~Chapter Twenty-Two: Shifting Sands~

"Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return." ―Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom

I supposed I should be relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with Caspian, at least for a while.

But I couldn't stop worrying about Ben.

As the Careers began to discuss what to do next—we certainly couldn't just stay here—I found my mind wandering continuously, hoping he hadn't been hurt.

The rockslide seemed more intended to separate all of us, as opposed to killing someone. But if the Gamemakers didn't want us traveling as a big group anymore, that didn't bode well. I was sure they had something terrible in mind.

I wondered where the others were now. Clearly, they had not come across other tributes, or we would have heard cannons one way or another. Who knew how far that passageway led? While I was glad that I wasn't the one trapped within the walls of stone, I felt oddly vulnerable still; I had gotten used to Ben's steady presence nearby. The knowledge that he had my back. I had hoped our separation would only be temporary…this first Arena needed to end, and fast.

It was stupid to waste energy thinking about someone that could only, by the nature of these Games, be my temporary ally. But against my better judgment, I really had grown to care for Ben as a friend. At least, as much of a friend as he could be in the limited time that we had known each other. I felt my stomach twist painfully.

Perhaps there was something about facing down certain death that tended to bring people closer together.

"7! Stop standing around, we're moving out!" Cato snapped, annoyance laced in his tone.

Or not.

Jolted out of my line of thought, I moved to follow them. They had walked towards the path leading out of the cliffs, and Cato had paused, scowling at me over his shoulder. I (barely) resisted the urge to scowl back. My mind was still coming to terms with the fact that I was stuck alone with these three. I supposed it could be worse, but I was still very unhappy about it.

At least Caspian wasn't here.

"Doing okay over there?" Bastion asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow as I rejoined them. My expression must have reflected some of my inner turmoil.

"I'm sure she's just heartbroken, being separated from her district partner," Chiffon commented snidely, eyes glittering with distaste. Her tone was much harsher than Bastion's had been.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we have another pair of star-crossed lovers on our hands this year," Bastion responded, grinning.

This time I couldn't fight back the scowl. "It's not like that. And there's nothing wrong with working alongside your district partner."

"There's something wrong with being co-dependent," Cato said coolly. Chiffon's pretty face broke into a smirk.

"So, you're entirely forgetting what I went through on my own, before I met up with all of you. How convenient," I retorted sharply.

"Oh, just ignore him," Bastion said before Cato could respond, waving an arm dismissively as if to ward away whatever the menacing boy was going to say. "He's just in a bad mood because the rocks didn't fall on 4's head."

Well, that was something I could relate to.

Cato gave him a look that was absolutely withering, before turning and stalking off. He was in an absolutely foul mood, apparently.

Then again, wasn't he always?

Bastion—still grinning knowingly—set off after him, Chiffon scoffing and giving me a dismissive look before doing the same.

With a resigned sigh, I followed after them. I was definitely missing Ben's calming presence already.

At least (to my relief) we were exiting the passageway between the cliffs, heading back out towards the rocky hills and the desert. Nobody wanted to stay in here, in this narrow space where the stone pressed in on all around us. There probably wouldn't be another rockslide…but we couldn't be sure. And the path we had followed before led to a water source, but it was a dead end. A dead end where the Gamemakers had made it abundantly clear—I internally shuddered at the thought of the dead lizard mutts left behind—that they didn't want tributes lingering there.

So where else could we go?

If we moved back along the grassy path, we'd be heading downhill, winding through hills covered with boulders and rocky formations in order to get back to the expanse of sand. It would probably only take a couple of hours to get back; less time than the uphill trek to get here.

But the Careers were debating whether to leave the grassy path behind, traveling along the edge of the cliffs either north or south, searching for another way through. If we were unsuccessful…well, if we didn't find another water source or any other tributes, we'd eventually have to return to the oasis and replenish our water supply.

It was after one in the afternoon when we emerged from the pass, everything seeming overwhelmingly open and bright in comparison to the cramped, claustrophobic space between the cliffs.

I scanned the horizon, the hills we'd traversed to get here sprawled out in front of us. The sandy dunes stretched in the distance, barren and empty. I could practically see the heat simmering in the air. That direction was all downhill, so we had an expansive view. My eyes roamed across the jagged landscape and boulders littering the slopes, knowing the grassy path nearby wound through it all, ultimately leading directly to the oasis.

During our trek out of the pass, the Careers had debated the next move, going back and forth about which direction to head next.

But, as I suddenly heard Bastion exclaim and my eyes followed the direction he was pointing, I realized such a decision was no longer necessary.

Because further down into the hills—towards the desert, though a good ways off of the grassy path—I spotted what he was looking at. A tendril of dark smoke, curling up from behind a massive rock formation in the distance. It was just barely visible from here; a campfire, maybe, but a small one. It scarcely reached a height where it was visible behind a massive outcrop of rock. If we didn't have this vantage point from far uphill, I doubt Bastion would have spotted it at all.

But—unfortunately for the tribute, assuming it was in fact the smoke from a campfire—he had.

There was no hesitation among the Careers. No decision was needed. Eagerly anticipating a potential kill, they took off towards the smoke.

Feeling resignation settle deep into the pit of my stomach, I followed them, breaking into a jog. What choice did I have?

We followed the grassy path at first, but not for long, as it wound around a rocky formation and away from where the smoke had been coming from. Bastion reoriented us then, and we adjusted our course accordingly.

He and Cato were mostly staying abreast of each other, Chiffon and I just behind. I assumed one of the two boys from 2 was excellent with directions…or at least familiar with ascertaining our position based on the sun's progress across the sky. Now that we were making our way down and through the hills, we had to skirt around boulders and outcrops frequently, winding about this way and that and doubling back on occasion. Before long, we'd gone downhill far enough that we no longer had a vantage point to see the thin line of smoke.

The trek, naturally, wasn't easy. The slopes were littered with obstacles, and we weren't following the path to guide our way. We had to consistently adjust our pace between a fast walk and a jog, depending on the terrain. We would occasionally clamber over some of the smaller boulders that blocked our path. As much as I normally enjoyed climbing, this was not particularly enjoyable to me. Especially when I knew what might lie at the end of it.

It wasn't a quiet trek, either. Stones were frequently dislodged and slid down, accompanying our journey. The Careers didn't speak—neither did I—as they were intent on finding their way to the potential victim. They tried not to be too reckless, but the rocky landscape wasn't one we could traverse silently, especially at this pace.

But the trek wasn't very far. And Bastion had, in fact, kept us relatively on course. Before long Cato was signaling us to slow down, and as we wound around a particularly wide bolder, I saw a large outcrop jutting into the sky a short distance ahead of us—the one we'd spotted all the way uphill. The campfire (and any accompanying tribute) should be located just beyond.

The Careers slowed to a walk, now stepping more carefully, attempting to minimize the noise. It was entirely possible that any tributes sheltering on the other side of the rock formation hadn't heard us yet, but as we began to draw near, any loud sound could send them running. Without knowing how many there were, Bastion and Cato were taking a cautious, stealthy approach. Like predators, stalking their prey. Ruthless and efficient.

I wondered if Lambent and Caspian would have taken an entirely different approach, running straight in with weapons raised.

I wasn't sure which was a more terrifying thought.

Cato wordlessly signaled something to Bastion, then turned to me and jerked his head towards the right. Follow me, he was saying. Gritting my teeth and innately disliking being ordered around (despite the fact that Cato knew better than me about what to do in a situation like this), I followed him. I quickly realized Bastion and Chiffon were circling around one side of the rock formation, while we circled around the other. We weren't sure what to expect on the other side, and they wanted to cut off any escape routes.

My heart had risen into my throat as we made our way around the outcrop. Cato was walking as stealthily as he could, given his bulk, with me following close behind him. As we squeezed past a cluster of large boulders on our other side—this area was practically a maze of rock formations of various sizes—I was pulled back to my thoughts from the previous day. With all of the obstacles littering the landscape, this was a good place for an ambush. There were just so many places where a tribute could shelter, or hide in wait. I was sure the Gamemakers designed it that way on purpose.

Only today, it wasn't someone springing a trap on us. It was us attempting to corner some innocent, probably terrified tribute who had been unlucky enough to make a small campfire at the wrong time.

As we finally circled around the massive rock, though, and pushed through a gap between it and an adjacent outcrop, I realized two things simultaneously.

One, this was a very sneaky place to make camp. The jutting boulders and rock formations encircled a small clearing, essentially creating sheltering walls protecting it from the outside. It was almost reminiscent of the sand dunes around the oasis, on a smaller scale. There were multiple entrances, though; I immediately noted several gaps and breaks between the craggy outcrops that would allow for passage in and out. Not ideal for our intent to ambush any tributes. And not only that, but the various rocks and scraggly bushes scattered across the small clearing left plenty of places to hide.

This was notable because of my second realization.

There was nobody here.

Well, nobody except Bastion and Chiffon, who had come in from a gap between the rocks on the other side. The dark-haired boy was currently crouched down across the small clearing, examining something on the ground. He glanced up, beckoning Cato and me over as soon as he noticed us.

We quickly approached, stepping our way across the rugged terrain, and saw what he was looking at: a small space had been cleared, and a campfire built. So the assumption hadn't been wrong, then. But the campfire was no longer smoking. It looked like dirt and debris had been kicked all over to quickly smother the flames. Bastion was prodding it with a stick, brow furrowed.

"There's still some embers underneath. It was put out in a hurry. A couple minutes ago, at most," he said, eyes skimming the area. "I only see one set of boot prints around the fire, though it's hard to tell in terrain like this."

"So they heard us coming?" Chiffon asked, sounding frustrated. "We barely made any noise!"

Cato was already on high alert, and he shifted his weight, hand gripping his sword tightly. "Even if they did, they wouldn't have had a lot of time to run."

"Think they're still in the area?" Bastion asked. He was standing now, brushing the branches of a scraggy bush aside with his spear, as if he expected to find a tribute sheltering within.

"There are a lot of places to hide here," Cato muttered. He was examining the area, searching for clues.

I had taken to scanning our surroundings again, increasingly aware of the accuracy of Cato's words.

"We should split up and search, then," the other boy from 2 suggested. He was practically on the balls of his feet with anticipation, not wanting to waste any time. "In case they're still close by."

"Hey! I found something!" Chiffon exclaimed, before Cato could respond. All eyes shifted to the girl from 1 to see her knife was in her hand, and she'd used it to pick up a small strip of cloth that must have been left on the ground. Crimson stained part of the strip: blood. So the tribute was injured, and had used some of his or her clothing to bind the wound.

"If they're injured, they definitely can't have gone far," Cato responded darkly, gaze honed in on the bloody cloth. "Let's go." His attention moved to me, cold eyes sizing me up. "You're coming with me. Pay attention or you'll get both of us killed," he snapped. He didn't wait for my response before he strode across the clearing, towards one of the other exits, clearly assuming the tribute had escaped the opposite way from where we'd come in.

Chiffon threw me a disparaging look, but she and Bastion were already making their way in the opposite direction as Cato.

Once again, I was left with no real choice.

And I felt conflicted, because while the survivalist part of me knew more deaths were necessary to move on to the next Arena, part of me—the bit still clinging to empathy and humanity—hoped they had somehow managed to escape.

If they hadn't…I could only hope the Careers would make it quick. I knew more suffering lie ahead, but was it so wrong to want to minimize it?

Cato and I walked in silence, still trying to tread carefully, but there was a new level of tension now. Because we knew for sure that someone had been nearby, and they may not have made it far. They could be hiding anywhere, watching. If I were an injured tribute, hiding out in a canyon, and I heard others closing in on me?

Well. I wasn't sure what I'd do. But their odds definitely weren't good, depending on what their injury was like.

I followed his lead, sticking just a few feet behind Cato's towering form, eyes darting this way and that as I skimmed my surroundings. My hand gripped my axe; though I didn't want to actually use it. I was almost expecting a tribute to leap out behind a boulder or rock at any moment. But as a minute passed, and then another, nothing moved. Cato was searching intently, peering into every alcove and crevasse within the nearby rocks to ensure nobody was hiding there. Thrusting aside the scraggly plants with his sword, body rigid and alert for any sign of a sheltering tribute.

He was sporadically examining the ground, too. At first I wasn't sure why, until I realized he might be looking for footprints.

Or a blood trail.

Maybe they did run, despite their injury. Maybe they put enough distance between us that there's no way we'll find them.

But, almost as soon as I had the thought, a loud cry of pain echoed through the air.

It was brief, the silence seeming deafening after it was over. It sounded like Chiffon…though I couldn't be positive. Either way, it wasn't far.

Cato had immediately broken out into a run. He began weaving through the rocky terrain as he headed towards the sound, snapping at me to follow suit.

Had the injured tribute gotten the jump on Chiffon somehow?

I followed after my partner, despite the dread unfurling within my gut. I was a decently fast runner, but as he vaulted over a boulder seemingly effortlessly (while I had to go around) and immediately turned a corner, I had to push myself harder to keep up. My legs burned as I pursued the sound of his thundering footsteps.

But, seconds later as Cato rounded another corner and I followed him, I wished I hadn't. I wished I would've just stayed behind and waited for the sound of a cannon.

As I skirted around the rocky outcrop and spotted his hulking form just ahead, the situation unfurled before me.

A tribute—bloody and terrified, running for her life—emerged from a gap between the rock a short distance away, stumbling slightly in her haste to get away. The older female tribute from 12, I realized. She was turned our way, as if she wanted to head this direction, but the instant her eyes fell on Cato an expression of sheer and utter terror flickered across her face. She began backpedaling and twisted around to adjust her course, her feet scrambling for purchase on the rocky terrain. It was then that I noticed the crimson stain and the remnants of bloody cloth tied around her right thigh. The injury she'd been trying to treat when she'd clearly heard us closing in. She was running with everything she had, but I could tell it was paining her.

There was a gash on her arm, too, I realized. Untreated. Perhaps courtesy of Chiffon. The scarlet stain was seeping into her shirt.

Cato was sprinting towards her at full speed now, closing the gap between them at an incredible pace. I had slowed to a walk, only able to watch the events unfold. There was no way she'd escape, I realized. She wasn't fast enough, even with a slight head start. Her injury hobbled her, while he was winding effortlessly around the obstacles littering the terrain.

But things only got worse for the tribute, because there was a shout before Bastion suddenly appeared, squeezing into view from behind a rock further down, brandishing a spear. A noise of despair escaped the woman from 12's lips. She had realized that escape path was cut off, too.

In desperation she turned again, staggering due to the abrupt change in speed and her injury, desperately hurtling herself in the only other direction she could really go. The only way she could run where she wouldn't be facing down Cato's sword or Bastion's spear.

But it was too late. Bastion—in a smooth, practiced motion—hurled back his spear and threw it with all of his might, as soon as he came into view. It was quite a throw, some part of me realized idly, only able to observe with a sense of hopelessness and disgust as the weapon sailed through the air. Nobody but a Career would be able to hit a moving target from that distance. Especially a target who was pushing herself with everything she had to get out of sight, out of view, away from the bloodthirsty tributes chasing her.

She was nearly out of his line of sight—though Cato was barreling down on her and I knew the entire situation was going to end the same way for her, regardless—but not quite. The spear sank into the back of her right leg and she let out a howl of agony, stumbling again before tumbling to the ground. It wasn't a lethal hit—the distance and angle had prevented that. But it was enough to stop her.

A hoarse cry escaped the woman's lips as she was on her hands and knees, crawling forward, desperate even through her terror. Something clenched tight in my gut, at the sight. At this helpless woman fighting with everything she had to escape.

And Cato had nearly reached her. I didn't want to see this. I wanted to close my eyes, to pretend I wasn't here. I didn't even know the woman, but that didn't make this easy to watch. Cato strode forward; cold, emotionless, without hesitation.

The woman had collapsed onto her stomach now, heaving sobs escaping her body. Even from my distance I could hear the words she was hurling towards my Arena partner. Begging him, pleading with him to spare her.

"I-I have a family," she cried, twisting around to look up and into the eyes of the person that was going to kill her. Her body looked strangely contorted from here, Bastion's spear still embedded into the back of her thigh.

But Cato, unsurprisingly, was merciless. And he didn't pause. Disregarding the woman's pleas entirely, he stepped forward and gripped his sword in both hands, raising it high above her body, the tip of it aimed down towards her torso.

And I looked away. Maybe it was cowardly, and pathetic. Cato would judge me for it, would accuse me of being weak. But I couldn't watch.

I could still hear, though. I heard the sound of the weapon plunging into her body. The sound of a pained gasp, then the choked, gurgling cry that escaped the woman's throat. Her rattling breaths, rapid and desperate, along with the sound of scrabbling on the ground, as if she were still trying to move. To drag herself along, to get away from Cato's cold eyes and heartless brutality.

I felt lightheaded, and my stomach roiled, as several pained seconds passed before the sounds finally quieted. Her struggles ceased.

Why did you make that campfire, I thought darkly, steadfastly looking away. That small risk had cost the woman her life.

The cannon boomed, echoing ominously through the air. She was gone.

Day 9 in the Arena. 22 deaths now.

And I just felt disgust, throughout every fiber of my being.

Some of it was directed at Cato, obviously. For his heartlessness, the fact that he could kill so easily without seeming to care. But if I were really honest with myself, most of my anger and disgust was directed the Capitol for making us be here in the first place. All around the Arena, tributes had died…and I knew it hadn't just been the Careers doing the killing. Plenty of people who hadn't been trained for this were being forced to kill, just to stay alive. Hell, I would probably be faced with that choice myself. What would I do if I had someone begging for their life in front of me? I didn't want to be faced with that scenario. It was a horrifying thought.

It was repulsive that an eighteen-year-old boy had been trained for this his whole life to the point where a woman's desperate pleas had no effect on him. But it was even more repulsive that the Hunger Games existed in the first place; the Careers only existed by extension.

"Let's go before the hovercraft comes," Cato said coolly, breaking into my inner turmoil. I was resolutely looking away from him and the body, completely lost in my thoughts, but I could practically feel his eyes boring into me. Judging me, probably. I was sure my line of thinking was clear on my face. But he didn't make any disparaging comments towards me, instead addressing Bastion. "Where's 1?"

I belatedly remembered that we'd heard a cry that I thought was Chiffon, and realized she wasn't accompanying Bastion.

"12 was hiding, hit her over the head with a rock. She's conscious, though. Or she was when I left. She insisted I chase down the kill."

At least the woman from 12 put up some of a fight then, I thought, a twisted part of me appreciating the fact that she got the better of a Career. Chiffon had probably been careless, or had underestimated the resourcefulness of her opponent, much like the Careers had last year.

In fact, 12 was the district they'd underestimated the most last year.

We followed Bastion—me still staring ahead, pretending I was anywhere but here—as he led us back towards where Chiffon had been injured.

The girl from 1 had apparently gotten tired of waiting, and started making her way towards us until she heard our approach. She was on her feet, but leaning heavily against a rock, attempting to press a bandage to the side of her head, which was clearly bleeding. Head wounds bled more than a lot of others, I knew. I could see crimson streaks on her hand.

And Chiffon was clearly in pain, wincing. She glanced up at us as we approached, a strange mixture of emotions crossing her face, blinking a few times too many. As if her vision was slightly blurred.

"Is she dead?" she demanded, the words escaping her mouth as she grimaced.

"She's dead," Bastion confirmed, moving over to his partner, examining her. "I chased her down, like you wanted. Speared her in the leg, then Cato finished her off."

Chiffon nodded. "Good." She closed her eyes briefly. "Ugh, my head hurts."

"You might have a mild concussion," Bastion responded. "You didn't ever lose consciousness, did you?"

Chiffon shook her head, but slowly. "No." Then her eyes flashed, and I recognized the emotion she was feeling—shame. Shame that someone got the drop on her. "Bitch was hiding like a coward," she spat. "I threw my knife after her, but…" So that was where the gash on the woman's arm came from, I realized.

"Can you walk?" Cato cut in impatiently, not one to mince words, and seemingly having no desire to discuss Chiffon's failure to kill the woman from 12.

Bastion spoke before she could. "Let me help her stop the bleeding first. Then we can decide what to do."

"We shouldn't stay here. I doubt any other tributes will just stroll by."

"It might not be a good idea for her to exert herself too much. Especially since we don't know if she's concussed," Bastion responded, firmly pressing a bandage against Chiffon's skull, applying pressure. Something I doubted my own partner would do for me if the situation were reversed. Bastion seemed inclined to actually help the person he'd been paired with.

"I'm fine," Chiffon protested. "We can keep going."

"We can't just sit around," Cato said as if she hadn't spoken, an irritated edge to his voice, and the two began to debate our next move. I noticed the argument was less heated between the boys from 2 than when the other Careers were around. Probably because Cato actually had a modicum of respect for the other boy from his district.

But I was already tuning the argument out, eyes shifting from the uncomfortable-looking Chiffon, flitting around our surroundings—we were in a more open area now, only two sides impeded by rock—before falling on Cato's sword. There was still scarlet on the tip of the weapon. I felt my eyes lock in on it, the images rushing back through my brain.

I scowled. If the time came for Cato to try to kill me—and I was sure he wanted it to—he wouldn't give it a second thought, would he? I'd always known that, but it was somehow worse to think about now. Because we'd worked together (with some difficulty, but still) for several days now. Because I had maybe saved his life, or at least made a judgment call that prevented him from being seriously injured. A person you were allied with ultimately turning on you was worse than a random tribute trying to kill you.

But Cato was ruthless. If I were the one sprawled on the ground, begging for my life, would his expression still be cold and emotionless? Or would he be excited? Would he enjoy the fact that he was going to end my life?

Probably the latter. Which I was sure was the Capitol's intent in having the rule in place for the first Arena. To really build the suspense. To make it that much more dramatic when the rule was changed, when he got the chance to end my life. All they wanted was to make a better show. I'd figured this out previously, I understood what their plan was, but now I was actually living it.

Realizing that made even more revulsion swell within me. Though again, it wasn't only directed at the boy from 2. The Capitol was also to blame.

"What the fuck are you staring at, 7?" The boy in question snapped, yanking me out of that line of thinking.

My eyes found Cato's face, his icy gaze hostile as he stared me down. I realized I had still been staring at the remnants of crimson on his sword.

"Nothing," I responded coolly, because I had no desire to vocalize my train of thought. But my distaste was evident in my voice. And probably on my face.

Unsurprisingly, that wasn't the end of the conversation.

"Is there something you want to say?" he said, taking a step towards me. His voice had taken on an even more menacing edge.

"Cato…" Bastion began, eyes flicking between us from where he stood next to Chiffon.

"Stay out of it," Cato snapped at the other boy from 2, not even sparing him a glance, still honed in on me. "I see that fucking look on your face."

"What look?" I bit back, an edge to my voice as well, trying to quell the nerves that had erupted in the pit of my stomach. I knew Cato was short-tempered when it came to me, and that he was probably annoyed by my reaction to 12's death. By my inability to watch, by my resulting disgust. Part of me wanted to defend myself, but engaging in this conversation further seemed dangerous. And pointless. As much as I valued honesty, my abhorrence for Cato's actions probably wouldn't go over well.

But something had clearly triggered Cato, set him on a path towards confrontation. Maybe it was just me. I always got under his skin easily. Or, maybe it was the general frustration of the last few days, the miserable trek which had mostly been lacking in success.

Or, maybe he was boiling over from his previous frustration with Lambent and Caspian. He couldn't exactly take it out on them, but I was an easy target.

Regardless, as he took another step in my direction, I suspected he was looking for a scapegoat for his growing wrath.

"Don't play dumb," he spat, eyes glimmering with anger. He was less than ten feet away from me now, and I resisted the urge to move back. "I'm sick of it. The way you look at me. Like you actually think you're better than me, than the rest of us."

I stared up at him, trying to hold my ground, but my axe was clutched in my left hand like a security blanket.

Yes. He was definitely looking for a fight. Searching for any excuse to yell or attack someone. I shouldn't be surprised.

"I don't look at you like that," I retorted, but even as I said it, my own words felt hollow. Hadn't I just been thinking about him with disgust? Hadn't I been thinking what a horrible person he was, because he could kill without mercy?

"Guys…" Bastion started again, "I love a good argument, but this really isn't the time." He was probably fully aware of the frustration boiling within Cato, but his protest went completely ignored a second time, save for a brief scathing glare that Cato tossed his way before returning his focus to me.

"You're too soft to do what needs to be done, so you let everyone else do the work for you, then you have the nerve to act like you're superior?" Cato was speaking through gritted teeth.

Fear trickled down my spine as he moved even closer, and I tried to keep my feet affixed to the ground, my mind racing. But what was I even supposed to say? The Games shouldn't exist. Anyone who actually enjoyed being in them, enjoyed killing, had a twisted point of view.

But that line of thought perhaps proved that Cato had a point. In terms of morality, I did think I was better than him. Than every Career. Because if I killed, it wouldn't be for fun. It wouldn't be for glory. It wouldn't be for the stupid fucking Capitol's enjoyment.

"I never said-" I began, a spark of defiance within me, but he cut me off.

"You don't have to. I can see it on your face." His blue eyes glittered coldly as he stared down at me from just a few feet away. I was all-too aware that he could reach out, could plunge his sword into me the same way he had killed the woman from 12 at this range.

As always when it came to Cato, my pride and my sense of self-preservation warred within me. I wanted to bite harsh words in his direction; I wanted to articulate everything I was thinking. But I tried to hold back. To dull the sting of my words…because I was also afraid of his anger.

Yet I was exhausted, my nerves were rubbed raw, and after everything I'd seen in here…well it felt like my patience was almost non-existent.

"Just because I don't take pleasure in others dying-" I began to retort, trying to keep my voice steady and mostly failing, but yet again the brute didn't let me finish.

"Well you should," Cato snapped back coldly. "You should be grateful, every time a cannon sounds, that it isn't yours."

I glared at him, hand tightening around my axe once more, the irritation rushing to the forefront.

I was considering responding in a way that would likely have made the situation worse—probably something along the lines of, I can be grateful without relishing the death of another human being—but Bastion had finally had enough of this pointless argument.

Of this argument forced by Cato's ego, and his temper, and his desire to get angry with me for literally any reason.

"Cato, who cares what she thinks?" He asked, clearly trying a different tactic. "It doesn't matter if she has a superiority complex. Why are you letting her get to you?" His tone was questioning, no joke in his voice, his dark eyes boring into Cato.

Cato hesitated, and something flickered across his face briefly. It almost looked like…confusion. As if he were absorbing Bastion's words, but was unable to process them, or reconcile them with his own line of thinking. As if he couldn't find an answer to Bastion's questions.

I couldn't even be bothered by the flat-out dismissal of my opinion. This whole argument was going nowhere. All Cato wanted was a fight. Nothing I said would appease him. And Bastion was right. If Cato thought so low of me, then he shouldn't get worked up just because I disapproved of his actions, or because I wanted to take the moral high ground.

But then Cato's odd expression vanished, hardening into a mask of condescension, mostly overriding the anger. An expression I was familiar with.

Cato scoffed; a cruel sound. "I was just making sure she knows how fucking ridiculous it is to pretend like she's better than anyone." His gaze burned with the intensity behind his words. "As soon as a real fight breaks out and you're in danger, 7, you'll just hide behind the nearest person. We both know it."

He wrenched his eyes off of me, muttering something in Bastion's direction before storming off. Probably taking a short walk to try to control his temper, or scouting the immediate area. I still felt heat licking at my insides, my whole body having tensed in anticipation of a fight.

Bastion's gaze on me could only be described as mildly accusatory—as if I had somehow started that argument.

"You shouldn't antagonize him, 7."

I stared at him indignantly. "Seriously? All I did was look at him in a way he didn't like."

"Look, I'll be the first to admit that you needling Cato has been incredibly entertaining. But at this point, you aren't doing yourself any favors by testing the limits of his self-restraint. That's all I'm saying." His voice was mostly devoid of its usual teasing tone, which caused me to hold back the biting comment I wanted to respond with.

Bastion let those words ring in the air with a shrug, not waiting for my response before he turned back to tend to Chiffon. She was rubbing her forehead, seemingly uncaring about the argument that had just happened. That was unusual for her. Usually the girl would take any opportunity to throw a glare my way.

As I tried to calm my racing heartbeat and push back the adrenaline coursing through me, the rational side of my brain started kicking in again. Reminding me that the first Arena was almost over. That the rule wouldn't be in place for too much longer.

Bastion had a point. Soon, Cato would have free rein to try to kill me. And here I was, just making him angrier. Making my situation worse. I was sure Johanna was fuming right now. True, I hadn't started the fight, but if self-preservation were truly at the forefront of my mind, I should have just backed down. Done anything to avoid pissing him off.

I hadn't yet been part of an Arena where he was dead set on actually killing me…I could only imagine how miserable the next Arena would be.

A (very small) part of me—that same, rational, survivalist part—wished they would keep the rule in place longer. As much as I couldn't stand Cato, as difficult as he was, and despite the awfulness of being around him…my survival had been more assured from the time we'd met up, since he had a vested interest in me not dying.

I knew that, at the end of the day, my distaste about working with him and my strong dislike for him—even my fear of him—were outweighed by my desire to return to my family. I'd sacrifice a lot of things to see them again, I knew. Including some of my pride.

But without the rule in place, I just didn't see any way to avoid Cato coming after me. He hated me too much, and I doubt he'd ever be willing to set aside pride for practicality. He'd probably never get over his personal vendetta. There wouldn't be a compelling enough reason to, after this Arena.

I sighed heavily, sitting down against the nearest boulder, the self-frustration far outweighing my anger now.

It would be a very difficult road ahead.

…

I was pretty sure Chiffon's injury was bothering her more than she let on. I could tell by the way she acted when she thought nobody was looking.

The blonde was quieter than usual, and at times, she seemed a bit unbalanced. Sometimes her eyes seemed slightly out of focus. I wasn't a healer, and I'd never been bashed over the head with a rock, but it she seemed…off.

And she was obviously frustrated. Whether by the injury or by 12 getting the drop on her, I wasn't sure. But the annoyance was etched in every line of the blonde's beautiful face, and I steered clear of her, mostly keeping to myself across the temporary camp we'd set up.

Bastion, however, was perceptive. It didn't take him long to pick up on Chiffon's change in behavior. Despite her annoyance, he regularly checked in on her, echoing my suspicion that she probably had some sort of mild concussion. He treated her cut with what we had, but no Sponsor gifts or any other medicine arrived. I wasn't surprised. I wasn't sure what type of medicine would be able to help a concussion, other than painkillers.

Either way, her potentially concussed condition caused some issues when it came to planning.

Cato adamantly refused to stay here for long. There wasn't much of a chance of finding anyone else out here. He didn't want to just sit and wait until the Arena ended…that wouldn't be a good look for a Career, apparently. Plus, there was no water source. We were fine for a couple more days, as we'd refilled our containers this morning, but it still made our current location less than ideal.

I suspected this Arena wouldn't last much longer. But I didn't get a say.

And he didn't want to split up. Cato made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted to stick with Bastion, because (in his mind) I'd have virtually no use in a fight.

I could tell Bastion mostly shared his line of thinking, but was also concerned for his partner. He wanted Chiffon to try to limit exertion as much as possible, since we didn't know the extent of her injury, and usually someone with a concussion needed to rest and not test their limits.

His concern for his partner was touching, particularly when I knew my own would never look out for me that way.

Chiffon, for her part, didn't want to stay here. She didn't want to be coddled, either; her pride wouldn't allow it. She was very obviously growing annoyed at the fact that Cato was considering her a hindrance now, too.

But I also knew she wasn't stupid. Laying low until the Arena ended, until her condition improved, was probably her best move. Especially when her balance was slightly off, and the headache appeared persistent. If she were concussed, I would guess her reflexes were dulled, too. Chiffon couldn't just charge into battle.

In the end, we decided to wait here overnight, allowing Chiffon some rest. Then we would head back to the oasis before the sun rose. It was a compromise between the other potential courses of action. And we had already done a lot of walking today. Splitting off from the others had only occurred this morning, but it felt like days ago.

In heading here to hunt down 12, while we had departed from the grassy path, we had still generally been heading in the direction of the sand. We were part of the way back to the desert already; it shouldn't be more than a couple of hours of walking from here.

Bastion had put traps there. So potentially, (in the Careers' best case scenario) there would be someone stuck there, waiting to be killed when we arrived. But even if not, the grassy path led straight to the oasis from either side of the Arena. Other tributes might have followed it, as well. Either way, the oasis had a much higher chance of attracting other tributes than our current location. The others from our alliance were supposed to meet us back there, too…though I highly doubted that would happen anytime soon.

And we weren't exactly overflowing with other options. Not with Chiffon's injury, and being separated from all of the others. I could tell from Cato's facial expression that he wouldn't lose sleep over leaving her behind, but I knew Bastion wouldn't go for that.

Of course, if it were me, I would have happily hidden out somewhere like this, carefully rationing my supplies as I waited for the first Arena to end.

Sadly, I knew Cato wouldn't appreciate that idea. I supposed potential Sponsors wouldn't, either.

It's almost over. Only two more deaths, I thought. We probably won't have to look for other tributes to kill for very much longer.

The thought didn't make me feel much better.

I essentially ignored the recap that commenced right as darkness fell, gritting my teeth and feeling resentment as the anthem boomed all around us.

I didn't need to see the older woman's face projected in the night sky, to remember the sounds she made as she lay dying in the dirt. Just more traumatizing memories to add to the pile, and it was only going to get worse.

It was only after the sounds of the tacky, blaring music faded, that I realized Rory Hawthorne was the only tribute left alive from District 12.

…

I sat apart from the others, across the smoldering remains of a campfire that they had put out just before darkness fell, sitting on top of my sleeping bag. They were clustered together, Cato and Bastion talking (though the latter was doing most of it), Chiffon listening in a sullen silence.

It was lonely—despite being around three other people, I was definitely the outsider here—and I was reminded of my first two nights of the Arena. I hadn't truly been alone since then.

Well, I guess I hadn't been truly alone at all. Not with all of the hidden cameras around. I was sure they were broadcasting us occasionally, since the Careers were favorites, but our group had ceased doing anything the Capitol would find interesting after Cato finished off the woman from 12.

Nothing else of note had happened today. No more cannons. A sense of unsettling urgency was growing inside of me…a sick sort of anticipation. The first Arena could be over in minutes, or days, but somehow I felt like the Gamemakers wouldn't let it drag out much longer.

My instinct told me we were nearing the end. And that made me taut with nerves.

Most years, there was some sort of big, dramatic finale, or the Gamemakers did something to make the Games interesting near the end. A feast for the last few desperate tributes, or some sort of intense standoff between whoever was still alive. Last year they had created mutts to send after the final three. Other years, they had caused natural disasters. Sometimes, it was just a matter of forcing the final few together, to create another old-fashioned bloodbath.

This was different, because there were still twenty-six tributes left alive. I wasn't sure if the Gamemakers would have a heavy hand in orchestrating the end of this first Arena. It seemed inevitable that people would keep running into each other.

But there had only been one death the past three days. I had been continuously surprised by that fact. That pace was surely not acceptable for the Capitol. I couldn't help but feel that the Gamemakers would find it…inadequate. And that made me feel sick to my stomach. Would they try to overcompensate by making the last part of this Arena especially dramatic?

I hated that idea.

I tried to brush the thoughts away—because it wasn't improving my mental state to focus on that—but I couldn't focus on my family or friends back home, either. Picturing their faces, their tear-filled eyes as they hugged me goodbye, only caused me to feel a pang of homesickness that was nearly overwhelming. Especially when I thought of Rowan and my father, and their faith in me.

I'm going to keep trying my hardest to make it back, I mentally promised them.

Of course, if I intended to keep that promise, I really had to stop getting into altercations with Careers. Cato and Caspian already wanted to kill me coming into this Arena, but my behavior was probably just hastening the process along.

My unlikable partner was still talking to Bastion, the latter back to his standard happy-go-lucky mood that I simply could not understand.

They were now talking openly about which other tributes they wanted to fight the most…and which strategies they'd employ to kill them.

It was so casual, yet callous. It was jarring to me, that this topic could be discussed in such a relaxed manner. As if they were talking about the weather, or their favorite food in the Capitol.

Probably because this is the type of thing they converse about back home, just for fun. Yet another testament to the stark contrast between their upbringing and mine.

"What about 4? You worried about him?" Bastion was asking, a subtle teasing note in his voice.

Cato scoffed disparagingly. "No. I'm looking forward to killing him. And never having to listen to him again."

Well, I could understand at least part of that sentiment.

"He's pretty good with that trident. Spears, too," Bastion replied.

"He's spent way too much time focusing on ranged weapons. His hand-to-hand combat skills suffered because of it."

"I wouldn't underestimate him," Chiffon spoke up quietly, the first time she'd spoken in a while.

"Something you want to share with the class?" Bastion teased her, while Cato scowled.

She paused for a moment before speaking. "He's just…off in some ways. Sometimes reminds me of Onyx from my district." Her face creased in a frown.

"Weren't you trying to seduce him?" Bastion asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Violence isn't the only way to get an advantage," she muttered, rubbing her temples as Bastion rolled his eyes.

Caspian was repulsive to me, but in terms of sentiment, I knew Chiffon had a point. Brute strength wasn't the only way to win these games. I couldn't imagine trying her tactic, but I could understand the merits…if it succeeded. Which, sadly for her, it hadn't.

"Whatever you say." His attention refocused on Cato. "I still think 1…well, Lambent in particular, is a problem. He seems competent with every weapon."

Cato snorted now, derision in his tone. "Competent at everything, yet excels at nothing."

Bastion snickered. "Too bad there aren't any mirrors in here. Could probably distract him with his own reflection."

Chiffon rolled her eyes, but didn't even seem bothered that they were talking about the possible death of someone from her district. They had seemed close …I couldn't fathom it. I couldn't ever talk about Ben—or anyone from my district—like this.

"Tatiana is the biggest threat," Cato said then, a dark expression flitting across his face. I momentarily pictured the angry girl from 2—who I had almost run into my very first day in the Arena—and mentally agreed. She seemed vicious, and terrifying. And if even Cato was acknowledging the danger she posed…

Bastion made a noise of distaste. "That girl is crazy. And has absolutely no sense of humor." He seemed oddly put out by this fact. "Do you think she's working with her partner?"

Cato was shaking his head. "Doubt it. She'll probably kill him if she gets a chance."

Bastion muttered his agreement, and silence fell on the group for a few seconds before he spoke again. "The only other tributes who scored decently outside of the obvious ones from 1, 2, and 4," he paused to contemplate, "were the guys from 9 and 10, and I guess that guy from 11 as well…oh, and 7." He tossed me a look, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Your district partner must have really impressed the Gamemakers."

I felt the eyes of the other Careers on me, and my stomach sank, but I just shrugged. "I guess so."

"I don't suppose you have any information on his potential weaknesses?" The teasing tone was evident in Bastion's voice; he was well aware I would never answer that question.

Cato scoffed again. "Isn't it obvious? She's his biggest weakness."

At his words, I felt something akin to guilt wash over me. Because I hated the thought of that. Of Ben somehow being hampered by loyalty to me…even if I had the same problem he did.

"He'll do what needs to be done, when the time comes," I found myself speaking before I could help myself, the words escaping my mouth.

Cato's gaze was chilly, appraising me. "You honestly think he'd kill you if it came down to it? That he wouldn't hesitate?" His tone made it obvious that he didn't believe it for a second.

"He wants to get back home just as badly as I do," I responded shortly, knowing full well that didn't really answer his question.

Part of me thought Ben would do it, that he'd be ruthless when the time came, that he'd put his own survival first. But I couldn't be sure, because I knew if it came down to a fight between the two of us, I would probably hesitate.

If I didn't hesitate…well, that would mean something inside of me had been changed beyond repair. Because right now, I couldn't fathom the thought of trying to kill Ben. And that was the problem, wasn't it?

Cato had shaken his head, the distaste and disbelief evident in his expression. "He probably sat around all day sulking because you were split up, just like you've been doing."

I grit my teeth, glaring at him. "Sitting over here and minding my own business isn't sulking."

"You're like a child who didn't get her way."

"Well, excuse me for preferring to spend time with someone who doesn't insult me constantly."

"Maybe you shouldn't make it so easy to insult you," he responded coolly.

And we were heading right back towards an argument. I pulled my knees to my chest, tearing my eyes from Cato's and staring into the remnants of the campfire, trying to fight back my annoyance that was searing through my veins. You thought this through earlier. It isn't worth it. I could tell Cato was still pushing for an altercation, and taking the bait again would just be stupid. Words hovered at the tip of my tongue, trying to fight their way out of my mouth, to really unleash the full brunt of my dislike for him. It was a familiar feeling when it came to Cato…

But I had to try to exercise restraint.

"Come on, you two," Bastion interjected after a brief silence, knowing Cato was probably ready to incite me further. Just looking for an excuse for our argument to erupt into something more violent. "Let's behave ourselves just a bit longer, okay? I'm getting tired of being the mediator."

"Nobody asked you to mediate," Cato said curtly.

"Well, nobody else is brave enough to take on the task," Bastion responded dryly. "You two find an excuse to bicker over anything." He grinned at Cato, and a look passed between them that was unreadable to me, but I took the opportunity to turn away and slide into my sleeping bag.

I was done interacting with him—with all of them—until we set off again.

I remembered when I overheard their conversation previously, when Bastion commented on the fact that I got under Cato's skin easily. Well, the opposite was true, too. We had the same effect on each other. But I needed to get a handle on that. He was probably the most dangerous tribute in the Games, even over the other Careers, and letting my anger and dislike blind me would only cause problems down the line. I had to keep my wits about me.

It wasn't the first time I'd had this thought, or resolved not to let Cato get to me. But it was becoming more and more important…necessary, even.

The rule wouldn't be in place much longer.

…

We set off a couple of hours before the crack of dawn, when the night was stillest. The only sounds were our footsteps as we wandered through the rock-littered landscape, and the whistle of the wind echoing around us. Wildlife was very few and far between out here. The moon was full tonight, and the stars were many—our path was as well-lit as it could be at this hour.

Chiffon appeared to be fairly steady on her feet—I wasn't sure Bastion would have let her leave otherwise—but our pace was slightly slower than normal. Fortunately, we didn't really have that far to go.

We moved mostly in silence until we reached the familiar grassy path, which didn't take long, and adjusted our course to head back towards the sand. The barren, empty dunes, devoid of life save for the green of the oasis. I supposed it would be nice to be back among the strange, slender trees, at least. Better than being out in the open, vast desolation.

As horrid as the dense forest was on the other side of the Arena, I preferred it in a lot of ways.

I did find my mind wandering as I followed just steps behind Cato, idly wondering what the next Arena would be like. I felt like I could make a couple of assumptions.

This Arena had been hot, the weather dry (minus the acidic, burning rain). Water sources had been fairly limited. The biomes represented had been tropical forests, barren desert, and rocky cliffs. It was not a logical leap to assume the Gamemakers, in order to keep the Quarter Quell especially interesting, would want the next Arena to contrast in some ways.

Which meant it might be cold. Perhaps rainier—or snowier—than this Arena. It could be a swamp, or a tundra. Or the Gamemakers could get even more creative; I remembered the time the Games had been set in the ruins of a crumbling city, and another year when there was a volcano.

Or it could be an Arena where the landmass was limited, riddled with bodies of water, most tributes forced together immediately because so many of us couldn't swim.

Being dropped into a lake would be the worst possible option, I decided. For me, anyway.

But I shouldn't get ahead of myself. I still had to survive this Arena.

Once again, as we reached the very edge of the sandy stretch of dunes, I felt my heart sink. I really hated being this vulnerable and exposed. The wind whipped all around us, reminding us to protect our eyes and mouths with extra clothing to avoid being blasted by sand.

At least the oasis was only about a quarter mile away, maybe slightly more. A short walk from here.

We set off, the ground transitioning into pure sand, my feet sinking in and slowing my progress as we entered the desert. We were going slightly downhill this time, and the trek was significantly easier. There was still a swell of dunes around us, but they were gentler, less steep, the flat valleys between them wider. It was easier to reach the oasis from this side of the desert, as opposed to the difficult journey before.

We had only been in the desert a few minutes, and had just crested another dune in our path before trekking down the other side, when Chiffon's voice emanated from behind us.

She was lagging behind the rest of the group, I realized. The blonde had paused, maybe fifty or sixty feet away, standing on top of a dune. I hadn't even noticed that the girl had stopped walking next to me, too focused on moving forward. She was panting. Was she that tired? That would cement my thoughts from earlier, that she was more injured than she let on.

But Chiffon wasn't asking us to stop so that she could rest. The girl wasn't even looking our way. Even though most of her face was obscured to protect her from the blowing sand, I could see that she was mostly turned away from us, squinting towards the dunes stretching to our left.

"Guys! Something's out there," she had said, and I detected a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Cato turned to face that direction, but we were in a relatively large flat area between dunes, and he clearly couldn't see whatever was concerning her. "Well, what is it? A tribute?" he snapped, annoyed.

"No…it's not…shit! We need to go!" Fear was very evident in Chiffon's tone now, and she began to scramble towards us. She briefly slipped and caught herself on her hands as she made her way down the side of the dune, far less coordinated than I was used to seeing her.

And, almost immediately after she spoke, I felt it. A slight tremor, or trembling, underneath me. I stiffened, freezing immediately, heartrate escalating.

An earthquake? Was that what I was feeling? But it was subtle, barely noticeable, almost to where I thought I might just be imagining the sensation, that I was just feeling sand shifting beneath my feet.

At least until Cato exclaimed, pointing at something to our left, something that had rapidly come into view now.

I followed the direction he was indicating, squinting and trying to make out what he saw in the moonlight, but what I saw made no sense to my (admittedly tired) brain:

The sand was moving. Churning, turning over itself. As if it were alive.

No.

As if something underneath it were alive.

Something was making a beeline straight toward us, its underground movements causing the sand above it to roil and shift, displaced by whatever lurked underneath. And, whatever it was, it was incredibly fast. Too fast. Impossible to outrun. I could understand Chiffon's fear.

"What the hell is that?" Chiffon shrieked, scrambling away from it, making her way towards us, my thoughts echoing her exclamation.

Was this what I saw before? Days ago? Some idle, detached part of my brain wondered, as I briefly (and uselessly) remembered the time I thought I'd seen movement in the distance, amidst the expanse of dunes.

I was instinctively backing up, part of me wanting to turn and sprint in the opposite direction, adrenaline coursing through my body. Even despite realizing that whatever was the source of the movement, it was advancing too fast to outrun. I took a few nervous steps away from the churning sand, noting that both Cato and Bastion had shifted into fighting stances. Bastion had moved backwards a bit, but he drew his weapon. They seemed set on facing the danger. Cato was gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white.

I, however—without any sort of actual training like they had—did not feel an urge to fight.

Yet, not for the first time, my survival instinct urged against turning my back to the danger. That instinct needed to see what it was, needed to figure out what was rapidly approaching…heading directly for Chiffon.

It had nearly caught up, despite her frantic movements. She was almost to us, less than twenty feet away, when it finally reached her.

And, as it burst out of the sand and my stomach dropped in horror, I came to an abrupt realization:

I would rather have fought the scorpion again.

It was…enormous. Grotesque. A gigantic, black form. It looked like a combination between a snake and…some sort of revolting creature I didn't recognize. I felt my heart plummet, but initially I didn't get a good look; it was moving far, far too quickly.

I knew what it was meant to be, though. The grand finale to this Arena. A bloody battle to make things more exciting for the Capitol viewers. A gigantic, buried killing machine, that had likely been prowling the desert in wait. The Gamemakers had probably been just hoping for someone to cross the sand tonight. A chance to release this creature on some of the strongest tributes in the Games.

Most of us were scrambling backward in a hurry, the sight of the monstrosity before us momentarily causing chaos to erupt. No matter how trained the Careers were, they couldn't have expected this.

Chiffon, however, wasn't as lucky. Right as the mutt emerged from underneath the sand—practically at her feet—she had thrown herself to the side at the last moment, a cry of terror escaping her lips as she attempted to avoid the danger. A faster reaction than I would have expected. And as I saw the glint of teeth in the moonlight, I realized this reaction had saved her life.

Temporarily.

Because the muttation adapted its course faster than I could blink; as soon as it erupted from the ground, missing Chiffon by only a couple of feet, it quickly adjusted trajectory. It lunged forward in one sinuous movement, some sort of odd hissing rattle emanating from it, freezing my breath in my throat. Perhaps Chiffon could have avoided it without her injury, her reflexes slower as a result.

But she was injured, and she didn't avoid the follow-up strike.

A panicked scream echoed through the air, and then Chiffon was being pulled into the air upside-down by the muttation, its grasp around her foot. She was struggling and kicking, voice scraping against her throat in her terror.

"Chiffon!" Bastion cried hoarsely, some protective instinct overtaking him. Unlike me, he wasn't frozen with fear. I watched as in a smooth movement he drew back his spear, hurling it with incredible force, the weapon whizzing through the air in the blink of an eye…

And it bounced off the mutt's back harmlessly.

Cato swore.

Now that some of its body had emerged out of the sand, prey in its grasp, I was able to make out more detail. Only part of it had risen out of its sandy burrow, but the mutt still towered more than ten feet in the air. It had a snakelike body the size of a large tree trunk. Like a snake, it had no arms or legs, though I spotted a couple ridges, or rows of small spines, down its back. Its glossy black scales reflected the moonlight…the scaly body must have protected it from Bastion's spear, I realized.

However, while the creature may have had the body of a snake…the Gamemakers had gotten creative with its head. Like with the lizard mutts, they had taken liberties with nature, creating an abomination. The mutt's head could only be described as grotesque. There was a massive eyeball on each side of its head, black and bulbous. Soulless. And as it reared above us, I realized the thing had a mess of appendage-like shapes dangling around its mouth, perhaps a dozen of them, each a few feet long. At first, I thought they were feelers, or somehow used to facilitate its movement under the sand…

But as I saw the way several of the appendages were moving, scrabbling and grasping at Chiffon, I realized the mutt used these appendages to ensnare prey. To catch and kill tributes. It had several of the limb-like extremities wrapped around Chiffon's leg and foot, and it was trying to pull her towards its mouth. She was putting up a ferocious struggle, despite hanging upside down ten feet above the ground.

And, as it tried to reel her in, I realized that was the worst part…its mouth. The mutt opened it, another rattling noise emerging, and terror clutched at me. It did not have the snout or fangs of a snake. It didn't even really have a "mouth" at all, so much as a gaping maw, circular in shape, with rows and rows of sharp teeth lined all around. The grotesque appendages surrounded the mouth, trying to haul Chiffon's dangling body closer and closer to the maw, to be devoured. Her foot, clutched in its grasp, was mere feet from its many teeth.

Then I saw the glint of a knife, and realized she had drawn it and was swiping at the appendages wrapped around her leg and foot, trying to extricate herself.

"Chiffon!" Bastion yelled again, and I tried to snap out of my fear-induced haze. This was not the time; Cato and Bastion had already recovered from their shock at seeing the creature, while my eyes still were unaccepting of the monstrous snakelike thing that had emerged from underneath the sand. I gripped my axe, terror coursing through me, trying to plan my next move. If the spear had been ineffective, then my axe wouldn't pierce its scales, either…

But the Careers were taking action.

The two boys were running, flanking it, spreading out to come at it from either side. They clearly realized they needed to attack the mutt from a different angle, because the scales on its back were hard enough to deflect Bastion's spear. The dark-haired boy was making a beeline for the spear, which was lying harmlessly in the sand. Cato was yelling, trying to attract its attention. To get it to turn, or lose focus on its current target.

My Arena partner drew back his sword, intending to slice its scaly body. But as he sprinted at the snake (my mind was still associating the mutt with a snake, despite the fact that its head was not remotely snakelike) new sounds split the air: a cry of pure agony from Chiffon, and a piercing, hissing sound from the mutt.

I saw something fall from its head, to land in the sand; she had severed one of the appendages that was reeling her in.

But, judging by her position and her resounding scream of pain, at least some of its teeth had sank into her foot, biting through the thick material of her boot. Yet Chiffon was still struggling, wriggling in its grasp and whipping the knife around even despite her pain and terror, trying to cut at the tendrils holding her.

Cato had reached it, though, swinging his sword with an incredible amount of force to try to cut right through the massive body. He had come at it from the side, approaching it from a different angle in the hopes of piercing its defenses. There was no hesitation in his movements. With the way Chiffon was being pulled in, he couldn't hesitate.

Unfortunately for Cato, its back wasn't the only thing protected by the scales.

Cato's sword swung through the air cleanly and with great force. It struck the creature at an angle closer to its front, but didn't sink in. The weapon bounced off, still not enough to pierce its scaly hide. A harmless strike, not impeding it in the slightest. But I could see the tremor travel up his wrists and arms from the force of the recoil. Cato grunted in pain and then swore angrily, scrabbling backwards, clutching his sword arm with his free hand, grimacing.

"I can't slice the scales underneath, either!" he yelled, frustration evident in his voice.

The snakelike mutt began to thrash, another rattle of pain escaping its maw and grating against my ear. Chiffon must have cut another appendage…and she was paying for it. The mutt was shaking her now, jerking its head back and forth but still clutching her foot tightly, her body jolting back and forth with its aggressive movements.

Bastion swore as the two boys circled towards the creature's front, looking for an opening.

"Aim for the head, then!" Bastion yelled at Cato. "There has to be a weak point!"

The creature was entirely heedless of them as it shook Chiffon again vigorously. It wanted to break her, or to knock her out, to finish reeling her into its razor-sharp mouth. I could see that she was still attempting to fight, her knife swinging through the air in an arc, weaker now.

I was moving now, too. Some sort of instinct had sent me in motion. I wouldn't just stand here. Part of me still wanted to run, to flee, to…sacrifice the others so I could escape. As horrid and selfish as the thought was, it was there.

That thought had been there with Autumn, too. The instinct to run, to leave her behind. I hadn't, because I couldn't leave someone from my district behind, but here—with these other tributes that wanted to kill me—I didn't exactly have the same loyalty.

But the logical side of my brain had won out. For one, if the creature killed Chiffon, it could easily decide to chase after any of the rest of us next. None of us could outrun it. There were still two deaths needed for this Arena to end. It might choose to come after me next, if I ran. Who knew what triggered it? Movement? Sound? Both?

It wasn't just that, though.

If I ran now, I could easily see Cato or Bastion sinking a spear in my back before I made it one hundred feet. Chiffon might die, but then they could kill me right after, ending the first Arena.

Yet... there was an even worse train of thought. A line of thinking that was sneaking up on me insidiously.

All the Gamemakers really cared about was a show. If the mutt killed two of us…would they stop the Arena right then? Or would they keep the mutt alive, waiting to see if they could pull an even more bloody battle out of it, despite the fact that twenty-four tributes were supposed to be alive for the second arena?

I suspected the latter. They had proven last year that they were not above changing the rules multiple times in the middle of the Games, fairness be damned, just for entertainment's sake.

No, I didn't really have a choice here. The muttation needed to die, so that I could live.

I circled around the creature, axe in hand, looking for an angle to throw my weapon. The problem was…it was a moving target, an aggressively moving target, and I didn't want to risk hitting the girl from 1 with the axe. But the mutt had to have a weak point. There was no sense to orchestrating this otherwise. The Capitol audience wouldn't be entertained by a battle that was completely rigged.

Bastion had said to aim for the head. So all I had to do was find an opening. I gripped my axe as I circled around the side, dimly realizing that Cato had reached to his belt, pulling out a knife with his free hand. Deciding to attack from range, as there was no way to reach its head with his sword. Not while it was ten feet in the air, trying to eat Chiffon.

Chiffon released another sharp cry of pain. My stomach clenched. I didn't like her, but that didn't mean I wanted to see her go through this. It made my insides turn. Cato pulled his knife back, prepared to hurl it, but Bastion beat him to it.

The other boy had taken action, clearly unwilling to listen to his Arena partner's suffering anymore. After grabbing his spear from the other side of the mutt he had moved backwards, to the edge of its striking range, as close as he dared while still needing to get a good shot. As I was circling around he was aiming the weapon carefully, looking for an opening, a way to lethally strike the violently thrashing beast.

As Cato pulled out his knife, and as I searched for an opening to throw my axe without injuring the girl from 1, Bastion took action. He released his spear, hurling it with all his might at the creature's head.

He was likely aiming for its eye, I realized, as the weapon whizzed through the air. The creature was massive, each eyeball bigger than my hand.

But it was jerking and jolting violently, twisting and turning its head, making the shot difficult from Bastion's distance. I probably would have missed its head entirely, not used to a moving target.

Or, even worse—I would have hit Chiffon instead.

But I wasn't Bastion. And I didn't have his skill. His spear didn't sink into its eye—as amazing of a shot as he was, it would have taken far more luck than we clearly possessed to hit that target—but it did sink into the lower right side of the creature's head, close to its mouth. The head of the spear buried itself between a couple of the scrabbling appendages that had been grasping at Chiffon. Where its jaw would have been, if it had a snakelike head to match its body.

That part of it isn't armored, I realized, even as the creature recoiled with a violent, rattling screech that was so loud I felt like my ears might bleed. Bastion's spear stuck out from the lower right side of its head. I could already see the glint of its blood in the moonlight, pooling around the head of the spear.

The giant body shuddered, then with another aggressive twitch of its disgusting head it released Chiffon, hurling the girl through the air. She hit the side of a dune and then rolled down limply, body coming to a rest in a crumpled heap. She lay there, out of range of the snakelike creature's striking range…but silent and unmoving.

Bastion exclaimed again, moving as if he wanted to go help his unconscious Arena partner, now bereft of his spear. I half expected the mutt to collapse, to escape back into its hole under the sand—but despite the fact that the weapon was impaled in the side of its head, the creature wasn't retreating.

Bastion's attack hadn't killed it. It had only pissed it off. It had only released Chiffon to focus on the real threat—the boys with the weapons. It let out another rattling hiss—I was eerily reminded of the scorpion mutt, though the sound was slightly different—and it swung its head, eyes honing in on Bastion.

Its next target.

It lunged forward in a quick strike—moving incredibly fast, given its size—teeth gnashing, gaping maw straining towards the dark-haired boy from District 2, the grasping appendages reaching for him. Wanting to grab him, to reel him in.

Bastion reacted as soon as the mutt moved. Faster than I would have, honed by years of Career training. His dark features contorted with alarm and he threw herself out of the way, attempting to escape the clutches of the creature, the rows and rows of teeth. Those teeth closed on empty air, missing Bastion's leg by a couple of feet. And the boy had learned from Chiffon's mistakes, rolling with the momentum and scrambling to his feet, backing up quickly to ensure he was easily out of range of a subsequent strike. He was faster than Chiffon, unimpeded by a head injury. I saw a glint of metal and realized he had drawn his knife. His only other weapon, I was pretty sure, unless he had another knife in his pack.

"Take care of Chiffon!" I heard Bastion yell in my general direction, snapping me out of my inactivity. "We'll kill this thing! Make sure she doesn't die!" His voice was hoarser than I'd ever heard it.

My muscles obeyed before my brain could think it through. Chiffon was sprawled in the sand, unmoving. I gave the mutt a wide berth, letting my feet take me over to her despite my brain still trying to catch up. She had been thrown out of its immediate range, but still close enough that it could reach us in seconds. Especially if it emerged from its sandy burrow further. I would have to be extremely cautious, and keep an eye on it, have my axe at the ready.

But I knew I had to do this. Bastion wanted me to take care of his partner…he had realized that if she died, he'd be forced to face down the monster while penalized. I wasn't sure if he knew what the penalty was, but it didn't matter. The thought of those two trying to fight the snakelike creature, one of them without the use of their dominant hand…

Not a pleasant thought.

I glanced back in their direction briefly. Cato, in true Career fashion, had banished his fear, and taken advantage of the mutt's focus on Bastion to shift position.

After it lunged, teeth snapping in the space where Bastion had just been, Cato had circled around further, trying to face it head on. Perhaps hoping to catch its attention, to impale it as it lunged. Its head was seemingly vulnerable, after all. His other hand still clutched a knife and I saw his eyes scanning the creature, ready to capitalize on an opening.

I yanked my attention away from that, and back to Chiffon. I couldn't worry about what they were doing. I had to follow Bastion's instructions; this was all I could do right now. They could fight the mutt, and I could tend to the wounded girl. I knew first aid. I would put it to use, instead of standing there and hoping I'd get a lucky throw with my axe.

Yet the spear hadn't killed it. So maybe an axe throw, even a good one, wouldn't be enough.

I focused on Chiffon's motionless form, having crouched down next to her. There had been no cannon, so she wasn't dead. But as I quickly scanned her, it didn't look good. She was unconscious, but her breaths were rattling, the rise and fall of her chest weak. She was contorted oddly. The sand likely cushioned her fall, but that thing had shaken her around viciously before throwing her with all its might. I took one look at her foot and ankle…and fought back the sudden urge to gag and vomit.

It was a complete mess. Blood soaked into the sand beneath her, and it was obvious that a row of the creature's teeth had sank into her ankle, cutting through the material of the boot and biting deep into the skin underneath. It was continuing to bleed heavily. Her skin was riddled from the bite marks, and my stomach roiled, as I realized her foot was twisted oddly. There was no way she'd walk, even if she were conscious.

I wanted to remove her boot, to access her injury easier, but with how mangled and crooked her foot was, I wasn't sure that was possible.

Shit, I thought. I set down my axe right next to me and shrugged off my pack quickly, despite feeling the hopelessness of her situation. What was I supposed to do right here and now? The injury was far too deep for a tub of medicine to fix it up. Blood coated her skin. She needed surgery. Yet I dug through my backpack mechanically, as if I could find some miracle in there to help her.

To help this person I didn't even like, I realized. Who would kill me at the first opportunity. Yet…my fear of uselessness—of what might happen to Bastion and then the rest of us if she died—propelled me onward. As well as the knowledge that I'd face his wrath if I didn't help. He would have an easier time killing me than the mutt.

I poured some water over the horrid injury, trying to clean some of the blood off, then pulled out a thick bandage and attempted to press it on the wound. I needed to stop the bleeding. Yet I felt sick, seeing the massive puddle of blood, hearing her wheezing breaths.

An angry rattling noise jolted my attention back to the mutt, and I felt my stomach sink. I wasn't sure if Cato or Bastion had struck it again—blood was dripping onto the ground below it, but that could have been from Chiffon's knife earlier—or if it had recognized the threat the two boys posed.

But it was clearly even more angered.

It pulled back, then the sand beneath it shifted. To my horror, more of it began to emerge from the ground, little by little. It was exposing more of its body, raising itself to tower even higher in the air, until it had to be more than fifteen feet high, gigantic and menacing. As it moved, there was a strangled gurgling underneath the menacing hiss that escaped its maw. An odd sound, the source of which I couldn't determine.

Its attention began shifting between Cato and Bastion, both of whom were brandishing their weapons. Both clearly looking for an opening, because Bastion had already lost a spear, and neither of them wanted to relinquish their knives unless it was going to be a lethal hit. The snakelike mutt was pulled back as if it wanted to strike, but unsure about who to strike first.

Perhaps it had learned caution, due to the spear sticking out of the side of its head. I didn't like the idea of it adapting.

Or perhaps the person controlling it—because I never knew how much of a mind these mutts had on their own—was the one adapting.

But that was 2's problem right now—I had my task. I couldn't just sit here uselessly.

I glanced back down, still pressing a bandage against the bleeding gashes on Chiffon's ankle, my eyes skimming the rest of her form. And I saw something odd; there were a few torn sections of her pants where I could see injuries underneath. But they almost looked more like burns, not cuts like I would expect. As I stared, my eyes began to pick out other burns, underneath rips and tears in Chiffon's clothing, not limited to her legs. There was a particularly large one on her midsection.

One thing at a time. First and foremost, I had to try to bind the wound on her ankle that was bleeding profusely. With her foot twisted at an odd angle, I couldn't tell if the mutt had severed anything, or if she'd just broken it badly. I yanked out strips of gauze, taking a deep breath through my nose. Fighting down the nausea. I needed to bind the bandage to the wound. Quickly. I already felt exposed, knowing it could turn this way any moment. Having to glance over there sporadically to make sure it was still focused on the boys from 2.

I heard a yell—the mutt, quicker than expected, had lunged forward towards Cato. He had leapt to the side and then swung widely with his sword, hoping to catch its head on the blade, but the creature caught itself and pulled back just in the nick of time. Fast. Too fast, I thought.

Its strikes really were snakelike. Quick and deadly, the creature recoiling immediately if it didn't hit its target, pulling back to ready itself for another.

I'm sure the Gamemakers are proud of themselves for designing this thing.

Chiffon groaned in pain, eyelids fluttering, still unconscious, the sound drawing my attention. Her breathing sounded painful. I swallowed hard, carefully wrapping gauze around the bandage as quickly as I could. It was difficult, as I was not willing to move her foot much. Fixing the contorted appendage was far beyond my skill. And still, she jolted in pain, even while unconscious.

There was just so much blood. Swearing softly as I tied off the end of the gauze, I began to dig through my pack again, looking for anything else that could possibly help her.

Another yell, this time from Bastion. My eyes flicked up as he narrowly rolled out of the way of another lunge from the creature. He swung his knife quickly, just nicking one of its appendages, angering it even further.

Surely it will tire, right? I thought. Yet it had only been a few minutes since it had emerged, and Bastion was already stuck without a ranged weapon. His spear was still embedded in the mutt, but retrieving it would mean letting the snakelike monster very, very close, long enough to wrench the weapon out. And the mutt was lunging so quickly, so efficiently, its reflexes incredible.

Not ideal. I repressed a shudder.

Of course, nothing was ideal about this.

I didn't have the supplies I needed to treat her right now. Not fully. And I had to keep one eye on the mutt. Who knew how much more of its body was buried beneath the dunes? Who knew how fast it could move if it wanted to travel across the sand to capitalize on the easier meal?

Hell, as I rifled through my backpack, I realized I didn't even have the materials needed for stitches. I was pretty sure they were in Chiffon's pack, and that must have been thrown somewhere while the mutt was yanking her around.

I scanned the area, looking for it, but it seemed futile. Even if I could stitch her up, if I found the time and materials to do it and if she somehow woke up…she couldn't walk on that foot.

Keep trying! My instinct screamed at me. Keep her alive. Don't be useless, like you were against the scorpion.

A memory flashed before my eyes. Me, knife raised, poised to throw it at the scorpion that clutched Autumn in its pincers. The monstrous creature hunting us, seemingly impervious to damage except for…

The flashlight.

Would that be useful to me again? There actually were some similarities between the two mutts. Both attacked from being buried underground, both had emerged at night. Both had some sort of protection from traditional weapons…the scorpion had the carapace, the snakelike mutt had its scaly hide. The similarities ended there, but perhaps the same Gamemaker had designed both of them. It was possible that the strange flashlight was both of their weakness.

It seemed like that would be too convenient—that I would be given this weapon that would work against every mutt I faced, while nobody else had a similar weapon—but it was tugging at me anyway. I quickly pulled the strange flashlight from my pack. Even if it only slowed down the mutt slightly…

Cato had taken another unsuccessful swipe at the grotesque thing, which appeared to have adopted the approach of taking quick, but measured, strikes. It had recognized the danger of the boys from 2 and their weapons. One well-timed slash from Cato's sword, though…

I flicked the flashlight on quickly, aiming it in the mutt's direction, only taking a second to adjust my angle before the unusual purple beam flickered across one of its massive eyes. The creature flinched, but only marginally; instead of recoiling away, its head swiveled, turning to find the source of the beam. I was almost directly to its side, and I saw the instant it honed in on me. With the flashlight trained on it I could see its rapid blinking, its pupil narrowing and then shrinking as it became accustomed to the harsh light. It was only a few seconds before a rattling hiss escaped the mutt's maw and it stopped trying to move away from the light, its eyes fully adjusting to the strange beam.

It wasn't like the scorpion where it felt the need to flee, where it couldn't bear the touch of the beam against its eyes.

I hadn't injured it so much as temporarily distracted it. And then pissed it off.

But before I could panic, before I could realize that I had drawn unnecessary attention to myself, there was another sound of pain from the mutt, earsplitting and painful. It wasn't due to the strange flashlight, seemingly more of a mild irritation; instead, I could see the dark shape of a hilt. Cato had thrown his knife from range, taking advantage of the brief distraction to bury the weapon in the side of the creature's head. A good throw, able to be carefully aimed while the creature was entirely focused on my flashlight.

He must have decided it was the perfect time to use his only ranged weapon. To land a more guaranteed strike.

So my actions weren't entirely useless then.

Yet the mutt didn't fall, even with a knife sticking out one side of its head, the spear the other. Instead it reared backwards, away from the two boys, the gurgling sound increasing in intensity. What the hell was that noise?

Terror was still coursing through me, as Chiffon groaned again. I set the flashlight back down—it had become clear that it didn't damage this mutt the way it did the scorpion, and it had adjusted quickly. Even if it fell for my distraction again somehow, that would probably only cause it to come after me. And I didn't want to risk that.

I re-applied pressure to Chiffon's wound, over the gauze. She was bleeding through the bandage quickly. I tried to ignore her soft sounds of pain, adrenaline still hot in my veins, watching the battle unfold.

Even with its injuries, the creature was still standing, still angry. Still poised to attack.

As my eyes took in its shape, the way it was bleeding noticeably but still pulling back, preparing for another strike, I knew they were going to have to do more than stab it. They were injuring it, but also making it more aggressive. And they had lost two weapons in the process, currently embedded in the creature's massive, grotesque head.

Cato appeared to have come to this realization, too. He was charging again, sword at the ready, getting far closer to the creature than before. Well within its range, throwing caution to the wind. Perhaps wanting the mutt to strike, to fall for the bait, so that he could drive his sword through its head. Or cut off its head entirely.

Risky.

He was fearless, I realized. Or if he felt fear, I couldn't tell. Not with the way he charged, without hesitation, directly at the mutt. I saw Bastion rushing at it too, from the side angle, ready to assist with his knife if possible.

The snakelike mutt moved fast, despite the injuries. It lunged forward in a quick strike at Cato, but it wasn't trying to bite him. Instead, its mess of appendages scrabbled towards his arm and sword, attempting to wrap around the weapon, to pry it from his grip. Changing its strategy, wanting to disarm its opponent.

Adapting.

Cato's sword sliced cleanly through a few of the appendages as he drove it towards the creature's skull, the rest of the tendrils grasping at him. The creature released an angry hiss of pain…but then I heard a sound I hadn't expected. A sharp yell, jarring coming from Cato; I hadn't heard him cry out like that before.

And the next instant he was rolling out of the way, scrambling backwards away from the creature's rows of teeth. The beast pulled back before Bastion could embed his knife in the side of its head—he appeared reluctant to throw it, given what happened before—but I saw black blood coursing from the place where its appendages had been severed. Cato's sword, which had been entangled in the mutt's remaining tendrils, went flying across the sand, landing a short distance away, on Bastion's other side. Cato was still backpedaling sharply, and I realized he was clutching his sword hand in pain. Had it caught him, then? From this angle I couldn't see the injury, but I felt my stomach sink in panic—if he was injured, and Bastion only had a knife…

The creature was poised to strike again, but there was a stream of black blood dripping from the tendrils that had been cut off by Cato's sword. It hesitated slightly, and I thought I saw it shudder more visibly than before, even swaying slightly before straightening again…now was it beginning to feel its injuries?

"The blood!" Cato gritted out to his district partner. "It fucking burns,"

That explainedwhy he let go of his sword.

And that also let me know the source of Chiffon's strange burns. They must have been caused by creature's blood.

Despite Cato's warning, the dark-haired boy from 2 had scrambled for Cato's discarded weapon, running for it desperately while the mutt was recovering from its latest injury. He picked it up from the sand and then shifted it to his dominant hand. "Can't attack it head on, then! Distract it for me," he told the now-swordless Cato.

"How do you expect to-"

"I have an idea," Bastion cut him off, confidence oozing in his voice. "Trust me."

And apparently, Cato did trust him. I shouldn't be surprised at that, after witnessing the two interact.

My Arena partner gritted his teeth and then shouted, gesturing wildly while backpedaling, trying to draw the thing's attention. But it was focused on Bastion, having turned to face the biggest threat—the tribute with a weapon. The snake's back was to me now, the rows of spines running up its scaly body visible to me again, and Cato yelled with frustration.

"7! Toss me your axe!" He snapped, holding his uninjured arm out expectantly, face taut with pain. Still willing to fight, even with the severe burns on his sword arm and hand.

Probably better I didn't tell him about the partner death penalty, the useless, idle thought struck me. My eyes flicked over to my axe, sitting on the sand behind me. Did I really want to give up my weapon when the mutt could turn its attention on me at any minute?

"Unless you're going to come kill this fucking thing, give me the axe now!" Cato snapped, fury leaking into his tone.

He was right. I grabbed it, throwing it sideways in his general direction, in a way that didn't risk impaling him with it. Cato scrambled forward, picking up the axe in his non-injured hand, turning to face the giant mutt again.

He yelled, pulling his arm back and throwing the axe at the creature. I knew he was trying to draw its ire away from Bastion, standing nearly on the opposite side of the monster as his fellow district 2 tribute. The weapon flew through the air, end over end. It was a decent throw, but immediately apparent that he had thrown it with his non-dominant hand. Slightly clumsy, by Career standards…yet still a better throw than almost any other tribute would have managed.

But the mutt noted the movement out of the corner of its eye, twisting and pulling back slightly to avoid the weapon. The axe didn't sink into the creature's head. Instead, it only nicked the end of one of the remaining fleshy hanging tendrils before continuing on and bouncing off of the scaly body harmlessly, a couple feet below the area that was vulnerable. The weapon landed on the sand, but close to the mutt. Too close for me to reach safely without a distraction.

I now felt weaponless and vulnerable, even with its focus being elsewhere.

I found myself releasing one hand from the mess of bandage pressed against Chiffon's ravaged ankle, shifting through my pack again until I found it—my knife. My hand grasped the hilt for reassurance.

The mutt was now hissing its fury, the gurgling sound still present underneath. But after it had briefly turned towards Cato, Bastion had leapt into a blur of motion on its other side.

I held my breath as he charged for it, weapon raised. I had no idea what he expected to do once he got close, or how he expected to reach the creature's head without it turning to strike at him. It wasn't looking at him, yet, partially turned away. But how would he reach the vulnerable part of the mutt?

He said he had a plan, surely he didn't plan to-

But I never found out what he planned.

The mutt jerked abruptly in the recognition of approaching danger, the gurgling sound increasing in volume for a split second, and a heartbeat later I realized what that sound signified.

It wasn't striking again; it had another weapon.

It thrashed wildly, and suddenly a spray of thick, dark liquid spewed from its mouth in every direction. Copious amounts of droplets flew through the air, almost as if in slow motion. The stream of liquid scattered every which way due to the creature's violent movements.

A defense mechanism when it's injured, something inside my mind said. The gurgling sound was its preparation for this.

Cato yelled again; clearly a few droplets of the liquid had struck him. Though he was still moving, backpedaling wildly, on his feet…so he had to be mostly unscathed. Luckily, I was far enough away that none of the dangerous liquid landed near me.

It pulled back, just seconds later, ceasing its spitting. The gurgling sound cut off abruptly. It was obvious that the creature had spit the liquid—likely venomous, evidently painful—in a desperate spray as a last-resort, trying to prevent any threats from reaching it.

And the damage had already been done.

Bastion had been only a few feet away from its unexpected assault. About to strike, far closer to the venomous spray than Cato…and the unlucky recipient of nearly all of it.

His front was coated with the dark, thick liquid released by the creature. Before it even stopped spitting, his cry of sheer, unbearable agony permeated the night air. I winced, horror climbing into my throat. The snake was partially positioned between us, but even from here, I could see the boy's form crumple to the ground, his howls of pain continuing.

The venomous spit must be more concentrated and deadly than the blood that had gotten on Cato and Chiffon, judging by the noises coming from Bastion's throat.

Bastion's hands were scrabbling at his eyes and face, as he tried to get words out, but they were warbled and thick. All I could hear were the sounds of pain. I could dimly see that he was trying to move backwards, to get away from the creature, but he was moving too slowly.

Far too slowly.

It's going to kill him…and then it'll move on to Cato, and you.

Something clicked into place in my brain.

The next few moments all seemed to happen at once.

"Bastion!" Cato roared, an edge to his voice that I'd never heard before. He took off running—weaponless—as soon as he realized Bastion had been struck. Trying to get there in time, trying to reach his friend and the weapon glinting on the ground, even though the sword was on Bastion's other side next to his collapsed form. The dark-haired boy must have dropped it, heedless of his surroundings in his pain; I wondered if the snake's venom had blinded him.

Yet Cato sprinted that way anyway, risking his life to protect someone from his district, trying to get to the weapon in time, despite knowing that he'd likely get even more injured in the process.

And the mutt was still facing that way. Despite a thick puddle of blood below it from its wounds, it pulled back, preparing another strike as Cato scrambled towards the other boy.

He won't get there in time, some part of me thought distantly, even as I found myself standing. Bastion will die, and that will leave me and an injured Cato to face this thing, and he's got to get to his sword…

YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!

And I was suddenly running, moving against my will. Some base instinct driving me on, without a thought or care for how intelligent my decision was.

And it certainly wasn't intelligent.

In fact, even as I found my legs moving, carrying me straight towards the mutt with my knife clutched in my left hand, I realized I was being incredibly stupid.

Johanna was probably cursing me right now, I knew.

Yet some strange sense of courage and bravery, which I wasn't ever quite sure would emerge in a moment like this, had combined with my innate instinct, driving me forward.

I didn't know for sure where it came from. This bravery, and this stupidity. If I had to guess, I would say it was that small, burning ember of survival driving me on, begging me to do something. Anything. To not just sit there, because I could be moments away from death.

I felt like I had to act now, while it was turning away from me, because if I hesitated, and Bastion and Chiffon died, and the Gamemakers didn't call this thing off…

I had to move, and I was, that primal instinct driving me on. I wouldn't question it now. I wouldn't question that little survivalist part of my brain, the part that had always been right.

The part that I needed to rely on, to get back home.

So I ran, pushing myself across the short distance of sand, sprinting straight for the mutt's back.

Even before I could get there, though, the creature lunged forward in another strike, wanting to finish the job while Bastion was helpless. Yet the strike appeared slower than before, impeded by its injuries. Clumsier.

Its back was still facing me, preventing me from clearly seeing what was unfolding, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Cato nearly to his friend's side, Bastion still scrambling backwards on the ground.

I knew there was no way Bastion could get out of the way in time, not with the way he was moving, the way his agonized shouts still echoed through the air. Even with the mutt's slightly slower movements, with Bastion trying to get out of range, unless he got the weapon…

Focus.

Yet a half-second later I heard a sickening squelching sound, followed by another agonized cry coming from Bastion, and then a yell of fury from Cato.

Don't think about that. Don't think about what they're doing. Think about what you have to do. You could be next, I thought, my desire to survive overriding everything else in my mind, giving me bravery that I would never have expected to possess.

The mutt had reared back again as I reached it, still facing away from me. It was struggling, a screeching sound coming from its maw. Perhaps Cato had struck it again.

But it was still moving, still alive, and that was why I made one of the dumbest decisions of my life.

I put the handle of the knife between my teeth. And I began to climb.

The snakelike mutt had parallel rows of ridges—spines—on its back, with perhaps two feet of space between the rows. And a small gap between the individual spines themselves. Small enough for a petite foot or hand, for example. They were serving as perfect handholds for what I wanted to do. Each was plenty big enough for me to get a grip on. They were pointed, though not as sharp as the teeth, not jagged enough to cut me without some force being applied. Still, I had to be careful not to get myself impaled.

An image flickered before my eyes. The rock wall, during training. This wasn't even so different. In fact, these handholds and footholds were more regular than any climbing wall. My best skill was helping me out yet again. Some distant, twisted part of me wanted to laugh.

Except that this thing was moving. Trees would move when I climbed them, but not like this. Not so abruptly, with force.

Pay attention! I chided myself, as the creature thrashed. I almost slipped off, and had to grasp onto a couple of the spines in a death grip, hands already aching due to the force. Had it noticed me?

It would seem so. It began to twist back and forth, making my climb slower and more difficult, another rattling hiss escaping its throat. It didn't like what I was doing—but had no idea how to get to me. Because why would it ever expect a tribute to be stupid enough climb up its back?

Yet it has these spines. What else are they good for, if not for climbing? Is this what the Gamemakers wanted me to do?

I couldn't think about that now. I briefly paused in my ascent, wedging my feet in narrow spots between a couple of the spines on each side, turning them outwards, pressing my body to the creature's revolting scaly hide to prevent it from shaking me off as it thrashed yet again. Then it twisted its head, attempting to locate the source of the nuisance.

But it was impossible with me only being several feet below its head, and its scaly body didn't exactly enable the movement it was trying to make. My hands ached as I gripped two of the spines with everything I had, knuckles whitening. I was over halfway to the top; I couldn't fail. I clung on with all my might, scarcely avoiding being thrown off.

I knew if it was trying to get rid of me at full strength, I'd probably be hurled off in an instant. Instead, it was weakening. The blows were adding up.

There was blood roaring in my ears; I felt like all I could hear was the creature's frustrated sounds, and my own heartbeat. And then dimly, I heard Cato saying something, and I thought I saw him in the corner of my eye, standing and facing me. Yelling.

I couldn't make out the words, and I couldn't bring myself to care right now. He had probably noticed my ridiculous plan by now. He was probably wondering what the hell I was doing.

Trying to save your stupid life, and my own, I thought, taking advantage of the creature's brief pause—it must be tiring now—to continue my ascent.

Keep going, I thought.

A fifteen feet climb would normally have taken me mere seconds. But not when it was a gigantic snakelike mutt trying to shake me off at every second. Trees didn't fight back.

I almost slipped off again as the loud boom of a cannon reverberated all around me, startling me. A sharp cry escaped my lips as I felt one of the spines scrape up against me.

It had to be Bastion, I assumed, with a sick feeling in my stomach. Or maybe Chiffon—I had abandoned her for this rash decision after all—but I couldn't think about it now.

I had a sneaking suspicion that the Gamemakers wouldn't consider this Arena over until the finale—the fight against the giant, buried killing machine—was over. After all, what were a couple extra deaths in the grand scheme of things? Would they really care if the first Arena ended with two extra deaths, if it meant such a good show?

I didn't think so.

That spurred me on.

And then, I was at the top. As far as I needed to go. The spines had reached up high, ending around the back of its head (it was hard to tell on this disgusting creature) and my fingers clenched reflectively around the ones I was currently clinging to.

I could reach my target. But I knew I had little time to do this. The mutt was still twisting and turning, though less vigorously now, realizing its attempts were unsuccessful.

I should be grateful it didn't try to drag me back under the sand, I thought dimly.

Adrenaline and nerves and terror and fear were coursing throughout me, but under that all was a burning, steady sense of determination that I had never quite felt before. It was telling me that I could do this, that I had to do this.

This was my opportunity. I had to take it. Otherwise, Cato would be standing against it, and if it killed him, I would be next. Unless the Gamemakers showed mercy…which I doubted.

Plus, with his hand and arm covered in burns, it was even worse odds.

I refuse to just sit around and wait for the worst to happen.

I gripped the spine in my right hand tighter than I'd ever gripped anything before, my feet positioned on other spines below me. It was now or never.

I released my left hand, quickly grabbing the knife out from between my teeth.

In my peripheral, I could see the puddle of black blood on the ground, as well as one of Bastion's motionless feet. But I couldn't think of that.

Now or never.

In an instant—and with more coordination and effort than I thought I was capable of in a situation this dire—I pulled myself up a bit further, as much as I dared while maintaining a sturdy grip. I was only gripping a spine in one of my hands, now, my feet wedged between others as best as I could position them. I had to make this quick, before the mutt thrashed again.

I raised the knife in my left hand—the creature began to twist again, detecting the movement—but it was too late.

With as much force as I could possibly muster, I drove the blade directly into the snake's massive left eyeball, barely in reach.

Despite seeing my movement at the last second, and perhaps realizing the danger, its reaction time was too slow. It gave another shake of its massive body, but it did not succeed in dislodging me before my knife sank deep into my target.

A horrific, resounding sound of pain was torn from the mutt's throat, cutting through the air, louder than any before, and another shudder shook the creature to its core. I gritted my teeth, pressing down on the knife even further, even feeling my stomach lurch with nausea. I needed to drive the blade all the way in, in the hopes of piercing its brain, and partially blinding it. But as my blade sank further, I was almost certain I was going to throw up. The feel of the creature's eyeball, giving way beneath my knife—

And then I had embedded the weapon up to the hilt, and I felt the sharp sting of the mutt's acidic blood spurting from its eyeball and coating my hand. The pain seared across my skin, making me let go of the knife reflexively as I cried out.

Pain.

And now the creature thrashed again, with even more violence than I expected, as if it were mustering up every last second of force and strength within its body. Recognizing the severity of this wound. Its fury rasped from its maw in an enraged rattle, yet it moved in a panic, in sheer desperation. Trying to hurl me off, the pest that had partially blinded it.

By now, after releasing the knife, I was only clinging to it with my feet and one hand. The other stung horribly, aching and burning from the blood as I tried to wipe it off. I attempted to scrabble at one of the ridges on its back again, but my hand was slippery and smarting with pain, and I struggled for purchase as the mutt continued to struggle.

And then I felt a sharp sting across my stomach, and another across my shins—I must have scraped by the spines—and I was flying through the air, my grip on the mutt's spiny ridges finally dislodged due to its violent squirming. Yet as I hurtled through the air (much as Chiffon had earlier), all I could really think about was the knife hilt jutting out of the thing's eye.

There was no chance of me landing on my feet. At the last second I tried to twist my shoulder to protect my head, attempting to curl my body so that I could hopefully roll with the landing and minimize the damage. The mutt had thrown me off, hard, and the air left my lungs in a rush as I collided with the ground, the sand thankfully helping to cushion my fall.

I rolled as intended with the impact, feeling my entire body ache all over. My hand was still searing from the mutt's blood. My stomach and shin stung. I was going to have bruises. But I couldn't think about that.

After I stopped rolling, I sucked in a breath of air, heart pounding in my chest. For a few seconds, I just lay there on my back, staring up at the sky. Letting a gust of wind blow sand against my cheeks, wiping a hand across my eyes to clear them, the other still stinging as I scrabbled to wipe off the blood in the sand. It felt like I had briefly shoved half of my hand in boiling water.

But I hadn't been injured in any life-threatening way. And I had done what I wanted to. Yet…I still felt…empty. All of that bravery, determination and adrenaline had seeped out of my body abruptly, leaving me feeling hollow and shaky. Drained. Completely and totally exhausted.

Whatever courage I'd mustered up, it had been forced out of my body as soon as I hit the ground.

You can't just lie there. Move.

I had to know that it was dead—even as I realized that the pained screech had morphed into something quieter, more of a rattling hiss.

Sucking in another deep breath of air, I tried to sit up, raising myself up on my elbows.

My eyes fell upon the snakelike mutt just in time to see that it was attempting to retreat—bleeding and weak, it was pulling back, trying to disappear back into the burrow it had emerged from. Yet it was slow, lethargic. Blood puddled around it, the knife still embedded in one eye. And it was swaying back and forth. I wasn't even sure if it would make it back underground before it stilled; judging by its jolting, slow movements, I had pierced its brain. Or maybe all of the other injuries added up.

But it never got the chance to retreat into its hole, whether it was going to die or not.

There was a flicker of movement and I saw Cato—and for a second, my heart stopped in my chest. He was standing, sword in hand, and the look on his face was so frightening that I felt like I had gotten off easy all the previous times he glared at me. Those glares seemed friendly in comparison. His face was white, a mask of absolute fury, violence so thick in his eyes that he truly looked like the monster I always thought he was.

But the ire wasn't directed at me. With a furious, angry roar that scraped against his throat, Cato stepped forward. The grotesque mutt was still working on a belated retreat underground, its head was only a few feet above the sand—an easy target. Cato's sword flashed, metal glinting in the moonlight even as most of the weapon was soaked with black blood.

With a heavy, aggressive, and powerful swing (it was a two-handed swing, despite his injury, I noticed), Cato decapacitated the mutt, sword slicing its head cleanly off before it could bury its way back in the sand. A roar of fury escaped his mouth as he ended its life for good.

I should have expected that, from a Career. Trained to make sure it was dead. Especially now that he had an angle where he could cut through it entirely, in its only vulnerable area: above the neck.

The head fell to the ground with a thump and then rolled, the mutt's remaining appendages twitching slightly before they stilled. Black blood puddled and seeped into the sand, accentuating the grotesque scene. With one last hiss, it was silent and unmoving, though the blood still glistened in the light provided by the Gamemakers. Its headless snake body remained in the burrow, dark liquid dripping from the neck.

I had done it. Or…I had helped kill it, in addition to the injuries caused by Cato and Bastion.

The resounding silence almost seemed louder than the mutt's dying rattle.

I took the opportunity to quickly scan my injuries. Not life-threatening. The cuts on my stomach and shins stung, and I could feel them bleeding, though they were shallow and paled compared to the burning in my hand. It had slightly abated after wiping the blood off, but still ached. I then turned more to the side, eyes falling on Cato again.

Cato's eyes were still frightening. They found me for just a split second—where I rested half-upright on my elbows a short distance away, bruised and achy, one of my hands searing with pain and the other pressed against the bleeding scrape on my stomach—but I wasn't sure he really saw me, before he turned to Bastion's body without a word.

He's still alive, I realized aimlessly, with some shock. Bastion was on his back, nearly motionless, but I could see the very faint rise of his chest. One of his hands was resting palm-up on the sand, and I saw his fingers twitch.

The other cannon must have been for Chiffon, I realized, though I could barely see her crumpled body from here.

I tried to slow my still-racing heartbeat, to gather my energy from where I rested on my elbows, eyes on Cato.

"Bastion!" he was saying, voice raw, a tone I'd never heard from him before. It pulled at my stomach strangely. "Fucking wake up! It's dead!"

And his expression was unrecognizable. Angry, sure; I was used to him being angry. But there was something almost like disbelief underneath. As if he never expected to be here, to see what was unfolding before him.

My eyes flitted to Bastion, attempting to get a glimpse of his condition. Would he make it? Should I go over and attempt to give him first aid?

I immediately regretted my decision to look at him.

I closed my eyes, willing the image away, fighting back the bile threatening to rise in my throat.

No. Why did I look?

Autumn's small body, her spasms after the scorpion stung her, would stick with me forever. I knew that.

But this…this was worse, in some ways. Bastion wasn't from my district, I didn't like him…but I wouldn't say I hated him. At least compared to the other Careers. He had been more tolerable than most, less cruel and disparaging to me.

I never would have wanted to see him like this. I didn't have any courage left, the stomach to deal with it.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, but the image of him was already burned behind my eyelids. My stomach roiled, and I barely bit back the vomit. Bastion's face and most of his body that I'd been able to see had been an unrecognizable mess of burns, mangled and contorted beyond belief. As if his skin had been partially melted off in places, parts of his face almost looking melded together. Whatever venom the mutt had spit once it got severely injured, it was clearly far more concentrated than its blood. It had burned through his skin, ruined it beyond repair.

There had been blood splattered across his front as well—a mixture of dark and crimson, the mutt's blood and his. Likely the result of its final strike.

And his other arm—his spear arm—had been mostly severed. It was hanging on by a thread. The sight had caused my stomach to heave. Perhaps it occurred when the mutt struck again, when Cato was still rushing to his side. Maybe Bastion had tried some last-ditch effort to grab the sword, to strike the creature, even though he had clearly been blinded by the venom the mutt had spit at him. There was crimson blood everywhere. The limb had looked like it was scarcely held together, the massive puddle beneath him growing alarmingly by the second.

My stomach clenched again, and I swallowed dryly, focusing on sucking in breaths of air, opening my eyes again to stare into the night sky.

He wasn't going to make it…not with how fast he was bleeding. I had only had to look at Bastion's bloody, mangled body for a second to see that. With a nearly severed limb, the rate of bleeding, and all his other injuries….I tried to suppress a shudder.

Hell, even if the Games ended right this instant, and a hovercraft materialized immediately, I wasn't sure they could save him in time.

No matter what Cato did, it wouldn't be enough.

"I've got medicine!" Cato was saying. I could hear the sounds of him rifling through whatever supplies he had, desperate to find something to help. "Just stay awake."

Maybe you should get up, at least try to help, something in my mind thought, despite the fact that Bastion wasn't my friend. That he was going to die with his injuries, regardless. That he needed to die, to increase my chances of survival.

Yet some soft-hearted part of me felt horrid just sitting here, even knowing he couldn't have much longer.

I stirred, forcing myself into a full-on sitting position, grimacing despite the pain. I glanced around for my pack—yet it was far from me, on the other side of the mutt's corpse, next to Chiffon's crumpled form.

I could hear the boy's dying breaths from here, barely rattling from his chest. Bastion let out a weak, gurgling cough. Trying to talk, perhaps, but anything he tried to say was lost before it reached his lips.

No. You do not feel pity, I tried to tell myself, stomach lurching.

As much as I hated the Careers by nature, I did not want to watch this. I started to drag myself to my feet, unable to stop the urge of wanting to help, to do something. I could at least grab my pack, in case there was something else I could-

Just as I had the thought, the cannon sounded.

And, as if the air had been forced back out of my lungs, I sat back down heavily.

"NO!" Cato roared, his fury thick in his voice, along with something akin to desperation. "Don't you fucking dare! You fucking…asshole…"

I could practically hear him shaking the dark-haired boy from his district. He could see what was clearly in front of him, yet judging by his voice and his words, he was in denial.

It was as if Cato thought Bastion would just miraculously get better if he were demanding enough.

I closed my eyes again, tightly. I still felt like a drained vessel. Part of me wanted to just sink into the sand and disappear, like the mutt had wanted to.

I never wanted to see anyone like that. No matter who they were. It was…

Fucking Gamemakers, I thought, a bolt of anger searing through me. Because I was sure they were thrilled right now at the gory display.

And it was especially strange, to reconcile the living version of Bastion—happy go lucky, always in good spirits, despite where we were—with the mutilated shell, the empty shell Cato was still trying to rouse.

Refusing to accept his friend's death.

So he does feel human emotion after all, I thought, despite myself.

Unbidden, a tiny amount of sympathy rose in my chest, which I tried to squash down. No. You can't feel for him. He's going to try to kill you soon. I grit my teeth, forcing down the traitorous sympathy, the thoughts that I should absolutely not be having. I couldn't think of him as retaining any humanity. I couldn't.

But it was impossible to ignore the thoughts. The thoughts telling me that maybe there was some tiny shred of humanity in him…somewhere, buried deep beneath years of violence and anger. That maybe he was capable of feeling, on some level.

Maybe it didn't matter. Bastion was gone. And perhaps Cato's vestiges of humanity would die with him.

Feeling tiredness seep into my bones, I leaned backwards, laying on my back again. Focusing on trying to fight back the image of Bastion's body. On ignoring the pain in my own body, in my hand burned by the snake mutt's blood. I stared up at the starry night sky, as if it held answers.

And seconds later—no more than a minute after Bastion's cannon sounded, but an appropriate amount of time for the Capitol viewers to really take in the scene, I thought with disgust—the all-too-cheerful voice boomed out around the Arena.

"Ladies and Gentleman, we have reached the conclusion of the first Arena of the 75th Hunger Games!"

—END OF BOOK 1—

…

A/N: Per most of the recommendations, I am separating the next two Arenas out into Book 2. That way I don't have to worry about wordcount. As such, Book 1 is complete!

Book 2 is already in the works, but I will need some time to make my outline more detailed. Give me a couple weeks for that book to start. Maybe less, maybe more…I like to have the next couple chapters outlined before starting them for consistency reasons.

As for this chapter: that was, by far, the most difficult battle scene I've ever had to write. Exhausting. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please forgive any typos, but if you see something egregious...feel free to point it out because it was a lot lol. I wanted it to be action-packed, a fitting end to June's first Arena. But holy cow, I had to edit it SEVERAL times.

I have been planning Bastion's death, and the sand snake mutt, from Chapter 1 of this book. Obviously it will have a major impact on Cato going forward, but it is necessary. And it's in character for him to care about his district partner, after all (we know that from the books!)

The Capitol mutt I envisioned is a hybrid of a Mongolian Deathworm (alleged to exist by some secondhand accounts, but never discovered/likely mythological), and a snake. The head is designed after the deathworm (though I took some liberties). The body/most the behavior comes from the snake…more specifically, I pulled attributes and behavior from the black spitting cobra and the Saharan horned viper. I had to do some research, but I'm happy how it turned out.

So if anyone is curious or wants as clearer picture of what the mutt looks like, those are the things you can google. The black spitting cobra really does spit venom as a defense mechanism, which is neat.

Hey, if Suzanne Collins can create wolves that have dead tributes' DNA in them to make them humanoid, I can make a giant snake monstrosity!

I originally planned to make June's flashlight extremely useful again, like it was against the scorpion, but that just seemed a little OP/too much plot armor. After all, she was with 3 Careers to fight a single mutt, as strong as it was. And Snow might start thinking that June is especially lucky, if she's the tribute that gets a weapon perfectly suited to defeat the mutts without getting close to them. So, I didn't go with that route.

I was also going to have her step in a bit earlier, but it just seemed out of character. She's not trained for this, she's not battle-hardened. No normal person would be able to spring into action quickly there, outside of Careers. It didn't seem realistic to me that she'd be able to just instantly get over her shock and charge in. Though at the end of the day, her bravery won out.

But that's enough out of me. I'd love to hear your thoughts. And I can't wait for you guys to see what I have in store for the second Arena. It will likely be a couple of weeks (at least) before the next chapter is out…and the second book begins ;)

~~~Since this is the end of Book 1, feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you to all of you who have left reviews, favorites, follows, and kudos thus far. Means a lot. We've come a long way, over 350k words!~~~