Yet another update. Thanks to all you reviewers. Only a few chapters to go now...


I return to Level Ten, my mind still reeling. So now I know what District Twelve is up to. I don't see what good it would do, though – only one tribute can win. But I can safely say I did not see that tactic coming. Who would have thought it? District Twelve – the poor, pathetic coal mining District – actually have a plan for once. Well good on them. Anything that takes points away from the Careers has got to be a good thing.

The stylists, escort and mentors arrive a bit later and offer that we watch the replay of the interviews. I decline. There isn't anything else I can learn from the interviews that I haven't already, and I want to at least try to get a good night's sleep. Kyra has other ideas and wants to watch it.

I don't care, honestly. If Kyra wants to watch the replays then fine. I'm not stopping her. I'm just about to head up to my room when Ando stops me.

"Lucas - can you wait a moment? I need to talk to you."

Ah yes. Ando's final mentoring duty. We go down to my room where Ando closes the door behind him and begins to talk.

"This is where I'm supposed to give you my final words of advice," he informs me, cheerful smile contrasting with the barely veiled bitterness in his tone. "So here they are: stay alive."

His grin widens. "Seriously though, please try to stay alive. Don't linger at the Cornucopia. Don't take offence at this, but there's no way you could survive the bloodbath."

Like I would be dumb enough to stay, anyway.

Ando continues, "I don't care how tempting it looks, just get out of there. Once you've managed to get away, look for a source of water. We probably have enough sponsors to send you a bottleful, but that should be about it. It doesn't matter, though – find water anyway. You could probably live for the entirety of the Games on little food, but if you don't have water for three days then you're dead."

I take in all of what he says then nod. I will obey his orders – they're just common sense. And it's good to know that evil incarnate – sorry, Rue – hasn't stolen all the sponsors that are rightfully mine.

"Ando?" I ask him hesitantly. My mentor pauses halfway through the door and looks at me, questions in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"If… if I don't make it, can you say something to my family?" I pause but don't let him say anything. "Tell Nan – she's my sister – that I love her and tell her to make something of her life. Tell her I don't want her working as a housewife all her life. She can do much more. Say hi to Mum and Eoin. Tell my family what you told me, about Dad. Sorry for all this pressure."

"It doesn't matter," he says. "It's fine."

Why did I bother asking? I bet he's used to it, by now. Used to the tributes who are about to die asking him to give one last word to their grieving families.

"And if you can find Ren – she's the girl with the crippled father, the one who makes those wooden carvings?"

Ando nods, recognition sparking in his face. Almost everyone knows Ren's Dad, even if by reputation only.

I continue. "Can you tell her to keep on smiling? To keep on busking, too. Tell her I wouldn't want her to live in misery all her life."

Ando inclines his head. "I will tell them, Lucas. Sleep well, and good luck."

"Thanks."

He leaves. There's no way I'll manage to get to sleep, I think. I try anyway, and am rewarded because eventually I manage to fall into slumber.


I am shaken awake at the crack of dawn and forced upwards onto the roof by Vesta, who seems to hate being awake at this "ungodly hour". The actual Games won't start for a while, as the audience hates getting up this early, but the preparation in the Stockyard - sorry, Launch Rooms and transportation to the Arena takes a while.

After getting a rather painful injection which contains a tracking chip, I settle back to enjoy the ride. Until the windows black out fifteen minutes before impact, I spend the flight with my nose glued to the window. I've never seen the view from a hovercraft before and I find the numerous folds of the land fascinating, as well as my brief look over the Capitol.

By the time I get ushered into my Launch Room, my stomach feels like it's exploding with butterflies. Vesta ushers me into the shower, and sits down in the main room reading a very colourful magazine covered in images of women wearing the Capitol's ludicrous fashions.

I have a few hours left. Good. I might as well try to relax. To try to calm me down, I take a while in the shower and make sure to waste every single one of the Capitol's bottles. When I step out, I don't bother with the fake limp. The only person who'll see me is Vesta; it's not like she'll be able to tell anyone till I'm already in the Arena and my secret's out. The leg needs a warm up anyway.

Vesta reacts as expected, but once I'm out and she's calmed down, she helps me to dress in the clothes I've been given. I make a point of studying each item. The boots are good – they have good support for my foot, and they look and feel easy to get around in. The green colour makes me think that the Arena will be some sort of forest, although it could be a red herring. I guess I've got to be grateful for the functional clothing – one time the tributes had to go around in orange jumpsuits, and another time the poor things had a loincloth and not much else.

The belt will come in handy, although technically it could probably be used as a weapon. But the thing that has me the most worried it the black jacket. If they're giving us protection against the cold, it will be very cold. I hate the cold. And if it will be cold, chances are the green's just to make us more visible against white snow. That's exactly what I need. Note the sarcasm.

Finally, Vesta hands over a familiar statue with a red cord tied through the centre. I take it gratefully and put it in my pocket. While my token thankfully passed the review board, I learn that there were several close calls and that District One's girl had hers taken off her, though I don't find out why.

We still have a while left, so Vesta offers me food. I accept, surprised by her uncharacteristic kindness. Then I learn that all stylists have to offer food so that a kind hearted offer won't give someone an unfair advantage. A full stomach can help someone last longer without having to delve into the supplies which are provided.

I take a moment to reflect on the unfairness of the situation. People like me, we're just cannon fodder. I'm smaller than everyone else, and without food I get even less of an advantage. Of course, there's no way I'd be able to survive the cornucopia, even if I hadn't had that block of stone dropped on my foot years back. Short of smuggling food into the Arena, there's no way I can get any food but whatever berries and roots there might be in the arena.

Wait a second. Smuggling food? No, there's no way anyone would be able to get away with that.

Or is there? No, there isn't so I'm not even thinking about it…

But it's my only chance…

There's no way I'd be able to get away with that…

Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there? And what's the worst they can do to me if I'm caught? Kill me? Well if I don't have food, I'm dead anyway.

I might as well go for it.

I glance over at Vesta whose head is still buried in her magazine. She wouldn't notice. Slowly, I ease my district token out of my jacket pocket and slip it around my neck, and then check to make sure that there's no visible bulge left around my chest area. I'm not a girl, who have convenient bulges to hide the token though, so that plan fails abysmally.

I'm going to have to take as much food as I can stuff into my pockets without the bulge growing big enough that it's obvious I have something other than my district token in there. In the end I settle for a dozen crackers, as they're thin enough that I can fit them in easily and invisibly, a few squares of chocolate and a small bun of bread.

It appears I've made my decision just in time – I've barely finished cramming food into my pockets when a voice comes on over a loudspeaker, telling me to stand on my metal launch pad. I do. Glass walls fall around me, and I begin to rise. I'm in the dark for fifteen seconds.

When I am finally pushed out I'm blinded by the intense sunlight. I can smell pine, which is good. My earlier guess was correct. Then I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice announce the beginning of the Hunger Games and look around me.

There's the Cornucopia, of course, a horn made of gold with sunlight glinting off it. Its open mouth is spilling with supplies which are scattered everywhere between the opening and the ring of tributes. They decrease in value the closer they get to us – barely a metre away from me is a folded sheet of plastic with a packet of dried fruit sitting on it, whereas there are packs closer in and the weapons are all even closer to the cornucopia.

This is all very well, but I'm not intending on heading that way so I don't waste too much of my sixty seconds looking at it. My major concern is the Arena itself – what sort of environment have they placed us in this year?

A look around reveals it to be positive. Directly in front of me the land juts down steeply, maybe even in a cliff, and I gain a glimpse of corn fields behind it. To my left is a large lake, surrounded by forest. To my right and behind me is pine forest, although the underbrush is thicker than I'd expect. That's where I'm going to run, I think, surveying the ring of tributes.

Little Rue is standing right next to Cato. She doesn't have a chance. Kyra is directly opposite me, eyeing up a flail I can see perched on a pile of supplies. Vincent is next to me. I glance over and we exchange half smiles, before looking back at the cornucopia.

I know it's foolish, but I don't think I can leave here without something. Just one or two supplies could be the difference between living and dying. So I get ready to run, just as the gong goes off.

I react a split second after the signal, stepping forward with my left leg and scooping up the plastic sheet and the bag of fruit. Then I spin on my heel and run towards the trees, as fast as my feet can carry me.

Despite my new and improved speed now that I can use my leg as much as it's capable of, my disability means I'm not going to be winning any races in the near future. But that's just fine. I'm still faster than people expect me to be, and nobody will want to pursue me and miss out on all the goodies at the Cornucopia.

The rest of us fleers will be unarmed and will have made a tactical decision to get away with little or no supplies. That also means no weapons, or none that they know they have at the moment, anyway. And, like me, everyone will simply wish to put as much distance between here and there as quickly as possible. That means that I'm relatively safe; nevertheless, I keep running for fifteen minutes until my lungs give up, only pausing to pick up a sturdy looking fallen tree branch. It isn't the most ideal stick, but it'll have to do for now.

I might as well stop for a rest now – It's too early for the bloodbath to be over and the rest of us not present there won't want a confrontation. Just to be safe, though, I continue walking for another fifteen minutes before finding a sheltered place between three bushes to rest. The only way anyone could see me is either from above – and I have no idea how anyone would be able to get into those un-climbable trees, or from ahead of me, and no one who wants to kill me would be looking for from there.

Or that's how I justify it to myself anyway. The way I see it, if I see danger everywhere I might just end up dead from exhaustion. I might as well take a few rests where there's minimum risk involved.

So I pull my smuggled food out of my pockets – again, minimum risk. While there will be cameras on us fleers, simply to show the audience we're alive and well and uninjured, most of the viewing will be on the bloodbath. If I get caught with the smuggled food, oh well. Worst case, they kill me. I'm a realist. Even with all of my scheming and acting to give me an advantage, I'm not the most likely candidate for victor. Sure, I'm smart. I'm not too modest to admit that. But smarts aren't enough. You need strength, skill, speed… and maybe a tiny bit of luck.

Strength – nope, sorry. A poor diet and naturally weedy frame will do that to anyone. Skill – as an actor, yes. As a fighter – I know how to whack people over the head with a stick, something most people know how to do. Not much else. Speed – I think my crippled leg's taken care of that one. Though I was fast before the accident, and I know I'm faster than most people think. Luck? If I was lucky, that boulder wouldn't have crushed my leg or killed my father. If I was lucky, would I be in these Games at all?

I take an inventory of what I have. About ten crackers, a few squares of melting chocolate, a bread bun, and a packet of dried fruit. As well as myself, my clothes, a tree branch and a sheet of plastic. Not too bad – it's better than nothing. But not too good either. Those who survive the battle at the Cornucopia will have much more at their disposal.

Oh well. I don't have time to dwell on that. At least I'm not one of the dead. I place all of my food in the centre of the plastic square and manage to tie it into a bundle. This bundle is tied around my new stick. It probably isn't as efficient as a pack, but it's better than worrying about things falling out of my pockets. I eat the chocolate. It won't last much longer in this heat and I might as well have the energy.

There. Now that I've made an inventory, I can decide what to do next. The most important thing is water. All of this food is great, but it won't be much help to stop me dying of dehydration. Ando said he could get me some, but honestly I don't know when he'll be able to send it to me or how long it'll last.

I need to find a source of water. Knowing the Gamemakers, the lake will probably be the only source in the Arena. But if I head back there they'll kill me. What to do, what to do…

Then I realise that there is more than one way to get to the lake. It's not a good idea to head back to the Cornucopia, sure. But while one shore of the lake is easily accessible from the grasslands of the tribute circle, the rest of it is surrounded by forest. If I can get to that forest, then I have an easy source of water as well as a good hiding place.

To get there, I need to cut to my right and backwards. I think I'm reasonably safe – while the battle may have finished, traditionally the Careers spend most of the first day getting their gear and alliance in order and only begin their tribute hunt at nightfall. So I set off.

I don't run, deciding that my leg still isn't used to being in use all day after the week of overemphasising my limp in the Capitol. I walk through the forest, keeping all of my senses on full alert in case I meet anyone else.

I needn't have bothered. It takes me a while – I don't know how long -to reach the edge of the trees, by which time I've stopped several times to pick berries I recognise from the edible foods station back in training. I still don't have much food though, and I know I'm going to feel hungry for a few days.

I've misjudged where I need to go, although I suppose I'm lucky I'm at the edge of the trees looking out into the Cornucopia and not lost in the wilderness. I also suppose I'm lucky that there's a rather dense looking bush a few metres to my right, closer to the lake. I quickly move behind it, before any of the tributes at the scene of the battle see me.

The battle has ended. There are six tributes sorting out the supplies, which is expected; all six of the Careers generally make it through the day. But at a closer glance I find out I am wrong; there are only five Careers there. There is tall, blond Glimmer from District One, and her arrogant counterpart whose name I have forgotten. Big threatening Cato is also easy to spot, the smaller but no less threatening Clove standing by his side. Then there's someone with dark skin from Four – as both Varia and the boy (his name starts with A - Alecto? Arturo? Apollo?) have short hair, I cannot tell who is who at a distance.

But instead of being also dark skinned, the last tribute is pale and blond. There aren't many blonds in the Games – at least in my District, non-brown features are a mark of richness, which means they need to take less tesserae and thus have less chance of being picked. I think it's the same in most others. I quickly run a list of blondes through my head. The two from One are already down there. There's the girl from Nine, but she's female and this figure has short hair.

Then there's Peeta, from District Twelve. But it can't be him! He declared he loved Katniss on national TV. How could he betray her – for teaming up with the Careers surely counts as a betrayal? Unless… unless he had no choice. Unless they threatened to kill him if he didn't help them catch her. But still, if he loved her he'd give his life for her, wouldn't he?

I've just resigned myself to staying behind this bush (to get where I want to go there's a piece of very thin forest I have no hopes of getting through unnoticed) until the Careers have their attention diverted by something – a decision to go off hunting (hopeful not in this direction), a meal, another tribute, anything – when I hear a female voice yell out "You can't!"

The Career's heads all turn in that direction and I take my chance to slide backwards out of the bush and continue my journey. I sprint until I'm out of sight and then slow down to a run. A few minutes later I stop for a rest, panting and wishing I had some water.

I'm surprised when a small silver parachute falls out of the sky to land at my feet, almost immediately followed by another, smaller, one. The first parachute contains a bottle of water, with a hook on it to attach to my belt. The smaller one is a bottle of iodine for purifying water. I wrap it in the parachute and place it in my plastic bundle, very grateful to my sponsors. Neither of these are particularly expensive, especially not on the first day of the Games. But they still will have cost Ando and Morgan a lot, and it must have taken money away from Kyra.

At the thought of Kyra a lump forms in my throat. The fact that I've gotten these gift probably means that Kyra is dead, died in the bloodbath. We didn't particularly get along, but she was still my District Partner and now she's dead. The reality of the Hunger Games hits me like a punch to the stomach. At home, what happens is terrible but it's happening to someone else. Even in these Games, I hadn't realised the full horror of them. Until I found out Kyra died.

I'm thankful for the supplies – I wouldn't be able to survive without them. But my gratitude is tinged with sadness, for they mean the death of my comrade.