The term 'sandstorm' felt like too benign of a word to describe the monstrous entity advancing upon them. The howling of the wind seemed to carry the screams of a thousand lost souls. The storm's fury began to swallow the landscape, erasing the distinction between earth and sky.
At that moment, Hazel understood the true meaning of insignificance. Against the might of such a storm, their plans, their conflicts, and even their very lives seemed inconsequential. The realization that they were mere specks in the face of such an overwhelming force was both humbling and terrifying. She had never experienced anything remotely close to it. The threat was so foreign, an unknown language of nature to her.
Her initial shock gave way to a deep, visceral fear. Hazel and Silus followed as Aaron ran to Mia; his clothing billowed around him. Mia hoisted herself to her feet, head turned, taking in the onslaught about to be unleashed. The world began to warp, and the first fingers of the deluge seemed to reach out, thrashing the edges of their reality, ushering in a haze of sand that clawed at Hazel's throat and eyes.
"We have to run!" Silus's voice pierced through the roar of the storm; his face drained of color as he craned his neck up at the towering wall of sandy air. It loomed closer, a relentless tide of destruction promising to engulf everything in its path.
"No!" Aaron countered as he shook his head. "We won't be able to outrun it. We have to find shelter."
Hazel glanced back toward the cave, but the swirling sand had masked its entrance, erasing any sign of their former sanctuary.
"Where?" she called out, her voice barely audible. Disorientation engulfed them like the swirling sand as the first layers of the storm showered down.
Silus seized Hazel's hand, his palm clammy, gritty, and slick with perspiration, as he dragged her away. "We have to get out of this tract."
Aaron and Mia followed behind, Aaron's strained voice echoing through the wind. "I told you. You won't outrun this. You'll just become disoriented, and we'll become separated."
Hazel tugged on Silus's hand, raising her voice to be heard over the raging gale. "Silus, wait!" He paused, fear glinting in his eyes as he glanced back at the approaching tempest. "We've never dealt with anything like this. They're from the desert; they know what to do."
Realization dawned on Silus's face as the wind continued to buffet them. Relenting to Hazel's suggestion, he slowed his pace, allowing Aaron and Mia to catch up. Aaron scanned their surroundings, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "There, let's go there!" he shouted, pointing to a nearby ditch.
With no time to spare, they hurried to the trench in the earth, the storm's full wrath unleashed around them. The boundaries of their temporary haven blurred as the landscape reshaped under the relentless onslaught. Sand particles stung her exposed skin as they huddled together.
"We need to hunker down. Do whatever you can to keep the sand out of your mouth and nose," Aaron yelled.
Silus's voice was faint with his hands over his eyes, "We need a miracle." Surrounded by a tempest, Hazel found herself coughing, the air thick with millions of particles that invaded her lungs and coated her skin. She wiped her face; her fingers came away gritty. Mia was coughing and hacking, her shirt pulled up over her nose and mouth. It was then, amidst the storm's fury, that a spark of realization ignited within her. Fill your bellies, not the air. The air will fill itself. Thank Festus! We have a miracle, well, two miracles. But we need four.
With a newfound sense of urgency, Hazel darted behind Silus, tugging at the zipper of his backpack. The zipper yielded to her, revealing the contents they had almost forgotten—the two face coverings gifted by Festus. Her hands trembled as she clutched the precious fabric. She reached behind her and pulled out an axe from her waistband.
Hazel, battling against the roar of the sandstorm, spun towards Silus. She extended her arm, pushing the cloth into his grasp. "Take this!" she yelled; her words did little to slice through the tumultuous noise surrounding them.
Confusion flashed across Silus's face as he accepted the bundle, his brow furrowing as he examined the material in his hands, turning it over. His gaze lifted from the fabric to Mia and Aaron, who braced themselves against the relentless fury of the storm. Their figures were scarcely discernible through the swirling sand.
Hazel held the other headwrap out in front of her, and with the razor-sharp edge of the axe, she dragged the blade down a seam in the material. A faint ripping sound met her ears as the howl of the wind drowned it. She had effectively cut the cloth into two pieces. The frayed edges of the cloth fluttered.
Silus watched her with a careful expression, and when their eyes met, he nodded, seeming to understand her intentions. He held out the wrap in his own hands, stretching it out before her. She again ran the axe's blade down the seam of the fabric, slicing it in two.
Silus handed the two pieces of the mutilated mask to Aaron, "Here."
Aaron's eyes flashed in gratitude and surprise, rubbing at his eyelashes as sand pelted his face. Without another word, he began to secure the covering around his nose and mouth before wrapping the other piece around Mia, tying the frayed ends behind her head. They fell to their knees, fabric tied over their noses and mouths, with their backs to the wall of sand. Mia had pulled the backpack and the tinfoil textured blanket over their heads.
Silus grabbed Hazel's hand and pulled them both to their knees, replicating Mia and Aaron. He covered her face with one of the makeshift masks, tying the ends behind her head. She reciprocated, securing the last piece around his nose and mouth, pinching the ends as snugly as her shaking fingers would allow.
Silus flung their backpack open. Water bottles and their scant belongings tumbled out, swallowed immediately by the sandstorm's insatiable maw. He then hoisted the now-empty backpack over both of them.
Hazel's hand found Silus's in the semi-darkness, her grip tightening as the fine grains bombarded them, her eyes clenched shut against the irritation. The mask against her nose and mouth was suffocating, her breaths hot and constrained within the cloth's embrace. Pressed close to Silus, the rapid pace of his heart thrummed through her own body.
"Hang in there, Haze," Silus's voice, reduced to a faint murmur by the wind's howl, somehow reached her, his stitched palm rubbed against hers.
The temperature plummeted, a sudden chill sweeping across the landscape, contradicting the desert's typical warmth. The roar of the torrent was all-encompassing, a constant, overwhelming sound that seemed to press against her eardrums with physical weight.
Her shirt fluttered and snapped in the whirlwind. The material of the headwrap strained against her face, its woven layers filtering the harsh, biting grains of soil that the ferocious winds hurled at them.
The world outside their fragile shelter was a maelstrom of sound and fury. The howling of the desert monsoon was omnipresent, a constant roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. It was deafening, punctuated by the sharper, almost metallic hiss of grains pelting against the backpack's fabric. The noise was so overwhelming that Hazel found her thoughts drowned out by the storm's relentless roar, her focus narrowed to the immediate struggle of enduring each passing moment.
The sensation on her exposed skin was akin to being sanded, a tingling, abrasive discomfort. Her mind flashed back to the numerous hours she had spent sanding down Oliver's handle, trying to get the grain sleek and comfortable. It's as if the storm is trying to smooth down my rough edges. Despite the headwrap's protection, a biting sting licked along the nape of her neck and the backs of her hands, a constant, gritty abrasion that seemed to find every gap in their defense.
Clutching Silus's arm, Hazel felt a deep, underlying vibration—whether from the storm's power or her heightened senses, she couldn't tell. It was as if the desert itself was resonating with the force of the gale.
As what felt like hours dragged on, marked only by the relentless assault of wind and sand, Hazel's body protested the ordeal. Her muscles are cramped and ached. When she envisioned her death in the Hunger Games, she never thought it would be in a hell hole of a desert, drowned in a sea of sand. She took deep breaths into the mask, trying to center herself and calm her nerves.
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Gradually, the storm relinquished its iron grip like a kettle of boiling water taken out of the fire, simmering down to a hushed murmur. It didn't halt in a quick fashion but instead ebbed away, its once ferocious howl dwindling to mere whispers. The violent symphony that had raged around them for what felt like longer than an eternity began to lose its intensity, the ferocious winds fading to mere gusts.
Eventually, when it seemed safe enough to do so, Hazel and Silus emerged not just from under the backpack but also from a layer of dry earth that had settled over them during the storm's assault. Silus was the first to stand, his movements sluggish and heavy with the weight of sand that clung to every fiber of his clothing. He extended a hand to Hazel, helping her to her feet. The two shared a look, their eyes red and gritty. They were, in a literal sense, unearthing themselves, brushing away the thick coating of sediment that clung to every surface, every fold of clothing, every exposed patch of skin. The immediate physical sensation was one of profound relief.
Textured grains coated her skin, an abrasive layer that covered her from head to toe. Every movement sent cascades of sand sliding off her. Her hair was matted, and each strand felt rough between her fingers as she tried to shake loose the stubborn grains.
Hazel's face was damp with sweat, the cloth sticking to her lips. Removing the makeshift mask, she welcomed the less aggressive air, though it carried the residual taste of dust and grit.
The light was brighter, but the sun seemed dull, filtered through a lingering haze of suspended dust particles. Her ears rang in the sudden quiet. Sounds, when they came, were muffled and distant.
To her left, Silus stood, patting down his clothes in an effort to rid himself of the desert's imprint. To Hazel's right, the buried forms of Mia and Aaron were shifting, pulling themselves out from under the weight of the sand. Their faces, hair, and clothes faded to beige as they emerged.
Aaron stood and shook his head from side to side, sand flying off him like a dog shaking water out of its fur. He reached down and pulled Mia to her feet. Her long black hair was an ashy, dirty brown due to the sheer amount of silica entrapped within it. It fell in her face as she rubbed her eyes, pulling the sediment from her lashes.
The four of them stood in quiet shock, taking in their surroundings. The familiar markers and features of the land were altered beyond recognition. The sand, which had been a stinging adversary moments before, now lay settled around them in thick, undulating blankets, altering the landscape into a series of smooth, wave-like formations.
Silus glanced toward Aaron and Mia. "Do we need any further discussion about leaving this tract?"
Aaron, whose expression was a mask of fatigue and sand, shook his head.
Silus looked over at Hazel. "Then we'd better start moving."
Hazel perused the landscape around them; irregular mounds stood out in the sea of sand that now blanketed the desert. "Let's try to salvage whatever we can first," she suggested.
The four sifted through the sandy dunes, their fingers searching for remnants of their abandoned supplies. Hazel's fingertips grazed a lump; she plunged her arm into the silty earth, her hand clasping the cool glass of one of their water bottles. After several minutes, they located a ball of rope, a fire starter kit, and a few plums, bruised but still edible. Hazel pocketed a plum, slipping it into her cargo pants. As she did, her eyebrows lifted in surprise as her fingers brushed against the metallic coolness of the handcuff key. She thought for certain it would have been lost in the mayhem.
Once they were satisfied that they would likely find nothing else and they had reclaimed what little the desert was willing to give back, the quartet set out away from the desert's grasp. I never want to see sand again.
The only sounds as they walked were soft, shivering moans from Mia, the gentle fall of their boots on the silty earth, and their group's labored breathing.
Hazel's mind wandered as her feet did the same. She found herself grateful for Festus Creed; again, he had shown himself to be highly useful. How did he know the storm was coming?
Aaron glanced over at Hazel, his expression one of genuine appreciation. "That was quick thinking with the face coverings. You literally saved our skins back there."
Hazel shrugged. "We were lucky Festus sent those. I just...did what felt right," she replied, a hint of color rising to her cheeks under the compliment, "How about diving into that ditch? How did you know that would work?"
Aaron chuckled, "Desert tricks, you know. Growing up in District Ten, you learn a thing or two about surviving sandstorms. Though, I've never seen one like that."
As the late morning gave way to afternoon, they neared the boundary that marked the end of District Ten's domain; a sense of apprehension mingled with Hazel's weariness. The relief at leaving the desert behind was fleeting, overshadowed by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The grassy field before them, while a welcome change from the endless expanse of desert, held its own unknown dangers.
The group paused at the entrance to the tract. The four passed around their water, each taking a drink. Aaron's face was drawn, the lines of fatigue etched under the layer of dust that clung to his skin. Silus's shoulders sagged; the usually unshakeable strength he exuded was now tempered by the visible toll the desert had exacted. Mia's shivering was more noticeable, and she struggled to guide the bottle to her lips.
"Where to now?" Aaron asked, his gaze sweeping across the landscape towards the Cornucopia. The grassy expanse of the arena lay open and exposed before them.
Silus cleared his throat, brushing his fingers against his lips, "I suggest we head towards Seven," he proposed. "Find some high ground there."
Hazel's voice took on a more serious tone, "We need to be careful. The center is going to be exposed. We'll be vulnerable."
Silus nodded, "Yeah, we'll need to keep a low profile. Stick to cover where we can."
Aaron extended his hand in a gesture of reluctant agreement. "Lead the way, then."
Mia and Hazel exchanged a look before the group began to make their way with slow, hesitant steps toward the grass field.
The District Seven tract, marked by the towering redwoods that distinguished it from the surrounding areas, beckoned to them from across the arena.
Hazel held her breath as they traversed the edge of the dangerous territory that was the center. They agreed to skirt the edge instead of walking right through, even though it was the most direct route, hoping to avoid being caught out in the open. Every one of her steps in the soft grass felt like glass breaking. Each move they made felt like it would draw attention. How many tributes were even left? Her skin no longer crawled due to excess sand but a creeping sensation. Her body longed for the shade and security of the forest. They couldn't get there fast enough.
As her group made their way to the halfway point, her eyes were drawn to the haunting Cornucopia. Her brow furrowed; something had definitely changed overnight. Pale, cocoon-like wrappings encased the ensnared tributes from their tethered toes to the tips of their hair. The wooden ends of spears still stuck out of the translucent coverings. Their ghostly forms swayed in a cool breeze, a sight both serene and horrifying. Hazel swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. Did the Gamemakers cover their bodies out of respect? Unlikely. Why leave them there at all? Was it to instill further dread in the hearts of the living?
"Bizarre." Aaron's soft voice echoed next to them.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Silus murmured. His shoulders shifted; his knuckles turned lighter around the axe in his hand. They allowed themselves one final glance at the unnerving scene before hastening their steps.
Mia, despite her injury, made a valiant effort to keep pace, Aaron supporting her as she limped. Sweat shone from her forehead, dripping down her neck. Her chest heaved with effort.
Hazel's senses were on high alert as they navigated the treacherous path toward the sanctuary of the District Seven tract. Her head turned sharply at every rustle, every whisper of wind through the grass as she skimmed the horizon for any hint of danger.
They had covered considerable ground, the dense foliage of District Seven tantalizingly close, when an irregularity in the corner of her vision halted her in her tracks.
Whipping her head towards the source, her heart hammered against her ribs as two figures burst from one of the tracts behind them.
"Silus," her voice was a taut string of tension as she gripped her axe.
Silus spun, his eyes immediately locking onto the emerging tributes. The sight that greeted them was unexpected—not the tributes from Districts One or Two, but Owen and Grace from District Nine. Despite the visible bruises and disarray that marred their appearances, there was an undeniable vigor in their steps, their uncuffed arms pumping as they sprinted.
Owen covered the distance with ease, his blonde hair whipping around his face as he charged. He brandished a knife in each hand while Grace held a long spear. Her expression was set in a grimace. Grace's eyes met Hazel's, and the unreadable expression returned.
"Run!" Hazel's voice was a desperate command, her adrenaline-spiked words urging Aaron and Mia into action. Together, they turned, sprinting toward the District Seven tract, "Get to the tract, out of the open." The forest will give us cover. Maybe we can somehow get Mia up into a tree.
Every muscle in her body cried out in protest; the residual fatigue from the sandstorm and their grueling journey through the desert weighed on her. Her legs were heavy and sand-logged.
As they fled, the sounds of pursuit filled the air—the rapid beat of footsteps on grass, the labored breaths of their pursuers, and the occasional metallic clink of Owen's knives. Hazel risked glances over her shoulder, her heart lurching with each glimpse of Mia and Aaron's faltering progress. Grace and Owen were closing the distance with alarming speed.
The instant Hazel's boots hit the District Seven tract's soil, a gut-wrenching cry tore through the air. Spinning around, several meters behind, was Mia, crumpled on the ground, clutching at her injured leg. Aaron hovered over her, desperately trying to lift her, his pleas for her to stand filled with raw, urgent fear.
"Go, Aaron!" Mia's voice broke; her arms trembled as she attempted to push herself from the softened earth. Fear widened her eyes, the grimace of discomfort etched on her face.
Both of Aaron's hands clasped around Mia's bicep. "Get up, Mia. I'm not leaving you."
"We have to help her," Hazel insisted, turning to rush back toward Mia and Aaron, but Silus, who was at her side, grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
"Haze, wait," Silus implored, his gaze locking onto hers. "You'll just get yourself killed."
Over her shoulder, the tributes from District Nine loomed closer. Despite Aaron's desperate cries and tugs, Mia's exhausted form remained motionless, tears and sweat mingling down her face.
Just as their pursuers were upon Mia and Aaron, a whizzing sound cut through the air, buzzing past Hazel's head; startled, she recoiled, her eyes widening in disbelief. Turning back to Aaron and Mia, she found them frozen, their gazes fixed on the ground at Owen's feet. Following their stunned stares, Hazel's breath hitched as her eyes fell upon an arrow protruding from the toe of Owen's boot.