A Million Fireflies | A Hunger Games x KOTLC Fanfiction

Chapter 4

The morning is a bright one. I wake up a few minutes before the sun is visible over the horizon, and to my relief, there's no arrow in my chest or knife in my arm. I scoff down another one of the dried fruit strips and clamber down the tree, wanting to get further away from the Cornucopia. I check the backpack for the water bottle, hoping that by some magic, it might have filled up. But it hasn't.

What I do find is a small pocket on the bottom of the bag that I hadn't noticed before. Inside the pocket is a tiny bottle of what looks like medicine. I realise it is, and I start laughing hysterically, not believing my luck. The medicine that we were showed in the training center - the chemical that purifies water!

Of course I don't have water yet, but it was a concern I was trying to avoid - how I'm going to make sure the liquid is suitable for drinking. As I walk I recite the number of drops I need to put in any water that I find. Too little may be fatal, and too many is dangerous as well. I turn it into a little song, still thirsty but my spirits are lifted.

After an hour or two of mumbling and walking, I start to feel faint. My dry throat is crying out and my tongue is like sandpaper. It's a very hot day, the sun shining down on me for all it's worth. I'm sweating heavily. I know I should take the jacket off, but it's so thick that it could be protection from any arrows or knives directed at my chest. Like armour.

I trekk for another twenty minutes until I feel like a ghost. I'm sweating heavily. My mouth is so dry. So, so dry. I push through another dry bush.

And that's when I see them.

"Wake up," he says. His voice has a sense of panic. His hands shake her shoulders gently.
I stare at the girl lying in the grass. I can't see what's wrong.

"Wake up, Melanie. Please," the dark-haired boy begs. He gives a pathetic attempt at CPR and then falls to his knees, head in hands. "You're still alive," he tells her. "The cannon hasn't fired yet. Wake up."

I stare at Tam Song, the boy from 11. Then his District partner. She's dying.

My heart thuds. I can't stand this. I have to help them.

I crash through the bushes that I was standing behind and walk as fast as I can manage. Tam yelps and scrambles back. Then he stops.

"Do it."

"What?" I say, confused.

"Kill me! What do you think? Do I really want to be here watching my friend die and then experiencing the no doubt slow and painful death of my own?"

He stares at me. I'm horrified. He thinks I want to kill him. I can't do that! I can't!

Fresh tears slide down Tam's cheeks. "What are you waiting for?"
"I don't want to kill you!" I cry. "I want to help!"
The boy is shocked. "You. . . help me?"
"Yes!"
He pales and looks at the girl. I stare too. "What happened to her?"
"Dehydration," he says weakly. It's only then when I realize how hoarse his voice is. "Do you have water?" Tam asks.

"No," I reply. "I haven't drank anything since we came into the arena."
That's almost 24 hours.

I tentatively reach up and touch my tongue. Almost no moisture. I try and work up some spit into my mouth. But I can't. My throat hurts.

I don't know what to do. I now know can't help them. I feel awful.

Wait.

What's that sound?