Rose felt a little guilty allying with Xavier without consulting Zender, but he didn't seem to care that much. In truth, she should have killed him. She was still puzzling out why she didn't. He was so quiet the whole day, and Rose knew he could turn on them at any moment, and they probably wouldn't be ready to fight him. But, god, he'd looked so terrible - red-rimmed eyes, pale, paler than he'd been during training, and he didn't sleep. Rose was on watch, and she saw him turned against the tree, eyes blinking. She could tell he was crying by the quiet gasps coming from where he lay. Rose could sense the same resignation Jack, her district partner, had had in Xavier now.
She came to the Games to fight, but fighting someone who's already given up? She wanted to save her district, but she also wanted the glory that came with it. Did this really deserve it? She used to think so. But did she deserve more glory than Ari if she made it through? What was troubling her the most was going over everybody's stories in her head. Ari had been braver than all of them, maybe, and Zender had Alex back at home, he'd told her in whispers the night before, and she could remember the tributes who had little siblings, families to take care of, tributes who had lived lives before coming here. Even Xavier had the District One girl.
But Rose? Her whole entire life had been spent trying to train for the Games. That was all she had to say for herself. Where was her story? Why had that been taken from her? And how hadn't she noticed?
-::-::-::-::-::-
The morning their alliance was severed, Anchora and Hazel realized that they were out of supplies. No food, no water, nothing. They'd had one pack and a few things scrounged from the first night and the Games had been going for a week and a half. It was only a matter of time. Anchora had reached into their bag, felt around desperately for anything other than wrappers, and then looked up and solemnly shook his head. They'd kept themselves alive by staying hidden in a cave, away from the fighting that had been going on, but now they had to leave. It was that or starve.
So they left. And only a few hours later, they were running away.
Warden Sandler, the District Ten boy was running them down, chasing them, knife pointed at the ready. Following closely in tow was Zeek, the twelve-year-old from Nine, who was having a little trouble keeping up, but not much. Hazel didn't know how long she and Anchora had been running, but if she had to take a guess, she'd say about an hour. It probably would have gone on longer than that, but just when it looked like they'd had lost their pursuers, Hazel tripped, hearing a crack in her ankle and feeling an instant rush of pain. She cried out, and Anchora stopped, backtracking, slinging her arm around his shoulder as she limped.
But he couldn't carry both of them. Collapsing to the ground again, Hazel heaved, all the exhaustion catching up with her at once, emptying the small contents of her stomach while her ankle pulsed with pain. Warden and Zeek were nowhere in sight. She looked up at Anchora through the curtain of her hair, greasy with sweat. "Go. I can't - just go, Anchora." She was trying to be brave, trying to sacrifice herself, but in truth, she was scared and she didn't want to be alone.
It looked like he was debating it. His feet shifted away. They'd ran out into some sort of field, and Hazel felt naked, like everyone could see them without the shelter of the cave, or the trees. But Anchora shook his head. Hazel took a few deep breaths, trying to ease her nausea. After a few moments, she said, "I think we lost them."
Anchora wordlessly - always, always wordlessly - helped Hazel to her feet and they started slowly making their way across the field. They were probably about halfway through when Warden and Zeek broke through the forest and came bounding after them. She felt Anchora tense next to her, and though Hazel was still trembling with fear, she knew what she had to do. "Anchora, go. You have to go," she said, just as Warden stopped about a yard away from her, hand gripping his knife. Hazel pulled her knife out of her boot.
And after just a moment of hesitation, Anchora did what he was told and turned on his heel and started running. Warden, startled by the sudden movement, without even thinking about it, flinged his knife toward the motion. Hazel watched helplessly as it hit Anchora square in the back. Anchora stopped, wobbled a second, and then collapsed onto his side. She clenched her jaw as she crawled over to him. He was trying to say something to her. His lips were moving, and she could see the effort in his furrowed brow. But either from the lack of use of voice for so many years, or the knife sticking out of his back, no sound came out. When his cannon fired, his mouth was still hanging open, in the middle of some silent word.
Hazel didn't know why Warden didn't just kill her when her back was turned. Maybe he was affording her a moment of grief, or maybe he wanted a fight. But when she turned around, she wasn't grief-stricken. She was pissed. She didn't even register at first that Warden was empty handed - he had thrown his only knife into Anchora's back. Well, two could play at his game.
She noticed Zeek had tugged on Warden's shirt, eyes round with terror, as he pointed a shaky finger at Hazel's knife. But, with her mind clouded with anger, all she wanted to know was how to make Warden hurt as bad as she did. So she clutched her knife, and did the exact same thing Warden did - she threw it at his ally, the young boy.
But she wasn't as trained as Warden was, she didn't have a sword, and she could see as soon as it left her hand that it hadn't hit the kid right. The wound would be fatal, but slow, and painful. Warden's face was stricken as if he'd been hit instead. Zeek was screaming as soon as he was being carried away.
Hazel took more deep breaths. In, out, in, out, oh god, why, why, please, in, in, make this stop, make this end, out, out, in, out. Nothing was right. Nothing. She sat in the field, unable to move, prying the knife out of her dead friend's back, feeling his blood - still warm - drip onto her knees. She didn't want to look at her ankle. As the hovercraft came and she crawled away, watching him being taken up, Hazel had a feeling that the battle she'd just had with Warden wasn't over.
-::-::-::-::-::-
Warden whipped past trees, until he was far, far away from the field, away from anyone who could cause Zeek more harm. It was his fault. He should have taken care of Zeek, he should have been less careless. He should have just stayed out of sight. Zeek was screaming, sobbing, writhing around. Gently, as gentle as he could, Warden set Zeek down and pulled out the knife, causing another shriek.
"It hurts, it hurts!" His eyes were closed, and he was in so, so much pain, but Warden knew already that there was nothing he could do to save him. "I want my brother!" Zeek screamed. "I want my mom!"
"Just - just hang on, Zeek, I'm gonna fix it, just -" Warden broke off. No matter how badly he wanted not to do it, he knew he had no choice. "Just hang on." The more time he wasted, the harder it was for Zeek. He had to do this. It would be cruel if he didn't.
He raised the already bloodied knife, crying, and plunged it into Zeek's chest. There was a whimper, a little moan, and then a cannon. He was nothing like the District Three girl. He was dead on.
-::-::-::-::-::-
Reel was running. He'd been so lucky. A thirteen-year-old rarely made it past the first week, let alone unharmed and without allies. He'd tricked himself into thinking he was safe. He was so surprised no one had claimed the cornucopia, so he set up his camp. All the leftover weapons and packs were saved for him. He could still smell the blood, though. The scent of blood didn't leave.
His plan was to stay there, hidden, for as long as he could, but when he saw two girls - he forgot their names, their districts, he forgot everything about the other tributes - heading his way, he grabbed two packs and bolted into the woods, and he was still running when he stumbled into another tribute, a really tall one, and was sent sprawling to the forest floor. This guy he remembered - he was the only one to talk to Reel at training. Warden. He was covered in blood.
"Please," he said, starting to cry despite himself. "Please don't hurt me." Warden glowered over him, reaching down and grabbing one of Reel's packs.
"Go," was all Warden said. Reel didn't need to be twice. He scooped up his remaining pack and ran, deeper and deeper into the forest.
-::-::-::-::-::-
Xavier knew his new allies didn't trust him. Why should they? They took him because they knew he was a career. He didn't care. He heard them talking as the fire was going, a bit about game plans, about life back home. They'd asked him a few questions, but when they saw he wasn't really interested in conversation, they went back to ignoring him.
What was there to say? He'd spent his whole life training to come here, and for what? What did he use to think the point was? Fame? The way Xavier saw it, if he won, he'd just go back to living the life he had before, but tainted. Harder. He was starting to wonder if there was even any point in caring. He was starting to wonder why he'd even bother winning at all.