Hunger Games: The Second Quarter Quell - The Story of Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 8: The First Day

'Quince!' he hissed, probably a little too loudly, and Quince turned to look at him as he took his first gulp of water. 'Oh, thank—' Haymitch hesitated as Quince suddenly lurched forward, face buried in the muddy bank. 'Quince?' he whispered again, before sudden voices faded into earshot behind him, of which were definitely closer than the Cornucopia, and his heart began to hammer. 

Haymitch climbed all the way through the fence of trees and bushes, ducking down behind it and tucking himself at such an angle that he could just see the forest from where he lay. He tried to ignore the body beside him of the boy he'd just started to tolerate only the night before, desperate to help him, as soon as whoever the voices were left. 

Finally, two tributes appeared between the trees where Haymitch stood only five minutes ago: two girls, one short and brunette, but older-looking, and the other muscly and tall, yet obviously younger. Haymitch recognised them from their reaping – these were the two females from District 9. 

The first – the older-looking one – held what appeared to be a can of some sort in her hands, and was chucking it from her left to her right in a fun sort of way. After a moment, she paused her little, personal game of catch, and Haymitch almost thought she'd caught a glimpse of him, peering through the shrubs, but as it turned out, she'd only stopped to yank open the can she had been throwing so recklessly, revealing what was presumably food.

'Pears,' he heard the girl – Savory Dammann, if he remembered correctly – mumble to her district partner as placed one in her own mouth.

'Can I have one?' The second girl, Fennell something – Haymitch's memory had failed him this time – murmured, glancing pleadingly up at her partner, who shook her head.

'Have you risked your life to get these at the Cornucopia? I don't think so,' Savory taunted, waving the tin in front of Fennell's face with a smug grin.

What a peacock, Haymitch thought to himself as the pair wandered back out of sight. This thought immediately averted his attention back to Quince, who still lay – unconscious and face-down – in the muddy bank beside him. 

Quickly, Haymitch shifted to his knees, turning so that he now peered over Quince's limp body. His hands fumbled with the weight of his broad district partner, pulling in an upwards tugging motion until he could finally roll Quince over. Conscious Quince's now-muddy state, and of the wet mud likely marinating in his mouth, he bent towards the stream, cupping his hands and reaching for a good scoop of water to clean the both of them up, before he noticed something, and hesitated. 

Quince's mouth and hands looked red. But not a natural red – a raw, bloody red, which stretched from the skin around his mouth to his lips, and slowly dissolved the skin off his hands. 

Warily, Haymitch glanced from Quince to the crystalline stream to the bush which he hid behind, of which he plucked a leaf and dropped it gently into the water. Nothing happened for a moment, but then it all did at once: the leaf began to bubble, sizzling like rabbit in a pot, before dissolving into nothing on the surface.

Poisonous. The water is poisonous, Haymitch thought, standing up with a start and taking a cautious step back from the bank. After what he'd seen the water do to that leaf, there was no doubt that Quince was dead. There was no use trying to help him. It hurt, but there was nothing he could do, and it was far too dangerous to stay this close to both the Cornucopia and the poison stream for too long.

'I'm sorry, Quince,' Haymitch murmured quietly, as the canon signifying Quince's death sounded, and he took a couple steps back as a run-up, propelling himself over the stream in one leap. He landed awkwardly, hurting his ankle slightly in the process, but not badly enough to prohibit him from moving on. It was only twisted; he'd be fine.