Bingo: 1 new, 2 repeats


She is awakened by a beeping noise. She groans, massaging her temples in an attempt to abate the throbbing pain in her head, struggles to her feet and grabs the parachute out of the air. She nearly calls for him but then she remembers and plays it off for the cameras as checking for enemies who might have seen the delivery.

There are two packages attached. The first is the most welcome, half a litre of water – it's probably the most they've been allowed to send her, she downs half of it gratefully, and her pounding headache subsides a little.

Only then does she inspect the second package. It's a knife, a new one, longer than her previous, better quality as well, it handles more lightly, and its grip fits her hand more comfortably. She experimentally runs her finger down the blade and almost instantly it is stained by a drop of red. Sharp. Very sharp. It must have cost her fans a lot. Clearly her stunt last night has impressed people back in the Capitol. Maybe they'll think it's worth all the money if they get to see her stab this fancy knife into his chest. That is, of course, if someone doesn't manage to get to her first.

Freedom from him, she thinks, would taste so much sweeter if her impending death wasn't still looming over her.

She wonders if JD is getting the same kinds of gifts, or if he's correct in thinking that Haymitch is still refusing to send him anything, even after she left him with no supplies. At this stage does it matter much? The Capitol want a final battle, she's sure of that, they're not going to let either of them die a bloodless death.

And of course, it's not only JD. She still has two more challengers, both stronger and better trained than her, and if (or when) she has to face them, she no longer has a numerical advantage.

Oh God, what have I done?

Her throat is still dry but she allows herself no more water. She replaces the bandages on her shoulder wound and then sets off. The sky is cloudless and the sun burns down on her the moment it hits her skin, the dry heat doing nothing to comfort her yearning.

Even with JD's supplies, there's not much food left in her bag, so she forages as she walks. She scrutinises the berries she picks carefully, (it's so much harder when she doesn't have someone who seemingly knows everything about poison to check with), before deciding she doesn't really fucking care and gulps them all down in several handfuls. She's mostly pleased when she doesn't die.

The forest is unrelenting, and more daunting when she has no real idea where to go and no one beside her to fight with, or even just to talk to. Her bruised, burnt legs are aching, pleading for her to take a break, but her throat begs her to proceed.

She'd forgotten, with him by her side, how lonely it is to be in the arena, to be the only person who wants you to live.

The others can't be far away, not really. Knowing JD, he'll be doing his best to follow her, and she knows Heather Duke is out to kill her personally. Even if that wasn't the case, there are three other tributes left, all heading in the same direction, and a bloodthirsty audience desperate for action. She grips her knife tightly, doing a few practice swipes in the air as if that will make her prepared enough to fight her potential attackers, and continues walking, wondering which step will be her last.

By midday, she has no water left, and she is starting to doubt her certainty that the Capitol isn't planning just to let them all die of dehydration. Her headache has come back with a vengeance, and every minute she walks she covers less distance. She doesn't care anymore, all three tributes could come out of the bushes right now and slowly torture her, and she's sure it would not be nearly as painful as the dryness in her throat. She stops by a bush, stuffs some more dubious looking berries into her mouth, just for the moisture, and slumps against a tree trunk, trying to convince herself that continuing on is worth it

And then she hears it. The most beautiful sound ever, the gentle trickle and splash of flowing water.

All her energy surging back at once, she runs in the direction of the sound. The moment she gets to the stream she falls to her knees, cupping her hands and drinking great gulps of the cool liquid, she does it again and again until it feels like there is no space left in her stomach. She then takes several more handfuls to splash over her face and shoulders, to provide her some relief from the searing heat and scalding sunburn which is defacing all the skin not covered by her clothes.

When she feels almost alive again, she manages to pull herself away from the life-giving liquid long enough to reach into her bag and fill up all her bottles. She's just putting them back when she notices something else hidden beneath the nearby reeds. Curiosity getting the better of her, she goes over to investigate. At first, she thinks it's just a pile of rope, perhaps discarded, but then she sees the way it's been placed, floating in the water, catching what swims underneath.

A fishing net, well made, it could be Heather Duke's craft, she is from District 4, but Heather has access to food, it's more likely...

She hears Brad before she sees him, loud, crunching footsteps moving towards her, but it's far too late. She only manages to run a few steps before he grabs her by the ruff of her shirt. He pulls her towards him, pushing her up against a tree trunk, close enough that his every putrid breath falls on her face, reeking of fish.

She reaches for her knife but, of fucking course, it is lying on the river bank, a metre or so away, where she had dropped it in her desperation to hydrate herself.

It takes a second for recognition to show on his features, not the way it did when they were first reaped and shook hands, where she could see the cogs turning very slowly in his head trying to work out whether he had seen this nondescript girl at school before. Instead, he looks taken aback at the wreck of an individual in front of him, nothing like any of the girls back when they were at the Training Centre.

God, how awful do I look now?

Though, if they're comparing appearances, he's not the star football player that her peers swooned over anymore either. His face is patterned with cuts and bruises, his shirt is so ripped and covered in muck she's not sure why he's still bothering wearing it, and underneath there is what appears to be bite marks. Some animal, probably the crocodile they saw yesterday, has taken large chunks out of his flesh. Some of his wounds have scabbed over, others are oozing and look ripe for infection. Maybe if she left him a few more days he'd die of blood poisoning. Unfortunately, she thinks as he grabs his knife, a few days is a little more time than she has.

She tries to struggle but his hold is too tight. God, all of this suffering and I'm going to be killed by fucking Brad, who hasn't even managed to win our school a football league.

At least, she thinks bitterly as she sees the glint of the knife swinging towards her, the Capitol will be upset at the anticlimactic end to my rivalry with JD and District 8 will be furious at Brad for…

And then she knows what to do.

She goes limp in his arms, suddenly calm, she looks up at him and smirks, "Really? Your own district partner? Do you have no honour? Kill me and you won't be welcome back home anyway."

He pauses, grip slackening, the look of pained desperation in his eyes is there for only a split second, but the distraction is enough. She slides out of his hold just in time and his knife misses her neck and buries itself deep into the tree trunk. She races towards the riverbank, as he tries to pull it out. Grabbing her own knife, she sneaks up behind him, plunges it into his stomach and twists. He falls down, writhing in agony.

She steps back, very aware that even in his pain he is still strong enough to grab her and pull her down with him. She watches for a moment or two, unsure of what to do.

There's a rustling noise in the distance; footsteps perhaps? They're too far away to tell if they're human, beast or maybe just the wind, in any case, she needs to be gone.

Brad is still groaning but she doesn't have time to finish him off properly, the wound will be fatal eventually anyway. She grabs his bag, lying beside him, and her own and hurtles off into the woodland, bloody knife still clutched in her hand.

She hears another noise behind her, and she mentally prepares herself for a sharp and painful object hitting her in the back, or a fierce grip on her arm as she weaves in and out of the trees, desperate to escape any potential pursuer, but the pain never comes and eventually the sound is gone. Who knows, maybe it was in her head all along.

She runs for another ten minutes before she risks pausing to catch her breath. Still she doesn't hear the cannon. Brad is still clinging onto life by a thread. Her stomach twists. She could have afforded to stay a moment longer and kill him.

If JD were here he'd tell me I was right, she thinks, in spite of herself. His reasoning would be bullshit, of course, but if she didn't think too hard it would have made sense, and in any case, it would make her feel like the sanest person in the vicinity.

She gulps down a little of her, now thankfully restored, water and then reaches into her pocket to pull out a snack. Instead, her hand comes into contact with something soft. She looks at it. It's the patchwork handkerchief with the skyline of home, that Cecelia gave her what seems like a lifetime ago. For a moment she stares at it blankly and then suddenly she is overwhelmed.

For the first time, or maybe the first time she can admit it, she thinks of District 8: the concrete buildings and long, straight roads with no green in sight, the smoggy air that left a slightly metallic taste on the tongue, the constant whirring of motors and machinery that didn't cease, even in the dead of night. There's nothing of the place where she grew up that she can recognise in the arena. She thinks of her parents, maybe not affectionate but there, thinks of her schoolmates who'd grin at her black humour and beckon her over to gush over the latest designs of dresses their parents would slave over, and someone in the Capitol would wear twice. She remembers scrawling in her diary in her small bedroom, her old drawings and dress designs plastered over the walls. If she closes her eyes she almost feels like she's there.

God, she misses it all so much.

Not that she can ever go back now. Not even if she wins.

She thinks about Brad, about how much of an ass he has always been, about how he used to make crude comments about girls at school, about how he shrugged her off to buddy up with the Careers, how he teamed up with David to kill the Heathers, how he just tried to kill her… She thinks about how he wished her luck before they left and how she ignored him, about how he never asked to be reaped either, about how he was trying to get home, just like her.

She thinks of him now, a boy from her district, lying on the forest floor, dying, agonisingly so, because she didn't fight fair. Somewhere JD is laughing at what he's turned her into.

She tries, desperately, to remember what she was like before him.

She looks back at the way she just came, how far has she run? The footsteps are gone, if there really was someone following her, surely they're no longer along the route? Wouldn't going back the way she came be the last thing they expect her to do anyway?

Is it even worth it? God knows her district is not going to hate her any less for killing Brad, whatever she does now.

She squeezes her eyes shut, sighs dramatically and then takes off back in the direction she came. If she dies because she mercy-killed Brad she's going to fucking murder him.

He's whimpering when she reaches him, barely conscious. He doesn't look fierce or arrogant or moronic anymore. He looks like the last reminder of the life she had before that she'll ever see. When she approaches he doesn't register. She kills him quickly, so she no longer has to think about it. The cannon booms almost instantly.

She kneels down beside his body, carefully opens his lifeless hand and encloses the handkerchief in it. Now he can leave with a part of District 8 and she doesn't have to be reminded of what she's lost.

xxx

She refills what little water she has drunk, empties the fish Brad caught in his net into her bag and then sets off away from the water. She figures the further she moves away from the stream the less chance she has of an unexpected encounter with Heather or JD.

When the sun is low in the sky, and finally some of the heat of the day has faded, she finds herself a clearing and sits down, leaning against a tree trunk.

She empties out Brad's bag, as she suspected, it's mostly filled with fish. But near the bottom is a cast iron frying pan, cream for his injuries, a waterproof jacket, some fire starters and some snack bars.

Parachute gifts, no doubt about it. More gifts than her, "Fuck you, Pauline Fleming," she mutters although not loudly enough for the cameras to pick up, lest there's some sponsor money left, "I could have told you he wouldn't win."

She lights a fire, because it's dusk and visibility is low, but really, who cares if they find her now? It's only speeding up the inevitable. She fries all the fish, eating them until she is stuffed. She wraps the rest in leaves and packs them in her bag, on the off chance she'll have time to eat them tomorrow.

There's three of them left. The rivalries have already been set, they're moving ever closer together. She's watched enough Games to know at this point the Capitol are done with tension and survival, they want nothing but action from now on. There's not going to be another night in this arena, she's sure of it, she can feel it in her bones. By sunset tomorrow it will be over, whatever that means for her.

The Anthem plays and she watches as Brad's face appears in the sky. She idly gets out her knife and slices another notch in her arm, spills some blood for the boy she killed today. Two competitors left. Both with more against her than they have against each other. However the final battles turn out, the Capitol will want her in the centre of them.

It feels a little like the night before she went into the arena. Lying down, all alone, wondering if tomorrow will be her last.

It probably will be.

But then, didn't she think that every day she's been here? And every day she has survived. She looks down at the ten notches in her arm, the last one still bleeding. She's defeated, murdered, more people than she thought possible. The odds have never been in her favour, yet here she is. Still alive.

The chance is there, she thinks, almost mournfully, JD was right, I could win, I could go home. I could live the rest of my life in luxury as a victor.

And then what?

And then she will have to go back to District 8, have to face her friends and acquaintances, knowing they have seen each and every terrible thing that she has done. She will have to pass Brad's parents and siblings knowing she has caused their grief, face the judgement of her district, knowing she broke one of the unspoken rules of the Games.

She will have to live through a Victory Tour, have to shake hands with Martha's father, have to speak of honour in front of Heather Chandler's family, have to look Heather McNamara's fiancé in the eye, have to be told that Betty, Dennis and Rodney have no family left...

She will have to live a life as lonely as Cecelia's in the Victor's Village, designing dresses for the Capitol, being praised and having her hollow victory toasted to at Capitol parties. All the friendships and intimacy she once had when working at the factories, speculating what it might be like to wear such finery, just being a girl who is only 17, will be gone.

And every year she will have to mentor two more children, only to watch them get slaughtered, or worse, turn into whatever empty shell she is now.

Any dream she had of winning the Games and having a life better than the one she had before has already been torn to tatters.

She doesn't try very hard to sleep. Doesn't see the point. She'll only be woken in a few hours by some disaster set to chase her back towards her competitors. She's not particularly worried about dying on the way there. No matter what else she and JD have done, they've put on a great show – they'll probably be riots in the Capitol if the Gamemakers don't make it come to its proper bloody conclusion. All they're waiting for is a good time to sync this final battle up with the Capitol's parties.

She'd kill herself now to spite the Capitol if that didn't mean letting one of two monsters win without even an attempt to fight them.

For the moment though, the only sounds are the soft noises of the forest, almost comforting in their innocence. She spends a long time like that, lying on her back, slipping in and out of consciousness, gazing at the stars and moon as they shine a light through the trees, just revelling in the silence. God knows, however tomorrow turns out, she's never going to experience silence like this again for as long as she lives.

She misses him, sort of. She doesn't miss the psycho mass murderer part of him that never quite let her forget that he was planning her death, but she misses the company – the way that he made her feel, if only for a while, that she was more than just a prisoner being sent to her execution. He made her feel that to someone (however unstable) she was worth something more than good TV, that she didn't just have to be alone living through this.

He was a distraction, with him it was easy to ignore the thoughts that now almost overwhelm her. Whatever happens tomorrow, whether she leaves the arena or is buried there, she'll never be normal again.

An indeterminate amount of time later, just as the stars begin to fade, she hears the rumble of thunder and a lightning bolt lands alarmingly close to her, setting the surrounding bushes on fire.

She grabs her bag, grips her knife and jumps to her feet.

So it begins.


The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 11

District 1
Heather McNamara
Ram Sweeny

District 2
Heather Chandler
David Remington

District 3
Betty Finn
Peter Dawson

District 4
Heather Duke

Kurt Kelly

District 5
Shannon Lucas
Rodney Bulb

District 6
Cathy Stone
Al Springer

District 7
Tracy Hophead
Bobby Young

District 8
Veronica Sawyer

Brad Richards

District 9
Courtney Chadwick
Keith Harrington

District 10
Shelly Little
Dennis Grundy

District 11
Phyllis McCarthy
Dwight Archer

District 12
Martha Dunstock
Jason Dean

Deaths today: 1
Survivors: 3


Just one more day and the epilogue to go after this. Make of that what you will.