CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It's the third day of the Hunger Games, and I'm in the mentor room early this time because I had trouble sleeping. Every couple hours, I'd wake up and check my watch, convinced that I had felt the vibration that notified you of your tribute's injury or death. Instead, Rosa's health stats are better than they were before.

If things don't get interesting, though, I wouldn't be surprised if the Gamemakers throw things at them. The Careers have been quite lazy, never trying to pursue anyone during the night and always returning to the Cornucopia. They managed to kill the District 9 male yesterday before retiring, but that was it.

I switch over to watch Rosa, Nicola, and Taylor. The three of them are walking in single file down the walkway. Their alliance had made it farther than Elijah thought it would. And I'm hoping that I'm wrong, too. I've grown used to seeing the three of them together, and it lulls me into a false sense of security that everything is okay.

However, a notification suddenly pops up on my computer, as it does on Pitch's. I lean in to read it.

JUNIPER SADIK

YOU ARE SCHEDULED FOR A Q & A SESSION TONIGHT AT 8:30 PM.

PLEASE BE AT THE MEZZANINE OF THE TRAINING CENTER AT 8:15 PM.

YOU ARE EXCUSED FROM THIS EVENT ONLY IF YOUR TRIBUTE IS IN CRITICAL CONDITION ( 20 % ) OR IS IN IMMEDIATE DANGER.

I turn and look at Pitch.

"What's that mean?" I ask him. The reporter the other day wanted to do Q&A, but Pitch had declined at the time. This was definitely not something we were going to be able to avoid.

"Seems early in the Hunger Games for this, but . . . sometimes the mentors of the tributes get interviewed," he says as he minimizes his notice. An image of Green trying to eat pine needles appears. "Normally they wait til the numbers have dwindled down a bit."

I look around to see if anyone else has been invited. To my relief, I see that Lady of District 10 and Rikuto of District 6 are also reading similar notices. I wonder why they chose this group of mentors. Why didn't they choose, say, myself, Esther, and Elijah? Or maybe the mentors of the Career tributes.

It's easy to get distracted with the goings-on of the Hunger Games. Esther takes a break for a few hours when I promise to notify her as soon as anything happens, and when she returns, I take my own break. It doesn't occur to me until I stand up and head into the lounge that I've been sitting in front of the computer for way longer than I thought. It's nearly 5:00 PM.

As it turns out, the couches all transform into beds if you pull out the bottom of them. It's really weird to see something that was a soft leather couch suddenly turn into a completely different piece of furniture. This would explain why there are so many couches. Now a few of the couches are beds where people sleep, but the rest have been returned to their normal couch state by one of the avoxes.

I throw myself onto a couch and pull my book out of my pocket. It's almost 8:00 PM when Pitch comes and gets me.

~.~

Pitch and I freshened up in the apartment before going down to the mezzanine. There's not much going on here, but there's quite a hubbub coming from outdoors. People—crowds of them—wait eagerly for our arrival. One of the training center coordinators meets us when we arrive, and we only have to wait a couple of minutes for Lady and Rikuto to join us. Then we are marched outside where they have set up a platform with a long table and four chairs. I try not to look out into the crowd that spans in front of us for blocks. The bright lights help me pretend that they're not there.

The coordinator seats us in numerical order so that Rikuto and Lady are on either end and Pitch and I are in the middle. There is a table near ours at an angle so that whoever sits there can face us and not have his or her back towards the crowd.

Sure enough, Pythia Todner, the reporter we met a couple days ago, walks up and sits down in that seat.

"Thank you, everyone, for joining us today for the 141st Hunger Game's first Q & A session!" Pythia announces. The crowd cheers and it takes nearly a full minute for it all to settle down.

"Today with us, we have four of our mentors. Rikuto Cord of District 6, Pitch Yassen and Juniper Sadik of District 7, and Lady McClure of District 10. Let's give them a big welcome!"

More cheering. More time wasted. I try to avoid looking down at my monitoring device to check my tribute.

Pythia turns to us. "You four were brought here today because you have the only still-living tributes that were deemed unlikely to survive the bloodbath, and yet they're all here on Day 3! It's quite amazing, really."

Yes, I'm amazed. Totally. I grit my teeth and ball my hands into fists regardless of the pain that washes across my knuckles. I can't believe that this is a thing right now. How disgusting and humiliating.

Pitch's hand finds mine. He unclasps my fingers takes ahold of my hand. Our fingers are interlocked and I can't form a fist. Damnit.

"Rikuto, let's start with you, honey," Pythia says. She clears her throat, settles in, and then begins: "Your tribute only received a training score of 4 and was rated only at 22% chances of survival out of the bloodbath. How did he do it?"

Rikuto answers in what I can only say is an absolutely graceful manner. "Helmut can't be summed up by pure numbers, which makes rating him extremely challenging. Although numerical systems are used because it's the most objective way to compare tributes, it doesn't allow for various character traits and flaws. In Helmut's case, he has natural survival instincts that can't be measured by the number of spears you can throw or how well you can build a fire without material."

How the hell does one actually answer a question like that? I'm impressed by Rikuto's response.

Pythia continues, "He's pretty injured. Can you tell us about that wound?"

"Helmut has a laceration on his right forearm. It appears to be about six inches long and fairly deep," he says calmly. "However, he managed to use local plants to keep the wound from being infected and to cover it to avoid further contamination."

"It sound like Helmut really knows his stuff," Pythia praises him. "Do you think he'll make it to the top eight?"

"Yes."

"Any final words, Rikuto?"

"It has been a pleasure working with Helmut over the past week, and I hope that once he's back in the Capitol, you all will have an opportunity meet him yourself. His sense of humor is unparalleled, as you saw in the interview, and he lights up any room he enters. He's a good guy with a good head on his shoulders."

Shoot. Is this the stuff we have to talk about our tributes? I wasn't prepared for this.

Pitch squeezes my hand sharply. I almost yelp from the pain in my knuckles.

Pythia turns to Pitch and me.

"We meet again!" she says. Then she turns to the audience and for their benefit, says to them, "I had the pleasure of meeting Pitch and Juniper the other day when they were out on a date. It's such a wonderful thing to see that they were able to join us today."

Then she says to us, "Both of your tributes were given very low likelihoods of surviving the bloodbath. Juniper, yours had a 7%, and Pitch, yours was at 3%. Can you comment on their narrow escapes from the initial fight? Pitch, you first, honey."

"Green knew that he didn't have much of a chance in direct combat against a well-armed Career pack," Pitch says. I notice how he doesn't say that Green had no chance at all. He words it in a manner that people wouldn't give up on his tribute right here and now. "He knows his weaknesses, and he used his strengths appropriately."

"But that left him without any supplies, didn't it?" Pythia asks.

"Yes, it did," Pitch says. "But if he had stopped for supplies, he would have been killed. He knows that he can acquire supplies elsewhere in the arena and has already been working on crafting to get what he needs."

"He's a keen kid," Pythia says. Then she turns to me. "Juniper?"

"Well, uhm, Rosa has the benefit of an alliance that was established in the training center," I say. "This allowed her to grab supplies—and a weapon—right away."

"Yes, that was a very exciting moment after Nicola of District 5 killed Glitz of District 1, wasn't it? The way Rosa jumped in there and grabbed that sword! Ooh-ooh! It was a great moment to watch!" Pythia can't control her enthusiasm. "Not only was I amazed that Glitz was out, but I couldn't believe the audacity of little Rosa."

"She's very . . . spirited," I offer.

Damn, I'm not helping her much. I'm really not helping her at all.

I clear my throat. "As she said during the interviews—she's a force to be reckoned with. I'm afraid I can't really say more without spoiling anything."

Pythia's excitement only grows, and I'm not sure if she'll be able to stay in her seat, she's so overwhelmed with emotion. But she finally calms herself enough to say, "I just can't wait to see what Rosa has in store for us!"

Then she turns to District 10 mentor, and says, "Lady, your tribute had an 18% likelihood of getting out of the Bloodbath, and the next thing we know he's running off with the District 11 girl! What was with that?"

Lady sits up straighter. "It was entirely impromptu. Phil has a knack for assessing a situation and deciding right then and there what he should do," she says calmly. "His ability to plan in a pinch is really phenomenal—one of the most amazing things I've seen in years."

"Why did he choose the District 11 girl?" Pythia asks.

"I don't think I should share too much—we'll let it play out on its own—but he saw in her some skills he admired. I asked him if he wanted to ally with her right away, but he said that he'd play it by ear. I think the two will complement each other in many ways."

"I really can't wait to see them in action. Already they have some of the best items from the Cornucopia—even better than what the Careers have."

"Yes. They're very lucky in that regard, for which I'm thankful. Items can make or break one's success in the arena," Lady says.

Pythia pauses for a moment and shuffles through some papers on her desk. Then she looks back up at the four of us and says, "I have a few more questions. Lady and Rikuto, I hope you forgive me if they're not aimed at you—"

Oh shit.

"—But for my District 7 mentors, there have been a few rumors about you going around, which I'm sure you're entirely aware of. Do you think that your relationship with each other has been detrimental to your jobs as mentors?"

"If anything, I think it's helped," Pitch answers. "I've been lucky to be so close with Juniper this Hunger Games. She really brings great insight into the experience, and the tributes—both tributes—have benefited from it."

The crowd gives a big nauseating, Awwwww!

"So it hasn't cut into your time with your tributes?" Pythia prods.

"Absolutely not," Pitch says. "We follow the same routines and time schedules that myself and other District 7 mentors have done for years. Our job is to mentor the tributes, and that is by far our priority."

What did Pitch say earlier? We'd just tell everyone work first and inappropriate touching later?

Pythia turns to me. "This is all so new to you, Juniper. Coming here for your first year as victor, being given the honor of the mentor role, and then falling in love with your fellow victor?" She sighs dreamily. "It must all be so exciting to you. How are you handling it?"

"Yeah . . ." I say. Pitch is right: I don't know how to lie. But I find myself trying anyhow. "Pitch is showing me the ropes. And the people around here are so . . . supportive."

I take a deep breath and try again. I need to be at least moderately convincing and not look like Pitch is squeezing my hand under the table and popping the sutures off my wounds.

"We hadn't wanted to make our relationship public because we didn't want people to think it distracted us from our job. I'm just glad that we don't have to hide it anymore." Ugh.

There. Is that enough? The audience sure seems to be enjoying it. Though whether they believe the romance we're selling or they are enjoying watching me writhe in misery, it's unclear.

"It must be a dream come true," Pythia says.

Does she realize that most of my dreams these days are nightmares? I just smile at her as naturally as I can manage. She seems to buy it, or at least not call me out on my bullshit.

"It wasn't something that either of us were prepared for," Pitch says. "It just kind of . . . happened. Fortunately we're both dedicated to seeing our tributes through."

She smiles at the two of us, and then she says, "You two are just so sweet together. I think we'll look forward to more Q&As with you as the Hunger Games progress. Now, ladies and gentlemen, let's give a hand to our four mentors who have taken time out of their busy schedules to come participate in our Q&A!"

The crowd goes wild again. We leave to the sound of their applause.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

As soon as we get back to the mentor room, everyone turns and stares at us.

Isolde makes a gagging noise. "Guys, that was so over-the-top," she says.

Pitch flips her off. Some of the other mentors start making comments, but Pitch just begins to lead me back to our chairs.

"I need to use the restroom," I say to him. Then to Isolde: "Am I still allowed to go into the bathroom and scream?"

"Oh, have at it," she says, gesturing towards the door.

It's only Day 3 of the Hunger Games and I'm already standing in one of the stalls of the women's bathroom screaming at the top of my lungs. Just this long, piercing "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" with only occasional breaks to catch my breath. At last I've think I've worked it out of my system and I force myself to go back to my computer station. My tribute needs me.

I don't know if the bathroom is soundproof, and I don't care. I receive a few looks as I return to my seat, but I ignore them and sit down next to Pitch.

"Everything is going just fine here," Esther updates me when I enter back into the system. "They set a snare and caught two squirrels, but without a way to light a fire, it's been a bit challenging. Finally they managed to use the heater from one of the MREs to boil water and kind of cook it. Didn't really get cooked through because it was too much meat for the heater."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on things," I say.

She shrugs. "Would rather be here than out there," she admits.

I groan. "Did you watch it, too? Was it horrible?"

"No more horrible than they made it to be. You did fine. Pitch did fine. Lady and Rikuto did fine for their bits, too."

"Such a stupid diversion," I mutter.

"Better we provide entertainment than they decide to send muttations and events to the tributes," Pitch says, his eyes still on the screen.

I hadn't even thought of that. Things in the arena have been slow lately. I feel selfish for complaining about the interview now.

"Oh, Juniper, your hand is bleeding." Esther points to my knuckles. A speck of blood has soaked through the bandage.

"That's where Pitch was squeezing my hand to keep me from flipping out on the interviewer," I mutter.

"Couldn't let you commit homicide on television," Elijah says as he ambles over. "Or, should I say, Couldn't let you commit homicide against one of the 'Chosen Elite' on television?"

"Damnit, Elijah, you need to stop that crap," Pitch says.

"Or what? They're going to take something from me? Hope they don't take my vision," he snarks. But he turns towards Esther and myself and says, "Listen, they're going to make themselves sick eating raw meat. There's a flameless heat source that will actually cook it properly that we can purchase if we have enough money."

"Plenty of tributes eat raw meat," Esther says.

"Yes, but so far we don't see a way to make fires. This is different from the occasional raw dinner. Squirrels are hosts to parasites and, like most meats, carry bacteria. Every time they eat something raw, they're going to get a higher chance of illness. And that's not even taking into consideration rabies and mad cow disease."

I look from Elijah to Esther and back. I don't actually know anything about eating raw meat. I've only eaten it cooked.

"Fine," Esther says. "Let's consult the book."

Elijah snorts but doesn't object. Esther disappears into the lounge for a moment and returns with a big volume that she sets on her lap when she sits back down again. After scanning the index for a minute, she flips to a page and reads it quietly to herself.

"Okay," she says. "I see your point."

"What's that book?" I ask, lifting up the cover so I can read the title.

Outdoor Survival, Volume XIII.

"It's pretty much the handbook to settle most disputes," Esther explains. Then, after a moment, "It gets used quite frequently."

Right, so raw squirrels can kill. I turn to my computer and flip open the bank. There is, indeed, a flameless cooker in the store, but currently it's going for quite a bit of money. Still, if we wait too long, it's going to just get more and more expensive.

"How much does it cost?" Elijah asks.

"About $9,000," I say. The price is ridiculous. But then again, there is a plate of stew going for over $500. I've never known how much things cost in the Hunger Games, only that it increases drastically with each passing day.

"Geeze," Elijah says. "I swear that's more expensive than when I looked an hour ago."

"So how does this work? Do we each contribute an equal amount?" I ask.

Pitch has turned around and is watching us. Or, rather, watching me. Making sure that I'm not going to get screwed over, most likely.

"That would be great if I have $3,000," Esther said. "But currently my tribute only has $750."

"Mine has $2,500 for making that kill," Elijah says.

"Is that the price to kill someone?" I ask.

Elijah grins. "Now you're seeing how this works."

"Let's say, hypothetically speaking, I can make up the difference. That means it belongs about 2/3 to Rosa. How—again, hypothetically—would that benefit her when it would take money away from other things I could be sending her? I guess it seems like she'd be doing the entire project for the group."

Elijah cocks his head. "How exactly would you manage to come across nearly $6,000?"

"It's all just hypothetical," I say.

"Then why are we talking about it?" he asks. He knows, of course, that I really do have that money in my bank. But after finding out that someone who took out one of the most powerful contenders only got $2,500 in sponsorships, I realize how much money Quintus Whatshisface had given me, and I'm suddenly self-conscious.

"Elijah and I will try to drum up some sponsors and pay you back," Esther says. "Well, not pay you back directly, but buy all three tributes something from our wallets."

Well. I'm not sure how much better of a deal I can make. I want to do what's best for Rosa, and to do that, I need to be a team player even if it doesn't benefit us in the immediate future. So I turn back to my computer and submit my $5,750 to contribute to the heater. The other two contribute their money, and within moments, the transaction is done. Elijah heads back to his computer and Esther and I turn to ours.

I see out of the corner of my eye a hint of a smile on Pitch's lips.

It takes about ten minutes for the parachute to fall. It drifts down and lands in the platform on which the three girls currently sit. They get excited at the parachute and immediately open it up. The two older girls start sorting out how it works. Rosa picks up the discarded wrapper from the parachute—the parachute itself and the fabric that was wrapped around the cooker—and slips it into her pocket.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The smell of flowers grows sharper, and the wind only becomes stronger. My hair flutters around my face, and I take a moment to untie my hair, gather up the loose wisps, and tie it all back down again. I don't know what the Gamemakers are going to give us today, but I know that today will be the final episode in the 140th Hunger Games.

I move to escape the strong smells not because I can't stand them anymore but because I know that if I don't move, the Gamemakers will decide that there is something more deadly they can release on me to go in the direction they desire. My hatchet is in my hands. I carry my backpack on my back, but I doubt I'll need it anymore after this. I follow the wind's push and see that we are being lead to a large, perfect lawn so profoundly green and lush that it seems surreal. A row of perfectly symmetrical rocks line the edges, and beyond that, bushes blooming with flowers. Trees, too; they overhang the clearing, leaves fluttering in the breeze. The wind dies as I approach the lawn.

The District 6 male is already there. The Careers are coming from the west, and I am approaching from the south.

The District 1 girl runs screaming at the District 6 male. But he hasn't made it to the final showdown for no reason. Their swords clash together as they battle. Clang! Clang! I don't have time to admire it because the District 4 boy is charging my direction. He's a great beast of a creature, and he's covering ground fast. I take off running, launch myself over the rocks, and clamber up into a tree. But then the tree shakes with an unnatural force, and I fall to the ground.

I land on my back with a thump, and the District 4 male is almost on top of me. He slashes with his sword, and a great gash appears across my chest. It's not as deep as it could be, but the pain radiates throughout my body, and I scream. This is it. This is the end. I am going to die. I struggle to avoid his next blow, but I won't be able to get away in time.

~.~

I'm cold. I'm so cold. Everything about me is cold, from the inside out. The blankets piled on me haven't been able to penetrate to the cold deep within my chest and abdomen. I take deep breaths, but I feel only cold air entering and leaving my body. I know it can't be possible that the room isn't that cold, until I realize that the cold is coming from me.

It's all surreal. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be away from this room, away from the Capitol, away from it all. I'm in the hallway before I can even process what I'm doing.

Pitch is just coming in for the night. It's late—I don't know what time, but it's probably at least 3:00 AM—and he's just stepping out of the elevator. He sees me standing there in a state of fear and bewilderment.

"Juniper? You okay?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Bad dream," I croak.

"Yeah, I'll say." He comes up to me and studies my face. I try not to avert my eyes. In the end, I can only look away. He nudges me back towards my bedroom.

"I can't sleep. I'm just going to go sit on the couch for a bit."

"Is it okay if I join you?" he asks.

"Don't you need to sleep?" I eye him skeptically.

"Eventually. But I'm not ready for that yet."

"Sure, okay."

The avoxes appear briefly to see if we want anything, but neither of us do. I plop on the couch next to Pitch and we stare at the black television screen. This is better—safer—than trying to turn it on and find something to watch. And while we stare at it, we can pretend that it's showing us anything we want. Anything at all.

I lean into Pitch and he puts his arms around me. His warmth radiates into me and my chilled insides slowly begin to warm. Once again, his embrace offers comfort that I cannot obtain anywhere else, and this time there is no nosy Capitolite to bother us. I feel peace come over me. My eyelids get heavy, and I fall asleep.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

All of the mentors are antsy the next day in the mentor room. It's Day 4, and nothing of great importance has happened on screen for awhile. The Careers have done very little outside of the Bloodbath despite spending a couple days wandering around. Sponsorship has slowed down significantly. More than likely, there will be some event or another.

We're not wrong.

At about 10:00 AM, the fog that is underneath the walkways begins to rise. Those on the lowest levels of the walkways are quickly consumed by the fog and immediately disoriented. This includes the Careers. They scatter in confusion. The District 8 male is heading right in the direction of the District 1 female and District 2 male, though none of them know it since the fog is so thick and pervasive. As it overtakes the lower levels, the fog continues to rise. Rosa and her alliance see this. They scramble to get higher and higher to keep away from the fog. It's hard because there's not one great ladder that leads them to the highest level of the trees; they need to run down the walkways until they see a ladder or set of steps, and once they have moved upward, need to search for another ladder or set of steps to get them even higher. Despite the panic, none of them are frantic or disoriented. Once they end up at a dead end and have to go back down and find another ladder that will lead them to a different walkway.

Green is one of the ones disoriented on a middle level. He doesn't understand what's happening and the fog wraps around him before he can escape. You can see in his eyes that he's wishing that he could climb the tree to get away, but after watching Coal fall to his death a couple days ago, the kid has been far more reserved about his tree-climbing skills. Besides, his wrist is still broken and it likely will never heal in the arena.

The flags on the map that indicate the positions of the tributes begin to disperse as the fog scatters everyone. Only the three girls from Rosa's alliance manage to stay together, and this is likely only because they were not on the lowest levels and saw the fog coming. I switch to the camera that lets me see three tributes that are about to collide: the District 1 female, District 2 male, and District 8 male. The Careers are calling back and forth for each other, but the fog eventually suppresses their voices and makes it challenging to hear each other. It's clear that they cannot see more than five feet out, and even then, what they can see is reduced to shapes and shadows.

A shape approaches the District 1 female, Joy. She calls out if it's the District 2 male, and when he doesn't answer—she can't tell that the fog has hindered noise as well as sight—she lashes out with her weapon. The District 2 male falls dead. But she can't see who it is, only that he fell. The cannon booms. Within moments, the District 8 male gets too close, and once again, Joy strikes. A second cannon.

The District 2 mentor grumbles a curse at Isolde. Isolde only shrugs. "Not my fault," she says.

Calico, on the other side of Esther, removes her monitoring device and sets it on the keyboard. "I had such high hopes for him," she groans.

Now some of the other Careers are getting the idea that they need to move up levels. They clamber and climb as high as they can, as fast as they can. Unlike Rosa, Nicola, and Taylor, they cannot move very fast because they are so hindered by the fog that they can't easily find the ladders to get to the higher levels. But they are still moving. The District 4 tributes manage to stay together, but the District 2 girl is separated.

I switch back to my alliance. It appears that the girls have reached as high as they can go. Although the trees are still reaching far into the sky, the tributes are at least a hundred yards higher than the bottom level. Again, it's hard to tell because the levels aren't stacked neatly on top of each other. But they begin to relax, taking turns peering over the edge into the fog far down below them. Panting, Rosa flops on the ground and takes out her bottle of water. There's not much left—just a few drops.

"I bet we can use the fog to make water for us," says Nicola as she stares down below.

Taylor and Rosa are immediately interested.

"I don't know why I didn't think about it before—guess it was too far out of our reach," she continues. "Give me a minute to think, and I'll let you know."

While they're thinking, I check on Green. He, like several other tributes, has had very little water since entering the arena, and the disorienting fog did him little favors. He has managed to drink dew off of leaves in the early morning, and chew on bits of tree flesh. But most impressively, he managed to weave a basket to catch water that collected on broad leaves when the air grew moist during the night. Still, it hasn't been enough. His health is currently at 49%. Right now, he's wandering aimlessly through the fog. The basket is tied to his back like a turtle shell, and he has a branch in his hand like a child's sword. His wide eyes search everywhere for any sign of danger, and yet he can see nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the flag of the District 2 female coming closer to Green's flag on the map.

"Pitch," I whisper.

He sits up immediately and leans closer to the screen.

It's clear that the District 2 female, Alina, isn't exactly hunting anyone. She's just as lost as the others. But after watching Joy kill two tributes in a matter of minutes—one being her ally—because she was so disoriented in the fog, I know that Alina will strike first and ask questions later. Backpack askew on her shoulder and knife in her hand, she walks slowly down the walkway.

A shadow appears down the path, and Green crouches down. He backs towards the rails and cowers underneath it. It's only then that he seems to realize that he dropped his branch. Panic spreads across his face and he almost leans over to get it, but withdraws at the last moment as Alina appears.

The District 2 girl doesn't seem to see him. Her eyes are ahead of her, not down towards her feet. And she doesn't see the branch. Her foot catches, and she trips and falls, sprawling across the walkway with an "Umf!" The knife clatters from her hand. She turns around to see what she tripped over and starts cursing the branch. She doesn't see Green.

Green jumps up, kicks the knife as hard as he can which sends it flying off the walkway and into the unknown. Then he, this little kid, grabs onto the District 2 girl's backpack, and pulls as hard as he can.

The Career screams at him and turns around. But in doing so, she inadvertently twists her body in a manner that allows her backpack to come right off. Green looks stunned for a moment, and then he takes off running. And boy, can that kid run. The fog doesn't even slow him down as he moves, jumping up and over steps, dodging branches, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the Career.

Pitch sits back in his chair, hands on his head, staring wide-eyed at the screen. We're both thinking it: What the hell just happened? In a matter of moments, he successfully disarmed a Career and stole her gear. She'll be able to get more back at the Cornucopia, but that doesn't matter right now.

Green runs out of steam eventually and comes to a stop. Looking around for a place to hide, still immersed in the fog, he finally finds a little nook that's partially blocked by an overhanging tree branch. Without the fog, he'd have no chance, but with the thick blanket of white, he's safe. Once he's tucked away, he begins to search through his bag. Hoorah! There's water! Relief spreads across his face, and he twists off the cap of the bottle and guzzles the water down.

Pitch's monitoring device pings once. Then again. And again. He's receiving sponsorship for Green—multiple donations. Some are small amounts-$50, $100—but others are in the thousands. One is for $10,000. He ends up with nearly $35,000 in the span of three minutes. He looks just as relieved as Green did upon finding the water. The next several minutes, Pitch tries to sort out whether a parachute sent to his tribute will actually reach him and not get lost in the fog. He contacts the sponsorship authorities via his computer and receives reassurance that it will, indeed, reach Green. So after seeing all that Green has acquired in his supply pack—half-gallon of water (now nearly empty), two knives, night vision goggles, a granola bar, rope, and a compass—he sends his tribute a device to help him collect water from the fog or morning dew.

Ten minutes later, the parachute floats right next to Green, who snatches it up and crouches down once more. He turns it over in his hands for a moment, not sure what to do, but then he catches on and sets up the little contraption.

We are over halfway done with the Hunger Games. Not in terms of days—it can still be stretched on for much, much longer—but in terms of tributes. Thirteen are dead and eleven remain.

I'm back watching Rosa and her alliance again. They are making plans for collecting water. I follow along for a few minutes before I go back to see what all the other tributes are doing right now.

The District 2 girl is still wandering around, completely lost and very angry. The District 1 girl is also alone, but she appears to be much more confident. The pair from District 4 come across the District 6 male in the fog. The boy, Fjord, kills him in one quick motion. I think about Rikuto's interview yesterday and how he had spoken so highly of the kid, Helmut. And now he, like the others, was dead. I swallow hard and try to push it out of my mind. At last all four Careers manage to make their way out of the fog and onto higher levels. The District 10 male is meandering around on one of the middle levels, slightly higher than the Careers. Only Green and the District 11 female are still within the cold white blanket.

It's clear that the Gamemakers are not removing the fog anytime soon. That means that the Cornucopia—and all its supplies—are well hidden and only accessible to those brave enough to find it.

When I turn back to Rosa's alliance, I find that my little tribute is volunteering to go back into the fog and try to find the Cornucopia.

"The Careers won't see us coming," she says to her allies. I can tell that they're skeptical, but they hear her out. "You can't see anything in that fog."

So they make a plan to go down there and find bottled water rather than trying to harvest it themselves. Which, Rosa points out, involves going back near there anyhow.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Rosa, Nicola, and Taylor make their way down the walkways and platforms slowly. They keep to the sides to dampen the sounds of their footsteps. Nicola is in the lead, Rosa right behind her, and Taylor brings up the rear. When they approach a ladder that leads down into the fog, they hesitate.

"We all understand that we don't really know what's down there, right?" Taylor whispers to them.

The other two nod. Nicola hesitates for a few seconds before climbing down the ladder. Rosa follows after her. Then comes Taylor. Now they are blanketed by fog, the path ahead of them nearly invisible. They still stay to the side of the path, stepping lightly and quickly, but not daring to run. At one point, they had contemplated tying themselves together with a rope so that they wouldn't get separated, but decided against it when they realized that if one of them fell, the other two would be pulled off the walkway as well.

For the majority of the day, the three of them walk around, trying to go lower and lower back towards the Cornucopia. Watching them walk around is boring, especially when you have a map that shows you how much they inadvertently backtrack, but I still can't tear myself away. Not even when Esther tells me that I need to take a few minutes and at least pee since it's been hours since I've gotten up.

At long last, they manage to reach the Cornucopia. They almost miss it, but Rosa swears she sees something shiny up ahead. So one by one, they creep out into the giant open platform and head in the direction of the great horn. As they walk, they stop every now and again to listen. They're so close to each other that they can hear when another one speaks, so they don't realize that a few feet out, all noise vanishes. When they reach the wealth of goods the Careers have organized and stacked at the mouth of the Cornucopia, they spread out to search through the bags.

That's when things start to go downhill. All three of them find what they need right this moment—water, and plenty of it—and help themselves. Then they fill their bags with water, food, and various supplies. Rosa switches out her sword for one that must be a little more comfortable and has its own sheath that she can wear on her waist. But when she looks up, the other two are gone. Vanished. A moment of panic flashes across Rosa's eyes, but then she takes a deep breath and looks around. Keeping one hand on the supplies, she walks along the front of the horn until she comes across Nicola.

"Have you seen Taylor?" she asks.

Nicola shakes her head. "But I also haven't looked. Why?"

"Fog's so thick. Can't see her."

Nicola sighs, puts the last of the items she wants in her bag, and stands up. "C'mon, let's stick together."

The two of them repeat what Rosa did and keep a hand on the supplies as they walk around. This keeps them from getting completely turned around. Despite their tactic, Taylor is nowhere.

Then comes a wretched, piercing scream.

From by my side, Esther's monitoring device vibrates and her screen lights up red. My breath catches, and several mentors turn and look in Esther's direction, none of them daring to speak.

The screaming continues until Taylor bursts from the fog and stumbles into Rosa and Nicola. She's bleeding from . . . everywhere, it seems. There are gashes across her face and a large slash across her stomach. A chunk of flesh is missing from her arm. Her knee is bleeding through a ragged tear in her pant leg. Nicola grabs one of Taylor's blood-slickened hands and Rosa grabs the other, and the three of them start running back the way they came. Their feet pound against the walkway, and they're no longer concerned about being heard by any other tribute because it's quite clear that no other tribute has injured Taylor. Whatever it was couldn't have been human.

The health stat on Esther's screen is dropping fast. 52% . . . 48% . . . 35% . . . Taylor is bleeding out. She's slowing the other two down, too. Her feet stumble once. Twice. She can't stay standing. 28%. 13%.

"I'm slowing you down!" Taylor screams.

"No, keep moving!" Nicola says. She tries to tug on Taylor harder, but her hand slips in all the blood and Taylor cries out in pain.

9%

Rosa is howling for Taylor to move.

4%

Taylor falls to the ground.

2%

There's a great roar from behind them. Rosa and Nicola look frightened in the direction from which they had come. Then at Taylor.

1%

Rosa leans over, and Nicola reaches to grab her, thinking that Rosa is going to try to move their ally again. But instead Rosa pulls the bag off of Taylor.

0%

A cannon booms.

Nicola shoulders the bag for Rosa and the two of them start running again, putting as much space as they can between themselves and whatever killed Taylor.

Esther's monitoring device finally stops vibrating.

I don't know what to say. Esther sits there, staring dumbly at the computer screen. There are tears in her eyes. At the last moment, she sits up straight, sniffs, and wipes her eyes so the tears don't spill over. She turns to me and says, "I need a few minutes."

Then she gets up and heads to the women's bathroom.

A few moments later, there's a muted shriek as Esther releases her emotions.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Esther packs up her things and leaves. "I'll catch you around," she mutters to me. Her reddened eyes hold such sorrow that I can't even fathom what I should say to her. Still, I walk her to the door. She turns around and hugs me, and I hug her back.

"Good luck with Rosa. I really hope she wins," she says. Then she disappears.

I return to my seat next to Pitch. How does one recover from watching that? It's . . . worse from this end. The frantic vibrating of the monitoring device, the flashing of the computer screen. . . . Back home when you're watching the Hunger Games, you don't see the tribute's health status dropping. You don't see any of it. And as powerless as you feel watching it at home, you feel a hundred times worse while watching it from this workstation with all the notifications and continual status changes.

"You need to take a break," Pitch says.

"No, I'm fine."

"You're shaking. You need to cool down for a minute. I'll keep an eye out on Rosa for you."

I don't move. Then Elijah is behind me. He clears his throat.

"Come with me, Juniper," he says.

I look him up and down, not sure what he means. His computer station is on the other side of the room, but I don't think I need to sit next to him. However, when I stand up, he leads me to the exit. Now even more confused than before, I follow him out the door and into the main hallway. Then we go to the very end of the hallway. He pushes open a door and we're outside.

The balcony is about fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep. It overlooks a portion of the grounds surrounding the training center; namely, a reflecting pool, walkway, and several bushes. But all that is many floors below us. The wind whips my hair in my face, and I tuck some unruly strands behind my ear.

Elijah leans against the balcony as though he is looking out into the heart of the Capitol. After a moment, I join him. He doesn't say anything for a long time; it appears that he's enjoying the breeze on his face. It is nice up here. The wind is refreshing, and I can breathe easier. I hadn't realized how stuffy the mentor room had gotten.

"When you met me the other day, I was drunk," he says at last. "I'm not normally drunk. It was pretty unprofessional, but I'm not going to apologize for it. This is a hard job. It's not one we sign up for. When you leave the arena, you're just glad that you're alive and that anything will be better than what you just experienced. You don't understand that that's the easy part."

We stand in silence for a moment as I take in what he said. None of it is new to me; it all echoes what I've known all along, even if I hadn't put it into words.

He continues, "Your tribute is going to die. So will mine. We can buy all the crap we can to keep them alive—as we should—but in the end, they're just going to suffer and die a painful death just like Taylor did. But no matter how many times we tell you that, it's not going to change the fact that when that moment comes, it's going to destroy you. It's stupid to pretend that it won't, even though it sounds hypocritical coming from me after what I told you the other day. You're going to figure out a way to handle the pain—hopefully without burying yourself in drugs and alcohol—and you're going to have to brace yourself because the exact same thing will happen next year. It doesn't matter how many times you tell yourself that it won't hurt, it always does.

"The Capitol wants to hurt us and to keep us under control, and they'll do whatever they can to stick a knife in our guts and twist. That's why they rig the Hunger Games. You can get people to pay you money so you can buy stuff, and whatever mentor has the most money will buy his tribute the best stuff only to have that tribute killed in some absolutely batshit-insane manner. It's not a game of skill. Mentoring is not something you get better at with experience. Like the pain from losing a tribute, it's always fresh and confusing and completely unnecessary. They want you to become attached to your tribute so that you will feel that fresh anguish every year."

"I don't really understand," I admit. "Why? We won. We did what they wanted us to do. Why continue to torture us?"

"Because this country is run by people who use fear and pain to control the population. The Hunger Games are a method to punish the Districts, not to elevate the winners to Capitol status."

"Is that why they never restored your vision? I mean, they replace body parts and organs and stuff all the time."

Elijah gives a humorless laugh. "They said it would be 'unnatural' to restore my eyesight. Look around. Tell me that anything in this godforsaken city is natural."

I don't know how to answer that. There is nothing I can say.

"When I left the arena, there was a trend. I can't make this shit up. They had some gauzy wrap people would put around their heads to make them look blind. Not sure how successful it was because I couldn't actually see any of it, but they really had a trend that was mocking what they did to me."

"And then they'd go home and take off the gauze wrap and see without a problem, huh?" I ask. "I'm sorry, Elijah—that really sucks."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm not telling you this because I want sympathy or pity or anything. I just want you to see what sort of freakish bastards are controlling us. And . . . I don't want you to get your hopes up with Rosa. It's going to hurt one way or another, but it will hurt more if you think that she has a chance."

So he is trying to protect me? Or does he want me to give up on her which may give his own tribute an advantage? No. I don't know much about Elijah, but I don't think he throws around his past so lightly.

"What about Nicola? She's strong. Yet you say that she's going to die."

"Nicola is a good person, but she's not a great tribute," Elijah says.

"Meaning?"

"To win, you need to be the latter. Doesn't matter what type of person you are as long as you are a great tribute." He rubs his cheek absently, still facing out into the city.

We once more find ourselves in silence. It's peaceful up here, and I take the time to digest what Elijah has told me. I'm not sure if I fully understand it all, but I do know that if Rosa loses, I'll be completely broken. And I also won't be alone.

"I should call Esther," I say.

"Give her some time to process it," he says. "But I'm sure she'll appreciate a call."

I head back towards the door, but I stop before going back inside. Elijah doesn't move. I think he needs more time out here by himself. Still I say, "Hey, Elijah? Thank you."

He grunts in reply.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Rosa and Nicola manage to hobble back to the top level of the walkways as night is coming upon them. The two of them have made the journey in silence, and they crawl up onto a platform and sit there stupidly for another few minutes. Nicola peels off her bags and throws them on the ground. Rosa takes hers off and opens it.

They don't need to use the flameless heater they worked so hard for tonight because they have plenty of food from the Cornucopia.

Nicola starts to cry. She buries her face in her hands and her shoulders heave. She's a delicate crier, though, and she barely makes a sound. Rosa, on the other hand, stares off blankly ahead of her and eats beef jerky from a package, washing it down with water.

The anthem jars them from their stupor, and their faces immediately turn towards the heavens above. Four faces appear in the sky tonight—the most of any day since the bloodbath—and Rosa and Nicola watch the images of the District 2 male, District 6 male, and both from District 8 glow high above them. The music ends as abruptly as it started, plunging them into a naked silence.

"I'll take first watch," Rosa says. Nicola nods gratefully and curls up on her side. Rosa slips on night vision goggles and, for the next hour, sorts through the bags of supplies. She carefully evens out both bags and sets the third bag—Taylor's bag—to the side. The two remaining bags are heavy, but at least there are plenty of supplies to get them by.

Rosa leans against the side of a tree around which this particular walkway is built and stares. She still has the night vision goggles on, so it's difficult to see if she's looking at anything in particular. Hours pass, and she barely moves except to look around on occasion.

I fall asleep at my computer station, and when I wake dawn is just breaking across the horizon. Rosa is asleep and Nicola is keeping watch.

There are nine tributes left. Rosa has almost made it to the top eight. Soon they'd be interviewing the families—and very likely a whole new round of interviews for the mentors—to ask them all about what it feels like to have a kid live this long. I saw my parents' interview when I was in the arena, and it was absolutely heartbreaking. They held onto so much hope that I'd be returning home, and yet they knew—you could read it in their body language, their speech—that they should release that hope and consider me dead.

I rub my tired eyes and head to the lounge for coffee. In passing, I find Pitch asleep on a couch-bed, but I don't disturb him.

As I settle back in front of the computer, I think about what Elijah had said yesterday. About how I'm going to be completely destroyed if—when—Rosa dies. Although I don't want to believe it, I don't see how it could not be true. She had pissed me off so badly when I found out she'd propagated rumors and lead us to believe it was Green who started them all, but none of that matters anymore. I only want her to return home no matter what she has to do to get back to us. She can tell all the rumors she wants if it means she doesn't leave the arena in a box.

Since there was so much chaos yesterday, the Gamemakers likely aren't going to throw another arena-wide event at them. They will instead allow the audience to watch how the tributes handle what they've just been through. Besides, it's only Day 5—the Hunger Games can't end too early.

I take a moment to check in on Green. He's still in the fog, and it doesn't look like things are going too well for him. His health is at 32%. That's a decrease of 6% since last time I checked. It's been a slow trickle; nothing too great. But it's still concerning, and I know that if he were my tribute, I'd want to know. So I head back to the lounge.

I sit on the side of Pitch's bed-couch and hesitate. He's pretty solidly asleep. There are a few other mentors in here right now, and none of them look to be as peaceful as Pitch. One of the District 4 mentors is mumbling things in his sleep, and the District 2 mentor keeps tossing and turning. I reach out and touch Pitch's shoulder.

"Hey, Pitch?" I shake him a little.

He mumbles something and turns over to face me. His eyes are bleary and he blinks several times.

"Something the matter?"

"Green is at 32%. Just thought you wanted to know."

"Yeah, thanks," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He rubs his eyes and then stares at the monitoring device still attached to his wrist. "Fuck. The kid has hypothermia."

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he ambles in the direction of the computers. I stop by the table and get him coffee before joining him at our stations.

"I don't understand what he's doing," I say as I sit down and hand Pitch his coffee. He takes it. "Why isn't he moving? He's just sitting there in the fog."

"I think he's in shock," Pitch says. He scratches his head and stares hard at the screen.

"He hasn't moved since yesterday."

I don't think Green is going to make it much longer. It's not just that he's cold and his body is entering into freezing mode, but it just seems like he's . . . given up. First his mouth stopped working and now his body stopped working.

Pitch continues to stare at Green as though hoping he could move the tribute with his mind. I turn back to Rosa and Nicola. They start to move for the day. Weariness is written on their faces, and their movements are lethargic. Five days in the arena is nothing if you consider some Hunger Games last over two weeks. But when you're actually in the arena, it's around five days that you start to break down in ways you never thought about. Some people adapt and others don't. You move on or you die.

There's a cannon, and I start. Immediately my attention goes Pitch's screen, but I'm relieved to find that it's not Green. And then I think about Rosa but neither she nor Nicola is dead. Instead it's the District 11 female. She has died from exposure. Like Green, she had spent the night in the fog.

Demeter takes off her monitoring device and leaves without a word.

Both Rosa and Green have made it to the top eight. Two twelve year olds from the same district have made it so much farther than anyone thought they'd ever go. It's more than I could have thought possible. I'm almost giddy, but the exhaustion is nearly too much for me.

And within moments, I receive a notification on my screen:

JUNIPER SADIK

YOU ARE SCHEDULED FOR AN INTERVIEW THIS MORNING AT 10:00 AM.

PLEASE BE AT THE MEZZANINE OF THE TRAINING CENTER AT 9:45 AM.

YOU ARE EXCUSED FROM THIS EVENT ONLY IF YOUR TRIBUTE IS IN CRITICAL CONDITION ( 20 % ) OR IS IN IMMEDIATE DANGER.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

After a shower (the first in a few days, maybe—I've lost track), I meet Pitch in the District 7 apartment and head down to the interview together. Exhaustion bogs me down, but I manage to hold my head up as we approach the mezzanine.

There are eight of us here today, but the training center coordinator explains that we aren't all going to be interviewed all at once. He tells us that we're going to go in order of our district number, with both mentors of District 4 being interviewed at the same time, and both mentors of District 7 being interviewed together. At least, I think, they're not setting us up to answer any relationship questions, though I don't doubt that they will crop up.

The coordinator takes us to a bench on the first floor right inside the door of the training center. He then leads Isolde out first. She gives us a wave as she leaves. After about ten minutes, the mentor for the District 2 tribute is called up.

It reminds me of the training sessions when you have to wait for the districts before you. It's nerve wracking, and I find myself bouncing my leg up and down as I wait, trying not the peel the thin coat of varnish off my nails.

Then the pair from District 4 are being called up, leaving Elijah, Pitch, Lady, and me behind. Despite the fact that I know these mentors and am more comfortable with them than most others, I have no desire to socialize. Instead I take in the architecture of the training center, with its great entryway that spans multiple floors and the elevator that disappears up into the ceiling. It's not the sort of thing you appreciate when you're a tribute. Not when everything is new and crazy and deadly.

Next is Elijah's turn.

"What are they going to ask us, Pitch?" I turn to my fellow mentor after we are once more left in silence. "What sorts of things do they usually ask?"

"About how our tributes have managed to get this far, how long we think they're going to live, how we're handling the stress and excitement. All those sorts of things," he says. "And for us they'll probably want to know how it affects our relationship, or if our relationship affects our mentoring."

"Didn't they just ask all this? At the Q&A?"

"Yes. But they'll phrase the questions a little differently so that things aren't exactly the same," he says.

I nod like I understand.

Minutes pass, and then it's our turn. I take a deep breath. I'm not ready to be in the spotlight again.

We are lead out to the same area we were the other day. Crowds greet us with pounding cheers, and now that it's daylight, it's hard to avoid looking at the massive number of people crammed into the plaza. More than before. We aren't seated at a table but in chairs right next to each other. Big ones shaped like cups with uncomfortable arm rests. This time instead of Pythia, it's Caligula Klora. Immediately I'm immersed back in my interview before my Hunger Games, and it takes strength to pull myself back to the present.

"Juniper Sadik and Pitch Yassen, of District 7! What a delight to have you two with us this morning," he greets us warmly. "I'm really excited to see how far your tributes have made it. They've had so many odds stacked against them since their names were called, and yet here they are. What are your thoughts?"

"Both my Green and Juniper's Rosa are fighters," Pitch replies. "They have weathered some tough situations and come out on top, both inside and outside of the arena."

"They are most certainly showing that. Juniper, I think about what Rosa said during the interview and how she is a force to be reckoned with. I think she's really showing us that that's the case. Surviving the beast in the fog? Wow, that required some very quick thinking."

He stares at me. Oh, am I supposed to talk now?

Shit, what am I supposed to say? That wasn't even a question.

"Juniper?" Caligula asks. He smiles at me. "How do you think she's doing it?"

"With . . . her brain?" I offer. I mentally kick myself. That was dumb. Super dumb. This would no doubt be broadcast to her parents and family at home. How could I do her justice if this is the sort of shit that I'm saying? So I fumble for a way to make up. "I think smart tributes are often overlooked because they can't actually pull off what they need to pull off. But Rosa's different. She comes up with an idea and she executes it well."

"Yes she does," Caligula agrees. "This must be an extremely tense time for you guys. Juniper, I can tell you're a bit tired. Probably didn't get much sleep last night with all the excitement, huh?" Caligula continues. I just smile half-heartedly. "It must be nice that you have each other to help you out during this time. Tell me, do you guys talk work together?"

Thank heavens for Pitch. "Right now, our tributes are not allied with each other, so there aren't too many in-depth discussions, but we throw ideas off each other and talk about the various activities in the arena," he says casually.

"How do you make room for each other in your schedules?" Caligula asks. "Busy as you are, I'm sure it must be tough."

"Well, Caligula, it can be pretty tough, sure, but as I mentioned in the Q&A the other day, we make work our priority," Pitch answers for us both. "It's just good to know that Juniper and I are in this together."

"That really must be an amazing experience to be working together to bring your tributes home," Caligula says. "Juniper, speaking of, your tribute is in the top eight and you're only in your first year of mentoring. How did you do it?"

I hesitate because immediately I think of Elijah telling me that it doesn't matter how many years you do this because experience can't help you. But I push the thought out of my mind and try to focus on Caligula's question.

"I am very lucky that I have a great tribute. Rosa is pretty kick-ass. And, of course, knowing that Pitch is here by my side every step of the way is something I can't really describe. It's . . . cool." I try to smile. Maybe I do, maybe I just grimace. But I at least try. And I hope that no one sees what a lying piece of shit I am.

"You know, I think that every mentor is probably pretty jealous of you two right now," Caligula says. "For what you have going on here. It's not often we have mentors who are so dedicated to their job—and each other—as you guys. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to drift from that topic for a minute, but we don't have much time left and I need to cover this topic. Pitch, your tribute isn't looking so hot right now. Little Green is struggling to hang on. How long do you think he'll make it?"

I drift out. Shut my brain off. Look at all the dazzling lights around me, and let my eyes lose focus until all the people are little fleshy blobs in the distance. I can't take this anymore. This line of questioning is disgusting. I'd rather people sit here and ask Pitch and me about the details of our romance rather than have to field inquiries about the immediate demise of a tribute. If I sit here and gaze off into the distance, I don't have to answer anything. Problem solved. Ish.

". . . he's a durable kid . . . things are getting a little intense for him right now. . . ."

". . . health can't last much. . ."

". . . give up . . ."

". . . yes, of course . . ."

". . . end . . ."

". . . goodbye . . ."

~.~

Pitch leads me offstage. I don't really know what happened. I . . . don't think I passed out, but there are some blank parts in my memory. I'm not bleeding and I'm not sore, so I know I didn't attack anything. But I just . . . don't feel like I'm all there. What happened? What did I miss?

"Juniper?" Pitch has my face cupped in his hands and he's looking straight into my eyes. "Juniper? Can you hear me?"

"Hmm?" I mumble.

"I need you to answer me. In words," he says.

It takes a few seconds for me to wrap my head around what he's saying. Then I manage to push out a "Hi." Which is a word. Not a useful one right now, but he didn't specify.

"I kind of . . . lost you out there," Pitch says. "Are you okay?"

"No," I admit. "What happened?"

"You just kind of went comatose. Almost had to carry you offstage," he explains. "Have you been eating?"

"Hmm? Yes," I reply.

"How about sleeping?" he asks.

"I think?"

"Okay, when we get back, you need to lay down and sleep. I'll watch Rosa for you."

Sleep sounds heavenly.

"Pitch, I . . . the interview," I say. "I can't do more. They're horrible. I can't listen to—"

The monitoring device on Pitch's wrist vibrates. And since he is still holding onto my face, I feel that vibration in my jaw. It's a sudden and jarring feeling, and he immediately releases me to look at his device.

"What's wrong?" I demand.

He doesn't say anything at first. So I manage to reach out to him and nudge his arm. "Upstairs," I say. I'm still a bit delirious, but I manage to stagger forward.

Pitch grabs onto me to keep me from falling over a bench, and we move towards the elevator. He's saying nothing. I don't want to prod, but I want to know what's happening. Is Green dead? If he's alive, what's going on?

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

When we get back to the mentor room, I'm able to see for myself what's wrong. I throw myself in the chair next to Pitch and flip to the cameras surrounding Green.

Green's health is at 18% which is considered "critical." But it's not from the hypothermia directly. Once more, Green is climbing trees. Between his poor state and the broken wrist, his health dropped significantly. And yet, he doesn't seem to care. He's found a tree that is pretty easy to climb, even with the broken bone. Then I realize that it's not the tree itself, per se: there are little wooden slats hammered into the tree that provide enough area for a handhold or foothold. Like a little ladder, they go up and up and up. This is what Green is climbing.

It takes nearly an hour. He's at 15% by the time he pulls himself out of the fog.

"Good kid," Pitch mutters to his screen. And then, without a word to me, Pitch leaves the room.

I turn back to Rosa and Nicola. It's still the fifth day, though it could be tenth or hundred or thousandth, and it would all feel the same. The tributes make themselves a light lunch of squirrel and acorns. They don't talk with each other for the most of it except to ask for items or give commands. "Pass me the skewer, will you?" "We can use this knife to gut the squirrel." "How much water should we use?"

When they finish, they sit there for several seconds before Rosa says, "I'm going to go look around."

Nicola's head whips up. "No, we need to stick together," she insists. The fear shines prominently in her eyes. I wonder if she's afraid of losing her remaining ally or if she's scared of being alone.

"I'll be right there," Rosa points down the walkway to an area that is relatively free from trees. "And I'll be really careful."

Nicola finally nods. "I'll hang onto our things here."

Rosa stares at her for a second. Is she trying to figure out whether she can trust Nicola with all of their supplies? But she nods and then turns around. The short sword still hangs at her waist, so she won't be entirely unprepared. Rosa has proven that she has a lot of skill in the arena—determination, guts—but does she have the ability to really use that sword if put in a tight situation?

We're about to find out because, unbeknownst to Rosa and Nicola, the District 4 tributes have reunited with the District 1 and 2 females, and they're heading right in their direction.

Rosa looks around cautiously before stepping onto the walkway and heading towards the area she pointed out. When she creeps over, I can see why she wanted to go here: there is a very clear view of several surrounding walkways, and you can see where the fog reaches. It might be the most unobscured area of the arena which, unfortunately, leaves Rosa very exposed. What it doesn't allow her to see is the area of the walkway she's currently standing about ten yards away where it turns and disappears into the trees.

And that's where the Careers are now.

They pick up speed when they see Rosa and are on her in a flash, weapons drawn. My heartrate increases, and I grip the arms of my chair. I'm helpless. I can only watch this horror unfold as Rosa is about to get mowed down by not one, not two but four Careers at once. Rosa turns around in time to see them upon her, and her eyes grow wide. She doesn't have time to run. She's trapped.

"No!" she cries out.

The hungry gleam in the Careers' eyes show that they're eating up her pitiful cry. This is what they live for. This is what they've been trained for.

In the mentor room, everyone is silent. I feel bile welling up in my stomach.

"I can get you supplies!" Rosa cries out. "I can lead you back to the Cornucopia! I've been there!"

The Careers don't stop running, but when they get to her, the District 2 girl, Alina, latches onto her small frame and holds a knife to Rosa's neck. "Is that so?" she asks. Intrigued, but not willing to believe it quite yet.

Rosa's blood pressure is rising. Her temperature is increasing. My computer silently updates me with the latest recordings.

"I went yesterday!" Rosa whimpers.

The knife presses closer to her throat. "Why is their blood on you, kid?" District 2 demands. "How did you survive this long?"

"Nicola killed Taylor! It was horrible!" Rosa gulps for air. "They were . . . they were my alliance. And now Taylor is dead! Nicola took all my supplies. I was . . ." she hiccups ". . . going to go get more at the Cornucopia."

Good girl. Good liar. The Careers exchange a few glances and then the District 4 male, Fjord, says, "Might as well. We'll kill her if she leads us astray."

They'll kill her anyway. Rosa knows that. But she watches them with large eyes because she doesn't have a choice right now.

"Alright, fine," the other Careers agree.

To keep Rosa from running away, they weigh her down with the one backpack they have. I'm not sure what's inside it, but it's heavy and Rosa struggles under the weight. Then they tie her hands together in front of her so she can't take the backpack off. She whimpers when they wrap the rope around her wrists, and she asks politely if they could not hurt her anymore. "I'm not going anywhere. You guys would only catch me again right away."

So they give her more slack—just the smallest bit—in her restraints, and then they push her to get moving.

Nicola, meanwhile, is still hiding on her platform, visibly shaken. She doesn't move. I don't blame her. Rosa is only an ally to her, and at some point the little girl would have to die for Nicola to win. That's the Hunger Games, and most tributes come to that understanding at some point or another in the arena, even if they never leave it alive.

True to her word, Rosa leads the Careers back towards the Cornucopia, though she does it at her own pace. The route they take is somewhat convoluted and isn't the most straightforward path. I can't tell if Rosa does this intentionally. When they push her to move faster, she whimpers and shifts the weight of the backpack on her shoulders to indicate that it is weighing her down. But she doesn't say anything to them about it. She wants to look helpless but she doesn't want to let them think she's weak.

They're in the fog when night rolls in, so Fjord suggests they sleep here for the night at risk of getting turned around in the haze. Oceana agrees, but Alina grumbles. Joy looks like she's pumped for the adventure, and it's hard for her to settle down. Rosa doesn't mention how close they are to the Cornucopia, but my map shows that if they had kept walking another few minutes, they would have been there.

There is no more rope, so they can't tie Rosa up. Instead they plop her down on the ground, bag still attached to her back, and rope still around her wrists. Then they themselves settle in for the evening. The anthem plays, and there is only the District 11 tribute in the sky tonight. The Careers make comments about how they're going to handle the remainder of the Hunger Games, mostly how they're going to hunt the other tributes. None of them acknowledge that there are four Careers left and that they're going to eventually need to turn on each other. At last Oceana says she'll take first watch. Everyone agrees, though it takes awhile for them to settle in. There is only one blanket to share between them—a piece of silver fabric that one of them must've had on them when they fled the fog—and they huddle together to stay warm.

Little Rosa curls up awkwardly with the backpack hindering her movement. Tomorrow they'll expect her to keep marching, but will her body be able to handle it without a break from the heavy weight? I hear one of the District 4 mentors mention something about the bag being full of extra weaponry and random debris they found just to make sure that there was some shape to the bag because some Careers are used to travelling heavy and a partially-full bag will throw off their swing. So they either use no bag or a heavy one. These are the things you would never know if you were not a Career.

The hours tick by. Oceana gets up and paces around. She doesn't travel too far away because the fog is thick and it's hard to see.

Rosa shivers. Her health drops to 78%. A few more minutes go by. 75%. She won't last the night like this.

~.~.~


~.~.~

CHAPTER FORTY

Rosa isn't asleep. She's watching Oceana walk around. Disappear into the fog and reappear. She turns to the sleeping forms of the Careers not too far from her. The fake snores that they had given to try to convince the others they were asleep have turned to real ones.

And now Rosa makes her move.

When Oceana is farther away, Rosa plays with the ropes on her wrists. It takes five, ten minutes, but then she has the rope completely off. Barely moving, she twists an arm and ties one end of the rope to the bag on her back. And then quietly, ever so quietly, she slips an arm out of the bag, and then the other. Her movements are slow and deliberate, timed with Oceana's paces. Whenever the Career comes near, Rosa slows to a stop, ready to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. And when the Career walks away, she starts working again.

Rosa ties the rope to the ankle of the closest Career, Alina. It's a thorough knot that won't be easily undone.

I watch with curiosity, not certain what she has planned until she makes her next move.

The Careers are sleeping on the walkway. Because there are three of them, the two on the outside are closer to the edge. And Alina isn't too far from the edge nearest Rosa.

With the bag tied firmly to Alina's ankle, Rosa gives it one big push with the soles of her boots. It rolls over the side of the walkway and into oblivion, taking Alina of District 2 with it.

Rosa jumps up and runs as the Careers wake with a start. Oceana hurries back to them just in time to see Alina scrambling to try to hold onto the edge of the walkway. There is no rail here for her to grab onto. Her fingernails dig into the wooden boards, but it's no use. The other Careers are too slow to help, and Alina disappears off the side.

Moments later, a cannon booms.

Rosa runs. She doesn't care how loud her boots are against the floorboards right now as she puts as much space between herself and the Careers as she can. It's in her advantage that the Careers are shouting at each other in confusion, trying to understand what exactly happened. None of them have an explanation, and it's only making them angrier. Joy and Fjord blame Oceana for not watching closely enough. Oceana tells them that they're idiots if they think she can see through this thick fog. They argue as they try to figure out if they should pursue Rosa or continue to the Cornucopia.

Once Rosa is out of the fog, she navigates easily back towards where she left Nicola.

Meanwhile, the Careers have decided that they need supplies and once they have them, they'll find and kill Rosa "easily enough." But they have to wait until morning to keep moving.

Rosa's health has increased to 94% by the time she returns to Nicola. Nicola, however, has moved from the place they were. After a couple minutes, though, she reappears with both bags.

"What happened?" asks Nicola.

"They started arguing and I escaped!" Rosa gasps.

"Did the fog monster get them?"

"I don't know! I didn't see what happened!" Rosa says.

Nicola insists on making her some food. She gives Rosa water and hands her back her bag.

"I was so worried," Nicola confesses. "I'm sorry I didn't come and save you. I just . . ."

"There were four of them! I know," Rosa sighs. "It was just so scary. I didn't think I'd live."

And then my monitoring device starts blowing up with notifications. The sponsorships are pouring in. Little Rosa, master manipulator. Killed a Career and lead everyone astray, even her own ally. And yet she's just the sweetest little thing anyone's ever seen. For the first time since her name was drawn from the reaping bowl, everyone now thinks she has a chance. And they're showing it with their generous donations in her favor.

There's enough money in her bank that I buy her an outrageously expensive gift: a warming shirt. It's designed to help keep her body at the appropriate temperature so if she steps into the fog again, as I suspect she will, her risks of hypothermia decrease. A few minutes later, a small parachute floats down and lands near her. She eagerly grabs it up, and unwraps it. Then she pulls off her jacket and shirt and slips this one on before dressing again. Nicola comments on how lucky she is and how nice the shirt is. Rosa just grins at her. "I guess they're proud that I can move that fast," Rosa says.

Nicola insists that Rosa gets some rest, and the little girl snuggles in right next to her ally. Within moments, she's asleep.

It's only then that I remember there are other people in the room, and as the world around me stars becoming more vivid—the sounds of other people's computers, footsteps, talking from the lounge—I realize that the other mentors are looking at me.

"What?" I demand.

They just mutter things—apologies for staring or "nothing" or whatever—and go back to their own business. I get up and head into the lounge where I crash on a couch, not bothering to turn it into a bed.