Night Two
Long Shot


Long shot: An attempt or undertaking that offers much but in which there is little chance for success.


Isabella Thatcher, 18
District Eight

Isabella leaned back against the tree she had found as the Capitol anthem began to play. Time to find out how many tribute were actually dead. Most of the other tributes in the arena were probably expecting a long line of faces tonight, but she knew better. Most of the cannons had been the result of the boy from One goofing off on the pirate ship. Exactly how many, she wasn't sure, but there definitely weren't as few of them left as most of the other tributes probably assumed by now.

Sure enough, the first face to appear belonged to the boy from Three. So that meant most of the Careers, at least, were still alive and kicking. The pair from One, the girl from Two – they were still out there somewhere. Still hunting, probably. Well, the boy from One, at least, was probably still on the pirate ship, but the others … they could be anywhere.

The next face, however, jumped all the way to the girl from Eleven. Isabella couldn't help a little smirk. That would surprise them. The boy from Eleven was next, followed by Emilia. The smirk died on Isabella's lips as her friend's face faded from the sky. She'd suspected, when Emilia hadn't come looking for her, that maybe that had been the case. Maybe they shouldn't have split up, after all.

Or maybe splitting up had saved her life. Either way, that meant four dead, along with the five the previous day. Nine. Only nine tributes dead. That meant fifteen of them were left.

And she was still one of them. Isabella held back a chuckle as she realized. She had outlived nine tributes. Not only that, but she'd outlived an idiotic decision to investigate the sound of cannons. What had overcome her then, she still wasn't quite sure, but she had survived it. For whatever reason, the boy from One hadn't thought she was worth coming after. And for now, that was good enough for her.

Suddenly, a beeping sound shook her from her thoughts, and a large, brightly-colored parachute floated towards her. Isabella nearly burst out laughing. A sponsor? Someone had decided to sponsor her? Sure, it made sense that with Owen gone, Woof would be focusing his efforts on trying to help her, but she was still surprised he'd managed to scrape together enough sponsors to send something to a tribute with a broken leg.

Besides, there wasn't really anything she needed. She had enough water to last her a good long time, and she had found some berries a while back. She still wasn't quite hungry enough to risk eating them, but she was getting there. Maybe that was why he was sending her something. Maybe the berries were poisonous, and he was trying to warn her not to eat them, or give her directions somewhere else, or maybe even send her food.

The parachute landed nearby, and Isabella grabbed hold of of it with one of her crutches, inching it towards her until she could grab hold of it. Attached to the parachute was a bundle of fresh clothes – all of them darker-colored and a bit less conspicuous than the silly clown outfits the tributes had been given. Okay. That was something. Attached to the parcel was a note. Berries are fine. Eat up. Woof.

Isabella scooped the berries out of her pocket. That was good enough for her. In the morning, she could go back for more. Maybe even tonight, if she was feeling up to it later. Things certainly seemed to be going her way.


Decima Clear, 17
District Two

That certainly wasn't how she'd expected things to go. Decima shook her head as the last of the faces faded from the sky. Only four tributes dead. There had certainly been more cannons than that. At least that meant Confidence and Thalia were still alive, but where were they? Thalia knew where she was. She should have returned hours ago. And there was no telling where Confidence might be.

Decima glanced at the tent she'd put back together. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – a good way to try to draw tributes in – but there didn't seem to be anyone around to take the bait. And the sky was clear. No sign of rain, which meant tributes wouldn't be scrambling around looking for shelter. The moon provided a little light, enough to see that there was no one else in the area.

Maybe it was time to head back to the cornucopia. If Thalia wasn't coming back to the tent, that was certainly where she would go – and where Confidence would have to return to eventually, if he was in need of food or water. It was certainly a better place to meet up with the others than a random tent in the middle of the arena.

Decima slung her backpack over her back, stuffed her sickle into one of the straps, picked up her spear, and headed back towards the cornucopia. Only four tributes dead. That wasn't what she'd been expecting. She and Thalia had been responsible for two of those deaths, after all – the boy from Three and the girl from Eleven. Only two other tributes, and at least eight or nine other cannons, by her count. What was going on?

Maybe it didn't matter. Her count was accurate now – and would be at the start of every night, even if something odd was happening with the cannons. Maybe it was a glitch. Maybe the Gamemakers were trying to throw them off, make them more likely to do something rash. If so, it didn't seem to be working. Still, she couldn't fault them for trying.


Merric Belgrave, 18
District Four

"I guess we weren't going crazy after all," Izzy muttered as the last of the faces faded from the sky. They'd found a tent to settle down in for the night, not too far from the water – but far enough that anyone who thought hunting around the log ride was a good idea probably wouldn't find them. For now, that was good enough. In the morning, they could worry about finding Dexter.

Because as long as they could trust the faces in the sky, he was still alive. And so were most of the other tributes, actually. Only nine of them were really dead, and only four of them since the last time their faces had been shown. Izzy had fallen unusually silent, though. "Something wrong?" Merric asked.

Izzy shook her head. "No, it's just … Garth. He was helping us – me and Ichabod. They're both gone now. Dexter left. I've just got you now."

"We'll find Dexter tomorrow," Merric answered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. The truth was, he didn't have the slightest idea where to start looking. Where would Dexter have gone? And why wouldn't he have told them where he was going?

Suddenly, there was a soft pinging noise, and a parachute landed outside the tent. Izzy rushed to grab it, then tossed the small package to Merric. "It's for you." Sure enough, the package had a "4" embroidered on the outside. Merric raised an eyebrow. What would Mags be sending? They had food, water, shelter – pretty much anything they could ask for unless she was sending them a way to find Dexter.

Not quite, Merric realized as he opened the package. It was a pair of glasses – night vision glasses, from the look of them. "What are we supposed to do with those?" Izzy asked.

Merric shrugged. "Have a look outside, I guess." He put them on, glancing one way and then another. Back towards the log ride, then towards the corn field, then towards the cornucopia.

Merric froze. He could see someone in the distance, a small figure heading towards the cornucopia. He was too far away to be certain that it was Dexter, but why else would Mags have sent him these glasses right now? "What's he doing?" Merric hissed.

"Who?" Izzy asked.

"Dexter. He's heading for the cornucopia."

"What? Why?"

"Beats me."

A moment of silence, but then it was Izzy who put it together. "His leg."

"What about it?"

"Maybe it was worse than we thought. Maybe he needs medicine – and maybe he thinks he'll find something there."

That made sense. Almost. But it still didn't explain why he hadn't asked for their help, why he had left on his own. He had to realize that they would have a better chance of finding what they needed together. If the Careers were still at the cornucopia…

Merric looked again. He didn't see any of the Careers. But that didn't mean that they weren't on the other side of the cornucopia, or inside, for that matter. He'd pulled that trick himself, after all.

"We have to help him," Izzy whispered. "If there's someone there—"

"There's no way we'd get there in time," Merric whispered back.

Izzy put her hands on her hips. "Maybe not. But I'm going." She turned to leave. "If you want to stay, that's fine, but I'm going to help him."

Merric stared for a moment, but then headed after her. There was no way he was going to let both of his friends go to the cornucopia alone. Besides, if the other Careers were around, they would need all the help they could get.


Dexter Guernsey, 13
District Ten

He was almost there. Dexter took a few more cautious steps towards the cornucopia. He'd been hiding behind the food cart nearby, waiting for it to get dark enough for him to sneak in, grab some medicine, and get out. Now he just had to work up the courage to actually do it.

That was easier said than done, really. Sure, the poison in his leg might kill him in … what? Maybe a few days? Now that it came down to it, that wasn't nearly as frightening a thought as being killed by a Career right now.

But there didn't seem to be any Careers nearby. If there were, they were very well-hidden. And they didn't make a move as he crept a little closer to the mouth of the cornucopia. Then a little closer. Dexter took a deep breath. Okay. He was in. Now he just had to find what he needed and get out of here before anyone came back.

The trouble was going to be finding what he needed. The Careers didn't appear to have gone through the trouble of sorting through the supplies in the cornucopia. Where were the medical supplies? Dexter shifted a few weapons, looking through one backpack, and then another. This was taking too long. Making too much noise. Anyone nearby would know he was there. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't really see properly, and it wasn't helping that there was a shadow coming from the mouth of the cornucopia—

Shit.

The shadow at the mouth of the cornucopia. Dexter turned in time to see the girl from Two watching him with a smirk on her face. "Find what you wanted?"

"No," Dexter admitted. Stall. It worked the last time. "Want to help me?"

"Oh, I'll help you, all right." The girl patted the spear in her hand. "In a few moments, you won't have to worry about whatever it was you were looking for. It'll all be over."

"But I … I did what you wanted. Well, what the other girl wanted. I found Merric. I know where he is. I can lead you to him."

"Why would I care about that?"

I don't know. The other girl seemed to. But she was right. Why should she care any more about killing Merric than about killing him? "Don't you want to know how I got this?" He rolled up his pant leg, revealing the poison that was spreading even as they spoke. "The girl from one – your ally – brushed me with her locket. It must be poisoned."

The girl hesitated. "You're lying. They would never let her bring something like that into the arena."

"Well, then how do you explain this? It's certainly not a normal infection." It had taken him a while to figure out what must have happened, but that seemed like the only explanation.

The girl shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself. Just be careful around her if you happen to get hurt."

The girl scoffed. "Thanks for the advice – advice I won't need if I don't get hurt in the first place."

She was right, of course. The only reason he'd been hurt was because the girl from One had thrown her knife at him. A Career wouldn't be careless enough to let that happen. A Career wouldn't just let someone throw something at them or stab them in the back or—

Suddenly, the girl lurched forward, her spear clattering to the floor of the cornucopia. For a moment, Dexter thought maybe she was lunging at him, but then he saw the sickle embedded in her back. The sickle that, only a moment ago, had been hanging from her backpack. There, standing where the girl had been, was Izzy.

Boom. As the cannon sounded, Merric came rushing up behind Izzy. "Izzy! Dexter! Are you all right?"

Dexter nodded shakily, taking a few steps towards Izzy. "I think we are now."


Izzy Thatcher, 12
District Seven

She still couldn't quite believe it. Merric wrapped an arm around Izzy's shoulders as she stood staring at the body beside her. One moment, the girl had been alive. She'd been talking to Dexter. Threatening Dexter. She hadn't even noticed Izzy sneaking up behind her, stealing the weapon out of her own bag, and…

And stabbing her in the back. Izzy took a step back, trying not to throw up. "It's okay," Merric assured her. "It's okay to be sick. It's normal."

She certainly hoped so, because all the corn she'd eaten in the past few hours immediately came spewing back up. "I just … I couldn't let her hurt Dexter."

Dexter was beside her immediately. "I know. Thank you. You did what you had to. You saved my life."

Izzy turned on him. "And you're a complete idiot! What were you thinking – running off without us? Heading back to the cornucopia on your own? You could have been killed!"

"Better me than all three of us!"

"Do all three of us look dead?" Izzy demanded. "You really think the three of us together couldn't handle one Career?"

"I didn't know it was only going to be one Career," Dexter insisted.

"We still don't know that," Merric pointed out. "The others could be back soon – especially if they've heard any of this. So we'd better grab what we came for and get out of here."

"That's what I was trying to do when she interrupted," Dexter pointed out, gesturing towards the body on the ground. "I couldn't find the medical supplies."

"Check the very back of the cornucopia," Merric offered. "That's usually where the Careers put them, for exactly this reason – it's the one thing we really want to make sure we keep to ourselves … which I could have told you if you'd told me what you were planning."

Dexter quickly scrambled back into the cornucopia, and soon emerged with a large bag of medical supplies. "Right where you said," he admitted.

"I'll carry it," Merric offered. "Better to take the whole thing. We'll have time to sort it out later. In the meantime, grab some weapons. Izzy, are you all right?"

Izzy finally managed to nod. "I … I think I will be."

"Then grab something, and let's go."

Izzy nodded and grabbed a nearby backpack full of food, rope, and water bottles. Then she chose a small hatchet and pulled the sickle from the other girl's back. "I think I'm good."

As they made their way back to the tent, a sudden pinging noise filled the air. "Really?" Merric chuckled. "We have literally everything we could ask for." He caught the small package anyway and handed it to Dexter. "Looks like this one's for you."

"What do you think it is?"

"Who knows? Maybe this bag doesn't have exactly what you needed, or—"

Dexter quickly unwrapped it the package to reveal a pair of knives. Merric chuckled. "Because we certainly didn't grab enough of those." He patted his pockets.

Dexter shook his head. "They're not because we need them. There are two of them. It's a message." He handed one to Merric and the other to Izzy. "He's trying to tell me to trust you next time … and I will. I promise."


Shasta Evans, 17
District Nine

Boom. Another cannon … but he had no way of knowing, really, whether anyone was dead or not. At the very least, it didn't seem to be anyone near him. That would have to be good enough for now.

Shasta ate a few more of the crackers from his pack and drank some of the water. Things were going pretty well, all things considered. Two days of the Games, and the worst thing that had happened to him was getting chased up a carousel by a snake. It could certainly be worse – a lot worse. For at least nine tributes – or ten, if the last cannon had been real – things were definitely worse.

Shasta stretched a little, heading for the train in the distance. It seemed to have stopped for the moment, so it would be as good a place as any to settle down for the night. The girl from Six had jumped out of the train earlier, which meant that at least some of the cars were open. He would just have to find the right one…

It didn't take him long. Soon, he'd found an open compartment and quickly closed the doors behind him. Anyone who looked at the train would have no way of knowing he was inside. With any luck, he would be safe here until morning.

Still, he didn't want to chance it. Shasta tucked the pills back into his pack. He had no way of knowing how long they would have to last him, and his back didn't feel that bad today. Maybe the pills took a while to wear off. Either way, he could certainly stretch out more than he'd been able to last night.

Just as he lay down, though, the train began to move – a gentle rumbling beneath him. Almost like humming. Shasta smiled drowsily, humming to himself. "The wheels on the train go clickity-clack, all through the town…"


Troy Arrowhead, 15
District Twelve

At least Alexia and Freya were still alive. Troy shook his head as he stumbled forward in the dark. First, Martha was dead. Now Emilia. Maybe the two of them hadn't been particularly close, but they'd been allies. District partners. And now he was separated from everyone else he had considered an ally, as well. He was safe – at least for the moment – but he would have no one to watch his back if he decided to try to get some sleep.

Troy shook his head. That just meant he would have to stay awake. He could probably manage that. He'd gotten plenty of sleep the night before, after all. He, Alexia, and Freya had kept trading watches well into the morning. He could keep going for a while yet.

But keep going where? He did want to keep moving – that much, he was certain of. But he was also pretty sure that he'd ended up doubling back at some point. The hill with the logs in front of him looked very familiar.

Suddenly, he saw something – someone, from the look of it, hunched over beside one of the corn stalks nearby. Picking some corn, maybe? Troy took a step closer. Whoever they were, they certainly didn't seem particularly concerned about being seen. What if someone else found them? Someone who was actually looking for a fight? "You might want to hide," Troy called softly, hoping they would take the hint.

Instead, the figure turned towards him, eyes glowing, pale face shining in the moonlight. A mutt! Troy took off running immediately, only to see two more of the clown mutts emerging from the corn field behind him. Troy ran faster. This was not how he wanted to go. Sure, maybe he'd always been a bit of a comedian, but that didn't mean he wanted to be killed by clowns.

He didn't want to be killed by anything, of course, but clowns certainly wouldn't have been his first choice.

Faster. Faster. The clowns were still behind him, but they didn't seem to be getting any closer, as if they weren't really interested in catching him. That could only mean one thing – they were actually herding him towards something else. Probably someone else. But at the moment, he didn't care. He did exactly what he was supposed to – he kept running.


Confidence Best, 16
District One

Maybe it was time to leave the ship. Even if he'd managed to fool a couple tributes with the cannons earlier, they knew the truth now. Besides, he was getting hungry. When he'd stormed away from the cornucopia, he hadn't brought any food. In fact, he hadn't brought anything but the mace and flail he'd grabbed from the bloodbath. There was plenty of water around the pirate ship, and he'd found a few potatoes below decks, but it was probably time to head back to the cornucopia and get some real food.

Confidence took one last look around to make sure he wasn't leaving anything important. He'd stuffed a few of the potatoes in his pockets, and he had both his mace and flail. That would be more than enough to handle any tribute he came across until he got back to the cornucopia.

He couldn't help wondering if anyone would still be there. When he'd received the map from the sponsors last night, it had said that Thalia and Decima were hunting. Were they still hunting, or had they returned? What would happen if they returned and he wasn't there? Would they assume that he wasn't coming back?

Would it matter if they did? Confidence smirked as he leapt off the ship. It wasn't as if he'd been doing so bad on his own. Sure, he didn't have any kills yet, but it was only a matter of time. He could have killed the girl from Eight, after all. Maybe she was still nearby.

If she had any sense, of course, she was as far away as she could get. But there were probably other tributes in the area. There was a pond in the distance; that was probably a good place for them to settle down for the night. So that was where he would go.

As soon as he got closer to the pond, he could see that he'd made the right choice. Someone was sitting by the pond, curled up tightly in the cold but not yet asleep. Maybe afraid to go to sleep in case someone found them.

Someone like him.

Just as he was getting closer, however, the tribute turned around and leapt to her feet. Maybe he'd made a noise. Maybe she was just getting nervous. Either way, the girl from Ten grabbed her weapon – a trident that she probably didn't have the slightest idea how to use properly. She seemed to be deciding whether she should try to run or fight.

Confidence took a step closer, and the girl made up her mind, charging at him with her trident raised – maybe hoping to startle him enough that he wouldn't be able to respond. What a mistake. Confidence swung his flail, the metal head connecting with the end of the trident. The girl staggered back, startled, as he swung again – this time with his mace. She took another step back towards the pond. Confidence advanced. This was going to be too easy.

Another swing knocked the trident from the girl's grasp. As she lunged to pick it up from where it had dropped into the water, he swung again, the end of the flail connecting with her shoulder. The girl staggered backwards, stumbling, falling into the water with a splash. Confidence raised his mace to deliver another blow.


Alexia Wright, 17
District Ten

Just as the boy was about to bring his mace down again, she saw something behind him. Troy gave a shout as the clown mutts that were following him splashed into the water. "Alexia! Get up!"

The mace came down – just in time to smash a clown mutt in the head. Alexia staggered to her feet, pain shooting through her shoulder as she reached for the trident. "I've got it," Troy insisted. "Let's get out of here!"

She was too tired, too afraid, and in too much pain to argue. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered whether they should stay and try to fight the boy together, but it wasn't worth taking the chance that the mutts might turn on them once he was no longer available. As it was, the mutts were distracting him enough for them to make a clean getaway.

The boy swung his mace again, decapitating one of the clowns as Alexia and Troy ran. Alexia clutched her shoulder as she followed Troy in the dark. "Wait," she gasped as she realized which direction they were going. "We're running towards the cornucopia!"

"Shit," Troy muttered, and immediately changed course, heading south towards the corn field in the distance. They would just have to hope that there wasn't anybody there right now – or that if they were, they wouldn't want to fight two tributes who were armed and might at least appear to be dangerous.

Alexia shook the thought from her head, trying desperately to keep up with Troy as they ran. "Wait," she gasped at last, finally unable to take any more. "Wait. Just wait a moment."

Troy slowed down and finally came to a stop at the edge of the corn field. "I think we lost him anyway."

Alexia nodded. She hoped that was true. "Let's … let's find a place to rest in the field," she suggested, clutching her shoulder. The moon would give them enough light to see where the path was, and they probably wouldn't find a better spot. There was food. They already knew where there was water. Now if she could just do something about her shoulder…

"Let me have a look," Troy offered before realizing what a useless offer that was in the dark. He came a little closer, anyway. There wasn't any blood, but even in the dark she could see that her skin was bruising. It certainly felt like something was broken; moving her left arm at all hurt like hell. At least it wasn't her right, but still. Injured tributes didn't usually last long in the Games.

On the other hand, at least as of a few hours ago, the girl from Eight with a broken leg was still alive somewhere. How she'd managed that, Alexia wasn't sure, but if she could do it…

Troy thought for a moment, then swung the backpack off his back. How the hell did he still have that when those clowns had been chasing him? He took one of the daggers and quickly began slicing away at the backpack, making a makeshift sling and quickly fitting it around her arm. "There. Now just … try not to move it."

Right. Try not to move her arm while she was fighting for her life. But it wasn't as if there was anything else they could do about it. Alexia nodded. "Thanks. Now let's find somewhere a bit safer to rest."


Wade Larthey, 12
District Five

The noise across the pond revealed that the boy was still fighting the clown mutts. Wade slowly crept a little farther down the lake. He'd been hiding near some rocks when the boy had attacked Alexia. For a moment, he'd thought about trying to help. About defending her because … what? Because she'd been nice to him? Because she'd helped him catch a fish? That had been nice, but it wasn't worth risking his life over – not when a fight would likely have ended with him dead, as well.

As it was, he was alive. Alexia was hurt, but running away along with the boy from Twelve. And the boy from One was demolishing the last of the clown mutts. Wade crept a little farther away, trying to keep quiet. He'd just wanted to find somewhere safe to spend the night. Now…

Okay. Just think. He'd seen a shelter by the pond earlier – something with a roof, at least. That would certainly be a good spot in case it started to rain again. Sure, the skies were clear now, but that could change quickly. Those clown mutts had come out of nowhere, after all. There was no telling what was going to happen next.

As he crept closer to the shelter, however, Wade could see that there was already someone there, wrapped up in a thin blanket that was hiding their face, shivering in the cold. Maybe they hadn't been as lucky as he had last night when it had rained. Maybe they were still wet from getting soaked the night before.

Wade took a few steps closer, pulling his blanket a little tighter. Whoever it was, they were well-armed. There was a sword nearby, along with a backpack of food. Maybe he should kill them. He could, after all. He'd done it the night before. But…

But that had been because he'd wanted the blanket. He'd needed a way to keep himself warm. Now … now, what he really needed was protection. If he was going to survive much longer, he would need an ally or two. 'Take care of yourself,' Alexia had told him, 'or find someone else who will.' What if he had found someone? They had the weapons and supplies to help him; he had a blanket and knew where there was food and water. Maybe…


Thalia Gold, 17
District One

Thalia rolled over a little under her blanket. It seemed warmer than it had been. It couldn't be morning already, though. It was still dark. So what…?

She opened her eyes to find that her own blanket had been covered with a warmer, thicker one, and there was someone … someone lying next to her? Thalia rubbed her eyes. Had Decima found her? Or Confidence, maybe? But surely either of them would have woken her up and made sure one of them was keeping watch?

She peered closer in the dark. No, the boy who had settled down with her wasn't one of the other Careers. He was one of the younger tributes, in fact. It was hard to tell in the dark, from this awkward angle, but it was certainly one of the younger boys. What was he thinking?

Thalia quickly ran through the possibilities in her mind. Maybe he had been cold, and desperate, and hadn't cared who he was huddling with. But he'd apparently had a fairly warm blanket. Maybe he'd been too tired to realize there was already someone here. But he'd spread the blanket over her, as well. Maybe he was delirious. But he didn't seem to be injured. Just … asleep.

Part of her was tempted to reach for her katana. She could finish him off quickly enough. But something held her back. He'd obviously had the chance to kill her, after all. Even if he didn't have a weapon, her own weapons had been lying next to her when he'd arrived. He could have killed her. But he hadn't. Why?

She wanted to know. But she also didn't want to wake him, to startle him. He might have a weapon tucked somewhere nearby. Even if he hadn't killed her before, there was no telling what he might do if startled suddenly out of his sleep.

Thalia held back a yawn. She was too tired to try to make sense of it. She could deal with him in the morning. He would still be here, and killing him then would be easy enough. She closed her eyes and snuggled a little closer to the boy, who rolled a little closer in turn, his eyes not even blinking open. By the time she fell asleep, he was starting to snore.


Freya Clearwater, 17
District Four

There didn't seem to be a good spot to spend the night anywhere. Every time she thought she'd found a perfect place, she thought better of it. One place was too open, too exposed. Another was too closed-off, too obvious of a hiding place – the first place the Careers would look if they were hunting for her.

They knew by now, of course, that she wasn't dead. Whatever had been happening with the cannons the day before, it was a trick that would only work once. And when they found her, she had no doubt they wouldn't be happy that she had escaped them once.

No, not when they found her. Only if they found her. All she had to do was find the perfect place to hide for the night. Then she could worry about what might happen in the morning.

Freya glanced around, confused, as she neared a carousel. She could have sworn there was a Ferris wheel in this area. She'd passed one, but that had been before she'd crossed the train tracks, and they seemed to run around a good portion of the arena. She couldn't have crossed back over without noticing. But an entire Ferris wheel couldn't have just disappeared.

No. No, it hadn't disappeared, she realized as she drew a little closer. It had collapsed. What had made it fall, she couldn't be sure, but there was definitely enough debris to tell that was what had happened. The capsules were strewn all over, mostly intact. The beams that had held it up seemed to have been rammed into by … something.

Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't still around.

Okay. Okay, maybe this debris was a good place to hide, then. No one would look under there. They would just assume that anyone buried under there was dead. Freya ventured a little closer. Yes, that would be just the thing.

Suddenly, she heard something. Something that sounded almost like … like breathing. "Hello?" Freya called, her voice a little above a whisper. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" a voice called back, a bit strained but definitely alive.

"Who is it?" Freya called, trying to keep her voice down. Trying not to draw in anyone else – anyone who might want to kill them rather than help them. But she needed the other tribute to keep talking if she wanted to find him.

After a moment, the voice answered. "Carlisle."

She was getting closer. "I'm Freya."

"Glad you came along." Finally, she saw him, lying face-down amid the debris, his legs pinned beneath one of the capsules. "I tried to shove it off, but … well, bad angle," he muttered. "Mind lending a hand?"

She didn't even think twice. She hurried over to the capsule and tried to lift it. When that failed, she grabbed one of the larger poles from the debris, dragged it over, and wedged it under the edge of the capsule. "Ready?" she asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Fair enough. She pushed down on the lever, raising the capsule as high as she could. Slowly, the boy squirmed out from underneath, and Freya let go. Carlisle cringed, leaning back against the capsule. "Thanks."


Carlisle Talbot, 18
District Six

Carlisle cringed as the feeling slowly returned to his legs. They'd been pinned since the carousel had collapsed, and had quickly fallen asleep. Now that sensation was returning, pain came with it. "Is anything broken?" Freya asked.

"Damned if I know," Carlisle muttered. "I'm not a doctor." She obviously meant well – otherwise, she would have killed him rather than helping. He knew he shouldn't snap at her, but it hurt. He wasn't sure if that meant something was broken, but everything felt bruised. "Stupid cow," he mumbled.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it—"

Carlisle almost burst out laughing. "Not you." He pointed towards the flattened bull beneath the debris from the carousel. "That. Damn thing was chasing me, so I lured it towards the Ferris wheel and figured maybe if it ran into the poles enough … Didn't time it right, though. I mean, I avoided the actual wheel, but didn't think about the fact that the capsules would break loose." He cringed. "Stupid."

"You didn't really have any other options," Freya offered.

"Doesn't mean it wasn't stupid," Carlisle pointed out. "Sometimes you only have stupid options." Slowly, leaning against the capsule, he got to his feet. His legs were more than a little wobbly, and everything hurt, but at least he could stand. "That means nothing's broken, right?"

Freya shrugged. "Do I look like I'm a doctor?"

Carlisle chuckled. "Well, thank you … whatever you are."

"You're welcome."

Carlisle slumped back to the ground. "What brings you out here?"

"I was looking for somewhere to take shelter for the night."

Carlisle shrugged. "You can stay here, if you like."

"You mean it?"

Carlisle hesitated. Did he mean it? Alliances hadn't really seemed to be working out for him so far. He'd been working with Cosima during training, but he hadn't seen her since the start of the Games. He'd been on pretty good terms with Clemence, but trying to protect her had only driven him away.

Still, what else could he say? "Of course I mean it. You just saved my life, I'm sure. If a mutt had come along – or a tribute who wasn't so inclined to help – I'd be dead by now."

Freya smirked. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a sucker."

"I guess that makes two of us," Carlisle admitted, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the capsule. Every day since the reaping had seemed to be one stupid decision after another, but they all stemmed back to that one moment.

Carlisle almost flinched away when he felt Freya's hand in his. Almost. He opened his eyes and looked up, surprised. "I can take the first watch," Freya offered, giving his hand a squeeze. "Get some rest."

He was in too much pain to argue. Carlisle nodded a little and lay down, still grasping her hand tightly as he drifted off to sleep.


Cosima Byte, 18
District Three

It was well into the night when she finally settled down by the pond. Cosima glanced at the pile of what seemed to be … clowns? Or, at least, parts of clowns. For a moment, she had assumed they were body parts – what with the tributes' silly outfits and all – but they seemed stiffer than that. One good kick had revealed that they were, in fact, mechanical. Robots of some sort. Robot mutts.

Why not? Everything else in the arena seemed a bit … off, so why not the mutts? The cannons couldn't seem to get their count right, there were candy apples instead of normal ones, and kids from District Ten were teaming up with Careers. Nothing seemed to be going the way anyone would have expected.

Cosima gave one of the clown arms a kick and slumped down into a seat beside them. Maybe this was as good a place as any to settle down for the night. Someone who was passing might mistake her for one of the mutts and simply let her be. Maybe. It was a long shot, but she couldn't stay awake forever. And she didn't want to climb another tree – not after the rain the night before. Everything was slippery and wet now.

Including the ground she was sitting on. Cosima shifted a little, trying to find a better position and eventually settling for sitting on one of the rocks. But that wouldn't do if she actually wanted to lie down. Slowly, she began rearranging the clown mutts, stripping off some of the fabric from their outfits and making a makeshift bed.

"That's quite a collection you've got there."

Cosima leapt to her feet, startled, to see the girl from Six standing behind her. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," the girl apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me!" Cosima protested.

The girl giggled a little. "Sure."

Cosima glared. "Look, just get out of here before—"

"Before what? Doesn't look like you're armed."

"What makes you think I'd need to be?" Cosima asked. "I took care of these mutts, didn't I?"

The girl chuckled. "Sure you did."

Cosima clenched her fists. Had it been that obvious of a lie? "Look, you don't want to stay here."

"Why not?"

"Because … because of the moon."

"The moon?"

Cosima smirked. "Oh, so you don't know."

The younger girl plopped down on the ground beside her. "Know what?"


Clemence Aldrin, 14
District Six

"The moon is full," the older girl observed, pointing up at the sky. "Do you know what happens when the moon is full … especially if you're by a lake?"

Clemence raised an eyebrow. "That's not a lake. It's a pond."

"Close enough. It's water, and water's the thing. It's where they live."

"Where what live?"

"The ghosts of all the tributes who have drowned in an arena."

Clemence chuckled. "That's not very many of them. Well, I guess there was that one year when the arena was a swamp, but—"

"Exactly," the other girl continued. "There aren't very many of them … yet. Which is why they're always looking for more victims."

Clemence shook her head. "I don't remember—"

"Oh, they haven't shown their faces in recent years. You probably aren't old enough to remember. I'm barely old enough to remember it – the faces of the ghosts that appeared to drag the tributes down into the water."

"So … mutts?" Clemence reasoned.

"That's what we're supposed to think. But the tributes they picked … they weren't tributes the Gamemakers would have targeted. A few of them were Careers. Another stronger outer-district tribute who was a favorite with the audience. The Gamemakers wouldn't have singled them out, but ghosts … Ghosts don't play favorites."

Clemence leaned forward a little as the girl sat down beside her. "You're good at this."

The girl's expression hardened. "At what?"

"Storytelling. Seriously, this is great. Keep going. What happened to the tributes who were dragged under?"

"They drowned."

Clemence chuckled. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that."

The girl sat down across from her. "You think you can do better?"

Clemence smiled. "Sure I do. There wasn't any discernible pattern to who they were targeting … or, at least, there didn't seem to be. But then one tribute – let's call him Brom."

"Why Brom?"

"Story I heard once. Don't interrupt. So this tribute named Brom Bones, he was nervous when he saw the water in the arena, because he remembered a tribute from the year before being drowned. Being drowned, as it happened, by the boy from Brom's district. So he avoided the water as long as he could … but eventually, he was thirsty. He approached the water cautiously, bent down to take a drink of water. But instead of his own reflection—"

"He saw the face of the girl who had drowned the year before," the other girl finished.

"Precisely. For a moment, they stared at each other, and he understood. The ghosts of the tributes didn't just want others to join them. They wanted revenge. Revenge on the district that had killed them. So when the ghost dragged him down into the water, Brom knew. He knew he would last exactly as long as the girl had – down to the second. The seconds ticked away, and he could see himself fading … fading into one of them."

The other girl shuddered. "You're pretty good at this, too." She held out her hand. "Cosima."

"Clemence."

Cosima hesitated. "Nobody last year drowned, right?"

Clemence giggled. "Not that I remember." She smiled. "Want to tell another one?"


This is probably as good a place as any to drop both a retroactive and preemptive apology for any and all actions that seem out of character. Thalia's probably been the biggest victim of this, but Isabella and Wade also come to mind. Sometimes there's just no good justification for something that, because of the way the simulation turned out, has to happen. I'm trying. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyways ... More snuggling, singing, and hand-holding to come. In the meantime, here's where we stand:

24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.

23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.

22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.

21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.

20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.

19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.

18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.

17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.

16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.

15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.


District Placements:

12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th

11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th