When Sam had started working in the mines almost a year ago, a guide had been assigned to show him and a few other boys around. It took the whole day to navigate the maze of caverns and tunnels. At that time, they had absolutely terrified Sam. Paths that had appeared to be a continuation of the main route were really death traps that lacked oxygen or were littered with chasms that seemed to reach to the center of the earth. Making it so that most of the miners had to imagine the terrain based off prior knowledge and intuition, each mining group was only equipped with one or two flashlights. Every day, there were casualties from obstacles that could have easily been avoided.
The guide had told them exactly how to ensure their survival. "Move slow, learn to listen rather than see, and turn back the second things begin to seem odd," he had grumbled when a jittery boy had asked.
What had seemed excessively simple at the time quickly proved nearly impossible. Each miner had a daily quota, and in order to make said quota Sam would typically have to jog from location to location. Plus, the sounds that would have signaled water cascading down a chasm or the crunching of shifting rock were silenced by the vociferous sound of hundreds of men picking desperately at the walls.
The crippling fear that one might lose pay was the most common cause of death or injury. The money made at the mines was just enough to afford food and basic supplies, but that could only comfortably cover two or three people. Many men within the town supported whole families, sometimes even spanning over multiple generations. Sure women could make money, too, but the mines were the only place to make a solid living for those outside of the merchant class, and many of these women were forced to stay home and watch their children or the children of neighbors who had passed. Regardless, in a situation where a miner had to choose between continuing down an apparently hazardous path or having a day's pay taken, they would almost always go with the former.
The first major disaster during Sam's employment occurred after about 3 months on the job. A large section of the main system collapsed, killed over 30 men and wounded many more. Sam could remember the way the whole world seemed to shake as mountains of dust and rubble surged down the tunnel, suffocating and blinding him within seconds. Luckily, he was only trapped for about an hour before a guide came and freed him and a few others. From what he heard, some men were in the mines without food or clean water for almost six days.
In the Games, though, Sam was able to move more slowly. The second the clock was finished counting down, he had leapt from his pedestal and backed into the nearest tunnel. Bloodcurdling screams and shouts could still be hear from the Cornucopia, but they were nothing compared to the miners' many asynchronous picks. The pathway was completely unlit and rugged, but from what he could tell, it seemed sturdy. Sturdy and silent.
Taking in a deep breath, he tested the air. Fresh. Too fresh, almost. There was something off about the air, as if it was coming through some sort of ventilation system. It probably was.
Fresh air is a good thing, Sam tried to reason with himself as he continued farther into the caves. He felt uneasy about it, though, having the Gamemakers control his airflow so obviously. He could run from fire or water or any living creature, but he couldn't run from suffocation.
With a rather loud thud, Sam met a sudden and unforeseen dead end. Rubble cascaded down onto him in a dusty shower as the weak wall buckled under his impact. Sam froze, wondering if anyone had heard his first mistake. When he was met by a thick silence, he let out a deep sigh.
His mind flew to devise some sort of plan. He couldn't go back to the cornucopia. By now, the careers would have congregated; having taken out every remaining tribute. He would never be able to sneak past them with his life.
Failure. He had run into a dead end, what? Ten minutes into the game? Now he was trapped and hopeless and lost and alone. And it was all his fault. He had volunteered for this, he had pulled his own trigger and now the bullet had made its mark. Haymitch, Gabriel, his district – they would all be disappointed with him.
For the first time, Sam truly felt the repercussions of his actions. Whether they had been out of guilt or vengeance, it was all over now. Sam turned, rage boiling his face red and his knuckles turning white. In one swift motion, he brought them down onto the wall. More dust and stone fell onto his cap and landed in his long hair, but this time he heard a few large chunks of rock clatter to the cave floor. Furrowing his brow, Sam brought his fists down once more, this time without any rage or self pity.
Placing his hand gingerly on the wall, Sam began to investigate. He had never been in the clearing team, but he knew what a study wall felt like. What stood before him was no such wall, but rather a loosely packed stack of small pebbles and a few larger boulders. Feeling around, he found that this wall ended sharply as it met the side walls and lower ceiling, which were made of smooth, water-carved stone.
Amplified as it compacted in the tunnels, the sound of talking suddenly surrounded him. Sam knew who they were instantly; no one else would be that loud. The careers were coming.
Without much thought, Sam pulled off one of his large hiking boots. The heel was hard rubber, and was the closest thing to a pick he could find without wasting valuable time or energy. As silently as possible, he beat at the barrier with the shoe. Falling away easily, a small hole opened in the wall. Within a few minutes of chipping, the hole appeared large enough to squeeze through.
Sam was growing frantic as the voices approached. Jumping through his passageway, a small bit of him managed to calm down. But then as he turned to face the barrier, a single thought passed through his rapid mind. Would the careers fit as well? Other thoughts began to flow uncontrollably, his hands beginning to shake as he lost control of his mind. Would they climb through the hole that he made and pursue him down the tunnels with the vicious aggression they were famous for? Would they be able to trap him if he came to another obstacle?
Yes.
With all of his strength, Sam's panic thrust a nearby boulder into the hole. Suppressing a scream as he felt his muscles tear under the boulder's weight, he jammed the rock in as far as it would go. Once the rock was secure, he let himself breathe once more. At least now if they realized the wall was moveable they'd have to start from the beginning.
Sam hastily continued down the path.
.o0o.
Castiel had no idea where Meg was leading them. The only aid she and Ardor had managed to acquire before their escape was a rather weak flashlight and two backpacks of food. From the torch shot a dull, yellow beam of light that was suffocated by the tunnel's thick, unparalleled darkness before it was able to make contact with the walls or the floor. Occasionally, it would snag a stalagmite, but typically it just illuminated the shocking amount of dust suspended in the air.
The run was exceedingly difficult with Claire in his arms. She was rather heavy, but the slowing of her blood flow offered some sort of comfort. That, and it was almost nice to have the aching of his arms and back to focus on. Every few minutes, he would almost forget about the other tributes that were lurking in these very same shadows.
Almost.
Beside him, Ardor was wheezing with a fury. Castiel looked down at where he knew the child most likely was, but he was only met by more of the black abyss. Still, he could imagine the boy's mortified expression. Castiel looked away, trying to suppress the terrible vision.
"Hurry up!" Meg hissed back at them. Castiel hoisted Claire further into his grasp and pushed forward.
Meg was nearly sprinting now, her feet clacking against the uneven ground. Even if he didn't know where they were going, she sure did. Castiel watched as the flashlight's beam bobbed up and down with each stride.
But then, it disappeared.
The clacking of boot against rubble stopped as the light twisted into darkness.
"Stop!" Meg screamed from in front of him. Castiel searched for the noise he knew all too well, the noise that would mean another tribute's knife in her gut, the noise Albert had made, but he didn't find it. Instead, a bitter fear seeped into the small cavern.
Castiel froze just in time to feel the tips of his boot leave the solid ground and the dull light of the flashlight disappear. Meg, who had stopped a foot behind him, managed to reach through the darkness and grab a fistful of his jacket in order to hold him and Claire upright. The second he felt steady again Castiel, squeezing Claire even closer to him, let himself fall backward onto the solid floor, his erratic heart leaping from his chest.
"What happened?" Claire stirred from within his grasp, reminding him that what he was carrying was indeed human. Her voice was nearly inaudible behind the ringing of his own heartbeat.
A loud crash erupted around him as the flashlight finally made contact with the distant ground. Wherever it had fallen, its journey had been much more than the 5 or 6 feet it should have taken to hit the ground.
"It's a chasm," Meg specified, her voice almost as shaky as Castiel felt, "By the sound of… It has to be at least a hundred feet."
Castiel gulped as he imagined what it would have been like to fall that far, how he would look when he met the solid ground once more. Fear and disgust welled up inside of him as he imagined the scene; the scene that had nearly been reality.
Ignoring him, Meg collected herself. "Come on, we'll double back and take a different path."
Castiel heard her turn and Ardor scurry along after her. Grabbing Claire up off the ground, Castiel resumed walking behind them as if nothing had happened.
.o0o.
For the first time, Dean was able to breathe. Collapsing to his knees, he exhaled. The sharp pain of the gravel and stone embedded in his knees raced through his body.
Looking down at the blackened rocky floor, Dean let his exhausted mind run wild. His whole body felt as if it was washing away with each breath; trickling into the caverns that now housed about ten or twelve terrified tributes. In his 18 years, he had never felt so disjointed. So depressed. Today he had taken two innocent lives, two friends, two sons. He had ended their potentially promising lives. He had stolen their futures.
Behind him, he could hear Lilith and Michael bickering at the top of their lungs. The clashing and clattering of metal against rock rang out as they dug through the cornucopia's contents. Lace – he could see out of the corner of his eye – was sitting cross-legged by a young dead girl. The thick cloud of dirt that had risen from the fight was beginning to settle, dusting her icy blonde hair. The rest of the dust cloud was eerily illuminated by the luminescent cornucopia, forming an unearthly aura around her whimsical frame.
"Dean!" he heard Lilith beaconing him. He neither turned nor reacted to her vicious voice, but rather focused on the low rumble of his own shaky breathing.
"Dean!" she screamed once more, her chipper voice mixing with a nearly violent urgency. Twisting his head in her direction, he caught sight of a rather large helmet barreling towards him. Just as it was about to make contact with his face, he grabbed it from the air.
"It's a flashlight. Put it on," Lilith spoke in short, rapid phrases – her adrenalin overly apparent, "We're all going to look around a little so they can clean up the bodies."
Dean slowly lowered the helmet onto his head and flipped the small switch on its side. An industrial strength light burst from his forehead, filling the room. Lilith and Michael followed its light, disappearing into the tunnels.
Before following them, Dean looked down to face Lace.
"Are you coming?" he grumbled at the girl, unsure what tone was appropriate. Her hair – which had been violently torn from its tight bun – had fallen into her face and managed to mask any noticeable expression. He wasn't sure if it was the sounds of the caves or just his imagination, but he thought he heard her crying.
"Yes," she responded quickly.
Dean extended her hand to the girl, and she hesitantly looked up at him. Her ghostlike face was even more hollow than it had been when they had first talked; her face now ripe with tears. Grasping his wrist, she pulled herself to her feet. Together, they walked into the tunnels and away from the most unfortunate of the twenty-four tributes to the beat of eight deafening canon fires.
.o0o.
Lace Mason had never been underground before. The closest she had come was when her secondary school teacher had sent her into the school's basement supply room, but that had been a well lit and heavily furnished space. This system, however, seemed as if it had been carved by a giant deranged animal. Even with Dean's headlight, the passageways surprised her. Perhaps it had to do with her racing heart or scrambling conscience, but every inch of her seemed off balance.
For the other careers, though, she put on the most collected face she could muster. Dean had caught her crying, but he had seemed at least somewhat empathetic in the training center. Maybe he didn't care.
Wringing her hands together, Lace tried to force away her memory of the bloodbath. She knew she had wiped it away, but she could still feel the memory of blood on her hands, on her jacket, and on her neck. Frantically, she batted at it, but to her dismay her hand only made contact with skin and sweat.
"What's that?" Michael asked out of nowhere, freezing in place.
"What?" Lilith responded, jumping into action.
"I heard something," Michael stated heavily.
Lace gulped as her eyes flew to the shadows. Was there another tribute among them? Would they attack her and the others? Would they die trying? Would it be at her hand? Would she have to feel the blood on her hands again?
Suddenly, as Dean turned to face Michael directly, Lace noticed something. A very small bit of reflective material darted away from the light. A boot. Her breath clung to her throat as she watched the shoe disappear into the cavern wall. It was escaping them.
Her first instinct was to shout to the others, to tell them that a tribute was getting away. Stepping forward, Lace raised her arm to grab their attention.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips as her hand fell into the light. Thick, wet blood coated the appendage, dripping down her wrist and soaking her jacket's thick sleeve. Within a second, the vision was gone, and from the corner of her eye she could see Michael and Lilith turn to face her completely clean outstretched hand.
"Lace?" Michael asked carefully, noticing her obvious fear.
"I – I –" her voice shook as she hurriedly jammed her hand into her jacket pocket, "I thought I saw something. It was nothing. Sorry."
As Michael scoffed at her behavior, Lace stole a glance at Dean. His face was partially lit by his own light, but it was all she needed. His expression was solemn, and – if she wasn't mistaken – aimed directly at the spot where the boot had disappeared.