Middle Ground

"You win or you die. There is no middle ground."

Lincoln Tantalum, 12
District Three

I feel like one of my parents' lab rats – stuck in a maze I have no control over. Well, if the rat was being chased by a giant black cat. And had to carry a spear that was quickly getting to be way too heavy. And if there were two dozen other rats, and only one could make it out of the maze alive.

Okay, maybe it's not such a great metaphor. That doesn't change the fact that the cat mutt that's following us could kill us at any minute. Are the Gamemakers just toying with us? Waiting for the right minute to strike? Or do they have something else in mind? Are they leading us somewhere? And, if they are, is it somewhere we want to go?

Not that we have much choice. Go where the cat wants, or turn around and fight it with ours spears – those are the choices. So we keep trudging onward in the dark, despite the fact that we've had little sleep, and the rain is still coming down hard. Harder than it was at first. We're cold. Wet. Tired. But that's better than being dead. And dead is what we'll be if we stop.

Suddenly, without warning, the path ends. It curves to the left a little, but then stops. I freeze. Maverick freezes. The cat doesn't. It's getting closer. Closer. I can hear it growling.

No. No, that's not the cat growling. And it's not the rain. Not thunder. It's snoring. Someone is nearby – just on the other side of the wall. And they're snoring.

Not their fault, I suppose. I'm not even sure whether I snore. Maybe I do. But I hope that if I started snoring in the arena, Maverick would wake me and say so. But maybe the snoring tribute doesn't have anyone with them. Or maybe they're both asleep.

I grip my spear tightly, but my arms are starting to get tired. It's thin, but it's still pretty heavy. But it's my only defense as the cat creeps closer. Closer. Waiting for something.

Waiting for us.

Oh.

It hits me in an instant. Why we're here. Why the cat herded us here. I glance over at Maverick. Maybe he can't even hear the snoring – not with his bad ear, and the rain. Or maybe he just hasn't put it together yet: why we're here, what the Gamemakers want. He won't have time to – not before the cat reaches us. I have to do this, or no one will.

Maverick Sterling, 13
District One

I don't even have time to ask what he's doing. Before I can do anything, Lincoln has pointed his spear away from the cat. At the wall of the maze. With as much force as he can muster, he stabs the wall. Stabs through the wall. Through the leaves and the branches that make up the wall of the maze. Maybe he was looking for a good spot. Maybe he simply got lucky. Either way, the spear goes through.

And hits something on the other side. Or, rather, someone, because the next thing I hear is a scream – loud and shrill and startled. Lincoln yanks his spear out of the wall, the end dripping wet with blood. Both of us back away, just in case whoever's on the other side decides to try the same trick.

But they don't. They're probably too worried about the blood. There's a lot of it – even on the spear. I glance around frantically, waiting to see if anyone's going to climb over the wall to attack us. But no one tries. For a moment, I can hear voices – but, over the rain, I can't tell what they're saying.

Then Lincoln grabs my hand. "Let's go," he whispers.

And, to my surprise, I see that we can. The mutt is gone. It must have slunk back into the darkness somewhere. I squeeze Lincoln's hand tightly. He squeezes back, his hand cold and clammy. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's the fact that he just stabbed somebody. Somebody who could be dying right now.

I have to admit, there's a part of me that didn't think he would have it in him. But he was the one who figured it out – that there was someone nearby, that the Gamemakers were using the mutt to herd us in the right direction. I thought they had simply left the mutt to prowl around the weapons pile, make sure nobody stole anything after the start of the Games. But Lincoln, of all people, figured out what the Gamemakers really wanted.

Because that's what they want, of course – for us to kill each other. And, more than that – for us to be afraid of each other. Afraid of the arena. Because whoever was on the other side of that wall is going to be terrified now – assuming they're still alive. Too afraid to lie down and sleep, not knowing who might be on the other side of a wall.

It was a good idea. Part of me wishes I'd thought of it. I just wish I knew who was on the other side of that wall.

Elijah Maleri, 18
District Twelve

I just wish I knew who was on the other side of the wall. I could climb over, I suppose – try to get a look. But they're probably long gone. And, right now, Clarisse needs me.

She was asleep when it happened. I wasn't, but I wasn't exactly watching her. We had our backs to the wall. Figured that would be safer. She was snoring, which was driving me nuts, but she seemed to be sleeping well, so I decided not to wake her. Then, all of a sudden, she started screaming, and I could see the blood.

So much blood, pouring from a wound in her side. I looked over in time to see some sort of weapon being pulled back into the wall. I bandaged her side as well as I could with what I have – which isn't much – but it's still bleeding. I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?

Clarisse grabs my hand. There are tears in her eyes. Or maybe it's just the rain. "It hurts. It hurts so much."

Well, yeah. The words almost come out. What comes out instead is, "What do I do? What can I do?"

"Make it go away. Please. Please, just make it stop." She squeezes my hand harder.

I wish I could – wish I could just will the pain away. But I can't. There's nothing I can do. Nothing except try to distract her. "Just try not to think about it." But even I can hear how hollow the words sound. Yeah. Try not to think about the blood coming out of your side. Try not to think about the fact that you just got stabbed. "Go back to sleep. Just try not to snore."

Clarisse blinks up at me, startled. "What?"

I shrug. "You snore."

Clarisse Richardson, 16
District One

He's an idiot. A complete idiot. This is all his fault. The pain. The blood. None of it would have happened if he had woken me. If he had told me to stay awake. To stop snoring.

Because that has to be how they found us – whoever attacked me. They heard me. Heard me snoring. I don't know how over the rain, but they must have. It's the only explanation. "This is all your fault," I hiss through gritted teeth.

"My fault?" He looks completely taken aback. He hasn't even put it together. "How is this my fault? I didn't stab you!"

"And no one would have found us if I hadn't been snoring!"

"How is that my fault?"

"You should have woken me!"

"What was I supposed to do? Never let you sleep?"

"Yes!" Part of me knows how stupid that sounds. How unfair it is to blame him. But I don't care. I'm the one who's hurt. I'm the one who might be dying. I'm allowed to say anything I want. "Let's keep our backs to the wall, Clarisse. Then we'll be able to see who's coming."

"How was I supposed to know someone would come through the wall?" Elijah demands.

I don't have an answer. And that just makes it even worse. He should have known. I should have known. Obviously the walls had holes in them – they're made of branches and leaves. Obviously a weapon would be able to get through. But if he should have noticed, then I should have, too.

It's not fair.

"You're useless," I grumble, closing my eyes. Stupid boy can't even stand guard properly. For a moment, I think that's the end of the argument. Good. I'm too tired to keep it up. Maybe he's right. Maybe I should just go back to sleep.

But then I hear a rustling. I open my eyes. Elijah's gathering up the weapons. He's…

"Useless, huh?" he mumbles. "Well, let's see how well you do without me."

He turns to go. He's … he's leaving. No. Come back. I didn't mean it. But what comes out of my mouth instead is, "Fine! Get out of here! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!"

I don't need anyone. That's what I was trying to prove, wasn't it? That I don't need anyone. That I'm not afraid.

But I am. More than ever. My side is still bleeding. I can barely move. And the only person who could have helped me is walking away. Taking the weapons – all except the knife I have tucked in my pocket. Taking any hope I have of being able to defend myself.

What am I supposed to do now?

Vance Feldspar, 16
District Two

What am I supposed to do now? I brush the tears from my eyes as I keep running. When I joined Aldous and Paean at their fire, I thought that maybe – maybe – I could stay with them. That we could stay together, and make the best of whatever time we had left in the arena.

But any hope of that is gone now. Aldous is almost certainly dead, and Paean … I don't know. Silver wasn't really going after either of them. She was trying to kill me. Would she have stayed to finish off Paean, too? I'm not sure.

And, even if she is alive, would Paean even want me back? I ran away from Silver. I abandoned them, when I was really the only one of us who could have helped defend anyone. At least I had a spear. Aldous and Paean had nothing.

My spear. I didn't realize until now. I left it there. At the campfire. Damn it. Not that I wanted to use it again. But if Silver is still coming after me…

And I suppose that makes sense. I killed Simon. Her district partner. Her friend. Maybe it makes sense that she would target me. Maybe I should have known she would come after me. Maybe I should have been ready. Maybe if I'd been prepared, Aldous wouldn't have died.

I clench my fists as I keep running. He would have died, anyway. Today. Tomorrow. The next day. Eventually, he would have died. There was no way he was going to win. And he'd accepted that. So maybe it was better that it happened now. Not better for him, of course. But maybe it's better for me.

Because if he had lived – if the three of us had stayed together – I might have spent whatever time I had left trying to avoid a fight. Trying to forget the fact that I've killed a boy. But maybe that's not something you can just forget – no matter how hard you try. Maybe it's something I'll never be able to forget. But maybe it's something I can learn to live with – if I live long enough.

I wasn't sure I wanted to. Wasn't sure whether I even wanted to try to live with what I've done. But Aldous … he threw himself in front of Silver's knife for me. He gave his life for mine. He must have thought I was worth saving. I'm not sure what he saw in me, but if I die in the arena, then his sacrifice was a waste. And that's something I can't live with.

Silver Grayne, 16
District Seven

I killed the wrong person. I grip my knife tightly as I keep running, trying to get far away. Far away from the girl whose friend I just killed. Because she might be coming after me. She might be trying to kill me.

It's what I would do. Hell, it's what I was trying to do. I was trying to kill Vance – the boy who killed Simon. The boy from Eleven … he just got in the way.

It doesn't make any sense. Why would he want to save a boy from Two? The boy from Eleven – he fought in the war. He knows what they're like – those loyalists. He knows what they're capable of. Why would he want to save one of them?

I wish he'd been a little bit slower. I didn't mean to kill him. But it was his choice. It's not my fault he's dead. It's his own fault. He chose to save the boy from Two. I don't understand that choice, but he made it. It's his fault. His fault that he's dead. It's not my fault.

None of it is my fault.

Sylvana Paean, 18
District Six

It's his own fault he's dead, I suppose. But I can't help looking back at Aldous' body as I leave, wondering. Wondering whether there's anything I could have done differently. Anything I could have done to save him.

But, deep down, I always knew – and so did he. He was never going to win. He wouldn't have wanted me to save him – not if it would have hurt my chances. Even if I had been fast enough – even if I had been able to reach him in time to stop the other girl from killing him – I could have gotten hurt. I could have gotten killed. And that's not what he would have wanted.

He would have wanted me to live. But, more than that, maybe he would have wanted me to win. He made me promise, after all – back during training – that I wouldn't let him slow me down. That I wouldn't get myself killed trying to save him. And I didn't. He's dead. But I'm still alive. And whether I stay that way or not … now that's up to me.

Sienna Poplar, 18
District Nine

It's nearly dawn by the time I finally wake Peter. He woke up when the rain started, but quickly went back to sleep after drinking his fill. He just looked so peaceful, I couldn't wake him. Besides, it's not like we're on a tight schedule or anything. We can stay here as long as we want, so if I wake him now, I can still get plenty of sleep before we get moving.

Especially now that we're not going to die of thirst. At least, not anytime soon. Both of us drank plenty of water. I wish we'd had a way to store some of it, but the only thing we really have is our clothes. Which is something, I suppose. They're still wet, so maybe we can wring a bit of water out of them if we have to later.

Finally, I give Peter's shoulder a shake. He's smiling a little as he rolls over. "Morning."

I can't help but smile back. "Morning. Your turn to watch."

He blinks a little, taking in the light. "You let me sleep through the night?"

"You needed it. Besides, we have plenty of time. Now it's my turn." I lie down next to him, not mentioning the other factor that played into my decision. If there's light, it'll be easier for him to see someone coming. Easier for him to keep watch. And anything that makes these Games easier – for either of us – is a good thing.

The ground is wet as I lie down, but I'm too tired to care. My eyes are closed before my head even reaches the sand.

Peter Eldamar, 13
District Nine

It doesn't take her long to fall asleep. Not surprising, I suppose, considering she's been awake all night. It's really not fair – the fact that she stayed awake while I got to sleep through the night.

Then again, it was her choice. I didn't ask her to stay awake that long. She's the one who offered to take the first watch, and I asked her to wake me when she got tired. But if she wants to be nice to me, it would be stupid not to take advantage of that.

That sounds like the wrong way to put it – like I'm taking advantage of her. Like I don't really want to be her friend. Like I just want to take advantage of her age, her skills, her protection. That's not true.

At least, I don't think it is. But now that we're in the arena … I honestly don't know. Did I agree to work with her because I like her, because I want to be her friend, or because I know she can help me stay alive? Am I just using her to help myself survive?

I lean back against the wall of the maze as the sun slowly starts to appear over the leaves and branches of the walls. I'm not really sure. I've always been able to lie well enough to keep myself alive, but at least I've known what the truth was. Or, at least, I thought I knew.

Now, I'm not sure. Not sure what I'm doing. Not sure why I'm doing what I'm doing. And that … that scares me more than anything else in this arena.

Neblina Acosta, 15
District Eight

I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep in this arena. When it was dark, I didn't want to sleep because I would have no warning of what was coming. Anyone could stumble across me in the dark, even in this tiny corner of the arena. But now that it's light, the thought of sleeping is even worse. Anyone coming would be able to see me. There's no way for me to hide.

So sleeping isn't an option. Not right now, anyway. Not until I find a better hiding place. But in order to do that, I'm going to need to get moving – and quickly. I force myself to my feet and rub my eyes. I have to stay awake. I have to keep moving.

At least it rained during the night. I'm not going to die of thirst. Not yet, anyways. But I'm still hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. I'm used to going without for a day or so, but that won't keep me alive forever. Eventually, I'll have to find something to eat.

But that, too, means I need to get moving – and quickly. Still rubbing my eyes, I make my way down the path and through the maze. Away from the voices that I heard last night. Away from the tributes who were fighting. Away from the killing, the dead bodies, the fear.

Chances are, there wouldn't be anything on the bodies, anyway. There was only one cannon during the night. Only one tribute dead. I'm pretty sure it was either Aldous or Paean, so whatever they had as far as supplies or weapons, the other one probably took them. That's what I would do.

Or, at least, that's what I would do if I had a partner. If I was working with another tribute. I made a choice during training – a choice that I thought was the right one. I chose not to look for anyone to work with. I thought the Games would be easier that way. That I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but myself.

And that's still true, I guess. But now the downside is more obvious. If I had a partner, one of us would be able to sleep while the other stood guard. I might be happily sleeping right now.

On the other hand, I could be dead. Because working with a partner only actually works if you can trust each other. Would I really be able to trust anyone enough to let them stand guard while I slept, knowing that one of us would have to die eventually in order for the other to survive? How could anyone trust each other that much?

Carina Ellison, 18
District Three

The sun is beginning to rise when Kennedy wakes me. We traded watches a couple times during the night, and we both woke up when the rain began. I don't think either of us really slept well – or long – but any sleep is better than nothing.

And nothing is what I would get if I was on my own. How could anyone fall asleep on their own in the arena, knowing that other tributes could find and kill them while they slept, and they would be completely defenseless? How could they stand the thought that they could be killed without being able to do anything about it?

Then again, eventually I'll be alone. That much is certain if I'm going to survive. Eventually, Kennedy is going to have to die. But that's all the more reason why I should take advantage of having a partner while I do have one. Once he's gone, the Games will get a lot harder.

Once he's gone. That's a nice way of putting it, I suppose. "Once he's dead" would be more accurate, but I don't want to think about that. Then again, I suppose he might just leave – like Vance did. Maybe once enough tributes are dead, we'll simply go our separate ways, and never see each other again.

I'm not sure if that would be better or worse. I guess it's better than seeing each other die. But if we split up, there's always the chance that we would run into each other again – as enemies. That we might end up having to kill each other. And I don't know if I could do that.

It feels strange – remembering that the thought crossed my mind last night. The thought of killing him. Just stabbing him in his sleep and being done with it. Now, in daylight, it's hard to even imagine that I thought of such a thing. But I know I did. I know I'm capable of those thoughts. Maybe I'm even capable of putting them into action. And that … I think that scares me more than the other tributes in here.

Kennedy Ford, 15
District Eight

Carina's been pretty quiet this morning. I'm not sure what I was expecting her to say. "Good morning"? "Congratulations – we survived the night"? We've been in the arena almost a full day so far. What are we supposed to talk about?

I never thought I would miss that – just talking casually with someone. I've never exactly been what you would call a people person. But every conversation Carina and I have had since we've been here in the arena – whether we were deciding which way to go or whether to go after Vance or when to stop for the night – has been tense and uncomfortable.

Maybe she's afraid of scaring me off, like I scared Vance. Maybe I'm afraid of scaring her off. If we leave each other now, after all, we're each on our own. And as tense and awkward as being alone with Carina is, being all by myself would be even worse.

But, eventually, I'll be alone. I'll have to be, if I want to survive this. And maybe that's the cause of the tension, in the end – the knowledge that this … whatever it is we have, this friendship, this fragile alliance … it won't last forever. It can't. Eventually, one of us is going to die. Maybe even both of us. And that … well, that doesn't exactly make for a pleasant conversation.

Crescent Nerine, 17
District Five

Icho's been surprisingly chatty this morning. Maybe the rain put him in a good mood. Maybe it put both of us in a good mood. Whatever the reason, it's nice. It's nice to just have a simple, normal conversation – even if it is about food.

"Pancakes," Icho replies when I ask what he'd have for breakfast if he had the choice. Maybe it's not a good idea to bring up the topic of food when we're both so hungry, but talking about something as we walked just felt natural. And we're looking for food, so maybe talking about food will keep us motivated. Or maybe I'm just so hungry that I'm starting to lose it.

"Didn't even know what pancakes were until we got to the Capitol," Icho continues. "We never had anything fancy at our house – even before the war. How about you?"

"Nothing fancy," I echo. Which is true. My family's not exactly rich, but I've always gotten the impression we had more than Icho. "My mother would sometimes make fresh bread, but…" I trail off, distracted.

"But what?" Icho presses.

I shake my head. "Nothing. It's just … it's been a while since I actually thought of her as my mother. Ever since I found out I was adopted – ever since I learned that they'd been keeping it a secret from me – they never quite seemed like my family."

Icho nods. "My mother – she left us during the war. Ran away from the fight, from my father and me. When the war ended, she tried to take me back, but … it was never the same as it was before. I rejected her. I didn't want to be part of her family. But now…"

"Now any family seems like it might be better than nothing," I finish. And it's true. Maybe my family isn't much. Maybe they're a bunch of liars. Maybe they kept secrets from me. But … they kept them because they wanted me to think I was one of them. They wanted me to be one of them. That has to count for something.

Suddenly, Icho stops short. "Look!"

I look where he's pointing. Up ahead, down one of the paths off to the left, the maze widens, and the ground almost looks … green. The two of us race forward, eager. Green means some sort of plants. Plants might mean food. Food means breakfast. It's not pancakes, but it's something.

Sure enough, as we get closer, we can see that there are, in fact, plants – covering what looks like a marsh. Not that I've ever seen one up close – we don't exactly have many marshes in Five – but I heard stories during the war. Stories of marshes in Four and Ten where soldiers would hide and ambush their enemies.

Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea. This marsh could be a good place to hide. Maybe we can even make some sort of weapons out of the plants. A few of the reeds look thicker, and some of the plants have thorns. Maybe we could make some sort of blowguns.

Then I see them. Berries. On some of the plants farther out on the marsh. "Look!" I call, racing towards the plants, smiling. Finally smiling.

Icho Thesik, 16
District Five

She's finally smiling. To my surprise, I realize I am, too. But something still feels wrong. Something about this feels too easy. Why would the Gamemakers leave a bunch of berry bushes right out here in the open unless…

"Wait!" I call, but it's too late. One wrong step, and Crescent begins to sink. I stop short just before my feet reach the marsh. She's already too far in. Too far for me to reach.

"Help!" Crescent calls, her legs sinking deeper and deeper into the marsh. "Help me!"

I want to. But how? If I go in there to pull her out, I'm just going to get stuck, too. My eyes dart frantically around the marsh, looking for something – anything – that might help. A rope, a vine, even a long stick. But there's nothing. Nothing except those damn berry bushes she was trying to reach.

Of course that's why the Gamemakers put them there. Trying to lure us in. And it worked. It worked almost too well. I was just cautious enough. Just distrustful enough after everything I saw during the war.

But Crescent never saw the things I did. She wasn't part of the war, and now it's cost her. The marsh water is up to her waist now, and there's no telling how deep it goes. "The bushes!" I call frantically. "Grab hold of the bushes!"

She does. And, for a moment, it looks like it's going to help. But then the skinny branches she's holding onto start to break. "There's something in the water!" she calls. "It's pulling on me! Help!"

Is there really something in the water? I don't know. She could just be imagining it. It could just be the marsh water pulling her under. I have no way of knowing. But if she's right – if there's something there – then if I wade out there, too, it would get me.

I take a step back.

"What are you doing?" Crescent calls, her head barely above the water. "Get out here! Help me! Help—"

But then her head is under the water. I realize I'm holding my breath. How long can she hold hers? Seconds pass. The surface of the water grows still again. Then I hear a cannon.

Immediately, I drop to my knees. She's dead. Crescent is dead. And I didn't do a thing about it. I didn't even try. She was my district partner. My friend. But, in the end, I wasn't willing to risk my life to save hers.

She's dead. And she didn't even go down fighting. Swallowed by a damn marsh. Well, that's not how I'm going to go. I turn, racing away from the marsh water. Away from the berries and the promise of food. Away from the place where my friend died. Back towards the center of the arena. Back towards the weapons that I know are there.

Maybe I'm going to die here. But I'm not going to die like she did. I'm not going to drown in a marsh trying to reach food. I'm not going to starve, and I'm not going to die of thirst. I don't want to die, of course, but if I'm going to, then I'm not going down alone. And I'm not going down without a fight.

Colt Hawkins, 17
District Ten

The sound of the cannon makes me jump. "Another one?" I whisper. "So soon?"

I don't know why I'm whispering. If there's anyone nearby, the chances that they'll actually attack the two of us are slim. Both of us are armed. Both of us are relatively well-rested. And, after the rain last night, at least we know we're not going to die of thirst.

So we've kept moving. East – towards the sun that's started to peek over the walls of the maze. It's been slow going, though. The sand has turned wet, and while that washed away any footprints we might have left yesterday, it makes our new footprints even easier to see.

So we've been backtracking every now and then – leaving more footprints than necessary, doubling back over our trail, making sure to drag our daggers in the sand every now and then. That way, if someone does try to follow our trail, they'll think they're following a larger group.

Maybe. That's the idea, at least. But the truth is that there aren't exactly any larger groups in the arena – and we all know it. Unless some of the smaller groups banded together now that we're in the arena, of course, but the chances of that … no, the chances don't seem good. The largest group coming in was three tributes – Carina, Vance, and Kennedy – and that's probably the way it's stayed, as long as all three of them are still alive and together. If not…

If not – if one of them is dead already – then Aubrey and I are as numerous as any other group in the arena. And we're armed. In theory, we should be able to hold our own against anyone we happen to come across. But in practice … well, let's just say I hope we don't actually find anyone. Or that no one actually finds us.

And I haven't seen any other footprints – nothing that would indicate someone else is nearby. But, like I said, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. The rain last night washed away whatever footprints were left yesterday – both ours and anyone else's. We could be following someone else's exact steps, and we would never know it.

Except … I think maybe we are. We've come across a few broken twigs lying by the walls. Now, they could have fallen off in the rain, or it could have been the result of someone brushing up against them. I don't know. I'm a decent tracker – one of the things I learned while our family was hiding in the woods – but I'm used to tracking animals. Animals aren't usually making an effort not to be found.

Aubrey Ryans, 17
District Ten

I glance at Colt as we come to a fork in the path. One of the paths keeps going straight for a little ways and then seems to curve off to the right. The other one heads off to the left immediately. "What do you think?"

His eyebrows shoot up immediately. "What do I think about what?"

"About the path. Which way do you think we should go?"

"I don't know," he answers quickly. "How am I supposed to know? I don't know which way we're supposed to go."

"Okay, okay, calm down," I coax. "It's not a big deal – I just wanted to know if you had a preference. If you don't, then—"

"Left," he answers suddenly. "Let's go left."

I nod. "Okay. Left it is."

I'm not sure why he's suddenly so jumpy. It's not as if anything's really changed since yesterday. Well, nothing except the fact that there are fewer of us left. But we're about as safe as we can be. There are two of us. We're armed. We've been trying to cover our tracks – make it look like there are more of us than there are.

That was his idea, actually. Sort of wish it had been mine. It's something a soldier should have come up with. But I suppose he's spent more time trying to hide than I have. Either way, I'm glad someone thought of it. Makes us feel like we're doing something productive, at least, even if it's slowed us down a bit.

So before we head left, we make a few tracks down the other path. Head down it a little past the curve, out of sight, and then return walking backwards – leaving four sets of prints all together. Maybe it's not really enough to fool anyone, but it's something.

Then we head off to the left. Immediately, I'm glad we chose this path. It continues straight for quite a ways, but as soon as it curves to the right, I can see something. Trees – up ahead. There doesn't seem to be much green on them, but trees mean shade. That's not really something we're in need of now, but, later in the day, shade could be useful. And a place to hide from other tributes, which is something we can't really afford to turn down.

Tullia Litvina, 12
District Twelve

I slip out of the clearing as soon as I see them – two tributes, older and well-armed. Maybe they're not looking for me, but it's better to be careful. Better not to risk a fight.

Besides, I don't really have any reason to stay. There's nothing in this clearing that I really need. I already broke off a few of the larger branches to take with me – to use as a club or a staff in a pinch. Other than that, there's nothing here. No food. No water – no more than anywhere else, at least. Nothing but a bunch of dead trees. And if it's dead trees that they want … well, they're welcome to them.

As for me, I'm out of here. The other two don't look friendly. From a distance, I can tell it's a boy and a girl – maybe the boy and girl from Ten. They didn't look too frightening during training, but they each have a dagger. If they decided to come after me, it would be two against one. Daggers against a couple sticks. Not a fight I want to have.

Not that there's really a fight I do want to have. But if I can avoid this one, all the better. It's not a fight I would win, if they were really intent on killing me.

I'm not sure if they would be, of course. They don't really have any reason to want me dead. None of us do – not really. But if the cannons mean what I think they mean – if there's been one for each dead tribute so far – then people have started killing each other. And I have no way of knowing who's been killed, or who's doing the killing.

And not knowing – it bothers me more than I'd like to admit. I can't help wondering about Elijah. Sure, we were never working together, but we're from the same district, after all. Is he still alive? Is he dead? Has he killed?

I don't know which is harder – imagining him dying or trying to picture him killing. Most of the district – maybe even most of the audience – probably assumed that he would have a better chance in the Games. That he would be more likely to win a fight. More likely to kill.

And I don't know if that's true or not. But I do know that I'm still alive. We've been in the arena a whole day, and I'm still here. I don't know whether he can say the same. But I do know that there are at least some tributes – older, stronger tributes who, on paper, stood a better chance than me – who are already dead. I've already outlived quite a few of them. And that has to count for something.

Something. But not everything. Because in order to make it out of here alive, I'm going to need to outlast a lot more of them – including the two who just found the clearing where I spent the night. Those two tributes, with their knives and their daggers – I'm going to have to live longer than them. Maybe I'll even have to kill them. But not right now.

Gardenia Carys, 18
District Two

The cannon wakes me with a start. I sit up immediately, looking around for any other tributes. Anything or anyone who might be here to attack me.

Silly, of course. If someone were attacking me, I'd be dead by now. That cannon would have been mine. I was asleep, with no way to defend myself. If anyone found me, I would be a goner.

But what choice did I have? I had to sleep eventually. Might as well be now. But I doubt I'd be able to get back to sleep now even if I wanted to. The cannon startled me, and now my adrenaline's pumping. Urging me to get up and do something.

I should look for food. I have plenty of water here at the lake, but no food. The lake's not deep enough to have any fish in it – more like a small pond than a lake, really. So no food there. There doesn't seem to be anything else growing in it, either. Just water. Which is good, but it's not enough to keep me alive forever. Eventually, I'll have to do something.

Athena Lancaster
District Ten Escort

Eventually, they'll have to do something. Aubrey and Colt – they can't just keep wandering around forever. Do they realize how close they were to finding the girl from Twelve? They already passed up a chance to fight Clarisse and Elijah.

And maybe that was the right choice. That fight would have been two against two. Even if they won, either of them could have been injured. And being injured this early in the Games – like Clarisse, Gardenia, or even Peter if you count being bitten by a snake – isn't a good thing. They've managed to stay away from trouble.

But they can't avoid trouble forever. The little girl from Twelve would have been a perfect target. Or, at least, an easy target. Are those two the same thing? I don't know. Part of me feels sorry for her. She shouldn't be here. Maybe none of them should.

But since they are here, then I want to bring either Colt or Aubrey home. Maybe I've gotten more attached than I should have. After all, Aubrey was a soldier. A rebel. I should want her to die for what the rebels did during the war. But looking at her now … she's just a kid. They're all just kids. And Colt – all he wanted was to avoid the war. He's still trying to avoid the fight. But how long will they be able to avoid it?

Well, what do you know. School started this week, and we managed to finish a chapter, anyway. Aren't you proud?

Also, thanks to everyone who voted in the poll. From the look of things, escorts are the people (besides the tributes) that you want to hear the most from, followed by the tributes' families. So that's what we'll do - an escort an occasional family member.

Our new poll on my profile is asking for who you'd like to see make it to the final six. For anyone who's wondering, six is mostly an arbitrary number we chose because it seemed a little late to ask about the final eight (since that would be almost half of the remaining tributes) and a little early to ask about the final 3 or 4. So six it is. Let us know who you'd like to see! (The poll won't determine who makes it that far, but it lets us know which tributes you're enjoying.)