Past Tomorrow

"I'm past patiently waitin'. I'm passionately smashin' every expectation. Every action's an act of creation. I'm laughin' in the face of casualties and sorrow. For the first time, I'm thinkin' past tomorrow!"

Jethro Brackish, 14
District Four

She still thinks I have a plan. Mel is watching me as we crouch together behind a tree. She thinks I know what I'm doing. She thinks I have a plan for taking down the two tributes we saw in the swamp. She thinks I'm about to do something clever. Something unpredictable.

The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I don't even know if the tributes in the swamp are coming this way. They probably saw us, but we have no way of knowing whether or not they're going to follow us. Maybe they're unarmed and aren't sure if they can take on another group in a fight. Maybe they are armed but don't think that chasing a pair of younger tributes through a swamp is worth the trouble. Or maybe they are coming after us, and they have a clever plan.

Okay. Think. Just think. The important thing is that the audience thinks we have a plan. As long as they think we're up to something – as long as the Gamemakers think we're up to something – then they won't try to force us into a fight. They'll assume we're about to do that ourselves. As long as they think that, they have no reason to start a fire or send a storm or some mutts to bring us together. As long as we look like we have a plan, we're probably safe.

But they won't wait for that plan forever. Which means that, sooner or later, we'll have to actually come up with something. Okay. Two tributes coming this way. Maybe. What are we supposed to do now?

Rick Therald, 17
District Three

What are we supposed to do now? The tributes are gone – the two tributes we saw walking away from us in the woods. But Dina is still crouched low in the marsh, watching the spot where they disappeared – as if she's expecting them to come back. Or as if she's trying to figure out whether or not we should follow them.

The answer seems obvious to me. No. We have no idea whether or not they're armed, but we know that we aren't. We don't have any weapons. We don't have any food or water. They have no reason to want to fight us, and we shouldn't give them one.

Food. It's Dina who finally mentions the obvious. "What if they have food?"

I can see where she's coming from. If they have food, then attacking them might be worth the risk. Maybe we wouldn't even have to kill them. Maybe we could follow them, sneak up, and steal some of their food. But if they have food, then they probably have weapons, as well. Is that really a risk we want to take?

"What if they don't?" I point out. "No point getting in a fight over nothing."

I know immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. We're here to get in a fight over nothing – or, at least, nothing that's worth fighting over. We're here because the Capitol says we're supposed to fight to the death. And arguing with that didn't work out so well for anyone last year.

Dina's undeterred. "What if one of them is the boy who killed Atleigh?"

Shit. What am I supposed to say to that? What if they aren't? They weren't close enough for us to tell who, exactly, it was, but … well, maybe it was. I hesitate for a moment. But only for a moment. Dina isn't going to change her mind. She isn't going to let this go. So maybe we should at least find out whether she's right. "All right," I agree. "Let's find out who it is. See whether they have weapons. And then figure out what to do."

It sounds like a good plan. A reasonable plan. Dina nods, and I follow her out of the swamp. "This way," she whispers, heading in the direction the others went. I follow her as quietly as I can. We don't want whoever we're following to see us coming.

Mel Mills, 13
District Nine

We can see them coming a mile away. Well, maybe not quite a mile, but, from up here, things look pretty good. We climbed a tree. Not the one Jethro initially suggested hiding behind – that one's branches are too far up – but one of the smaller ones. It's strong enough to hold our weight, and leafy enough to hide us. For the most part, anyway. If they're looking for us up here, they'll probably be able to see us. But, with any luck, this isn't where they'll be looking for us.

They're from District Three, after all. I can see that as they come closer. Closer. Would tributes from District Three really expect us to be hiding up in the trees? Hell, would I be expecting it, if Jethro hadn't suggested it?

Maybe. But I would probably have just assumed it would be a good place to hide from them – not a good place for an ambush. But that's what it's about to be, if everything goes according to plan. The plan is pretty straightforward, really. Wait until they're directly beneath us, and, as long as they don't appear to be armed, jump down on top of them and…

And kill them. There's really no nice way to put that. But it's what we're here to do, after all. And Jethro's already killed. So maybe he's more comfortable with the idea. But I … I don't know. But I have to be. This is what I have to do. What I have to be – what I have to become – if I want to go home.

Jethro smiles as the two of them approach. Is he just smiling for the cameras? Or is he actually enjoying this? I smile back, trying to mirror his expression. His confidence. I can't let him see – can't let the audience see – how nervous I really am.

They're almost right beneath us. It's the girl who approaches first, but then veers off to the right a little. She doesn't appear to be armed. But she's not quite standing in the right spot. She stands there for a moment, her arms across her chest. "They can't have gotten much farther than this – can they?"

The boy shakes his head, breathing hard as he follows her up the slope, but a little farther to the left – almost in just the right place. "Maybe they turned somewhere. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe—"

Before he can finish his sentence, Jethro jumps, landing squarely on the boy and plunging his knife into his back. The boy screams. The girl screams. Jethro screams as the boy falls backwards, pinning him. Then the girl is running – back the way she came. I leap down, ready to follow her, but the boy is already struggling to his feet, rolling over to face Jethro. "You!"

"Me!" Jethro grunts, even as the boy wraps his hands around Jethro's throat. I don't think. Can't think. I rush to Jethro's side, my knife plunging into the boy's back. Again, and again, and again – until his hands slip from Jethro's neck, his body slumping, lifeless, on top of him as the cannon sounds.

Jethro's coughing and sputtering as I roll the other boy off of him. But he's still alive. "Are you all right?" I ask, helping him to his feet.

Jethro grimaces, clutching his side. "I … I think so. Better than him, at least." He nods at the body beside him, but then begins to sway a little. I catch him before he falls. "Just a bit dizzy," he insists. "My head hit the ground when he fell on me. I'll be fine in a moment."

I nod as he sits down to rest, leaning back against the tree. I hope he'll be all right. "We make a pretty good team, huh?" he mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment.

He's right. We do. And it wasn't as … well, wasn't as hard as I thought, I guess – the idea of killing someone else. Someone who was about to kill Jethro. Given the choice between the other boy's life and Jethro's, I chose my friend's. And I would do it again. That's all that matters.

Dina Brookfield, 15
District Three

I'm still alive. That's all that matters. That's what I keep trying to tell myself as I keep running. Faster. Faster. Hoping that he's not following me – the boy who attacked Rick. The boy who killed Rick.

It could have been me. Would have been me, if I'd been the one standing closer to that tree. It was dumb luck, plain and simple, that he's the one who's dead.

Stupid. It was stupid of me to suggest that we attack. Stupid to goad him on by suggesting that maybe one of those tributes had killed Atleigh. I wasn't thinking with my head. I just wanted food. I thought they might have some supplies. Something we could steal, maybe.

I never wanted Rick to die.

I never wanted any of this.

Bentley Norman, 13
District Seven

I never wanted any of this. I can't help a groan as I roll over, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the ground. I know we should keep moving. Another cannon just woke me. That's nine so far. Nine cannons. Nine tributes dead, and the four of us are still sitting here.

But none of the others seem ready to get moving yet, either. Certainly not Ada. She's still sitting there on the ground, silently rocking back and forth, glancing around every now and then to make sure no one's coming. Keeping watch, I guess. But what's she really going to do if someone comes? What are any of us going to do if someone comes?

Okay. That's not really the most important thing right now. If someone comes and finds us, they find us, and we're probably as good as dead. There isn't anything we can really do about that. So maybe we should focus on what we can do something about. Maybe we can find some food. Maybe…

But finding food means leaving. And leaving means all of us have to go. Doesn't it? I glance over at Apollo, who's still lying down, pretending to be asleep. At Phoebe, who's just as unconscious as she's been for quite a while. None of them want to go anywhere right now – that much is clear.

Slowly, I get to my feet. Everything hurts. I'm still exhausted. But one of us has to do something. I don't want to start an argument over whether we should get going, but maybe…

"I'll be right back," I offer, nodding towards the trees in the distance. Ada doesn't question me. She probably assumes I'm just going to relieve myself. And that is the first thing I do once I'm out of sight.

But then I keep going. Maybe I can find some food. Some water that isn't swampy. Something. If I do – if I can say with certainty that there's food and water in this direction – then it'll be easier to convince the others to come this way. And if I don't find anything … well, I haven't lost anything but time.

Apollo Lancey, 14
District Five

Bentley sure is taking his time getting back. There haven't been any cannons since he's left, but, still, it's been at least ten minutes. How far away does he have to go?

I close my eyes. If he wandered off a little, that's not my problem. It's not my job to take care of the rest of this group. I already scouted out in this direction and came back to tell them it was safe – and then outran a giant sea serpent. I'm not about to go traipsing off after someone who took a little too long to take a dump.

Ada, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be taking it so well. She's mumbling quietly to herself – maybe wondering if she should go after him. And maybe I should feel sorry for her. Darrin did tell her to take care of us, after all. But she has to realize that she can't take care of us forever. That, eventually, most of us are going to die.

I roll over a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. It's not easy. I managed to get some sleep earlier, but then there was a cannon and … well, I guess that always put people on edge a little more.

Nine cannons. And it's already … what? Halfway through the second day? A little more than halfway, I suppose. The sun is already dipping a little lower in the sky. If we don't find something to eat soon…

Maybe that's where Bentley went. Maybe he's looking for food. Maybe we should have followed him. But if he'd wanted us to follow him – if he'd wanted us all to go looking for food – then he should have damn well said so rather than just wandering off.

Maybe he's not thinking clearly. Maybe none of us are. I know I'm not. I'm just so tired. So hungry. I just wish … I just wish none of this were happening.

Lacey Blair, 16
District Eight

I just wish I could find some food. I finally decided to risk drinking a little of the swamp water a little while ago. It tastes exactly as bad as it smells, but at least I'm still alive. How long that's going to last, of course, depends on whether I manage to find anything to eat. Water without food is only going to keep me alive for so long.

I can see some trees in the distance. Maybe that means there's food. There has to be something to eat in this arena. Unless … unless that's why there was food at the top of the hill at the start of the Games. What if there isn't anything edible, and that's their way of drawing us back up the hill? What if…?

Stop it. There has to be food. Trees mean food – don't they? Even if there isn't fruit or anything, there was an edible plants section during training, and a lot of the bark and leaves seemed to be edible. A lot of them – but not all. I didn't spend long at that station. Will I really be able to tell the difference?

Will I really have any choice but to risk it?

Okay. First things first. First I have to get to the trees. After that, I can worry about figuring out whether anything is edible or not. First I have to get there.

So I keep walking. Stumbling, really, by this point. Everything is still so slippery. The rocks. The dirt beneath them. Everything is wet – including me. I'd dried out for a while, but then I slipped on one of the damn rocks and … well, wet again. At least things have warmed up a bit, so I'm not soaking wet and freezing cold. That's something, I guess.

And I'm still alive. Nine tributes dead, and I'm still alive. Still making my way through this marsh. And, sure, it smells. Sure, I'm wet and hungry and tired. But that's still better – a lot better – than being dead.

Ivone Eister, 17
District Twelve

Maybe staying behind at the top of the hill was a better idea, after all. The others are finally getting ready to leave. They don't seem to know when they'll be back, but maybe that's all right. Setting a time to meet up again didn't really seem to work out last time, anyway. And it's not as if I'll be going anywhere. I'm just staying here – making sure that no one comes and steals anything.

Right.

That's what I suggested, anyway. And maybe if only one tribute sneaks up here, I'll be able to fight them off – or maybe they won't even try sneaking in if they see me up here. But if more than one comes – or if someone seems particularly dangerous – I'm not going to stay here and fight to defend … what? A pile of weapons and food? If I can kill them, I will. If not, I'll run. I'm not here to be a hero, and I'm not going to die to keep someone from getting a little food. I can't afford to be that stupid. I can't afford to play the hero. Because heroes don't survive the Games.

The boy who won last year, after all – he ran when he and his allies were attacked by the girl from Seven. It was only later – after a fire drove him back in that direction – that he returned and killed her. And, even then, he got lucky. Very lucky.

I can't count on getting that lucky. Not all the time. But I don't tell the others that as they head down the hill in the opposite direction from last night. I don't want them to know that I don't plan on staying here and risking my life if running seems like a better option.

But would any of them really do any different? Given the choice between running and a fight they probably wouldn't win, how many of them would stand and fight? I don't think any of them would be that stupid. Why should I be embarrassed to say that I won't, either?

Still, I don't have to broadcast it. Don't have to let the audience know that I don't plan on holding up my end of the deal if things start to go wrong. If I'm lucky, no one will even come along while the others are gone – or it'll be some small, scrawny tribute who's half-starved after a day and a half in the arena.

A day and a half. Has it really been that long? I guess so. The sun's already starting to dip a little lower in the sky. It doesn't seem like that long. Maybe because we've had plenty of food. We've had plenty of rest. Anyone who hasn't had either of those things … well, they're probably pretty sick of the Games by now. But that can only be good for us. It'll make them desperate. And desperate people – they do some pretty stupid things.

Charlotte Jacquard, 17
District One

I guess I should be grateful that we're not in too desperate a position yet. Julian and I have food, water, and weapons. That's more than most of the others can probably say. And we're still alive, which is more than nine of the others can say.

Nine. Nine tributes are dead. In the moments that I manage to forget that those were actual people – actual teenagers with lives and families of their own – when I manage to forget that, it's almost funny. Almost funny that Julian and I have made it this far. That we're still alive, when nine other people are dead.

It's a moment before I realize that I'm laughing. Julian turns towards me, eyebrows raised. "Are you all right?"

No. No, I'm not all right. I'm in the Hunger Games. I could die at any moment, and I'm sitting here … laughing. "I'm fine," I insist. "It's just … it's just funny."

"What's funny?"

"That we're still alive. The two of us." I stop for a moment to catch my breath, but … but it's just hilarious.

After a moment, Julian joins in. "We shouldn't … be so loud," he points out, giggling. "We could attract attention."

We could. Maybe we are. Someone could find us at any moment. We could die because we just couldn't stop laughing. But, for a moment, none of that matters. For a moment, I'm almost … almost happy.

No. No, I am happy. Not to be in the Games, certainly. But I'm happy that I'm still alive. I'm happy that Julian is still alive. Not just relieved or not as frightened as I was before. But actually, genuinely happy. I can't remember the last time I was actually happy. And that … maybe that makes it all worth it.

Julian Masters, 16
District Two

All of this has been worth it, just to hear someone laugh again. It's been a long time since anyone besides Clarence has been able to laugh while I'm around. Not for lack of me trying, but most people just can't get that comfortable around a kid who looks like me. Around someone who's a walking reminder of just how much can be wrong with the world.

But Charlotte … she's different. She's special. I think she actually likes being around me – and not because she feels sorry for me. She's actually … enjoying this moment. And I think I am, too. "Thank you," I gasp between bursts of laughter.

"For what?"

I shake my head. "For reminding me why I volunteered. This … this is what life is supposed to be like. This is what I wanted for … for Clarence. And, Clarence, if you're listening, I want you to remember moments like this. This is what life is about. This is what I want you to have. Enjoy it."

Shit, I sound like I'm saying goodbye. Maybe I am. Maybe it's better to say it like this. Better to say goodbye now, while I have the chance. Before something happens and I don't have the time. If I can give him one last image to hold onto – one last moment when I'm smiling and laughing despite the Games – then that's what I want to do. This is what I want to do – for as long as I can.

Ra Schintozo, 18
District One

This is what I was meant to do. This is what I'm here for. I have to remind myself of that as the three of us – Jayda, Isaac, and I – head off down the hill. This is what we're supposed to be doing. Things will work out better this time. They have to.

Not that the result was terrible last time. We're still alive, after all. Things could have been a lot worse. But if I'm going to win, we have to start doing better than just staying alive. We haven't killed anyone since the first hour or so of the Games. We have to do more than that. We have to do better than that. I have to be better than that.

No. No, I am better than that. I just need to show them that. They don't seem to realize – these two – just how lucky they are. Just how fortunate they are to be my allies. But that'll change soon enough. Sooner or later, we'll find someone – or someone will find us. And then…

And then we'll fight. Just like we did at the start. As strange as it sounds, there was a certain … rush at the start of the Games. A certain thrill. That feeling … it's gone now. Everything seems to be happening so slowly in comparison. Was this how things went last year? I don't remember it being so slow.

Or maybe it only seems slow since we're the ones in the arena. The Games last year lasted four days, after all. We're only halfway or so through the second day, and there are already nine tributes dead. That's nearly half. We're making progress. Or, at least, some of us are.

Jayda Greggory, 18
District Two

I hope we're making progress. It's hard to tell, really. Hard to be certain of anything. We can see the treeline in the distance, which is where we're assuming most of the tributes will be hiding. But we have no way of knowing for sure. And, as we found out last time, it's hard to determine exactly where in the forest the tributes might be.

Maybe we'll get a little help. I know we shouldn't count on getting a parachute – especially since we haven't killed anyone since the start of the Games – but it should be pretty obvious that we're willing to kill. We just haven't had the chance. We haven't found anyone. How have the other tributes been finding each other? We don't really need any supplies that might come with a parachute, but if we could just get some hint of where the other tributes might be…

But, like I said, we can't count on that. It would be nice, but we have to keep moving. Keep acting as if we know what we're doing without their help. Because…

Because what? Why should we act like we don't know? Like we don't know they could send us something to make our hunt a hell of a lot easier? I glance over at Ra and Isaac. "It'd be nice to have some idea of where the other tributes are, wouldn't it?"

Ra raises an eyebrow. "Of course. Do you have any ideas?"

I shrug. "No, but someone else might. If someone wanted to give us some idea of where the other tributes are right now, that would be really helpful."

Isaac is catching on. "Hell, if we knew the location of all the tributes, the three of us could probably wipe them all out in one fell swoop."

I chuckle. That's getting a little too cocky, probably. But cocky is good. Cocky is interesting. And maybe it'll be enough to make an impression.

Jae Park, 17
District Six

I've already made enough of an impression for now. That's what I keep trying to tell myself. But the truth is, I'm getting a bit anxious to do something. I got some sleep a little while ago, resting under a tree, but even that wasn't very restful. And I woke to the sound of laughing.

I thought it was a dream, at first. There was no way anyone could actually be laughing in the Games, right? But it wasn't a dream. Someone was laughing – more than one someone, actually – and pretty close by.

Or, at least, they were close by. I immediately headed in the other direction. Sure, I could have ventured closer – tried to figure out who it was. But why? There's only one of me – and at least two of them, from the sound of it. And if they're actually laughing in the Games, there's one of two options. Either they're actually enjoying themselves – enjoying the fact that we're here and we're supposed to kill each other – or they've just gone mad.

Either of those options could be dangerous. They might be armed. And I'm not really in a position to take on two armed tributes without some sort of an advantage. So I immediately headed the other way, but there's a part of me that wonders whether it was the right choice. Whether the Gamemakers will decide to do something about that.

Probably not. I hope not. I hope that what I've been doing has been interesting enough. I've already killed a girl, after all. One of the nine tributes who's died was my doing. Maybe it's not much, especially after two days, but without any allies … well, what more do they expect?

Ada Lavoisier, 17
District Five

What more do they expect of me? What am I supposed to do? I wring my hands as I keep pacing, watching the two of them. Apollo, who's still fast asleep, exhausted from trekking back and forth through the marsh. And Phoebe, who's still unconscious. Who won't be getting any better. Who would probably be better off dead at this point, because then at least she wouldn't be in pain. And at least we wouldn't have to worry about carrying her everywhere.

That sounds terrible. I know. And it's not what Darrin told me to do. He told me to take care of them. But Darrin isn't here. And Bentley isn't even here anymore. I don't know whether or not he's coming back, and I can't go looking for him – not with Apollo and Phoebe still here. I could wake Apollo, I suppose. Ask him to watch Phoebe while I'm gone. But would he?

The truth is, I don't know. I don't even know what I would do, if it was just me. But it is just me now – or it might as well be. Why is it my job to take care of them? Why is it my job to look after them?

And how long can I keep doing it?

It's getting darker. If Bentley doesn't return soon, if Apollo doesn't wake up, if Phoebe doesn't get better, if, if, if…

I can't do this.

My hands have stopped shaking. My breathing is … almost calm. It's as if something finally snapped, and it all … it all makes sense. I kneel down by Phoebe. Darrin said to take care of them. But what if this … what if this is taking care of her? It's certainly better than what we've been doing. Better than waiting here, hoping for a miracle that will never come.

Silently, I wrap my hands around her throat. It's easy. So easy. She doesn't fight back. She can't. Maybe she wouldn't, even if she could. Maybe she would realize, too, that it's hopeless. That this is better than the death that other tributes might give her. And certainly better than trying to keep her alive for days. I squeeze a little harder. She doesn't wake up. She never will again, I realize as the cannon sounds. And that's … that's all right.

My gaze strays to Apollo, who hasn't woken – even with the sound of the cannon. He would wake up – if I tried to do it the same way. I glance around, scanning my surroundings in the dim light. Finally, I see what I want. What I need. What will free me from my promise to Darrin. He told me to protect them. But it's a promise I can't keep – a promise I won't need to keep – if they're dead.

All of them.

I grip the rock tightly. It'll have to be quick. I take a deep breath, raising my arm, and then bring it down as hard as I can. The rock strikes Apollo's head with a splitting crack, and his eyes snap open. But before he has a chance to react, the rock comes down again. And again. He's coughing blood, his eyes wide. Confused. But not for long. It's only a moment more before his cannon sounds, and his eyes glaze over, blood dripping across his face. Blood coating the rock in my hand.

I stagger to my feet, backing away from the bodies. Away from my handiwork. Away from my promise to protect them, to keep them safe. I don't have to worry about them anymore. I'm free. And it feels … it feels good.

Isaac Swarthy, 16
District Twelve

I can't help feeling like there's something we're missing. Something we're not doing right. Something the other tributes clearly are doing. There have been two more cannons since we left the top of the hill. Tributes are dying. Tributes are killing. There are only thirteen tributes left, and I haven't done … anything, really, except follow my allies around this damn arena. I finger my dagger as we head deeper into the forest. It's nearly dark. If the Gamemakers don't take the hint and send us something…

Then what? What am I going to do? What can I do? We could split up, I suppose, but that didn't work out so well last time.

There's another option.

Shut up, Z! I have to fight the urge to shout the words out loud. What he's suggesting is dangerous and crazy and just feels wrong. But he is right about there being another option. If we can't find any other tributes, there are two tributes right next to me who eventually have to die if I want to go home.

But even if I wanted to … how could I kill both of them? I'm walking behind them right now, but would I really be fast enough to stab both of them in the back before either of them noticed? And then what would I do? What would I tell Ivone about what happened?

No. No, actually, that's the easy part. I could tell her that we were attacked. That I was the only one who survived. She would probably believe it. Hell, I could probably even tell her that the two of them killed each other. We're all rather testy right now. It wouldn't take much for one of us to snap.

Unless … unless it's just me. Unless I'm the only one who's feeling anxious. Restless. The only one who feels I haven't really earned my place here. My right to be in this group. Maybe even my right to still be alive. The others have at least killed someone. Maybe…

Maybe. That's all it is. The truth is, I have no idea. No real idea what they're feeling. What they're thinking. Even after two days with them, we haven't really spent much time talking. Getting to know each other. And I suppose that makes sense, but what do I really know about these two? My life could be in their hands at any moment, and I … I don't really have any idea whether or not I can trust them.

No. That's not true. I can't trust them. Not if I want to go home. It's only a matter of time before it's them or me. Only a matter of time before I'll have to make my move.

Isaac Graves
District Five Escort

It was only a matter of time before she figured it out. Only a matter of time before Ada realized she couldn't keep protecting the others. I'm just sorry it happened while Apollo was there – asleep, defenseless, unable to fight back. Maybe things would have been better if he'd gone after Bentley. Maybe by the time they returned…

What? Ada would have regained her senses? No. Whatever happened, it's done – and there is no going back. Whatever snapped inside her, there's no fixing it – not until this is over. Unless she manages to make it through this alive.

I take a seat by Maverick, who's watching the screen intently alongside Titus. "Sorry," he offers. "About Apollo."

I nod a little. "I'm sorry, too – about yours."

"Mine?"

I glance over at Titus. "And yours. What Jayda and Isaac were saying before – about wishing they had some clue about where the other tributes were – I have a feeling the Gamemakers might grant their wish."

Titus shrugs. "Which is a bad thing because…"

"Because of the tributes they're closest to." I nod towards the map on the right side of the screen. "Think about it. Who else is in the area?"

"Charlotte and Julian," Titus answers matter-of-factly. "I don't see the problem."

Of course he doesn't. Because he's assumed from the start that Julian was a lost cause, and focused on Jayda, instead. But Maverick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Maybe they won't. Maybe they'll lead them somewhere else – Ra and the others."

"Maybe," I agree vaguely. But we both know the truth. The only other tribute remotely close is Jae, and he's headed in the opposite direction. Away from the laughter he probably assumed was coming from a pair of much more capable tributes. If he'd ventured a little closer, he could probably have figured out who they were – and, with the element of surprise, could probably have killed both of them easily.

But he didn't. They got lucky. Lucky enough that nearly half of the tributes are dead … and they're still alive. But I can see in Maverick's face what he's already wondering: How much longer will that luck last?

First of all, my apologies for the long wait. Due to unforeseen personal circumstances, both Logan and Stars have had to drop out of this collaboration. Don't worry - they're both fine. They just can't handle the time commitment right now, and we didn't want to postpone updating until they've got more free time, because we aren't exactly sure when that will happen.

Because it's just me now, updates may be a bit slower, but, I promise you, I will finish this story. (Seeing as we're almost halfway through the Games, it'd just be silly to stop and summarize it now.) I just felt I owed you an explanation and politely ask for your patience and understanding.

Lastly, there's a new poll up asking who you'd like to see in the final four. We asked for final six last story, but that's nearly half of the tributes who are left right now, so ... four it is.

~ Winter