The sound of a cannon blast awakes me immediately. My eyes fly open and my vision is distorted for a moment. I blink and everything comes into focus. My gaze goes to the ground, where I'm terrified the killer is right under my tree. Nothing. Not as much as a footprint.
That's when I realize how cold I am. My fingers have gone numb overnight, and I silently wish I had a blanket. Apparently, Marie has gotten my wish. How? I don't know. But a parachute descends slowly and lands right on my tree. In it is a thick, soft blanket. It's black, thankfully.
I look up into the sky, but nothing is there. "Thank you," I whisper, and I pull it up around me, before remembering it's daytime and anyone who sees it will notice it's a human. So I wrap it around my hands until the circulation is back and then pack it away.
I hope down, slowly, carefully, swing my head from side to side to confirm what I already knew: There's nobody around. Something good about me is I have excellent ears, not so excellent eyes. But they are just as important. If you can hear a pursuer, you can be more prepared.
All day I pick berries I recognize from home. I try to be as quiet as possible, but I sigh every time I think about how I could be back in District 7, not practically sentenced to death. If it weren't for that stupid rebellion.
It's not like it's our fault. So why are they punishing us? The children. They should punish the people who were in it! I shake my head and poke my eye on a branch, wiping away me thoughts.
Ouch. I come tumbling out of the tree, and with the whole country watching, it's kind of embarrassing. Then I remember I'm supposed to weak. I pretend to be severely hurt.
"Oooooooh," I groan in pain, suprisingly well.
Suddenly, I see a large boot from behind a tree about 100 feet away out of the corner of my eye. Gasping, I spin around, my supplies still in the tree.
The boy from District 2, without any allies, appears from behind the tree. He smirks and brushes his sleek black hair out of his face.
I claw at the tree. My leg wraps around it and I push myself up as hard as I can. I know I'm supposed to be weak, but would I rather survive then act weak in front of him. Climbing as high as I can, he pulls out a spear.
Adrenaline kicks in and I climb higher than I should. My hand latches onto my backpack, and my axes are still strapped around me like a belt.
"So, it's you, huh? What's your name? Jehanna?" Kirel, the Dis. 2 boy, asks.
"It's Johanna," I say softly, resiting snarling.
"Well, Johanna," he says sarcastically. "Prepare yourself."
I'm not prepared to die.
