Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

6. Macon

The days passed slowly, and in time I’d managed to bury the sorrow I felt for the fallen tributes. Realistically, I knew I should’ve been relieved; fewer tributes meant less danger, meant we were closer to the end. I should’ve even been thankful that I’d had no part in their demise; I hadn’t killed a single soul.

However, the painful knot in my stomach always returned whenever I remembered their faces in the sky. To keep my sanity, I’d stopped keeping track of just who’d died. I merely counted the cannon bangs and then tallied the number up. After last night, we were down to just fourteen in the arena.

I was forever grateful to Smalls and Bodey; while I’d been fighting to get out of the bloodbath, they’d been able to get their hands on a pair of backpacks that had food. We’d eaten sparing, trying to conserve it as much as we could, but now I could see that we were running dangerously low. I squinted up into the sky, seeing the sun and guessing we had a few more hours left of daylight.

I sighed, but knew it had to be done. “Guys, were running out of supplies. I think we should pick a building and see if they’ve left anything we can use.” I nodded at a building nearby. “That one looks good. Once we’re inside though, I want you two at my side the whole time.”

They both nodded, and then crept behind me. I tightened the strap of the shield a little tighter to my arm, then cautiously pushed the door open and walked in. Slowly, we scoured the first floor, finding nothing but more wreckage and dust balls.

“Macon, this is taking forever, we should split up to cover more ground,” Smalls said after we’d finished checking the vacant living room and moved to the kitchen.

I shook my head, and kept searching through the pantry with my back to him. “No, it’s not safe you know that,” I opened another cupboard, “you and Bodey, just stay behind me.”

It was quiet for a moment, and it was then that I turned. Smalls kicked a little pebble at his feet and scratched his head. “Umm..” he trailed off.

I frowned, looking back and forth across the room. “Where’s Bodey?” I demanded, my pulse suddenly quickening.

“Yeah, about that. He thought it’d be best if he went ahead and checked upstairs while we were down here. You know, to go faster,” he shrugged, “I said to wait, but he insisted he’d be fine.”

I growled in frustration and was about to say something when a piercing chorus of screams echoed throughout the house. Bodey? No, there were more screams that didn’t belong to him.

“Bodey!” I yelled, about to charge up the stairs.

“Beau! No, no, no!” I heard Bodey scream as he practically fell down the stairs. He didn’t appear to be chased by anything; instead it seemed he was the one pursuing something. He ran past me, his eyes wide and horrified, then sprinted out the house and into the street.

I followed after him, pulling out the knife Flint had thrown at me, ready for an attack. The screams continued, but nothing came, and I watched bewildered as Bodey continued to run around yelling at the sky.

I followed his gaze and then I saw where the screams were coming from. Flying in circles overhead, a flock of jabberjays screamed in human tones, cruel and mocking. “Bodey, stop, it’s not real. See, they’re jabberjays,” I tried to explain.

“Dune, Kaleb! No, stop! Hall, Beau where are you? Please stop! Don’t hurt them!” He continued to wail. He continued to beg the birds to stop, until eventually he grabbed his slingshot from his back-pocket and began to flick large pieces of debris at them. The horrid birds scattered, but Bodey was a good shot and after a few seconds, feathered bodies started to fall from the sky. The remaining birds flew away afterwards, but not before leaving him shuddering on the ground.