Chapter 20 : The Raid
Smoke rose on the eastern horizon.
Rue's first fire, right on schedule. I tracked its position from our hiding spot—a rocky outcrop with clear sightlines to the Cornucopia—and watched the Career camp react.
Cato spotted the smoke first. He pointed, shouted something to the others. Clove appeared from behind the supply pyramid, knives glinting at her belt. Marvel emerged from a tent near the golden horn, spear already in hand.
They argued for maybe thirty seconds. Then Cato made the call, his voice carrying across the open ground: "Hunt them down. All of them."
Three Careers sprinted toward the smoke. Cato, Clove, Marvel. The hunting pack, eager for blood after days of failed searches.
District 3 boy remained behind, looking nervous. He walked the safe path through the mines—careful steps, memorized pattern—and checked something on the supply pyramid's edge. Adjusted a crate. Walked back.
Katniss nocked an arrow beside me. Her hands were steady, breath controlled. The bow she'd grabbed from the Cornucopia during the bloodbath was a beautiful weapon—Capitol craftsmanship, draw weight perfectly matched to her strength.
"Wait," I whispered. "Let him settle."
District 3 boy moved to a crate at the perimeter, maybe twenty feet from the pyramid. He sat down, pulled something from his pocket—food, probably—and started eating. His attention was on the horizon, watching for smoke or movement.
The bag of apples sat near the pyramid's top, just visible between stacked crates. Red and green, loose in the canvas, balanced precariously.
"Now," I said.
Katniss drew. Aimed. The world narrowed to a single point—arrow, target, trajectory.
She released.
The arrow flew true. Forty yards of perfect arc, fletching spinning, tip gleaming in the morning light.
It hit the bag dead center.
Apples tumbled. Red and green spheres cascading down the pyramid's face, bouncing off crates, rolling toward the freshly turned earth.
The first apple hit the mined ground.
Nothing.
The second apple followed. Third. Fourth.
Still nothing. My heart hammered. Had the mines malfunctioned? Had District 3 boy changed something?
Then the world tore itself apart.
The explosion wasn't one sound—it was a cascade.
Mine after mine, chain reaction rippling through the perimeter. The pyramid erupted from the center outward, supplies vaporizing into fire and shrapnel. The shockwave hit us a half-second later, knocking me flat against the rocks.
Heat washed over us. Debris rained from the sky—burning fabric, twisted metal, unidentifiable fragments that had been supplies moments ago. My ears rang so loud I couldn't hear my own breathing.
Katniss was down beside me, covering her head. I crawled to her, grabbed her arm, checked for injuries. She was shouting something—I couldn't hear the words.
I looked back at the Cornucopia.
The golden horn stood intact, scorched but whole. Everything around it was destruction. The supply pyramid was a smoking crater. Crates had been reduced to splinters. The tent was on fire. District 3 boy lay twenty feet from where he'd been sitting, thrown by the blast.
He wasn't moving.
Cannon would confirm, but I didn't need confirmation. That kind of impact didn't leave survivors.
Katniss pulled at my sleeve, still shouting. I touched my ears—they came away wet. Blood. The blast had ruptured something inside. My healing factor was already working, warmth spreading through my skull, but right now I could barely hear.
"MOVE!" Katniss screamed, finally loud enough to penetrate.
We ran.
Behind us, Cato's scream of rage echoed across the arena.
The sound cut through even my damaged hearing—primal, furious, the howl of a predator who'd lost everything. His supplies, his advantage, his certainty of victory. Gone in one perfect shot.
I pushed through the pain and kept moving. The forest swallowed us, branches whipping past, the smoking ruin of the Cornucopia disappearing behind a wall of green.
Katniss led, somehow finding paths through undergrowth I could barely see. She kept glancing back at me—at my ears, at the blood that had stopped flowing but left dark streaks down my neck.
"You're hurt!"
"I'll live!" I wasn't lying. Already the ringing was fading, sounds sharpening. By the time we reached the rendezvous point, I might be able to hear normally.
We ran for what felt like hours. Probably less. The forest blurred into a green smear of survival—duck, jump, climb, drop. Every muscle burned. My shoulder ached from throwing myself flat during the blast.
But we were alive. The supplies were destroyed. The plan had worked.
The first rendezvous point appeared through the trees—a distinctive rock formation we'd identified the night before. I scanned for Rue, for any sign of her small shape waiting in the shadows.
Nothing.
"She should be here," Katniss said.
I whistled the mockingjay signal. Four notes, rising and falling.
The forest remained silent.
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