CHAPTER 15 – On Show

HAZEL

The lights in Caesar's studio are so blinking I have to squint to stop myself from tearing up. I don't know how he does it; stood next to me, all toothy smiles and rosy-cheeks and clean-cut suit. It's taking all my willpower to not claw this tight black dress off my skin with my bare hands. Would make for an interesting news story. Make me a more interesting victor.

"Hazel, it's been too long," Caesar begins, words directed more to the camera than to me.

"A whole two years," I try to keep my voice as perky and upbeat as they had trained me to after my Games. They had to bring in an expert, when Blight was no help. "Don't tell me you found more exciting guests, Caesar?"

"Nobody could match your charm," he says, but we both know it's the truth. By Capitol standards, I'm particularly dull for a victor. My stunt with the berries was fun while it lasted, but I didn't give them much of the gore they so craved. Nor am I much of a laugh riot. At least I'm considered pretty by their standards. "But we're not here to talk about you."

"No, of course not. Now tell me, what exactly do our friends at home want to know about Johanna?"

"Hazel, the people have been crying out. Begging for a response. They want to – we want to know; did she really plan to play the weakling from the beginning?"

I ponder this for a moment but decide it's better to tell the truth. As much as Snow and Cohen may dislike her methods, Johanna's done nothing wrong. Lying might catch me out, and I can't risk either of us being in the Capitol's bad graces. "From the moment it was only her and I on the train, I knew there was something else behind those eyes. She's a quick thinker. Stubborn, too. She set her mind to the task and didn't budge; she was convincing those tributes. Nearly convinced me, at first."

"So, she confided in you? Let you in on her very own personal game of chess?"

"Oh no, Caesar, it's not a game of chess. It's a game of survival. If you think too far ahead, you'll get caught up by your own pieces. People are unpredictable, and she knows that. She's not several steps ahead – she's only a leap. But to answer your question; yes. She did confide in me."

"Some astute understanding of your tribute you've got there. I assume you know her well. Mind letting us into some of the more intimate parts of Johanna's personality?"

Another trap; I can't let them know because truth be told I don't know all that much myself. Out of all few days we spent together, all our talk was of strategy. Survival. Neither of us wanted to get to know the other very well. On my part, mostly because I didn't want to get attached. On her part, an element of disinterest, I'm sure. I'm an item for her survival. But of course, I can't tell Caesar that.

So, instead, I bullshit. "Well, I'm sure I'll leave most of it for when you eventually talk to her next. But I'll give you a fun fact; her favourite kind of flowers are red ones."

"Well, well, listeners," Caesar leans into the camera like he's about to tell them a secret. "She's being coy. Fine, Hazel, you can keep your secrets for now. I'll ask you about something you can answer; Johanna's alliance with Twine. How do you see that panning out?"

"I think they're both useful to one another in different ways," I say. I don't want to be caught badly by those in either camps; those who enjoy the alliance, and those who want Johanna to kill Twine as soon as possible. "Johanna is an asset to Twine's survival, and Twine helps Johanna perpetuate her image."

"But it won't survive forever, will it?"

"No," I feel the same sinking feeling in my stomach I did when Blight told Felicis and me the same thing about our own alliance. "It won't."

"And Johanna's kill? What are your thoughts on that?"

"It's impressive to kill an Inner District tribute so early on, but she has more to show. From what I know, she's particularly vicious with an axe."

"Yes, yes. And she does have one stocked away, doesn't she? Oh, how exciting! Now, as you know, Hazel – Johanna polls second on the Capitol's favourite to win, after Love from One. How would you feel if she came out victorious?"

"Relieved. Vindicated. She's the one I saw and knew she'd pull through," I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face. "It's like I told her. I'd want her as my neighbour."

"Very sweet words from our most recent victor from District Seven. Now, folks, that's all the time we have tonight but-" I zone out for Caesar's closing spiel, wondering if what I've said is enough. I feel like I haven't done anything to help – except maybe get the buzz out there – and there's still the lingering ounce of fear that perhaps I've done more harm than help. What if I've royally screwed over and put Johanna in more harm than help. Thousands of possibilities swim by, before I'm brought back to earth my Caesar's hand on my shoulder. "How was that?"

"As good as it possibly could be. Do you think it works in her favour?"

"You've humanised her, for sure. Whether that works is anyone's guess, but I'd wager so." A fully look falls across Caesar's face, something strange when contrasted with his usual toothy gleam.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just-" He looks around at the camera crew, packing away. Nobody's eyes are on us. "It's sick. These children are dying and here I am, asking you about Johanna's personal life. All of it, the lights, the makeup; all while nine children freeze to death in an arena. I can't stand it."

My eyes practically bug out of my head. "Caesar, you can't just say that. You don't know who's listening."

"In this studio? Nobody." He eyes the camera crew, who continue to pack away like little robots completing a programmed task. "I just hate it, Hazel. All of it."

I wonder, is this a trick on Snow's part? Has he concocted a plan to try to get me to agree with Caesar, to incite some kind of rebellious speech from me? Or is Caesar telling the truth – is this how he really feels? The thoughts swim in my mind, enough to make me feel dizzy. I don't have time for this. I need to keep Johanna alive, that's it. Rebellion be damned.

"I should go."

Caesar gives me a look; a curious look. Another one I'm not quite used to seeing on his face – not a frown, exactly, but something akin to confusion. Perhaps concern, if I look hard enough. "The show will air tonight. Perhaps get some sleep?"

"Cecilia's taking over the girls' night watch," I tell him. I don't tell him that the only reason I trust her with it is because I'm convinced the Gamemakers won't have anything planned tonight. Odds are they're probably getting things ready for the final eight interviews.

"I'll talk to you soon, Hazel. And remember, if you need anything-"

"I'll call you, I know," I don't mean to sound snappy, but I'm tired. And confused. And mad, because if Caesar really is playing into Snow's game, my respect for him has been lost threefold. "Goodnight."

The ride to the Training Centre is quiet. It's early in the morning and most of the Capitol isn't awake quite yet, so I'm saved from the crowds of people plaguing the streets like moths to a flame, trying to get a glimpse of their favourite victors emerging from their rooms. I'm nearly at the Donum Room when I realise, I'm still in the same sheer black dress as earlier. It physically pains me to have to tear myself away from the sanctity of my tribute's side, but as I step through the threshold of my room, I'm suddenly grateful I made a pitstop.

Because on my bed sits a crisp white letter with my name on it.

Usually I'd tear it away, dump it on my desk to be read at a time when I can handle another one of Snow's meetings. But this letter is white, not red, and a tell-tale sniff comes back with no trace of the sickly roses that so often come bearing bad news. The inside only has a phone number, and the name Plutarch, written in scrawling, loopy handwriting.

So, someone wants a meeting.

JOHANNA

It's been two days without any activity, so I'm not surprised when I hear the Careers coming.

Twine hears them first, sitting bolt upright. We'd been sitting on a fallen log, sharing some of our precious rations, listening to her explain the intricacies of dress design. Now we're dead silent, hearing the crunch of casual footsteps heading in our direction.

She panics, eyes wide enough to make an owl jealous, and leaps to her feet. She scrambles for the knife I'd given her, but I slap her hand away, hard. The small whimper that escapes from her lips is enough to make my blood turn to lava.

"What, are you stupid? You don't stand a chance fighting back," I try to keep my voice barely above a whisper, for fear that I'll attract them to our presence far sooner than necessary. "We get out of here, now."

"What about a tree? We could climb?"

She won't be fast enough, but I don't tell her that. Instead I grab her hand and yank her into a run. We get a head start, but it's not enough; Career eyes are trained to spot movement, and these woods are too sparse to hide in. I hear the yell of the girl from Four, Circe, and stifle a curse. She's deadly with a spear. I risk a glance behind me, where Twine is struggling to catch up with my pace. The boys from One – Paris, I think – and Two are there, tailing Circe as she takes up the head. Love must have been left to guard camp, wherever that is. I count my lucky stars they don't have an archer amongst them.

My eyes dart around the foliage. My first instinct would be to confuse them, head in one direction and then another, but I have Twine to worry about and I doubt she'd follow my train of thought. Already she's beginning to hack and heave, the pollution from Eight that's corrupted her lungs coming to taunt her. The thought crosses my mind to leave her, but for some reason a stronger part of me refuses.

Come on, Johanna, you have to let her die sometime. I want to toss her to the wolves so badly, but when I turn to see those begging eyes, I realise I can't let her go. So instead, I run.

It feels like hours, but it must only be minutes, until I realise that we're running parallel to what appears to be a cliff face. I hadn't noticed it before – venturing too far east was a no-go when the trees got sparser – but now that we're here, I take a slight shift left to gauge the fall. It's far down, but not too far. Not all steep, from the side; no trees and enough snow to cushion a fall. The Careers are catching up with Twine, and it's our only shot.

"Twine! On three, we jump!" I point to the drop.

"You're joking, right? We'll die!"

"And I'd rather risk a snapped neck than a spear to the gut!" Circe is closing in, her dark ponytail swaying and her spear glinting. "I'd risk it if I were you."

"Fine!"

"Three, two, one!"

I make the leap. Luckily, I'm right, the snow is just about thick enough to soothe the painful crunch of rock on bone, but it doesn't make it any form of gentle. I have just about the wherewithal to wrap my arms around my torso, protecting any damage to my vital organs as I roll down the steep slope, faster and faster until I land at the bottom with a heavy thud.

Fucking hell. My body feels bruised in about a hundred different places, and I know once the adrenaline slows the pain will be threefold, but for now I don't think anything is broken, so I need to get moving. I stand up, world spinning, just as Twine makes her ungraceful stop down the mountainside. Unlike me, there's the unpleasant crunch of a broken ankle, and the sound she makes is unbearable.

From up above, the Careers peer down on us. Circe looks royally pissed, but the boys appear unfazed by the experience. There's no way down, not unless they want to take the tumble, and with heavy packs and weaponry, it's a bigger gamble than reward. They start talking, and Paris points back in the way they came. Better to leave them to die is the impression I get from him, and eventually Circe concedes. A wide grin breaks across my face. They have no idea who I am or what I can do.

"Johanna," Twine says, after a moment. "It hurts."

My attention is drawn back to my ally, who lies on her back in the snow. I can't see the harm from under her boot, but a ginger hand to her foot is enough to know that it's not just twisted. Broken bones never work out for tributes in Games, and I can see the realisation setting in her eyes. Her breathing starts to hurry, and I have to place a hand on her chest to get her to slow down.

"Okay, okay. We'll get you to someplace less open, and then we'll have a look, okay?" She nods, and it's only then that I look around. We're on some kind of ledge overlooking the arena. To our left and right is more forest; it appears the mountain we're on has some kind of spiral formation down the side. In front of us, distantly, I can spot the golden shine of the Cornucopia, and across the lake, on the opposing shore, the second mountain. I wonder if the Careers have made their base in the middle – able to hunt between the two peaks with equal discrimination. I see no figure at the base of the lake, however. Whatever Love is guarding, it's not within sight.

It takes a while to get Twine to her feet, and even longer to help her hobble towards the forest. We must walk for about an hour, taking numerous breaks, until I begin to notice breaks in the rock face. Cracks, which slowly become bigger and bigger caves. I decide on one; not too big or too small, and help Twine in, laying out the blanket and sleeping bag for her to rest on. She lets out a shaky breath.

"I'm dead, aren't I, Johanna?"

"Shut up," I say, laying out her supplies. "It might be a clean break, I can pop it back into place, I just need a splint or something."

"No, I'm dead, you should leave me. You should-"

"I said, shut up," I snap. "You stay here, I'll get you something to use. You're not dead until I say you're dead, capiche?"

"Why are you even helping me? You could have killed me a long time ago?"

"Because," I say, hoisting the bag on my shoulders. "You make me seem less annoying to the audience. And you're alright company."

She gives me a small smile. "Thanks, Jo."

"Johanna," I correct. "I'll see you in a minute."

The woods further down the mountain are denser, and I find myself thinking of home, and I search around for something to use as a splint. If I squint, it could be a January morning in Seven. I could be foraging for spare firewood to warm up Father and I's ramshackle cottage. The thought makes me feel strangely dizzy. Home seems far more than a million miles away.

The sound of rustling sends my heart leaping, and my hand goes straight to my knife. Carefully, I detach myself from the tangle of branches and bushes I found myself in and peer towards the sound. Surely a tribute would have heard us, so it must be an animal. If I'm lucky I may be able to score Twine and I some game for tonight. After the day she's had, she deserves it.

But it appears, as I peer through the trees and onto the staggering form of the boy from Six, I'm mistaken.