CHAPTER TEN

A WASTE

HAZEL

The Donum Room is silent.

Nobody dares even breathe too loud, as our screens flicker to life, sparking and flaring with numbers and letters; vital signs, geographical co-ordinates, heart rates. Flickering into motion, the camera on the Panem broadcast sweeps over a lush, snow-capped landscape. A rocky beach, distant and jagged mountains, with a forest creeping up the sides up to the timberline. I catch Blight's eye from across the table, and we exchange a relived glance.

We're not the only ones. Neither One and Two hide their joy at a climate which will benefit their tributes; forest for One, and mountains for Two. Some of the other Districts aren't so lucky – Seeder looks crestfallen at the colder temperature. Tributes from Eleven never make it far in snow.

My final observations of the arena, however, fade to insignificance as the tributes rise up from their pedestals. The third and final screen on my monitor blares to life, tracking Johanna as she rises up from the darkness. Her uniform is identical to all other tributes – warm enough to keep her alive, by not warm enough to keep her comfortable – with only her hair, which is done up in pigtails, to distinguish herself from the other skinny district girls. Her eyes narrow in focus, scanning the arena, and then the bounty in front of her.

"Don't do it," I mutter. Every single tribute I've lost has made the mistake of running in. Even those few metres make a difference.

Blight hisses, as I divert my attention momentarily to the Capitol feed, which is doing a long pan of all the tributes. Immediately I see the issue; Ainsley is right next to the girl from Two – who is shifting between giving him a maniacal grin and staring in disgust at the unfortunate display of nerves by the girl from Three.

"He'll run," I tell him.

"He'd better."

He doesn't. When the gong sounds, his feet shuffle in distress; as if his mind is attempting to tear him into two different directions. Eventually, the side drawing him to the cornucopia wins out, and he staggers a few steps forward, before stooping to grab some mittens on the floor. It's enough.

Enobaria from Two lets out a cheer of triumph as her tribute scores the first kill of the Games.

"Fucking bitch," Blight hisses. He pushes back from the desk and waves an Avox over. "I'll call his brother. After that, I need a drink."

It all happens within about twenty seconds, but a chill of horror runs through me when I realise that I've been ignoring Johanna's screen. My panicked glance tells me everything I need to know; she's a metre or so in, black bag strapped over her shoulder. She doesn't see the boy from Five making his way towards her.

"Get out of there!" I call, instinctively, even though she can't hear me. She does, however, hear the thudding footprints in the snow, and whirls around just before his fist comes pummelling down in her direction. He misses, hitting air, the momentum thrusting him forward. Johanna stares at him for what feels like eternity, like a deer caught in the headlights, and I think this must be it.

"You. Little girl," he says. "I want the bag."

"No fuckin' way," she spits. "There's plenty over there, see? Go fight with kids your own size."

He raises his fist again, but Johanna is faster. She socks him right in the face, and then in the stomach. He's either weaker than he looks, or she's caught him off guard, because he stumbles onto the snow. His face is flowing with blood. It's enough of a distraction for her to make her escape into the forest.

Instinctively, I fix my eyes on the livestream, but miraculously, nobody's noticed her. The two from Four are sparring something vicious, Paris and the girl from Two are encircling the boy from Twelve, and the rest of the Careers are taking their picks from the tributes that still remain. Ainsley's corpse lies bloodless, less than a metre from his platform, but the rest of the snow has been stained rose red.

"Yew," Harley from Five calls across the room. "Did your tribute just break mine's nose?"

Most of the other mentors are preoccupied, but those whose tributes are indisposed or accounted for turn in surprise.

"He tried to attack her."

"She socked him," Harley says. "In the nose! And she swore at him!"

"I guess the Games bring out parts of us we didn't know we had," I retort. I can't quite justify it, but I don't want anyone knowing what Johanna can do just yet. Hell, even I don't know what she can do. Harley doesn't reply, which probably has something do with the knife in her tribute's eye.

The bloodbath lasts exactly as long as they usually do; long enough to get people riled up, short enough that it doesn't become a bore. It ends with twelve dead; including the boy from Four, Fox. Surprisingly, the boy from Twelve managed to escape, despite the hole in his gut, though his district partner was unfortunate enough to fall prey to Love and her arrows. That'll be one for the highlight reels. It's overall about an hour and a half when the canons start to sound.

"It'll be easy to track them in the snow, when they bleed, don't you think?" Finnick's voice comes from my ear.

"Fuck! You've got to stop doing that."

"Let it, I've just had to call Fox's mum. She's not exactly thrilled."

"Oh," I pause. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he pulls Blight's empty chair over and sits down. I barely look at him as he talks, keeping close eye on Johanna as she makes her way through the forest. "I knew he wouldn't last. Least he didn't have to deal with the worst of it. Though I thought I'd pop over and see how you're doing before I go over and help Nemoné."

"And why would you come here?"

"Rumour has it that your girl put up a fight with the beefcake from Five. What's that all about?"

As if to answer his question, the little red phone next to my desk – the red sponsor phone, the one I didn't think I had reason to use – rings.

JOHANNA

I'm just at a clump of rocks when the canons begin to fire. Twelve, in total. I made it out in good time, but when I'd turned there'd only been about two already dead. I suppose once the Careers had secured weapons, they probably went about with their pickings. Maybe this year they'll decide to eliminate one other, instead of dealing with the outer district kids. Might give more of us a fighting chance.

I slump down on the nearest rock, winded. I'm used to trekking uphill in snow, but not with the weight of my life on my back. Thrusting my backpack to one side, I examine my left hand. Smeared with dark red stuff – the boy. I don't know what district he was from, or anything about him, not his interview, nothing. He looked pretty tall and strong; had he been scouted by the Careers? Had he told them about me, were they headed in my direction to send me off before I caused anymore trouble? Who had seen? I grab a handful of snow and smear the blood off my skin.

Drawing my attention to the backpack – the thing he'd wanted to take from me – I decide to finally look inside. I'm lucky enough; a heat reflecting blanket, a packet of sodium tablets, a length of rope, some dried fruit and an empty water cannister. There are things I can do without; water won't be a problem with plenty of snow, and I'm from Seven, I know how to start a fire without matches. They're not important. No, what is important is the two sets of detailed, sharp-as-bone knives.

"Oh, hell yeah," I grin, making sure I'm loud enough for the cameras to catch me. I may have issues with the other tributes knowing that I'm not a scared little princess, but not the Capitol. No, they can see everything they want to.

Well, maybe not me naked. Not when it's cold, at least.

I pack up and continue uphill. I know the trees will get sparser the further up I go, but I want to have at least gotten a head start against the Careers. It doesn't take too long before the sky begins to dim, and I begin to consider bedding down. Sleeping on the ground isn't an option when there's nothing but snow, and the ground absorbs heat, but luckily everyone from Seven is a bit of a tree rat. Dinner is a bit more of an ordeal, squirrels and hares are bountiful, but I'm not a hunter and it takes me a few tries before I'm able to spear a juvenile rabbit. Cooking it isn't an option in the dark, so I string it up in the tree I plan to sleep in.

I don't, however, bed just yet. In the dwindling light, I take a moment to do a perimeter search of my turf, just in case I need to make a hasty exit. To the north, east and south is more woodland, but to the west I come across a series of rock formations not unlike the ones I rested at earlier today. They're made of stone I don't recognise, and there's a funny scent in the air that rises as I near them; like rotten egg. I take a few moments to peer around before I hear a sharp hiss beneath my feet.

I'm barely out of the way before a burst of steam blows up from the ground under me and up into the air like a geyser. It doesn't catch me directly, but the blast of heat I feel from the surrounding air is enough to make me wheeze. The scent of rotting egg gets stronger, and I can see what I missed before, a crack in the earth where water bubbles and fumes. I step away from the rocks and observe.

It takes a few more minutes before there's another burst of jet-hot heat, this time from the other side of the rock formation. There must be some kind of underground hot spring, and I'm suddenly very thankful I didn't poke around too much. It's anyone's guess as to what would have happened if I'd fallen in.

But. I think of the rabbit I managed to kill. It could be useful.

It's too late for that now, because it's starting to really feel like nightfall, and I need to get back while I can still can. I'm just climbing up into my little nest when I hear the anthem play.

Both from Three. The boy from Four is dead. That means the girl won the bet, though I'm not surprised. I am disappointed, however, that most of the other Careers made it out. The boy from Five – oh, that's the one that I struggled with. The girl from Six. Ainsley.

Ainsley. So, he did die. I didn't see him after the gong sounded, and I don't see how he died – that would be unfair – but I feel a pang. I hope it was quick, whatever it was. I didn't care for him much, but I'd rather he win if I didn't.

Not that it's possible.

The boy from Eight – so Twine made it. Both from Nine, the boy from Ten. The boy from Eleven and the girl from Twelve. That's it. The screen blacks, and I'm shrouded in darkness.

Twelve down. Eleven to go.