The longer Sam spent in the caves, the easier navigation became. Despite the fact that the path was rugged and uneven, it was much more organized than the mines. Where the mines had taken sharp turns or unexpected stops due to worker's random schedules or altered assignments, these tunnels kept going. While it had probably been unplanned, Sam could tell that every foot of this system had been carefully charted before construction.
After a while, he even began to feel safe walking down the tunnel. The careers hadn't followed him through the wall, and he had yet to come across a connecting path, so the only way a tribute could possibly come at him was from the front. And even then, they would either be blind like him, or their light would give them away long before they were able to notice him.
Plus, if he had counted the canon fires that had echoed against the cavern walls correctly, eight tributes had died in the bloodbath. That left fifteen on his trail, excluding Maria and Rod. A part of him wondered how sincere Maria's peace offering had been, if she had even meant for it to go both ways, or if she'd even be able to recognize him in this darkness. Sam knew better than to count on anything.
Attempting to make the most of his transient safety, Sam strategized. Every inch of his body protested his early flight from the bloodbath. Most of the other tributes had tried to acquire at least some sort of provision before leaving, Sam had seen it. Sure, some of them had died in their efforts, but Sam's close escape from the careers had given him a strange sense of power and ability he never could have imagined before the games. He had bested the best, so he didn't doubt for a second that he could have grabbed at least a flashlight or a tin of water.
Water. The back of his throat burned at the mere thought of it. He had gone this long without water before, but in these tunnels the dust and rubble in the air that clung to the interior of his throat was practically choking him. He needed something to wash it down, and he needed it fast.
Eventually, he came to what seemed like a fork in the tunnel. After a hasty and blind inspection, he found that there were indeed two separate paths. The one on the left took a quick incline, whereas the other to the right sloped downwards.
If he chose to go left, it was much more likely that he would find a way out of the system, if that was even possible. He had no clue how deep the Capitol had placed them underground, let alone if they had even created a portion of the arena above sea level.
Right, on the other hand, would probably lead to water. This plan also involved a good deal of assumptions, more than Sam would like to admit. What if the Gamemakers had built some sort of drainage system to counteract gravity's natural pooling system? Not to mention the fact that the deeper he went underground, the more likely it would be that he'd hit an area without the necessary oxygen to survive.
But the scratching in Sam's throat momentarily overpowered any reasonable decision making.
Following the right path, he continued. Keeping an ear out, he listened for any hint or sign that he was nearing a hazard. The only thing he could hear was the small scattering of rodents – a noise which seemed to grow louder and louder as he progressed. Sam had never liked rodents, but it was nice to know something was able to survive here.
And as much as he hated the thought of eating such a foul creature, his stomach was beginning to cramp. For all he knew, he wouldn't see another animal for days. Leaning down, Sam removed his shoe once more. He could practically see them, the hundred some mice or rats scurrying from place to place. Surely he could manage to kill one or two with his own brute strength.
Slowly and carefully, he lowered himself onto the ground. Within seconds, the rodents became accustomed to the new mass. Sam could feel them on him, around him.
There had to be hundreds.
Sam closed his eyes and willed away his fear and disgust. This is for your survival, he thought to himself over and over. Concentrating on his hunger – his hunger which he knew would only sharpen with time – he slowly raised the shoe above his head. Then, once his hand had reached its peak, he brought the shoe down with all of the force he could muster. Screams and squeals replaced the animals' low chatters as they fled in every direction. A few even managed to drive their fangs into Sam's skin before disappearing down the tunnels.
As Sam leapt to his feet, his hands flew to the places where they had bit him. Instantly, he knew they were far from normal creatures. An excruciating fire spread throughout his body within milliseconds, stemming from where they had made contact. They are mutts, he thought to himself in dismay. A type of mole with a toxic bite: he had never heard of them specifically, but he didn't doubt for a second that they existed.
He could count four bites; one on his neck, one on his torso, and another two on his left arm. The poison spread throughout his body faster than any wildfire or flood, tearing at his skin and veins as it went. His eyes and throat swelled almost completely shut as he felt his knees make contact with the ground once more. Scrambling, he felt the ground for his kill. Only two. Two once round rodents that combined made up approximately the size of his clenched fist. As disappointing as it was, they were more than he was used to.
Sam stumbled down the cavern; he could feel the pain from the bites escalate as the small bit of air that managed to make its way through his swollen throat led his head to buzz. He didn't know how much noise he was making as he crashed into the walls, but he could tell that it was enough to alert anyone nearby.
His mind grew hazy as he fought to continue. At one point, he thought he heard a canon in the distance. A dark, dazed laugh escaped his lips as he remembered the other tributes. Had they met similar fates?
Soon, the path opened up to another large room like that which held the cornucopia. Here, Sam allowed himself to fall to the ground, his knees quickly punctured by the rough terrain. The two rodents he had killed slid from his hands and onto the ground as his mind grew black.
His head hit the ground with a tremendous clatter.
Another canon fired.
.o0o.
The group was beginning to slow. Ardor's wheezing had risen several volumes since the near disaster at the chasm. It had gotten to the point where his whistles and gasps reminded Castiel of the twenty-foot machines he would work with at the power plant. He knew it couldn't be healthy.
"Can you be any quieter?" Meg eventually snapped at the young boy. He never responded, but he seemed to muffle his face. At least he tried to make himself a bit quieter.
Claire's breathing was noisy as well, but she, on the other hand, hadn't moved since the chasm. Castiel pulled her closer, his back tearing and straining under her weight. Unlike Ardor's gasps, her rugged breathing had some sweetness to it. As long as she was breathing – even if it was labored or loud – she was alive.
And he'd hold on.
Thinking back, Castiel remembered meeting Claire. The way he had nearly passed out on the train, but she had helped him. And how had he repaid her? He had denounced the idea that he would ever help her or ally with her. They could have spent the ride together, living one of their last days in each other's company rather than alone. Now, now he was holding on even though every fiber of his being screamed to let go.
"I think... We're getting closer to water," Ardor whispered, his strained voice whistling musically with each word.
"How do you know?" Meg inquired, her voice void of any sentiment or happiness.
"We're going downhill," Ardor replied quickly, "Water will flow downhill and collect at the bottom."
Knowing full well that no one could see him, Castiel nodded in understanding. The statement seemed logical, but for some reason, Castiel didn't let it get his hopes up. The boy could always be wrong.
Through a mix of exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger, his mind grew slower as they continued. The complete and total emptiness of nourishment and intelligent thoughts reminded him of home. In the plants, he and the others would work for hours without breaks or water all while maintaining their speed and precision. He was used to surviving malnourished.
But then again, they had only been in the arena for a few hours. He was used to working much longer with much less, so then why was he already so empty? Perhaps it had to do with the week or so that he had spent living, and eating, at the Capitol. Yeah, that made sense. He had fallen from routine, and this was shocking him back into it.
But still, something felt remarkably strange. Castiel attempted to breathe in deeply, but his chest was unable to expand enough to support the action. At home he was used to the sensation – it meant that oxygen was scarce. And yet something felt foreign. When the air got this way at home, he would just have to inhale more frequently to make up for it. Here in the tunnels, it felt different. When he tried to breathe faster, nothing happened. He just grew fainter and fainter.
"Meg? Ardor?" He tried to cry out. His words were hushed and met by dead silence.
Not even footsteps.
Castiel struggled to remember the last time he had even heard the others move. A deep, uneasy feeling overtook him. In his arms, even Claire's breaths were growing shallow and infrequent.
There wasn't any oxygen.
Castiel stumbled backward. He needed to escape. He needed to save Claire.
As he made his escape, Castiel fell into a strange sort of haze. His feet could barely run, his mind could barely move. The darkness's thick hands closed around his throat, dragging him into the abyss. He needed to get out of this place, but how far would he have to run? How long had they been walking deeper and deeper into this horrible area?
As he pushed on, his mind flew to the others. Meg and Ardor, where were they? He hadn't heard them fall or turn back, but they definitely weren't moving when he had fled. Castiel pushed all thought of them away. He wasn't supposed to worry about them. Just himself.
Himself and Claire.
Within seconds, the tunnel was spinning. His aching eyes distorted his view until he was running toward four different passageways. Or was it six? Closing his eyes, he pushed forward.
The musty air hit him like a wall. Rushing into his lungs, he screamed for more. Never before had he felt so whole, so healthy. Suddenly, as if they were miles away and fast approaching, he heard Claire's rasping breaths return as well.
"We're okay, Anna, we're okay," Castiel's pulsing eyes stung as he opened them once more, his whole head heavy with oxygen. Lowering her to the floor, Castiel sat and attempted to regulate his breathing.
A canon fired, shaking the entire arena. Castiel wondered if Meg or Ardor had fallen prey to the trap.
Suddenly, a body fell beside him panting furiously. Castiel leapt away from the unnamed tribute, clutching at the short spear Meg had given him. After a few minutes, he calmed. He could tell who it was.
"Meg?" he reached out blindly to find her in the darkness, but she quickly swatted him away. Her hands were wet where they hit Castiel.
"Stop," was all she said as she dropped her pack and knife onto the ground with a clatter, "Ardor's gone. He – he suffocated."
Her voice fell flat with the news, but Castiel could still hear her surprisingly calm breathing. She hadn't really known or cared for Ardor, but he was still a part of her plan. Castiel would have expected her to act more upset by his passing.
"Come on," Meg muttered after a short period of silence, "Without Ardor we can move faster."
Against his body's screams of protest, Castiel stood and picked up Claire. It was only a few hours into the game, but he had nearly died three times.
Another canon fired.
At least he had done better than 10 of the others.
.o0o.
The careers stood in the otherwise deserted cornucopia, surrounded by piles of gear, food, and weapons. Lilith stood on top of a mountain of crates, a crowbar in her hands. Together, her and Michael were beginning to organize the supplies into two piles, "helpful" and "unhelpful." Staring quizzically at a strange looking blue-green rain boot that she clasped in her trembling hands, Lace sat cross-legged on the ground beside the "unhelpful" pile. She looked so much smaller than she had in the Training Center, so much weaker.
Dean, on the other hand, leaned against the mouth of the glowing cornucopia with a general aura of ease and nonchalance. From here, he could make out two of the four separate cave systems. His eyes wandered to the one which they had entered earlier. Somewhere in those tunnels was a rather lucky tribute.
A tribute he had let go free.
Twice now he had made that mistake. He knew that somewhere his father had seen his actions. He knew the cameras had caught him starring at the boy with the blue eyes, or the tribute that had escaped through the wall. They'd make a spectacle of how soft Dean Winchester was, and his father's good name was sure to be tarnished. Even now – even when he had convinced himself that his father had forsaken him – his opinion still haunted his thoughts.
Dean winced as he turned back to the others. Lilith's normal childlike expression had been replaced by an unambiguously furious one.
"There isn't any water!" she shouted defensively, noticing Dean's judgmental eyes. Leaping from her perch, she screamed a shrill, enraged scream and stomped her foot on the dusty ground.
"What do you mean, there isn't any?" Michael asked stupidly, unfazed by Lilith's behavior.
"I mean all of these bottles and canteens are completely empty!" Lilith's eyes burned with a terrifying fire as she advanced toward Michael, throwing an empty canteen down at his feet.
"They can't all be empty," Michael said, a bit of panic showing in his voice as he crossed his beefy arms in front of his chest. Lace turned to him wide-eyed, begging him to back down.
"Well, they are!" Lilith retorted, continuing her tantrum and shoving a crate to the ground with all of her might.
"Guys, calm down," Dean heard himself say as he stepped into their escalating argument, "They wouldn't make an arena without any water at all. We'll just have to find some."
Lilith, Michael, and Lace all stared up at him, each with a completely different expression. Lace bit her lip and attempted to back into the tip of the cornucopia unnoticed.
"Yes," Lilith said with a rather condescending tone as she ignored Lace, "but aren't we supposed to have just a bit more than everyone else? You know, having conquered the cornucopia and whatnot?"
"Yeah," Dean said, running his fingers through his hair anxiously as Lilith and Michael's eyes bore into him, "Unlike the others we have lights and weapons. We'll be able to find it much faster than the others. Not to mention all the fruit that's here. We should be able to stay hydrated on those for a while."
"And, um," Lace's squeaky, terrified voice rang out from the back of the Cornucopia, "And we have this."
Startled by her sudden inclusion in the conversation, everyone spun to face her. Motioning with her finger, Lace signaled for them to join her in the back.
What they found was a large collection of scribbles and curves carved into a large plaque on the back wall of the Cornucopia. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought it looked like a map.
"Is it a map?" Michael asked, voicing Dean's thoughts almost immediately.
The group gathered around the plaque, trying to make it out. Lace seemed to understand it the best, considering she was the only person who wasn't sporting the same slack-jawed expression.
"I think those are water," Lace pointed to three incredibly smooth masses that overlapped the scratchy curves. Dean nodded in agreement, even though he knew he had no idea.
"That way's the fastest," Lilith said, running her fingers along one of the paths. "Lace, do you think you can remember it?"
Lace nodded anxiously, never taking her eyes off of the map.
Utilizing the time to pack a good deal of the necessities, the group gave her a few minutes to memorize the twists and turns. Most of the time, the careers camped out at the cornucopia, leaving in pairs to hunt tributes. That was what Dean had expected, anyways. But as he picked the nicest looking pack and began to stuff it full of first aid, food, and supplies, he pushed the belief away. It had been childish to expect the games to be anything but random.
"Come on," Michael barked from the mouth of the structure, the largest pack available strapped to his back. He carried in his hands a rather terrifying looking weapon unknown even to Dean. He assumed it was some sort of pick or drill.
One thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want to know what Michael intended to do with it.
Making sure that the floodlight was aimed directly at Michael as he switched it on, Dean fastened his helmet back on. For the few seconds that Michael cringed silently under the light's blast, Dean felt strange. He hated Michael, but he didn't particularly have a reason.
They left through a different tunnel this time, Lace in the lead. Dean didn't like what the games had done to her. She was jumpy and jittery, and from time to time, it seemed as if she had seen a ghost. Growing up watching past games, he had seen boys and girls get like this before.
They never lasted long.
The group walked for a while. The caves were eerie under his light, reminding him of the broken down medical clinic back in District 2. There was something worse about the tunnels though. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, at any moment, a homicidal teenager could attack from the shadows.
Dean snorted darkly.
From up ahead, Lace heard him. Turning, she seemed momentarily overjoyed by his sick happiness. Lace is far too nice for a career, Dean thought to himself. He wondered what it would be like for a girl like her to win. For a girl as trembling and terrified and scarred as her to walk free in her district once more, pretending nothing had happened.
Disgust welled inside of him. People like that did walk free, he had seen them. He had known them. And he had worshiped them like idols, like gods. He had aspired to be like them, like his father. And he might just get his wish – the games had just begun.
Suddenly, a canon fire exploded throughout the caves, agitating dust so that it swirled around them. Michael and Lilith barely reacted to the earsplitting explosion, but Dean could tell Lilith was making an attempt to hide her excitement. One less tribute.
Lace, on the other hand, leapt into the air like a horse that had been branded. Screaming as if she had been shot, she broke out into a run. Panic flooded Dean as he watched her lose control of her actions, of her mind.
"Lace!" he screamed, moving to chase after her. He could hear Michael and Lilith's footsteps behind him, but he didn't care. Lace had been the one to approach him specifically during training. She was kind and caring, but most of all – he trusted her. He couldn't lose her, of all people.
The whole cave seemed to shake as he chased after her. His light shook uncontrollably with each of his broad strides. He didn't care, he just kept his eyes focused on Lace.
"Lace! Dean! Stop!" he heard Lilith shout from behind him. Tripping slightly, he managed to stop himself just in time.
Just in time to watch her disappear.
His light illuminated Lace as she fell. Flowing like beautiful white blonde satin, her long blonde hair shot up into the air. She didn't scream or flail as she went, but instead she fell with a peaceful and serene sort of grace. Suddenly, she was transformed into a lifeless porcelain doll, dropped from the hand of a child. In less than a second, she was gone.
Just as Dean had anticipated.
The remaining careers stood a thick, shocking silence collecting around them.
"Fucking idiot. How are we supposed to find the water now?" Michael cried over the canon fire.
And in one swift spin, Dean punched him square in the nose – channeling every feeling in his body into the blow. Michael fell to his knees, blood spilling from his face. Lilith stood oddly horrified, a look of pure shock consuming her suddenly childish face.
"Shut the fuck up!"
Shaking his probably bruised fist loose, Dean turned back to look down the chasm which had swallowed Lace. Even though he was still with the others, he suddenly felt completely alone.