrily skin it up in a tree.

Once the temperature has dropped significantly and all of the stars have groggily crawled back into the night sky, the Panem anthem echoes throughout the arena and the Capitol seal shines holographically in front of the stars.

Then, they've moved on to broadcasting the dead. The images of the fallen start at 5, with the boy tribute. The next is a tribute from 7, the girl, thankfully not Thatcher. Then, they show the face of the girl from 12, and the anthem ends with a flourish, leaving the sky blank once more.

That leaves me, the Careers, the girl from 4, the boy from 6, Thatcher, the cousins from 9, and the girl from 11. Eleven tributes. The number comes as a shock to me, as there were more than half of us alive yesterday.

Three families lost their child today. Gone. I try not to think about it too much, seeing as it's obviously hindering my ability to kill and making me weaker. But the fact that three children won't be returning home lingers at the back of my mind.

I am awoken from my nightmares to the earsplitting crack of thunder. I blink my eyes open sleepily. It's still hopelessly dark out, so I can't have been asleep for long. Blinding white streaks of lightning illuminate the woods. It's not raining, so it might just be a lightning storm of some

sorts. I'm worried if my place under a new bush is safe. I vaguely recall Thatcher talking about lightning storms in District 7. He said there's no safe place during one, especially near tall trees. I decide that I need to get out into open land. The best option that my sleepy brain can come up with is the creek.

I pack up my sleeping bag and blanket as fast as my cold body allows, my breath coming out in visible white billows, illuminated by the constant cracks of lightning splitting the sky.

I eventually make it to the creek, where I lie flat on the ground so I'm away from anything tall that will attract the lightning. As bolt strikes the ground just yards away from my head. I consider rolling into the creek, but quickly decide against it. First of all, the water must be near to the freezing point. And second of all, if the lightning hits the water, I will be electrocuted with millions of watts of Mother Nature's searing wrath.

Will the storm ever stop? I know what it's meant to do. Eventless hours of tributes sleeping. Not much of a good show. Even though a tribute died not too long ago, the Capitol thirsts for more. The deaths must not be gory enough.

It is at this moment, cowering in the open during a lightning storm, that I have an epiphany. If I give the Capitol a good show, the longer they will stay appeased and the less often the Gamemakers will have to interfere. So why not?

A sizzling yellow bolt greets a tree not too far from where I'm lying - charring it. A groan of cracks and rustles resonate as its roots reluctantly leave the ground. The towering tree is falling, falling, falling, and it will crush me if I don't get out of the way. I scramble to my hands and knees and book it out of there - barely missing my leg before the tree crashes against the ground and creating a dam in the creek, but a loose flame licks the tips of my too-long hair, sizzling the ends. Add that to my growing list of injuries.

After who knows how long, the streaks of electricity and roars of thunder die down and eventually cease. What a night. I know the Gamemakers will want me to keep moving. They sent that tree as a message, maybe a warning.

The Capitol wants a show. Ask and you shall receive.