Day 3: Ablaze

Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five Female

Under the cover of darkness, I sit in a tree near the edge of the Cornucopia clearing, watching and waiting for the moment to move. Right now, Zeus is on watch, pacing back and forth beside their stack of supplies, in case thieves try to steal things at night. But I'm not after the supplies; I have enough in my backpack. I'm after the flowers.

Yesterday night, the wolves chased me up to the clearing, where I opted to scramble up a tree instead of running into the Star Alliance. But that meant that I saw the wolves sniff the flowers and leave. There's just something about their scent that repels the mutts, and so I'll need some for myself.

Cautiously, I slide off the tree branch and tip toe out of the forest, a bent sheet of metal in hand that'll work as a shovel. I crouch down at the flower line and dig into the soft earth all around one of the plants, and then another, and then another. Three plants. That's the minimum number I need to form a shape with a two-dimensional area that I can hide in, a triangle.

I've emptied out the main compartment of my backpack and moved everything to the side and front compartments; it'll be my portable pot. First I take some of the dirt and dump it in the bag, and then I put my three precious plants in, patting the dirt around their little roots. Stay hydrated, little flowers.

Once all three plants are in, I zip up the bag slightly, just leaving an opening for the long flower stems to poke out.

And I'm out!

Reuben Koled, 17, District Six Male

I sit in the rectangle of moonlight that shines in through the door of the treehouse, keeping watch while Evelyn sleeps. Theoretically, we should be safe from other tributes in here since the ladder's pretty inconspicuous—it was barely visible during the day; we should be fine at night—but before we went to sleep, we came up with a list of fifty things that could still kill us in the middle of the night and decided that it would still be safe to keep a rotating watch.

I shut my eyes for a brief moment to take in the sounds of the Arena at night, the frogs croaking, the cicadas singing, sounds that are rare back home in the urban sprawl of District Six.

It's also dark. Back in Six, there's a streetlight on every corner. Floodlights for security surround every factory, so bright that it's visible to everyone living nearby. Electricity in the houses keeps the light going long after the sun sets. But here, it's dark. If I don't use Evelyn's flashlight, I'm only able to see what the moonlight shows me. Thank goodness for her flashlight; her little adventure into the Bloodbath turned out better for us that she could ever have imagined.

Even though it cost Achan. I dragged him into the Bloodbath, telling him to change plans. Now he's gone, and I can't help but feel a little guilty.

Suddenly, there's a rustle in the leaves outside. There's a female grunt, a squeak of a squeal, and then more rustling followed by a thump. Someone just fell out of our tree.

Our tree? There was someone this close this entire time?

My eyes widen—who could it be? And what do I need to do to keep them from killing up? I creep over to the door, peeking out at the dark world outside, splattered with swaths of silver moonlight.

"What?" Evelyn's sleepy voice makes me jump; I thought she was asleep.

"There's someone outside," I whisper.

She joins me near the door, looking over my shoulder. "I heard the thump. Who do you think it is?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I'll go see."

She grabs my arm with wide, terrified eyes. "But—"

"It's better than not knowing."

"Then I'll go with you."

"Don't."

"But—"

She's cut off by the creaking of the rope ladder. We look at each other, eyes wide. Her trembling hand grabs me. Whoever that someone is—they found the ladder and they're now coming up. As if suddenly struck with the realization of what's happening, she scrambles for her flashlight. I grab my machete. The silhouette of a head pops up in the doorway.

"Who are you!" Evelyn screams, flicking on the flashlight, filling our little wooden box with bright light that reveals the terrified, wide-eyed face of the skinny, malnourished girl from District Twelve, her jacket stained with blood.

The girl nearly falls off the ladder. "Ah! Don't hurt me!"

"Leave us alone," I say, trying to hold my voice steady, my body shaking with adrenaline. "We won't hurt you."

The girl's shaking, staring at the two of us, with Evelyn shining a light in her eyes and me threatening her with my machete. Though she doesn't say a word, her eyes plead with us, begging.

Evelyn lowers the flashlight and smiles weakly. "Reuben… Maybe we can take her in?"

My jaw drops—did she really just say what I heard her say? The Twelve girl's face brightens with hope. I look between them uncertainly.

"Give us a moment, will ya?" I say to the girl. "Wait down there."

The two of us stare at the doorway as she disappears slowly, climbing down, down, down until we hear the thump of her hitting the ground below.

"What are you thinking!" I whisper, careful to keep my voice down.

"She looks hurt," Evelyn says. "And she's alone! Maybe her ally died. She needs help!"

"Maybe she killed her ally, maybe her ally ditched her—we don't know anything. And these are the Hunger Games. If we help her, we're hurting ourselves."

She nods slowly, crestfallen. "I know… But I want to help her."

"We seriously can't afford to help her. I'm not gonna kill her right now, but taking her in? That's crazy!"

"I'm… sorry." She averts her eyes, cringing away. "You're right." The atmosphere immediately crashes like a hovercraft's failed landing. She huddles in the corner, staring at me with sad eyes.

I must've spoken too harshly. I sigh. Besides, it's the best I can do to make it up to Achan. "I can't believe I'm saying this… but maybe… maybe we can help her a little for now."

"Really?" Her eyes light up.

"Yeah… I'll go tell her."

When I lean out the doorway and spot the Twelve girl on the ground below, the sky is changing color; the sun is rising on our third day in the Arena. I smile down at her wilted figure, sitting against a tree trunk and wave her up. Immediately, she perks up, her eyes glow, her shoulders straighten, sending a warm wave through me. Maybe Evelyn was right.

Then why can't I shake off the uneasiness inside?

Alia Bernold, 18, District Two Female

Mutts. Of course there'd be mutts. But I didn't expect them to come so early; I didn't expect them to be what the Cornucopia timer was counting down to. And now I wake up in the middle of the morning and find myself half-dangling in the tree I scurried up to avoid the wolves last night, strapped to a branch but partially hanging in the air. I must've rolled over in my sleep. I pull myself back into the tree and take a deep breath.

It's happening. It's finally happening. Would it have been smarter to stay with the others for a little while? Yes, especially now that mutts are out and about, but I knew the risk I was taking. When I'm with the others, I become one of them. Now that I'm alone, it's my show to run. Plus, Andreas ran with her Star Alliance in her Games. If I stick with the others and win, they'll just call me a rip-off, a copycat, as if my victory was somehow due to her precedent—and I don't intend to share my spotlight with anyone.

What's on my to-do list for today? I'll probably just hunt all day since I made sure to stock up before I left. Who's left to hunt? The other five will have to wait; I can't take on all of them at once. The Elevens were eliminated last night. The girls from Seven and Nine… boys from Eight and Three…

District Ten Male. The golden trophy of all of them. The white whale, the one kill I have to get for myself. I didn't split off from the others so that they could do most of the dirty work. I'm going solo to outshine all five of them—and what better way is there than by taking out the most prominent threat? He's not alone; he has his little friend, but the kid might as well not be there. District Ten is the biggest threat.

But first things first—this is such a lovely morning! The birds are singing, the sun is shining… Is that a butterfly? I lean back against the tree trunk, letting my feet dangle towards the ground far below. This is such a nice spot; I'd love to just sit here with a cup of coffee and let the wind blow past me. I'll have to plant a good tree in my yard in Victor's Village. While I stare through the leaves at the sky above, watching the clouds go by, I unzip my backpack a little and reach my hand into it—

Instead of the beef jerky I expected to find, I get a fistful of plastic wrap. Plastic wrap? I didn't put plastic wrap in there!

I rip the zipper open—there's a huge wad of plastic wrap, topped off by a few sticks of beef jerky. There's no way I grabbed the wrong backpack, did I? I pick the bag up in the air to examine it, and water drips down from the bottom. It's fully soaked.

That's it—what happened here? Carefully holding the bag at an arm's length to avoid soaking myself, I drop down branch after branch until I land on the ground. Shaking the backpack upside-down, I dump everything out. First to fall are the few strips of beef jerky and a box of crackers, and then a huge wad of plastic wrap, and then my now-empty water bottle, and then finally a shredded mess of fabric—

My sleeping bag!

A scream escapes my throat as my breathing quickens, my cheeks burning with hot, fierce…

AH!

I pick up the waterlogged shreds of what was my sleeping bag, and then I hurl it away as hard as I can. The plastic wrap, which just pathetically floats away, as if mocking me—"you can be as angry as you want but I'll take my lazy time settling to the ground." The water bottle—

There's a small bit of tape still stuck to the bottom of the bottle, right next to the crack that leaked out all my extra water. That all but confirms it; someone intentionally sabotaged me. I didn't just accidentally crack the bottle when I fled the bloodthirsty wolves.

But who? Why would they think to destroy my supplies? They didn't know I was leaving…

Zeus. He heard my conversation with the hulk from Ten; he would've known. I thought he had forgotten; he never once said anything about it to me or anyone else. But that bastard was planning sabotage, acting as if everything was fine, holding it to himself while he decided to to screw me over as royally as possible. Still shaking with rage, I toss back into the wet bag the scraps of food he left me and sling it over my shoulder, gripping my scythe so tightly that my hand begins to sweat.

Light beeping sounds from above; a silver parachute floats down to the ground with a metal canister attached. A sponsor gift! Is Andreas replenishing my destroyed supplies? I grab the canister and eagerly screw it open, only to find a little wooden cat—a child's toy! Andreas had one as a little girl that she gave to me; I haven't seen it in years!

A toy. Passed down to me by Andreas. How dare she rub it in like that?

I pitch the stupid cat into the bushes, watching in satisfaction as it plops into a pile of leaves, hoping that the ground will open up and swallow it into its dark abyss. I glare at the sky for a good, long moment—that has to be caught on camera. Oh… they're going to get it. Zeus, District Ten, Andreas, the Gamemakers—everyone's out to get me!

And so I have to do even better. I have to prove them all wrong. They'll regret coming for me.

But the cat. A memory, a moment when big sister Andreas, only eight at the time, handed little me the wooden toy, telling me to "care for it and pet it every day so that it won't get sad."

I sigh and return to the bush, digging it out of its grave of leaves, brushing off the dirt and sliding it into my jacket pocket. Even if it's Andreas' way of taunting me, I can't leave it behind.

I'm going home soon, but I still want a little piece of home right here with me.

Tommy "Chaos" Chassis, 16, District Three Male

Spending the night on the roof of an occupied treehouse was significantly less interesting than hiding besides the pressure washer, which still shines in my imagination, with its sleek red metal that contrasted with the dilapidated environment I found it in, like a jewel among ashes, like—

I barrel over laughing at my own thoughts, steadying myself with a hand on a tree to keep myself from collapsing on my thoughts. "A jewel among ashes"—Ha! I just have to laugh at myself sometimes.

I sigh. I can't deny that the pressure washer was great fun. It's such a pity that I can't carry it around with me; it's far too big for that. I'll have to make my own fun now. It was super tempting to do something crazy last night, since I was already sleeping on the roof above the pair from District Six.

But I couldn't. When I pressed my ear to the wood, trying to sleep, I heard the two talking. Making a list of fifty things that could kill them in the middle of the night. Talking about home. The guy dropping some bars (which were pretty solid if I do say so myself). The girl crying over her little brother, whom she's convinced she'll never see again.

I couldn't do it, not after hearing all that. That's a problem. Back in Three, I never seriously hurt anyone, at least not long-term. Here, I have to end someone's life, and if I don't… the consequences aren't fun. I'll have to be mentally stronger, more ready to kill. And so when the two decided to welcome in the girl from Twelve, I slipped away. Now isn't the time for wholesomeness. I can get a lifetime of it after I get out.

I rummage through my bag—what do I do today? I have a lot of food supplies, but those aren't any fun (though I do stop to eat a handful of trail mix). My hand hits something hard and I pull out a magnesium fire starter.

Fire!

I promised Integra—rest in peace—that I wouldn't start one until she was gone, but she's dead, cold, killed at the Cornucopia.

And so I find a dead, dry bush and set it ablaze.

Barrett Adler, 18, District Ten Male

We're being followed through the woods.

It was subtle, but every time the wind blows, there's a bit too much rustling for everything to be right. A crack here. A creak there. Whoever's tracking us thinks that they haven't been noticed since I've been talking with Bryson this entire time, but I'm listening. I've been listening ever since we decided to head to the river for water. Our water supply is running low, and it seems like the river is the only water source.

Who would it be? Elena? She's cold, but I don't think she'd hunt down her own district partner so early on. Alia? She hates me—is she still with the Star Alliance? It doesn't sound like a pair, so it's probably not Orysa and Baize.

"…does that make sense?" Bryson says, pausing in the middle of explaining a wooden machine he built with his dad.

"I gotcha," I say, giving him a smile, hoping that he didn't notice that I wasn't paying attention. "That's pretty genius. I build a lot of stuff at home, but I never deal with moving mechanical pieces."

He looks away, embarrassed, but there's a wide grin on his face. Whew. He's suspicious enough of me; I don't need his paranoid self to find out that my mind is elsewhere and then suspect me of something crazy. In the distance, far behind us, I hear another rustle, but I don't say anything about it; I don't want to scare Bryson.

"Hey—where's your knife?" I say, my hand on the handle of my whip.

"In my bag. Why?"

"Maybe you should keep it somewhere you can grab quickly." I smile, trying to keep it as calm and not anxiety-inducing as possible. "Just in case we run into someone."

He frowns. "Sure… That makes sense."

"Don't worry. We'll be okay."

"Mmm hmm…" he says, swinging his bag around and digging the knife out. "Is there someone nearby?"

I freeze, searching for words. "Well… you never know, right? I'd bet there's always someone nearby."

"Sure." He subtly takes a step to the side as we walk, putting more distance between him and me. Dang it, Barrett. I wasn't subtle enough. But better that Bryson be paranoid than dead.

We trudge forwards in silence. Every so often, I glance at him to make sure he's okay, but he never once looks back. All that time I spent trying to get him to ease up… did I just ruin it with one conversation?

Crack.

Perhaps there was no way around it. The alternative was to tell Bryson that someone is following us and then watch him freak out. Up ahead, we can see the edge of the woods and the flowing crystal waters. Perhaps I'll tell him once we're in a better defensive position. If our follower hears me saying something, perhaps they'll just lay low until we're not alert—and then what would he think of me? A liar?

"We're here," Bryson says, picking up his pace. Once we step out of the cool shade of the woods and into the hot sun, he heads for the water.

"Let's cross over," I say, pointing to the bridge not far from us.

"Why?"

"Trust me—you'll see."

He cocks his head. "I'm not sure…"

Beneath the sounds of the river, I faintly hear a soft crunch, crunch, crunch. Our stalker rapidly approaches. "Please," I say, "We need to cross."

"I'm not going unless you explain."

"You'll see in a sec." I grab his arm firmly, pulling him after me as I head towards the bridge.

"Let go of me!" he yells, struggling to break free. "Let go!"

I bite my lip and look away from him, resisting the urge to shut him up, to tell him that I'm doing this for his own good, to say those not-so-nice things that I'm feeling. After a few minutes, he stops shaking and yanking and settles for walking sullenly. I glance back, but he glares at me with such intensity that I wither, looking away from him and not turning back. Once we're across the bridge, I let go of him, and he instantly backs away, watching me with hurt, wary eyes.

I sigh and look back over the bridge. "You can come out now!" I call, cupping my hands around my mouth.

Sure enough, a figure emerges from the tree cover and stalks towards us, posture straight and tall, chin held high and shoulders squared, a scythe in her hand. It's Alia, the girl from Two.

Bryson's eyes widen as the pieces click in his head. "You… knew?"

I nod. "A whip isn't as useful in the woods. She won't be able to get us with the bridge as a chokepoint. Now get back."

Her scythe is raised, her body is poised, she's planning to strike. As she approaches, I take out the whip and crack it, shooting out a sound much like a gunshot, one that echoes around the river valley. She jumps.

"Can't you just leave us alone?" I say, cracking the whip again. "I don't want to fight you, but I will if I have to—and you're at the disadvantage here."

She stops on the bridge, just out of my range, eyes narrowed as she observes with intent to kill. "You know you can't run forever. We have to do it for the cameras."

"Ain't wrong," I say, gulping. "But I still don't want to fight right now. And you'll do the same if you don't want to get hurt."

Without another word, she stares at me with murderous eyes, twirling her scythe. Everything inside of me wants to look away, to avert my gaze, to avoid the daggers from her eyes, but I gulp and stare her back. Looking away would only reinforce the idea that she could take us on.

A wind picks up from the other side of the river, bringing with it the smell of smoke. Fire. Bryson yells and points at the thick black smoke rising from the treetops. Even Alia whirls around to look. Suddenly, a huge column of fire leaps up from the forest, blown forward by the wind.

I look back to Alia. "Please—we don't got time to fight right now."

"Not if I cut both of you down quickly."

"Just leave," Bryson snaps, his voice cold as ice. "Cameras are busy on the fire anyway. No one wants to watch your desperate attempt at attention."

She flinches, as if slapped across the cheek. Her face twists into a snarl. "Shut up."

Bryson opens his mouth again, but I jump in before he makes the situation worse. "Look—Alia. We'll have our showdown eventually, but this is not the time." I grab Bryson and take a few steps to the side, allowing her an open path to the forests on this side of the river. "Here. Go. I'm not fixin' to cut you in the back while you leave."

The cloud of smoke covers the sun—there's not much time left. She must sense this too because she lowers her weapon. "Fine. But it'll go down next time."

"I'm waiting for it," I choke out. I'm definitely not waiting for it, but anything else might set her off again. I hold Bryson back and stand to the side in a defensive posture, and she cautiously steps off the bridge, backs away from us, and then turns and runs into the woods. I release my bated breath. "Whew."

Bryson's staring at the ground, biting his lip. "I'm… sorry."

My cheeks pull back into a wide smile, and I pat his back. "It's all good. Now let's get going."

Evelyn Darby, 15, District Six Female

The girl from Twelve—Dove—sits in the corner of the treehouse, quietly nibbling on a cracker. She's been pretty quiet since we took her in.

Reuben smiles at her. "You been doing okay?"

She nods slowly. "My ally… abandoned me and my lazy district partner is dead, but I'm doing okay."

"That's hard," I say. I can't imagine how I'd feel if Reuben left me—I don't know what I'd do. It strikes me that I've relied on him for so much, and he's been so… forgiving, even though I've been a massive bother.

She glares at nothing in particular. "I hate her now."

Reuben and I look at each other. A sudden response, but one that makes sense. On the other hand, if Reuben abandons me, I deserve it. I haven't contributed very much.

He nods understandingly. "I'm… sorry about Achan."

"Oh, him?" She pauses for a weird moment, cocking her head in confusion. "He wasn't going to last long anyway."

The words make sense, but she sounds so… okay with it. Like it doesn't bother her at all. What is up with this strange girl? I blink—don't think such mean thoughts! Everyone probably thinks the same about you—and smile. It's not for me to judge the way she's dealing with loss. We sit in awkward silence, Dove focusing on her cracker, Reuben watching her with worry in his eyes, and me, looking at both of me, trying to figure out what to do because this silence is so awkward!

I smell the smoke first. Smoke? Is there a fire? I bolt to the doorway—the wind is blowing a wisp of smoke by, a wisp that looks like it's only increasing with time.

"Fire!" I yell, scrambling back to grab my backpack.

"Really?" Reuben rushes over to the door. "Dang it—you're right."

Supplies tossed into bags. Bags zipped and slung over shoulders. I descend the rope ladder, swinging in the smoky wind, my senses going into overdrive. What if I fall off? I shakily grab the next rung down. What if I burn alive? Nope; I'm not doing that. Reuben's above me anyway—my caution could endanger his life. Boldly, I force myself to grab the next one much faster, climbing all the way down until my feet hit the ground.

"Which way?" I yell.

Reuben whips his head around, looking in every direction. "Maybe… the other side of the river!"

We've just started running when I realize something—rather, someone—is missing. "Dove!"

Reuben's eyes widen and we whirl around, running back to the treehouse, where Dove is struggling to climb down the ladder, swaying crazily in the ever-growing wind. Her face is panic stricken, mouth open, a scream in her throat. She's not that far from the ground, but she might as well be on a swing.

Reuben catches the end of the swinging rope and yanks it until it's holding still. "Just jump!"

She stares at him and the ground and takes a deep breath while I stand uselessly watching. You should help! But what do I do? I'll just get in the way. She jumps off, crashing into the pine needles, where Reuben pulls her to her feet and we take off again, whizzing through the trees.

The river comes into view, and then a bridge. We sprint across; we don't stop until we're firmly on the other bank, with the fire trapped on the other side of the river. I collapse onto the grassy riverbank, heaving, breathing the clean air near the ground.

"Are you okay?" Reuben says.

I nod, still gasping for air. Dove nods too, though she has a concerned look on her face.

He smiles. "At least we all survived. That's not going to happen much in the future."

My heart sinks. I've been able to act like everything's okay so far, but we'll have to fight someone sooner or later. I'm not ready for it.

Baize Liliwin, 18, District Eight Male

From my vantage point fifty feet up a tree, peeking out through a hole in the foliage, I can see the other side of the Arena go up in smoke and fire. We're about as far as we can get, up the mountain on the other side of the river valley, but I can still smell the cloud of smoke that covers the sun, casting everything in an eerie glow.

"What's it look like?" Orysa calls up at me from the ground.

"There's a big fire, all right."

"Where?"

I squint at the view of hell on earth. "On the other side of the river, I think—I'm not sure, though."

"I'm coming up!" she yells.

"There's no need," I say. "It took me forever to get up here; it's probably best if—"

"Too late!"

"Orysa!" I look down, and I find her leaping from branch to branch, climbing up like a monkey, scrambling up the tree. Before long, she's on a branch near me, peering at the view.

"Oh dang," she says, "That's bad. Who's idea was that?"

I snort. "The effin' Gamema—"

"I didn't ask you," she says, shutting me off with a smile on her face. "I already knew what you would say."

Peeved, I look back through the leaves at the billowing smoke. "Those idiots better put it back out if they want a victor."

"You know," she says, sighing, "Many of the Gamemakers are the best and brightest in the Capitol. They'll take care of it."

Sure enough, the smoke cloud is soon joined by real, dark clouds high up in the sky, rolling over the Arena, heavy with rain. But her use of "best and brightest" just rubs me the wrong way. "How can you bring yourself to compliment these a— —s?"

"The Capitol doesn't maintain control by being stupid." She gives me an unamused look. "I'm not saying I'm in love with them or anything; I'm just giving credit where credit's due."

I sigh and bite my lip. Giving credit where credit's due, huh? I have about a million other ways I'd prefer to put it, like… "They're just really good at murder."

"Don'tcha love that?" she says, grinning.

"No."

"Oh well. We don't have to deal with it right now." She gets back up and prepares to descend, a mischievous twinkle in my eye. "I'll race you back down!"

"Hey! That's so unfair!" I protest, but she's already scrambling down the tree, leaving me awkwardly stumbling from branch to branch. "You monkey!"

Almost to the ground, she sticks her tongue out at me with an exaggerated sneer. "You're just salty because you're slow."

"You're a jerk."

"Mr. Salt."

"Monkey."

"Slow poke."

I roll my eyes. She laughs. As much as I hate the Capitol, I can't say I'm hating this.

Rina Alcott, 18, District Seven Female

Everything smells like smoke. The air feels at least ten degrees hotter than it was this time yesterday. I'm stuck on a bridge. Fire ahead of me. Fire behind me. On the other side of the bridge is the burning forest. On this side are explosions, caused by the old pressurized cans littered throughout the logging town. I'm panting for air, my body shakes, I whip my head around, looking for a way out.

Is this the end?

No, Rina. Don't think that way. Work through the situation. Forwards is not an option; it's irrational to run into the burning forest, where trees are falling and flames are leaping. Backwards is risky; the town is full of flammable and explosive equipment.

The river?

I stare down into the crystal clear waters—it's deeper than I can stand, and I don't know how to swim. Just the very thought of drowning flips my stomach. It's the safest way out. I grab the railing of the bridge and prepare to jump, but my knees lock in and I can't force myself to do it.

It's the rational thing to do!

But I can't! The heat is growing; the fire rapidly approaches from the forest. What do I do?

Water… water… water…

Clouds are rolling in overhead, much faster than any cloud I've ever seen. I don't need something permanent; I just need to hold off the flames until the Gamemakers put them off. A few hundred feet away, a burning tree falls into the river. If I can't force myself to jump in the river, then I'll just have to find water elsewhere…

The pressure washer.

This is an irrational idea, but it's somehow the best I have. I turn around and bolt into the logging town, where the fire's quickly creeping up my left and I break right. The fire's breathing down my neck; I feel it's heat on my skin, smell the smoke in the air.

Suddenly, an explosion. A tower on my right leans and then tips and then collapses. Something hot strikes my thigh, searing pain up and down my leg.

I'm on fire.

I drop to the ground, rolling my thigh on the gravel road that pokes and pricks but the flames go out and I stagger on, my leg screaming with blinding pain at every step forward. The smoke is getting heavy. I stoop down to breathe the cleaner air near the ground until I'm nearly crawling, pushing forward, forward, forward…

The shed. With a final lunge of desperation, I leap towards the stupid red pressure washer, grab the wand and push as hard as I can. A blast of water shoots out of it, hitting the wall, where it scatters into a million raindrops that continue to fall around me.

Through the fiery inferno blazing outside, I catch a glimpse of a lightning bolt, blazing through the smoke and flames, followed by a thunderclap that shakes the four walls of the shed. With both my hands, I grip the pressure washer wand as tightly as I can, spraying the water everywhere as my only hope.

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

The roof is half collapsed, but the rain drums down on the bit that remains, under which I hide. Water pours down from the open sky. The cool water falling on my burn reduces the pain; I release the wand and sigh in relief. I'm completely soaked and the water keeps coming, but it's better than the fire.

The irony strikes me again. Once again, I've been saved by someone that tried to kill me. I'm covered in soot, my jacket's gone, I'm soaked to the bone. But I'm alive. For a brief moment, I let myself laugh. It starts as a chuckle, and then it grows and grows until it's a roar that echoes off the concrete and I can't hold myself together and my stomach aches. But the laugh fizzles out as the rain continues to fall. Before long, I'm shivering in a puddle, arms wrapped around my legs as the air turns cold.

You're falling apart, Rina.

I lean my head back against the wall, watching the raindrops fall like the million pieces of my shattered mirror walls. The smoke is clearing, revealing the oppressively depressing grey sky.

Cedric is gone. My self-control is gone. What else am I going to lose?

Better end this thing as quickly as I can before there's nothing else of me to lose.

Tommy "Chaos" Chassis, 16, District Three Male

I charge through the burning woods, every hair on my skin on it's end. The smoke is only getting thicker and thicker, burning my eyes and choking my lungs as heavy coughs wrack my chest. Bile scalds my throat. The fire spread too fast—how was I supposed to know that a wind would pick it up immediately and send the flames hurtling through the woods?

Note to self: Don't play with too much fire next time. There's nothing fun about this much smoke.

A thunderclap shakes the Arena, jolting me with a new burst of energy. If rain is coming, I might actually make it out of this one.

Just press on.

My head throbs. Every hoarse breath is a rip through my chest that brings up another round of coughing. The trees in every direction look the same—where am I and where am I going? I'm losing my balance; the ground rolls like a wave beneath me. My foot catches on something and I hit the ground—is that pine straw in my face? Something wet splatters on my face.

Ah…

Capitol

Adrastus was restless as he sat across the desk from Senator—no, President Snow, whose calm smile sent a tremor through his bones. To his left, a muted television showed Games footage, specifically the boy from Three, fallen amidst the half-burnt trees, unmoving as the rain poured down, putting out the fire.

"Interesting move," Snow said, rubbing his chin, where a golden beard was just starting to grow. "Burning the Arena?"

Adrastus flinched at the backhanded criticism—it wasn't his idea to burn a third of the Arena. It was the foolhardy boy from Three, a crowd favorite ever since his pranks in Training and his stunt with the pressure washer. "It would have been disappointing for the Three boy's plan to fail," he said slowly. "The viewers love him."

Snow raised an eyebrow. "And what do you plan to do now?"

"We're aware that a burnt out forest isn't any fun, so we'll start growing new trees overnight while everyone's holed up in a treehouse," he said, pulling up a three-dimensional holo-model. "They'll be small tomorrow, but it'll be a decent sized forest again in a few days."

"Good." Snow nodded. "And regarding Arena security?"

Security. This was the crucial part; he took a deep breath. "We've doubled the personnel assigned to security. There are people watching the area at every moment—anyone getting close will be caught. The telecommunications equipment at the Arena has been shut down, so there isn't any way to hack it from a distance."

"Very well. That is all."

He gulped, taken aback at the sudden end in conversation. "But sir—or President—if I may ask, what about the list of demands?"

The list of demands. It had appeared in his virtual mailbox after the message from the Red Blades. In it were thirty-seven demands, one for each year since the first Hunger Games, nearly all regarding Districto rights in the Capitol, ranging from electing government officials to entering premium shopping malls.

"Oh?" Snow laughed. "That really isn't your business to know, dear Adrastus. But since you're curious, I'll say that I have no plans of doing anything."

He wasn't surprised; acquiescing would lead to massive Capitolite discontent—how dare the government allow inferior Districtos onto their turf!—but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this wasn't about pleasing Capitolites.

No, this was about him. Ignoring the Red Blades would motivate them to continue their terrorist attacks. Continued terrorist attacks provided chances to de-legitimize him, frame him as a failure to Panem. And failures only had one end—execution.

Perhaps he still had much more to do.

The Fallen: None

A/N If you haven't noticed, my next SYOT is open! It's called Justice, and the details are at the top of my profile! Please submit!

We heard from Marleigh, Reuben, Alia, Tommy, Barrett, Evelyn, Baize, Rina, and Adrastus today.
Predictions? Expectations? Hopes?

Thoughts?