When Goal offers to take the first watch that night, I don't argue. I'm not feeling all that tired, and my leg barely hurts anymore, but being able to sleep with a sense of safety is a rare gift in the arena, and it's not one I'm going to pass up. We'll have work to do tomorrow, too: after all, the bargain was that I find us food while Goal protects us. We can try out purifying some water with my iodine, too. I should also show him the field area. If he's able to kill people, well… hunting animals is probably even easier. I'll have to ask.
It's still nighttime when I awaken. But it's not Goal shaking me and telling me it's my turn to be on guard. No, it's the sound of him crying. I bolt up. Has he been hurt? Is there somebody else here? As my eyes adjust to the darkness, it becomes apparent that the answer to both questions is no. Goal is on his own, leaning against a tree and looking toward the moon.
"Hey," I say softly.
Goal turns back toward me and wipes at his face. "Oh," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
I shrug. "Don't worry about me. I wasn't that sleepy." I push myself up into a sitting position. "Let's talk," I say. "It'll help. Then you can take a turn getting some rest."
He looks at me for a second, hesitating, then nods and lowers himself onto the ground across from me. "I just…" he manages to get out. "I'm going to die in here, Seeder. And I really don't want to." He begins sobbing again, hiding his face in his hands.
I do the only thing I can think to. I reach over and wrap my arms around him. For a moment, we are no longer tributes in a deadly place; we are just ordinary, unremarkable kids. That moment doesn't last long, though. It feels slightly strange to be doing this – I don't often even exchange hugs with my friends I've known for years. But everything is different, it seems, within the confines of the arena.
"What went wrong?" Goal whimpers. "Why did it have to come to this?"
It's an unusual question, an I'm unsure how to even begin to answer it. How am I supposed to explain the Hunger Games? What could possibly justify it in anyone's mind? Year after year of hearing the Treaty of Treason hasn't successfully done that. I've never known anything other than the Games, yet I also know that they are profoundly wrong. There is something underneath, at the very basic level of human consciousness, that should tell people that children shouldn't be killing each other, and it shouldn't be entertainment. But apparently the people of the Capitol have been trained to forget that. "We're sane people in an insane world," is what I end up blurting out.
"The thing is," Goal says, sniffling. "You have to stay sane. That's the trick. You've met your victors before – how many of them seem to be all there? There's not really any losing or winning. You either die or you come out alive, that's all. The only people who win the Hunger Games are the Capitol."
I think of Chaff. Sure, he's a little hard-bitten, and he likes a good drink, but that doesn't mean he's deranged. And what about Ivy and her warmth? She's plenty sane… or at least, that's what she shows me. Perhaps Ivy does have some secret – a soundproof room to scream out her painful memories or a stash of pills to erase them. I recall the District 1 victors always appearing totally beautiful and composed, never crazy. But then, Goal is the one who's met them and trained under them. The unkind way they treated him wasn't shocking to me, though. Maybe that's another kind of insanity.
"Do you think that… do you think that if you won the Games, if you got out of here, that you would become like… them?" I ask. I don't have to specify who I mean by "them" – the victors who are unhinged in a very public way, having no qualms about what person or camera sees them guzzling alcohol, randomly breaking into tears, or mumbling to themselves. Maybe the worst of all are the victors from District 6, who all have a… hollow look about them. I asked about this once, and my mother said that they use too much morphling. I know it's a medicine of some kind, but not much else. No doubt it's far beyond the price range of anyone in District 11, but then, when you're a victor, you can really buy whatever you want, and for some people, that's unlimited drugs.
Goal looks at me for a long time, as if trying to find the right answer in my face. "No," he says finally. "No, I won't ever become like that. I promise."
"We can keep it together," I assure him. "Our families need us to, our friends. That's who's the most important."
Goal smiles, but his face still looks pained. "Do you think it's really worth it, though? To fight to stay alive? Life isn't really much more than time and space, in the end." Then he looks away from me. "And besides, you're my friend, too, now. For me to win, everyone else in here has to die."
A thought crosses my mind – it's the same dilemma that anyone who ever has been or ever will be in an alliance in the arena has to face. What if the two of us are the last tributes left? This has occurred in a few Games I've watched, but each time, the last two allied tributes were both Careers, who were already expected to care more about winning than each other. The best answer here is probably an indirect one. "There's nothing we can do. We have to play by the rules. Let's just help each other out, OK?" At first I'm surprised by how desperate my voice sounds when it comes out, but then I realize why. If Goal were to lose his grip, fall into hysteria… that would be the beginning of the end for both of us.
Goal's crying has stopped. "That's right," he says, his voice calming. "We're here to help each other." He wipes his nose and then stands back up. "I'm OK now. Thanks, Seeder."
I nod and lie back down, falling asleep rather quickly. When Goal does finally wake me up to take over the watch, it's lighter than I was expecting. "What happened?" I ask, yawning. "How long did you stay up?"
"I just waited until I felt tired," he answers with a grin. "I like being awake at night, anyway." With that, Goal lies down in the spot I'm standing up from, and within a few minutes, he looks to be out cold.
As Goal fades out of wakefulness and I'm coming back into it, a strange feeling overcomes me. I'm in a weird in-between place: Goal isn't really with me, but I'm not really alone, either, and I'm not as vulnerable as I was at first, but I'm not really safe, either. But with no one to talk to, I can't help but be a bit lonely, too. I decide I'll keep my mind occupied by trying to see everything I can about my surroundings.
First: I'm sitting on grass. It's normal, the same stuff I've seen at home, nothing remarkable about it. The trees around here are mostly the fake, brightly-colored ones, though. It's not difficult to guess what the idea was. In the beginning, we tributes would think that the forested area would be a great place for food and safety, only to realize that few of the trees had fruit and camouflage was barely possible within the neon. The audiences must have had a good time taking in all that disappointment and horror. Watching us break down psychologically must be just as entertaining as seeing us being maimed. Enough of that. What else do I see? The sky is black and starry, just like it would be at home. It's impossible to know if it truly is night, given that the apparent time of day – along with everything else in the arena – can be manipulated. The Gamemakers can have it be pitch black for far longer than natural to create a state of extreme confusion, or else they can make things intensely bright, ensuring all the tributes are starved for sleep. There are just so many ways to torture us. Why do I keep thinking about that? Got to get my mind back to observing activity. The ring of sandy beach isn't too far off; I can just make it out.
Most likely, Goal and I will be heading there tomorrow to try out my iodine. Goal said he was lucky to meet me, but the opposite is also completely true. How close was I to just tossing the stuff away, not knowing how incredibly valuable it would be? And the sponsorship we got… well, I say we, but it was technically just intended for one of us. I'm still confused by that. I believe sponsors choose the particular tribute they want to support, but mentors decide when to actually send the gifts in. Goal was right. Someone must have indeed approved of our alliance. The sponsors probably just like the variety that alliances add to the Games. And plus, Goal and I met just after I'd been in a pretty horrible fight, so maybe they didn't want to see me killed just yet. Providing violence isn't the only way to create entertainment value, after all. The union between Goal and me has added something atypical and unexpected to the story. The only thing is the item that was chosen. It really only benefited me. I guess Goal didn't need anything else after I fed him, but a sponsor could have decided to send him some additional food or water, which are needed at just about any point in the Games. So… the sponsorship was for me, then? Yes. It must have been Ivy who arranged it, who approved of my joining this boy from another district and sharing my supplies with him. It's Ivy, more than anyone else, who would understand and encourage compassion, who would want to see Goal and my alliance succeed. But what about the choice of gift itself? Goal had already dressed my wound; did I truly need something more? Maybe… maybe the intention was to give me something I could continue to use if he dies. Is that what the sponsorship was, then? A reminder to me that I should remember to look out for myself? If that's the case, it must have been organized by Chaff. He would think that way.
I still haven't come to a decision about which of my mentors oversaw this sponsorship when Goal is shaking himself awake. "Hey," he says. "You look like you've been doing some thinking."
"Yeah," I reply. "Just planning." I figure this is a better answer than telling him that I've been debating whether or not my mentors want me to trust him or not.
"We should check out that water in the beach zone you were talking about," he says. "And we should try to find some more food today." He pauses. "If that sounds good to you, I mean."
"Yeah, definitely."
We head off, with me leading the way and Goal following, his crossbow at the ready. Other than our own footsteps, there's a startling lack of noise. How many tributes are gone now? 11, I think – nearly half of us. That doesn't necessarily mean the Games themselves are half over, of course. Depending on what the Gamemakers do, the event can end up dragging on for weeks with just a few tributes if the audience particularly likes them. It does tend to make the Games somewhat easier for the participants, though, when there are fewer of them. Of us. Naturally, the Gamemakers don't want this, and if there hasn't been adequate bloodshed in a while, that's when you can start expecting… interventions. If you can't remain interesting on your own, the Gamemakers will "help" you. As far as I know, the beasts that attacked the Careers' camp have been the worst so far, but that's nothing compared to what they're capable of.
Goal looks all around as we enter the beachy area. "I don't like it here," he murmurs. "No cover."
"We don't need to stay long," I tell him. "Let's just collect some water." Seeing as Goal was the one who knew what the iodine was, I hand it over to him. I watch as he takes out his own flask, takes a long drink from it, then passes it to me.
"Go ahead and finish it," he says. "I'm going to fill it up from here." I gratefully drink down the rest and then hand the flask back to Goal. He looks at the cloudy water in the lake for a few moments, then dunks the flask into it. Next, he unscrews the iodine and carefully lets exactly ten drops fall into the water. "I used a bit extra, to be careful. We should leave it for around an hour before we drink it. Shall we fill yours, too?"
I nod, pass him my now-empty canteen, and Goal does the same process. We now have a full flask, a full canteen, and plenty of iodine left to use on this huge lake. Knowing I won't have to worry about water in the arena is a sizable weight off my shoulders.
"What did you say was beyond here?" Goal asks. "Some kind of grassy place?"
"Yeah. I saw a few animals, so maybe we could try hunting."
Goal nods, and we hoist ourselves back up and continue walking. "I should warn you that I don't have any experience with it." He glances at his crossbow momentarily. "This is probably the right tool for it, though."
"I have a knife," I volunteer. "For… skinning."
"Right," Goal says.
It's quite clear that between the two of us, our knowledge of hunting practice is pretty much at the beginner's level. I think back to my days in the Training Center. There was a skill station about traps and snares, where I didn't stop, although March did. I wish he were here. Obviously, I'm worried about his safety, but there's also the fact that March really would be a valuable teammate. He knows things that Goal and I don't; certainly, we'd be more effective at gathering food with him here. We'll meet up with him eventually, though. I'm sure of it.
After we arrive at the grassland, things proceed the way they did the first time I came here. It takes a long time before we see any animals, and the first time Goal tries shoot a squirrel, it's an utter failure. He asks me to give it a go the second time, but I'm even worse. It would seem that my ability with throwing knives does not quite translate to the use of a crossbow. The third attempt turns out to be the charm, and Goal takes down a rabbit.
I do my best to handle the skinning and discover it is probably the most disgusting thing I have ever done in my life. I feel close to vomiting at several points, but I don't allow Goal to take over. I have to get used to this; it probably won't be the last time I do it in the arena. When I've finished, I drop the skin on the ground.
"This should be ready," Goal says quietly, opening the flask and letting some water run over my hands to rinse of all the blood.
We work together to try to figure out how to cook the animal. Making a fire is the obvious first step. Then Goal finds a large branch to stick through it. We take turns holding it over the flames, but unlike with switching the guard at night, we barely speak throughout this, until I tell him I think it's done. It could just be my hunger, but the meat has actually started to smell rather good. And as we start to eat it, the mood improves again.
"This isn't bad," Goal says.
I can't say it tastes like anything I've ever eaten before, but Goal is right. I can't help but feel a tinge of pride in knowing that the two of us prepared this ourselves. If either of us had been better trained, the whole thing probably would've taken significantly less time, but so what? We triumphed in the end. If we can keep this up, we will prove to be a very formidable team indeed.
