The Beasts of Us [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

ARENA VIII. Charles.

He'd made a right mess of it.

For a start, he hadn't meant to be following the Careers. He'd just not had anywhere else to go, and it was somewhere in the back of his mind that when the Careers exploded then some of their goods would be up for grabs. So he'd stayed near the Cornucopia. Sometimes he could even see it, if he dared himself to look through the trees. Once or twice he'd heard the Careers shouting at each other. He could have spied on them, if he'd not been deathly afraid of being seen.

And then he had been seen.

Stupidly, he'd assumed that nighttime would be safer. He'd thought that if he stayed in more or less the same place all day, huddled under the blanket he'd snatched from the bloodbath, he'd be able to wander around and get the hang of his surroundings at night. The Careers would be asleep. It would be dark. With his face smeared with dirt he'd be harder to see. If he was really lucky, he might find a rabbit warren or a bird's nest or something, and then he wouldn't be eating bark. At the very least, he'd get a better sense of where he was and what was around him.

To help with his camouflage, Cammy had settled herself down over his cheek. He could feel her wings trembling with every breath.

His next mistake had been deciding to go downhill. It had seemed tempting at the time, though he was now struggling to remember why. In a burst of what he'd thought was intelligence, he'd chosen to descend next to one of the dozens of little waterfalls, thinking that the sound would mask his footsteps from any surrounding tributes. It meant he had to mind his feet a bit more, but that was no trouble.

It was as he was navigating a sudden drop that he saw the other tribute, and by then it was already too late. There was nowhere else for him to go without drawing her attention. He froze.

She was crouched by the trickle of water, washing her hands. He knew who she was straight away; it only took the faintest hints of moonlight to be sure. Pale skin, watchful eyes, a slim dark braid that looked more functional than decorative. Her dog-daemon stood watch.

Against his cheek, Cammy went deathly still with fear.

Heather hadn't seen him yet. Maybe the trick with the water had worked, or maybe she was distracted, or maybe it was just that nobody ever seemed to notice him. He was sure she didn't know he was there. But he had to move, and then there would be no escaping it. With another tribute he might have stood a chance. With a Career, though...

While he was deciding what to do, Heather wiped her hands on her jacket and stood up. A machete dangled from her waist. Her daemon said something to her. In the blink of an eye she had the machete in her hand and her stance had shifted.

"Where?" he heard her mutter.

Run! But if he ran then she'd definitely see him, whereas if he stood still...

Too late. Much too late. She turned slowly, her eyes fixing right on him. There was no mistake. She knew he was there. And she was armed.

Charlie ran.

It was uphill, dark, difficult. He had to use his hands as much as his feet and he didn't dare to look behind him in case he missed his footing. Cammy pressed hard against him, sobbing to herself, and her desperation took his and wound it up and up and up, until all he could hear was his own breathing and the sound of footsteps behind him.

His feet slipped. Somehow he stayed upright. A branch lashed at his face, making him wince and narrowly avoiding Cammy. He'd forgotten it in a moment. There were more important things, things like getting away from the Career chasing him, and he hurled himself across the falling water to where there were fewer trees in the hope that he would be able to get a burst of speed up. He knew he was stronger than her, but that meant nothing when she had a blade and he didn't, and anyway he was no good at fighting. So he'd have to be faster than her instead. He was already tiring. The ground ahead seemed to be getting steeper and steeper.