The Hanging Tree

Before: A Worthy Opponent

Going through the tube is the worst part. I have never liked being in tight spaces - most likely because I trap animals to survive - and after being on a hovercraft where they stunned us with an electrical current that stopped even our breathing in order to place our trackers, the idea doesn't appeal to me at all. 

But I have to do it. I have to do it or else they'll stun me again. I close my eyes and chew on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and feel the arena open up around me. 

Everything else has been spectacular so far for the Quarter Quell so it is no surprise that the arena is too. We are surrounded on all sides by a vast forest. One side - the one with the boys in coats - is frozen into an eternal winter. The other - the one with the girls in shorts and tank tops - is a tropical jungle. All the tributes are in order, from 1 to 12, which means I'm in the innermost circle where just a few feet away from me Anna stands on the tropical side and the numbers climb back up to 1. 

"Without further ado, let the 25th Annual Hunger Games, the 1st Quarter Quell, begin!" 

The numbers start counting down. 60 seconds. It is both an eternity and barely a breath in time. 

I crane my head around, desperately trying to get a better view, better information for how this will play out. 

A river is circling just behind us, half-frozen, half-evaporating water. And finally in front of us, on a hill, is a metaphorical Cornucopia sliced into three levels, one on top of the other. The bottom containing supplies, the middle containing food and water, and the top containing every sort of weapon imaginable. Three levels, each one harder to get to than the last. 

This is going to be so much fun. 

I realize I'm shaking and after so long of trying to push it back down, I now embrace it. I let it flow through me, all the bloodlust and fascination and excitement, and all at once, I stop shaking though my mind remains sharp and ready to go. 

I notice a lot of the other male tributes shaking, not because of excitement but because of how cold it is over on our side. A wind comes against us and we all brace ourselves, a boy with a 9 stamped on the upper arm of his jacket looks ready to fall but at the last moment rights himself. 

"Hey, 12," Flicker calls to me even though we are on opposite ends, "try not to repeat what happened at the Reaping." 

I hear a few of the others chuckle at this but I barely even hear. The cold isn't a deterrent to me, it's an awakening.  

Whether I like it or not, this is what I was born to do. 

The gong sounds. 

I push off from the pedestal turning onto the tropical side. I know that no one is going to be able to climb up the ice. 

I am right for out of the corner of my eye I see them slip and fall. The rest of us on the warm side dig in our heels and push towards the Cornucopia. 

The bottom yawns out towards me. I don't focus on the other tributes or anything else. I focus on a backpack smack in the center that is big yet still easy enough for me to pull onto my shoulders. Hopefully it has something of use though I don't have time to check right now. I clamber up the ladder to the second floor and kick it out from underneath. 

Food. Water. But not as much as I thought at first glance. In fact, very little. There's a few canisters of water, which I take two of, and some dried food but nothing sustaining. 

I think I must be missing something so I keep searching, looking for more, but there's nothing. No. They can't possibly expect all of us to survive on just this. My mind is so focused on that that I don't see the male tribute with dark hair and eyes until it's too late.