The audience seems unsure how to react; a number laughed, a hesitant, stilted thing that died pretty quickly when I didn't share in the joke. Caesar rallies admirably, but in the end, I think I achieve my goal of unnerving everyone. The looks I receive from my fellow Tributes are wary or fearful, but the Careers have already been ushered away by the time I leaves the stage.
Finnick escorts me to our vehicle, and spends our trip back to my rooms staring at me with an unreadable look in his eyes. His face is stern, all evidence of the playful flirt gone. He's quiet until we reach the elevator.
"I just don't get you," he says.
I roll my eyes. "What's there to get?"
"Your plan from the beginning was to stay under the radar and not draw attention to yourself. How is what you said tonight going to accomplish anything but?"
His question makes me angry, and I'm about to snap back at him when I hold myself back. He's not wrong. I make myself think back, and dredge up the emotions I've been trying to ignore for the past week. Anger, yes, and frustration...but also a twinge of impatience and fear.
Suddenly, I'm just feeling tired. I take a deep breath and let it out, stepping out of the elevator and into our suites. It's empty save for the two of us; we've even beat the silent servants back. "I'm sick of this show, Finnick. I just want it over with."
"I get that, believe me, I do." His hand rests on my shoulder reassuringly. "I've seen it in other Tributes, too. The tension gets to be too much, and they lash out in some way. But you can't let that happen."
"I know. I don't want the other Tributes to target me, we've talked about this befo—"
"You think I'm worried about the Tributes?" Finnick cuts me off, an intense look on his face. "Celia, trust me. There's nothing the people running the Games hate more than being shown up. You play by their rules, inside and outside the arena, and even then..."
He waves off the rest of whatever he was going to say. It's the first hint I've had that maybe everything isn't as it appears on the surface. I say the words that he hesitates to speak. "No Tribute wins the Games. The Capitol is the only winner. They won't let anyone else win."
Finnick and I stare into each others' eyes. I think we're finally on the same page. "You launch tomorrow, and then you'll be in the thick of it," he says. "Don't do anything that might be misconstrued by anyone. I won't see you tomorrow, I'll be leaving early for the Mentors' lounge where we manage all the potential sponsors." A half smirk lights across his face. "Maybe they'll like your little announcement there. I'll see what I can do. Any requests?"
I pretend to think about it for a moment. "Signed naked picture of the sultry Finnick Odair?"
"Ha!" He pushes me towards my room. "Go to bed, you lunatic. Try to get some sleep, eh?"
"Sure, sure." I take a few steps towards my bedroom as he heads towards his own. I stop at the top of the stairs and turn back. "Oh, Finnick?"
He looks my way, and I say, "See you in a few weeks."
His face is blank for a moment before he smiles a genuine smile. "Damned if I don't think you will, sweetie."
I'm sitting in a seat near the front of the hovercraft as we lift off to the arena. There wasn't anything in particular that I remembered about this arena, except maybe...flooding? That didn't tell me much of anything. There are a lot of ways a flood could happen.
The atmosphere in the craft is full of anxiety and fear, from the majority of the Tributes. I can see a couple trying to keep themselves from hyperventilating or vomiting, and a few seem to have settled into a shocked docility, as if having come to terms with their imminent demise. By contrast, Neo and Geo are laughing and joking with each other, and Anthony is leaning back in his seat with a smile on his face.
My seat is directly across from Helena's, the girl from One, which is awkward and uncomfortable, since she seems to have taken my matching her score personally. She just sits there and glares at me, and it's a little unnerving. "You want something?" I ask, just to break the tension.
"Your blood on my knives," she answers.
I blink in surprise, and she smirks. "Well," I respond, "ask a stupid question, eh?"
She won't let me leave the Cornucopia. Well, that's just fine. If I have to cut my way through her, so be it.
A few more minutes pass before we land. The ramp lowers, and I take a look around as we funnel out the hovercraft. We're in an underground bunker of some sort, about a hundred yards below the retractable roof I can just make out through the shadows. Floodlights illuminate our landing area and a walkway that leads into the bedrock and, probably, to our launch rooms.
Reva's here, and so are the rest of the stylists, to guide us to our destination. I mutely let her guide me along the curving tunnel with the others until we come to my room. Inside, I disrobe and put on the synthetic polymer material left for me. It fits snugly against my skin, dense and warm. "A cool environment, I think," Reva murmurs, and I nod in agreement.
"Sixty seconds to launch," a voice squeaks from a speaker.
I finish getting dressed, and step into the tube once it opens. I turn and meet Reva's eyes, and for the first time I see something other than her usual cool gaze. It's not much; a light furrow in her brow, some tension around her mouth.
I smile at her and mouth, "Don't worry."
Then the countdown is finishing, and I'm rising up out of the tube into the arena.
The sun is shining directly overhead, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. And when they do, I swear. There aren't many environments I wouldn't have an advantage in, but this one is one of them.
We're in a canyon.
The walls rise steeply at almost perpendicular angles to the ground, grooved and ridged. Climbing might be possible, but everyone would see you. There's a river running to my left about fifty feet wide, the water rushing past fairly swiftly; a weak swimmer probably wouldn't make it across. Spread out around the Cornucopia are crates, weapons, and packs of various sizes. And in the distance, past the silvery metallic horn, is a dam.
I look around again, searching for something...there. And there, there, dotted all along the walls that I can see are caves. Who knows how deep they are, but I'd bet that they're more than just a few feet deep. That must be where they expect us to run to: a cave system, where we'd be stumbling along in the dark, into each other or whatever hazards exist inside.
There are three Tributes to my left, none of them recognizable. Five over to my right is Geo. I take note of where the Careers are arrayed, and find a bit of smug satisfaction that Helena is the last on the very end of our half-circle. I send a smirk her way, and I can tell she can see it. Wonderful.
A soft gasp reaches my ears, mere seconds before a blast nearly shatters my eardrums. There are cries as the other Tributes stumble around on their pedestals, and the dust clears to show the remains of what had been the girl from Five. She must have dropped something onto the ground and set off a mine, blowing her to smithereens. I think I can make out a hand on one of the backpacks littering the arena.
Well, one down. Twenty-two to go.
The countdown clock ticks down. Thirty-six, thirty-five. I steady my breathing, keeping my heart rate low. Twenty-seven, Twenty-six. I roll my shoulders and shake out my arms. Twenty, Nineteen.
I glance around at the other Tributes. A few seemed unnerved, on the verge of panic, at the fate of the dead girl.
Fourteen. Thirteen.
Perhaps they're just now realizing how real this is.
Eleven. Ten.
Live or die.
Seven. Six.
I cannot die.
Five.
I will not die.
Four.
I am a blade.
Three.
I am one with the shadows.
Two.
There will be only one.
One.
It will be me.
Zero.
I launch myself forward, sprinting all-out for the sleek katana leaning against a crate. I get there and grab it, spinning and swinging at the arm of a Tribute. It cuts deep, sliding through skin and muscle and bone almost effortlessly. Another swipe slices through the startled Tribute's throat. I turn to avoid the spray of blood, deflecting a spear thrust from a terrified Tribute. He backs away, stumbling, only to fall forward, a knife in his back.
I knock away another knife, thrown by Helena, and then have to backpedal as Geo is coming at me with his own sword, a large, heavy blade that looks as if it could cut through a person in one slice. I parry his swings, deflecting his blows and keeping him between Helena and me, until he finally overswings.
Then I'm inside his guard, slicing deep into his thigh. He screams, and I wrench the blade away, knocking back a wild swing as blood starts gushing from his severed femoral artery. But now, there's no one between me and Helena. I spin, ready for anything, only to see her running full out towards a cave. Anthony and Gladiola are at the mouth, she with a bow and arrow, covering Helena from pursuit. They have three or four backpacks between them, and a few more weapons I take stock, and dive back into the fray.
A few kills later, and aside from the boy from Eleven—Titus, I think his name was—all of the other Tributes have fled or died.
I keep my eye on the retreating Careers as I turn my attention to Titus. He's gathering backpacks together, a wicked-looking saber sheathed on his thigh. I watch as he strips weapons from the dead, and rises to meet my eyes.
I'm covered in blood, can feel it sticking to my blonde hair and neck. I can even feel it through my clothes, wet and sticky, and still warm. He's not quite as soaked as I am, though you can tell he's been in a fight. And that he won it, since he seems completely unharmed.
Then, the canon blasts start. I count, one, two, three...nine. Nine dead. A quick look around tells me that they're all here, spread out around the Cornucopia. There's Geo, and I see Nero lying dead not far from Titus. Six other bodies, and...the crater that's the only evidence left of the girl from Five.
Titus and I stare at each other, until he breaks the silence. "I got no beef with you."
I hesitate, then lower my sword. "Same here."
He noticeably relaxes. He's not relaxed, but not quite on edge, either. "So?" he asks.
"So what?" I ask back.
"So, are you gonna help me take what we want, then throw the rest in the river?"
I think about it for a moment, then a smile breaks out on my face. "Sure. Pick out the weapons you want, and I'll throw the rest away. Just leave me a couple of knives, would you?"
He grunts and strides over to the rack. I move to take stock of all the backpacks, emptying them and organizing their contents. Sleeping bags, canteens, medicine, bandages, knives. Rope, several pairs of climbing cleats, picks, shovels—climbing equipment. I take most of the redundant supplies and dump them in the water, leaving enough of what's left for the two of us. I pack a set in one of the backpacks for me, and leave the rest out for Titus, so he can pack what he wants.
After a break near the river, using the opportunity to rinse off as much of the blood as I can (surprisingly, it washes right out of my clothes), I move on to the crates, opening them and finding packs and packs of food. Dried meats, fruit, vegetables, bottles of water, even a few boxes of candy. I sort that, too, and by the time I'm done, Titus is walking towards me.
He stops a half dozen steps away, and tosses me a bag with a single strap. "Take what you want, I've got what I need." He steps over with one of his own and we start packing food into our bags. I notice he put another katana and a pair of knives in my bag and shoot him a smile of thanks.
Once we're done with the food and Titus has packed what he wants, and we've dumped the rest, the two of us stand facing each other. It's a little awkward, and if we were to start fighting now, I'd be at a disadvantage, but he makes no move to attack and neither do I.
Instead, he nods at me once. "I think if we'd met outside of the Games, we could have been friends," he says, almost whimsically.
I grin back at him. "Yeah, you're not so bad of a guy yourself. I hope someone kills you so I don't have to," I joke. It's macabre, but that's what the Hunger Games do to you.
He chuckles. "Right back at you, girl." He hesitates for a moment, then sticks his hand out.
I meet it and we shake, once. He turns and heads downriver, and I go up, ducking into a cave about a quarter-mile upstream. It's well-hidden, behind some shrubs and rocks, and a few aesthetic adjustments hide it almost completely from sight—and a few traps ensure I won't be killed in my sleep. I spread out my sleeping bag at the back wall where the cave ends, and lay down for some well-deserved rest.
Nine down, fourteen to go.
