Day 9, Part 2: ?


Barrett Adler, 18, District Ten Male

I'm sitting at the base of a tree, the rope ladder to a treehouse dangling beside me. The day is getting long; we'll have to climb up eventually, with the wolves and all, but Bryson's still asleep on the bed of pine straw where I set him down earlier. Our stuff is up in the tree. All that's left is us.

I lean over to give him a gentle shake on the shoulder, but I can't bring myself to wake him when I see the tear stains that still cover his cheeks from earlier today. Poor kid. He's been through a lot. When he's asleep, his face softens and it's clear that despite his wariness and snippiness, he's just a kid.

A kid. Thirteen years old, forced into a game where he has next to no chance of victory. There's never been a Victor that young. Perhaps he'll be the first? There's gotta be a first time for everything, right? Would the Capitol even allow it?

As long as he's alive… I don't think I'm winnin', at any rate.

He stirs, rolling over.

I smile. "Hey."

His eyes crack open just a bit, and then he closes them again, groaning.

"C'mon. You feelin' okay?"

With another groan, he shakes his head. "I don't want to get up."

"I know it ain't easy." I chuckle. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

He stretches and props himself up, pausing for a moment to rub his eyes. But then he leans back again to lie on the pine straw, staring at the canopy above. "I'm… fine…"

"Sure?"

A sigh. "No."

My eyes grow wide. Can it… Is he… yes? "I'm all ears."

"I…" He averts his eyes. "Sorry. It's all my fault."

"Don't say that! We're both alright now."

He opens his mouth to argue, but then he slumps and sighs, as if too tired to do so. For a moment, he closes his eyes, but he quickly reopens them again. "I just see her."

"Alia?"

He immediately sits up and glares when he hears the name. "I hate her."

"You do?"

"Didn't you see her smile? Ergh!" He spits, taking deep, shaky breaths. "I hate her."

I frown. Yes—I remember her ravenous smile when she realized that Bryson was trapped. Even now, picturing the grin sends my blood into a boil, pulling me back to the Cornucopia field until my heart is pounding and I have to force myself to breathe.

But at the same time, I hear the whip crack. I see her torn face, a bloody streak from one corner to the opposite one, as she roars in pain, shaking me to the core.

I did that to another human being.

Bryson's still glaring vaguely in my direction with distant eyes, trembling with anger.

I place an arm around his shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

He sucks in a deep breath to calm himself down and nods slowly.

"Let's head up."


Capitol

Silvia came to an abrupt stop at the metal door at the end of the dimly lit hallway, her hand trembling as she rested it over the keypad to her right. This was it. The culmination of all she'd worked for, risked her life for, sacrificed for.

Fought Rufus for.

His words to her still stabbed through her heart, cutting deep gashes that reflected his pain and frustration towards her. She wished it didn't have to be that way, that he could see what she saw—a different future from the one of oppression and submission he considered inevitable. But there was no going back now.

She quickly punched in the code and pressed the glowing red button, sliding open the metal door with a horrible grinding of gears and metal against metal that filled her ears, almost loud enough to drown out the painful goodbye with Rufus. On the other side was a small hovercraft, about twenty feet long. She reached for the keys in her pocket and climbed in.

Immediately after climbing in, she sprang into action, running through the equipment checks she'd rehearsed over and over again. Everything was in place; the others had done a good job with the setup. Assured that the equipment wouldn't malfunction or immediately crash, she sank into the control chair and absentmindedly ran her hand over the buttons right in front of her, mind swirling with "You're going to get yourself killed" and "You might as well be married to your cause."

She pinched herself; this was not the time. Snap out of it! There'd be plenty of time after the mission to catch up with the family she'd neglected. Perhaps she'd even take a week off work and let Rufus catch a break on all the housework. Things might even return to what they used to be, back when Rufus and Silvia were a team and not enemies.

Walk in the park… Send Vera to school… Cook… what?

Her heart sank. She didn't even know what Vera's new favorite food was, or what Rufus' next project would be, or what Vera was learning in school (though she was pretty sure it was just Capitol propaganda). Could things ever go back?

The two-way radio at her belt buzzed. "There's a bad storm brewing right outside the Arena."

A storm. Not good. She grit her teeth. "I'll be careful."

"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll open the gates."

"Okay," she said, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Is this… real? After so long… it was finally happening. Her hands shook in anticipation, and she threw back a pill for calmness. She'd need every ounce of wit and brainpower in her mind to pull this off. A small chuckle escaped her lips—this was Rufus' antithesis, all the danger and the risks. But that was okay. That's why he stayed home. Once everything was over, he'd come to see how it was all for the best.

I hope.

She made one final check of the equipment and then held the radio to her mouth.

"I'm ready."


Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five Female

Evelyn and I sit on opposite sides of the treehouse, listening to the wind. Neither of us has spoken at all. Maybe I should talk first? Oh, she must be feeling so awkward! But what do I say? I open my mouth, but nothing comes to mind. I close my mouth.

Uh… what to do? I look around—there's nothing in here except her, me, and the breadbasket at my side. It's the only thing we have from the Feast, but the carbohydrates should keep us going for at least a little while longer.

The Feast… a chill runs down my spine as I picture Zeus' hands and arms, stinging with terrible acid burns. First Chaos… now Zeus. Who am I going to hurt next? This sweet girl? If we both don't die of awkwardness first…

Aha! Food! Everyone loves food! Suddenly animated, I grab a baguette, carefully tear off a chunk, and extend it to her, smiling awkwardly. "Do you… want some?"

Her eyes brighten as she shakily takes it from me. "T-Thank you."

More silence ensues while she eats, so I rip myself some bread and eat too. Better than watching her eat and making her feel more awkward, at least. Even so, I find my muscles stiff and joints awkward. I've basically been alone for over a week. Silly you; you've already forgotten how to deal with people!

"I-It's good, isn't it?" she says, voice quivering as she tries to make eye contact. "I'm so glad you grabbed it from the Feast…"

What do I say? "Thanks…" I trail off, hoping that my smile will compensate. "Me too."

"I'm Evelyn, by the way."

"I know." The words escape before I know what I'm saying, and she wilts, just a bit. I wilt too, cheeks burning in embarrassment. "Oh, no—sorry! I tried to learn everyone's name; I didn't mean to say that— I'm Marleigh."

"Nice to meet you!" she beams, a little less shaky now. "Um… Oh! My parents are bakers, but this bread is amazing! We don't get flour this fine at home."

"Do you bake a lot?"

She grins sheepishly. "Um… not really. Mostly Dad and Mom. Do you?"

"Sometimes I bake cookies," I say, remembering the smell of cookies in the oven. "My neighbor's kids love cookies."

"Aww!"

"They're so cute!"

"Aww!"

Sudden silence, as both of us run out of things to say, simply looking at each other with huge smiles on our faces since children are adorable.

She sighs. "I'm sorry… I'm not good at talking."

What do I say now? "Well… that was pretty good!"

"Really? Reuben…" She gulps—that's right, her district partner is gone. "Reuben tried to teach me how to talk to people, but I'm still no good."

I laugh nervously. "I'm no good either."

"If only Reuben were here… we would be best friends already."

"I'm… sorry."

"I-I'm… okay… I think… Not really." She sniffles. "I-It was poison, okay? We expected to die much worse but… argh!"

Poison. My blood turns to ice. Marleigh… you didn't! Does anyone else use poison? Lannister, Alia, Zeus, Chaos, Baize, Orysa, Bryson, Barrett, Elena… None of them use poisons, not that I know of. That means…

"Poison?" I suck in a breath, dreading her response.

She draws her knees up, huddles against the wall, and issues my verdict. "Y-Yeah."

No! It sucks the air out of the room and I can't breathe.

"Marleigh? What's wrong!"

It can't be! I killed… Reuben? I grip my head in my hands; I can't breathe! How did this happen? Sweet Evelyn isn't my next victim; she was already my victim. Her pain… all because of me?

I'm a killer. I'm a terrible, ruthless killer.


Capitol

Rufus sat on the bed, staring out the grimy bedroom window. Vera played with her toys at his feet, singing one of Silvia's many little songs, and though she occasionally held up a doll for his reaction, he was much too preoccupied to really give her his attention.

You're too much of a coward to do anything.

Did he do the right thing? Should he have let her go? But now she was gone, somewhere out of reach, and all he could do was hope that her head was level enough to keep herself alive.

Will I ever see her again?

Bam! Bam! Bam! A sudden banging on the door pushed aside any other thoughts. Rufus froze in terror, blood draining from his face. After a few seconds, there was a huge crash followed by the frantic scuffling of boots. He wrapped an arm around his daughter and whispered in her ear. "You stay right here, okay? Daddy will keep you safe."

He rushed out of the bedroom, locking the bedroom door behind him, just as Peacekeepers flooded into the tiny apartment, the front door broken behind them. Strong hands yanked his arms behind him before he could react. He yelled. On instinct, he struggled to free his arms, but a pinch on his neck shot pain through him until the lights went out and all he could see were stars.

When his vision returned, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

"Where is she?" the man behind the gun barked.

Rufus could barely speak through his quivering lips; his brain felt like a puddle of amber, frozen solid. "I-I don't know—"

"Don't play dumb." A gloved hand smacked him across the face; its metal cuff scraped his cheek. "Where is she?"

Silvia! He swallowed—racking his brain for words to placate the men after her life. He didn't agree with the path she'd chosen, but he wasn't about to serve her up to her would-be murderers. "It… I… don't know— Ah!"

This time, it was a fist, colliding with his face with a force that cracked his nose. "I'll give you one more chance before I shoot. Where is she?"

He heaved for air, trying to pull himself together from the tears of pain from his eyes and the blood from his nose that filled his mouth with a salty, metallic taste. Is this really it? I die here for her mistakes? If he just answered…

No! He couldn't. After all the snooping, fighting, disunity…

This was the least he could do for her. He turned his eyes upwards towards the Peacekeeper's face shield, bracing for the worst—

"Daddy!" The piercing cry for help shattered every last millimeter of newly roused resolve. A Peacekeeper marched out of the torn-open bedroom, roughly grabbing his little girl. Though she squirmed and wriggled and cried, there was no way she could escape the man's iron grip, even with the terrified tears streaming down her face.

"Vera!" he screamed, heart leaping out of his chest. "Don't hurt her!"

"Well then," the Peacekeeper said. Rufus could swear the man was grinning behind the black face shield. "Where is she?"

"She… she…" The words were hot coals in his throat, each one burning a new hole in his heart. But the sight of his precious girl in pain… It was more than he could bear. "She's going to the Arena," he choked out, slumping forward in gut-wrenching agony.

"Oh?"

"By hovercraft," he panted. "Please—let the girl go."

The Peacekeepers behind him released his arms and he fell forward, face down, a new sense of dread crushing him with guilt that pinned him to the ground. Across the room, Vera sobbed. The sound provoked just enough protective momentum inside for him to pick himself off the floor and crawl over to where she lay. He pulled her into his arms and clutched her close to his chest as if letting go would mean losing her forever, only able to repeatedly choke out, "I'm sorry."

The scuffling of boots on the concrete outside alerted him that the intruders were mostly gone, leaving through the broken-down front door.

Only a single one of their voices remained, but it was enough to chill him to his bones.

"Auric to Beaufleur. The target is headed for the Arena."

I'm sorry.


Baize Liliwin, 18, District Eight Male

Orysa seems particularly on edge today, pacing back and forth, back and forth with a light bag of first aid on her back, passing me over and over again as I sit with my back to a rock, mindlessly tearing up pine straw, one by one, one by one. Out here at the Arena's edge, the groundcover is mostly rocky, with only a few tenacious trees here and there, sinking their roots into the stone.

I'm not sure what I expected from the Arena's edge, but this sure as heck wasn't it. I assumed that the Capitol never showed it on mandatory viewing because they were hiding something crazy, like a Peacekeeper outpost or something. Maybe they just never had anything to show.

Stupid Capitol. Because of them, I'm bored out of my mind, ripping apart strands of pine straw, tapping my foot against the rock as Orysa passes me again. I groan and toss a handful of pine-needle fragments into the air, where the wind carries them away and into the invisible energy barrier about thirty feet away. A couple sizzle. Is this all there is? Orysa walks by again.

I groan. "Could you please stop pacing? It's making me restless."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Oh?"

"What?" She gives me a quizzical look, but then she frowns. "Ugh! I need to stop hanging around you."

"You've been saying that for days," I snort.

"I might as well leave if you're just gonna twiddle your thumbs and wait for death."

"Who said I was waiting for death?"

"Oh, shut up."

I shrug, my eyebrows raised, smirking.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm tired of' sitting around, and we need to get moving, and my tracker's acting up—"

"Tracker?"

She rubs the spot on her upper arm where we each had a tracker injected. "They must've done something wrong with mine. It itches so bad."

"Rough."

"Ain't it?" She slips off her jacket and pushes her sleeve up, revealing a large, red bump. "That can't be good, can it?"

I shrug. "Sorry. I know nothing."

She sighs. "I know… but it's even worse now 'cause we aren't doing anything, you know? There's… eight of us left? I feel like we should be planning to win or something."

I bite my lip. She's probably right, but it still feels surreal. The Hunger Games? We've been well-stocked this entire time due to Orysa's wildness know-how, and we haven't had to fight anyone.

"I'm sorry," she says, plopping down beside me. "That was a stupid thing to say. I don't even know what I'd do if I ran into someone."

Ran into someone? Would I fight? Would I run? The Capitol wouldn't like it if I ran. But that just makes me want to run. Eff them.

Orysa glares at me.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"You betcha."

"I can say it again."

"I don't even care anymore."

The words stay stuck in my throat. It's no fun to curse if no one minds. "Oh come on..."

"But honestly—what's our plan if we run into someone?"

I shrug. "Depends on who."

"I'm not fighting Barrett and Bryson…. or the girls from Five and Six."

Five or Six… I can't remember, but it doesn't take any thought to know that I won't be able to lift a hand against our former allies. All this backstabbing and killing… It's right up the Capitol's filthy alley. But that's four that we won't fight… more than half of the other tributes.

I snort. "Some plan to win."

"I'm trying, okay?" She throws up her hands. "But if it's One or Two…"

The mention of the remaining Star Alliance members suddenly causes every muscle in my body to tense up. We've evaded them so far; I haven't thought about them much. But now that she brings them up… I remember the way they strutted in training, playing around with their weapons knowing that they signed up for murder, and it makes me want to vomit. I remember Viyella's face in the sky, watching me from above. Undoubtedly, she died at one of their disgusting trained hands.

I furrow my brow, gnawing at the inside of my cheek. "We fight them."

"Fight? But…" She pauses to think, but then she sighs. "I guess we have a pretty good chance if it's just one of them."

"They deserve it anyway."

She bites her lip in discomfort, but she doesn't respond.

I frown. "How does that not bother you? They willingly signed up for murder."

"It's not that—Yeah, it's all wrong, but—"

Swish!

A bush rustles; we both freeze. I turn to look. Appearing from the underbrush is the haggard face of the boy from One.

Oh… you deserve what's coming.


Capitol

Adrastus stood behind the chair in the Security Center of the Gamemaker Tower, his eyes darting back and forth between the various information screens that covered the wall before him, many of which were dimmer than normal. His hands gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles were white, yet it gave him no relief from the stress weighing on his back.

"What's wrong with the screens?" he said.

A nearby attendant paused his paperwork and came over. "Oh—it's storming right outside the Arena, so the signal's a bit weak."

Of course it was the weather; how could he have forgotten? They controlled everything inside the forcefield; it was easy to forget that the weather outside was still up to the random forces of nature. Ergh… the stress must be getting to me.

He could almost hear Snow's order, almost feel the bullets of execution. During the Dark Days, he'd seen his fair share of executions and even ordered a few himself. He never thought he'd be the one fearing it.

The terrorists—headed for the Arena? How did they get one? How did they learn? Districtos weren't even allowed to operate automobiles, let alone hovercraft. But this was more information than he'd had up to this point. He couldn't complain.

Without warning, a tiny shadow appeared on the map of the area around the Arena, approaching from the south.

"What's that?"

The attendant shuddered. "I-It's not one of our security craft."

"Then what is it?" he pressed.

"W-We don't know."

"Get the nearest patrol to intercept it."

A horrible pause. "S-Sir… N-None of the patrols are active there."

Stupid, incompetent fools! Again, his team had failed him. He glared daggers into the attendant, but he restrained himself. He had no time to waste on chewing out the man who was unlucky enough to be the one standing there at the moment, even if the whole lot of them had done nothing but make a mess of everything at every step.

There was only one option left. Would it work? The Arena wasn't too far away; it was plausible. Was it too much?

Nothing was too much if his hide was at stake.

"That's it," he said, rushing out of the Security Center for the stairwell.

The attendant gaped behind him. "But sir! You—"

"Send a fog down on the south half of the Arena! We can't have any of this on camera." He adeptly tapped a button on his watch and held it up to his lips as he raced down the stairs towards the hangar below the building. "This is Beaufleur—ready a hovercraft for launch in five."

If no one around him could be trusted to do their job well, he'd have to go in himself.


Lannister Saint, 18, District One Male

A boy and a girl. Were there any male-female pairs? You and Jasmine. Cleo and Devrell. I wince and shake my head, pressing new pins into my nerves. They stare at me. I stare back at them. They're real… right? After the relentless clouds of asleep-dreams and awake-dreams all night, I'm not sure.

This isn't the way to the Feast…

"Um… Hi." I wave.

The boy sneers. "You look happy."

What's his problem? I take a small step back; I wasn't expecting this. "I guess."

"Is this what you always wanted? Murder?"

His words call up echoes of Jasmine. That's what she had said the night before the Games began—District One has done nothing except encourage us to murder. How messed up is that? Back then, it had just been a concept, one that made sense yet felt distant and removed. Now… Jasmine's gone, murdered by Zeus. Cleo's gone, murdered by me.

Relentless visions of the dead are enough to make anyone go insane.

"Ha!" he jeers, eyes filled with murderous hatred. "I hope you're happy. This is what you volunteered for."

I sigh. "It's—"

"Were you happy when you killed Viyella?" he shouts. His ally grabs his arm, but he shakes her off and spits. "You don't even know who she is, do you."

Viyella? The name doesn't ring a bell. I should feel bad. Jasmine would feel bad. But I don't know if my numbed out head is capable of processing that at the moment. Between the dreams and the memories, Jasmine still feels very much alive, even if I know that she's… dead. And I hate the Capitol. I think I do. I need to. It took everything from me. But I can't feel it. Or maybe I'm afraid to feel it.

Oh… they're still looking at me. Perhaps they are actually real. The words tumble out of my mouth, barely held together by my frazzled brain cells. "I-I'm sorry… I'll leave."

"C'mon. Fight us." He steps forward, machete in hand. "That's all you ever wanted, right?"

He's taunting you, he's taunting you, he's— "Shut up!"

"Don't want to fight anymore? Is killing not as fun as you thought?"

"Stop it." My grip tightens around my sword; my breathing grows heavy. I can feel the trained instincts bubbling up—his weak spot is on his left; the bag on her back might slow her down. I can do this; we trained at home to deal with multiple opponents at once.

"We didn't choose to be here. You did." He steps even closer, his ally backing him up though worry's written all over her face. "You don't deserve a choice anymore."

The hair on my arm bristles. The words barely process in my head, but I know I don't like this. I want out, away from his angry boy that takes Jasmine's words and twists them into daggers.

A dense fog settles around the treetops, trapping us in a large bubble of clarity surrounded by the cloud. The drop on my left is shrouded with wisps of white. They're getting closer. I have to move or risk falling and breaking my neck, but to move away from the drop is to get closer to them. Everything behind me is barely visible.

The only way out is forward, and if it means cutting through the angry boy, that's what I'll have to do. Maybe I'll have another one or two ghosts to haunt me tonight.

I charge. The two immediately part, boy on left, girl on right. Hoping to trap me in the middle? I swing a warning blow at the girl to scare her off for a moment before circling in on the boy.

I swing the sword, but he brings up his machete and blocks, a surprised smile on his face. He must think that he did something cool. He doesn't see that his entire side is wide open to attack. A simple stab is all that's needed to finish him off right now.

But if I stab, there will be her blood… like Cleo's. And her tears and pain… like Devrell's. Maybe there's another way out.

I don't stab. Instead, I slide my blade off the tip of his machete and lunge forward, hooking my arm around his blade and slamming the flat side of the sword onto his arm, forcing him to release his weapon. It clatters to the ground, leaving him weaponless.

The girl yells from behind me. I whirl around—she's charging, legs open to attack. I take a deep breath and resist the trained instinct to cut them right off. Disarm, not kill. A sharp twist of the sword hooks the girl's sickle and yanks it out of her hand. But I miscalculated. The blade cuts across her upper arm, leaving a trail of blood before it disappears into the fog.

At least she isn't dead… Can I leave now?

"Orysa!"

I curse. His voice is much closer than I expected. Hands suddenly grip my shoulders; he's lept onto my back! Is he crazy? I pry at his fingers and swing him around. If I can get him on the ground, this fight will be over and I can move on. I punch his hand. He lets go and flies off.

But he doesn't hit the ground.

The boy slams into something invisible mid-air. A loud crack tears through the air, followed by the body's muted thud as it hits the rock, his clothes sizzling and smoking, his body unmoving.

"Baize!" The girl gasps, scythe hanging loosely in her hand, eyes bouncing between me and her ally's body.

My eyes meet hers, and I slowly back away from the body. We stare at each other, dreading the cannon. "I-I tried—"

I don't get to explain because the sky immediately explodes.

Not far from where the boy's body lies, a streak of blinding white shoots up from the ground and into the sky like reverse lightning. I stumble back, but a sudden rush of heat rushes over me, knocking me off my feet.

Crrrrack—

The energy wave hits before I reach the ground; its ear-splitting explosion covering me in dust. All fades to dazzling white.

Am I… dead?

Boom.

It's not a cannon.

It's thunder, and it jolts me back to my senses. Out of nowhere, a deluge of rain floods me, instantly soaking me to the skin. I slowly crack my eyes open, just in time to see lighting shoot across a familiar dark, impenetrable sky, different from the ones I've seen for the past week.

This isn't the Arena.

Is this a dream? I blink, shaking my head, and then I look again past the dead boy's body towards the thick woods that weren't there mere minutes ago, completely free from the fog.

This is real.

I sprint for the woods.


Outside the Arena

The forcefield exploded.

An energy wave rocked the hovercraft, nearly throwing Adrastus' hands off the controls. Once again, his war-trained instincts took over and his hands flew to the various wheels and levers, adroitly righting the hovercraft in moments. He chuckled in spite of himself. Last time was… forty years ago?

If the forcefield's gone… The realization yanked the chuckle out of his throat—this was even worse than he'd thought. It all made sense now, why the intruder had entered the forcefield office. Why didn't he realize this earlier?

"Watch the trackers!" he screamed into the radio. "Take out anyone that tries to escape."

"Yes, sir. But—"

"We'll blame it on the storm."

"But sir, the Nine girl's tracker—"

"And cut all the cameras, you idiots!"

He didn't wait for their reply; he didn't have time to hear their dim-witted explanations. Either they obeyed immediately, or the truth got out and got him killed.

Now, where's the other hovercraft? He turned his attention back to the original purpose of his journey—to catch the terrorists in the act. The very idea of them escaping lit a fire under him. He searched the screens for any sign of the other hovercraft, his heart sinking as screen after screen turned up normal.

A shadow appeared at the very edge of the scanner, nearly ready to escape. A surge of renewed determination rushed through his veins. He wasn't going to let them go if it was the last thing he did.

He aimed his aircraft in the direction of the other one and slammed the acceleration.


Silvia fumbled with the controls, clunkily steadying the hovercraft following the immense wave of energy that had destabilized it. This had been the one procedure she practiced the most, and the practice clearly paid off. She allowed herself one brief moment of respite, just enough to catch her breath.

Mission Complete.

"See, Rufus?" she mumbled. A wave of elation rushed from head to toe—she'd done it! Really done it! She wasn't out of the danger zone yet (she pinched herself to keep her grounded), but the hardest part was over. Now just to get out before anything went wrong.

Crash!

She screamed. The hovercraft suddenly lurched, and tilted, and then spun, over and over as explosions filled her ears. Every screen flashed red as the aircraft fell out of the sky, crashing into the forest below, where a last explosion tore apart the rubble.

The last thing she felt was the heat of the fire licking at her skin.


Orysa Edrei, 16, District Nine Female

Baize…

I can't tell whether the drops on my face are rain or tears. Nothing makes sense—it's as if the world suddenly turned inside out, flipping from a calm afternoon to pouring rain, soaking me instantly from my head to my toes to the slash on my upper arm where the One boy nicked me. But the only thing that hasn't changed from before is Baize's body, lying still on the ground.

D-Dead? There's no cannon; he must be alive! When the coward from One flees into the forest, I drop down beside Baize and press my finger against his wrist. There's a pulse—weak, but it's there.

"Baize!" I yell into his ear, hoping against hope. "Can you hear me?"

He mumbles an incoherent string of sounds, his eyes still closed.

"Can you talk?"

No response, the silence drowned out by the downpour. A lump grows in my throat. I had to let Bryson go to protect Baize… now Baize is gone too? I look down and find him sticking his middle finger out with what must be the last of his energy—of course he would! I clutch the finger in my hands and pull it close, a choked sob bowing me over.

A cannon sounds.

Dead. It can't be! But the warmth slowly recedes from his finger and there's no other conclusion to make. I rest his hand on top of his body, visible to anyone watching. It's stupid, I know. Bryson would call me an idiot for it. But it's what he'd want.

I ball my hands into fists, shaking all over. This must be anger. Now I understand a bit of why Baize was so angry. I want to find that boy and cut him down, even if it means chasing him through the woods where he fled—

The woods? I blink and look again at the direction where District One fled—those are woods! New woods! And if the boy ran that way…

The energy barrier is gone.

Is that even possible? I reach out and find nothing. I'm sure this is where Baize hit the invisible wall… but there's nothing there! That means…

Those woods—the new woods—are outside the Arena.

I leap to my feet; I have to go now. I sprint into the woods, following the footsteps of the One boy up ahead, running for unthinkable freedom. Never mind how this even happened! I can't stop to think. If I do, my chance might be gone. Branches whip across my face and mud splatters all over me, but I don't care. I've left the Arena somehow, and I'm not going back.

The One boy suddenly screams from ahead, a cry of pain that pierces the dense thunder and rain. I whirl around—a harpoon-like spear attached to a thick rope pierces through his chest. He's there for one moment, hunched over in death, and then he's gone, flying up into the air towards a hovercraft descending from the clouds.

I'm next.

The realization hits like electricity, and I bolt, blindly crashing forwards.

Boom.

An explosion overhead shakes the earth, momentarily lighting up the sky with flames. I slam face-first into a tree trunk, black and formless in the moonless downpour. I steady myself, but cold water rushes past my leg and takes my balance with it. I flail around, reaching for anything to steady myself, but my back slams into mud, forcibly expelling the air from my lungs.

The mud leaves no anchor for my hands. I prop myself up and then fall, over and over again, until my arms are sore and torn.

My hand hits something solid— a rock. Slowly, I pull myself towards it, out of the river of mud, and drape myself over it, filling my lungs with water-soaked air. My solid rock moves, and then slides, and then tumbles, carrying me away with it. A crack. A thud.

Everything instantly cuts to black.


The Fallen (?):

Baize Liliwin (D8M), killed by Lannister Saint (D1M) — 8th Place

Aww... Baize. He and Viyella were such a nice pair? And then he and Orysa worked a little too well together? He's honestly the type of person I'd hate in real life, but I loved having him in this story. He had that rebellious energy needed for the sub-plot, and I'm so thankful to have had him. To be honest, every time I wrote him, I had to pause and go, "What could he say right now that would really tick me off if I were there?" My biggest regret with him is that I didn't set up his character for this chapter as well as I had hoped, and I definitely would take him down a more clearly defined path of hate and disgust if I had the chance.

Lannister Saint (D1M), killed by the Capitol — 7th Place

Prince Charming! :'( I love Lannister, so frickin' much. I mean, I already loved Jasmine, and then he was the perfect district partner for her. What's not to like? I loved how... naive he was going into everything since that's honestly what most Careers would be like, and he had just the right combination of traits that allowed him to pair really well with Jasmine while also being affected by her. It broke me to break him... I miss my District Ones so much.

Orysa Edrei (D9F), ? — Officially 6th Place

I can't say too much because... question mark reasons. But I loved Orysa too. Her country gal dynamic was honestly so much fun? I did so much research to try to get a Midwestern-ish accent for her! Part of the challenge with her was writing a character that wasn't always well-thought-through since it clashes with my personality, and while I can't say I nailed it, I did my best to emphasize her stubbornness, easily-carried-away-ness, and protectiveness. Thank you so much to Dawn for the last-minute submission! The story wouldn't be the same without her.


A/N Whew... Final Five. This breaks my heart. The section with Rufus was literally so much for me; I had to pause and catch my breath so many times. Maybe I'm overly emotional, but I love them. Bradi, I hope this chapter sated your bloodthirst for now.

Oh! In other news, there may or may not be a Premonition High School AU in the works! I can't resist the opportunity to give my kids happy endings. Let me know if you'd read!

What will happen to Orysa? What's coming next? Who's the victor going to be?

Thoughts?