Snowdrop

Chapter 10

Sixty seconds. That's how long I have to survey the arena, my fellow tributes, and formulate a plan.
I blink, noticing the drop in temperature as I look at my surroundings. White... everywhere...
Snow, I realise. The arena is an arctic wasteland. Similar to previous arenas, we're standing around the Cornucopia on a plain surrounded by sparse woods. I know without hesitation that's where Acacia would want me to go.
I look around, trying to find Ember. He's about seven tributes to my left, poised to run, and he catches my eye and gives me a reassuring smile. When I look for Bailey, I lock eyes with Rouge. She smiles maliciously and runs her thumb along her neck. You're next. I gulp and look away quickly.
Bailey's five tributes to my left, directly facing the mouth of the Cornucopia. She hasn't seen me yet.
The best supplies are stacked right up close to the horn. A tent pack, bed rolls and blankets, items which could stop me freezing to death. It's tempting, so tempting, to run and grab as much as I can. I don't know how long I'd last with almost nothing of value. But I do know how long I'd last if I were to try and fight for supplies, which is to say barely a few minutes.
There's a pack of knives a few metres from the Cornucopia. I could use those. They'd be so helpful. I want to go for them...
There's movement in the corner of my eye. Bailey, trying to get my attention.
Ten.
She's shaking her head.
Nine.
What? What is it?
Eight.
She knows I've seen them.
Seven.
She knows I want those knives.
Six.
She shakes her head again. Don't go in, she mouths.
Five.
But I have to have them.
Four.
I need them.
Three.
I'm panicking now. Trying to make a decision.
Two.
Unsure of what I should do. I want the knives to badly, but...
One.
I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't...
Zero.
The gong sounds, ringing loud and clear. Tributes spill onto the snowy grass, and everything seems to be in slow motion as the action unfolds.
I lunge forward, knowing I won't be able to reach the knives but refusing to leave with nothing. I scoop up a small metal pot and a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. My head whips from side to side, trying to find my brother and my best friend. My eyes catch Bailey running away from the bloodbath with a small backpack.
I run in ten metres and retrieve a blue backpack. It could contain anything, from weapons to more food, but I'm glad I've got something. I spin around, ready to head for the woods, when something slices into my upper arm.
I fall back, a scream bursting from my mouth. One of the boys from Three, the one who was calculating his odds, raises an axe. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the deathblow, but it doesn't come. After a moment I open my eyes. He's on the ground beside me, an arrow in his back.
I waste no time in leaping to my feet and sprinting away. I'm indebted to the person who killed him, but it reinforces the thought that I'm never going to be safe in the arena.
I turn for a moment to survey the field. The Careers have already spread out to attack, and I watch in horror as Rouge snatches a young boy from behind and slits his throat. He slips to the ground, blood pooling in the snow beneath him, dead. Gone. A girl thrashes on the ground, her fingers slipping over a wound in her chest. Eventually she goes still.
Where's Ember? Bailey and I'm assuming Haymitch have both got away safely, but I haven't seen Ember. Then one of the girls from District 2 hacks away at someone. I can only see the dark hair, the tanned skin, but I'm certain it's him.
My eyes burn and I struggle to silence the scream that's forcing its way up my throat. I can't help him. I turn and run away into the forest. I bite my cheek hard, trying to stop myself from crying. I manage about five minutes, stumbling through the trees, before my body is wracked with sobs. I continue running, knowing that to stop now is an invitation for death.
But he's gone, a little voice whispers. Why continue now? There's nothing to live for.
I wipe my eyes furiously with the back of my hand. Ember would want me to try my best. He'd want me to continue for as long as possible.
About ten minutes into the Games, I slow to a jog. I'm wheezing now, my breath coming in horrible stabs. I shouldn't have run so far, so fast, but I had to get as much distance between the others as possible. I alternate between jogging and walking for the next few hours. I'll have to find Bailey eventually, but right now she can wait.
I've still got my bread and my pot, despite the incident with the boy from Three. I stop for a moment and tuck them away in the pack, but I don't dare stop for any longer. I can check my supplies later.
I realise I'm probably being shown onscreen at the moment, and I try and look better than I feel. As I've worked out from years of watching the Games, crying doesn't endear you to the viewers. It makes you look weak and unable to handle the situation. So I rearrange my face into an expression of grim determination.
It's early evening when the cannons begin to fire. I stop to catch my breath and count the shots. One... two... three... on and on until they stop at eighteen. Eighteen dead. The highest number of cannons I remember counting on the first day was fourteen, and that was when the arena was a desert and tributes were constantly being bitten by snakes or stung by scorpions. But this isn't a normal year.
Eighteen dead, and one of those is my brother.
Just as the sun starts to set I take off my bag and slump down against a tree. It must be very cold, but the fact that I've been moving all day means I'm sweating. I unzip the backpack and lay the contents on the ground. The bread and the metal pot. A plastic rain poncho. A container of crackers and dried fruit. An extra pair of socks. A basic first-aid kit. A water bottle. It's really not much, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. I don't even have a weapon to defend myself with. I'm a sitting duck.
I scoop a handful of snow into the bottle and wait for it to melt, knowing that I at least won't dehydrate out here. Already the adrenaline I've been functioning on all day is ebbing away, leaving me feeling cold and miserable. The first-aid kit contains bandages and tape, and I cover the wound on my arm and tape it roughly.
I take a sharp twig and cut holes into the socks to fashion them into a pair of gloves. Then I lay the rain poncho under me and rip a few chunks of bread from the loaf to eat. When the anthem plays and the faces of the dead begin to show, I watch for a few minutes. One of the girls from District 1, but unfortunately not Rouge. That's a little surprising considering most years the Careers all survive. Then comes a pair from 3 and one of the boys from 4. I don't bother watching the rest. None of them matter anyway, and I'm almost certain Bailey and Haymitch have survived today. They're not stupid enough to stay and fight it out.
As the sky goes dark, I tuck my hands under my arms to try and keep them warm. I won't be able to sleep tonight. It's too cold and I'm too scared.
In the darkness, leaning against the tree, I allow myself to finally cry. I thought that Ember, of all people, would make it through the first day. He was strong and fast, despite being from District 12. But someone was stronger or faster than him. By the time I'm finished, I'm hiccuping slightly. I wipe my eyes and take a drink of water. I must appear so weak, so unlike my determined self last night. But things are different now. My whole strategy for the Games has changed.
I bring my knees up to my chest and look around. For the first time in my life, I feel truly alone. I don't know what to do, I don't know where anybody else is, and I can't even defend myself if I were to be attacked. So much for Panem's favourite sister. I'm completely forgettable now.
I find myself humming the anthem as the night goes on. Slowly, my eyelids grow heavy. The last thought I have is of my family, watching me with bated breath.
The sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the snow jolts me from sleep. It's almost dawn, and I see the silvery light of the sun appearing on the horizon. I don't dare move a muscle, but my eyes flick through the darkness, trying to see who disturbs me. My eyes begin to adjust to the gloom and I see a large shape moving through the woods towards me. I hold my breath, waiting for them to pass.
"I can see you!" It's a girl, I know that much.
I close my eyes, as though that'll have any effect. The footsteps come closer and my lungs feel like they're about to burst.
"Who are you? Which district are you from?"
I don't answer. Maybe if I'm quiet she'll think I'm just part of the tree and leave me alone. But then I'm thrown to the ground and she's pinning me down. I see now it's one of the girls from District 5. She smirks.
"Oh, if it isn't the little girl from Twelve. Where's your brother?" she says, cocking her head.
"He's not coming," I mumble, fighting against her.
"I guess last night's promise to protect you was all a ruse." She digs her knees into my stomach. "How sad. Don't suppose he'll miss you when you're gone, then."
She pulls out a knife, and I'm suddenly more scared than I was during the bloodbath. I look around for something, anything that will help me out. She laughs at my feeble attempts to get her off me, and for a brief second I wonder why she's so like the Careers. Arrogant, teasing, sadistic.
About a metre away lies a rock the size of my fist. I look back at the girl as she smiles and locks a hand around my throat. I grab the rock and smash it against the side of the girl's head. She goes down like a sack of flour, slumping against me. But still I don't stop. Some animal instinct takes over and I hit her again and again, until blood splatters my face and hands and the cannon fires. I throw her off of me, suddenly realising what I've done. I'm horrified at myself. What drew me to kill, so violently, so early on the in the Games? I never meant to kill her. I never meant to kill anyone. I stare at her body for a moment, then I scramble to my feet, snatch up my pack and the rain poncho, and run away.
I've been running for a few minutes before I have to stop. I lean over, holding a tree so I don't fall over, and vomit into the snow. I retch until there's nothing more to come up, then I scoop up a handful of clean snow and rinse out my mouth. I crouch on the ground, tears streaming down my face and my hands pressed to the sides of my head. I'm a killer... I'm a murderer...
I've got to keep moving. Others will have seen the hovercraft that took the girl's body away, and they'll know there's someone else in the vicinity. I get to my feet, shaking, and I run at full-speed just to get away from this whole thing.
I hear footsteps coming my way but it's too late to stop. I slam into another tribute and fall to the ground, my pack doing little to soften the blow. I lift my hands up, sobbing.
But the person doesn't kill me. Perhaps I deserve it. I'd be better off if they did. Instead they grab my arms and pull me up into a sitting position.
"Melia? Is that you? What's wrong?"
Oh no, I'm hallucinating now. I'm hallucinating, because that sounds like my brother but it can't be because he's dead. He's gone, and it can't be him.
A pair of strong arms wraps around me, holding me tight. I'm too worked up to fight back.
"Melia, shh... it's all right. What happened?"
"No - no, you're not real. You're dead!" I sob.
"I'm real, Melia. I'm real. It's all right," he says.
"No, but you're dead! I saw you die!" But even as I say it I know he's real, he's here, and everything just might be all right.
"I thought you were dead!" I shout. I pummel his chest in a feeble attempt at making my frustration known.
"I'm not. I'm fine, Melia, see?" Ember catches one of my hands and presses it against his chest.
Through the layers of clothing I still feel the steady thrum of his heart. I needn't have worried at all. But the boy I watched die... Slowly I wrap my arms around him. My brother's alive. He's okay. And that's all that matters.