Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Chapter Eight

Mags is waiting for me the next morning, dozing on my couch. I wake her up, and she gives me a hug and wishes me luck. She doesn't bother assuring me that I'll survive, because she honestly thinks I have a fighting chance. Besides, nothing is assured, and Mags doesn't lie to me.

Germanicus is waiting for me outside, and after Pompey thumps me on the shoulder and tells me to try my hardest, I followed my stylist up to the rooftop, where a hovercraft is waiting. The immobilizing current prevents me from falling off the ladder that they use to haul me aboard, and also stops me from flinching when they insert a tracker into my left forearm.

I try to look out the windows – if I thought the view from the train was spectacular, a bird's eye view must be even better – but they black out the windows. Don't want me to get a sneak peek of the arena.

We touch down and Germanicus leads me to the Launch Area. I take a shower, and he puts me into the uniform that every tribute is going to be wearing. It's a thick two-piece affair, with a fur-lined hood and big mittens. The whole thing is glaringly white. There's a black bodysuit underneath, but even this is thicker than anything I've worn before.

Germanicus comments on the clothes as he helps me put them on. "Definitely going to be cold there. Shame for you. I assume you were planning on taking off your shirt as soon as possible.

He's right, of course, but I can still see some possibilities with the suit's design. The hood won't cover my face at all, and that's probably my best attribute. And the suit is thick, but it's still tailored to my body. I can work with this, I think.

Then Germanicus deposits me on a golden disk at the far corner of the room. A glass tube seals around me, and I barely have time to give him a wave before the platform shoots upward.

The first thing I notice is the light. It's so bright that I have to cover my eyes with my hands so I'm not blinded. Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, booms out from some hidden speaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

My eyes adjust, and I realize it's so bright because the sunlight is reflecting off snow. We seem to be in some sort of arctic tundra – everything is covered in a layer of white. The cornucopia is ahead of me, glinting gold in the sun's harsh glare, and the tributes are ringed around it. I see that Gemma is a few golden discs away, fidgeting in anticipation. We have to stay on the pressure plates for one full minute or else they explode.

Over to the left I see trees, and to the right looks like hills. Behind me is more forest, and straight ahead of me, a few hundred years behind the cornucopia, is a cliff that drops off into the sparkling blue sea. So there is water, I think with a strange sense of relief, although not water I can swim in. Still, that little bit of home focuses me and reminds me why I'm here. And what I have to do.

There's a gunshot, and the Hunger Games have officially begun. I shout to Gemma, and she angles toward me as we rush for the mass of items piled around the huge golden cornucopia. We head for the best items, which are piled up against the giant horn itself, but Gemma picks up a couple of knives along the way. As we run, I hold out my hand, and she hands me one without hesitation.

I spot a set of spears, and I reach for them. Orion's warning shout reaches my ears just in time. I spin around and sink my knife into the belly of a tiny kid – he looks like he's about eight. Then I see the hatchet in his hand, and remember father's warning. They're all sharks, and I can't waste time feeling sorry for them.

Orion joins us, and between the three of us we keep the other kids away long enough to grab several big backpacks and as many weapons as we can carry. "Find the others!" Gemma shouts at me, and I scan the area quickly. It's complete mayhem, kids scrambling to get weapons and packs and attacking whoever gets in their way. I hear a scream, and see Calliope go down, a sword hilt sticking out of her back. Even from this distance, I can see the tears frozen on her cheeks.

It hits me then how cold it is. The rush of adrenaline must have masked the fact that this entire place is freezing. Even with the suits, I feel the bite of the arctic wind. Then I spot Rock and Martia on the other side of the cornucopia. They look a little worse for the wear, but they're alive and they have packs and weapons slung over their shoulders. I shout for them to group up in the woods, and we all race for the treeline.

We almost make it without a scratch, but some clever kid decides to even the odds right from the beginning and leaps out from behind a bush. He slashes Martia right across the throat, and she sinks to the ground with a pained gurgle. Red splashes across the snowy ground. Rock roars in outrage and strangles the kid with his bare hands.

"He's dead," I say, nodding toward the trees. "Come on, we need to move."

When Rock keeps on squeezing, Orion and Gemma seize his arms, and between them they detach his hands from the kid's neck. Rock shakes his head, regains control, and turns to Martia. He grabs her stuff, gives me a nod, and at my command we race into the forest.

We keep going for about an hour, until we're sure that no one has followed us. Then Gemma suggests we break for a few minutes and see what goodies we managed to pull from the cornucopia. It looks pretty promising – each pack has a decent supply of food and water, as well as a flint and steel. "We're going to have some cold nights," I predict, and Gemma nods in agreement.

I see Orion and Rock exchange a covert glance, so quick that if I hadn't been looking for it I would have missed it completely. Impossible to tell what they're planning, but right now Gemma is the only one I can trust, however tentative that trust may be. I have no doubt now that Orion and Rock will turn on me the second they think I've outlived my usefulness.

"At least water won't be a problem," Orion says after a while. "Snow." Yes, I think, we can melt the snow, or just stuff it into our mouths. Water won't be a problem. But the cold will be, as well as whatever wild animals and natural disasters the Gamemakers have wished up for us.

"We should seek high ground," Rock suggests. "Harder to be ambushed."

We all agree, so we spend the rest of the afternoon seeking out a suitable campsite. It's dusk when we find a good place – a small hillock in the middle of the trees, easily defensible and with a sturdy tree we can climb to get a view of the entire arena. Instead of suggesting that someone should do this, I go ahead and scale the tree. At the top, I can see the whole arena, just as I predicted. Its layout is basically what I'd already figured out, although I note that the hills eventually turn into mountains. But they're too far away to be a viable target for the other tributes.

"No one that I can see," I report when I'm back on the ground. The backpacks also contained bedrolls, and my companions have arranged them in a rough circle at the base of the tree. Rock is gone, and Gemma informs me that he's looking for firewood.

While he's gone, the evening announcement comes. The Panem anthem plays, and then Claudius Templesmith lists all the tributes who've died so far. There's nine in all, counting Calliope, and I feel a brief pang at her death. So she wasn't plotting anything at all – she really was just a terrified girl. I feel kind of bad now for telling her I would kill her if we met up in the arena, but I doubt me acting any differently could have helped her survive in here.

"That leaves fifteen," Gemma says. "More than usual."

"I doubt all the packs had flint and steel," I say. "The cold night is going to claim at least a couple of them, guaranteed."

As if the Gamemakers are listening to me, the temperature starts to drop as the sun goes down. Rock returns with an armload of branches, and between the four of us we fashion an acceptable campfire.

"Is this a good idea?" Gemma suddenly asks. "We're giving away our location."

"We're the Careers," I remind her. "No one is going to attack us."

"And if they do, whoever's on watch will slaughter them," Orion adds, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. His scar looks even more gruesome in the flickering firelight. "I'll take first watch."

Not exactly comforted by this, I get into my sleeping bag. My head somehow ends up next to Gemma's – I think she may have planned it this way. "Don't worry," she dimples at me. "His bark's about the same as his bite."

I arch my eyebrows at her. "That's supposed to comfort me?"

Gemma gives me a slow smile. "If my words don't, maybe my body can."

That's an invitation if I've ever heard one. But I'm here to win, not get it on with Gemma, regardless of how attractive she is. And she's very cute. Then it occurs to me that she might have been counting on us becoming an item – I could do irreparable damage if I reject her outright. "I bet it can," I murmur suggestively. "But Orion has his eye on you."

"Screw Orion," she whispers. But she gets the point. The others probably wouldn't appreciate us making out in front of them. So Gemma bats her eyelashes at me and says, "Sweet dreams, Finnick."

I wink at her and turn away. Girls make things so complicated. The thought of Rock hovering over me, clutching a flail and hoping someone will come along that he can swing it at, isn't exactly comforting, but I'm exhausted enough that sleep comes quickly.