The Last Hunger Games

Chapter 27 - Lights On

"Mutts." The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. To my utter surprise, no tributes have moved a muscle apart from us, they are all stood frozen ot the spot with angst, and I can see a few are visibly shaking. I am too, to be honest. 

I look up when I hear a retching and whimpering sound to see Violet throwing up all over Jack's head. He does not look impressed, but even in this extremely dim light, he is looking on the verge of being sick himself. I would laugh at the lumpy gunk dripping down his head, but the only thing stopping me is the horrific sight laid out just a few metres in front of us; I have to swallow the bitter taste of bile that is rising in my throat. I look away, for if I stare at the hideous thing in front of me I might actually puke. 

It's Servius' head: nose missing, tongue lolling, eyes rolled backwards so only the whites are visible, and blood oozing from everywhere. There's also one of his arms, cut off at the elbow, clutching a knife in defense. The three of us quickly turn back to the table, where all but one of the tributes are still stood. I can just about make out their silhouettes in this darkness. I'm glad my eyes have begun to adjust, or I would be well and truly stuck.

I spoke too soon.

I feel blinded when the bright sun is switched back on again, it's blazing rays piercing my eyes like daggers. Shutting them tightly shut is no use; the orange glow is still too bright, and my mind cannot get rid of the gory image of Servius' mutilated head that has been branded into my brain. I don't know how any of us plan to get a peaceful night's sleep ever again, especially Violet. No doubt gruesome nightmares will haunt our dreams for as long as we live, even if that's not very long. How do past Victors cope? I don't blame Annie Cresta for going mad, if her Hunger Games were anything like these her nights must be strickening. 

Squinting so much that my eyelashes flutter over my vision, I open my eyes just enough to see a metre radius around me. Violet is down from her older brother's shoulders and is now stood beside him, clutching his hand. He stinks of sick. I didn't notice their height difference until now, he towers over her like a skyscraper. She has her other hand clasped over her eyes, but no doubt the bright glow find a way through her small fingers; it's certainly getting through mine. I gradually open my eyelids little by little, so that eventually they are open normally, but the blinding sun still makes my temples throb and my eyes water. Wiping them, I look around at the other tributes. Two of whom I remember to be good friends seem to have formed a temporary alliance, and are huddled together using their jackets as overhead shields from the sun. That might be a good idea actually, as the Gamemakers have turned the sun up almost twice as bright as before. I'm sure the rest of Panem is thoroughly enjoying our discomforting predicament. One tribute is hugging his knees underneath the table, his eyes flicking back and forth in every direction constantly looking for any signs of danger. The rest of them are either trying to stop the blazing sun from making contact with their aching eyes, or attempting to organise all their food with their shut, which for one tribute in particular - Titan, I think he's called - is not proving successful at all, there's food all over the place. Looking back at Jack, I see that him and Violet both now have their eyes open, even if they are squinting greatly. Back at the table, Titan has just managed to get all the food back in his small rucksack, when I see someone or something - I can't tell - approaching fast from the buildings. The footsteps are silent, and so is my voice; I know it's too late now, whatever is coming for Titan has gotten much to close now. 

But wait... they're slowing down about three metres away. Are they allies? I doubt it, as Titan is as weak as a duckling, and probably runs about as fast as one too. Then who is it? All of us are here though, right? Oh. It's the on tribute that didn't turn up. My mind runs through the names and counts how many actually came to the Feast (not including that small one that ran out from underneath the banquet table earlier, he doesn't count) but I can't figure out who it is. I should probably have paid more attention to people's names at the Reaping, I was too busy trying not to show how scared I was in front of all those cameras; I hate being the centre of attention. I'm surprised that they didn't have cameras on me and Celestia right up until we went to the Launch Room. I remember someone once told me that the Districts call it the Slaughterhouse, and to be honest that's exactly what it is.

Whilst these thoughts go through my head, everyone has seen the oncoming attacker except for their victim - Titan - who is somehow so dull he hasn't noticed ten pairs of eyes trained on him. But he never really stood a chance to begin with, did he? When the attacker is just a step away and is holding the knife, readying themselves to kill, Titan springs up on his feet (after finally having packed up all his food; it took him long enough) and steps backward two steps. 

But it's one step too far.

He literally walks backwards into the knife, and within seconds his whole back is soaked in blood. Something shakes in my hand, but I know it's not me because I've managed to  get my squeamishness under control by now. Then I realise that it's Jack's hand that is shaking. Why didn't I realise? Titan is one of his best mates. Or should I say was? Either way, it will be was in a minute because the pool of blood that Titan has collapsed into isn't going to get any smaller. I can hear the sound of his wheezing breaths from here. Jack's hand is really shaking now, and I feel like I must do something. Without really thinking, I run to where my mace lies, and swiftly pick it up with one hand. I can feel pairs of eyes burning into my back as I bolt it after the tribute, who is also now running at top speed across the expanse that surrounds the Cornucopia. After a short but difficult full-out sprint to decrease the gap between us, my lugs gasp for air and all the muscles in feet and legs will me to stop. 

But I won't stop. 

Not yet. 

Because this is my moment to prove to Jack and all the others that I'm not a sissy or a wuss, but I am a tribute to be feared.

I'm almost there now, I'm almost close enough so that I'm able to kill them with one throw of my mace. It feels as if it's gotten an awful lot heavier as I continue to run flat-out after this tribute. When I'm only about six feet away from them, and hot on their heels, I swing my arm backwards and in one deft move, throw my spiked mace as best I can in the direction of the tribute. I stop running - panting like a dog - and watch as it hits between the back of their neck and their shoulder. And oh, is it gruesome. Blood spurts everywhere from blood vessels and arteries, and it's so bad I decide to pretend to just shrug it off and jog back to where Jack and Violet are standing, their mouths hanging open like a fish.

A/N: Wow, over 700 reads?! Thank you so much! I'm so happy you guys like this. I've decided that I'll try and update every 3 or 4 days, 5 at the most. It's going to get more action packed from here!
(And sorry if you're a bit confuzzled about how many tributes are remaining right now; to be honest, I'm confuzzled too. :)