Disclaimer: I still don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: And here's our second batch of train rides. Not a whole lot to say here, except vote in the poll if you haven't yet. Once the train rides are over, I'll put a new one up.

Train Rides
Smothered in Surmise

Klaudia Almasy, 18
District Eight

She still couldn't quite believe it.

Klaudia wrung her hands as Carolina watched her silently, her mechanical eye seeming to stare right through Klaudia. It hadn't taken Mariska long to decide that she wanted to be mentored separately, and no one had objected. She and Lander were in the next car over, probably already deep into discussing strategy. Carolina, meanwhile, hadn't said two words since they'd left.

What was she waiting for?

Klaudia shifted uncomfortably. "So … what do we do now?"

Carolina nodded. "Took you long enough."

"What?"

"To take the initiative. Once you're in the arena, I won't be there with you, telling you what to do. You'll have to figure it out for yourself, and sometimes that means you'll have to think on your feet. You'll have to make split-second decisions that could cost you your life … or save it. You won't be able to just sit back and wait for instructions."

Klaudia could feel her face growing warm. "But I'm not in the arena yet."

"Good thing, too," Carolina agreed. "Because by the time you asked 'What do we do now?' you'd probably be dead. The Games aren't about what I think you should do. They're about what your gut is telling you to do in that moment." She leaned back a little in her chair. "So what's your gut telling you now?"

"I…" She wasn't sure. "I'm hungry?"

"Fair enough." Carolina passed her a basket of rolls from the table beside her. "That's an important priority once you're in the Games, too. But hunger can make people do stupid things. Reckless things."

"Like rushing into the bloodbath?"

Carolina nodded. "For starters, yes."

"Did you?"

Carolina chuckled. "Me? Not a chance. My allies and I got out of there as quickly as we could. It wasn't worth the risk, and there weren't even that many Careers my year. Now … no, I wouldn't suggest it. Anything you can get at the cornucopia at the beginning, you can find later, or steal from someone who made it out. It's just not worth the risk, especially now. This year, with this many tributes, it's better to play it safe at the start."

"At the start?"

"Even with this many tributes, you won't be able to stay hidden forever. Eventually, you'll have to take risks. But not right away. As long as you don't do anything to draw attention to yourself, you should be able to avoid the action at the start."

"Even after what Austen did?" Klaudia asked hesitantly. When she had come to the Justice Building, Carolina had seemed to be suggesting that Austen's actions at the reaping had painted a target on their backs. Would she really be able to avoid that?

"I think so," Carolina answered. "Things happen during the reaping. Things that people do in the heat of the moment. Unless they develop into more, the Capitol doesn't usually hold it against the tributes. As long as you don't seem rebellious, as long as you're not threatening to derail the Games, you should be fine. Just do what you're supposed to during training, during the interviews, and no one will care if you just run away during the bloodbath. Plenty of tributes do that." She smirked. "Hell, even Lander did."

"Really?"

"Really. He was just as scared as the rest of us. No one wants to die, Klaudia, and the Games bring out the worst fears in all of us. We all want to live, and we're all willing to do terrible things – sometimes unspeakable things – in order to survive."

"Even you?" She couldn't imagine the older woman sitting in front of her doing anything unspeakable, even in the name of survival. Sure, she'd been a bit harsh when she'd come to the Justice Building, but that was only because she'd been trying to help her. Trying to protect Austen.

Wasn't it?

Carolina hesitated a moment before answering. But only a moment. "Even me," she confirmed. "I pushed one of my allies down while we were running from a mutt and left her for dead. I killed a girl I found beside a river after promising to help fix her broken leg. The boy who did this to me?" She waved her hand towards her mechanical eye. "I tied him to a tree and let the mutts devour him. During the finale, I lured a girl into the path of a giant mutt and let it step on her. Any of those things would have been considered inhuman outside the arena. But the Games have different rules. One rule. Survive. Everything else is secondary."

Klaudia swallowed hard, trying to picture herself doing any of those things. Killing someone she had promised to help. Leaving an ally for dead. "How do you…?" she started, but stopped herself. How do you live with it? That was what she'd wanted to ask. How do you sleep? How do you do this year after year?

Carolina leaned forward a little. "There isn't a good answer to that. And it's not what you need to worry about right now. Once you get through the Games, then you can worry about how you're going to live with it. If you think about that now, it'll eat you up. You'll hesitate. You'll freeze. You'll think too much when you need to act, instead." She shook her head. "That was the hardest thing for me, really. Learning not to think. I made a lot of mistakes. But I survived. That's the important thing. That's always the important thing."

Klaudia nodded along. But her stomach was churning. When she put it like that – when she said she had survived – it didn't sound so bad. But in order for her to survive, twenty-three other tributes had died. And even more would have to die if Klaudia wanted to live. "I don't know if I can do that," she whispered.

Carolina couldn't help a smile. "I'd be more worried if you were sure you could."

"What do you mean?"

"The ones who go into the Games certain that they have what it takes, certain that they know exactly what they're doing, convinced they're the one who's going to win – those are the ones who worry me. Those are the tributes who make careless mistakes because they just know it's going to work out. You already know better. That's good."

"It is?" Did she really believe that? Or was she just trying to say something positive because she had to? Because she was her mentor? Certainly mentors had to pretend that their tributes had a chance of winning, even if they didn't. Was that what Carolina was doing?

Maybe. But maybe, for now, that was good enough. It was nice to hear something kind, even if she didn't completely mean it. "Thank you," Klaudia said softly.

"You're welcome. Now let's get some dinner."

Klaudia's eyes widened. "I thought this was dinner." She nodded towards the rolls that Carolina had passed her earlier. They'd been more than enough to fill her stomach. "Do you mean there's more?"

"Always. There's always more. One of the few nice things about this whole mess." Carolina stood up slowly and headed for the next car. "Unless you're not hungry," she realized once she'd made it halfway to the door. "Sometimes the reaping is enough to ruin people's appetite. If you don't want to eat—"

Klaudia nearly burst out laughing. She couldn't imagine not wanting to eat. "I'm coming," she insisted, quickly joining Carolina. Sure enough, the table in the next car was piled high with more food than Klaudia would have imagined possible. Lander, Mariska, and Kit were already eating. Lander chuckled a little, adjusting the sling around his arm. "Took you long enough to join us. You're lucky we saved anything for you. Sit down."

Klaudia quickly took a seat. "I'm sorry about…" She nodded towards Lander's arm. "What happened at the reaping."

Lander shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry about. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sure Care's already told you to keep your mouth shut about it once we get to the Capitol. Just let the audience forget about it, and they probably will. Give them something else to focus on."

Klaudia nodded obediently. But she didn't want to forget. She didn't want to forget that Austen had been willing to fight for her. Now she would have to do the same if she wanted to get back to him.

She just hoped she could be as brave.

Orphelia Mykonos, 17
District Twelve

She wished she felt as brave as the others seemed.

Orphelia swallowed another bite of her chicken, but the food she had already eaten felt like it might come back up at any moment. Beside her, David didn't seem to be having any trouble keeping his food down. Across the table, both Brennan and Kyra were eating silently. No one seemed to want to say anything – not yet. Maybe they were all thinking the same thing she was. Maybe they all feared that saying something would make all of this seem more real.

Or maybe it was her. Maybe Kyra and David didn't want to start talking about strategy while she was still around. After all, since there were two mentors now, she and David could split up and be mentored separately. Maybe Brennan was waiting for the other two to leave so that they could talk in private. But what would he want to say that he couldn't say in front of the others? It wasn't as if he had some secret to winning the Games that Kyra didn't know. He had been her mentor, after all. Whatever advice Kyra had to give, she had probably learned from him.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to be too careful. She needed all the help she could get, and if there was something that Brennan didn't want the others to hear, that was up to him. She certainly didn't want to get on his bad side by asking for advice too early. But there was a part of her that was itching to break the silence. Even if he didn't want to talk about strategy yet, there must be something they could talk about without jeopardizing whatever plan he might have for the Games.

"Orphelia?" David asked, and, from the tone in his voice, it hadn't been the first time.

Orphelia nearly jumped. "What?"

"I asked if you could pass the butter."

Orphelia quickly reached for the butter. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

Brennan took the butter and handed it to David. "About what?"

Orphelia hesitated. "About whether you two were planning to mentor us together or separately."

Brennan couldn't hide a smile. "You could have just asked."

She could have. "So what do you think?"

"I think we should work together for now," David jumped in before she could answer.

Brennan nodded. "And why would that be?"

David froze. "Is this a test?"

Brennan smirked. "Of sorts. Your answer to that might affect whether Orphelia wants to be mentored with you. If she thinks you want to gather information to use against her—"

"That's not what I meant!" David interrupted.

"Then what did you mean?" Brennan asked.

"I…" David hesitated. "I meant that I think you both would have good advice – and that you might have some different suggestions that could help us." He turned to Kyra. "Your Games were just last year. That gives you a different perspective than someone who's been doing this for years. And you." He nodded to Brennan. "You're the only person who's survived a Quarter Quell. And you've been mentoring a lot longer. You probably have some ideas that Kyra wouldn't think of just because she hasn't had as much experience. So … I'd like to learn from both of you, if…" He glanced over at Orphelia. "If that's all right with you."

Orphelia looked over at Brennan, then Kyra, then back to David. What he was saying made sense, now that he put it like that. And if she decided later that she wanted to talk to Brennan alone, she could always change her mind. "Sounds good to me," she agreed.

Brennan nodded. "All right, then. You're right about things being different because it's a Quarter Quell. The twist itself doesn't have much of an effect on District Twelve, since it's still just the two of you, but that doesn't mean we're exempt from whatever else the Gamemakers might have in store. I'm sure there will be some twists and turns that weren't mentioned in the twist."

Orphelia nodded a little. That made sense. The purpose of the Quell, after all, was to remind them of the rebellion – not just the miniature rebellion during the 41st Games, but the war that had happened fifty years ago. Maybe Twelve hadn't participated in the events of the Games nine years ago, but they had been part of the larger rebellion. The Capitol wasn't about to let them off the hook for that. "So what do we do?"

"For now? The same thing you would any other year. You behave yourselves during the chariot rides. You do what your stylists tell you to do. You train. You start thinking about what sort of people you might want as allies – if you want allies at all. And you do your best not to make targets out of yourselves."

"Targets for who?" David asked. "There aren't going to be as many Careers this year, at least. That's a good thing."

"In some ways," Brennan agreed.

"What do you mean?" Orphelia asked. How could having fewer Careers be a bad thing?

"Careers are certainly dangerous," Brennan explained, "but there's a downside to everything. The audience – and the Gamemakers – assume that the Careers are going to go out hunting for other tributes, so they don't have to put as much effort into trying to force tributes together. With fewer Careers this year, that might change. If there aren't enough tributes interacting, the Gamemakers might decide to intervene."

"Is that what happened during your Games?" Orphelia asked. There hadn't been any volunteers allowed during the last Quarter Quell, either. Had that meant there were no Careers?

Brennan nodded. "The Gamemakers forced some of us together, yes. But some of us did that on our own. Some of us decided to take the initiative, to go out and hunt for other tributes and for supplies."

"And you?"

"There were four of us in my alliance at the start. It didn't take us long to reach the edge of the arena – the control room of the space station. There was a map there with lights to represent the other tributes. After realizing we weren't going to just stumble across food and water, the four of us decided to go looking for other tributes, in the hope that maybe they had found something that we would be able to steal. Grace and I found the pair from Seven. Ambushed them. Took their supplies. They fought back, and … we killed them."

David's eyes widened. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. They put up a fight, but we were hungry. Desperate. That makes people do things … things they wouldn't ordinarily dream of doing. That's the worst part of the Games, really. It's easy for us to point at the Careers and say that we would never do that, that we would never volunteer to kill people for sport … but the Careers aren't the only ones who kill. The Games existed for years before Career training became popular. If for some reason there could be no Careers … the Games would still go on. Tributes would still kill each other, because that's what people do when they're told the only choice is kill or be killed. Our survival instinct is too strong for us to do anything else."

Orphelia nodded. What he was saying made sense, but she still had a hard time picturing it. She still couldn't imagine him stalking and killing another tribute, still couldn't picture him stabbing his district partner or choking the life out of his remaining opponent in the finale. And she certainly couldn't picture herself doing any of those things.

But he had. Brennan had survived because he'd been willing to do all of those things. He clearly hadn't been happy about it, but he had done it, nonetheless. And she would have to be willing to do the same, if she wanted to make it home to her family. If she wanted to survive, she would have to be willing to do anything.

Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten

He would have traded anything to be somewhere else.

Skyton reached into his pocket, his hand closing around Fifa's bell as the last of the reapings continued to play. District Eleven. District Twelve. Only three tributes from Eleven, and two from Twelve. But that was still too many. Far too many. He'd lost track of all the names and faces quite a few districts ago. From the looks on their faces, so had Glenn, Presley, and Connor. They all seemed just as relieved when the tape finally stopped.

Connor was the first to break the silence. "So what do you think?"

"I think we have a pretty good chance," Presley answered hopefully. "Both of you are older and stronger than some of the other tributes. Not many Careers this year, so that might play in our favor. Neither of you really made much of an impression during the reaping, so the others don't really have a reason to target you."

Right. They hadn't made much of an impression. Maybe she was trying to be polite about it. Maybe she was trying to gloss over the fact that they had both been crying. Or maybe she was simply hoping that wouldn't be as detrimental as it might have been in other years. That since there weren't as many Careers, they might not be as quick to target anyone who seemed weak during the reaping, as long as they put on a good enough show afterwards.

Skyton turned the bell over in his hand, accidentally jingling it a little bit. "What've you got there?" Presley asked.

Skyton pulled it out. "It's a bell. My district token. It belongs to one of my cows."

Presley smiled a little. "I brought some sheep's wool during my Games."

"Really?"

"Really. Reminded me of what I wanted to get back to at home."

"Not your family?"

Presley smirked. "Not yours?"

She had a point. He'd taken the bell without question when Lucy had offered it. Sure, it reminded him of Fifa, but it also reminded him of his sister. "Both," Skyton agreed, turning the bell over. "It reminds me of both."

Presley nodded. "Then it's your job to do your best to get back to both of them. I'm not going to sit here and pretend it's going to be easy, but…"

Skyton couldn't hold back a little chuckle. She was right about that. It certainly wasn't going to be easy. No matter how much his family might want to believe that he had a chance, no matter how much his mentors might want to believe it, no matter how much he might want to pretend, the fact was that there wasn't much of a chance. He wouldn't be coming back from the Games. Not alive, at least. And the less time he wasted pretending otherwise, the better.

Presley, however, ignored his chuckle. "So, you two. What do you think of being coached together – at least for a little while?"

Immediately, Connor nodded. "I think that's a good idea. What do you think, Skyton?"

"I … I guess."

Connor beamed. "Great. In fact, I'd be willing to work together in the arena, too … if that's all right with you."

"You mean like … like allies?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

Skyton shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "We don't even know anything about each other – or about the other tributes."

Connor shrugged. "If you don't want to, I understand. I just thought…"

"What?"

Connor shook his head. "Look, we didn't exactly make a great impression at the reaping. No one is going to notice District Ten. On our own, what sort of allies are we going to be able to find? Maybe one or two others who don't get recruited by someone stronger, someone older, someone who made a better impression. But if there are two of us … if we're already working together, and if we seem strong enough together, other people might want to join us."

Skyton nodded a little. That made sense. And it wasn't as if he was likely to get a better offer; Connor was right about that. Maybe if they gave the impression that they were already a strong pair of tributes working together, others would be attracted to that.

Maybe. Or it might deter other people from joining up with them if they appeared to be too close of an alliance early on. Anyone joining the two of them would know right away that they were the outsiders, that if it came down to it, the boys from District Ten would choose each other over their other allies. Wouldn't they?

Skyton picked at the food that was left on his plate. Connor seemed to be expecting an answer right away. He wanted time to think. He wanted time to consider other options. But did that mean that Connor would be suspicious? Maybe he wouldn't want to work together if it seemed like he was too reluctant.

Finally, Skyton nodded. "Okay. Let's do it. Allies."

Connor clapped him on the back. "Perfect! You won't regret it."

Skyton tried to smile. He hoped that was true. But part of him was already wondering if he'd made a mistake.

Stop it. If it turned out to be a mistake, he could always leave once the Games started. With the sort of confusion that normally ensued during the bloodbath, no one would think it was unusual if he got separated from Connor. If their alliance turned out to be a terrible idea, he could always break it off then, and no one would be the wiser. Even Connor probably wouldn't think anything of it. Alliances got separated during the bloodbath all the time.

Skyton swallowed hard. That was what had happened the year before. Amber, one of the girls from their district, had gotten separated from her ally during the bloodbath. Amber had rushed into the bloodbath to try to gather supplies while her ally had run away. When they'd found each other later, Amber had been quick to share the weapons she'd gathered from the cornucopia … and had been repaid with a knife in her throat. Her ally, the little girl from Twelve, had gone on to win the Games.

Skyton drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He didn't want that to happen to him. If he got separated from Connor and then they ran into each other later, would Connor kill him? Maybe it would be better to just stay with him, even if the alliance didn't turn out to be such a good move. Or maybe he was blowing things out of proportion. Maybe it would be just fine.

No. No, whatever else happened, it wasn't going to be 'just fine.' Nothing would ever be just fine again. He was in the Hunger Games. He was a tribute. And he was probably going to die, whether by Connor's hand or by someone else's. So maybe it didn't matter much what he did, if the same thing was going to happen in the end.

"Skyton?"

Skyton practically jumped out of his chair. How long had Presley been calling his name? "Sorry," he immediately apologized. "I was just thinking."

Presley nodded. "That happens."

It was probably supposed to be funny, but Skyton could feel his face turning red. Sure, it didn't usually matter if he started tuning everyone else out and got wrapped up in his own thoughts. But if that happened during the Games, anything could happen. He could have a knife in his back before he even realized what was happening.

Maybe that would be better.

Just then, Glenn emerged from behind the counter. When had he left? Skyton shook the thought from his head at the sight of the plate full of desserts that Glenn was carrying. "I don't know if anyone's still hungry, but…"

Glenn didn't even get to finish the sentence before Connor jumped up and helped himself to one of the cupcakes. Skyton quickly followed, and even Presley was quick to grab herself a slice of pie. Whatever else might be said about the Capitol, they certainly had excellent food. They'd even had a hearty selection of fruits and vegetables, something that was usually lacking in District Ten. But, to his surprise, he was still hungry, even after scarfing down several cookies and a piece of cake. Maybe it was some sort of sick joke, that they got to spend a few days before the Hunger Games eating their fill of the Capitol's finest food. If it was a joke, it wasn't a very funny one.

But that didn't stop him from eating.

Emmett Darsier, 18
District Four

They certainly seemed to have made the right choice.

Emmett leaned back in his chair. It hadn't taken long for Kalypso to decide that it would be a good idea to mentor him separately from the other tributes. Not that any of the others had seemed particularly interested in an alliance. The two girls were both younger and frightened, and the boy … well, Emmett wasn't entirely sure what to make of him yet. Of course, they were probably thinking the same thing about him – wondering what to make of his reaction at the reaping. Wondering whether he would join up with the rest of the Career pack or go it alone.

Kalypso seemed to be wondering the same thing. She'd been oddly silent while they were watching the tape of the reapings together. "I guess I expected a few more Careers," she admitted at last. "Maybe a couple of them have training, but—"

"But not many," Emmett agreed. "Certainly not enough to form a full pack of well-trained Careers." He shook his head. "So what does that mean for me?"

"It means you have options," Kalypso reasoned. "It means that if you're interested in joining up with the pack, they'll probably let you. You may even be one of the stronger members, judging from the reaping. But it also means that if you decide not to join the pack, you'll still be on their radar. Physically, you're one of the stronger tributes in the Games. That might make you a target if you part ways with the main pack."

"So you think I should join them?"

"I think if you decide not to, you should lie low. Don't go out and recruit another large alliance to try to counter the other Careers or anything. And don't do anything reckless during training."

Emmett nodded. "So it's either the Career pack or no one."

"I didn't say that. But if you want allies outside the pack, I certainly wouldn't look for a large group."

He hadn't been planning on looking for a large group. He hadn't really been planning on looking for anyone, especially not the other Careers. That was exactly the sort of thing he'd left behind when he'd decided to quit training. Even when he'd been training, he'd never been much good with the 'team' aspect of Career training. He wasn't a people person. He never had been. And he'd finally stopped pretending otherwise.

But even he couldn't deny how useful allies were in the Games. Of the Victors so far, how many of them had won without any allies at all? He wasn't sure off the top of his head, but it wasn't many. Certainly not any of the Victors from Four. Imalia had had allies, although only some of them had been Careers. Bierce had been the leader of his pack. Kalypso, Naomi, and even Misha had been integral members of the Career pack. Mags…

Mags hadn't had allies, now that he thought of it. But that had been more than forty years ago, before the Career pack had become an almost standard part of the Games. The audience these days expected to see a pack, and they expected tributes with training to be part of that pack. If he refused to join, would they write him off? Would they assume he hadn't had any training at all?

Maybe they would. And maybe they wouldn't be entirely wrong. He hadn't trained for years, after all. How much did he really remember? How much would come back to him once he was in the arena? Enough to make him a valuable member of the pack? Or would he be pegged as an outsider even if he tried to join them? Would they consider him one of the more expendable members of the pack? If that was the case, maybe it was better not to join the other Careers at all.

Or maybe … maybe the pack was the best place to hide. There were few enough Careers this year, he wouldn't be rejected simply because they had other, better options. Maybe if he could convince them that he had enough training, they would accept him as long as he didn't do anything to make them think otherwise. Then once they were in the arena, he could reap the benefits of being part of the pack – better access to supplies, more sponsors, more people to keep watch at night – without really having to prove himself.

But how long would that really last?

"You were part of the Career pack," Emmett said at last. "Did you ever think about not joining them?"

Kalypso shook her head. "No. No, not really. But it's also important to know when to leave, when to abandon a plan that clearly isn't working out. On our third day in the arena, it was already clear that the Games were moving a bit too slowly. Our pack hadn't found anyone all day. That night, I thought it was time to spice things up a bit. They needed either me or my district partner to help them navigate the harbor. We were both useful … but they didn't need both of us. So I killed him."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Emmett nodded a little. He could picture that. After training with her all those years ago, she certainly didn't seem like the sort to get sentimental, the sort to get attached – especially to someone she knew would have to die eventually. He'd always liked that about her. But he'd forgotten that the boy she'd killed had been her district partner, because the rest of the Careers had died pretty quickly after that.

"And you probably know the rest," Kalypso continued.

He did. As soon as the blood from her knife had hit the deck of the ship, the rigging had come to life, attacking the Careers, trapping them, strangling them. Kalypso had dove into the sea; she hadn't had time to save any of the others. Or maybe she simply hadn't wanted to. Hadn't seen the point in trying to save them when it was more important to save herself.

Emmett nodded. "So what you're trying to say is, even if I decide to join the Career pack, don't get too attached."

Kalypso smirked. "You were always pretty quick to catch on. But yes, and that's true whether you end up joining the Careers or whether you find other allies. You can't let any of them get too close to you."

"I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

"That's easy to say," Kalypso pointed out. "It's harder when you're actually in the Games. When you're with someone all day, all night, when you have to trust them at least enough to let them keep watch, when you eat together, hunt together … it's not like the academy was – back when we had one. It's not like training."

"Yeah," Emmett agreed. "This time no one'll care if I get too close to killing someone."

"Fair point." Kalypso poured herself another glass of juice. "There won't be anyone to hold you back. But that also means there won't be anyone to stop you if you lose control. If you get too emotional – for better or worse – it's easier to become distracted. To lose focus. If you get too angry, too out of control, it might be harder to find your way back."

"And if I don't want to?"

Kalypso couldn't help a smile. "You'll eventually want to. Eventually, the Games end. They have to. And if you win this thing … you want to make sure that you actually come back, that you don't lose yourself in that arena."

Emmett nodded. Maybe that made sense. For her. For the other Victors. But if he did lose control, the same way he had before he'd quit training, the same way he had when Aria had died … when he'd killed her … if that happened, would he really want to come back?

Would he really want to survive?

"Present fears are less than horrible imaginings. My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, shakes so my single state of man that function is smothered in surmise."