Day three, evening.
ANDROS VALIER, DISTRICT ONE MALE
"Caelle, it's fine, really. It's early afternoon. We can go back out hunting later, after we eat a late lunch," I try to reason with my hunting partner as she stomps down the staircase.
"I say we take Shelby and Cyrus out with us. Maybe split into pairs. We need to have a successful hunt, otherwise the Gamemakers will start messing with us."
I raise an eyebrow as I catch up to her at the bottom of the stairs. "It is only the third day. We haven't seen any mutts or traps. I think we've been doing a great job keeping the tension up, keeping the audience pleased. Doing our job as tributes and creating a straight path to victory." Neither of us acknowledge the tension that settles between us when I mention victory. As we methodically wipe out the competition, our truce becomes shakier and shakier.
The thought of Caelle turning on me is almost concerning. As usual I'm not afraid, although I am disappointed. If the looming threat of a very competent opponent attacking me can't induce fear, what could possibly bring me to the point of really feeling things?
"I just don't want us to lose our edge," Caelle snaps, and I back down. There's no point to arguing. I'm annoyed, too, that we didn't find anyone. This arena looks so small and compact, and yet it's a maze of stairs and stone walls that make it hard to figure out what connects to where and remember how much of it you've already explored. And, with the knowledge that the other tributes are moving targets actively avoiding capture, the labyrinth only gets more frustrating. I want to solve it, want to crack the code, but I can't. Honestly, we should have started mapping it out on day one.
"It would be ideal if we could be more efficient," I say, and it's true. Our team is good, seeing as we've almost knocked out two thirds of the tribute pool in seventy two hours, but if we had been truly effective—made a map, didn't get injured, didn't have two members with cold feet— we could have been even further along.
Then I could move on to figuring out how to get rid of Caelle. I have to do it myself, there's no other way she's going down. The two of us will be able to finish off Cyrus and Shelby with some effort, but I doubt that Shelby could surprise me by killing Caelle. In the end, I'll have to commit to the hardest fight of my life.
It's all logic, all transactional. Why the fuck am I not afraid? Or guilty?
"Ugh. I bet all the camera crews are out in the districts already, just waiting for one more person to die so they can start on the Top Eight interviews. My parents are probably waiting impatiently. Who'll be there for yours, do you think?" Caelle asks, switching the topic of conversation as we head down the final staircase to the main doors.
"I already know. My mother, who'll probably rehash the story of how I got a training contract by attacking the man who mugged her. Father and brother, who'll talk about our family and how much my victory would mean. And my younger sister Ishan, who'll be the one to talk about how she actually wants me to come back home."
Caelle rolls her eyes at me as she heaves open the doors to the courtyard. "Feeling sentimental, are we?"
I shrug. "I hope I'm a good example for my little sister." It's true, I guess. In the back of my head, I'm trying to make sure that Ishan won't be scared of me when I go home. No unnecessary bloodshed, no supervillain bullshit.
"Cute."
The courtyard is empty as we emerge into the sunny field, no sign of Cyrus and Shelby. "We're back for lunch!" I yell. "Cyrus! Shelby!"
"Where are they, napping? Hooking up? I wouldn't put that past them," Caelle mutters.
"Hey! We're back!" Still nothing. I'm disappointed by the lack of responsiveness.
We stalk over to the guard house, and even to me it's clear that Caelle's bad mood is intensifying. She flings open the door, and we're greeted with… nothing.
"Where are they?" Caelle growls.
"Not here."
"Very helpful, Andros!"
I scan the room, noting that their blankets are still here but their weapons aren't. "Check the food."
Caelle dashes over to our small pile of wicker baskets, rifling through our leftovers. "There's almost nothing left. Fuck."
"They've left, then. Took what they could carry and ditched."
Caelle's face darkens. "Those fucking bastards. After everything we've done for them? The protection we gave them? Useless little-"
"They judged our alliance to be of no more value to them, but in doing so they've made themselves our number one kill priority."
"Shut up with your rational explanation! They left, that's what matters. We have to kill them as soon as possible!"
"That's basically what I just said."
"Whatever. Both of them hate hunting. We know the arena better than they do, probably. I say we go right back into the castle, find them, and finish them off. Show them what happens to traitors."
Works for me. The fewer opponents the better. "How much of a head start do you think they got?"
She sneers. "Doesn't matter, since they have a limited space to go. We can find them. C'mon."
I jog out of the guardhouse, Caelle on my heels. I'm briefly saddened at the thought of skipping lunch, but the adrenaline of a chase kicks in, making my heart beat faster than it has since the bloodbath.
We plunge back through the castle doors, brandishing our weapons. "Which way?" I bark out. Caelle motions towards the great hall, and I follow. We burst through another set of doors into the huge, echoing room.
Movement at the other end of the room catches me eye. "There!" I point.
But it's not Cyrus and Shelby, and it isn't another tribute either.
A huge mutt pulls itself up to its full height from where it had been sleeping on the ground. The snakelike head hisses and roars, revealing a mouth full of jagged, sharp teeth. Muscles ripple underneath the spotted golden fur that covers its body.
And then, as it charges, my heart leaps into my throat in a way I've never experienced before. Fuck.
CAELLE LOVAGE, DISTRICT TWO FEMALE
The mutt lunges at us, roaring, and we dive in opposite directions. Its jaws close right in the empty space where my face was three seconds ago, and my breath catches in my lungs.
No. Absolutely not. This is what I've been trying to avoid! If we kept things moving, made the Games exciting and short, they wouldn't have a reason to send in mutts. Our mentors told us they could influence things that way, and that I needed to think of things from that perspective.
I couldn't have planned for this wild card. Not when the other two just abandoned us. Isn't that enough excitement for that day, huh?
The monster makes another noise, a rumbling bark that emanates from deep inside it. It bares its teeth again, and I catch a glimpse of blood crusted in its jaws.
This thing has already killed someone.
It swings its big scaly head between Andros and me, no doubt trying to choose its target.
This is a creature we couldn't beat in a one-on-one situation. We have to work together for real, not just call each other allies until the relationship wears out its usefulness. And it's only the two of us, no other allies.
I'm not sure I can kill this thing, and that kind of uncertainty in a place like this? Not good. And there's no meat shield like Shelby to let it take.
"Andros, we have to take it down! Work together! Aim for the neck!" I yell, and the noise is enough to make the beast come at me. I drop and roll forward, so it overshoots as it bites at me. I fumble my sword as I slide next to its body, so I lose my chance to try and stab it where its heart should be.
Instead, it pounces, and its talons dig into my left arm. I scream, but Andros hollers at the thing and draws its attention towards him. It bounds forward, jumping over me.
I roll to my feet as quickly as I can and survey the situation. Andros presses his back against the high stone wall, keeping his axe in front of him. If the monster snaps at him like before, it'll end up with a mouth full of metal.
The beast seems to figure this out too, and rears up on its hind legs, roaring. Fully outstretched, it's got to be at least fifteen feet tall.
Fuck, this thing is huge. Dangerous.
And, to be honest, scary.
I have never claimed to be the best mutt-fighting tribute ever. I was trying to avoid dangerous mutts, damn it!
Andros grits his teeth and holds his ground, and I'm thankful that at least he has an axe and not just his stupid little knife.
I run up behind the thing, slicing at its back legs with one of my swords. It whips around before I can do any more damage, and I have to dive out of the way of its jaws again. This thing attacks with its mouth—but I'm keenly aware that its claws can also do some damage.
There's blood dripping down my arm, but I ignore it. Pain is fine. Pain is manageable.
Andros counters my movement, so there's one of us on each side of the monster. It doesn't hesitate before picking a target this time, and I'm almost bowled over by its hindquarters when it beelines for Andros. Now, I follow, and strike again in the same place I already landed one hit. The thing pulls up short and roars, but it's limping.
That's for clawing up my arm.
Maybe we can do some damage to this mutt after all.
Andros swings with his axe while the beast is distracted and manages to cut it shallowly across the shoulders. It pulls its snaky head back and swipes out with a paw, catching Andros at the waist and sending him sprawling across the stone floor. It tries to jump forward to finish him off, but I dash in from the side to stab it again.
I bury my sword deep in its side, but it doesn't go down. It roars again, even louder and angrier than before, and swings its neck like a club. I go flying off my feet, and my stomach churns as I tumble through the air. I land hard on my already-lacerated arm, groaning in pain as tears spring to my eyes.
My sword! It sticks out of the beast's side, but I've lost it for good. I still have my other, but now my left side feels almost naked.
A rumbling growl clears my mind, and I look up to meet the yellow reptilian eyes of the mutt. It limps towards me, and I don't have enough time to regain my footing before it strikes. Andros, too, is struggling to catch his breath.
I lash out with my sword, and it hisses at me.
I hate it. I hate this thing. I want it to direct its attention elsewhere. Look at Andros instead or something! I'm supposed to be doing the hunting, I'm not the prey!
I jab forward, almost spearing its nose. It's enough of a startle for it to back up, and I use the moment to hop to my feet and rush over to Andros, hauling him up.
Neither of us can get a clean blow on it, because it's so reactive to whatever moves we make. We need to distract it somehow. If we can keep its focus on one place for long enough, we can deliver a killing strike.
Not we. If I can redirect it…
Andros and I stand next to each other, evenly matched. I see him glance at my arm, take stock of my injury.
He's sizing me up.
Not on my watch.
The mutt comes at us again, and I step one pace away from Andros. He's focused on the mutt, I'm looking at both of them. The three biggest threats in the arena, all in one room.
If I can redirect the mutt, I can kill it. Sneaky, but effective.
I feint at the mutt, and as it turns towards me Andros swings at it with his axe. He expects me to do the same as its attention moves on to him.
But instead, I maneuver just behind Andros and kick him in the back of the knee.
He drops hard, and that's all the time the mutt needs. The serpentine head strikes out, biting down hard on his shoulder. He screams—a sound I never thought I would hear from his mouth.
"Caelle!"
I take two steps back, marveling at how easy it was to take down Andros. After all the buildup… something came to do my job for me. Albeit, something that I still need to finish off.
The mutt forces Andros to the ground and pounces on him, planting its front paws on his torso, and sinks its teeth into his face.
His cannon fires, but the mutt is hungry. Distracted. I take the opportunity, adjust my grip on the sword, and rush at the creature from the side. By the time it lifts its head with a piece of my former ally in its jaws, it's too late. I swing down hard onto its neck, chopping deeply into its flesh. The mutt collapses.
The head isn't fully severed, but it's good enough. Good enough for me.
INAYA STRATTON, DISTRICT EIGHT FEMALE
The knife weighs heavy in my pouch, like a hot coal. I push down the rising guilt again, trying not to think too much about it. It's just in case. To protect myself from whatever is in here with us. To protect myself and Malek, even. I just didn't want to leave a knife lying on the ground. But why didn't I want to let Malek know?
No. I'm not having this conversation with myself for the hundredth time.
"Are you getting hungry?" Malek says, smiling wearily at me.
"Yeah… it's been what, a day since we got food from the kitchen?" I'm hungry, but at least the pain from my injury is steadily fading.
"Something like that. Time moves like molasses in here. If it weren't for the anthem every night, I would think we've been in the arena for at least a week."
I nod briefly. "I'm on edge. Alert."
Malek shoots me a look that says 'I know'. "It would be nice if we could get a sponsor gift?" he says loudly, hopefully.
Nothing comes. My heart falls a little further. I don't know how it would find us here in the windowless room, so I try to be hopeful that our Capitol escort might just not be able to send us anything right now, but I have a sinking feeling that we don't have any sponsors.
"Oh well," my ally shrugs, "It was worth a shot."
"I appreciate you trying, no matter what."
He opens his mouth to say something else, but then I hear a scraping sound somewhere in the room and thrust out a hand towards Malek to keep him from talking.
"Did you hear that?" I whisper.
"What?"
We stand in silence. The scraping rings in my ears, but Malek doesn't seem to register any kind of noise. No new sounds emerge, and I try to relax. "I heard, like, a scraping noise? Almost metallic, like something hard against stone."
"I didn't hear anything."
I exhale in a huff, stretching the bandages across my torso. "I know I heard something."
Malek folds his arms across his chest. "Are you sure it wasn't just me shifting my weight or something? There hasn't been another fire recently."
"No, I swear! It sounded like it was back there somewhere!"
"A rat, then!"
"No! It sounded bigger. I think."
"Inaya…"
"Malek- I'm getting scared."
He doesn't move, and I see a look on his face I haven't seen before. A look I've only seen on teachers' faces when I freeze up during a class presentation or Mother's face when I miscalculate the price for a customer's dyes. Disapproval.
"Malek… don't you believe me?" He only looks away, sliding his gaze over to the wall and then down at the floor. I shrink away from him. "I'm sorry, I promise I'm telling the truth."
He sighs, reaching up and lacing his fingers together at the back of his neck. It makes him look… tired. "Inaya, I just don't know what you're on about with this noise. I didn't hear anything."
"But I-"
"I haven't heard it and I'm in the same room, what's the explanation there? And you thought you saw a tail or something earlier, and I missed that too. It's weird, okay? What could I be missing?"
"I don't know! I don't know. But there's something down here with us and I'm scared and I don't feel safe and- and-"
"Of course you don't feel safe! We're in the Hunger Games! This isn't a field trip!" Malek snaps.
I bite my lip, feeling my hands start to shake. "I just-"
"You just what, Inaya? Because from my perspective, when things don't add up it means someone is lying. And I've been lied to too many times to fucking count, so I'm not gonna deal with it any longer!"
My eyes feel wobbly with tears and against Malek's sharp voice I can barely remember to breathe. "I'm not- I'm not-"
"I just want to know what the hell is going on down here!" Malek comes in close to me, and I flinch away.
"Don't-" I gasp, half-remembering that I have a knife hidden in my pouch. Then I see the tears rolling down his face too. The mirrored fear in his eyes.
"Don't what!"
"Don't yell at me!" I beg, pushing him away. "I'm scared! Now you've got me worried that either we're being stalked or that I'm seeing and hearing things that aren't there!"
"And I'm scared I can't see what's right in front of my face!" he retorts.
"Well maybe you can't!"
He looks like I've smacked him. "Well… maybe you're hallucinating!"
I try to respond, try to yell and confront him and be strong, but I choke on the lump that's been building in my throat and break down into gasping sobs that hurt the wound in my stomach. I don't want him to be right. But I am the only one that's seen it, right? I hear things that Malek doesn't. What if he's right? What if it is me? What if I'm going crazy?
He moves towards me again, and I turn away to collapse onto one of the big sacks of grain. He follows, and fear sparks in my chest, but he drops to his knees and takes one of my hands.
"Inaya."
"No-"
"I'm sorry. Inaya, it's okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I'm still your ally, I promise."
I whimper, covering my face. "We're not acting like it."
Malek sits back on his heels, nods. "You really are sure there's some kind of mutt?" He sounds absolutely stricken. With what, I'm not sure.
I nod. "Certain."
"Then I believe you. I must not be paying the same kind of attention. And if you want to move on from this room… I agree, if it's in our best interest."
"I'm more scared of this thing than I am the Careers, Malek." I hope he can sense how serious that is.
He nods soberly. "Then we can switch our location. Maybe try to get more food."
"I promise I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't. Couldn't."
He smiles— barely, but it's good enough for me. "I did try to pick allies I could trust."
The memory of Rhea flashes in my head, but I try to picture putting her into my pouch with the knife. Guilt to be dealt with later. "I don't want to fight with you. There's enough fighting with… the rest of this."
"Agreed. Let me make you this promise, Inaya. I'm all in until the very end."
I finally meet his eyes again. "Me too. Does that make us stupid?"
His smile tightens. "Maybe. But if I die stupid, so be it. I don't… I don't want to live if it means betrayal."
I hold out my pinky finger to him- a childish pact, but it brings me comfort. He hooks his own around it, and we make our promise.
ALTHEA BIACHI, DISTRICT THREE FEMALE
What the hell.
I take another deep shuddering breath as I sit on the spiral staircase, evening sun filtering in from the windows around me. Why the fuck did it hit so hard out of nowhere? I woke up. I ate. And then it all decided to rush back and smack me in the face.
Memories of Val. The guilt that comes with her is accompanied by a new guilt over Gareth. When I could pretend he was a stranger, pretend I had boundaries, it was easy. But if I could justify taking Val's life, it makes it too easy to slide the rationality over to Gareth. It humanizes him. Death isn't just for the faceless 'enemy', it's for everyone. And what authority do I have to dish it out? None. And yet. Here I am.
I should have just walked away. Let someone else deal with Val.
I never could have. This isn't a business deal, or even a socialite popularity contest. There's no walking away from things or rebelling in a game of survival. That only means you wind up dead. And I still don't want to die.
I don't want to die. Not like Val, not like any of the others.
As I keep crying like a baby, I tilt my head back and dab the tears away from my eyes to keep my makeup from smudging. It takes a couple seconds for me to remember that I'm not even wearing makeup, but the heaviness on my face is three days' worth of grime buildup. My right eye is extra tender because it's a nasty shiner, I assume.
Fuck, I probably look a mess. For stupid reasons, that makes me cry even harder. I can imagine my family's disapproving looks as they watch me on the television screen, sobbing and gross in the arena.
I could use some privacy but no, I'm on reality TV. Much too real for me. I wish I had some damn makeup to hide my blotchy face. Luckily, the tunic I'm wearing hides the various scars and bruises on my arms so I don't have to worry about trying to conceal those from the cameras. One of very few things done right around here, honestly. My stylist and prep team knew what they were doing.
Not much of a consolation anymore, but I'll take what I can get. Is that what being poor feels like?
Wait. Fuck. I groan again but this time I hold it in and relegate myself to one angry, all-encompassing eyeroll. My parents. Television.
It's the top eight interviews now. The Capitol will be rushing to my home to get my family on camera. While I'm here, reeking of sweat and nauseous with guilt, the pristine and perfectly coiffed Biachi family is assembling to represent me in a way that best suits the company needs.
Disgusting. Truly.
I don't want to think about my smug parents, asshole brother, and smarmy perfect sister all lining up to come up with a perfect portrait of me. What'll it be? That I'm a perfect daughter and having a Victor in the family will be the crown jewel of the company- now, Capitol folks, do business with us! Or maybe that no matter how I die, they'll miss me and all will grieve horribly- now, Capitol folks, do business with us! I'm sure they'd secretly love to treat it like a tabloid interview—ugh, now those are fun publicity events—and rant for hours about my teen rebellion, my lurid escapades, my reputation. But they would never. It would tarnish the precious reputation.
No, that's my job. Once I get out of here, it's all coming out. Tabloids, gossip columnists, national interviews. And my family will never get to claim me as their Victor child.
I wish that the top eight interview camera crew would ask some random Three citizens what they thought of me. Oh, that would be positively juicy. But they would never. How could they guess?
Distracting myself with thoughts of petty Biachi revenge helps to stem the flow of my tears. Maybe being ugly on camera isn't so bad after all- if I look too good, my family might actually start being proud of me, and I'd hate for that to happen.
But it feels wrong to think of Val as just a method to get the tears flowing. She was a person. She was good company. She was honest.
And there's no petty revenge against my family that can counter what I did to her.
I want to live. I so desperately want to live, I have been more than willing to do whatever it takes to get there.
Val's the hardest part. She must be the worst part of all of this. And if I was willing to kill my ally in her sleep—let's be truthful about it—I can do anything else the arena requires of me. I'll play the game. I'll play until I win. That's the most useful thing my family ever taught me to do.
I'll play the game, I'll win, and then no one can force me to do anything ever again.
9th: Andros Valier. Mack, thank you for your submission.
The theme of this chapter is 'the arena really does a number on the way you perceive relationships'!
The arena map is posted on the blog, so have fun checking that out. A little bit of bonus material! I'm not claiming to be a great artist, but I did summon what little theatre-set-design-ground-plan experience I have. :)
Congrats to the top 8! Interview chapter will come out in a day or two, and then we'll be back to the arena.
RIP to our little Questing Beast... time for a new mutt to be introduced, perhaps?
Questions:
Now that we're at Top Eight, what are your finale predictions?
What games do you like to play?
Drop a review and let me know! Thank you for your continued support- stay safe, wear a mask, and remember that Black lives matter!