Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Trap - Volt

Volt

Ugh. Mornings. They're so...early.

Just like yesterday morning, Cleo rips the tarp from over my head and a blast of fresh, cold air whips through my hair, probably laughing as I shiver. How anybody could like this is beyond me.

It must be very early morning; the floor of the woods is still mostly grey. The back of my neck prickles, just the cold. Definitely not the fact that other tributes could be lurking in the shadows and at least some of them have to be morning people. Not that I don't trust Cyrus and Ginger, but there's always the chance they might miss something.

"Good morning," Cleo says. That's probably as cheerful as she's ever going to sound. At first it's hard to tell what she's said because she's stifling a yawn at the same time, but eventually some kind of meaning pierces through the fog.

“Is it?”

“Well, it’s definitely morning.” Ginger smiles as he drops out of the tree, landing neatly on both feet. His vivid hair, bursting out messily from his head, is the only thing that doesn’t look like a different version of the colour grey. Next to Cyrus, who’s never even tried to describe himself as anything other than ‘chunky’, he’s almost abnormally lanky, and where Cyrus and Cleo have bruised shadows under their eyes, Ginger has the audacity to look like he’s actually had a good night’s sleep.

Right on cue, somebody’s stomach grumbles.

“I am starving,” Cyrus translates, as though he’s the only one, “And what time is it, anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Cleo is folding up the tarp with the air of somebody who is used to chasing around after people, looking at the ground as if she doesn’t want to look like she’s spoken. Something about it really grates with me; is she trying to pretend she’s not here? That she’s not going to die?

To cover up the heavy dread that chooses that moment to settle in my boots, I turn to Ginger, leaning on a tree to help the slightly casual effect, and ask, “Is she always like this?”

“Are you?” he shoots back.

I open my mouth to reply something that I’m not sure about, but Cyrus, of course, saves my neck. “Our boy Volt is always a bit different around the ladies, aren’t you?” he chuckles. Cleo aims a vaguely disapproving look in my direction, but she would, wouldn’t she? Still, it’s enough to kindle a spark in my cheeks; I’m happy that Cyrus saved me from answering, but not with his answer.

I let him know that by punching him in the shoulder, which only makes him laugh. So I can't punch as hard as he can, big deal.

“My arm is still stiff. Next time I’ll flatten you.”

“No you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t!”

"Both of you -"

Crack!

The crack is followed almost immediately by a thud that freezes me to the spot. And Cyrus, by the look of it. Even Ginger allows himself to look a bit confused. That wasn't a cannon.

"It sounded quite far away," Cleo hazards, clutching the tarp to her chest as though it's some kind of depressing comfort blanket. I guess she's not as grown up as she thinks she is. Ginger nods, though he looks about as convinced as she sounds; not very.

"Nowhere near us!" Cyrus booms. Louder than normal, which is a relief because it covers up the fact that I've just noticed that the trees have stopped moving. It's so quiet that I can hear the others breathing. Though that might be partially because breathing through his nose has never occurred to Cyrus, and Cleo doesn't exactly sound calm.