Filed To Story: Sunrise on the Reaping Book PDF Free
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!” proclaims an announcer.
A scowl contracts my face as suspicion sets in. It’s just too attractive to be good. The smooth green meadow stretching for miles in either direction. The array of colorful songbirds overhead that match the tufts of cheerful flowers underfoot that match the outfits on the tributes’ backs. Sky so blue it hurts your eyes, clouds so fluffy you want to bounce on them. And the smell! Like they bottled the best day of spring and uncorked it just for us.
I block my nose and begin to mouth-breathe to avoid the dizzying scent. I try to examine the shiny gold Cornucopia in its nest of weapons and supplies that rests in the center of the meadow fifty yards away, but a gentle breeze caresses my face, and the birdsong distracts me with thoughts of Lenore Dove. There are woods here, too, like our woods in 12, far off to my left. To my right, a small mountain with a crown of snow. Is that where the tank is? Under the mountain?
A fluffball of a bunny rabbit hops up to my foot and nibbles the grass next to my plate, its pale gray fur tinted lilac and pink. A shade of dove. I’m reaching for the silken coat when suddenly the rabbit startles and speeds off, bringing me to my senses.
Focus! my brain orders.
What are you supposed to be doing?
First avoid the slaughter,
Get weapons, look for water.
Right. I have to get weapons and get out of here. But which direction do I need to run? North. Beetee said go north. And Plutarch said the arena sun is positioned like our sun. Do I believe Plutarch? I think of getting to say good-bye to my family and how he covered for me with the milk pitcher and the call to Lenore Dove. . . . Okay, what the hell, I do! Wiress said to trust your instincts and mine say he was telling the truth. If I don’t locate any berms, maybe I’ll reconsider. But for now . . .
It’s nine o’clock in the morning and the sun’s rising up behind the Cornucopia directly across from me. Okay, that’s east, west to my back, that makes north to my right. No! My left. North to the left. Where the woods are, not the mountain. That’s good news because the tributes fanned out to my right are mostly Careers, Silka on the next plate, then Panache and the other girl and boy from District 1, then District 2, while to the left it’s nothing but Newcomers. In general, District 1’s too close for comfort, but they’ll want weapons and kills more than they’ll want to chase me down, especially if I’m armed, and there are such easy pickings. I spot Ampert and the other District 3 tributes sandwiched between Districts 2 and 4 and have to squelch the impulse to run in to protect them. Ampert wouldn’t want me to. He’d want me to clear out and find a mutt portal and rendezvous with him as soon as possible. He’ll be headed north soon, too.
I home in on a spring-green backpack near the tail of the Cornucopia. I can run at a diagonal directly at it, grab a few weapons on the way, or at least a knife, and hopefully be gone before anyone notices. It might work – people look pretty confused. I see Panache’s head twist as a daffodil-yellow bird perches on his shoulder and twitters.
Then the gong rings out and the treads of my new boots grip the meadow grass as I sprint for the backpack. Barely breaking pace, I scoop up a spear in my left hand and a knife in my right, which I use to hook the strap of the backpack. I allow myself one quick glance over my shoulder, which is enough to reassure me that the Careers are late to the party, some still on their plates, others slow on the uptake and just reaching the weapons. As I make for the woods, I lock eyes with Kerna for a second, clock her sunflower as she heads for a weapon. And then I just run for those distant trees.
It’s only moments before the screams begin, but I force myself to stay on course, knowing that seeing a District 12 tribute or any Newcomer at death’s door could pull me into the fray. Was that Lou Lou’s shriek? It was a girl’s, a young one’s certainly.
Don’t look back, I tell myself.
Don’t you dare look back.
My right arm aches from the weight of the pack, so I take a moment to secure it on my back and slip the knife safely in my belt. Spear in my right hand now, I settle on a jog I think I can sustain for the long haul to the north. The meadow grass, which was short and even at the Cornucopia, increases in height as I progress, until it’s tall enough to tangle my boots if I don’t step high, so I step high and keep an eye out for snakes. I only spot flowers, songbirds, and the occasional bunny. Nothing venomous or deadly.
I revisit Wiress’s checklist.
First avoid the slaughter,
Doing it.
Get weapons,
Got them.
look for water.
I can’t yet. Not until I’m safely in the woods and then it will have to be on my way north. Say I find it quick. Then what?
Find food and where to sleep,
Nope, way too soon. Still slaughter avoidance going on. Then I have to get as close to the tank as possible and find a mutt portal. But I feel okay about my progress.
I run as long as I can, then slow to a hike and use my spear for a walking stick. The grass now reaches my waist. Up ahead, the forest borders the meadow in a smooth arc. The lush trees, a mix of greens with bursts of gold and orange, laden with bright blooms and ripe fruit, promise everything I seek. Shade from the hot sun, food to fill my belly, concealment from the Careers. The heady scent of pine and blossoms wafting from the woods calms my racing heart. Charming . . . enticing . . . these words don’t do it justice. There’s something almost magical about it, as if once inside those leafy arms, nothing bad could ever befall you. This must be how insects feel in the nepenthes plant, right before they drown. Which may well be my fate when the tank explodes.
When I reach the tree line, I judge I’ve covered about two miles. I climb on a big rock to check for tributes, but the expanse of grass seems empty of both allies and enemies. The cannon shots begin, letting me know the bloodbath at the Cornucopia has ended. Normally, they fire to confirm any death, but those come on so thick and fast at the beginning that the Gamemakers wait until the initial killing spree has ended. The booms keep coming, resonating in my backbone, until I count eighteen of us dead. I won’t know who until tonight when they show the faces of the fallen tributes in the sky. But there are only sixteen Careers, so the Newcomers have not been spared. Probably, many are Newcomers.
I try not to think about who, but it could be Maysilee or Wyatt or Lou Lou or Ringina or Ampert. . . . What if Ampert has already been taken out? What happens to the plan then? He was an easy target in that big patch of Careers. . . .
No! I tell myself.
No. He’s too smart. He will find you. Just do your part of the job.
I take a seat on the rock to catch my breath and examine my backpack. After years of hauling grain for Hattie, I can confidently judge it to be around twenty-five pounds. It’s made of a nice tough canvas with padded straps. The spring green should blend well with the trees. I hesitate before I open it – my life may well depend on the contents – then flip back the flap and begin to lay out my supplies.
A mesh hammock, same color as the pack, cushions a fancy pair of binoculars. Two plastic gallon jugs full of water. That accounts for much of the weight. A dozen apples. A dozen eggs in a cardboard carton, which I determine are hard-boiled by spinning them. And finally, six large potatoes, which excite me until I remember I gave the light bulb kit to Maysilee. Well, she and Wyatt stand a better chance of not getting caught cheating with Beetee’s stuff, given they’ve got a zinc scrip coin and a copper medallion between them. Hopefully, they got some potatoes, too. For me, these will probably be dinner.
To be honest, given the size of the pack and its proximity to the Cornucopia, I was hoping for better. I scrounge around inside to make sure I didn’t miss anything. An outside pocket adds a generous packet of coin-sized black tablets to my haul. I’m thinking maybe if you drop them in water, they turn into a steak dinner or something, but a cautious nibble blows that theory. If I’m not mistaken, these are the same charcoal tablets Mamaw used to buy from the Marches’ shop for her indigestion when she overate. A bad joke on the Gamemakers’ part, given that no tribute’s in danger of overeating. They’re probably all having a good laugh at my reaction now. Whatever. Maybe I can use them for camouflage or something.
I take a big swig of water and reload my pack. No food allowed until I get a better sense of what’s available in the woods. Then I make sure the mountain’s squarely at my back and head into the trees.
It’s a relief to get off the meadow grass and onto a forest floor made of dirt covered in pine needles. Scattered patches of emerald moss and a rainbow of ferns add a decorative touch. In a few minutes, I spot my first berm, smooth and symmetrical with a glorious layer of buttercups. Plutarch was right about that much anyway. Does it conceal a mutt portal? No time to check now, and anyway, I’m not northerly enough.
The woods are as picture-perfect as the meadow, full of sweet colorful things, but the farther I press on, the madder I get. That tree? Groaning with apples. Those nests? Full of eggs. And streams burbling with crystal-clear water abound. If it’s in my backpack, it’s easy pickings. Probably I could dig anywhere and find potatoes. Was my entire pack just a big joke?
Here I am, hauling twenty-five extra pounds around like a saphead. Part of me feels like dumping the contents on the ground but then I’d just have to waste time collecting it all again, so I keep trudging on, noting the berms along the way. I hear two more cannon shots. Twenty dead now. In a usual Games, only four tributes would be left alive. This year, twenty-eight of us remain.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.