Chapter Eight

April had known it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, but the sight of Simm's face hovering over the arena before fading away still caused her to feel a pang of sorrow. Another young life lost to the Capitol's cruel Games. Another tribute from District 12 eliminated early. April had come to know Simm quite well during the time they had spent in the Capitol, though she had tried to avoid getting too close to him, knowing he was unlikely to last long once they were in the arena. And he hadn't; it must have been his cannon she heard firing late last night.

"Twelve years old," she thought out loud. "He was twelve years old." There was little doubt in her mind what had happened to Simm; he had been taken out by an older, stronger tribute, though she had no way of knowing who had killed him. She just knew he was dead, the thirty-first tribute from District 12 to fall in the Hunger Games, and wondered how long it would be before she became the thirty-second. Despite the knife she had found in Artemis's pack, she still didn't rate her chances, not while the Careers were out there. They were still the biggest threat in the arena, even though their pack contained one less tribute than it usually did; April knew she wouldn't stand a chance if she came up against all five.

And then there was Reef. She had seen him throwing spears in the Training Centre and knew he hardly ever missed. That meant, even though he only had Iago to back him up, he was still a potential threat, someone she should try to steer clear of. Though she doubted the Gamemakers would allow her to steer clear of anyone for long; they always took steps to make sure the tributes were manipulated into each other's paths, not that they showed any signs of doing so right now. The recent bloodbath, plus the two deaths which had occurred since, should satisfy the Capitol's bloodlust for the time being.

In the end, she decided that the best thing she could do was live each day in the arena as it came and try to stay alive for as long as possible. Which probably wouldn't be very long, but at least she now had a weapon with which to defend herself; if she did get jumped by one of her fellow tributes, she could try to inflict a few wounds with her knife. That way, no-one could accuse her of going down without a fight. As for Simm, the sad fact was that he was probably better off where he was now, somewhere he would never have to face starvation or the Hunger Games again, somewhere like the meadow in the song. Even so, she couldn't help thinking of him looking through the window of her parents' toy shop at toys his own parents would never be able to afford. Any toys Seam children had were either home-made or had passed through the hands of several previous owners already.

But April quickly dismissed the thought. There was nothing she could do for Simm now, but at least she could try to survive. With that in mind, she ate some of the squirrel which she had been cooking on her spit, then washed it down with a mouthful of water. Next, mindful of her fellow tributes, she extinguished her campfire and wrapped herself in her blanket in preparation for her second night in the arena.


As had been the case last night, April's sleep was troubled by bad dreams, dreams which involved many of the deaths she had witnessed while watching the Hunger Games. Often in these dreams, she became either the killer or the tribute who was being killed; waking, she would hope desperately that, if she opened her eyes, she would find herself back in District 12, only to find when she did open her eyes that she really was in the arena. The arena, the place where twenty-four kids had been sent to kill each other until only one of them was left. Eleven tributes were dead already, leaving thirteen who were currently still alive. And twelve out of those thirteen would also die.

Somehow, April managed to get through her second night in the arena. At daybreak, she packed up her things and prepared to move on, not knowing where she was going but determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and her fellow tributes, especially the Careers. They were ones most likely to kill her and, while she hadn't seen them (or anyone else apart from Artemis) since she fled from the Cornucopia, she knew they were out there. And she knew they would be more than ready to use their weapons against any tribute unlucky enough to cross their path. So she moved on, heading in a direction she hoped would take her as far from the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 as possible, though she had no way of knowing where they were and therefore couldn't be sure of avoiding them.

And then there was the question of water. April knew she would need to replenish her supply soon, but, after what had happened to Artemis, she was wary of any water she couldn't be 100% sure was safe to drink. Yet, if she didn't take her chances with a pond or a stream, she would be dead from dehydration within a few days. Unless, of course, one of her fellow tributes got her first. In the meantime she tried to ration her water as much as possible, but this still depleted her supply and she knew she would not be able to continue like this for much longer. She had to find some safe drinking water and she had to find it soon.

Just as she was wondering if she should risk stealing water from the Careers - assuming she could find out where they had made their base camp - she suddenly found herself dangling upside down from a tree, held up by a rope around her ankle. There was little doubt in her mind what had happened. One of the other tributes, though she had no way of knowing who, had set a trap and, while her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of water, she had walked right into it. She wondered if whoever had set the trap was waiting nearby, ready to run her through with a spear or shoot her with an arrow. Or, worse, was she going to be left in this tree to die of hunger and thirst? Either way, it seemed District 12 would soon be out of the running yet again.


Elsewhere in the arena, Columbus shouldered his backpack and prepared himself for another day of trying to avoid the Careers. With Zoe having died in the bloodbath, he was the only tribute District 6 had left to root for. As yet no district, not even District 2, had won two years in a row, but there was always a chance that this year, the year of the Sixteenth Hunger Games, would be the year in which last year's winning district retained the title. Of course, it was a very slim chance indeed, Columbus reflected. District 6 was one of the more urban districts, dominated by assembly plants and mechanics' workshops, its children's education geared towards preparing them for a career in the transport industry. Which was all well and good, but knowing how to build and maintain vehicles and roads wasn't much use in the arena.

He thought of Tacitus, the boy who had become District 6's first ever victor the previous year. Tacitus had won because he was physically stronger than most kids in 6; at 6' 2", he was the tallest tribute in the arena that year, so none of the other tributes had dared to mess with him. Except the boy from District 2 and Tacitus had finished him off by smashing his skull with a mace. Columbus, however, was no exceptional physical specimen and, while he had managed to obtain a decent backpack at the Cornucopia, he had not been able to get his hands on any weapons.

That was why he was trying to avoid the Careers, knowing they would not be able to pass up the opportunity to take him out should they find him. All day yesterday, he had been walking around the arena, constantly listening for any sounds which might indicate that they were nearby; if he heard anything, he would immediately turn and head in the opposite direction to the sound. This had kept him alive so far, but he knew that couldn't last, that he would sooner or later be forced into a confrontation he couldn't hope to win. All he could do was try to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

Meanwhile, he had personal business to attend to before he moved on; even in the arena, the call of nature still needed to be answered. Not allowing himself to think about the possibility that he might be onscreen right now, he turned to face the nearest tree, unzipped his trousers and began to relieve himself against the trunk. Just as he had finished and had refastened his trousers, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; turning, he saw the three female Careers (Velvet, Agrippina and Candida) standing there watching him. All of them were armed - Velvet with a spear, Agrippina with a bow, Candida with a sword - and Columbus knew from the look in their eyes that they meant business.

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to defuse the situation. "Haven't you seen a guy take a leak before?"

"Shut up!" Velvet pointed her spear at him. She whistled, clearly a pre-arranged signal because, the next thing Columbus knew, Faberge and Flint were emerging from the trees. They too were carrying weapons; Faberge had a sword and Flint had a lethal-looking axe. "We've found one," Velvet told the boys from Districts 1 and 2. "District 6." She gestured towards Columbus who, outnumbered by five to one, was desperately trying to decide whether or not he should try to make a run for it.

In the end, he hesitated a fraction of a second too long. He turned to run, but Faberge grabbed him and forced him to the ground. Columbus kicked and struggled, attempting to get back up, only for Faberge to call on his fellow Careers to help him. Soon, Columbus's arms and legs had been tied with rope from Agrippina's backpack; there was no way the District 6 boy could escape now. And the Careers knew it. All they had to do now was decide which of them should be the one to make the kill.

"I'll do it," Candida said after a while. With that, she walked towards Columbus with her sword drawn, a grim expression etched on her face. Tied hand and foot, Columbus could do nothing but close his eyes to avoid having to look at the girl who was about to murder him and brace himself for the end. Candida stood over her victim and raised her sword. "Just like gutting a fish," she said, slicing open his belly and causing his guts to spill out. Her voice was the last sound Columbus ever heard; he passed out from the pain almost immediately and was dead within minutes.

The moment the cannon had fired, the Careers moved off, leaving Columbus lying where he had died, his insides exposed and his arms and legs still tied. As they walked, Velvet, Faberge, Agrippina and Flint took it in turns to pat Candida on the back and congratulate her on making the pack's first kill since the bloodbath.


From her position, dangling upside down from the branches of a tree, April heard the boom of the cannon. She knew only too well what it meant; another tribute had died, making twelve of them in total. This was only the third day of the Games and the number of tributes in the arena had already been halved. She wondered whose cannon she had just heard and whether the killer or killers might be somewhere nearby. If they were and they found her like this, she would be in serious trouble; suspended by her ankle, she would be unable to escape if anyone decided to stick a spear in her or shoot her with arrows. Was that how her Games were going to end? She hoped not; she would have preferred a more dignified death than becoming a human pin cushion.

At that moment, she noticed that someone was looking up at her: Helen, the girl tribute from District 9. Helen spent several minutes staring at her, until April began to grow impatient. "Don't just stand there!" she snapped. "If you're going to kill me, kill me!" She fully expected Helen to take her at her word - these were the Hunger Games, after all - but Helen, though she did pull a knife out of her belt, did not attempt to stab her with it. Instead, she began to cut through the rope from which April was suspended, sending her plunging to the ground.

"You OK?" Helen asked once April had caught her breath.

April could only shake her head in disbelief, wondering what Helen was up to. The District 9 girl had, it seemed, just saved her life. But why? What was the point in saving someone's life when you knew they might have to kill you later? Unless Helen's plan was to kill her first. But, then, why hadn't she killed her while she was still suspended from the tree? Why hadn't she simply walked away and left her to die? Untying the rope around her ankle, April put both questions to Helen, who responded with a slight shrug.

"That trap wasn't meant for you," she replied. "I was trying to get one of the Careers. I hate them." A look of disgust crossed her face for a moment. "They killed Alexander."

"That . . . was your district partner, wasn't it?" said April, remembering when she had watched the District 9 reaping with Ganymede and Simm. Helen nodded. "Then you must be Helen," April added, as Helen nodded again. "I'm April . . ." Then, unable to think of anything else to say, she added: "Did you really set that trap?"

"Yes, that's how I got my eight in training. Because I remembered seeing someone do something similar one year and thought I'd try it for myself. It seemed to work pretty well when I used it on a dummy, but I wasn't sure if it would work if I tried it for real. Though I wish I could have dangled one of the Gamemakers by the ankle," Helen added, giggling slightly at the mental picture this conjured up.

"Well, that probably wouldn't have been a good idea," April said, though she found it hard to resist the urge to start laughing. Even though she had been hanging by her ankle only moments before, she felt a certain sense of glee at the thought of it happening to one of the people who were overseeing these Games. "They might have thought it was too rebellious." She knew that, if she and Helen had had any cameras trained on them in the last few minutes, the Gamemakers would have switched to a camera elsewhere in the arena the moment Helen mentioned what she had done in her private session. That was information no tribute was supposed to divulge. All the same, April took the precaution of lowering her voice to make it harder for any hidden microphones to pick up.


"Allies?" Helen asked, after she and April had spent several minutes looking at each other, unable to think of anything to say.

April paused. It sounded as though Helen wanted to be allies with her, but she couldn't help wondering why. Tributes from other districts did not form alliances with those from District 12 very often, though that was mainly because District 12 tributes rarely lived long enough. Was Helen trying to gain her trust in order to make it easier for her to kill her? She said the trap had been meant for the Careers, but she would have been well within the rules to kill any tribute who got caught in it. But she hadn't; she had cut April free instead, so she obviously didn't want her dead just yet. That was what made April say: "OK then" and hold her hand out for Helen to shake.

"Allies," Helen said again, taking April's hand and shaking it. This was the way in which tributes sealed alliances with each other, pledging to fight together, to watch each other's backs. But alliances in the Hunger Games could only go so far. Even as they shook hands, April and Helen both knew there would come a time when something happened to bring their partnership to an end. Sooner or later, one or both of them would die and the longer they managed to stay alive, the more likely it was that one of them would have to kill the other. All the same, April thought to herself, it would be nice to have some company in the arena, even if it was only for a little while.

April and Helen moved off, both of them keeping their knives ready in case they had to defend themselves, constantly on the alert for any sounds which might indicate that one or more of their fellow tributes were nearby. April had to admit that it was good to have someone watching her back and she suspected Helen felt the same. But she dared not let her guard down too much, knowing that no tribute could ever completely trust any of the others. Even the tributes in the Career pack would eventually begin to turn on each other, to attack and kill those who had previously been their allies; April had seen it happen before.

The rest of the morning passed without incident; neither April nor Helen saw any of their fellow tributes, ten of whom were still alive. Towards noon, as the pair walked together, they found themselves speculating about which tribute had died earlier, whose cannon had fired just before Helen found April caught up in her trap. "I don't suppose it could have been one of the Careers, could it?" said Helen, ducking to avoid an overhanging branch.

"I doubt it," replied April. She too ducked under the branch. "Not at this stage. But I guess we'll find out tonight if . . ." She broke off suddenly as her ears registered a loud buzzing noise coming from somewhere nearby. "What's that?"

Before Helen could reply, the source of the buzzing was revealed. A large swarm of wasps was bearing down on the two girls, but they were not ordinary wasps; their larger size and their solid gold bodies gave that away instantly. And neither April nor Helen needed anyone to tell them what the wasps were.

Tracker jackers!