"We talked for two hours and they edited our responses to fit their time slot," Richard snapped. "What happened to all the stuff not used? And I don't know about you two," he said pointing at Susanna and Rebecca, "but some of my answers were modified."
"I told you this show competes for viewers outside the Capital District. They need drama to capture viewers. If you ever question them about any discrepancy, they'll call it creative license. As to the rest of your interview material, what do you think they use during dull periods on your personal channel," Vicky asked.
Their mentor turned off the television, but remained standing by the bar.
"As you know, the twist to the Second Quell is the hidden cornucopia and the new sponsor setup. I'll give you my final tips for the game, but there is nothing more I can do. All mentors have been kept in the dark regarding the new sponsorship process, so keep alert. Same with this hidden cornucopia, I have no idea what our Game Master has planned."
Over the next hour, Vicky touched on as many topics as she could regarding the game. She warned the girls about overstaying their welcome in any alliance. She stressed the need to find the basic survival necessities, food, water, weapons, and shelter. Vicky warned Richard about getting caught in any tight places since others might try hunting him as a pack.
The clock bonged the hour. Vicky brought over three vials. She handed each the vial with their name. She poured water into their glasses.
"The medication is a sedative. When you awaken, you'll be in the dressing room with three hours to game time. Don't try faking sleep, your biofeedback chips will tell them if you do. The needle is worse. Take it from one who learned that the hard way."
XXXXX
An incessant noise punctured the darkness. Richard tried holding onto the fragments of the dream without success. His palm slapped the red button and the irritating sound ended. He wondered if the silence wasn't worse.
Like the first time, he awoke naked. As he swung his legs over the bed's edge, he examined the room. On one side, the facilities. Across the room, a bench with his clothing. In one corner, the game platform. Next to it, the countdown timer.
Zero days - two hours - fifty-nine minutes, with the seconds clicking off too fast to read.
His clothing sat on a shelf, folded as if there for sale at some store. The color didn't appeal to him, its predominant color, grey and brown patches intermixed with irregular black lines. The one distinctive feature, the red number sixteen on his right sleeve. Large enough for the cameras, but muted to the human eye. He dressed fast, wanting as much time wearing what must last him a week or more. At least everything was a perfect fit, unlike his shoes while training.
Somebody had replaced the bed with a virtual smorgasbord while he dressed. The table contained all manner of breakfast foods. Vicky's description of the pre-game feast didn't do it justice. So much food for the taking. The Game Master must be a bit paranoid as he provided no utensils. The thought of attacking somebody with a paper plate made him giggle.
He followed his mentor's suggestion to eat at a slow pace. Best to be full but not stuffed. The same with the drink. Better to be a little thirsty than wondering if your kidneys would suddenly void themselves.
Richard followed a game day routine he used while playing sports. He ate until sated, used the facilities, and performed a few light warm-up exercises. When he finished his exercises, he returned to the food table and repeated the same pattern. He concentrated on foods high on protein and fruit juices until a mechanical voice announced final call for food. Richard washed down his last meal with water before returning to the toilet.
Time continued its progress. Richard kept his back to the countdown clock. He finished his stretching exercises just as the computer voice announced the closing of the bathroom in two minutes. He relieved the pressure on his kidneys and exited just as the computer voice ordered him to vacate the room.
For the first time since he awoke, Richard checked the clock.
Zero days - Zero hours - fifteen minutes.
When the countdown timer reached the ten minute mark, his live feed started to broadcast. At eight minutes, he must step onto the platform. On the five minute mark, a bio scanner confirmed he carried no food or water into the arena. It also verified he hid no contraband, such as weapons or equipment that might give him an unfair advantage. When the countdown timer hit the three minute mark, the tube sealed him onto the platform. Richard had to admire the people running the game, everything adhered to the schedule.
Inside the tube, it reminded him of the simulators. Everywhere he looked, a uniformed grey. He saw nothing beyond the plastic surface that surrounded him. For one crazy moment, Richard wondered if this might be some elaborate hoax, a simulation. He pinched himself and felt the sensation. In all his previous encounters with the simulators, he could neither touch himself nor experience any pain before they operated. Yes, this is all too real.
A mechanical voice intruded on his solitude. "Prepare for assent. Thirty seconds . . . twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight . . . ."
Existence narrowed down to a mechanical voice that hadn't stopped. "Eighteen . . . seventeen . . . sixteen . . . ."
The grey around him faded from top to bottom. Though the platform rose, he remained underground. Blackness, total and absolute, surrounded him. As if on command, six lights appeared above him. Rope ladders unrolled as they fell to the ground. A check around him revealed five other tributes standing on darkened platforms, each facing one of the hanging ladders. The Game Master told the truth, the cornucopia remained hidden.
Richard tried scanning the darkness, but what little light entered, did not add sufficient details to the underground chamber. It did nothing more than illuminate the upper segment of the rope ladder. The countdown passed the ten-second mark.
He needed time. In every game the initial starting location contained useful items. What he could see within the cavern remained devoid of anything useful. No weapons, supplies, or essential equipment within his line of sight. Even worse, where were the other thirty tributes? He knew the audience demanded an initial bloodbath. The countdown timer became silent; less than five seconds remained.
Time expired. The opening gong sounded and Richard reacted. He ignored the room and made for the nearest rope ladder. Good thing he practiced on this item during the training phase. He knew his time ranked quite high on this particular obstacle. He grabbed two of the ladder's rungs. He pulled himself upward using his arms until he secured both feet on the ladder.
Richard kept his eyes focused on the light. First time he tried the rope ladder, he looked down and froze. He couldn't afford that happening a second time. He focused on the top. He drove himself for more speed. If he got out before the other tributes, it might give him a distinct advantage.
Daylight and solid ground never looked, or felt, so good. As he cleared the opening, he located the manhole cover. Richard rolled the heavy metal disk over the entrance. It fell into place, sealing the hole to anyone using the same ladder. That made him think of the other openings. Did he have time to block them?
Another tribute struggled to reach the surface. His hesitation cost him. At each of the other five holes, tributes appeared. Whatever advantage Richard had before they exited the cavern vanished. The odds shifted to them if the cavern floor had contained anything he missed.
People always considered sports nothing more than a physical battle. They overlooked other aspects of a game only players experienced. Richard had a sixth-sense when it came to danger. It alerted him to the linebacker coming in fast from his blind side. He trusted that feeling and right now it was sending him a loud distress signal. Something didn't fit.
Every nerve screamed a warning that told him he must run. He didn't question that inner sense of danger. Richard fled from the manhole. He raced down the street he faced, determined to put as much distance between him and whatever threat he had somehow missed. As he ran, his mind tried to grasp the danger.
It hit him. As he exited the underground cavern, a six-sided clock counting downward sat on a patch of grass visible from any of the manholes. Two things didn't make any sense. In all the prior games, the tributes lacked any means of telling time since it wasn't important. There was a clock on the television, but it counted up, marking the game's duration.
What makes a second countdown necessary? Richard turned around, facing the traffic circle where the game started. Even at his distance, he could read the clock. Less than five seconds remained. The last tick of the timer expired and the clock's light darkened.
The ground shook hard enough that Richard almost lost his balance. The tremor affected the other five tributes a lot worse since they were closer to the manholes. Not one maintained their footing. Just as the ground movement ended, five columns of flame shot fifty feet into the air.
A sixth one went up just half as high. The manhole cover Richard had dropped in place rose atop the flames. It spun end over end like the flip coin some demonic referee tossed into the air. Again, Richard's inner sense of danger clamored for attention. He didn't need it, the menace quite apparent. Like some missile, the metallic disk raced towards him. Richard ran.
He dashed down the street at an angle, trying to put distance between him and the projectile. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed its direction and he moved away from the anticipated landing area. The heavy clang and the sound of the manhole cover rolling across the cobbled streets had Richard dodging into the first alley he passed. He pressed his back against the building until the sound of metal ceased.
Richard had all the clues he needed. This arena represented a deserted city, perhaps even a major one. He knew the location of the five tributes behind him. If the column of flames ahead of him represented a similar setup, he had a general idea where six other tributes struggled.
Another oddity came to Richard's mind. Instead of the game platforms being circular, they were in the shape of a hexagon. He wondered if the other tributes came up in a similar traffic circle. The six must form a circle around the cornucopia. He knew the general location of two, so if he faced one and had his back to the second, the cornucopia must be somewhere to the left or right. He needed a higher vantage point.
Somewhere and everywhere the sound reverberated. The cannon signaled a tribute's death. He tried keeping a count, but the surrounding buildings distorted the sound. He couldn't remember if it boomed earlier. If he survived this first day, he could find out who and how many once night settled over the arena.
Further down the alley and against the far wall, a trash dumpster. He raced over and lifted each lid. It contained nothing. Richard trotted to the end of the alley. It branched left and right, but did not exit into another street. He could remain out of sight by standing on either side, but anyone coming into the alley would trap him there.
Richard needed a weapon and a plan. Two loose bricks placed in his pockets gave him something better than his fists. He returned to the dumpster and pushed it closer to the fire escape. When he stood atop the dumpster, the fire escape hung just beyond his outstretched hands. He vaulted off the dumpster and reached for the nearest rung. It should have come down but rust locked it in the up position. He climbed the metal rungs like he did the rope.
At the fourth floor landing, he hesitated. An open window offered him concealment within the room. It seemed too providential. Richard climbed over the railing and shuffled along the building's wide stone ledge. He managed to make the turn without loosing his footing, which must be a fatal fall at this height. He used one brick and smashed in the first window he reached. Once he knocked out all the glass, Richard entered the room. For the moment, he felt safe.
Voices announced the arrival of others. Richard moved away from the window, feeling exposed in a vacant room. He chided himself for such stupidity. His mentor gave him two warnings, avoid congested areas and beware of gangs. Inside a room, he ignored the first. Outside the building, the second threat approached.
"I'm telling you, he ran this way," said one female voice.
"Why did you stop chasing that other guy? I told you Richard never made it out, he was on the ladder," a male voice said.
A second female voice had that exasperated sound teachers made with a dense student. "You're wrong, I saw him run when that manhole cover flew towards him. That's why I sided with Jasmine. Our biggest threat is Richard."
"None of us have a real weapon," the boy said. "A rusty piece of metal isn't much of a club."
"He's unarmed and alone," said Jasmine. "Three against one, it's enough, so stop your whining."
The other female's voice chirped in an excited manner. "Somebody moved that dumpster. See how the gravel's been disturbed?"
Richard dared not move. Somebody flipped the lid to the dumpster open, but it clanged shut a few seconds later. The silence proved worse than their earlier conversations. Where he stood, he had no way of determining what they might be doing.
The sound of metal hitting metal alerted him to their location. Verification came when several boots clumped on the fire escape. He ran into an adjacent room and risked a quick look. Three tributes climbed the rusty ladder until they stood outside the open window. He wasn't in there, but would they search the other rooms?
He didn't intend dying on the first day and in the first hour of the game. Richard took a fighter's stance, a brick in each hand. Not the best of weapons, but better than his fists. The room had one door, that might work to his advantage if he could keep them from entering the place. Plans of attack and defense flew through his mind as he considered the possibilities.
The cannon boomed three times in rapid succession. It didn't make sense. What happened? He remained in the room, awaiting the arrival of those who climbed the ladder. Nobody rattled the doorknob or kicked in the door. Was it possible that the cannon signaled the death of the three chasing him?
Curiosity got the better of him. Richard shoved the bricks back into his pockets and yanked the door open. He sprinted to the far end of the hallway towards the fire exit sign that swayed on one nail. He hesitated a moment, fearing they might still be searching the apartment. A raised boot and a firm kick gave him entry to the room.
He remained outside. A visual inspection showed no signs of the tributes or any danger. Richard knew three entered the room before the cannon fired. Try as he might, he couldn't see anything that would have caused their quick death. Richard tired of the puzzle, but considered it his good fortune that it saved him from his own stupidity.
Time to leave this place. He backtracked until he again stood on the fire escape. The first time he crossed the ledge, it scared him. The second time proved no easier. Richard hesitated by the open window. His first thought, get as far away as possible, but he still needed a high vantage point. He climbed to the roof.
That inner alarm bell clamored for attention. Danger lurked, but where? If he climbed onto the roof, could there be another trap? Richard couldn't risk it. He held onto the low wall and inched his way along a very narrow ledge. One brick dislodged, but he maintained his grip. He needed to act; he swung his legs over the wall and dropped onto the roof.
Nothing happened. So far, so good. Richard probed the rooftop as he worked his way closer to the fire escape. When he found the pressure plate, he sighed in relief. The thing brought back memories of fixing rat traps in the school's basement. Handle it wrong and the trap snapped on your fingers. If you were lucky, you would have a bad bruise. In this instance, bad luck would have your chance of survival reduced to zero.
It didn't take a genius to figure out how to disarm the trap. Doing it was another matter. Richard's fingertips turned red and tender as he removed four wires by unscrewing a locking nut that encircled each wire. Curiosity had him examine the immediate area, looking for whatever the wires triggered. In a recess hidden by a flimsy piece of tar paper he found the first claymore mine.
Now that he knew what to look for, finding the other three proved easy. As far as he could tell, anyone standing either on the presser plate or between it and the fire escape would be killed. Since he removed the wires, he had nothing to fear. For the moment, he felt safe. Nobody could approach him unseen. Come nighttime, he might reattach the wires and any tribute attempting to attack him would set off the trap.
If he camped near the center of the roof, he remained hidden from view. Nothing could be called a safe haven in the game but anyone coming up the fire escape would announce their presence. Richard had no intention of letting them go down alive. One way to the roof remained, a stairway door on the opposite side of the building.
"Two ways up here, bet there's a second pressure plate right outside that door," Richard muttered. "I'll leave it alone and nobody can surprise me."
Vicky stressed the importance of voicing his strategies whenever alone. Sponsors loved knowing what their particular tribute planned. A favorable impression translated into additional funding. Even an unfavorable one might persuade somebody to invest in his future just to see if his crazy idea worked.
Not that it proved too helpful. In all the previous games, sponsor gifts drifted down on parachutes, a loud pinging sound announcing their arrival. This year, the Game Master changed the rules. In this game, tributes must contact their mentors regarding anything needed from the sponsors.
Game Master Oren omitted the how. For some reason, the idea of phoning them, or waiting for the mailman to make a special delivery sprang to mind. He kept imagining old man Johnson riding his rickety bike down the street while wearing his messenger's hat, calling out his name, and ringing that tinny bell on the handlebars. The more he thought about it, the harder he laughed.
Focus, he needed to focus. He approached the street side wall. A vast city stretched out in all directions, yet he knew some type of force field encircled the arena, limiting the range of tributes wandering throughout the place. He searched the landscape, hoping to find a clue regarding the location of the cornucopia. If only it had been that easy.
Everywhere he looked remained in long shadows. That thought brought him back to the reality of the game. Richard worked so hard disarming the trap, finding the four explosives, and checking out the rest of the roof, that he lost all track of time. A turn to his right revealed a half circle of sun above the horizon. In another hour, darkness would make moving too dangerous. Best he hunker down for the night. He just hoped it didn't get too cold.
Richard remembered five other tributes in his cavern. Richard thought three died in the room below him. If the one tribute spoke the truth, the remaining person in their group ran in the opposite direction. He didn't think the fellow would double back. So for tonight, he could leave the Game Master's trap unarmed.
He recalled Vicky saying the arena covered a twenty-five mile circle. In all the prior games, the tributes started at the very center. This time, they entered the arena somewhere near the outer edge. The cornucopia must be near that central spot, but finding it would be the biggest challenge. Make a wrong turn and he would loose valuable time.
His second priority, contacting his mentor and thereby getting to his sponsors. The how had to be something both obvious and hidden. As much as he laughed about postal service or a telephone, it could be that transparent. Tomorrow, while he made his way towards the center of the arena, he would look for anything resembling a communications station.
Survival depended on it. He could go without food for the duration of the game. Not a wise thing as he had to maintain his strength, but given a choice not his highest priority. Water he must have. A person couldn't last longer than three days without it. Something told him there were few lakes or rivers in this city and he bet the force field around the arena kept the place dry.
Music played. The introductory fanfare ended and a new song started. This one he recognized, the National Anthem of Panem. He stared up at the sky, now replaced by a grid of some unknown energy. A third of the way into the song, a massive sign appeared.
"Give honor to those who have fallen."
That message faded and the faces of the tributes appeared. Richard anticipated a picture of his brother, but it didn't appear. The very last face, and therefore the first to die, surprised him. Susanna's face smiled down on him for a few seconds before the music stopped. He remembered how her record on the obstacle course didn't impress anyone. Richard guessed she must have fallen from the rope ladder or tried finding an alternative way out of her cavern. Either one proved fatal.
A moment later, the energy grid reappeared. Vicky told him the audience didn't get to see this portion of the game. It was strictly for the surviving tributes. The Game Master knew few kept track of how many times the cannon sounded, so he projected a count. Somebody figured this inspired the remaining tributes as it gave them hope. It came in three colors, red at the top, yellow in the middle, and green at the bottom. It let you know how many were dead, injured, and unharmed. His mentor called it the traffic light.
13 - Red
03 - Yellow
20 - Green.
Richard felt good knowing he was green.