M11: SHAKA AASTOR

BOOM. BOOM. I see the monster advance on me, the noises escaping from its fanged mouth. The razors it has instead of fingers drip with steaming crimson blood and the taloned feet plunge into the rocks with ease. My vision is rimmed with a gray haze and no one else is in sight. The monster advances and I try to move away, but I'm stuck fast. I look up to the beast and scream soundlessly- Dylan's cruel grayish-blue eyes stare at me, the pupils reflecting my infected wound and nonexistent eye. It advances on me and I can barely breathe. I notice an inferno roaring in the distance, its flames licking into the sky and merging into black storm clouds as a tornado of fire. The beast's human eyes reflect the flames and seem to transform into a furnace. I can't move as the thing reaches for my throat.

BOOM. I jerk awake, wide awake. Linley Cresta's face blooms in the night sky and I bow my head for a moment. She was my age- I'm the only fourteen-year-old left now, although Ira and the boy from One are thirteen. Ira stirs in his sleep beside me and I allow myself to smile. He's a really deep sleeper. It was pretty funny when Mikhail had to whack him yesterday to wake him up.

Yesterday… I grimace when I feel the slight breeze brushing my hair against the ugly wound on my face. As soon as I think about it, the pain rebounds and I feel an intense pressure near my ear where the infection throbs. I set my fingers on the burning skin and try to press against my head. The pain makes me cringe after barely half a second, but the dry coolness of my hand is almost refreshing. I take my hand away; it's wet when I lower it. The pressure of my fingers reopened some part of the wound. I stand, irritated, and stalk over to the pack. I'm startled by the substantial quality of the bag. It's so much heavier than I thought it was, with the added weight of our sponsor gifted food. I juggle the pack by its navy canvas straps for a moment before I get a hold of the thing in the dark; I finally fumble with the buckles until the top flap falls open and allows me to retrieve our remaining bandages. Mikhail's pack is sitting nearby, the silver of it shining in the moonlight. She refused to tell us what she has in there, although there are knives at least, hidden in the folds. Other than that, it looks pretty empty.

I tear off a small strip of white cloth and press it against my wound, forcing my hand to the bloody injury. Oh well if it hurts, I need to stop the bleeding! Head wounds bleed a lot- they drilled that into Ira and me at the first-aid station in training. I adjust my hand on top of the bandage when I feel the blood soak through underneath my fingers. It simply wells up again, though, and I resort to winding the cloth around my head like it was before. I'm not going to go back to sleep before the bleeding stops- that could spell my end. I've seen it before in the Games.

Well, on a happier note, the new blood could spill the infection. They used to do that at the rudimentary field hospitals in Eleven. When a wound got swollen and infected, the doctors would occasionally reopen it to let out the bad blood. We were never sure if it actually worked, since the recovery rate was similar to the others who did not have their blood let.

Cheered somewhat by the thought of recovery, I sprawl out underneath one of the willow trees our alliance is camping near. I draw one leg up under me while my hand rested on my knee. It's the most comfortable I've been since the gong went off; the cool breeze relaxes me as it ruffles the trailing willow branches and the whole world seems to sleep. The reverie of the cannons seems like a distant dream and my allies are not squabbling or trying to kill each other. I wonder about the cannons. I heard two in my dream- ugh- and then another fired and brought me all the way to consciousness. Three dead, so the tribute pool is down to ten. Ten? I made it to the top ten? I'm impressed.

Linley Cresta was the last cannon, so something happened to the Careers. As far as I know, Mikhail, Ira, and I are the last alliance out there; either two people attacked the Careers, died, and killed Linley in the process, or the there is no longer a Career pack. Do I still have a district partner? Shaka's and Mikhail's partners both died in the bloodbath.

I glance over to the packs again when the willow leaves part and the moon shines a single ray of its dim light onto the fabric surfaces. What does Mikhail keep in her pack? If there were only knives she wouldn't be so secretive. I prop myself up on one elbow and consider my options. I really shouldn't. It's never kind to pry. But we're in the Games, and the normal rules don't apply. I should respect Mikhail's wishes. But she won't know. I should, I shouldn't…. I want to- I don't need to. What if she has some sort of medication or something that could help us all she is trying to keep for herself? I roll over and end up in a crouch. I have to know. We're allies, with no reasons to keep secrets. There are still fierce opponents out there and none of our alliance is over fifteen years old. I crawl over to the pack and reach towards the drawstring opening.

There are knives in there, as I was so certain of. I carefully shift the leather-wrapped hilts, looking for more supplies. A necklace captures my eye- a dragon pendant looped so that it seems to be swallowing its own tail. It seems to be useless. My guess is that it is her token. Underneath that, something round glints. I move the necklace and see vials filled with some sort of liquid. I lift one up.

"Put it down, Shaka." A voice hisses in my ear and I start, just barely managing to put the vial back safely. Mikhail stands behind me, pressing something cold into my back. A knife. I slowly turn around, but the girl adjusts her position as to keep the blade pressed against me. I shiver nervously.

"Those were Careers' cannons," she snarls, "Reetan, Alex, and Linley. Do you know what that means, Shaka?" I think I do. "We're the only alliance left. I don't want to kill you guys, but I will if I have to. I'm gonna leave now." Mikhail removes her knife from my side and goes to collect her things.

"No." She looks at me in obvious surprise. "No! There's no one that hunts now. It's easier to stay together."

"But… but what if it comes down to the three of us?"

"Then we stay here until they send something else. If it comes down to the three of us and you're not our ally anymore, we'll end up killing each other. That doesn't have to happen, Mikhail." Why won't Ira wake up? He's better with words than I am.

"I'm leaving, Shaka." She finishes putting away her knives and pulls the drawstrings on her pack.

"At least tell me what that bottle was!" Mikhail sighs.

"At the bloodbath I got attacked by a giant spider… one of the muttations. I killed it- it was the girl from Seven- and I filled a vial with its poison." I look at my ally in shock- she has a kill?! "Don't give me that look, Shaka. I dream about her every night." I can hear the hurt in Mikhail's voice. I avert my gaze.

"Just don't leave, Mikhail. We can keep each other safe."

"I don't want to hurt you, Shaka, but I will if that's what it takes."

"What it takes to do what, Mikhail? To do what?!" The girl's eyes flash with anger.

"To keep out of an alliance. I saved your life. I don't want to owe you anything else."

"When was that? You weren't exactly helpful when Dylan took my freaking EYE."

"Right after that. You had collapsed in the forest and the Careers were about to find you. I led them away because I felt so bad that I didn't help you before. We're even now. I don't want us to be indebted again." She storms past me.

"Mikhail!" She turns around just as she's about to brush aside the willow branches.

"I will hurt you, Shaka. I don't owe you."

"I know- just," I move to grab her arm, "we're allies. You can stay here and we won't need to be in debt. Don't feel that way!" She tears away and brandishes her knife at me.

"Don't. Touch. Me." She growls like a wolf afterwards and I stumble back with a jolt of fear.

"Calm down, Mikhail. I'm not one of the killers out there."

F3: MIKHAIL FREY

I told him not to touch me. I told him and yet he advances. I can't stay here with Ira and Shaka now. I don't want to, but I will hurt him if I have to. I was never meant to be someone's ally. I've been a loner since I was a toddler- even around my own family.

"Calm down, Mikhail. I'm not one of the killers out there." He's not. He's calm and controlled. I am a killer- I killed Wyndle Syne without a second thought down there during the bloodbath. I'm probably going to go insane, no matter what training I've had.

Then Shaka reaches out for my arm and I react automatically- the same way I react if someone shoves me in the halls at my school. I lash out. The boy reels back with one hand pressed to his neck. Gasping, he peels away the limb and I see red marks already spreading from where I slugged him. I was holding the knife in the same hand I punched with, but he only got hit with the hilt end. Good.

"Mikhail, you can stay," he remains firm in his resolve. If he doesn't go soon, I'll be indebted to him whether I leave or stay. Just because of his kindness. I can't owe people in this place. That dramatically decreases the chances of surviving. That only leaves one choice for me. My main priority isn't alliances- it's survival. I swing my hand back up to my pack and pull out my other two knives. Shaka looks afraid for a moment, but he stays calm and collected on the outside.

"We don't need those, Mikhail. You don't have to use those. Just go back to sleep." I bite my lip. I could easily put away my knives and return to the hard ground, but now, if I do, I'll owe Shaka again. I can't. I advance on him now.

"I can't stay, Shaka. Not now- but you've given me unfinished business."

"Mikhail? Mikhail, what are you doing with those? Mikhail, stop!" HE scrambles away, towards his blowgun and Ira's scythe, but I'm taller and faster. I have him knocked to the ground in just a few seconds and my knife is drawing beads of blood at his throat. He seems oddly relaxed.

"Mikhail… Please don't," he pleads, but he doesn't seem to be begging. I notice the white bandages have slipped from his eye again and his ugly infection is showing.

"You know only one of us gets out alive, boy."

"Yeah, I know. And look at me! One eye and an infection. I'm just prey now. I've got no chance; the youngest victor ever was my age- but that was Finnick Odair! I couldn't kill anyone here, probably not even in self-defense. I don't want to die, but I couldn't figure out a way to live wholly again. It would never be the same for me. I guess you're doing me a favor in a way, Mikhail," he takes a shuddering breath and spits out what must be the hardest words to ever say. "It's okay, Mikhail. I know you have to do this. Just… make it quick, all right?" I have to look away to hide the tears in my eyes.

"Shaka…"

"Just do it!"

"Shut up!" I feel like I owe him now, he's given me his life willingly. Well, not willingly, but he seems pretty okay with it. "Just shut up, Shaka!" He snaps his mouth shut and lets his had flop gently to the side, baring his neck. A tear splashes down onto his face. I'm crying?

I bring the knife down as quickly as possible and Shaka closes his eye tightly as I strike. The knife splatters my fingers with blood as I pull it out of the body. At least the boy shows no sign of anguish until his cannon goes off. I begin to run, but it's much too late.

"What have you done?" Ira cries. The four cannons plus Shaka and mine's voices finally woke up the thirteen-year-old. The other boy lies dead in the grass and I'm standing over him with a bloody knife. Suspicious much? This is exactly what the Gamemakers wanted. It's like they set me up. I face Ira slowly and try to keep my voice from trembling.

"I did what I had to do. Now I have to leave." The boy hollers and lunges for his scythe. He's deadly with the thing- he can easily lodge it into the trunks of trees almost to the point where the blade is not visible.

Holding the curved blade away from my face, I block his first strike with two of my knives crossed over each other. This young kid has power. With a knife between my teeth, I slash back at him and open a shallow cut on his right shoulder. Ira winces but kicks out at me without hesitation. I hear a crack as his metal-toed boot hits my injured ankle and I collapse to one knee. Pain lances up my leg and I glare at Ira when he tries to slice my head open. He purposely exploited my weakness. That's not fair. Nothing's fair. I roll away from his blade and sit up as fast as I can manage; I send a knife flying through the air. It lodges deep in Ira's side, the boy howls with pain. Two knives left. He advances on me, the knife still sticking in him, and slashes horizontally. The scythe scores across my left thigh. This time it's my turn to cry out.

I tear the knife out as he thunders past me. With his blood flowing freely, I thought Ira's adrenaline would fade, but it seems to amp itself up. He strikes faster and faster, and we both have cuts all over our bodies. I bet whoever comes out of this alive will end up with bruises all over themselves. I dive out of Ira's way again and he trips over a willow root. Sprawled on the ground, the boy is deserted by his energy. He stands up woozily, but when he raises the scythe he sways a little, like a drunk man.

I raise my knife defensively. I don't want to kill and now it looks like one of us will have to outlast the other. Ira, though, has other ideas. A spark of life reenters his eyes when I hold up my weapon and he charges at me point-blank, knocking me over and sending the knife spinning away to rest by Shaka's corpse. We roll over and over on the hard-packed, rocky soil, grabbing at each other's hair and clawing at each other's skin. Sticks and rocks catch in our wounds, making us grimier than we were before and forcing us to feel the sting of our injuries. Now that I'm realizing the full extent of my wounds, I start to stiffen up. Ira and I flail at each other and he slams his fist into my jaw. Something in my mouth cracks and I hurt more. I throw him off of me after a few more rolls and he slams into a willow trunk. I crawl away from Ira on my hands and knees, spitting out blood and a fragment of tooth.

There- my knife! I grab it as Ira roars in fury behind me. I roll over and he lands on my knife. The cannon booms as his blood sprays my face.

Three kills under my name in the sponsor center. Three kills. We're down to the top eight. A shadow passes over the moon and I look up. A parachute floats down and lands at my feet. They have sent me a reward for murder. I remove the ointment and bandages from the silvery container, hands shaking.

Instant relief. It floods my body as I smear on the orange paste and wrap my forearms with the bandages. Some places will have to go without bindings, but my arms and left thigh have the wounds that are bleeding heaviest. I finish tending to my injuries and face my kills. Ira still has my knives stuck in his side and chest. I can't leave him like that. I place the knives back in my pack alongside the poison and my token. Closing my eyes as I walk past the bodies, I take the other pack as well, slinging it over one shoulder.

I can't leave them here without tribute, though. I close Ira's eyes and almost faint as my stomach clenches. The boy looks exactly like the picture of my brother Jeremy that my mother keeps on our mantle. Jeremy hated the picture of a younger him, but I always loved it. I'll never be able to see it again. I turn to Shaka. The boy isn't mangled like Ira was, but he hurts me more. In a spontaneous moment of guilt, I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. We won't owe each other anymore.

I only make it thirty feet before the hovercraft comes and I slump, sobbing, against a tree.

F8: ROSE TRINITY

I shake with fever inside my cave, staring at the faces in the sky with no comprehension. Reetan Altis, District Two caveman. Alex Tibolla, the flirt from Ten. Linley Cresta, the pacifist from the fishing district. Shaka Aastor, from Eleven, always so calm. Ira Spark, the wild child from District 9. Five dead in one night? What's going on? I woke up when Reetan shone in the stars and stayed awake until little Ira Spark's face shimmered away. By then the sky was beginning to lighten.

Now the anthem plays again, reviewing the night's activities. Five faces. Thirteen minus five is… eight. Eight tributes left. I'm two thirds of the way home.

Home, where nobody in my family really loved me like a daughter. More like a possession. Isn't that why I came? To escape? Or just to show them? They'll certainly have to treat me right if I come home. I won't ever be ignored again. What will they be saying right now, when they're being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman in their fancy house for the final eight? Probably they'll talk about how much they love me and how proud of me they are. Pfft. Liars.

I watch my fingers tremble as they grasp at the tree limb I'm barely clinging to. The water never really left me and I barely managed to escape from Stavren two days ago. I'm actually rather unhappy she lived through the Career break. I've not been able to find food since, thanks to the fever. Three days without water is the limit, right? My three are almost up. I have to move, though. I can't risk staying anywhere for more than twelve hours now, since there are no alliances left. I could run into anyone now. I slide shakily to the bottom of the tree and promptly lose all my motivation to keep walking as a wave of nausea threatens to sweep my vision out; little stars dance in time with my headache.

My eyes slide in and out of focus on my fingers, lying prone in the dirt like a corpse's. I briefly think of Axit and how I came upon him the same way- waiting for death. How he wanted me to kill him. Death is sweet now. The fake notes I wrote to myself at home seem ironic now. So ironic. My brother found one once and thought I was for real. Then my parents spoiled him more than usual and he forgot about his big sister. He always liked it when I held him when he was a baby. Grandpa would say that I could teach him the ways of the world.

I slide out of focus and back to reality. I'm not in Eight, I'm in the arena. Bolt isn't here now, and he wouldn't be with me if he was. It was just thoughts, Rose. Just thoughts.

I imagine footsteps approaching me through the leaf mold on the floor of the birch forest. The arena boots stop right in front of my face and I imagine someone calling my name. Nonexistent food scents waft to my nose and my stomach turns. I dream of being lifted up, supported- someone half carries, half leads me through the trees to a small cave. I'm laid down against a cool stone floor and a hot broth is spooned into my mouth.

"I'm glad I found you, Rose," a voice says. I'm dreaming. There's no way anyone does this in the Games. I feel like retching up the dream food, but I hold it down. It's embarrassing to puke in a lucid dream. "I'm not going to let anyone die needlessly in this arena again." I smile. This is a good dream. Better than any I've had in quite a while, actually. I wouldn't mind not waking up.

My double vision clears a little bit more with each spoonful of broth. It's a boy sitting across from me, keeping me propped up against the smooth stone. Gabriel, from Six, isn't it? Nice of him to stop by in my subconscious.

"The sponsors sent this to me, but it floated down by you thanks to the wind. They wanted me to find you, Rose," he says. That's nice. I didn't think my subconscious was so cheerful. "There are eight of us left," he says, "We've made it this far, Eight. Now they want us to live a bit longer, to get the interviews. I guess we can take a break from killing each other." I smile again.

"Mhmm…" I murmur. I like this dream.

Gabriel sets the spoon down and seals the pot of broth. There's still plenty left, but I feel very full. At least I don't feel starving, though. I really don't want to wake up.

"Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"What's your family going to say in the interviews?"

"Oh, some fake thing about how much they love me and how proud they are." This is how I know it's a dream. I just thought about this. "Yours?" I might as well start chatting while I still feel alive.

Gabriel looks startled, but he doesn't hesitate. "My dad didn't even know I went to the Games, as far as I know. He didn't recognize me the morning of. My friend Ella- I don't even know if she'll talk. She might just cry." I nod. His friend.

"Gabriel?"

"Will you kiss me?" The boy is shocked.

"What?!"

"Well, I'm dreaming, and I've never been kissed, so I might as well try before I wake up and find myself dying of fever and dehydration."

"Um, Rose?"

"What, District 6?"

"Hate to break it to you, but you're not dreaming. I'm saving my kisses for Ella." I blush. It isn't a dream? I pinch myself.

"Ouch!" Gabriel looks concerned, but I wave off his worries. "I'm really not dreaming?"

"Nope."

"Well, thanks, Six!" I'm too weak to stand, but Gabriel helps me to my feet.

"Are you leaving so soon?"

"Well, I'm sort of embarrassed right now, and I'm not big on alliances, so yes. I am leaving."

"Are you all right?" I laugh weakly.

"Well, technically no, but I'm a lot better." Gabriel does something to the pot of broth and it transforms into two separate containers. Capitol technology continues to astound me. He hands me one and the broth sloshes inside it. I look at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. The gift was for both of us." He helps me out from under the overhang we're sitting beneath and back to the tree I was sitting in earlier.

"Good luck, Rose." I laugh, this time a short, hoarse bark.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor, Six!" He nods once and then, on shaky legs, I dash into the trees.

M1: VULKIN HARRIS

I cower under the boulder, the den I dug for myself last night, as the bear snorts and huffs above me. The mutt sense tingles, so I know it would be a good idea to kill the thing, but theories are always easier than actions. I hear a loud WHUFF! and the bear scratches with huge spade like claws at the entrance hole. If it rips away just a foot of dirt it'll be able to reach me and there's no way I'll be able to get away from it. I'm fast, but I can just run past a raging bear; I'm clever, but I can't set up a trap when my supplies are on the other side of the bear.

The bear is angry, like it's been provoked. I bet it has- the Gamemakers are always watching. I followed my wolf muttation out to the ridge of the brush mountains and watched as it disappeared into some sort of den. So, I did the same, only to be awoken by five cannons and an angry bear trying to eat me! I can see the sun shining when the bear moves aside for a moment. It's the seventh day of the Games, and there are eight left. I don't plan to be the next one down, either. No way. I still have to win. For Fala.

A shower of dusty rock collapses from the boulder and drifts into my eyes as the bear roars and shoves at the giant rock. It doesn't budge. As I wipe the dirt from my stinging eyes, I see the bear's huge snout poke into the entrance and snort out a cloud of foggy bear breath. Delicious. I cough and pinch my nose closed, but the bear growls and snaps, trying to reach me. I feel sort of like a crab in its shell when a bird is trying to crack it open. The muttation removes its shaggy face and sticks its great paw into the hole. It forces a medium-sized stone out of place and rolls it towards me; the extra space allows it to shove its entire foot into the den. The claws slash my tunic, tearing it to shreds along the hemline and taking a few lines of my skin with it. "Ah!" I clamp my hand over the wound as they throb and the bear pokes its ugly head back inside. Its eyes are able to see where I am now and they're beady, black, and full of hate.

I do the only thing that I can. I bop it on the nose with as much strength as I can muster in the small space. My pinky finger slides off the muzzle and pokes the mutt in the eye. It roars and pulls away from me, enough for me to escape. I scramble out of the hole and run as the bear is still on its hind legs, snatching up my meager supplies on the way out. The bear never sees me and it still tries to dig out its nonexistent victim.

I run until the adrenaline fades and my scratches hurt too much for me to continue without a strong limp and a deep, aching pain. I start feeling a bit dizzy and finally slump down in the scrubby bushes to examine my injuries. There are three claw marks, each with a trickle of blood escaping. Most of the marks are scabbed over, but blood leaks through on the outer two. On the middle one, where the claw struck most directly, the scabs are just starting to form on the outer edges and the middle gapes, pulsating, almost to the bone. When I realize how bad it is it begins to hurt accordingly. I definitely need bandages.

"If anyone's still out there for me, I need some supplies," I whisper hoarsely to the sky. I doubt the bear can hear me now, when I ran a fair distance from it.

Nothing descends. Cringing and gasping, I force my hand down on the wound. Hopefully the jacket will sop up some of the blood and act as a semi-bandage until I can find something better for it. Using one of the knobbly bare branches surrounding me, I pull myself to a standing position and push my dark hair away from my eyes. I have to hobble to keep my hand on my injured leg, but shelter is more important than comfort.

Something roars. I was not alone at my resting place. A furious bear charges me as I stand and I almost fall back down in shock. The mutt was waiting patiently barely twenty feet away, waiting for me to show myself. This is the fiercest mutt I've seen yet, even with the slight limp in one of its forepaws. I wonder what happened to its tribute to injure it. Even though I really don't care. I don't care about its tribute. I just care about getting away from it. With blood seeping between my white-knuckled fingers, it's hard enough even with an injured pursuer.

I drop my hand and let the adrenaline take over. I can't focus on the wounds. I have to care more about not getting others. The leg had already started to stiffen, though, and I trip on some crabgrass. The bear rears up behind me for the killing blow, angrier than ever. Jeez. You'd think I ate its cubs or something, if it was real.

A gray shape leaps, blurring, out of the bushes. I hadn't noticed it, but its prodigy at camouflage doesn't surprise me in the least. It is my wolf, after all, a master of the mountains. The bear slams its forepaws into the ground, startled by the new attacker. It growls and I jolt with fear as my mutt lowers its ears. It's like it knows about the mutt connection.

I scream as the bear pounds against the wolf, pummeling its shoulders and sides. The wolf slows its attack, but keeps it up until I'm recovered enough to watch the fight without gasping for breath. It whines at me and I can imagine it saying "run!" I obey willingly. A wolf can take care of itself, but a thirteen-year-old boy can't.

IN DISTRICT ELEVEN: EKENE SAMEER

There's the screen, dark as almost always. The only times it comes on is for the Hunger Games propaganda and during the Games when the film from the day has been prepared for viewing. Fumbe, Imani, and Nia sit on one of the rickety benches in front of me, all clasping hands as we wait for news of Shaka. The last we saw of him, he was fast asleep with his alliance- the last non-Career alliance remaining. Imani thinks that the other boy- Ira?- is the one that will break the alliance. I don't see the group breaking soon at all- they seem pretty tight-knit.

Fuzzy static appears on the screen and the girls take a collective breath. They'll show the day before they show the final death count. They're down to the top ten, and the gamblers think Shaka has a good chance of making it to top five, even with his- I shudder- missing eye. Even in the Capitol, those aren't fixable. Nia cried for so long after the bloodbath. Fumbe has gotten even meaner since the reaping- the Peacekeepers arrested her after the bloodbath for 'inciting a riot'. I'm not even bothering to try and be funny or strong for the girls anymore. I've almost lost my speech.

The Careers break up and Ebony escapes. The entire square cheers. I notice that only Shaka's father is here- one of his parents always stays home to watch after little Nubia.

The alliance- the Golden Trio, Aurelia called them two days ago- is next. Shaka is alive, woken up after the cannons. He goes over to the supplies and then the girl almost materializes from the shadows. Shaka tries to calm her down, but I can see the sorrow and fear in her eyes as she leaves.

Don't, Shaka. I think. Don't. He does, though. HE does what he's always done when one of us gets upset. He tries to make peace, but the girl needs freedom and now she can't let him go without mental instability. She can't 'owe him'. This, for both of them, leaves one option. Shaka is calm, and the square is crying. None louder than I. In any other circumstances, this would be embarrassing, but even Fumbe is shuddering with sobs. The other boy dies at the hands of District Three, too, but nobody is calling out against Mikhail Frey. They seem to understand, seem to relate. We don't want to owe anyone, either. Really, most of us would have taken the same fate as Shaka rather than come home broken. We've still got one chance. But Ebony won't ever replace my best friend.

IN DISTRICT ELEVEN: AT THE HOME OF EBONY ECHO

"So, what did you think when you found out Ebony had helped to break up the Careers and lived?"

The girl called Nessa, whose missing leg was being cropped out of the footage by the cameras, answered in a rush.

"That was so heartbreaking? With the girl from Four? Ebony seems like she won't come home a beast, but we'll never be the same friends ever again."

The cousin, Megan, continued, "Linley was the worst part of that, also. Ebony called her by my name several times and then she seemed to be torn apart by the death. I cried as hard as Ebony did."

IN DISTRICT SIX: AT THE HOME OF ELLA NIELSEN

The man looked around the decorated home, with the girl keeping her arm carefully linked through the man's. "Mr. Grow! The news people are here!"

Aurelia Flickerman lounged across from them. "So how did you react when Gabriel was reaped?" The man's eyes filled with tears and the girl bit her lip.

"I screamed. It was on the recaps." The girl dabbed at her eyes with the doily on the end of the couch. The man whispered his answer, looking at his hands clenched in his lap.

"I didn't know until that night. I didn't know my Gabe was gone until the video played. And I didn't know if he had survived the bloodbath until Ella here came and brought me her confidence." The cameras cut back to Aurelia, who had misty eyes as well.

IN DISTRICT FOUR: AT THE HOME OF MARIUS DYLAN

The girl sat between the tall, bronzed man and woman. "Are you Marius's sister, dear?" Aurelia asked.

"No, I'm Shoalle, his girlfriend." The entire Capitol population sighed and clasped their hands over their hearts in recognition. The girl's cast was shown on the camera.

"So, how are you feeling about Marius's chances?"

"Mars? He'll come home for sure!" boomed the bearded man, pointing ferociously at the camera.

"We're just worried that the death of little Linley may have hurt his self-confidence," said the woman, matter-of-fact and thoughtful as she had been throughout the Top Eight interview. Shoalle blew her nose on a tissue at Linley's name.

"That was terrible!" she burst out. "I was supposed to be there with him, I was supposed to help him break the Careers- he'll come back to me, but Linley will always be a scar in the memory of District Four- painful." She started crying with wracking, unattractive sobs. Aurelia patted the girl's shoulder.

IN DISTRICT TWO: AT THE HOME OF STAVREN MUXAS

"Stav said that I won't have to ever volunteer," said the little boy cheerily, playing with puzzles on the low table on the floor, "She'll come home and we'll move to those nice new houses in the newest section of the Victor's Village!" The man sitting with his arm around his Peacekeeper wife smiled.

"I've trained my girl since she was in grade school. She'll sure as anything come home to us, with glory and honor in her wake!" Cascon Muxas rumbled appreciatively.

"I've never been able to spend much time with my daughter, thanks to my job," declared the woman, "but when Stavren returns, I'll be able to be the mother every teenage girl should have. It's been hard, supporting such a rambunctious family," she smiled at her son and husband, "soon we won't have to worry anymore."

Aurelia Flickerman decided that this family was a good one, and she wanted to boy to volunteer just so she could get another interview with them.

IN DISTRICT SEVEN: AT THE TOWN SQUARE

"Axit is gravely wounded by the muttation and he hasn't had nourishment in days," Aurelia said concernedly, "Do you think he'll pull through?"

"Of course," the tall girl said, "We've had more serious injuries than that in the forests and Axit always pulled through. And the district has pulled together a sponsor fund, so we have money for him! Axit WILL come home."

"Have you seen his muttation, Aloe?" the smaller boy said. Aurelia smiled.

"Of course, Pine! He's even got me in the arena with him. I told you he'd be fine."

The boy fidgeted, but he seemed satisfied. "Axit will come home."

IN DISTRICT ONE: AT THE HARRIS HOME

"So, what's with the commotion?" Aurelia asked, referring to the people pounding on the windows of the home.

"Well, the twins didn't get along with people- in fact, they had enemies galore." The man in Peacekeeper uniform spoke in clipped tones. "These scum want to tell you all about how much they hate Vulkin. The district doesn't have any sponsor money for the little brats."

Aurelia looked startled, but she continued nonetheless. A true showwoman, following in her father's footsteps.

"So how do you like that wolf mutt, Corey?"

IN DISTRICT THREE: AT THE (CROWDED) HOME OF MIKHAIL FREY

"I can't believe Mikhail did that to Shaka and Ira!" the bubbly cousin said.

"Calm down, Kanzy," said an older girl, the sister with a handsome boyfriend hooked to her hand, "Mikhail will survive. She's smart, and she's helped with all our homework." The rest of the siblings nodded, sort of embarrassed.

"But STILL!" 'Kanzy' protested, "Mikhail's not like that!"

"The arena changes people," said the oldest brother, Aidan. His voice was dark. Earlier he had revealed that his friend had gone to the Games a few years back.

"Oh, Vaz Fuliere? What a good Games that was!" Aurelia had beamed. The family had glared. That had been when she had started in on the topic of Mikhail's betrayal.

IN DISTRICT EIGHT: AT THE HOME OF ROSE TRINITY

"It was kind of Gabriel to help our daughter," the man said stiffly. The boy sitting next to him fidgeted uncomfortably. Finally, he whispered something in his mother's ear and dashed out of the interview room. "I wish I had a son like that," the man continued. Aurelia gave him a funny look.

"But aren't you proud of your daughter, sir?"

"Oh yes, but I would still like to have a son like that."

"So, what do you think Rose's chances are of winning?

"Oh, little to none. I hear she' popular with the mobs, but she's weak and depressed." Two girls, one blond and the other dark-haired, burst through the door.

"We're here!" shouted Rose's friends, Laura and Penny. Aurelia quickly turned to the teens, eager to escape the terrible feedback she was getting from the family.

"Rose is gonna make it! She's smart and… and…" the dark-haired girl turned to her friend. "What's the word?"

"Resilient."

"That's it! Rose can get through anything."

10th: D11M Shaka Aastor

9th: D9M Ira Spark

Top 8! Isn't this fun!