Day 6, Part 2: Critical Choices

Reuben Koled, 18, District Six Male

My back is turned when Evelyn yells "Stop!"

"No!" I whirl around—it's Dove, swooping down on Evelyn, a knife in her hand. I rush over as they fall to the ground, Evelyn screaming and rolling and squirming, barely dodging Dove's stabs. I freeze—I have a machete, but what can I do? If I swing, I'm just as likely to kill Evelyn as I am to kill Dove!

"Help!" she screams. "Get her off of me!"

What do I do? Dove's trying to hold Evelyn down, but she seems to be struggling—

Her left hand, red and swollen. Is that from the fall? They're rolling over and over. Dove's on top for a moment, but then Evelyn flips her off. And Dove's still waving the blade. The knife goes down, pinning Evelyn's hair to the ground. It's now or never. I kick at Dove's swollen hand, held gingerly behind her back.

It connects. There's a crack. Dove screams, falling off of Evelyn, yanking the knife out with her.

I grab Evelyn's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go!"

She latches on to me, burying her tear-soaked face in my jacket, barely able to stand, let alone move.

This is bad… How are we going to run? I glance back at Dove, who's choking on tears, staggering to her feet with murderous fire in her eyes. And her hand! It hangs loosely at the end of her left arm, swinging back and forth with her every movement. I taste bile in my mouth; I wrap a hand around Evelyn's shoulders, pressing her close, turning her so she doesn't have to see. With my other hand, I wave the machete. "Go. Now."

"I can't," she growls, lurching towards us.

I gulp. She's right. She's going to die unless she gets some massive sponsor gifts, and she won't get any if she doesn't get some kills. "Please."

She snarls. "How dare you talk to me like that! After you and your b— — friend pushed me out of a treehouse?"

Another muffled sob bursts from Evelyn, face still in my jacket, and my blood turns to ice. I glare at Dove. "That was self-defense. You were trying to kill us."

"You would've killed me if I didn't."

"We wouldn't—"

Her face twists in red rage. "Liar! Y'all are hypocrites! F— — hypocrites!"

"You can think whatever you want," I say, holding Evelyn tightly as she sobs, shaking uncontrollably. "But if this is what you're really like, I'd push you out of that tree again." I wave the machete again, pointing it straight at her. "I don't want to do this, but I'll kill you if I have to."

She stares right at me, almost inhuman in the way she's out for blood. Is this really the same scared girl we took in a few days ago? I shudder—we're fortunate to still be alive!

But footsteps break the silence, trampling through the underbrush. It's the Star Alliance, coming up at us from behind Dove, the boy from Two in the lead with a nasty sword in his hand.

I stumble back, shaking Evelyn. "We have to run!"

She sputters, taking stumbling steps forward in teary confusion. "O-Okay—"

I scream into her ears, shaking her. "Go!"

Her watery eyes fly open. I give her a little push and she's off, bolting through the woods so fast that I struggle to keep up with the machete in hand and the backpack swinging from my shoulder, jostling against my back.

A scream from behind. I look over my shoulder—Dove's caged, trapped by the four trained tributes, who surround her on every side. I catch a glimpse of her face, now white in terror. For a moment, I'm back in the treehouse, staring into her desperate eyes that plead for help. But now I know better.

Goodbye, Dove.

Jasmine Softwing, 18, District One Female

The poor girl from Twelve—why can't you remember her name?—spins around, searching for a way out that doesn't exist. As panic sets into her pale, thin face, a pained sob escapes her throat and she wipes at her eyes with her hand, holding the knife, useless against the four of us. Her other hand twists unnaturally. What happened to her?

"Please!" she begs, tears flowing hysterically. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

Look what you're doing. Look at the pain you're causing. Her pleas stab at my heart like daggers, unleashing a fresh wave of guilt. She doesn't deserve this.

I catch Cleo watching me with concern in her eyes. I sniffle and take a deep breath. No, Jasmine. You can't show pity. Letting her go isn't an option—with that wound of hers, she's not likely to survive anyway. She must be in so much pain! This is the right thing to do.

But the poor girl! "Right thing?" How could murder ever be the right thing? If she were still in the Capitol—heck, even if she were in District One—she'd get medical attention and her wrist would be back to normal in a month or so! But now she has to die because her name was pulled out of a glass bowl, for no fault of her own? This isn't right—and I'm such a horrible person for going along with it.

She's still crying, pleading for her life. "I'll do anything! Just let me go!"

Zeus looks at each of us. Even his lips are firmly pressed together; his expression is a face of stone, any emotion frozen under its impassable surface. When none of us respond, he steps forward, raising his sword.

The girl sees the raised blade and screams, leaping away. She's bolting towards me, swinging her knife. She's crazy, deranged in panic, going to cut a path through me.

My breath catches in my throat—I have to move! There's only a split second! Nearly automatically, my trained reflexes move before I can process. I swing the rapier's thin golden blade, severing the girl's neck. She barely has time to scream before she's gone, her head rolling away and her body falling to the ground, both bleeding profusely.

I… just did that. I stumble back, my sweaty hand barely maintaining its grip on the rapier coated in crimson. Though it causes my stomach to flip, I can't tear my eyes from the blood draining out of her corpse. Every drop of it cries out from the ground, demanding justice for my crimes. I am my own judge; the gavel is coming down.

And I'm guilty.

I woke up this morning to dreams of Lannister, with his lips on mine, flying in a dream world where the Hunger Games don't exist and I never made my fatal decision to volunteer, where my conscience is clean and I'm a good person. But staring at the corpse of the girl from Twelve, there's no way I can accept that fantasy. My conscience isn't clean; it's stained red as the blood of my victims. And I'm not a good person, or even a person at all.

I'm a monster.

"Let's go!" Zeus calls callously with Devrell in tow, already on the trail of the two others we saw fleeing the scene earlier. Cleo places a hand on my back. I pull away. She frowns, but she doesn't question it, leaving me alone as she marches after the boys.

Do I go? I can't kill another person today. I know I can't. I'd rather jump off a cliff, or drown in the river, or drink poison. It's what I deserve, at any rate. But I have to go. I can't split off now—what about Lannister? Slowly, I take another deep breath. The thought of him eases the pain, ever so slightly. I wipe the blade against the tree, smearing blood over the bark, and I hustle to catch up to the others up ahead.

Devrell whoops—they've cornered them up ahead.

C'mon, Jasmine. Get your game face on, even if just for now, even if you are nothing but a monster. Just hold it together until tonight. I can imagine they're nothing but hyper-realistic dummies, disassociate myself from my feelings, numb it all until it disappears from the forefront of my mind. Just pretend that they're not real… that none of this is really happening… that you don't know them.

A piercing scream shatters every single one of those selfish, self-deluding lies.

I know that scream.

I squint, picking up my pace, and I recognize the tear-streaked face of the girl from Six. Evelyn. The girl that I scared in training by simply existing. The girl I saved at the Cornucopia. The girl now destined to die, trapped by the other three against a wooden wall with her district partner, who has one arm around her and the other futilely waving a machete.

In my gut, I know exactly what I need to do.

No! You can't! I picture my parents, my trainers, all of District One. They're watching me right now, and I know the expectations they have for me. Be strong. Be ruthless. Be elegant. I think of Lannister. There's still so much more we have to talk about; he's waiting for me back at camp.

Yet I have to do this. It's the only human thing to do.

"You'll have to fight me to get to them!" I yell, lunging forwards, skidding to a stop between Zeus and the Sixes.

I'm sorry, Lan.

Cleodora Mulroy, 18, District Four Female

Jasmine steps between Zeus and the Sixes. "You'll have to fight me to get to them."

My stomach flips, with a scream frozen in my throat—No! Not like this! I have to do something; I'm shouting at her before I know what's happening. "Jasmine! No!"

"Cleo…" she chokes, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to do this!" I say.

She screams at me. "Don't make this harder than it already is, okay? I need to do this. It's… the right thing to do."

I cringe inside, wanting to back away and just avoid the entire conflict, but I force myself to breathe, think—what do I do? Okay, Cleo. You're the de facto leader here. It's your responsibility to resolve this. I take another deep breath.

"Please… Jasmine." I pause—my voice is quivering; I'm getting too emotional. "I don't want to fight you yet."

She shoots back without hesitation. "Then let them go."

Zeus snorts. "This is the Hunger Games."

"I don't care anymore!" she roars, pointing her bloody rapier at him. "So fight me! I'm done!"

I glare at Zeus—can't you see I'm trying to defuse this bomb?—but he shrugs back, as if he doesn't care, though there is an unnatural stiffness to it. Who am I kidding? Of course he doesn't care! I look to Devrell, but he hangs back, gripping his spear, watching everything unfold with a pale face. So it's just me. Maybe I should shut my mouth, stay out of it, avoid the strain of conflict the way I usually do. After all, she is a competitor. We can't both live.

Yet I can't let this go.

Why do you care about her so much? Just a few days ago, I considered her a spoiled rich District One Female, uncaring and oblivious, one that didn't know what hard work was. But now she's Jasmine, a regretful girl who cares about her appearance, one that wishes to have a happy family, deeply in love with Lannister.

And Lannister. What will I say to him? He's not just the District One Male—he's a silly guy, a little naive in that what we're doing didn't hit him until recently. He hasn't said much about it, but I see it in his sad eyes, his hesitance. If Jasmine goes down now…

I can't let her go down like this. I'll have to try again.

"Jasmine… Can we talk this through?"

She blinks, but it can't stop a tear from escaping her eyes, flowing down her flawless cheeks. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm done with this… senseless violence!"

"But… I mean…" I open my mouth to protest, but the words don't form—she's speaking exactly what I've known in my gut for the past week. "Y-You're only delaying the inevitable. You can't save everyone!"

Devrell finally chimes in. "I'm sorry, Jasmine…" His voice is low, softer than I've ever heard it, with wide eyes that speak of sudden realization. "But if you want them to live, then Lannister has to die."

She stares at him blankly, gulping and blinking. I give him a weak smile. She's finally calming down; perhaps this will just blow over and it'll all be fine.

But Jasmine explodes. "Stop trying to talk me out of this!" she yells. "We're monsters for volunteering to kill—all of us! They deserve to live."

Dread presses in, suffocating me as if all the oxygen were suddenly removed from the Arena. No matter what I do, Jasmine's road will end right here—and I can't do anything about it. To make it worse, her words ring true.

"Jasmine…" The word is all I can say, crashing down like a tidal wave.

She wipes at her eyes. "I'm really, really sorry… I hope you don't hate me." She glances at the Sixes. "Run! I'll hold them off!"

The Sixes break left, and to his credit, Zeus doesn't immediately attack Jasmine. He tries to side-step her, get around her, swinging the blade at the two fleeing tributes, but Jasmine smoothly spins around to intervene, knocking his blade off its course. He lunges to the side, trying again to loop around her turned back. She barely breaks a sweat as her golden blade slices at his chest like a flash of lightning, swift and smooth, cutting his shirt open. If he hadn't anticipated, his guts would be spilling out right now.

"I'm not letting you go," she says.

"Fine," he grunts, voice shaking ever so slightly. "Don't say I didn't try to save you."

I open my mouth to scream at them to stop, but I can't. One of the two is going to die, and all I can do is watch. My fist closes around the trident. I can't bring myself to move. I can't kill Zeus or the Gamemakers will come after me. But I can't kill Jasmine either. So I stand useless, watching as the two circle each other, his brute strength evenly matched with her light footwork.

Jasmine's posture slips and my heart sinks into my stomach. This is it, isn't it? Zeus jabs at the gap in her side—but she leaps, twirls, a golden flash headed for his exposed wrist.

My breath catches. This is how she got her 10 in training; the gap was a trap, intended to lure him in. She would've disarmed (and dis-handed) him in one swoop too if he hadn't seen her gleaming rapier coming and rolled out of her way, swinging his sword in from the opposite side. Yet she doesn't even have to look to leap out of the way, sparkling in a patch of sun that twinkles in her golden hair.

He swings. She parries. The clang of sword on sword rings in my ears. She jabs. He deflects and then swings again. Clang. Swing, parry, clang. Jab, deflect, clang. A lunge, a dodge, a swing around a tree. A leap, a duck, a rapid low sweep. Clang. Clang. Clang.

My feet are still glued to the ground, unable to move or intervene or assist either side—no matter what I do, I'll be wrong.

She breaks up the rhythm with a well-timed poke at his legs. He's ready for it, bringing his leg around for a kick that's supposed to distract her from the blade shooting for her stomach.

She isn't ready.

She dodges the kick, but the silver blade pierces her abdomen, filling the air with her horrible scream of pain. Her golden blade falls out of her hand, falling onto the bloody pine straw below, soon followed by Jasmine herself, kneeling on the ground, choking back sobs that send earthquake tremors through my soul, shaking me out of my frozen state.

"Jasmine!" The cry bursts from my lungs. I drop to the ground beside her. "Jasmine…"

Her hand curls around mine. "I'm… sorry."

"No… I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

I glance up at Zeus, and for a brief second, the sight of his face lights a fire in my soul. How could he do this? But then I see his wide eyes, blinking rapidly, two blue pools of grief set in an otherwise emotionless desert, and I can't hate him. If I have anyone to blame, it's me.

"I'll end it fast," he says, voice low and shaky. "She's suffering."

As grief wells up inside, I lean over her, patting her back one last time and whispering in her ear. "You're braver than the rest of us."

For a moment, there's no response, but then she smiles. It's not the one I've seen since we met, the alluring smile that's second nature to her. This one is real. Pained, but real. Real in a way I wish I could be.

Though my muscles feel like they'll give out any moment, I slowly rise, step away, and nod to Zeus. He brings the sword through her neck. The cannon instantly sounds.

A sniffle behind me—it's Devrell, face still cemented in shock, gaping though the deed is done. Zeus steps respectfully around her body and joins us, eyes averted. We stand in the silent forest; even the birds have stopped singing to mourn. All I want to do is run away, find a hidden corner where I can pull my knees up to conceal my face and the water that could burst from my eyes at any moment. I want to forget the death, the Arena, and the world; to numb out into blackness where I don't have to face Jasmine's death, my inaction, the injustice of it all.

But I can't. I'm still here, feet away from the dead body of a genuinely good person, standing beside my two allies that seem just as lost as I am, filled with regret.

Your inaction led to this. Now you've got to pull everyone out of this.

I clear my throat, but my words still come out like the creaking of a rusty door. "When we get back to camp, I'll talk to Lannister. You two go refill our water or something… okay?"

"Okay," Devrell whispers.

Zeus nods, still not looking me in the eyes.

"Good," I say. "Then let's head back for today."

My words are firm—I hope they sound firm. The thought of breaking the news to Lannister crushes my heart with dread; I can already see denial on his face, followed by tears and then anger. Anger that I'll be woefully unprepared to deal with.

But I have to do this. It's the best I can do now.

Evelyn Darby, 16, District Six Female

I'm whizzing through the woods like the bullet from a Peacekeeper's gun, shooting forward without any idea where I'm going. Faster… faster… faster… My legs are tiring, but I see the image of the boy from Two and suddenly I can't feel my legs anymore.

My foot catches; my face is full of pine needles. I scream—They'll be on us! A cannon sounds. They must have caught us. Reuben must be gone. I squeeze my eyes shut, cringing, bracing for a blow. Please make it fast!

Someone shakes me. "Evelyn!"

"H-Huh?" I open my eyes—it's Reuben! T-That means…

"We're alive… somehow," he says, shaking his head. "How are we still alive?"

"I have no idea." I pick myself off the ground, and lean back against a tree, brushing pine needles off my clothes. My arms are scratched. I didn't even notice it while I ran.

How did I get here? Everything's a blur. First Dove leaped out at me out of nowhere, and then I was crying into Reuben's shirt… and then the boy from Two… and then—

Jasmine. The girl from One? She… what? Jumped in front of her ally to shield us? That doesn't make any sense! Why would she…

But then I remember. She tossed me a backpack at the Cornucopia instead of killing me. And in training! Does that mean that… she wasn't trying to hurt me?

Reuben settles down beside me. "I still can't figure it out—why did that trained girl do that?"

I don't answer. All I can see is her back in training, when she had her golden hair in a pretty braid, when I fled from her. She must've been heartbroken. Stupid Evelyn! Why are you such a coward? She was a really nice person and I just… ran. I'd be sad if someone ran away at the sight of me.

"I hope she's okay," I whisper.

He pauses for a moment, staring off into nothing. "Yeah. Me too."

Lannister Saint, 18, District One Male

Sitting on a crate by the Cornucopia, I peer at the forest, scanning the trees for any sign of the others as the sun approaches the horizon. Where are they? I glance up at the timer over the Cornucopia, which has been flashing red all day. The wolves—or worse—will be here soon.

Perhaps they wandered a little bit further out today. There were two cannons; maybe they finally found where everyone's been hiding this entire time and killed two of the other tributes. I hope they did, by any means. The alternative is that one of us died, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to face that reality yet. Or two of us died? My heart pounds at the thought; I hope Jasmine's okay. I… don't know how I'd react if she were gone. What could be keeping them so long?

The late afternoon sun beats down harshly against my neck; the skin is hot. I'll admit that it's probably cooler in the woods right now. Here at the Cornucopia, the already dry ground is cracking. All the plants droop in the heat, from the prickly weeds to the blue flowers.

A sudden wave of heaviness floods my head; it feels heavy enough to sink through my body and into the ground. Fumbling, I dig through my pocket and pull out the bottle of pills I received earlier today, a small white bottle with an unreadable list of ingredients on it. A sticker on the side reads "For Concussions" in bold, black text. Two pills down and my head clears. Capitol medicine really is something else.

I set the bottle on the crate and pace, kicking at the rocks on my path, glancing every so often at the red timer on the Cornucopia. One hour until the wolves return. It's not a big deal for anyone within the ring of flowers, but I wouldn't want to be trekking through the forest when the wolves come out.

Movement in the woods in my peripheral vision. I snap back—it's Cleo, her head tilted down, her gait much slower than usual. Oh no… oh no… Then Zeus. Then Devrell.

No Jasmine.

This can't be! The two boys head for the river, while Cleo comes towards me. I run out to meet her. Perhaps she's delayed. Perhaps they split up. Perhaps…

"Where's Jasmine?"

She looks up—there are faint traces of tears around her usually cool eyes. "Lannister… I'm sorry."

No no no… It's as if the ground suddenly disappeared from underneath me, plunging me into darkness. "You mean…"

"I'm so sorry." She gulps. "Jasmine was the second cannon."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I could," she says, voice soft and sympathetic.

Jasmine… is gone? My knees wobble as the world swirls around me.

"Let's sit down." Cleo grabs my arm, holding me steady, sitting me down on a crate. I sink my head into my hands, staring wide-eyed into nothing.

It can't be! Just last night, it was she and I… her lips on mine… and now she's gone? The weight of the words break over me, and though I bite my lip, blink them back, squeeze my heart—nothing works. The water flows.

"Jasmine!" The cry rips from my throat; the flow becomes a downpour. "B-But how? How?"

Everything blurs until nothing is clear, only the image of her. The Train Ride. The nights spent in the Capitol, where she poured herself out to me. Last night. How could I have known it was literally our last night? I shouldn't have insisted on her going this morning—she'd be alive if she hadn't gone! I should've just swallowed my pride and let her stay to help me.

I feel a hand on my back. Through my blurry vision, I see Cleo, sitting beside me silently, patting me on the back, her cheeks wet again.

"How?" I choke. "How did it happen?"

She freezes in indecision. "Well…"

"Tell me the truth," I say, wiping my face with my jacket. "I need to know."

She takes a deep breath. "She sacrificed herself. For the pair from Six."

Six? I don't remember the boy, but I can hear Jasmine's lovely voice, broken with angry tears as she described the Six girl's terror-stricken face in training. "At least… she died true to herself."

Cleo nods. "She was a good person."

But something doesn't add up. If she died protecting them… My head snaps up. "Then who killed her?"

"Please." Her eyes widen, shaking her head. "Lan—"

"Was it you?"

"No!"

"Then who?"

Her eyes flit over at the boys for a moment, but it's all I need to know.

"It was Zeus, wasn't it," I spit.

She sighs and nods.

I look over at him, squatting by the river, and all I want is for a mutt to spring out from the water and swallow him whole. My hand balls into a fist as fire runs from my head to my feet. "I'm gonna kill him."

"No—don't!"

What? I look at her incredulously—wasn't she just crying over Jasmine a moment ago? "Why?"

"We've all been through a lot today. Let's avoid any unnecessary violence."

I glare at her and pick up my sword. "He killed Jasmine. This is necessary."

"It's not really his f—"

"You can't stop me."

With a sigh, she picks up her trident. "I'm warning you, Lannister. I don't want any fighting among us."

"You didn't stop Zeus from killing her."

"I tried!" she says, voice rising as her calm composure shatters. "I did my best to talk her out of it, but she made her choice." As I stare at her, the burning rage I feel for Zeus overflows. The very sight of her self-righteous face makes my fists shake in fierce anger.

"Then I'll have to kill you too."

I thrust the sword forward, but she leaps back, trying to get the distance advantage with her trident. I follow through, stepping closer, swinging the sword wildly. Each hit of the sword clangs against the metal pole in a merciless rhythm that echoes the pounding of my heart.

She rolls back, out of my range, holding her trident up defensively. "It's not too late to stop."

I grit my teeth and charge, deflecting the thrust of her trident. She has to go. The metal shaft hits me in the head and the impact knocks me to the ground. I brace for another thrust of the spear—but it doesn't come.

She's not really trying. All I can see is red now—how dare she act so high and mighty? How dare she act like she has the moral high ground! She's defending Zeus, even though she refused to defend Jasmine.

I stab upwards, duck her next swing, and roll to my feet, kicking at her legs while her arm is still extended. She loses her balance and yelps. I bring the sword down. The blade cuts into her side. She screams as she falls, still trying to fend me off with the trident. One more stab and she lays still.

Boom.

Every drop of fury suddenly drains as I stare down at Cleodora's dead body. My knees wobble again. I take a shaky step back.

I… really just did that. I killed her.

Any bit of anger I had towards her is now guilt that forms an ever-growing pit, deep in my stomach. Why did I kill her? She wasn't trying to hurt me at all! There's a yell from the river. Devrell's rushing over. What do I do? What do I say? I instantly know that nothing I say will placate him, just like nothing Cleo said could placate me.

So I run. Away from Cleo's body. Away from the horn. Away from the other two. The forest welcomes me into its shadows

You coward. You messed up, and now you're running away.

It's true. I am a coward. I never stood up, ever. Not when I was in One. Not here in the Arena. The worst part is that I never got a chance to stand up for her. I thought I was doing just that when I fought Cleo. Now, I'm not sure.

I'm sorry, Jasmine.

Devrell Sibley, 18, District Four Male

Lannister disappears into the woods. Though it makes my gut wrench, my eyes immediately fly back to Cleo's body. First Jasmine. Now Cleo.

How? Just last night, she was yanking my hair for poking fun at the kissy-kissy Ones. Now the Ones are gone—one dead, one fled—and… Cleo?

I touch her bloody hand and recoil when I find it cold. Of course it is. We heard the cannon. Yet it can't be true—maybe someone else died somewhere else!Cleo can't be dead! It feels like yesterday we were porking out in the Capitol together.

The light is dimmer now, and the Capitol anthem echoes around the Arena. For the first time, it hurts to look, yet I have to. First Jasmine, smiling her camera smile. Then Cleo, stern and poised. Before I know it, her face is fading away, replaced by the girl from Twelve. No! Go back! But it won't stop, ripping through my heart as the faces fade away.

I can't handle this. I press my hands against my temples, pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Maybe the rhythm will make it all stop. There's a distant siren, but I press my fingers to my ears—block it all out!

"Devrell."

"Not now!" I yell, squeezing my eyes shut. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Devrell."

I whirl around to face Zeus, annoyed—yet I can't be too annoyed. We're all that's left. "What do you want?"

He nods at the Cornucopia, where the timer is flashing red, spinning around while blaring a siren. My eyes instinctively look to the woods, but something is missing.

The flowers. They've all fully wilted, laying useless on the ground. My heart sinks; the wolves will be here any moment. I look at Zeus as realization spreads across his face. A sudden howl pierces the silence from the other side of the Cornucopia clearing, sending terror down my spine. From the woods, a pack of wolves stalks into the clearing, their eyes glowing, their teeth bared.

"Trees," he mutters, taking flight in the opposite direction.

I blink, unable to think, but then the wolves advance and I run after him. There's a horrible crack behind me—the wolves are congregated around Cleo's body, eating her corpse. I spit out the bile in my mouth and continue running after Zeus, rumbling across the bridge and onto the other side. His foot hits something and he goes down with a grunt. In a flash, I grab his arm, pulling him back up while keeping an eye on the wolf pack that's begun to move on from Cleo's body. He gives me a funny look. I smile. He might be my competitor, but I can't deal with another loss today.

And then we're off again, with the howls are closer than they were before. We bolt through branches that scrape my arms, legs, and face—none of these trees have branches we can climb! I can hear the panting now. They're closing in. This might be it for the both of us.

Zeus suddenly veers left—there's a small box up in a pine tree! I scramble up the ladder behind him as the wolves close in under us, barking with bloodthirst that makes my blood run cold. Something clamps the tip of my boot. I yell and kick it off. The wolf falls back down with my shoe.

But Zeus freezes above me on the ladder.

"Move!" I yell, staring down at the wolves below me—I'm still in their leaping range! But then I look up—the small treehouse is tiny, thin and tall, barely large enough for Zeus to squeeze in. My heart sinks when the only conclusion hits me. We can't both survive.

But he reaches the conclusion faster. "Sorry."

His boot hits my face and then stomps down hard on my hand. There's a sickening crack. I taste blood in my mouth from my nose; fire runs up my arm from my hand and I can't hold my grip. I'm falling backwards; air whooshes past my ears, and then I hit something furry, something rippling, something growling with anticipation.

I don't want to die.

The teeth come from every side. I scream—arm, shoulder, leg, chest, each one burning stronger than the last with ripping pain that makes the world go black.

Head.

Regret. Just regret.

Reuben Koled, 18, District Six Male

Owoooooo!

We forgot about the wolves. In our grateful stupor for being alive, we forgot about the wolves, and now I'm scrambling through the dark forest with Evelyn clinging to me—where are the treehouses when you need them?

Boom. Owoooooo!

One dead—would it be too much to ask that the wolves go away after claiming a single victim? The howl is closer now than it was before.

"Where do we go?" Evelyn whispers, searching the trees to no avail.

"I don't know! Just away!"

The moon is only a thin crescent now; it's barely possible to see. She flicks on her flashlight as we run, shining it at the treetops, yet there's nothing there—and the light makes it nigh impossible to see where we're going. My arm hits a prickly bush, and I pull it back stinging.

"Put the light away!" I yell.

"Okay! Okay!"

She lowers the light to turn it off, but the beam shines directly into the face of a wolf.

She screams. My gut flips. We're done for. I grab the light from her, keeping it on the wolf, and back away slowly, pulling her with me. It stalks forward slowly, licking its lips. We all know that we can't escape this one.

My back hits rock and every ounce of hope dissipates. We're up against a wall. More wolves appear in the corner of the light beam, coming in from our right. Evelyn presses against me, burying her face in my jacket once more—this time for the last time.

We move left because it's all we can do, delaying the inevitable, backing into a dead end between a clump of bushes and the rock wall. My foot steps into shrubbery—it's the end of the road. The wolves cluster at the opening between the bushes and the wall, licking their lips.

"This is it," I whisper, causing her sobs to intensify. A drop rolls down my cheek too. I never expected to win, but I didn't think I'd go down like this, mauled to death.

Heart heavy, I flick off the flashlight and let it drop to the ground. I don't want to watch them leap in for the kill; I'm sure the pain will be terrible enough without us watching it happen. I close my eyes in the dark, every inch of my skin bristling.

When nothing happens immediately, I crack open my eyes to peek. I see the wolves first, terrible eyes glowing in the dark. But as my vision adjusts, three large blue flowers appear around the perimeter of the small space, iridescent bells nodding towards the ground.

I tap Evelyn. "Look!"

"Are we dead yet?"

"No! Look!"

She lifts her head to watch. The wolf in front sniffs a flower, and then it turns around and howls, shattering our ears with its horrible, blood-curdling sound. But then it stalks off, followed by the others, leaving us unscathed.

How are we still alive? Forget how. I'm just glad for it.

The Fallen:

Dove Yee (D12F), killed by Jasmine Softwing (D1F) — 16th Place

Dove is a character that really took on a life of her own. I remember that I enjoyed writing her introduction—she was just so fun! She was mean at times, but it wasn't a sudden unexplained meanness. She was nice at times, but it wasn't an unconditional niceness. Her descent into madness never felt construed, since it took some existing characteristics of her personality and twisted them so far yet not beyond recognition. I loved having her around, and I'll miss her POVs. At least Evelyn's Presidential campaign won't have a Political Saboteur anymore.

Jasmine Softwing (D1F), killed by Zeus Strikon (D2M) — 15th Place

I loved Jasmine so stinkin' much and I legit cried while proofreading her death. I'm not going to pretend like I haven't struggled with managing some of the arcs in this story (which I hope to change in Justice), but I think Jasmine's was always one of the clearer, well-defined ones. Her form specified that she shouldn't win, and though I wanted her to live much, much longer, this was a fitting place for her. I'll miss you so much my precious girl…
(Dawn, what are we calling Jasmine in the #EvelynforPresident verse?)

Cleodora Mulroy (D4F), killed by Lannister Saint (D1M) — 14th Place

I related to Cleo more than any of the other tributes, and so this one hurt for me, even though her seriousness wasn't exactly popular. The way she doesn't want to cause any conflict yet she also wants to do what she thinks is right. The way she has many opinions yet doesn't think it's appropriate to share them. The way she only steps up when she has to, and even then, she does her job quietly. Even our personalities are similar according to MBTI and Enneagram. In my mind, I compare her to Lannister. They both feel similarly during the Capitol arc, yet she chooses to remain with the status quo. I'll miss her so much. In some ways, she felt like an extension of my thought process, which really endeared her to me.

Devrell Sibley (D4M), killed by Wolf Mutts, credited to Zeus Strikon (D2M) — 13th Place

I'm so sorry, dyloccupy—I feel like I owe you. I struggled with Devrell because I'm not naturally a super hyper, fun-loving person, and by the time I got my head around him and felt like I really knew him, some parts had already been written and I couldn't go back and fix everything.
But all that being said, although his POVs themselves were a huge struggle, I loved talking about him through the eyes of others, from Cleo to Chaos to Lannister! I especially loved the dynamic between him and Cleo, since I know some people like him and my response is usually pretty much identical to Cleo's—silently annoyed. I'll miss him too. He added some much-needed lightheartedness to the Star Alliance.

A/N Whoops! Has it been 8 days since an update? This story is clearly not going to be finished before September, but it's okay. If I can speed up a bit, I might be done by the end of September? I hope!

Justice is open for four more days! Open spots and link to website with form are both on my profile!

Feelings? Experiences? Hopes?

Thoughts?