Backpack Hunger Games Novels & Stories

I pull out shorts, shirts, shiny brown packages with MRE stamped across the front, bottles of water, then finally my hand grasps the round rubber hand grip of a torch. “Why would Abernathy leave this up here?” Zaine asks nobody in particular as he pulls one of the crumpled shirts down over my head. It stinks to the high heavens, like it’s been sat festering in the backpack for months, but I grin and bear it.

To what extent would the game allow him to shoplift? Tablecloth, skillets, spatulas, plates and cutlery made it into Zen’s inventory. He could even steal the firewood and ice that would not melt. The only things he failed to store away were the fixed equipment such as the stove, oven and fridge. They were way too big to be stored in a backpack. Things like tables and chairs also failed, although Zen saw some hope when the system gave him the reason for the backpack’s failure to include them. Apparently, his backpack was too small for them. If he progressed to higher floors, it might be possible to upgrade his backpack and eventually store an entire kitchen.

Surely, my body will be in so much pain tomorrow onwards. “A little,” I answered. “Is it okay to slow down? My legs are giving up.” Lance glanced at my legs and the huge backpack behind me. “If you are having a hard time,” he said before he suddenly snatched my bag away. “Don’t be shy to ask for some help.” “W-Wait. You are already carrying a lot,” I said worriedly, staring at the big bag behind Lance’s back, which carries the important tools we need for camping.

"You have a point Abby, but Kaydence is worried about it and if she has reason to worry about it than so do I since she knew him better than any of us ever could." "Or would even want to. Kay told me a bit about him and honestly gotta say not a fan of the prick." Abby said with a shrug. I offered her a smirk." "Patrol was quiet though." Vidalia said. I nodded my thanks at her. "Alright head up to the pack house and restock provisions if you need to." They both shook their head. "Nah we're good. unlike Asher and Quaid we packed extra of everything so that we wouldn't have to stop at the pack house as much." I nodded.

"You think we can go back to the motel? I held a gun to Antonio Gambo in a shitty ass diner in a town that doesn't even have a name, and you want to go back to that motel?" Well... When he puts it that way. "But what about my stuff?" There's nothing valuable in my backpack except a cool new swimsuit I paid for but haven't gotten to dip in chlorine yet. And my driver's license, which would be handy to not lose. "Your bag is in the back," he says, his foot pressing down on the gas harder. I turn and check the backseat of his Jeep, and sure enough, my bag is tucked behind the seat.

It's the only reason I can think of for fate screwing me over like this. "Here, take this" Nova lifts a backpack from the ground that I hadn't noticed. "What is that?" "Things you'll need. Weapons" he says that looking at Hector "You don't know what you'll encounter on the way so always be prepared. Two guns, one loaded with silver bullets. A knife, and some food you might need" "Frozen meat?" There's also sausages, ham and cheese.

I needed to be strong, for my baby and for myself. I packed quietly, shoving only what I needed into a small leather backpack – a water bottle, a few protein bars I’d hidden from training meals, a flashlight, and a hunting knife I had stolen from the kitchen days ago. My hands shook as I tied my hair back and pulled on my old ripped jeans and black hoodie. The smell of grease and metal still clung to it, a piece of my old life I couldn’t let go of.

“It’s fine. Where are the silver bullets?” “Under the compartment. I have one mag in my case.” “Let’s go then.” I carried her case, but she had a handgun on her waist. She looked badass and hot, like a character in RPG games or Lara Croft. “What’s in your backpack?” Zack asked as we began hiking. “Some water and protein bars.” “Let me carry it then.” She gave it to Zack since he didn’t carry anything other than a hunting rifle. But if I did, she would probably refuse.

"Her little sister is dying." I try not to show shock at her boldfaced lie, and I duck my head in what I hope he interrupts as sorrow. "All right," he agrees. "But this makes us even." "That it does," she replies without hesitation. I don’t have time to ask what that was all about. Before I know it, she’s shoving a backpack into my hands. I peek inside and find food, cash, a sewing kit, a flashlight – things I might need on the road.