Day 2: Morning
Salamandra Mitch
District 3 Female, 17
A part of me genuinely thinks I've gone completely insane.
The smile on my face hasn't left since I saw Valentino appear unscathed from the Cornucopia, his pockets full of the hardware I require.
I mean… I don't know what I expected.
I knew it would work out, but still, there was always a possibility that it wouldn't.
Statistically speaking, and all that.
It's like, I was vaguely aware of that possibility, but that shit was buried deep within myself, because I can't afford to doubt the success of this operation. And being validated in the fact that I'm still ahead in the game was really... awesome, for a lack of better word.
I pressed my ally for juicy details of the Bloodbath, but he wasn't very forthcoming yesterday, so I dropped the matter. The adrenaline rush of seeing him walk up to the gates of the park was pretty great on its own, and I'm sure we'll have lots of time to talk about it once he shakes off whatever's bothering him.
Not everyone is like me. And he performed his role admirably.
Yes, that's it.
The task at hand was completed to perfection. I've got my bow and arrow, as well as the small backpack with rope. He's got the spiky-looking baton that's covered in blood, and the small indented green microchips as well as an arsenal of wires that I immediately secured in my backpack.
This means I don't have to bend myself backwards to obtain what I worked so hard to convince the Gamemakers to give me. I can jump straight to the design and execution of the plan, and I'd be lying if my heart didn't flutter at the idea.
Goddamn Valentino!
If it wasn't completely unlike me, I'd hug him. It's rare that people actually make things easier for me, so he's the first of the many recent good decisions I made. And as weird as it sounds, it's nice? Yeah… it's nice to have someone to go through this with, at least for the time being.
My eyes fall of the bloody spiked baton once again, and then up at the boy who just sat up mere seconds ago, rubbing at his face to dispel the last remnants of sleep.
I wonder if any of the kids we saw yesterday up in the sky were his doing. As much as I tried to see from a distance, I couldn't tell who fought whom, and from the empty look in his eyes, I find myself not being able to infer anything at all.
I want to know so badly.
I wish he'd understand that I wouldn't judge him for it.
Hell… that's what is necessary to survive, and it'll happen again before the Games are over. If anything, that'd make me respect him more. But whatever, a question for another time.
I put on the most positive facial expression in my arsenal and stare at him in silence, grinning from ear to ear.
A little lost, he yawns, twisting his head around.
"Good morning sunshine," I intonate sweetly, closing the distance between us and crouching in front of him. Peering directly into his face to assess whether his bad mood extends to today, or whether he'll grace me with a smile and a thank you for staying up all night, slaving away.
"Morning," he replies sleepily, squinting up at me with one eye open. If he's disconcerted by my staring, he doesn't show it.
He mumbles something into his hand and I don't quite catch it.
"What?"
"I said did you sleep at all?"
"…Yes," I lie, a little taken aback by the question. In truth, I haven't even had the chance to close my eyes, too enthralled in my mission to lay-out the concrete course of actions that must be undertaken before my plan is truly in motion.
It took forever, but it's ready.
"Not much though," I backpedal, seeing the inquisitive and slightly disgruntled expression on his face.
"Was pretty occupied, and besides… didn't want to tempt fate by both of us being knocked out cold while a group of murderous clown mutts grazed the arena."
"Wait, you saw clown mutts?" Valentino asks in alarm, raising himself up on his elbows, and that's the most energy I've seen from him since the bloodbath. Good.
"Nah, I'm fucking with you," I smirk, stretching myself back to full height.
"That'd be really screwed up." I look up for effect, at the brightening sky. The first rays of sunlight are warm on my skin.
"Whatever horror you unleash on us, it better not be clown mutts, for the sake of our resident princess over here."
Valentino sighs tiredly again, as though he hasn't just woken up from his eight-hour beauty sleep.
I suppress the urge to say something snarky. Instead I make a big deal of fortifying the basic traps I set up last night around our base of operations. Rudimentary little things that won't do more than alert us of intruders, but that'll be enough for now.
It's not like I'm specifically looking for some gratitude at this point, but some acknowledgement would be cool?
He finally notices the papers I scribbled on with an ugly and oversized blue melter crayon. The rest of the pack are lying neatly tucked away in their box.
"Those crayons make for great flammable material," Valentino remarks slowly, and then nods at the papers. "Is that the plan?"
I get a little offended at his tone.
First off, yes, I fucking know the crayons make for great flammable material, because we read that together in training. Thanks for the ham-fisted exposition, mister know-it-all… you don't have to be so patronizing so early in the morning.
And second, the intonation with which he says it almost sounds mocking? But that might just be because I sorely need a nap. Despite the wise little voice in my brain telling me to let it slide, I respond in like.
"Yep… worked on that all night."
He purses his lips, as though doubting me.
And obviously, I can't help but get defensive.
You'd be surprised how long plans take. Some people have this super idiotic notion that you take some child prodigy from the districts, plop them in an arena, and then they can just cook up something beyond their years in a hostile environment that lacks seventy-five percent of the materials they require. Sure… that sounds reasonable!
Reality TV-fueled expectations, amiright?!
The fact is, to avoid mistakes that will cost you your life… you need a painstakingly accurate plan laid out in writing. You can deviate from it, sure, I don't expect anything less than a few hiccups along the way, but it has to be followed. And I think I've done a pretty good job of it, especially for our first day.
But now, with him staring at me like that, I feel pretty fucking unappreciated.
I turn around brusquely, getting back to the papers I laid out. There's primitive schematics and lists of materials I still need to gather, but they're all there.
And if he wants to be pissy today, that's his problem. My eyes flit appreciatively over my own writing.
They… our side used DNA-tracking analysis in the war, to obliterate dissidents and terrorists. My parents helped develop the Capitol weaponry, and it was elegant and efficient, just like most things that come out of District 3. It's only natural.
The technology itself had been invented about half a century before the fall of the Old World.
It started out as a covert project funded by the government, and in the pre-Panem era, it had been used for years to track people. It was quite simple, really… just a small injection followed by a pinching sensation that only lasted seconds. Mandatory for the entire populace.
Really threw conspiracy theorists for a loop, considering they were right about something, for once. That's how the government kept tabs on all of their citizens.
Where they were, what stores they liked to visit.
And more blackmail information on cheating spouses and implanted foreign embassadors than the administration could hope to process.
All for the sake of targeted advertisement and information control on every single person in the country. Lots of missed opportunities and avenues to explore, if you ask me.
The nice thing is that it worked. Millions of tiny little dots on a map, like insects scattering across their territory. My dad loved to run simulations with small population samples. I smile fondly at the fuzzy memory.
Of course, it cost a fortune to keep it up and when the old civilization collapsed, adapting this technology for a more lethal outcome was mostly forgotten in favour of primitive and mass destruction assault weapons.
There wasn't a place for elegance and precision in a world of indiscriminate casualties, before Panem came to be.
So, the intellectual property documentation lied untouched, just waiting for someone to take advantage of it.
My parents just happened to find the patents and the records in the government facilities. They put them to good use, when the Capitol had to defend itself against the rebels, during the Dark Days. They combined the tracking system with advanced drone hardware that they developed.
Imagine… an accurate and efficient method of shooting down your enemies with minimal collateral damage?
It's ruthless and inescapable, because once the attacker gets ahold of the most elemental and personalized part of you, your genetic code, there is no place on earth you can escape to, once the decision is made to annihilate.
Just a piece of hair, or a drop of blood. That's enough to put a target on your back.
These strikes enabled the Capitol to gain momentous victories over the rebels, but that's not how I plan to use the idea. As I said, I only need a tiny bit of blood and I'll be ready to wreak havoc on the remaining tributes.
Of course, when I walked the Gamemakers through my thought process, I didn't ask for the newest version. Even I'm not that self-assured.
As much as I'd love to one day work with that stuff, I only explained the basic scientific tools I would need to make my own working and scrappy version.
They seemed on board, or at least intrigued enough to let me try.
I just hoped that once I explained the whole convoluted story to Valentino, he'd share my… enthusiasm? Excitement? Curiosity?
But even now, he is sulking quietly behind me.
I whip around.
"Okay. Wanna get us both breakfast and get over whatever shit you're dealing with?" I say, even more annoyed than before.
I thought he'd get inspired by the amount of work I got done overnight.
But I can see that he's still thinking of the little girl from his district.
Aderyn.
I didn't pay much attention to her, except when I heavily considered the possibility of Valentino last-minute betraying me and forming an alliance with her. He didn't and I was proud of him for it, but I'm sure the fact that she was dead kind-of made the choice for him.
He cared about her, and seeing her in the sky yesterday night confirmed my suspicions about the way he's been acting.
But I can't have him be depressed and unmotivated when I'm buzzing with energy and ideas.
His face is unreadable, when I turn around.
"Aw come on… smile a little," I taunt him, met only with an exhausted sigh.
"Look, can you just leave me alone for a bit?"
I know I've struck a nerve.
Usually, anyone else would just let it be. Especially when you're in the Hunger Games, and you've got a dude who, for all intents and purposes, can knock all of your teeth out in one clean punch. But I can't help myself…
"Jeez, what's got your panties in a bunch?" I ask, crossing my arms and knowing full-well what's bothering him. It's just like back in District 3, where I'd get my ass handed to me because even at seven or eight years old, I couldn't keep my mouth shut.
In my infinite wisdom, I go for the weak spot.
"It's your District partner, right? I mean, I gave you your space, but unless you're the one who bashed her brains in your horror movie baseball bat over there, I don't think you should be beating yourself up about it."
"My space?" he asks incredulously, and his voice drops dangerously. "Drop it."
"You know… it's all for the best right? No attachments and shit. You're actually ready for the Games," I counter, and I mean it.
Not having someone that drags you down emotionally, like some sort of added weight to this whole mess. That's any competent tribute's dream, and as much as it might suck to admit it for Valentino, losing his district partner in the Bloodbath was the best outcome.
For the first time, I see a trace of undeniable anger in Valentino's eyes, and he stands up. I'm not one to brag, but I'm pretty tall. But he towers over me, and I become hyper-aware of the hands twitching restlessly on each side of his body.
We're face to face, and I can see his jaws clenching together.
I think for a moment that he's about to open up, or slap me hard across the face. Either would be warranted.
Instead, he turns around sharply, stalking back to the solitary bag on the ground, and sitting down cross-legged.
"You're unbelievable."
I gawk. I was prepared for some yelling or even fight, but not this.
And then, I do something very uncommon for myself.
I start feeling bad.
It's a foreign emotion, and not one I experience very often. But… he did risk his life out there. And it doesn't mean anything to me, but if I want his support, I need to be a bit more accommodating.
Fucking hell.
I shake my head in disbelief at my own bullshit, heading out of the wooden enclosed space out onto the path, sidestepping the traps that are invisible from the outside. If he wants an apology, he's getting it in the form of food. I'm not like... actually going to debase myself saying the words.
As I enter the diminutive food-booth we found yesterday, I start the grill which buzzes lightly to life. Minutes later, the frozen sausages I fish out of the small freezer in the back are sizzling on the flames.
It feels fucking weird, grilling food in the Hunger Games, like I'm some kind of model citizen living the dream. This isn't the way I had thought this would go, but I'm liking it.
I grab the two hot dogs, squirting them clumsily with ketchup, mustard and some condiments I've never actually tasted and stuff them in between bread buns. That's how it looked on the sausage package, so that's what I go for.
After a second of deliberation, just to be safe, I stuff the still-steaming buns with more stuff, until they threaten to overflow. Once I'm done with the cooking fiasco, I make my way back to our base, where my ally sits, pointedly ignoring me.
"Valentino, hey…here," I poke my ally in the shoulder with my foot and only then does he turn around, the mask of numbness still on his handsome face.
I extend my arms. "Hot dogs. As celebration for your success and the fact that we're stuck in probably the best arena ever."
I take a deep breath, and it physically pains me to say it, but I go at it anyways.
"I shouldn't have necessarily… been as much of a dick as I was. It was insensitive, a bit, maybe. I'm… look, I get we don't share a brain, so let's just move on from this."
Valentino must realize how much it's taking out of me to push those words out, because he finally smiles. It's not the carefree lopsided smile from training, but it's a start.
"Thanks Sal," he replies shaking his head, taking both hot dogs from me.
I mean… one of them was for me, and I'm Salamandra to him, we're not friends, but I let it slide for once. It's as good of an apology as he's going to get.
He scrunches up his nose momentarily at the coleslaw that falls out on his lap, and I'm about to rip him a new one about him being an ungrateful little shit, but he doesn't say anything.
"Eat up, and then we get to work," I smirk, drawing up my sleeves in anticipation.
He scarfs one down, and raises a thumbs up at me while biting into the second one as I watch him eat. With my hands around my calves and my chin hitting my knees periodically, because I deserve a little break too.
It takes me a whole minute to feel out the next words that come out of my mouth.
"And if ever you want to talk," I almost retch at the idea, "I'm here. But also, we can talk about cooler stuff."
"Sounds good," he replies, and extends his hand out to tap me on the back. "And thanks for all the work you put into this."
He waves his other hand with a half-finished hot dog that I am tempted to snatch out of his hand, but I don't.
"You'll need to explain all the logistics to me again, I'm afraid, but we're really getting somewhere."
Look at us being all conciliatory and shit. Match made in fucking heaven.
"So, what are we looking for, today?"
I smile deviously, as my chin hits my knee again. "Something… explosive."
Cira Dupont
District 1 Female, 18
"-eighteen protein bars, three liters of water, and that's what we've got for food rations," Morgana concludes, counting down on her fingers.
"Seventeen now," Ambrox remarks when Seeva steals one protein bar nonchalantly, as she's walking around the piles of separated goods.
"Traitor," she teases back, tucking the wrapper away in her pocket and biting into the bar.
The heartbroken expression on Luther's face makes me smile.
"No cookies at all, it seems," he finally reconciliates with that crushing fact, and Seeva pats him on the head affectionately.
"You don't need more cookies right now. God forbid you'd be even more jittery."
Jokes aside, there's really not a lot of resources here, as far as food goes.
In fact, after Morgana and Seeva came back from their night scouting mission within the park, we've gleamed on the fact that this year, the Cornucopia has been placed on the outskirts of the arena.
Instead of being a strategic stronghold, it contains fewer supplies than within the park.
It's not the usual situation, but it has happened before and besides a few loners who decided to run into the forest, most of the tributes have made their way into the gated grounds to the west of the Cornucopia.
It would be more strategic for us to move.
And either way, judging from the screams and ominous roaring coming from the dark trees at night, I'd bet my pinkie on the fact that the faster we put some distance between us and the forest, the better outcome it'll be for our alliance.
Chances are that whatever monstrosity is lurking there will pick off anyone unfortunate enough to be wandering the woods.
And while we are most definitely the most prepared group to confront this beast, I'm not too keen on testing our luck.
"Alright gang, so," Ambrox starts, "Let's go over the schedule of the day."
He slurps up a spoonful of the milk-soaked marshmallow cereal, holding the plastic bowl over his lap. The sponsor gift came early this morning. In fact, everyone got one too, except for Seeva.
I got a warm croissant with a small disposable plastic jar with hazelnut spread. Luther received one solitary chocolate chip cookie, and Morgana was surprised with some steaming bacon strips.
The message was pretty clear.
These were rewards for the kills from yesterday, and Seeva declined our offers to share with her, despite our best efforts. She is nothing if not proud, and I respect that. But I still can feel the restlessness within her, to get moving.
To jump into the action and redeem herself.
"Now that we've separated essentials, we will pack these into our backpacks. The rest we burn."
"We will commandeer the large wheel at the center of the park," Seeva continues, resting her hands on her knees. "We think it's the best place to set-up camp at, since it's at the very center of the park. And it also has lots of food opportunities around it, which we will be able to control."
"There's water around, yes?" I ask, to confirm.
Morgana nods at me. "Exactly. Six water fountains that we could count in the vicinity. Two separate washrooms. We didn't spot too many around, so it'll really act as a funnel once the tributes get thirsty."
We talked about that with Ambrox and Luther yesterday, after our allies came back from the park.
Something's clearly off.
There's just too much food, too many accommodations, so something's bound to limit all of that and I expect it to come sooner rather than later.
"We will separate into two groups," Ambrox continues, and I draw a circle in the sand with a stick, denoting our position outside of it.
"Three of us will go ahead and secure the Ferris Wheel, while the other two will go around and double-check the different exits around the park, if there are any."
My stick finds its way around the pre-established circle, putting an X mark on the furthest right end.
"Where there's the X, whoever goes will be able enter the park and meet the rest at the rendezvous point, which should be directly in view," Ambrox concludes, and I put a dot right at the center, punctuating his point.
"I suggest Seeva, Luther and I go together," I ask, trying to chime in a word. "U-unless anyone doesn't agree?"
As though in unison, everyone nods.
Although I'm terrified of separating myself from Ambrox, we've discussed this in training.
We have to continuously rotate the people we work with, to make sure there's no awkward intra-alliance allegiances that form to threaten the leadership of the pack.
It's not like I don't trust these people. And on this beautiful morning, with all of us eating breakfast, I find myself absolutely desperate to maintain the easygoing camaraderie we've developed.
It feels nice.
Nothing like the backstabbing cutthroat energy at the training center back in District 1.
And to preserve this, we need to make sure no internal cliques arise. And heavy lies that burden, especially when I'm the one who has to venture with the pair from District 2.
I'll be outnumbered by people who consistently outperformed me, and while Ambrox is confident they won't try anything on the first real Games day, I can't help but stress about it.
I resist the urge to bite my nails.
There's still blood stuck underneath them, from yesterday. I couldn't bring myself to clean them with a knife, and I suddenly find myself wanting nothing more than the get to our destination in order to wash my hands under running water.
The boy I killed deserved better, but we all do.
During the night, the few hours I spent in a restless state, tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, my thoughts were dedicated to him.
I know Imogen would have been tougher. She would have expelled his face from her memories the moment his corpse was picked up by the hovercraft.
But I can't. I feel weak because of it, but I couldn't stop thinking about his heavy last breaths, the way he sagged after I slit his throat.
He was a murderer when I killed him, but it didn't make it easier. Maybe it did in the moment, but the horrible thoughts still came at night.
I wanted to talk to Ambrox, and ask him if he felt bad about Orla, even though I know he didn't.
I just wanted to be justified and not alone.
But I can't show weakness like that, especially in front of my allies.
"Cira, you alright?"
I am jostled out of my thoughts by Luther who looks down at me quizzically.
I giggle, on reflex. "Yes, sorry, just was stuck in my own head. I'm ready to go."
He offers me a hand, and I take it gladly, my eyes fixating for only a second on the dried flakes of blood.
He helps me shove some medical supplies into my bag, and then loads his own as well as Ambrox's, as my district partner spills one whole bottle of lighting fluid on our supplies.
Of course.
The Gamemakers planned for us to get the hell out of here… it was only a matter of time.
"Light 'em up," Ambrox commands stepping back, and Seeva throws in a match.
The remaining supplies take a little bit of time to catch fire, but by the time we are almost at the amusement park, we see large flames coming up from where we were mere minutes ago.
"See you all for a light lunch at the Ferris Wheel," Ambrox calls after us, waving amicably as he and Morgana set off to our left.
Pulling out the tickets from our pants, Luther and I go through the turnstiles and catch Seeva's bag as she pulls herself up by the horizontal bar with small lights draped over it and clears the turnstiles in one jump.
"Welcome to Wonderland Park, creepy as fuck at night, if I say so myself, but actually surprisingly decent-looking during the day!" Seeva exclaims, waving her hands around dramatically.
She seems in a much better mood today. We weren't able to coax out any information from her, but she had seemed deeply perturbed by something. But after some sleep, she is back to being her confident and happy self. That's much better.
I take in my surroundings silently, marveling at the colorful rides and signs all around us.
It really is pretty.
"So," Luther starts the conversation, "how come you guys didn't want to kill that guy yesterday?"
"Tactful as always," Seeva responds lightheartedly.
"No, but seriously," he pushes, running a little ahead before turning around to walk backwards while facing us. "You guys find him hot or something?"
Seeva laughs loudly, sending a few birds flying off a game booth we pass.
"Nah, I'm … how does one explain... playing for the other team, if you know what I'm saying. But I don't know, it just didn't feel right."
I grin, tight-lipped. She doesn't even know how correct she is.
"Oh, right, right, right," Luther says, tapping his chin with his free hand, the other holding his spear at his side.
"Well like, you know, he could have killed me, but he didn't," Seeva explains herself, getting a little bit more pensive. "I signed up for this and I know what it takes, but I just didn't want to kill a person who trusted in my integrity."
She laughs again. "I don't know, it sounds dumb, but it mattered to me."
Luther shakes his head, in thought.
"You're right… it does sound kind of dumb."
He's promptly swatted in the arm by his district partner.
"I get what you're saying Seeva, it felt really wrong," I side with her.
"Yeah, you know? It's like… thanks dude, you didn't kill me when you had the chance, so let me just backstab you real' quick."
"But it's either him or you."
"I know but…" Seeva pauses, trying to justify herself. "Okay, let's say for example, we're in the final two, no offense Cira."
I shake my head smiling. "None taken, this is all hypothetical anyways."
"Exactly! So anyways, we're in the final two. We'd fight. And I know you'd give it your all to kill me, so it would be fine, morally-speaking," Seeva explains as Luther nods.
"And then I'd win," Luther interjects, but I shush him. Not the point.
"It's about the power dynamic, I think. Like if we found one of the younger kids, let's say the boy from District 4. We'd find him, and then I'd have to kill him."
Seeva looks at me now, as though trying to prove something.
"I'd do it. I wouldn't love it, but I'd do it. But let's change the scenario and I find the boy from District 4 but in this case, I befriend him and eat his food. And then he goes to sleep, so I take the opportunity to slit his throat."
She shakes her head.
"It's not right."
Maybe that's why you'll die, a dark thought pops up into my head, but I suppress it with all of my might. Maybe the fact that she has boundaries is what makes her more righteous than the rest of us. More deserving of victory.
"Okay, I think I get it," Luther says, his eyes wider than usual. He definitely didn't get it.
"So, like, killing the little boy makes me a bad person. Or at least in your eyes."
Now, it's my turn to interrupt.
"Nah, you're not a bad person. I don't think Seeva thinks that either. Everyone is just responsible for their actions, and if you can live with them, that's what actually matters."
Saying the words makes me feel a little bit better about myself too.
"It's not about being a good or a bad person. I don't think anyone here can be defined as such… it's more like, what you're prepared to do."
"So, you see," Seeva finishes the lesson, "we're kind of a by-product of our environment, and District 10 wasn't ready to kill me and so I didn't want to double-cross the guy. And Cira agrees with me on this, it just wasn't the right time."
"The vibe was off," Luther finally agrees, sagely.
I chuckle lightly. "Exactly, Luther."
Jessamine Law
District 11 Female, 16
It's been an unending wave of ups and downs, ever since I ran away from the Bloodbath.
From a neurological sense, I mean.
I went through these cyclical bursts of extreme torturous energy, where I just ran mindlessly in order to escape wherever I was. The bouts of nausea, sobs and blinding headaches would grip me, driving me to the ground. Not an ounce of logic about it.
And then I'd spend hours, paralyzed by fear, unable to even twitch.
I'm in pain now, not from any injury, but rather as a consequence of the crippling lock of my muscles for hours on end, as my limbs struggled against the invisible mental chains rooting me to the spot. I've never experienced the true meaning of fear, until now. Even being reaped and shipped off to the Capitol, the threat of never seeing my family again, the anxiety of the Gamemaker sessions and the interviews… nothing compared to this.
Fear. That's all I am made of.
A hunted animal.
But as the light shines into my eyes, bouncing off the aluminum trash can nearby, I realize that I managed to fall asleep in the middle of that waking nightmare. I gasp for air, but it doesn't feel like it's fluttering deep within my chest, shredding my lungs.
I squint upwards, brushing the tangled hair out of my face. The sky is gloriously blue, not a cloud in sight, and the hints of festival music reaches my ears. I breathe in again, more deeply this time.
I feel better.
No, not better.
My mind is still clouded with grief and dread, but things are clearer.
I stretch out my legs, and I feel that I am no longer a mindless insect skittering away from the light, dashing across the table.
I'm hurting all over now.
Yesterday, a tribute could have found me and shattered my leg in three different places, and I would have still kept on running, not feeling any pain or any desire for retaliation. Like one of those chickens Addie told me about, where they'd chop its head off, but it would keep running around in circles in its pen, because of the impulses firing spasmodically through its body.
Today, the ache in my muscles grounds me.
I know where I am.
And I make peace with what transpired yesterday. I repeat the mantra my brother told me, in my head.
Be nice to people. Fly under the radar. Make a decent ally or two. Don't go in the Bloodbath. Lay low. Kill, if you have to.
The Bloodbath is over. So, no more worrying about that.
Everything else… I've failed. I've failed to follow my brother's most basic instructions because even when my life is on the line, I can't do anything right.
In hindsight, I realize where I had made my mistake. Like most things in my life, I threw myself head over heels into one specific task at hand. I hyperfocused on my ally from District 10, pouring all my efforts into befriending her and my energy into making our alliance into something real and tangible.
Something that we both couldn't go without.
And now that she's gone… I have no alternatives. I have no weapons, no direction to follow.
I dig my knuckles into my eyes, pressing until the pulsating pain in my brain subsides a little bit, in favor of swimming colorful dots behind closed eyelids.
What would Addie do?
She'd assess the situation and make a short-term plan. No overanalyzing and focusing on minute details, just broad strokes of what needs to be done.
Okay, I can do that.
I look down at my hands, and start absentmindedly picking out the tiny rocks that are lodged in small indented wounds. From the Bloodbath. The palms of my hands are hurting, like the rest of me, but they're also shaking slightly from the lack of food.
So, mission number one is clear: I need something to eat, because my mad dash around the entire arena yesterday depleted me of any energy, and I can't run on pure adrenaline forever.
Something's going to give, unless I get some sustenance.
The alleyway I'm in is incredibly tight, almost suffocating. I couldn't even stretch my legs completely, if I wanted to touch the wall opposite to me. There's nothing around me but rows of trashcans, but when I open them one by one, they're completely empty. I sit back down, cross-legged.
Closing my eyes, I try to recall if I saw anything on my way here. To have any sort of direction to follow.
I remember… yes, there were definitely pictures with food around, and from the faint smell of grilled meat that hits my nostrils, I realize two things. The first is that food will likely not be a problem, as long as I stay on the main path. The second is that if I'm able to smell someone else's food, it means that I better get the hell out of dodge before that particular person finds me and decides to have a little side-dish of murder to complete their little lunch. Or maybe they're one of the nice ones…
I banish that idea almost immediately. No. I already made the mistake of underestimating Geoff. I thought he was one of the nice ones, and he killed my ally.
I can't trust anyone here.
Okay, time to go.
I crouch low on the ground to avoid being directly at eye-height and peer around the corner. No one's there, so I slowly inch into the alleyway, surrounded by boutiques and little quaint shops. Small lights hang from every rooftop, and it would be cute if I didn't start hearing two distinct voices in the distance.
I can't make out what they're saying, but it's definitely a boy and a girl. But when I try to go through the list of alliances, I come up blank.
Boy and girl… boy and girl…
It could be Three and Val. I think… were they together? Shit…shit! Curse my stupid memory, why am I coming up completely blank?
I stay put for another two minutes, but the voices seem to be getting further away.
I judge them to be at least another two alleyways across, maybe even three. I can do this. I can sneak away unseen, but I need to do it fast.
Even though my brain feels like it's pulsing within my skull, depleted of any energy stores to form any coherent thought, I breathe in deeply and peek into the next street, perpendicular to mine.
SHIT.
Two Careers are maybe thirty-five meters ahead of me, three intersections to the left but in plain view from where I stand. One of them looks directly into my eyes. His face is relaxed, almost impassive. And his lips curve upward, gracing me with an amused look.
I have no weapons, nothing to protect myself with.
No one to help me, or care about me when I die in this wretched arena.
And that's when I freeze.
I'm staring into this tall boy's face as though I'm a deer stuck in headlights. The moment stretches on, and I just… I-I don't know what to do!
Does it even matter? Does it matter what happens?
Ever since I boarded the stupid train, all I've relied upon was the fact that someone was going to help me out through the process. That's all I've ever known.
If Addie… If Addie was still here, I'd follow her instincts and trust her to make the right call, especially in a moment with no viable exit. That's why I was so desperate to ally with someone like her in the first place…that's why I'm panicking now.
She was the one to go into the Bloodbath for our supplies. While I would have always supported her in whatever she would choose, she was the one who was supposed to make the tough executive decisions while I planned around them and considered all of the small details she overlooked.
She had what it takes to play this game, and I was just tagging along. She had the agency I always lacked, because even at home, I'd just be following through with someone else's plan for me… oh god...
And for one microsecond, I consider the possibility of dying here and now. Succumbing to the pressure for one final time.
No meltdown, no tears. No allies, no more decisions to make.
Just earth-shattering exhaustion and an inability to decide for myself.
I imagine myself as one of those people you hear about on the news, every few weeks. The ones from District 6 or even District 1, who lose their jobs in yet another employment crisis. Who just step into traffic, or onto the tracks of an incoming train. Who are found poisoned, taking their own life as their last statement of agency.
Inconsequential, just like me, because all they do is execute tasks until they have no one to listen to, anymore. The lack of guidance is what eats them from the inside out.
All of the people, unable to keep up with what life throws at them so they end up trampled, crippled and spat out lifeless onto the pavement.
The boy reaches behind his back, drawing a sword that gleams in the sunlight. As it slides from its scabbard, it sings a song of metal and danger, and it brings me back to what I was trying so desperately to outrun yesterday.
The screams…
They threaten to overwhelm me in that moment. But, that's when something so violent twists within my stomach that I almost double over.
I'm not going to ever hear myself scream like that.
I'm not.
I snap out of it. As though my mind is a band that has been stretched too taut, I feel the pressure alleviate all at once.
I have no one, but I can still make a choice.
Without even making a conscious decision, my feet slip outwards as I round the corner, in my efforts to get away from the Careers. As humid as it feels, the air hurts my throat and lungs as I breathe harder and harder, in order to keep up the constant input of oxygen required for my body.
I can't hear them behind me. But I know they're on my tail.
With each footfall, a sharp pain shoots up my ankles and into the upper joints of my legs. The vibrations resonate throughout my entire body, radiating upwards, but I continue running. I zigzag through the alleyways, with one goal in mind: escaping my pursuers.
For Addie, who didn't make it out.
For my brothers, who want to see me fight this with every fiber of my being.
After fifteen minutes, I dare to turn around, and see the girl from District 7 catching up to me. The boy … I can't see the boy, but it's safe to say that they're both probably trying to trap me between the two of them, so I need to find a way to… to turn the tides.
If I keep running, I'll be herded to where they want me to be, and I can't escape that.
The only way I can shake things up is…
What? What can I do?
My eyes scan the walls of the buildings. I need to go upward.
In a final act of desperation, I throw myself up the wall of a yellow brick building.
Something breaks, and the index finger of my left is searing with blinding pain, but I bound across the wall like some sort of manic lizard. The girl is right behind me. I hear her test the wall underneath me, proceeding with a lot more caution.
I scramble over the lip of the roof, bounding to my feet once again. I need to hit her with something, before she's up.
Anything! Shit!
I grab a brick, lying discarded, just as her face clears the side of the roof.
Silent, focusing all of my strength on the hit, I smash her directly in the head.
It's not enough. My arm is shaking, bleeding as she holds on. Her eyes losing focus but her fingers gripping onto the ledge harder than ever, struggling to hoist herself after me.
I smash at her right hand and then her left.
I don't wait long enough to watch her tumble down, but I hear her cursing loudly as I dash across the roof, falling stomach first onto the neighboring building.
The air is knocked out from my lungs, but I whip my head around, suppressing the coughs that threaten to overwhelm me. With a bird's eye view on the alleyways in my vicinity, I can see the blond head of the boy from District 1 running towards us.
Where do I go…
I have fifteen seconds, maybe twenty to make my escape before he finds her there, and climbs up to finish me off. I clear another roof, landing on another building. I pray that my hit dazed her enough for her not to have seen the direction in which I went.
My entire left hand is throbbing, hot to the touch. The index finger is at a weird angle, but I disregard that injury completely, running further and further away from the Careers. When I can no longer hear the girl's voice for what feels like a good while, I finally allow myself to scale down a ladder, ending up near a grass-filled clearing, with houses all around it.
With the adrenaline subsiding, the ache returns more insistent than ever and I can't help but limp forward as my ankles scream in protest. Too much jumping around, too little food.
From the looks of it, I made it far enough from the rides, because the houses around me are more practical-looking, less colorful.
Actually…as I look around, I realize that this entire area has a more utilitarian feel to it. I see storage containers as well as huge crates filled with sand. A set of orange cones lies discarded to the side. I didn't notice it before, but the houses are a lot closer together.
If I was to guess… I think I'm at the edge of Wonderland Park.
A grey metallic door in the middle of the clearing catches my attention. The off-center yellow metal sign reads "Employees Only!".
Maybe it's because it stands out eerily among the other surrounding structures, or maybe there's something unsettlingly intriguing about it, but I feel myself stepping closer to investigate.
There's small mounds and indents in the ground, as I make my way to it. Weeds protrude from the ground, and as I approach the door, large sickly-yellow caps pepper the entrance to the door.
I crouch down, my knees cracking and aching. As I brush my fingers underneath the largest mushroom in view, they come away yellow. My lips curl downward in disgust as I hastily brush the mucus-like substance on my pants.
I might be hungry, but… definitely not that hungry.
My eyes sweep the ground once more, surveying for any movement.
Everything here seems… unkept, so unlike the rest of the park. It's also really quiet all around me, and I become distinctly aware of the fact that I can no longer hear the music. Only the gentle breeze rocks the overgrown tufts of grass back and forth.
It'll be very easy for anyone passing through to spot me. Once the two Careers report back to the rest of their alliance, I would bet my life on the fact that they will hunt me down. And that may be a matter of minutes or hours or days, but if there's one thing I'm certain of is that if I stay above ground, I have a much higher chance of being located.
With one last look behind me, I cradle my left hand close to my chest, and open the door with my right, bracing myself. Contrarily to my expectations upon seeing the rusted hinges, it doesn't screech bloody murder, sliding without a sound.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
A set of rickety-looking stairs lead downwards, and my gut reaction is to flee in the opposite direction. Drag myself to one of those huge containers outside, and hide there.
This feels like a set-up, and of course it is. It's the goddamn Hunger Games.
For what feels like the millionth time, I wish I had someone to counsel me, to be with me as I cross the door's threshold.
Lay low.
That's my mission number one now, and I can't help but frown. I didn't know I'd be taking my brother's advice so literally. As I descend the stairs, the air stills and the silence is deafening.
The rhythm of my heart keeps up a steady and maddening pace as I close the door behind me and make my way down towards the faint but steady source of yellowish light.
A hysterical part of me wants to belt out "Hello, is anyone there?", just to pander to the helpless girl stuck in a horror movie trope, but this is not how I die. My parents didn't end up pouring in countless efforts into my education only for me to go full Capitolite bimbo and end up dragged off into the darkness for my troubles. So I suppress the urge to laugh or cry, biting my lip and closing my right fist.
I just escaped two freaking Careers. I bashed a girl across the head and sent her tumbling down a small building in order to survive, and it would be awfully disrespectful to kick the bucket now.
The light flickers, just as I stop beyond the last stair. A few hesitant steps later, I enter a small room with rock walls. It smells like humidity and rusted metal, and I scrunch up my nose in reflex.
No monstrosity jumps out to end my life, which is good.
As I survey my new surroundings, I notice a large map on the wall ahead of me.
In green thin lines, I see names of rides as well as the alleyways, the shops and the various food courts available. The Ferris Wheel stands proud and tall at the very center. These are the blueprints to the park!
But in red, I see a much more intricate pattern, crisscrossing through the park.
No. Not through.
A red arrow with the words "You are here!" points helpfully to the utmost western corner. Little veins go in different directions, much more hectic and seemingly disorganized. Some end right at the entrances of the rides.
Holy shit. The realization of what I just found hits me like a ton of bricks.
Not through … underneath!
As my eyes dance hungrily over my newfound treasure, entire sections are delineated with double-boldened red lines. I survey the legend, realizing those are railway tracks. Railway tracks that can bring me across the park to the eastern part, near the Cornucopia.
I hastily rip the map off the wall, releasing a cloud of moldy dust. And I do the one thing I didn't think I'd ever do again when I saw Addie fall during the Bloodbath.
I start giggling.
Unless anyone else has discovered this, I've got the advantage. I might not have any weapons, but this means I can travel underneath the arena while the others pick each other off.
My giggles die down when I peer into the corridor beyond this makeshift control room, straining my eyes to see anything that lies beyond. More stairs, probably, that will bring me to the underground railway system. Let's do this. It's now or never.
I'm alone and I'm scared, but this gives me a direction to follow, for better or for worse.
I take a shaky breath, and step into the darkness.
Notes: Hey folks! Hope you liked this chapter and I would love to hear your input!
It took a while to publish because of the sheer amount of work that befell me, and I'm sorry to say that I don't know if I'll be able to update faster than every two weeks, considering I'm starting two summer classes on top of my regular thesis work tomorrow! Yay me!
That being said, everything is already mapped out, so it's only a matter of writing it, which I will do any time I have a free hour to spare!
Please let me know what you think of what's up with the tributes! What do you think about the discovery of an underground employee travelling system?
Next chapter, we're getting Mona (who, to be fair, we were supposed to get to this chapter, but seeing as it's already breaking the 8K word count, I wanted to leave her for later) Mara, as well as Luther. Also full disclosure, the clown mutts are an inside joke with myself, there will be lots of horrifying things but I PROMISE you that clowns will not be terrorizing our tributes. No clowns.
Peace and love.