Warning: Between Ludwig and Zion's POVs, things get a bit gruesome in this chapter. The worst of it happens "off-camera," so to speak, but if you'd rather skip those POVs and would a summary instead, just shoot me a PM.

Also, please let me know if I'm pushing the boundary of a "T" rating. I've never been entirely sure where that line is, and the ratings guide provided in the guidelines is ... less than clear, to say the least. So if you could let me know if I cross it before reporting me, that would be splendid. Thanks.


Day One
Aftermath


Clint Breckin, 21
District Two Mentor

He'd been expecting the knock on the door ever since Vino had killed Clementine. In fact, part of him was surprised she'd bothered to knock. "Come in!" Clint called.

Before he'd even finished the sentence, Jerica had barged into the room. Her face was red. "Did you know?" she demanded. "Did you know Vino was planning to turn on the rest of the pack? Did you know he was the traitor?"

Clint shook his head. "I knew he was thinking about it, but as far as I know, he hadn't made up his mind until he was actually in the arena. But if I had known, do you really think I would have told you? Kind of defeats the point of surprising the rest of the pack with the betrayal, don't you think?"

Jerica was still glaring. "You knew he was thinking about it, though?"

"We discussed it last night, yes."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Probably the same thing you told Clementine. The same thing Angelo told Argent, the same thing Cliff told Valkyrie and Hudson told Mora. Hell, probably even the same thing Mina told Snap. She's no Career, mind you, but she's not an idiot. I told him to weigh the dangers and the potential benefits and to make his own decision. I told him that it would probably be safer to stick with the pack, but that turning on them might attract the audience."

"And what did he say?"

"Said he'd think about it. What did Clementine say?"

Jerica sighed. "She said no. Immediately. I didn't press the matter after that. Maybe I should have."

Cliff shook his head. "Maybe. Maybe not. After all, if all of them had tried to join Kekoa, there wouldn't be a pack left to turn their backs on."

"I suppose not," Jerica agreed. "So now what?"

Cliff leaned back in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"We're barely a few hours into the Games, and my tribute's dead. I always figured … well, I figured she'd last a bit longer than that. That I'd have my hands full working with sponsors and discussing strategies with the other mentors. What am I supposed to do now?"

Cliff chuckled a little. "Never thought about it like that, I guess. There's really only one thing to do, then." He smiled. "Sit back and enjoy the rest of the show."


Zion Harper, 16
District Six

"Damn it," Zion muttered between clenched teeth. He'd been trying for at least an hour now to work his way free from the knots that bound his wrists to the bar overhead. It was getting warmer, the sun overhead beginning to beat down on the arena. The garbage stank. The muck he was standing in was wet and sticky. And he'd still seen no sign of anyone.

He'd thought about calling for help, but what good would it do? He'd only had one ally, and Basil was dead. Anyone else who came along was more likely to take advantage of the situation to kill him rather than let him loose. And he couldn't shake the feeling that the boy who had brought him here – the boy from Nine – was lurking somewhere, waiting for…

For what? For him to work his way free? Was he trying to give him a sporting chance? Zion grunted in frustration as the knots seemed to grow even tighter. The fabric was surprisingly strong, and showed no signs of beginning to break. And the bonds were too tight for him to wriggle his way free.

"Do you like it?" The voice caught him off-guard even though he'd suspected the boy was nearby. "It's called a constrictor knot. The more you pull, the tighter it gets." The boy from Nine stepped out from behind the train car. "Simple, really, but quite effective. I'm afraid you're stuck here with me."

"What do you want?" Zion growled. "Why don't you just kill me?"

"Oh, I plan to," the boy assured him. "But not just yet. You and I – we're going to have a little fun first. I couldn't help noticing your scars. Burn marks, are they?"

Zion scoffed. "How long did it take you to figure that one out?"

"My, you're a feisty one. But you're right; it was rather obvious. I think I might light a fire – say, right over here." He produced a box of matches from one of his pockets. "What do you say to that?"

Zion said nothing. Nothing as the boy gathered some of the trash into a pile and lit it, stopping every so often to stoke the flames. He pulled harder at his bonds, but his hands were growing numb. The boy had been right about the knots getting tighter. But what other choice did he have?

Zion tried his best not to flinch as the boy stuck the end of a piece of piping – perhaps three feet long and two inches thick – into the flames. When he drew it out, the end was red hot. Slowly, he approached the train car. Zion held his breath. This could be his chance. If the other boy got close enough…

As soon as he was close enough, Zion kicked the boy as hard as he could in the groin. The older boy staggered back, but the look on his face – it wasn't pain. It was almost … almost amusement. In one swift motion, he lunged forward again and slammed the piece of piping against Zion's knee. It struck with a terrible cracking sound, and Zion cried out in pain. His leg gave way, leaving him dangling from his hands, which were almost completely numb.

His shoulders burned with the strain, but as soon as he tried to stand on his other leg, the pipe swung again. Tears came to Zion's eyes, and a cry escaped him once more. "That's enough of that," the boy from Nine muttered, stuffing a dirty rag into his mouth. "Can't have you drawing the other tributes' attention, can we?" He shook his head. "Now, let's try this again."


Elle Forster, 14
District Ten

"D-d-did you h-hear th-th-that?" Elle whispered, her voice squeaking a little too much for her liking. The sound had come from somewhere off to their right, and it didn't sound too far away. It was definitely a scream. Almost certainly human. But there hadn't been a cannon. Whoever had screamed was still alive. But the screaming had stopped. Did that mean they were unconscious, or was there some other explanation?

Barnabas nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "I heard it. Half the arena probably heard it."

"It s-sounded c-c-close." She hoped she didn't sound as scared as she felt.

"Maybe it's time for us to get moving, then," Barnabas suggested, gesturing in the opposite direction from the sound.

"Y-y-you d-don't th-think we sh-should…"

"What?"

"S-see wh-what it is?"

"Why?"

"S-someone c-c-could b-be h-hurt."

Barnabas slowly got to his feet. "That's the point, Elle. The whole point of the Games. Think it through. A couple things could be happening. One: Two tributes are over there, and one of them is killing the other. Two: There's a tribute being killed by a mutt. And three: Someone's trying to lure us in by making it sound like one of those things is happening. I don't think any of those are things we want to go towards."

"B-but if s-s-someone's h-hurt…"

"Then they'll be dead soon. Or they won't be. Maybe they're just scared. I don't know. And that's the point. I don't know what's over there, and neither do you. But that's not—" He stopped short as another scream split the air, then recovered his wits and finished. "That's not our fight."

Elle swallowed hard. The worst part was, he was right. It wasn't their fight. Whoever was over there, it would be better for the two of them if that person died. And it was better for them if the audience's attention was focused elsewhere, even if it meant that someone else was dying a painful death. Elle looked away. "Y-you're r-r-right."

Barnabas reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Being right sucks sometimes. But we're alive. And if we're going to stay that way, we can't worry about anyone else. We keep each other alive, and the rest of the arena can scream their heads off. Deal?"

"D-deal," Elle whispered, and they set off in the opposite direction. It was easier said than done. Eventually, the screams stopped, but there was still no cannon. Still no sign that the person who was screaming had actually died.

Maybe Barnabas had been right about it being a trap. About someone trying to lure them in by making them think that someone needed help. Maybe the person screaming had simply passed out. Maybe they were just getting too far away to hear. Either way, the silence was better. Much better. She just hoped it would last.


Argent Gaunt, 18
District One

How long was this going to last? Argent made a show of glancing at the sun, which was now high overhead. If he'd had a watch, he would be tapping it impatiently. It had been hours since the bloodbath, but both Snap and Valkyrie seemed content to sit around and sort their supplies. They now had a neat pile of food, a pile of water, and a pile of miscellaneous supplies – rope, matches, medical supplies, and so on. But they were no closer to finding any of the other tributes.

"Congratulations," Argent growled when the two of them seemed to have finished. "You've just made it that much easier for anyone else to waltz in and simply take what they want. Now they won't even have to dig through the garbage first."

Valkyrie smirked. "You'd think so, wouldn't you." She took a small vial from one of the packages of medical supplies. "Any idea what this is?"

Argent shook his head. The liquid was clear, but aside from that, it could be anything. It didn't seem to be labeled, but maybe that meant she had taken the label off. "Medicine?" Argent answered vaguely.

Valkyrie shook her head. "Poison."

"And that helps us because…"

"Because there are only three of us, genius. With only three of us, there's no way we can afford to leave someone here to guard the supplies while we're out hunting. Even if we left everything buried, people would still be able to take what they wanted; it would just take them a little longer. So, instead, we leave the supplies out in the open – with a little surprise."

"You want to poison the supplies?" Snap asked skeptically.

"Not all of them," Valkyrie reasoned. "Just enough of them that anyone who takes something will have a chance of being poisoned. Obviously, we can't poison it all. We need it. So we also need a way to keep track of which stuff is tainted, and which isn't."

Snap shook his head. "How much of that do we have?"

"Just this bottle."

"Then I'd say don't bother with the food. It's the water people will be after in this heat, with this garbage starting to stink in the sun and with these jumpsuits being as warm as they are. They'll need water more than food, so we use that."

Valkyrie nodded. "I like it. So how do we tell which ones we've poisoned without letting on?"

Snap studied a bottle for a moment. "See these numbers on the bottom? These seven digits, looks like a code of sorts? We could use those. Ends in an even number, tainted. Ends in an odd number, safe. Or vice versa." He chuckled. "We just need to remember which we picked."

Valkyrie thought for a moment. "Four letters in 'safe.' That's even. Let's go with evens are safe."

"Sounds good," Snap agreed. "Let's get sorting."

Argent didn't even bother trying to contain a groan as the two of them got to work. This was going to take forever! And for what? The chance that someone who happened to come along might get poisoned. Where was the sport in that? He almost wished he had turned traitor and joined Kekoa's group. They were probably doing something.


Kekoa Palu, 18
District Four

Kekoa couldn't help a smile as he, Apple, and Vino collapsed behind a small pile of garbage. With any luck, the Gamemakers would be content with what they'd done during the bloodbath, and would let them rest the remainder of the day. Between them, they had two kills, after all – both of them Careers.

Vino clapped Kekoa on the back as he took a seat beside him. "Not bad, if I say so myself."

"Not bad at all," Kekoa agreed. "You did well, too, Apple," he added. He didn't want her to feel left out. Sure, she hadn't killed, but she'd managed to survive against Mora until he could reach her. That certainly counted for something.

Apple, however, was sitting silently, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Finally, she spoke. "He was just trying to find something."

"Who?" Vino asked.

Apple looked up. "Ethan. He was looking through the supplies on the ground, and the other boy just … just … It happened too quickly. I didn't even see it coming. I should have. I could have shouted to him to get up, to get away, but…"

Kekoa scooted a little closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's not your fault. He was all the way on the other side of the circle. There's nothing you could have done. It was just … bad luck."

"Bad luck," Apple repeated, almost spitting the words. "That's the worst part of it. If it had been me over there, instead, it would be me. I'd be the one who was dead. And he'd be alive."

Vino shrugged. "You're probably right. But aren't you glad it turned out this way, instead?"

Kekoa glared. That was not going to help. Apple shook her head, almost in tears. "I … I guess so. But that's even worse. He's dead, and I'm happy he's dead. Grateful. Grateful that it wasn't me, instead. How sick is that?"

"That's perfectly normal," Kekoa insisted.

"Normal?" Apple spat back. "What would either of you two even know about what's normal? Six people are dead. Six kids are dead, and you think any of this is normal?"

Kekoa gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Apple, calm down. Think it through. If Ethan could see you now, what would he want? Would he want you to sit here wishing you'd been able to save him? Would he want you to cry? Or would he want you to keep fighting, to survive, to make it back to District Eleven?"

Even as he said it, however, he knew how empty the words sounded. Because in order for her to make it back to District Eleven, he would have to die. And in order for him to make it back, she would have to die. Neither of those was a good option, but saying that out loud would do nothing to change it. Apple shook her head slowly. "He wanted to make it back."


Apple Oxon, 18
District Eleven

It hurt to say it, but it was true. Ethan had never wanted her to be the one to make it back to Eleven. He had wanted to go home, just like the rest of them. If it had come down to her life or his, he would have chosen his own. And so would she. She would have chosen her life over his, in a pinch. Most of the other tributes would have done the same.

So why did it hurt so much?

It wasn't even as if she'd had a choice. She wouldn't have been able to save him even if she'd tried. But she hadn't tried. She hadn't even tried to avenge his death. It hadn't even occurred to her to race across the circle and try to kill the boy from One. She'd been busy enough trying to keep herself alive.

"Look, we'll get even," Vino promised, as if he'd read her thoughts. "Argent killed your district partner. We killed his. And we're going to kill him. That's a promise."

Kekoa raised an eyebrow. He hadn't agreed to that. But the thought did make her feel a little better. She hated that, but it was something. It was something to work towards.

"Maybe not right away," Kekoa reasoned. "There are still three of them, after all."

Vino shrugged. "Three of them, three of us. You think we're ever going to get better odds than that?"

Kekoa shook his head. "Maybe not. But we have time. We have supplies. Weapons. We have time to come up with a better plan than just rushing at them and hoping for the best."

Vino chuckled. "Seemed to work just fine during the bloodbath."

"Only because you had the element of surprise on your side. Clementine trusted you. The other Careers won't make that mistake again – and neither will we."

There it was again – that tone in his voice. As they were running from the bloodbath, Kekoa had warned Vino not to think for one second that they trusted him. Apple looked away. Maybe Kekoa didn't trust him, but Vino had saved their lives. That counted for something, didn't it?

"Why did you decide to join us?" Apple asked softly.

Vino shrugged. "Someone was going to, so I figured it might as well be me. I saw the chance to take out one of the stronger tributes in the Games, and I took it."

"You mean Clementine?" Kekoa asked.

"And Mora," Vino agreed.

"I killed Mora," Kekoa pointed out.

"And you think you would've had the chance if I hadn't been stalling, pretending I was trying to find a weapon?" Vino countered. "You could have been fighting the two of us rather than just her. How do you think that would have turned out?"

Kekoa didn't answer that. He didn't have to. Vino leaned back a little against the pile of garbage and shrugged. "Besides, the rest of the Career pack are pains in the ass. Argent's full of himself, and Snap's just trying to prove he can cut it with the rest of the pack. And don't get me started on my district partner." He chuckled, reaching into one of the bags they'd taken from the bloodbath and pulling out a pack of crackers. "Good thing it's only a matter of time before we're rid of them for good."


Valkyrie Kentwell, 17
District Two

It was probably a good thing they'd decided to rest a while before setting out. Argent was pacing restlessly, but if they'd set out immediately, he would probably have suggested going after Kekoa and his pack. And while that was something they would have to do eventually, there was no reason it needed to happen now. The fight during the bloodbath would probably be enough to satisfy the audience for a while. They could afford to pick some easier targets for the moment.

Besides, when that fight eventually came, chances were good that not all three of them would come out of it alive. And even if they managed to kill Kekoa and his allies without taking any losses themselves, they wouldn't be in the best shape. They might be injured, which could be deadly this early in the Games. Not that being injured in the Games was ever a good thing, of course, but being injured at the start of the Games was particularly bad.

Yes, that was a good reason not to go after Kekoa. Not to go after Vino. She still couldn't quite believe that her district partner had been the one to turn on them. To turn on her. Yes, she'd thought about leaving the Career pack herself, but that was different. She had never wanted to be here. He had.

Hadn't he?

Valkyrie let that thought sit for a moment. She couldn't remember anything during training, anything on the train or even during the reaping that had hinted that Vino was anything other than a typical Career. That he wanted anything more than to be in the Games. And teaming up with Kekoa didn't necessarily mean that he didn't want to be there. Just that he hadn't wanted to be a part of the Career pack.

Maybe it was Argent. He was a bit of a pain, after all. Impatient, arrogant, hot-tempered. But at least he was competent. Now Vino was left with Kekoa and a girl from Eleven who had no idea what she was doing, while she had…

Argent. She had Argent and Snap. That was it. Maybe they weren't the ideal allies, but they were the ones she had left. And at least Snap had proven that he was perfectly willing to kill, even if he'd gone a bit overboard. That was something – something more than Apple had done. Still…

"Come on!" Argent insisted as they finally finished. "We should get going already." He already had a pack of supplies slung over his back, a spear in one hand and a short sword in the other. Valkyrie turned to Snap, who shrugged. He was holding a large mace, and a few knives were tucked into his pockets.

Valkyrie nodded and slung a quiver of arrows across her back, chose a sturdy longbow that had been buried deep beneath the garbage, and tucked a large knife in her pocket. "All right. Which way do you think we should look first?" There didn't seem to be much as far as landmarks. Piles of garbage were scattered in every direction, but there wasn't one obvious place that would offer shelter for tributes trying to avoid detection.

"Well, we definitely don't want to get lost," Snap pointed out. "All this garbage would make it easy to get disoriented, so we should pick a direction and stick with it as well as we can. It's early afternoon, which makes that way west. So east … north … south." He pointed at each direction in turn. "What do we do? Flip a coin?"

Valkyrie shrugged. "Got a preference?"

He did. She knew he did. He was just trying not to be obvious about it. "South?" Snap offered.

Argent raised an eyebrow. "Why south?"

Valkyrie shrugged. "What's wrong with south? It's as good a direction as any. Feels sort of like going downhill."

Argent rolled his eyes and muttered something about taking the easy path, but as soon as he looked away, Snap glanced in her direction and nodded. South. The opposite direction from where his district partner had run. She would have to die eventually, of course, but there was no reason they had to be the ones to kill her. Not when there were plenty of other tributes to choose from.


Brindle Young, 18
District Nine

At least there were plenty of piles of garbage to choose from. Plenty of places to hide, if she happened to see someone coming, and plenty of places where there might be supplies hidden under all the garbage. There were plenty of things on top, of course. Plenty of things that could be used as a weapon, in a pinch. If nothing else, practically anything in the piles could be thrown at an attacker, or used to hit them with if they got too close.

In fact, she'd already found several objects that she could use as a weapon – a large fork with one of the prongs missing, a broken table leg that was as good as a club, and a very blunt knife that might deter someone from attacking if they only saw it from a distance. Maybe it wasn't much – certainly compared to what some of the others would have, if they'd gotten more from the bloodbath – but it was enough to provide some protection.

The more pressing concern was food, and especially water. There was plenty of sludge and grime covering the ground – and by now covering her boots and the legs of her jumpsuit. But she didn't dare drink that. She wasn't that desperate. And despite the junk that was piled all around her, not much of it seemed to be food. The food she had managed to find was moldy and rotten. A mushy tomato, a half-eaten moldy sandwich, a brown banana peel. The sort of stuff you'd expect to find in the garbage.

Which, of course, was exactly where they were. Brindle sighed as she plopped down behind one of the shorter piles of garbage. If the other tributes came looking – no, when the other tributes came looking – they would probably assume that the tributes would be hiding behind the larger piles. Probably. Well, maybe. It was as good a reason as any to stop and rest for a while. The sun was already starting to sink in the sky. She was hot. She was tired. Everything smelled. And were those … flies? Yes, a large group of flies nearby, buzzing around something.

Okay. Brindle forced herself to her feet and made her way over to investigate. If there were flies, maybe there was food. They had to eat something, after all.

The 'something,' however, was a rotting animal corpse. There wasn't even enough left to tell what it was supposed to have been. Some sort of four-legged, furry creature. Maybe a dog, or a fox, or something of that sort.

Maybe. Not that it mattered. Any meat left on it would be rotten by now, and covered in disease from the flies. She wasn't desperate enough to chance that. Not yet. Brindle covered her nose and mouth and headed in the opposite direction. Maybe one of the large piles of garbage would be better, after all.


Ari Zeno, 17
District Three

They'd certainly made the right decision when they'd settled down on one of the larger piles of garbage. Ari, Narra, and Derek had been keeping themselves busy sorting through the junk on the pile. Most of it was useless – loose pieces of wood, scraps of fabric, bits of plastic that weren't really large enough to make anything useful out of.

But buried beneath the layers of useless … well, junk … were a few useful trinkets. In addition to the supplies they'd gathered during the bloodbath, they'd managed to find another knife – although this one was a bit duller – a box of matches with three matches left, and a watch he was pretty sure was more or less accurate. Derek had taken the knife, Narra the matches, and he was wearing the watch. It was almost 7:30 – if the watch was accurate, of course – and the sun was dipping lower, almost below the horizon.

"I wonder what'll happen at night," Narra said quietly, almost to herself.

Derek turned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if this place is anything like the forest, things will certainly change once the sun goes down. Night is when everything really starts to come alive. There might be all sorts of animals in here, hiding, waiting for the right time to come out and hunt."

"All the more reason to stay alert," Ari pointed out. "You're right that it's not just the tributes we have to worry about." In fact, a group like theirs would probably make a tempting target if the Gamemakers decided it was time to use the mutts to get things moving. They'd made it out of the bloodbath alive and unscathed. They had weapons. Plenty of supplies. They had pretty much everything going for them – which meant the Gamemakers might decide it was time for something to go wrong.

Unless they gave the Gamemakers a reason not to target them.

Ari leaned in close to the others. "That means it might also be the perfect time for us to make a move."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" Clearly, he'd been counting on staying in one place for a while. But they'd been resting for a while between taking turns digging through the rubbish. They were about as alert as they could hope to be. Maybe it was time to take the initiative. Or at least look like they were taking the initiative.

Before he could answer Derek, however, they were interrupted by the sound of the Capitol anthem echoing across the arena. Ari glanced at his watch. He hadn't been expecting this just yet. Usually, they let it get a bit darker first. But maybe Narra had been on the right track, after all. Maybe the Gamemakers were planning something special once it actually got dark, and maybe now was a better time to get this out of the way. Ari leaned back against the pile of debris. "All right, then. Let's see who we're still up against."


Derek Overholt, 17
District Twelve

The first face – the girl from One – was a bit of a surprise. They'd seen some of the Careers fighting as they'd gathered up supplies, but part of him still hadn't really expected any of them to be killed. Silly, maybe, but Careers always seemed so strong, so invulnerable. The idea that any of them would actually be killed during the bloodbath was still rather surprising.

Hesper's face quickly followed. Derek glanced over at Ari, who was shaking his head as if he'd expected her to make it a bit farther. The girl from Four was next. Two Careers? From the same pack, no less. Kekoa's pack seemed to have made quite a dent in the main Career pack. Which was all the better for them, of course. The fewer Careers were hunting them down, the better.

Then came Narra's district partner, Basil. Narra looked away, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. Derek opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say? They didn't even have any way of knowing how Basil had died. Or Hesper, for that matter. Chances were, they would never know, unless one of them was the one to make it out of the arena alive.

The boy from Eleven was next. So Kekoa's pack hadn't made it out of the fight without a loss of their own. Derek couldn't help a smile. Both Career packs had taken a hit, while the three of them were still going strong.

His smile faded, however, when he saw the last face. Maybe he should have seen it coming. After all, they'd heard six cannons, and there was only one district left after Eleven. Obviously, it had to be Sienna. Still, it hurt to see her face – even more than he'd imagined it would. They hadn't really been close, but they were from the same district. That counted for something. If he couldn't make it home, the thought that maybe she would had provided at least a little comfort.

Now that thought was gone. For all of them. Ari shook his head, apparently thinking the same. "Looks like it's just us, then. For our districts, that is. Who would've thought?"

Narra looked up. "We would. We chose each other for allies, rather than our own district partners, after all."

She was right. But that didn't make it any better. Because in order for him to win, there were seventeen more tributes whose faces would have to appear in the sky, including both Narra and Ari. He didn't want them to die. He'd never wanted anyone to die.

It wasn't fair.

Derek took a deep breath. Of course it wasn't fair. But it was the way things were now. His district partner was gone. Sienna was dead. He wasn't. And he would have to live with that if he wanted a chance of making it out of the arena. So he turned to Ari. "What were you saying about making a move?"


Selwyn Trembal, 16
District Eight

"Looks like we made the right move," Selwyn observed. "With the Careers, that is. Two of them from the main pack dead, along with one of the pair from Eleven. Not bad at all, huh, Dusty?"

Dusty was silent, still staring at the sky. "She's dead. Sienna's dead."

Selwyn nodded. "We knew that was a possibility when she didn't find us."

"Of course," Dusty agreed. "It's just … different, knowing it for sure. I was still hoping she'd turn up, but…"

"But now it's just us. Just two kids from District Eight, trying to survive another day. Oh, and completely crippling the Career packs."

Dusty finally chuckled a little. "That was a pretty good idea, wasn't it. I wonder who finally took the bait."

"I guess we'll find out eventually," Selwyn reasoned. The pair of them hadn't looked back after running from the bloodbath – not even long enough to see whether their ally had been coming. Maybe he should have felt guilty for that, but relief that he was still alive was enough to outweigh whatever regret he might have about not staying to protect his ally.

Besides, he still had Dusty. And between her and Sienna, Dusty was certainly the more useful. It had been her idea, after all, to try to sow some seeds of distrust among the Careers during the interviews, to try to convince the audience that someone was going to turn on the Career pack. And apparently someone had.

But who?

Maybe it didn't matter – not right now, at least. If it was someone who was still alive, that meant the packs would be split three and three. If the traitor was already dead, it would be a four-two split. Either one of those things was better than two Career packs operating at full strength.

Selwyn stretched out against the base of the garbage pile they'd settled down on. "What would you say to getting some rest? Think six deaths is enough for them to leave us alone for a while?"

"Maybe," Dusty answered noncommittally. "Yes, there were six deaths, but we didn't kill anyone."

"Not directly, maybe," Selwyn reasoned. "But we certainly played a part."

Dusty nodded. "Tell you what. You get some rest, and I'll keep watch for a while."

He certainly wasn't going to argue with that. If something was going to happen during the night, the Gamemakers would probably give them at least a little time. Time to settle down. Time for the Gamemakers to lull them into a sense of security, make them think they were safe before…

Before what? There was no way of knowing. But whatever it was, they would be better equipped to face it if they got some rest first. Selwyn lay down, but as he closed his eyes, he caught Dusty glancing up at the sky again, as if expecting to still see their ally's face there among the stars.

Selwyn closed his eyes. Sienna was dead. There was nothing they could do about that. All they could do now was try to keep each other alive. That would be more than enough to keep them busy.


Ludwig Ophiuchus, 18
District Nine

He could have kept himself busy doing this for days, but the boy wasn't likely to last that long. Ludwig took a step back, using the last of the light from the tributes' faces in the sky to admire his handiwork. The boy in front of him, still dangling from the bar that ran along the train, was barely conscious. His body was as limp as an old rag doll and almost as tattered. His clothes had been torn and burned away, leaving him with only the barest of coverings. Patches of his skin were charred, and some had been burnt away entirely, exposing the flesh beneath. It was almost too much for the boy to bear.

Almost. But not quite. He was still alive – barely. Oh, he would certainly never recover. At this point, even if he were to somehow escape, he would be dead within hours. He would never be able to walk with his legs in this state, and fighting … well, fighting was long out of the question. Too many of his bones had been broken. He would never be able to grip a weapon even if he had the opportunity.

No, he only had one use left: to lure in Ludwig's next victim. Ludwig slowly made his way to the boy's side. The younger boy barely had the strength left to flinch away from his touch. Ludwig removed the rag that he'd stuffed in the boy's mouth to muffle his screams, then poured a little water down his throat. It probably seemed like a waste, but he needed the boy to scream, and one couldn't do that on a parched throat. Not loudly enough to attract anyone else, at least.

The boy tried to say something, but he couldn't form the words. Not yet. "What was that?" Ludwig taunted. "Speak up. I couldn't quite hear you."

"Please." The boy's voice was faint, but finally audible. "Please…"

"Please what?" He loved this part. It always came to this, in the end. In the end, they only wanted one thing: an end to the pain. And now there was only one way to get it.

"Just … just kill me."

Ludwig shook his head. "Not yet." Then he went back to work, this time allowing the boy's screams to echo through the night, filling the ears of anyone who might be close enough to hear. It was only a matter of time before someone else decided to come answer the call.

He could only hope it happened before the boy inevitably expired. He didn't have much strength left, but Ludwig hoped he would hold on. If he didn't, of course, he could always go out and find his next victim, but it would be so much quicker, so much easier to simply let them come to him.

A part of him hoped that it would be Brindle, but that was probably too much to hope for. Of course, he could have gone after her at the start, but then he couldn't have taken his time. The audience expected deaths during the bloodbath to be quick, so that they could get on with the rest of the Games. The reason he'd been able to draw this one out was because he'd already killed Basil. If he'd gone after Brindle immediately, he wouldn't have that luxury. But if she came now…

Part of him already knew, though, that she wouldn't. Even if she was nearby, she wasn't the sort to risk her life for nothing. Not really. Oh, she could boast. She could pretend. She could rail on about the injustices of the Captiol and how she was willing to give her life for her cause, but when it came right down to it, she wanted to live. He'd caught a glimpse of her fleeing the fighting at the bloodbath without so much as a scratch. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was afraid.

Eventually, he would use that against her. But not yet. Not until she was ready. Then he would make sure that she knew exactly what she had allowed to happen. Basil's body still lay on the ground nearby, uncollected by the hovercraft. Once Zion died, his body would remain as a testament to Ludwig's work. Whoever came to help would know what had happened because they had arrived too late. And that would be just as bad as any pain he could inflict.


Finch Ares, 18
District Six

She wished there was a way to stop the screaming. Finch fought the urge to cover her ears in protest. It would just look silly, and there was no way it would drown out the sound. There was only one person it could be, after all. That was the direction the boy from Nine had gone, dragging Zion along with him. Those screams were coming from her district partner.

But what was she supposed to do about it? Finch glanced over at Sam, who looked just as uncomfortable. "Do you think we should…?"

"What?" Sam asked, as if giving voice to Finch's own thoughts. "What, exactly, are you suggesting we do? Storm over there and stop him from doing … whatever he's doing? With what? What are we supposed to use to fight him?"

"If we catch him by surprise—"

"Then what? You saw what he did to those two boys during the bloodbath."

"One of 'those two boys' is my district partner. His name's Zion, and he's still alive." There had been no cannons since the bloodbath. Zion's face hadn't appeared in the sky. "That's him screaming, and I'm … I'm just sitting here."

"Because there's nothing you can do for him," Sam reasoned. "Sometimes it's best to just let things be."

She was right. There was nothing they could do. Not without any weapons to fight with. They had no food. No water. They hadn't eaten anything all day – well, not since breakfast, at least. She probably wasn't thinking clearly. She was tired, of course, but how was she supposed to sleep when she could still hear him?

Slowly, Sam got to her feet. "Where are you going?" Finch asked.

"We obviously aren't going to be able to get any sleep here. So we might as well keep moving – away from those screams. Whatever's going on over there, we don't want anything to do with it. And we certainly don't want it to happen to us."

"But if someone doesn't do something—"

"Then what? Maybe the Gamemakers will step in and stop him. Or maybe someone else will hear him – someone who actually has weapons or a big enough group to take him on. That's not us, Finch. We can't do anything."

Can't. That word made it easier. It wasn't that they wouldn't do anything, or that they were unwilling to step in and try to help her district partner. Saying that they couldn't instead shifted the blame. But the truth of the matter was, it was their own fault they weren't in a position to help. The reason they didn't have weapons was because they hadn't grabbed any. The reason they weren't in a position to fight was because they hadn't taken steps to make sure they were prepared. It was still their fault.

Her fault.

Slowly, Finch got to her feet and followed Sam. There was nothing else to do. Nothing else she could do. All she could do now was walk away.


Brindel Tanner, 38
District Ten Mentor

"Don't you dare," Brindel muttered at the screen, even though she knew that they couldn't hear her. Some of the cameras were trained on Finch walking away, abandoning her district partner to his fate. Most of the rest focused either on Ludwig and Zion or on the Careers who were still heading south. But every now and then, there was an image of some of the other tributes, and she'd seen what they hadn't.

Barnabas and Elle had stopped a while ago. They'd been heading in the opposite direction from the screams, but they hadn't gotten far. Once the screams had died down earlier, they hadn't been in much of a rush. But that meant that they were still close enough to hear. Barnabas had volunteered to take the first shift, and was pacing restlessly on his stunted legs, holding the knife that Elle had managed to grab at the start. Elle was lying on the ground, her eyes closed, her hands over her ears, pretending to sleep.

She wasn't pretending very well.

Neither was Barnabas. There was a look in his eyes, as much as she didn't want to see it. He'd made up his mind. He was just waiting for Elle to fall asleep. Just waiting for the right moment when he could slip away. He didn't want to risk her life, too. They only had one weapon, after all. It would be stupid for both of them to go.

Brindel leaned back in her chair, quietly sipping a drink. It was stupid for either of them to go. Stupid and stubborn and so very human. That was what Ludwig was exploiting, in the end. He was preying on human nature itself. Even in the Games, most people still held onto that basic human instinct to try to end suffering when they could. Most tributes still had the decency to try to make their kills quickly.

But there were exceptions. There were always exceptions. Clearly, Ludwig was one. But Barnabas wasn't. As silently as he could manage amid the garbage, he took one step back towards the screams. Then another. Elle stirred. Silently, Brindel waited, hoping she would keep her eyes shut. That she would simply let him leave. He was going; that much was obvious. But that didn't mean both of them had to.

Just as Barnabas took another step, however, Elle sat up. "Are y-you l-l-leaving?"