Night 3
A fire was crackling in front of her. The lava had not yet dissuaded Hermione from it. This was something she could control.
The fire crackled, which hid the twig that snapped out in the woods. Hermione never heard him coming. Eric came out from between the trees, stalking Hermione from behind, his knife in his hand.
She must have felt his approach, because she slowly looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and she let out a scream. She tried to run away, but by this point Eric was close enough to grab her hair.
Hermione’s hands clawed at every part of skin she could reach. Eric grit his teeth as her nails tore at his arms. Her cries resonated in his ears.
He threw her to the ground, and before she could get up, he leaned his knee in her back. He wielded the knife and plunged it underneath her shoulder blade, straight through to her heart. A last gasp left her, before she stilled.
Eric calmed his fluttering heartbeat. He ran a hand through his hair as he sat back. He let out a breath. He pulled his knife free of her skin and wiped the blood off on her jacket, before he sheathed it.
He moved to the other side of the fire so that the Hovercraft could carry her away. He didn’t look as her body left the circle of light, instead he focussed on the flame flickering on the wood as it burned hot.
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Daniel almost trembled in bliss from the taste of cooked food in his mouth. Some cooking grease leaked down his chin. He wiped it away before he took another bite.
It was all due to Hook’s jacket. Or better said, its contents. Inside the pocket, Daniel found a box of matches. They were what made it possible for him to start a fire. Fire meant he could cook the fish that was stupid enough to jump ashore.
It was a stroke of luck. The snares he’d set on previous days resulted to nothing. That either meant there was nothing to catch or his snares were no good. Loathe as he was to admit it, it might very well be the latter. Knots weren’t his forte.
The fish was gone sooner than he would have liked. He licked his fingers clean of the fatty fish.
He looked down at the fire. As much as he wanted to keep it burning and stay warm during the night, fires created smoke, smoke attracted other Tributes. Tributes meant certain death. Since that was something Daniel wished to avoid, the fire had to go.
The fire was already mostly burnt down, so all he had to do was spread the remaining wood apart and covering it with dirt. Cut off from oxygen, the fire sputtered out.
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Tris collected moss and leaves in order to have a soft place to sleep. Then she collected green branches to weave into a blanket. Between those branches she stuffed more leaves and moss to make it warmer. It was long, arduous work, but it gave her something to do.
When she finally settled down, hidden beneath a tree’s branches and camouflaged by her blanket, she let herself relax.
There was still tension running through her body, but it was under control. She closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep. She needed to rest. Tomorrow wasn’t far away.
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Cho hugged her knees as she looked up at the sky. She rocked herself as she watched the artificial stars. It was always a clear night here, there were never any clouds. It never felt like home. It never felt… real. It didn’t help that none of it was real. Everything here was created by the Gamekeepers to put on a show.
The only thing real were the Tributes, and even the way there were presented was fake. During their interviews, each Tribute showed their winning personalities, their smiles, their courage, all the reasons why they would be the one who would end up victorious.
Cho buried her face in her knees, yet her eyes inadvertently turned back to the sky. Despite its fake-ness, it was still comforting.
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Jeanine leaned her head back against the trunk of a sturdy tree. She was once again solitary. She preferred it that way. She didn’t have to pretend to like anyone. She could just focus on staying alive.
She closed her eyes.
She missed the shape appearing from behind. Without warning the sharp blade of a knife cut her throat.
A gasp left her, her hand reached up, trying to stop the bleeding. She looked up at her killer. The redhead stared down at her, bloody knife by her side.
Then she dropped.
Henley left her like that, fallen, bloody, and dead.
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Harry hid behind a tree as he heard approaching footsteps. He waited until he heard them pass him and then peeked out. It was Will. He was alone. Harry ducked back behind his cover. He looked around him for a possible weapon. He spotted a sharp-looking tree branch and picked it up. Perfect.
He moved out from his hideout and stalked after the District 4. He stepped quietly and avoided stepping on sticks. He moved quicker and quicker, until Will was in range. With a war cry Harry stabbed him with as much force as he could muster.
Will started by his cry and tried to turn. The stick stabbed him in the side. Will let out a strangled sound, his hand trying to wrench the stick free. Harry did it for him and forced the crude weapon back. Again and again. Will stumbled to the ground. Still, Harry kept stabbing, again and again. His arms started to sting, but he couldn’t stop anymore. The stick broke and Harry lost his balance and fell beside Will.
Will had stopped moving a while ago. His entire midsection was covered in blood. Harry lay there catching his breath. He pushed his hair away from his forehead, unknowingly painting his skin red. His hands were covered up until his wrists, after that there were merely spatters of it.
Harry lay there, trying to tell himself it was necessary. He needed to do this and more if he wanted to get out. He had no choice. That’s what he told himself. He told himself a lie. He did have a choice. And he had a feeling he just made the wrong one.
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Christina hissed in a breath between her teeth.
“Shit.”
The wound on her thigh wasn’t all that big, but it was relatively deep. She must have got it when she bumped in to District 9. She grit her teeth as she cleaned the wound with the hem of her shirt. It didn’t go very well. It hurt more than she wanted it to. She needed medicine if she wanted to survive any longer.