Victor's Crown: A Hunger Games Story

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 [𝟭𝟮]

"It's going to be dark soon," Ruby says. "Do we head back to the Cornucopia or risk a night hunt?"

"I say we head back," Miles says. "Who knows what could happen to the Cornucopia while we're gone?"

"Don't be foolish," Bellona says reproachfully. "We keep hunting."

Canteens and bellies full of liquid, they set out with a renewed sense of purpose and all the subtlety of a fleet of barges chugging into District 4's harbor. Of course, there's the matter of food to consider, but perhaps sponsored gifts will arrive once some action happens.

In Finnick's opinion, the first night of the Games is the most tedious part of the whole affair. Year after year, the Career pack essentially stumbles around the arena blind, at the mercy of whatever prowls in the dark, waiting for some helpless, stupid tribute to fall into their laps. But they can't split up. The Career alliance only lasts so long before it breaks, whether it happens via a predetermined unified-district ambush or a lone attack. For survival's sake, they usually try to stick it out until most of the Callows are eliminated, but that doesn't mean they trust each other. At this point, to suggest separating is to suggest breaking the alliance. Finnick might as well paint a giant target on his back and hand Bellona his spear.

So they stick together, as inferior a strategy as it is, and methodically roam the arena like a gaggle of District 4's orphan children scavenging for shells on the beach. It isn't long before dusk sweeps over the sky and the flashlights come out. The thin beams of white light are meager substitutes for a bright sunny day.

As soon as it gets dark, the anthem starts to play in the sky. Collectively, everyone decides it's time for a break and sits down to watch the nightly recap.

It's common for members of the pack to applaud each Career when the tribute who was killed by that Career shows up on the screen. This Games is no exception. When the first face appears—the girl from Three—Ruby says, "That one's mine." The Career pack cheers appreciatively. Then comes the boy Finnick speared. It's the male tribute from Five.

Miles claps Finnick on the back. "Great job," he says. "You've got a good aim."

Finnick doesn't know what to do—thank him? Brush him off? "Easier than spearing fish," is what comes out of his mouth, but by now the next tribute has come up, and they're congratulating Bellona on her kill—the poor girl from Six. The other tribute from Six and Eight's female are Alabaster's, and he hoots and pumps his fists in the air. The boy from 9 is a surprise; he must've been the victim of the river mutts. Then a wave of nausea hits Finnick as the boy from Ten fades into view, and he half expects Alabaster to start arguing with him again. Instead, Alabaster makes a dismissive gesture at the screen.

"Arrogant prick," he grumbles, fingers playing along the hilt of his sword. "Should've kept his Callow mouth shut."

Finnick lets out a breath. The other two tributes—the girl from Eleven and the boy from Twelve—flash by, accompanied by the usual accolades, then the sky goes dark.

They resume their search with renewed vigor, perhaps heartened by the sight of their kills. Tonight, though, it seems their luck has run out. They scour the rainforest for hours, trampling vegetation underfoot, scaring away every bird and animal within a mile radius. Finnick has a good guess where the tributes from Seven have gone. While it's wet and huge and crawling with insects, the arena is still populated densely by trees, which is where they've most likely hidden themselves if they have any brains to speak of. It's where Finnick would look if it weren't so dark. Tomorrow, he tells himself. Once it's light, we'll find them easily.

By now, everyone's moods have soured considerably. Finnick imagines they all look a fright, having tramped around a muddy jungle for a better part of the day. He prays the bloodbath had been engaging enough to occupy the audience and allow the players some desperately needed respite.