Day 6: Plan

I know I don't have much time left. I am now fully alone, no other tribute will distract the career tributes from me. It's me against them, and with Saylor's hatred for me, I'm betting they'll keep their alliance as long as I live. Means there are four killers out there hunting me, just me. As soon as our paths cross, these Games will end. So I run straight back to my hiding place in the wall and tear the large cooling unit attached there out of its holder. In the hallway, I lay it on the floor, then get down on my knees to loosen the screws on the next metal plate. Then another. And another. I wrap a total of nine cooling units in my blanket like a sack, then follow my map out to the cornucopia.

It's unbearably hot – judging by the position of the sun it's just before noon. Perfect. First, I block off most of the opening of the Cornucopia with the remaining supply crates and weapon boxes from the desert. It's more strenuous than I thought, especially with a broken finger. After only a short time, I'm drenched in sweat, my hair is sticking to my head, and my coveralls are wet. However, the time pressure keeps me working.

Without much ado, I plunge my knife into one of the units. The plastic bends just a little and the tip of my blade splinters off at the front, but after a few blows I have made a hole in the device. I repeat the process with the other cold packs, then stack them on my blanket with the holes facing up and turn to the hatch leading back into the maze. It's a simple hinged device, but on either side you have to turn a small handle to make the lock open. Just what I need. Although it burns my knees, I settle down on the floor and open the entrance to the arena. To keep it open and steady at the same time, I wedge my bag in the opening. Then I raise my knife again and use it as a screwdriver, as I did before with the walls, until I have removed the handle on my side. First, the handle to the corridor down below also comes off, but I manage to get it back into position. It doesn't have to last long – just one use.

I send the detached twist handle flying out into the desert and lean the hatch against my bad. From inside the Cornucopia, the hatch is now impossible to open, so it must be held open until I am back in the underground arena.

Then I turn my attention to the cooling units. Starting at the outer edge of the Cornucopia, I let the silvery liquid from inside drip onto the hot metal. The viscous agent evaporates almost immediately. With a hiss, curls of smoke drift up. I hold my breath as I cover the entire Cornucopia with the coolant, slowly filling it with gas. Then I tuck my heat-resistant blanket into the back of my belt, the matches into my pants pocket, and descend back into the labyrinth. That's all I need for the rest of my plan. I let my two knives circle in my hand as I stomp through the corridors with the loudest, yet not too conspicuous, footsteps possible – never far from the Cornucopia ladder, but far enough into the maze that the career tributes don't immediately cut me off there.

Now it counts, and I know my idea has a time limit before the vaporized coolant moves out into the desert.

In past Hunger Games, there was often a feast as the end approached. Feast – that's what the Gamemakers call a gift of those items to the remaining tributes that they needed the most, perhaps to survive. The problem with the feasts is that they often lead to a second bloodbath, since all the gifts are offered in the same place. I, however, don't need a new weapon or anything to eat. All I would need to be served right now would be the other tributes. And they seem to be similarly well endowed, because no matter how long I wait, Claudius Templesmith's voice does not resound through the arena to announce any gifts.

Slowly I widen my circular movements, my footsteps amplified by my shoes.

And then I hear them.

Earlier than I thought.

Closer than I thought.

A conversation about nothing in particular, a female and a male voice. Angel and Saffyr, the two from 1. Calm, as if nothing could upset them, as if they were not participants in a game of life and death right now, as if they would not have to go at each other's throats anytime soon. I tighten my shoulders, take a deep breath, and take a step into the hallway where I hear them.

"Top five it is, then," I say aloud, grinning back at them. Four heads wheel around in surprise and the career tributes gawk at me. I take advantage of the moment it takes the others to understand what is happening. I throw the knife with the splintered tip and hit Cassia's shoulder. While she is still groaning in pain, I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can towards the Cornucopia. I'm already around the next corner when movement comes to my opponents as well.

"Get her!" yells Saylor and I can't help but grin as I sprint down the last corridor. But he's fast, faster than I thought, and by the time I reach the ladder up into the Cornucopia, he's only a few feet behind me.

"She wants to get out!" triumphs Angel. "The heat ..."

"She won't get far herself! That's where we'll get her!"

The other footsteps behind me also grow louder as I climb the final rungs. Above me is the primed trap door. The coolant has already completely turned to gas and I can smell it even before I'm out in the open. Whether the career tributes also notice it or whether I myself am more alert because I know the gas is there, I cannot judge. All I know is that I need to take one last deep breath.

As I heave myself out through the hatch into the burning hot Cornucopia, a sharp pain runs through my left ankle. I gasp and a little of the precious air escapes my lungs. Hastily, I pull my foot up and see red. Saylor has struck at me with his knife, hitting me directly in the vein. Blood runs down my ankle in thick drops, but it's not much more than a small cut. I don't have long to hold out, and the little wound won't stop me any more than my broken finger. I jump out into the Cornucopia and rummage in the pocket of my overalls for the matches. I'm already halfway through the metal structure when Saylor climbs through the hatch as well, his face contorted with hatred and bloodlust. Rashly, I shake out my pocket and the box of matches falls to the floor. Saylor comes running towards me, with the presence of mind I dodge, grab my matches from the floor and then – my way out is blocked.

Grinning broadly, Saylor stands in front of the narrow exit I left open in my blocking of the Cornucopia. He has his arms crossed and his eyes sparkle as he grins at me. My body turns hot and cold at the same time as the rest of the career tributes climb one by one through the one-way trapdoor to join us in the poisoned Cornucopia.