Chapter Ten

Piper frowned as she looked down at her fellow District 5 victor, who was slumped on a bench, his empty hip flask clutched in his hand. He'd done it again, hadn't even made it to the end of the third day without getting blind drunk. And he'd picked the worst time to do it, right after the mosquito mutt attack which had left both tributes from 5 covered in painful bites. Astra and Dyson had managed to evade the mosquitoes and take shelter in a cave, but that didn't mean they were out of danger; the mosquito bites, Claudius Templesmith had explained in his commentary, contained a poison that would kill its victims in forty-eight hours unless they were given an antidote which had been developed by the scientists who had bred the genetically engineered insects. And there was only one place Astra and Dyson were going to get what they needed.

"Hey," Piper said, reaching out and shaking him. "Wake up."

Rik grunted, but did not open his eyes. Piper shook him harder and, this time, he woke up just enough to mumble: "Huh? What's going on?"

"Astra and Dyson have been attacked by mosquito mutts, that's what's going on," replied Piper. "And they'll die unless we get the antidote to them. Look," she added before Rik could say anything in reply, "neither of us have much money in our sponsor pools - and you know how expensive medical supplies are in the Games. But, if we combine our pools, we should be able to afford what we need. What our tributes need." Sometimes, the mentors of tributes who had formed an alliance would pool the money sponsors had donated for their respective tributes, allowing them to purchase items they couldn't afford individually. Such as the antidote to the poison carried by the mosquito mutts.

"Whatever," Rik said shortly, before turning his back on Piper and going back to sleep.

Realising he wasn't going to give any other reply, Piper decided to take this as consent and headed down to the Sponsors' Liaison Area. Along the way, she passed other mentors sitting in their booths, monitoring the progress of their tributes. Not all of them, though; those who had already lost their tributes were on their way home, accompanying the bodies of the kids they had failed to save. Kids like little Tallulah, who had been chased off a cliff earlier in the day by the tributes from District 1. Her mentor, Holstein, had won his Games two years after Piper became a victor and was a close personal friend. He'd been absolutely devastated when he'd come to say goodbye before departing for District 10, but there was nothing Piper could do except offer him her condolences. The sad fact was that Tallulah had never really stood a chance.

But Piper was determined to do whatever she could to keep Astra alive as long as possible. And, if that meant pooling Astra and Dyson's sponsorship pools, that was what she would have to do. She hadn't been best pleased when she'd learned that Astra had allied with Dyson against her instructions, but the arrangement had worked well so far and both tributes had made it through the first two days unscathed. But, on the third day, Astra had triggered a Gamemakers' trap which unleashed a swarm of mosquito mutts that may well have killed both herself and Dyson. Unless they received the antidote in time and, given Rik's current inebriated state, Piper was the only one who could help them.


"I'm sorry, but there's not enough money in your tribute's pool for that item."

Piper digested the Capitol woman's words in silence; it was exactly what she'd expected to hear. Though Astra and Dyson had managed to pull a few sponsors, neither of them had attracted the kind of big name backers who were virtually guaranteed to make sure a tribute wanted for nothing in the arena. Dyson's story about wanting to get back home and tell Paula how he felt about her had helped to an extent - there were people in the Capitol who loved that kind of thing - but his three in training had still put a lot of sponsors off. As for Astra, she was thirteen and no tribute under fourteen had ever won the Games; her only sponsors were those prepared to bet on a long shot.

"And if we were to combine Astra's pool with Dyson's, what then?" Piper asked, then watched as the woman checked the communicuff she wore on her left wrist.

"You'll be able to afford two doses of the antidote, but it will still wipe out most of your funds. You could, of course, send just one dose," the woman added. "After all, the boy isn't your tribute."

"But he is my tribute's ally and I'm not going to sit back and let either of them die without at least trying to help them." Piper thought of the tributes she, and Aurora and Rik, had mentored over the years, only to see them all die. She knew Astra and Dyson could go the same way, but she was determined to make sure they stayed alive for a little while longer. Even though only one tribute could leave the arena alive and the odds were not in favour of it being either of them.

"In that case, I'll need you to confirm your purchase and enter the delivery co-ordinates." The woman held out her communicuff with the Get Item screen displayed, allowing Piper to select the antidote from a list of items that could be sent to a tribute in the arena. Piper then confirmed that she wished to purchase two doses and keyed in the co-ordinates of Astra and Dyson's trackers, unchanged since they stumbled into the cave to get away from the mosquitoe mutts. Soon, a silver parachute containing the antidotes would descend to the ground outside the cave, to be collected by Astra or Dyson. It would, Piper knew, wipe out Astra's pool completely and leave only a small amount of money in Dyson's, but her main concern right now was making sure that, even if District 5's tributes did both die in the arena, the cause of death would not be the poison carried by the mosquitoes.


Dyson had been only vaguely aware of the anthem playing; he lacked the energy to look at the sky and see whose death had been heralded by the canon he and Astra had heard shortly before the incident with the mosquitoes. Speaking of death, was this how his life was going to end? Holed up in a cave, succumbing to whatever had been in those mosquito bites? Some kind of poison, he guessed, and a fast-acting one judging by how he felt right now. Weak and dizzy, barely able to move, the pain of the bites the mosquitoes had inflicted on him a reminder of why he was in this state.

Astra was here with him, in slightly better shape since she had received fewer bites, but still suffering from their effects. She was kneeling at the entrance to the cave, watching as something descended to the ground. Something silver? Whatever it was, Dyson couldn't see it clearly from where he lay and besides his mind was struggling to focus on anything right now. Everything seemed to have jumbled itself up into a mixture of his life in District 5, the Capitol, the arena; random thoughts drifted into his mind, then out again, leaving no time to grasp onto them. Nothing bad, though, not like you got with tracker-jacker venom; they were just . . . disorganized. It was as if he had forgotten how to hold a coherent thought as he drifted further and further towards oblivion.

He vaguely registered that Astra had crawled out of the cave, was dimly aware of her returning with something clasped in her hand. Some kind of cloth, it looked like. But where had it come from? District 8? They made cloth there . . .

His thoughts, such as they were, cut off abruptly as someone stabbed a needle into his arm, the sharp pain reminding him of being bitten by the mosquitoes that had caused him to be in this state in the first place. Instinctively, he tried to fight back, but two hands immediately reached out to hold him still, not that it took much strength given his current state. "It's OK." Astra's voice; she was the owner of the hands that were restraining him. "Our mentors sent us a couple of syringes - it's an antidote to those mosquito bites." That was as much as Dyson heard before he drifted off to sleep, helped by the drugs contained in the syringe, which included a sedative as well as the ingredient which countered the effect of the bites.

Astra took the remaining syringe out of its packet and examined it as best she could by the failing light. The needle was sharp and fine, attached to a small vial containing the antidote; obviously, she was supposed to inject it into herself like she had injected the contents of the other vial into Dyson. And she had to do it quickly, before she started to succumb to whatever was in the mosquito bites. She did not know what that was, but it had to be something bad, something developed by some Capitol scientist with a view to using it as a weapon against tributes. That must be why Dyson had collapsed the moment they stumbled into this cave. Dyson. She'd just saved his life when she could have left him to die. Why?

Because she wasn't ready to break the alliance, not yet anyway. And that meant she couldn't afford to waste the second dose of antidote, especially when she knew how expensive medical supplies were in the Games. Which, with Dyson already knocked out, meant she would have to inject herself.

Taking off her jacket, she placed it on the floor next to Dyson's, which she had removed before injecting him. Then, she rolled up her left sleeve as far as it would go and reached round, holding the syringe in her right hand. She slowly lowered the needle towards her arm . . .


As the Games entered their fifth day, the death toll still stood at ten. Which, Salacia thought as she and the other members of the Career pack prepared to set out in search of victims, meant the people in the Capitol would be growing impatient, demanding that the Gamemakers did something to speed things along. She didn't care what they did, so long as it brought a few tributes within range of her trident, and the rest of the Careers felt the same. Since the bloodbath, the pack had made only one direct kill, that kid from District 3 they'd cornered on the first night, and he'd been disappointingly easy to take down. There was the District 10 girl who had been driven over the edge of a cliff by Dazzle and Garnet, but it wasn't like either of them had used their weapons to kill her.

"So are we all agreed?" Lupus asked, his words jolting Salacia out of a daydream about what she would do to Fathom if he didn't get the message that she hated being addressed as Sal. Especially if the pack didn't manage to make any kills today.

"Yes!" the other five Careers shouted in unison, brandishing their weapons. With a bit of luck, they would actually get to use those weapons today, unlike yesterday when they had spent all day scouring the arena, but had seen no sign of the other tributes. The cannons had remained silent and, for the first time since the tributes entered the arena, no faces appeared in the sky at the end of the day. It was as if the tributes from outside the Career districts had simply vanished . . .

No, they were out there somewhere, eight of them; the pack just had to find them. And, when they did, they would make sure to give the Capitol the show they wanted. Which meant bloodshed, lots of it, not to mention making sure their victims suffered before they died. None of the three deaths which had occurred since the bloodbath had met that criteria, at least the deaths of the boy from 3 and the girl from 10 hadn't. And they still didn't know who, or what, had killed the boy from 8, just that if it was a who, that tribute had stolen their thunder and would pay with their life if the pack ever found out who they were.

"Then let's move out!" Lupus shouted to a chorus of cheers from his fellow Careers. He gave his trademark wolf howl and set off with Bellona, as the tributes from Districts 1 and 4 did the same, each pair taking a different direction. With a bit of luck, one of the pairs would encounter a tribute today, preferably one who wouldn't be too easy to kill. And, if more than one tribute could be taken down, so much the better.


"See anything, Sal?"

Salacia, her trident gripped tightly in her hand, turned in the direction of Fathom's voice. Like her, he held his trident in a battle-ready stance, fully prepared to bury the prongs in the next tribute they came across. Not that there had been much chance of that so far today; it was already mid-morning and neither of the District 4 tributes had seen anyone apart from each other since the Careers split up into their respective teams to commence today's hunt. Which, needless to say, meant they hadn't been able to make any kills. The other tributes "weren't rising to the bait", to use one of District 4's many fishing-related expressions.

"I'll let you know if I do," she replied through clenched teeth. "And I told you not to call me Sal!"

"Sorry, Sal . . ." Fathom caught the glare she shot in his direction and quickly added: ". . . acia." So far, apart from her obvious dislike of his nickname for her, he and his district partner had not come to blows, but he knew that couldn't last. These were the Hunger Games and that meant one of them might have to kill the other; the fact they both came from the same district would make no difference if that situation arose. Especially if they were the last two tributes standing, which could happen; the Games had come down to a showdown between district partners before. The Capitol loved it when that happened, kids who might have known each other all their lives forced to fight each other to the death, the ultimate reminder of the power Panem's rulers had over the population.

For a moment, Fathom wondered what might happen if he and Salacia refused to fight each other should it come down to the two of them. But he immediately dismissed the thought. He and Salacia had not been friends before they became tributes and they certainly weren't friends now, just allies who would, if they survived long enough, eventually become enemies. He was more than ready to kill her if he had to and he had an uneasy feeling she was prepared to do the same to him. But not yet, not while there were still other tributes out there. Speaking of which . . .

"Hey, what about Lupus and the others? Think they've managed to kill anyone?"

Salacia rolled her eyes dramatically. "If they had, we'd have heard the cannon. Let's keep going and . . ." She was cut off abruptly as the ground suddenly gave way beneath her feet, revealing a pit with several lethal spikes at the bottom. Before she had time to even think about screaming, she landed on one of the spikes which penetrated clean through her body, killing her instantly.

Fathom saw his district partner disappear from view seconds before the cannon boomed out across the arena. "Sal?" he called, forgetting how much she disliked the nickname he had given her. "You OK?" But, even as he said those words, he knew she was not OK, that the cannon he had just heard had been for her. Heart pounding, he hurried to the spot where he had last seen her and looked down to see the most horrific sight he had ever witnessed: Salacia lying at the bottom of a pit, a metal spike piercing her torso to emerge through her chest, her blue-green eyes staring sightlessly up at him. Her arms and legs hung limp and her mouth was open. Impaled. Like a fish caught with a spear.

But, as he looked down at the body of his district partner, Fathom's Career training kicked in. He hadn't cared about Salacia while she was alive and he certainly didn't care about her now that she was dead, any more than he cared about the other twelve surviving tributes. He may not be a volunteer as most tributes from the Career districts were, but that didn't mean he wasn't here to win. And, as far as the Hunger Games were concerned, winning meant all your opponents had to die, some of them at your hands. You couldn't allow yourself to be affected by the circumstances of their deaths, no matter how gruesome. You had to move on, both figuratively and literally.

Stopping only to collect Salacia's trident and backpack, which she had dropped when she fell into the pit, Fathom walked away from the scene. Moments later, a hovercraft materialised and the claw dipped down to lift the body of District 4's female tribute out of the trap which had killed her, still impaled on the spike.


"Any luck?" Garnet asked as he and Dazzle met up with Bellona and Lupus late that afternoon. Not that he needed to ask; the expression on the faces of both District 2 tributes told its own story. Another day hunting for tributes to kill and finding nothing. The pack's strategy of splitting into pairs in order to cover more ground clearly wasn't working; they would have to come up with a new plan if they were have any hope of claiming further victims.

Bellona and Lupus shook their heads simultaneously. "We heard the cannon, though," Bellona said. "Did you two have anything to do with it?"

It was the turn of the tributes from District 1 to shake their heads. "It must have been Salacia and Fathom, then," said Lupus. "Unless it was one of the others - we still don't know who killed the boy from 8." Whoever it was, they would not be leaving the arena alive; he was going make sure of that. If necessary, he was prepared to kill every non-Career in the arena personally to make sure the tribute who was trying to steal the pack's thunder would not be wearing the crown on victory night. That was going to be himself; he was going to be District 2's fifteenth victor and nothing was going to stand in his way, not his fellow Careers and certainly not some kid from the outlying districts.

Minutes later, Fathom walked into the Careers' camp, alone, his face expressionless, Salacia's backpack slung over his shoulder, her trident in his hand. There was no need to ask what had happened, but Dazzle asked nonetheless. "Salacia?"

"She's dead," Fathom replied matter-of-factly. "Fell into a Gamemakers' trap." There was nothing else the pit with its bottom lined with spikes could be; it was too sophisticated to have been set by a tribute and, besides, he hadn't seen any digging equipment among the items at the Cornucopia. "I'm hungry," he added, dismissing his late district partner from his mind. "Who's cooking supper tonight?"

"I'll do it," said Bellona, turning her attention to the stockpile of supplies the Careers had at their camp. As was invariably the case, the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 had claimed most of the food the Cornucopia had contained, so they wouldn't have to worry about starving to death, unless something happened to their stash. Such as the reptile mutts which had attacked the Careers' camp at the Sixtieth Games, devouring all the food and killing the tributes from District 1 when they tried to stop them. The two remaining Careers had been forced to abandon their camp. Still, Bellona told herself as she opened a can of beef stew and poured the contents into a saucepan, there was no reason for that to happen this year. Provided the pack kept a close eye on the supplies, they shouldn't have anything to worry about.

All the same, the news of Salacia's death made her uneasy. It reminded her that, just because she was a Career, she wasn't guaranteed to win.


Dyson woke to the opening bars of the anthem, still feeling slightly groggy, but otherwise none the worse for wear after his ordeal with the mosquito mutts. Whatever those syringes had contained had clearly done what it was supposed to do. An antidote, Astra had called it. And, judging by the fact that he could see her sitting beside him, it had worked on her too. Had she injected herself after injecting him? She must have done; he'd lost consciousness almost as soon as the contents of the syringe entered his bloodstream and there was no-one else here. She had saved both their lives, but they weren't completely cured yet and that meant they should stay where they were for at least the next day or two, until they could be sure the antidote had done its job.

In the meantime, he sat up and peered out of the cave, just as Salacia's face appeared in the sky and hovered over the arena before being replaced by the Capitol seal. As the seal faded, it did not take him long to realise the significance of what he had seen. Eleven tributes, possibly more - he had no way of knowing if anyone had died while he was unconscious - had been eliminated, meaning the Games were now nearing the halfway mark if they hadn't passed it already. Not only that, the list of the dead now included at least one of the Careers.