Chapter 23 : Hunting and Hunted
Two days blurred into a rhythm of motion and stillness.
We traveled at night, using darkness as cover while I guided us through gaps in observation. The cameras tracked everything, but attention was finite—when Gamemakers focused on one sector, others went relatively unwatched. We lived in those gaps, ghosts moving through an arena designed to showcase our deaths.
Rue scouted ahead through the trees, her small form flowing from branch to branch like water. She'd learned to move silently in District 11's orchards, harvesting fruit too high for adults to reach. Here, those skills kept her invisible.
Katniss covered the middle ground, bow ready, arrows nocked. Her hunter's instincts had sharpened since the Games began—predator awareness honed by days of being prey.
I guarded the rear, Blind Spot pinging constantly against the pressure of observation. The ability had strengthened under stress, range expanding, updates coming faster. Phase Two, maybe. Whatever that meant.
We spoke rarely. The silence of survival, where words wasted energy and noise invited death.
The anthem on Day 14 showed eleven tributes remaining.
No faces in the sky that night—Marvel's death had been the day before, already counted. Eleven alive meant the Games were entering their middle phase, where attrition gave way to deliberate hunting.
The Careers would be furious now. Their supplies destroyed, one member killed, their certainty of victory shattered. They'd be hunting with rage rather than arrogance. Dangerous. Desperate.
I explained this during our rest period, voice barely above a whisper.
"Cato will be leading the hunts personally. Clove will be ranging ahead—she's the tracker. And Glimmer..." I paused, remembering what I knew about the District 1 girl. "Glimmer is the weak link. Least experienced, most dependent on the supplies we destroyed."
"How do you know all this?" Katniss asked. Her tone was curious rather than suspicious now—she'd accepted that I knew things without understanding how.
"Observation. Deduction." Partial truth. "The Careers train together before the Games. Their dynamics become predictable."
"You observed a lot during training."
"I watched while pretending to be useless. It's amazing what people reveal when they think no one's paying attention."
Rue giggled softly—the first laugh I'd heard from her since the arena began. "You're sneaky. I like that."
"Sneaky keeps you alive."
Day 15 nearly killed us.
We'd found a decent hiding spot—a rock overhang with good concealment and multiple escape routes. I was checking my stored supplies when my Blind Spot screamed warning.
Observer. Close. Approaching fast.
"Up," I hissed. "NOW."
Rue was in the trees before I finished speaking, instinct taking over. Katniss followed, pulling herself into branches with practiced efficiency. I climbed last, slower than them, my healing shoulder protesting the strain.
Below, Clove emerged from the underbrush.
She moved carefully, knife in hand, scanning the forest with predator's eyes. Her path took her directly through our abandoned camp—past the flattened leaves where we'd rested, past the stream where we'd refilled our water.
She didn't look up.
In the training center, I'd watched her throw knives at targets for hours. Precise, deadly, confident in her abilities. She'd never considered that her prey might be above her, watching her hunt while she searched the ground.
We held our breath. Rue's hand found mine, small fingers gripping tight. Katniss had an arrow nocked but didn't draw—the motion might catch attention, and seven arrows weren't worth risking on a shot that might miss.
Clove passed beneath us. Her curses faded into distance.
Ten minutes later, we descended. My hands were shaking—adrenaline crash, not fear.
"Too close," Katniss said.
"The arena's shrinking." I looked at the sky, calculating. "They're pushing tributes together. More confrontations, more deaths. Better entertainment."
"What do we do?"
"Keep moving. Stay ahead of the hunts." I retrieved food from storage, passed portions to Rue and Katniss. "We're smarter than them. We'll survive."
Two cannons fired before sunset.
The sound echoed through the forest, seconds apart—two deaths in quick succession. Career work, probably. They were hunting efficiently now, making up for lost supplies with increased aggression.
The anthem that night confirmed our fears.
District 5 female. The clever redhead they called Foxface. I'd thought she'd died in the bloodbath, but it had been someone else's face I'd misremembered. Now she was gone for real, survival skills no match for whatever had caught her.
District 10 male. One of the forgettable ones, surviving this long on luck rather than skill.
Nine tributes remained.
"Three Careers," Katniss counted. "Three of us. Three others."
"Thresh is still alive." Rue's voice was quiet. "I saw his district partner's face on the first night. He's out there alone."
Thresh. The massive tribute from District 11 who'd warned me about Rue during training. He knew I was faking weakness. He'd be dangerous if we crossed paths.
"Two unknowns, then," I said. "Probably hiding. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For us to kill each other." I stared at the darkening sky. "The Gamemakers won't let this drag on much longer. Nine tributes is too many for the end game. They'll force action soon."
"How?"
"Feast. Fire. Flood." I shrugged. "Something that draws us together. Creates confrontations."
Katniss was silent, processing. Rue had curled up nearby, exhaustion claiming her again.
"When it happens," Katniss said finally, "what do we do?"
"We survive. Same as always."
We found berries the next morning.
Rue spotted them first—a bush heavy with dark purple fruit, growing in a sunny patch between the trees. She reached for them instinctively, hunger overriding caution.
"Wait." I caught her arm, examined the berries closely. Round, purple, clustered tight. Not nightlock—wrong color, wrong shape. But I needed to be certain.
I picked one, held it to my nose. The scent was sweet, inviting. I bit into it.
Nothing. No tingling, no bitterness, no warning from my poison immunity.
"Safe," I said, and we fell on the bush like starving animals.
The juice stained our fingers purple, ran down our chins, turned our teeth dark. For five minutes, we weren't tributes in a death game—just three hungry kids sharing food.
Rue laughed, purple juice around her mouth. "This is the best thing I've eaten since the arena started."
"Better than Capitol bread?"
"Different." She picked another berry, savored it. "This tastes like home."
Katniss almost smiled. Almost. The expression didn't quite form, but something in her eyes softened.
I stored the remaining berries—evidence of our feast, but also supplies for later. My healing factor would appreciate the calories.
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