The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

45. Survive

How long does the noise last? A couple of minutes? More?

I stay frozen. Muscles tensed, ready to swing my axe. But a noise is not something you can fight.

Then it stops. I look around for other tributes, heart thudding. I do not tremble. I am a statue.

Birds fly away, shrieking. Other animals cry out, and scamper along the forest floor. Should I be running too?

There is a new noise. A crumbling, rustling noise, that at the same time sounds like flesh hitting flesh. It comes from behind me, and I am sure it is of the Capitol’s creation. Like the groaning noise, it is loud.

Then a spire of dirt rises from the ground. The explosion is ear-splitting.

Panicked, I run in the opposite direction. Run! Faster! If I had been any closer, I’d have lost my hearing. As it is, my ears ring, and the ringing dominates what I hear.

There is another explosion behind me. Adrenaline courses through me, and all I think to do is run, run run!

They wouldn’t blow me up? They can’t! The Capitol wants a fight! I can’t be blown to pieces! Another spire of dirt shoots up to my right. How far away? Still not close enough to deafen me. Are the explosives activated by my footsteps? More likely, they are engineered by the Gamemakers.

I look behind me for another explosion. Instead I see something worse. Dark mist, black as night, leaks from the craters the explosions have caused. It chases me.

Faster!

I realise that the Gamemakers do not want to kill me. They are forcing me somewhere. To tributes? That seems right.

Explosion to my left. Closer. I duck, and cover my head, expecting debris to rain down. Nothing hits me, so I keep moving. My legs no longer ache. Nothing aches.

Behind me, the black mist is only a few metres from me. I choke back a sob. Being in that mist will be like being blind, it is so thick. And there is the possibility of people in the mist. Who would I see?

More explosions. I let myself be guided by them. I wanted to find Argus. This is my chance. I am being led to him.

I can’t be caught by the mist. I can’t afford to be blind if I am closing in on the other tributes. Assumedly, they are being led to me. Sometimes I hear an explosion, only it is quieter. Further away. An explosion that isn’t meant for me.

How far have I run? The back of my throat burns. Am I close to Argus and the girl from Nine yet? Who will I see first?

Only my left, the tendrils of black are reaching past me, so I run to the right. To conform my choice of direction, there is another column of dirt sent skywards on the left. I am sent further inland, up a slope.

I lose track of the minutes that pass. I veer from explosions. They must be aimed to blow things upwards rather than outwards; each time one goes off, I receive little more than a strong shove, which makes me take a few steps sideways, and a rush of warm air. They are far away, thankfully, far enough away that they don’t burst my eardrums. The more I hear, though, the worse the ache and ringing in my ears gets.

The mist catches up with me. Icy. That’s how it feels. The black vapour is freezing cold as it licks my bare skin. The burning sensation in my legs returns. I can’t be far now. Where are the tributes? The only indicator of their where-about is the explosions that aren’t for me.

Their explosions are getting closer. Not close enough to see. Louder.

How much further?

Explosion to my right. I’ve gone too far right. Time to go left again. On the left side, the mist is in front of me. I keep running right. Another explosion on my right. This one is closer.