Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: Not a whole lot to say here, aside from "Yay for snow days!" We got off early today, and we're off tomorrow as well, which gave me the time I needed to sit down and edit this. At least all this snow is good for something. ;)
Day Two
Cheaply Bought
Sabine Plecity
District Five Mentor
It was only a matter of time.
Sabine stretched her arms as Oliver took a seat beside her. "She's getting restless," he observed.
Sabine shrugged. "She's not the only one. Once the others have rested, they'll be just as ready to move on as Macauley is." After taking the first watch, Macauley had slept only an hour or two before volunteering to take another, relieving a sleepy Genevieve of her duties. She'd been pacing back and forth across the room for at least half an hour now.
It hadn't been so bad until the knocking had started.
It was faint – just loud enough for her to be able to tell which direction it was coming from – and it was clearly driving her up the wall. "You think she'll follow it?" Oliver asked casually.
Sabine chuckled. "That's not really the question. It won't be long before she just has to do something. It's only a matter of whether she's going to follow it on her own or wake up the others, too."
Oliver shook his head. "Next round of drinks says she'll investigate by herself first – unless, of course, you send her a little something to convince her otherwise. Then all bets are off."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you know who's making that noise."
Sabine nodded. The noise was coming from the next room, where Emmett was tapping on the door with a dagger. Quietly. Methodically. Just loudly enough to get someone's attention. "That's exactly why I'm not sending her a message."
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "I don't quite follow."
Sabine smiled knowingly. "You're still new at this. I may not have mentored as recently as some of the others, but I've still mentored more than a lot of them. It's tempting – very tempting – to try to help your tributes out every step of the way. But what do you think would happen if I did?"
"She'd wake the others, tell them that Emmett was in the next room, and then—"
"And then it would be five on one. An easy kill. Not even much of a fight. Sure, it would keep her safe – for a little while – but who would be impressed? Who would think anything of it?"
"You're trying to help her make an impression."
Sabine smiled. "That, and … Have you noticed the door?"
"What about it?"
"Why do you think Emmett hasn't opened it, just to see if anyone was coming? Why not creak it open and shut, if he wanted to get her attention?" She shook her head. "Look at the door, Oliver. Really look."
He looked again, peering into the darkness beside Emmett. "There's no—"
"Exactly."
"So he can't—"
"Right."
"So if all the Careers went in there, then—"
"That would be bad, yes."
Oliver gave her shoulder a punch. "Stop finishing my sentences."
Sabine smirked. "Then talk faster."
Oliver grinned. "Touche." He leaned back in his seat. "You should do this more often."
Sabine chuckled. "Don't say that until we see how this turns out. There are still plenty of ways it could go wrong, and there are twenty-six tributes left, after all."
"And four of them are ours," Oliver pointed out.
That was true. And as much as she tried to ignore it, it was nice to have one of the younger mentors – one of the Career mentors – say that she was doing a good job. That she should do this more. It had been accepted as a given, once the Career system had been firmly established, that they would be the ones doing the mentoring. And most of the time, that was probably for the best. They'd already worked closely with the tributes, after all, and spent time getting to know them. She was a Victor from a different time. A simpler time. The Games were different now, and required a different sort of mentoring.
Still, there were times when she missed this.
Margo Devereaux, 18
District Two
She was almost starting to miss the cawing sound.
Margo rolled over a little, trying to ignore the uneasy silence. The birds had gone quiet a while ago, with only a slight rattling of their cages every now and then to remind her that she and Mae weren't alone. Mae was keeping watch, which meant she should be able to sleep, but every little noise jolted her back awake. Every little rustling from the birds, or every time Mae stood up to stretch. It was just too quiet.
Finally, Margo sat up a little. "Maybe I should keep watch for a while. I don't think I'm going to be able to get to sleep."
Mae couldn't help a chuckle. "That was why I offered to take the first watch. I don't think I'll have any better luck – not with all these birds watching us."
Margo nodded. It was a silly thing to worry about, of course. Yes, the birds were watching them, but so was all of Panem. Their families. Their friends. Their mentors. The Gamemakers. Why should a bunch of stupid birds make a difference?
But, somehow, they did. There was something about their eyes, or maybe about the way the light from the torches was reflecting off them. Something wasn't quite right. It was as if they were waiting for something.
Margo shook her head. She was just getting jumpy. And maybe that was normal, but it was something they couldn't afford right now. It was only the first night of the Games, after all. If she was already this uneasy…
Just then, something caught her eye. Mae's eyes were growing wider, staring into the darkness behind Margo. "What?" Margo asked, turning around. It was just a bird. Just another big, black bird perched on its cage.
Perched on its cage.
Shit. The bird was out of its cage. How had that happened? Margo's gaze flew around the room. Several of the cages' doors were open, as if they had simply been let loose. Margo clenched her fists. Of course they had. She reached down and scooped up the spear at her feet. They were just birds, but…
But they were mutts. And if they were making a move, it was because the Gamemakers wanted them to. Wanted to drive the two of them somewhere. But where? They had to figure it out quickly, before—
Just then, one of the birds swooped down towards her. Margo swung her spear, but not quickly enough. The bird's talons slashed across her arm. "Run!" Mae called as another one of the birds flapped towards her, grazing her shoulder. Margo took off towards the nearest door – the one facing away from the cornucopia. If the other Careers were still there, the safest direction to run was away. Surely the Gamemakers weren't trying to drive them towards the Career pack.
At the very least, they didn't seem interested in killing them – not yet. The birds were aiming for their arms, their legs. One clutched a clump of her hair in its talons as she dove through the door. Mae was right on her heels, and the pair of them slammed the door shut behind them. "That should hold them," Mae gasped.
Only if the Gamemakers want it to. Margo slumped to the ground, clutching her arm. Only then did she get a good look around, and almost burst out laughing. Mae was laughing, taking in the sight around them. "You think they meant this as a hint?" Mae asked.
Margo nodded, looking around at the weapons. Apparently, this was the armory. Giant-sized weapons lined the walls, along with a few smaller versions littered across the floor. It was practically a second cornucopia full of weapons. There didn't seem to be any other supplies, but they still had enough food to last them a while, and bandages enough to take care of what the birds had done.
Not that they particularly needed weapons, either, but that wasn't the point. It wasn't about the supplies they needed. The Gamemakers were trying to give them a push. Well, maybe now it was a shove. Either way, she could take a hint. "All right, then," she agreed, pulling some bandages from her pack. "Let's take care of these cuts, and then see who else is nearby." They were Careers, after all – or, at least, the audience wanted to believe they were.
Maybe it was time to start acting like it.
Darian Travers, 14
District Two
Maybe it was time to investigate, after all.
Darian gripped his dagger tightly as he ventured closer to the door that led away from the cornucopia. For a while, he and Elliot had thought they'd heard squawking noises coming from that direction. Then there had been silence, but now … now the squawking was even louder, and he was sure he'd heard someone scream.
"Think we should go check it out?"
Darian nearly jumped as he turned towards Elliot, who was standing behind him. "I thought you were getting some sleep."
Elliot shrugged. "Well, I was. Hard to sleep with all that racket. So what do you say? Want to go have a look?"
Darian raised an eyebrow. "There's screaming, and your first thought is that we should go towards it?"
"Screaming means other tributes," Elliot pointed out.
"Maybe. Or maybe it means mutts that sound like tributes. That squawking certainly wasn't any tribute I've ever heard. Besides, if there are both mutts and tributes, don't you think we would have heard a cannon by now?"
"Maybe," Elliot reasoned. "Or maybe they're not dead yet. Maybe the Gamemakers are waiting for us to come along and finish them off."
Finish them off. Darian's stomach churned. He didn't want to see what the mutts had done to whoever was out there. "Well, then they can wait a little longer. The others left us in charge of the cornucopia."
Elliot rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. No one's tried to sneak in all night. They all know better. It won't take long. Just one room. We go in one other room, see if we find anyone. If not, we can come right back."
Darian opened his mouth to object, but nothing came out. Elliot was right; the night had been rather uneventful. And if the two of them weren't going to get any sleep anyway…
Elliot turned his spear over in his hands. "Tell you what. I'm going. If you want to come along, you're welcome. If not … well, I'll be right back." With that, he strode through the door.
Damn it. There was no way he couldn't follow now. If he did, he would look soft. Maybe he was soft. The thought of what they might find in the next room made him sick. But not going would mean admitting that to the audience. To the Gamemakers. Sure, he'd proven that he was willing to kill in the heat of the moment, but this … this was different. This was hunting. Sure, it was hunting prey that was probably already injured, but it was still hunting.
As he followed Elliot, however, the sound of squawking seemed to die down. Maybe the mutts had done their work. Maybe the Gamemakers were trying to make the sound a bit harder for them to follow.
Slowly, Darian's eyes adjusted to the light. The candles seemed a bit brighter in this room. Or maybe it was just the fact that the light was reflecting off the coins, the diamonds, the treasure all around them. Plenty of treasure, but no sign of birds.
"There!" Elliot called, pointing to a door on the far end of the room. Sure enough, sitting there by the door was a bird. A big bird. It was pitch black – maybe a crow or a raven, but bigger than any he'd ever seen. "That way."
One room. That was what Elliot had said. But how were they supposed to ignore such an obvious clue? Darian sighed as he followed Elliot into the next room, which was full of cages. But the birds that had been in the cages – where were they?
Elliot headed for the stairs on the far side of the room. "There! I bet these lead up. Up and maybe out."
"Out?"
"Out of the castle. That's where I'd go, if I was a bird."
"Or someone trying to get away from some birds," Darian agreed. "All right, then. We check the stairs. But if there's no one there, we go back."
Elliot grinned. "Deal. And who knows." He fingered his spear, flashing as smile at Darian.
"Maybe we'll get lucky."
Consus Caepio, 15
District One
Could he really get that lucky?
Consus held his breath as he took a cautious step into the throne room. There didn't seem to be any Careers around. Would they really have left the cornucopia unguarded? Maybe they were simply on the other side of the pile of supplies. Maybe. Or maybe they had left. That seemed like a bit too much to hope for, but if they were here … where were they? Why hadn't they attacked him yet?
Sure, he was being quiet. As quiet as he could be. But if they were keeping watch for tributes, it was only a matter of time before they happened to look in his direction. There wasn't much to hide behind – not until he got quite a bit closer, at least. They'd piled all the supplies in the center of the room. Easy to guard, and easy for them to hide behind, if they wanted to.
Consus took another step closer. Then another. He was more than halfway now – closer to the supplies than he was to the door that led back to his allies. If they were going to attack him, wouldn't now be the time to do it? He wouldn't be able to run – not quickly enough to get away from them.
Still, there was nothing. No attack. Not even any movement. Okay. Consus crept closer to the pile of supplies beneath the giant throne. It wouldn't take him long to grab something and run. That was all he had to do. It was already more than he had said he'd do. He'd just said he was going to have a look around. But if there was really nobody there, his allies would be expecting him to come back with something.
And the audience … they certainly wouldn't approve of him returning empty-handed. Besides, he was hungry, and there was so much food. Would the Careers even notice if any was gone?
Even if they did, they would have no way of knowing who took it. And what did they expect if they hadn't left anyone to guard it? Consus knelt by the pile and chose a backpack. As quietly as he could, he began stuffing food inside. Loaves of bread. Crackers. Dried meat and fruit. Anything he could grab. Bottles of water. Once the backpack was so full he could barely close it, he turned his attention to the weapons.
He had his pick. He hadn't really expected that. But he needed something he could carry. He quickly stuffed a few knives in his pockets – enough for the rest of the group. Then he chose a few of the smaller weapons – a hatchet, a dagger, a cleaver, and a small mace. Something for each of them. That would do for now. And none of them were weapons the Careers were likely to miss. If any of them had a particular weapon they preferred, after all, they had probably taken it with them. That was what he would do.
What he was doing.
Consus smiled a little. There were bound to be cameras in every inch of the room trained on him, capturing every moment of his daring theft. He and his allies would have enough to eat for days, and it was all thanks to him. He was doing this. Not Aleyn or Wes or even Charu. Him. That would set him apart. And, even better, it would get the audience's attention without getting him noticed by the Careers.
Not too fast. First, he had to make it out of here. There weren't any Careers around now, but there was no telling when they might be coming back, and he'd already stayed longer than the others had probably expected him to. Consus shouldered the bag full of food, gripped the weapons tightly, and headed back towards his allies.
Across the room. Through the door. When he saw them, he let out a deep breath. He'd made it. The others were grinning. "How—" Aleyn started.
Consus grinned. "No one was there."
"No one?" Charu asked, her eyes wide.
Wes chuckled. "You think he would've had time to grab this much if someone was there? Good timing, Consus. And I see you got us some weapons."
Consus hesitated. He had done all the work, and Wes just assumed that the weapons were for all of them. He'd meant to share them, of course, but still…
Consus shrugged off the thought, laying the weapons on the floor and opening the bag of food. The mace he set to one side, and the others took the hint. Wes took the hatchet, and Charu took the dagger, leaving the cleaver for Aleyn, who quickly put it to use chopping up one of the larger slabs of meat. Soon, they were all eating.
Consus took a large bite of one of the loaves of bread. The knives were still in his pocket. His little secret. They were all armed, and the sight of four armed tributes would probably deter pretty much anyone besides the Careers. But he deserved … something. Something of his own.
Any of them could have snuck back to get some supplies, it was true. But he was the one who had. He was the only one who had offered to. That meant something. Right now, of course, it meant that they had plenty to eat, but it was more than that. If they had a chance now – any chance – it was because of him.
And no one was going to forget it.
Klaudia Almasy, 18
District Eight
She would never be able to forget.
Klaudia wiped the tears from her eyes as her gaze strayed to Connor's body. No one had come to collect it. Maybe no one was going to. That sometimes happened in indoor arenas. The bodies would sit there until the tributes nearby had gone. Then they just … disappeared. It always happened off-camera, but she'd always assumed someone came to get them. They wouldn't just leave Connor's body here.
Well, maybe they would. Sometimes they did. Last year, they had just left the bodies to rot. And they certainly wouldn't collect it as long as she was here. Klaudia drew her knees up to her chest, her whole body shivering. She didn't want to leave. But she certainly didn't want to stay. Not with Connor's body here to remind her of…
Of the fact that she'd killed him. Connor was dead, and Skyton was gone. She had done that; there was no way around it. Yes, Connor had attacked her, but she'd had options. She could have just given him the medicine. If she'd only known that Skyton hadn't needed it…
Klaudia took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, she had to leave. But where was she supposed to go? There were three doors. One of them was the way they had come from. That led back to the cornucopia, and certainly wasn't where she wanted to go. One of them was the way Skyton had gone. Part of her wanted to follow him, but…
But she wasn't ready. She didn't want to see him. Not yet. The third door was off in a corner, but there were also some stairs. Stairs that led up … somewhere. Where, exactly, she wasn't sure, but up … that didn't really sound like somewhere she wanted to go, either. Up might mean outside the castle. Out in the open. And once she was up there, then what?
No, that wasn't a good option, either. Not that there were any good options. She didn't really want to go anywhere. But she didn't want to stay…
Suddenly, something caught her eye. Something under the staircase. Slowly, she stood up and made her way over to it. It was a door – a trap door of some sort – hidden under the staircase itself. If up wasn't the way she wanted to go, then maybe down would be better. It certainly seemed like a better place to hide, and that was all she really wanted to do right now.
Klaudia took a deep breath. There was no hiding – not really. Not from the Gamemakers. Not from the audience. And not from herself. But hiding from the other tributes … well, maybe that was the next best thing.
Klaudia reached down and gave the handle a tug. The opening wasn't very large – maybe wide enough for two people to get through, at the most. Stairs led down into the darkness below. Klaudia took a deep breath. This was it. She had a bit of food stuffed into her pockets, and the knife the sponsors had sent, along with the extra vial of medicine. Just in case.
Right. Just in case there was more poisoned food somewhere. In all likelihood, she wouldn't need it again. But that didn't mean she had to leave it for someone else to find. Maybe if someone else happened to stumble across the food, they would eat some of the meat. Maybe…
Klaudia's stomach churned. Was she really hoping for one of the other tributes to be poisoned? Maybe. That was certainly better than having to kill them herself. But anyone who was desperate enough to eat food with a dead body nearby probably wouldn't be much of a threat to her, anyway.
Klaudia shook her head. That wasn't her problem. Right now, she wanted to get as far away from that dead body as possible. Slowly, she lowered herself through the opening and found her footing on the stairs. Then she closed the door behind her.
It wasn't as dark as she'd expected. There was a light coming from somewhere below. The staircase wound down, down down, farther and farther below. Finally, she could see candles. A hallway.
Not just a hallway. A maze. Farther down the hall, she could see several other paths branching off in different directions. Klaudia glanced this way and that, but there didn't seem to be anyone else around. Maybe she was the only one who'd managed to find her way down here. Or maybe there were other tributes farther along one of the paths. It would be easy, so easy, to get lost down here.
But maybe that was what she wanted.
Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five
This was what she'd wanted.
Macauley glanced back at the other Careers one more time as she turned the door handle. The tapping had stopped a little while ago, but that just made it even worse. There was someone behind that door. Someone who had been trying to get her attention, perhaps. Maybe even someone who was hoping to lure another tribute in, not realizing that the only ones around were Careers. It was exactly the chance she'd been waiting for.
So why was she hesitating?
She could wake the others, of course. Whoever was behind that door, the five of them could certainly handle them together. But that would be … well, a bit unsatisfying. Sure, the five of them had worked well together as a team so far. They'd hunted down the girl from Three, but still. That had been almost too easy.
This … this was exciting. It was a chance to prove herself. To prove she had what it took to take down a tribute by herself. Sure, she'd made a kill during the bloodbath, but that had been the little boy from Twelve. Did that really count?
Certainly not in the sponsors' eyes – not when Etora already had three kills. No, she had to do this. And she had to do it alone. Whoever was behind the door, they would be prepared. If they were trying to lure a tribute in, it meant they were probably armed. But if they were trying to lure someone in rather than attacking outright, it meant there probably weren't very many of them. Probably just one person. Two, at the most. She could handle two.
Couldn't she?
That was what the audience would want to know. What the sponsors would want to know.
But more importantly, it was what she wanted to know. What she needed to know. In the end, this wasn't about the sponsors or the audience or the Gamemakers or even her mentor. And it certainly wasn't about her allies. It was about her. She needed to do this alone.
She wanted to do this alone.
As quietly as she could, careful not to wake the others, Macauley opened the door. She couldn't see anyone on the other side. Immediately, she glanced to the left and the right, in case someone was waiting to ambush her. Nothing. No one. Silently, she closed the door behind her.
Then she heard a chuckle. "Perfect."
Macauley gripped her dagger tightly. She had a few knives tucked in her pocket and a hatchet hanging from her belt, but she suddenly felt very exposed. The voice had come from somewhere in the darkness on the other side of the room. Whoever was here with her, he was keeping his distance. "What's perfect?" she asked, her voice a little shakier than she would have liked.
"You didn't notice it, either. Rather gratifying, really, to know that I wasn't the only one who didn't even bother to look."
"At what?"
"The door."
"What about it?"
Another chuckle. "Look again."
Macauley glanced at the door, then back at the figure in the shadows. He hadn't moved. She'd assumed he would take the opportunity to attack while she was distracted. She looked back at the door, and her grip on her dagger tightened as she realized.
There was no handle on this side.
"That's why you were tapping at the door," Macauley reasoned. "You wanted someone to come along and let you out."
"Not at all." The figure stepped into the light – moonlight that was streaming down from the window. "Why would I want to leave? I have everything I could want in here."
Macauley raised an eyebrow. "You found food in here?"
Another chuckle. That laugh was really starting to get on her nerves. "I didn't mean food." The figure twirled something in his hands. It took Macauley a moment to realize that it was a whip. Finally, she could make out who he was. One of the boys from Four. Emmett. Okay. District Four. So he might have some training. But if a whip was the best weapon he had, she certainly had an advantage there.
Then she saw the table. It was full of all sorts of instruments. Knives, chains, whips, and some other instruments she couldn't quite make out in the dark. Okay, so he was definitely armed. But so was she. This was what she'd wanted, after all – the chance to prove herself against someone who actually knew what they were doing. She'd wanted a fight.
And now she was going to get one.
Macauley took a step closer. "Well, it looks like I've got everything I need, too. Maybe I'm trapped here with you, but that also means you're trapped with me. And if push comes to shove, I have allies outside waiting for me."
Emmett scoffed. "Then why didn't you bring them along? Why not yell for them now, if you need them?"
"Because I don't need them." She gripped her dagger, circling around the table. Emmett hadn't moved since stepping into the light. Maybe it was some sort of trap. Maybe he was just waiting for her to make the first move. Either way, there was nothing to be gained by prolonging the fight. Macauley grinned.
"What are we waiting for?"
Emmett Darsier, 18
District Four
"What are we waiting for?"
Emmett stepped to the side as the girl lunged, her dagger swinging towards him. She was quick, but not quick enough to hurt him. She lunged again, and again he backed up. He didn't have to attack her – not yet. He just had to wait for her to make a mistake. Then she would be his.
It was that sort of patience that the girl in front of him clearly lacked. She attacked again, and this time came a bit closer to hitting him. He ducked behind the table. The girl growled. Clearly, she had come expecting a fight. And, eventually, she would get what she wanted.
She would get more than what she wanted.
For now, he simply backed up again. Then again. She was driving him towards the wall, but that was all right. The next time she swung, he ducked beneath the blow, then made his move. The whip curled around the girl's leg, and she cried out in pain before staggering backwards, her leg bleeding. Not much – certainly not enough to hamper her next attack. But it would make her think twice about trying to corner him again.
Her dagger, while certainly sharp enough to cause more damage, didn't have the same sort of reach as his whip. The girl backed up a little, considering. Emmett grinned. She hadn't been expecting this sort of fight. That was the trouble with Career training, really. Swords. Spears. Daggers. But there were other sorts of weapons – other sorts of tools. Things no one thought of until they didn't have any traditional weapons at their disposal.
The girl lunged again, undeterred, reaching into her pocket with her free hand and pulling out a knife. He ducked just as she flung it, but not quite quickly enough. The knife grazed his shoulder. Emmett grinned. This felt good. Almost as good as it used to during training. "Nice shot," he remarked coolly, taking another step towards her. "How many of those do you have?"
The girl shrugged. "Enough."
She lunged again, her dagger slicing across his arm. But that move brought her close enough. His whip lashed out, curling around her arm, sending the dagger flying. She lunged for it, but he was faster. The whip lashed out again, curling around her neck. She gasped in surprise as he drew closer, pulling the whip tighter. It wouldn't be long before—
Just then, the whip snapped, and Emmett staggered backwards. Another knife was in the girl's hand, and she quickly untangled the whip from around her neck, scooping the dagger back up and lunging at him. "I told you I had enough of them," she growled as the dagger plunged into his side.
Emmett couldn't hold back a cry of pain as she drew the dagger out. Blood immediately began to flow from the wound. He took a few steps backwards towards the table, hoping to be able to reach another weapon. But the girl dove for his legs, pulling him to the ground. Blood covered her hands. Blood everywhere.
Too much blood. He was getting dizzy. He barely felt the knife against his throat. He reached up, trying to grab her hand, but she quickly pinned his arm with one of her knees. "Do it, then," he hissed. "Get it over with."
For a moment, she hesitated. Maybe she was considering trying to draw it out. To make the moment last, make it as painful as she could. That was what he had been planning to do, after all. Those instruments on the table hadn't just been for show, and she clearly knew it. But there was already too much blood. It was too late for that, even if she wanted to.
And she didn't – he could see that. She nodded a little as the knife plunged into his throat. He gasped, but it came out as more of a gurgling sound. Blood poured from his throat. Blood in his mouth, his throat, his lungs. It hurt, but not as much as he'd thought. Not as much as he'd wanted it to. The sound of blood pounding in his ears was growing fainter. Slower.
He almost thought he heard the cannon.
Nephelle Sorena, 17
District Seven
She'd almost managed to doze off a little when she heard the cannon.
Nephelle sat up immediately, startled. That was ten cannons so far. Ten tributes who were dead, and it was only the first—
Her thoughts were interrupted by another sound. The anthem? Surely she couldn't have slept through the entire day. But, sure enough, a face appeared on the wall. It belonged to the girl from Five. One of the Careers. The first one of the Careers, she was pretty sure – or, at least, the first of the Career pack. But that only brought their total down to six, unless…
The second face was one of the girls from Eight. The one who had broken down crying during the interview. Maybe that wasn't a surprise, really. More of a surprise that she'd lasted this long.
This long. Nephelle rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She wasn't even sure how long 'this long' was anymore. Not two days, certainly, which meant that there was something wrong with the anthem.
No, not something wrong. Just something different. Whatever was going on, the Gamemakers were certainly doing it deliberately. They didn't make mistakes – not with something as important as this. But if the amount of time between the anthems wasn't going to represent a day, then what did it stand for? Half a day? Some other fraction? Was that why she'd had such a hard time getting to sleep? Maybe it hadn't even been a whole day yet.
Slowly, Nephelle got to her feet and made her way to the other side of the room, closer to the door. Whatever the amount of time between the faces appearing, the Gamemakers were obviously trying to disorient them. Throw off their sense of time. And it was certainly working. She was tired, but she couldn't sleep. She was confused. She was hungry.
But most of all, she was thirsty. She hadn't expected that. It was the Hunger Games, after all. A lot of the focus was on trying to find food, because water … well, water was usually a bit easier to find, particularly in outdoor arenas. There was usually some sort of pond or river or lake or something. And if not, it was only a matter of time before it rained.
But indoors … this was different. She wasn't likely to just stumble across a large pool of water somewhere. And she wasn't likely to get anything from the sponsors, either. Both of her allies were dead. She hadn't made a single kill. She had no supplies, no weapons, no reason for the sponsors to support her. Nothing that would convince them that she had a chance.
Nephelle took a deep breath. She'd been hoping that if she waited here long enough, she would think of something. But there wasn't anything in this room that was going to help her, and it would probably be a while before anyone came looking. She'd thought that was a good thing; it meant no one would find her. But it also meant that she wouldn't find anyone else.
Not unless she went looking for them.
Nephelle took a few more steps towards the door. She didn't want to find any of the other tributes. That meant she would have to fight, and she didn't have any weapons. She didn't have any way to defend herself if someone else attacked her. But maybe … well, maybe she could find someone who was asleep. Someone with supplies. Maybe.
At the very least, it would show the sponsors – and the Gamemakers – that she was willing to make a move. Maybe if she proved that she was ready to do something, they would give her a hint. Maybe they would help her find something useful.
Right.
Nephelle shook her head as her hand found the door handle. There were still twenty-five tributes left. The Gamemakers weren't going to help her. Even Hazel and Casper wouldn't be able to help her unless the sponsors decided she was worth their time. She had to give them a reason.
She didn't have any other choice.
Nephelle swallowed hard as she turned the door handle and took a few cautious steps out into the darkness. There didn't seem to be anyone around. There was a faint glow in the room as the light from the candles flickered off the instruments. Musical instruments. She'd seen them on her way from the cornucopia, of course, but she hadn't paid them much attention. She'd been much more interested in getting away from the other tributes.
Now she got a better look. Not that it helped. Some of the instruments were made of metal. Some were made of wood. None of them looked like they would be useful as a weapons, and none of them were made of anything edible, so they weren't worth her time right now. Still, having something to hit someone with in a fight would be better than nothing.
So she chose one of the smaller metal instruments. A horn of some sort. There. At least now she had something that might look like a weapon – at least from a distance, in the dark, as long as she kept it partially hidden. Nephelle sighed. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was something.
It was a start.
Genevieve Odele, 17
District One
"I guess she decided to get a head start."
Genevieve glanced around as the others shook themselves awake. The cannon had woken them, and only then had they realized that Macauley was gone. "Where would she have gone?" Justus muttered.
As if in answer, the anthem began to play. Genevieve glanced around, confused. It couldn't have been a whole day since the last anthem. Even if Macauley hadn't woken any of them to take over her shift, they couldn't have slept through the entire day.
Could they?
She opened her mouth, but her question died on her lips when she saw the first face. Macauley. Genevieve looked around at the others. Justus and Mae looked just as surprised as she was, but there was a hint of a smile on Etora's face. Could she have had something to do with this? No. No, if she'd killed Macauley, the body would still be here. But if she'd goaded Macauley into venturing out on her own…
But why? It wasn't as if Etora had anything to prove. She already had more kills than anyone else in the pack. Why would she want to get rid of Macauley? It was still far too early in the Games for the Careers to start turning on each other.
Wasn't it?
Genevieve instinctively reached for the nearest weapon – a rapier she'd kept at her side while she slept. But none of the others seemed ready to make a move. They simply watched as the next face appeared. It was one of the girls from Eight. No big surprises there. Still, something seemed … off.
Genevieve shook the thought from her head. She was probably imagining things. The girl's face faded, and the last notes of the anthem echoed off the walls. "Two," Mae muttered.
Justus turned. "You think the fact that there were two deaths had something to do with it? When the anthem played?"
Mae twirled a few strands of her hair. "Maybe. Both times, it's been right after a cannon. That can't be a coincidence."
"But the first time, it was after eight cannons," Etora pointed out. "Eight, then two? That doesn't make any sense. Maybe—"
"What are you talking about?" Genevieve blurted out before she could stop herself. "Macauley is dead! We have no idea what happened to her, and you're just … analyzing things. Don't you think we should try to figure out who killed her? Or what killed her? Or—"
Etora shook her head. "Isn't it obvious? She got tired of waiting for us to decide to move on. She wandered off. Something went wrong. That sort of thing happens to Careers who decide to split off from the pack too early."
"And you don't think that's a bit convenient?" Genevieve demanded.
Etora raised an eyebrow. "Convenient? For who? Me? You? I don't think so. She certainly wasn't incompetent. She wasn't a burden on our alliance. Why would any of us want her dead? If you're going to accuse me of getting an ally killed, the least you could do is come up with a good reason."
"I'm not accusing you of—"
"Don't you think that's a bit convenient?" Etora echoed. "What else could you have meant by that? If you've got something to say, say it!"
"Easy, easy," Justus interrupted, stepping between the pair of them. "Calm down. I think we're all a bit on edge, after what just— Mae?" he asked suddenly, cutting himself off. "Are you all right?"
Genevieve glanced over at Mae, who was shaking her head, her hands over her ears, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Too much," Mae muttered, not even glancing up at Justus. "Too much, too much."
"Great," Etora scoffed.
"Look, why don't we head back to the cornucopia," Justus offered. "Mae can trade places with Elliot or Darian, and we can set off in a different direction. I don't think there's anyone around here."
Genevieve held her tongue. There was someone nearby. Someone who had managed to pick off a Career and get away with it. But they all needed to get moving. To do something. To look like they were making progress. "Okay," she agreed, shooting Etora a glance.
They would have to sort the rest out later.
Ti Bulgur, 14
District Nine
They could figure out what was going on with the faces later.
Ti nodded to Retro as the two of them stepped through the door to the next room. They'd been hoping to wait a little longer before making their move, but that last cannon, and then the faces … they had to get moving quickly. The sooner they got a good look at the next room, the sooner they might be able to figure out what was going on.
They'd been fairly certain, after all, that it was one of the boys from Ten who had died. They'd heard the girl from Eight calling for the other one to stay. But the faces … the girl from Eight and the girl from Five. Something was wrong. And they needed more information in order to figure out what.
Ti clenched his fists as they moved farther into the room. There was food, just like they'd been expecting from what they'd heard. And there was a body. Or, at least, it certainly looked like a dead body. One of the boys from Ten. The body had been rolled over onto its back, the chest covered in blood. But his face…
His face hadn't appeared during the anthem. But he certainly looked dead. Ti took a few steps closer to the body. He gave it a kick. Then another – harder. He knelt down and felt for a pulse. Nothing. The boy was dead.
Which meant the faces were wrong.
"I don't understand," Retro muttered, looking around. "He's dead. So where is she?"
"Maybe she left," Ti offered. There were a few more doors leading out of the room, as well as some stairs leading up. She could have gone anywhere. He checked behind one of the larger piles of food. Then another. Nothing. No one. Besides, if she was here waiting for them, she would certainly have attacked them by now.
Ti took a seat, shaking his head. He should have been relieved. He hadn't really wanted to fight anyone, after all. But just walking in and finding all this food … It seemed a bit too easy. What would the audience think? What would the Gamemakers think?
Ti shook the thought from his head. It wasn't their fault the girl had decided to leave. They'd been ready to fight. He hadn't wanted to – and he was certain Retro hadn't wanted to, either – but they'd been prepared to, if it was what they had to do in order to get food. Surely that counted for something, even if they hadn't actually had to do it.
Something. But not as much as an actual fight would have. Not as much as killing someone would have counted. In the audience's eyes, they were still just a pair of little boys who had gotten lucky.
And that luck would only last so long.
Retro reached for one of the loaves of bread, eyeing it suspiciously. "It was just the meat that was poisoned, right?"
Ti shrugged. "That's what they said. And that's why we came in here, after all. It's be a waste not to eat it."
Retro turned the loaf over in his hands. "You first."
Ti hesitated. But only for a moment. He couldn't afford to look uncertain. They'd been willing to fight – willing to kill – in order to get this food. They couldn't just not eat it.
So he took a big bite of one of the loaves of bread, then picked up an apple and took a few bites of that. "See?" he asked, swallowing. "Perfectly safe."
That was enough to convince Retro. Never mind that the others had waited hours without any ill effect before the sponsors had sent them medicine. The two of them ate their fill. Only once they had both settled back against the wall did Retro speak up again. "Do you think that means both the faces were wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the girl from Eight isn't dead; he is." He gestured at the body on the other side of the room. "So do you think that means Macauley's alive, too?"
"Maybe." Of course. They were from the same district, after all. Of course he would be concerned about his district partner.
His district partner who was a Career. His district partner who had killed David. Retro leaned back against the wall, shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense."
No. No, it didn't make sense. But maybe that was the point. Maybe the Gamemakers were just trying to confuse them. "Maybe it doesn't mean anything," Ti suggested. "Maybe it just means that we can't trust the faces to be accurate."
"Or the anthem to come at the right time," Retro added.
"Yeah," Ti agreed. "Who even knows if that was the right number of cannons?" That certainly wasn't a comforting thought. But if they couldn't be sure of anything, who was to say that there hadn't been more tributes who died? Maybe the Gamemakers had simply left off the other boy's cannon? How many others might they have ignored?
Ti shook his head. "Look, there's no point in trying to figure it out right now. Let's get some sleep. I'll take the first watch, and we'll see if we can sort it out in the morning."
"If it isn't morning already," Retro muttered, but he lay down and closed his eyes. Soon, he was breathing softly, his chest moving rhythmically up and down. Ti smiled a little. At least he'd been able to get to sleep.
That was something, at least.
Mariska Vasile, 16
District Eight
At least she wouldn't have to worry about Klaudia anymore.
Mariska shook her head as her district partner's face faded from the wall. Maybe it was better this way – better for it to be over with now. Klaudia had never stood a chance – not after what had happened during the reaping.
Not that she'd wasted a lot of time worrying about what was going to happen to Klaudia. They'd decided on the train that each of them was better off on their own, and she'd never had a reason to second-guess that decision. Vashti, too, wasn't likely to lose any sleep over the fact that one of his district partners was gone. They hadn't been close. Hell, Vashti had even made fun of the rest of them during the reaping.
He certainly didn't seem upset. Barlen, however, was barely holding back tears. "You all right?" Mariska asked.
Barlen shook his head. "The second girl … She looked familiar from somewhere."
"Probably the interviews," Mariska answered patiently. "She was crying. You went onstage to help her."
"Did I?"
"Yes, you did."
"Good," Barlen said softly. "I'm glad I did that. No one should have to cry alone."
Mariska glanced over at Vashti, who pointed over at the door on the other side of the room. "Say, Barlen, how would you like to go scout out that room for us?"
Barlen immediately perked up. "Really? I mean, you really trust me to?"
"Absolutely," Vashti answered immediately, and Barlen scampered off, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd already 'scouted out' the same room twice before.
Mariska held back a chuckle. "Why do you keep doing that?"
Vashti shrugged. "Why not? It gets him out of our hair. Besides, if we let him scout out an empty room a few times, maybe he'll be less hesitant when we ask him to do it for real." He nodded to the door where Barlen had gone. "Besides, I could tell he was getting to you."
Mariska's could feel her face growing red. "That's ridiculous."
Vashti snorted. "No one should have to cry alone? Come on. I'm sure the audience loved it, but—"
"He was just being nice," Mariska shrugged. And that was it, really. Barlen was nice. There weren't many people who were kind just for the sake of being kind. Most of the time, when people did something kind, they wanted something in return. Or they expected a favor later on. Barlen hadn't expected anything from Klaudia when he'd comforted her during the interviews. In fact, he'd promptly forgotten he'd even done it. He'd simply done it because, in that moment, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Not a lot of people were like that. If they weren't in the Games…
But they were in the Games. Which meant that, sooner or later, Barlen was going to die. And it would probably be sooner. Kindness didn't last long in the Games.
"Mariska! Vashti! Come look at this!" Barlen called from the next room. Vashti rolled his eyes as the two of them went to see what he'd 'found.' The next room was just as they'd left it the last time: rows of colored glass windows, burning candles that lined the walls, and a large rug in the center.
This time, however, Mariska could see that Barlen had pulled the rug aside. Maybe he actually had found something. "Look!" He pointed at the floor. "It's a trap door."
It was a trap door, with a metal handle. Mariska gave a tug, and it opened, revealing a winding staircase leading down into the darkness. Mariska gave Barlen a pat on the shoulder. "Not bad. Let's see what's down there."
"Can I go first?" Barlen asked immediately, his eyes wide with excitement.
Vashti nodded. "Of course." He'd barely spoken before Barlen started making his way down the stairs.
"Wow!" came Barlen's voice. "You have to come see this."
Mariska chuckled and followed him down, with Vashti close behind her. The staircase wound down into the darkness, the hall below lit by candlelight. In front of them were paths stretching out in different directions, like a giant maze. "I'll try that direction!" Barlen grinned, picking a hallway seemingly at random.
Before he could take off, however, Vashti grabbed him by the shoulder. "Easy there. How are you planning to find your way back?"
Barlen stopped short. Clearly, he hadn't even thought of that. He looked around, eyeing the candles, but they were too high up on the walls for any of them to reach. After a moment, Barlen scurried back up the stairs and quickly returned with one of the smaller candles from the room above. "How about this?"
Vashti raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
Barlen tipped the candle to one side, dribbling a little bit of wax onto the floor. "Like bread crumbs."
"Bread crumbs?" Vashti repeated.
"Yeah. One time, my sister and I were lost in the fields, and we found a trail of bread crumbs and followed it home. I suppose we could use actual bread crumbs, but that seems like a waste of food."
Vashti glanced at Mariska, who shrugged. No point, probably, in trying to figure out what bread crumbs had been doing in the field. "What happens when the candle burns out?" she asked, changing the subject.
Barlen shrugged. "Then I come back."
"Better write that down," Vashti muttered.
Barlen immediately did so, then took the candle and headed off in a completely different direction than the one he'd pointed to before. "Good thinking," Mariska said quietly.
"What?" Vashti asked.
"Reminding him to write it down." She smirked. "It's almost as if you want him to make it back."
Vashti scoffed. "No point in having a scout if they don't come back alive. He's useful, but…"
"But what?"
Vashti sighed. "But don't get attached." He shook his head.
"This isn't going to last long."
Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten
Maybe he should have known it wouldn't last.
Skyton leaned back against the door, his eyes closed. He'd been hiding ever since running from Klaudia earlier. Earlier? Yesterday? He wasn't really sure. He'd run into the next room, shut the door, and stayed there. It was pitch black, but that was all right. The room seemed to be completely empty. If there was anyone else here, after all, wouldn't they have attacked him by now?
He'd tried to get a little sleep, but the cannon had woken him, and then the anthem. But something was clearly wrong. Klaudia's face had appeared, but not Connor's. Had the Gamemakers made a mistake? Had something happened after he'd left? But even if Klaudia was dead, Connor's cannon had come before he'd run off. He was certain of that.
He wished it wasn't true, of course. He wished Connor was still alive, that their alliance was still together, that all of this had simply been a bad dream. But maybe he should have seen it coming from the start. At best, Connor had tolerated Klaudia being a part of their alliance. It had been Skyton's idea to invite her, just as it had been Connor's idea to invite Arabel. Maybe neither of them should have gone looking for other allies.
Or maybe … maybe the two of them simply shouldn't have been allies to begin with. Connor's first thought after hearing that there was only enough medicine for two of them had been to attack Klaudia. What had made him think Connor would be a good ally in the first place? Maybe he was better off without any allies at all.
Skyton sighed, shaking his head. Whether he was better off this way didn't really matter now. He didn't have allies, whether he wanted them or not. Arabel was dead. Connor was dead. And Klaudia…
The cannons. The faces. Obviously, he couldn't trust any of that now. The Gamemakers were playing some sort of game, and he didn't really want to go back and see if he could figure out what it was. Either Klaudia was dead, or she was still there, and he didn't want to find out which. What he really wanted was to get as far away as possible.
But there didn't seem to be any other way out of the room. Certainly there were no doors. There was a window, but it was covered with a thick black curtain that hung to the floor. There seemed to be a bit of light coming from behind it, though. Maybe it was morning now.
Skyton chuckled. For all he knew, maybe it was noon. If the anthem wasn't going to be a reliable way to keep track of time, then looking out the window seemed like a good place to start. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way over to the window and tugged at the curtain.
Immediately, the whole curtain slid to the floor. Light poured in, bright and sudden. Skyton nearly burst out laughing. Maybe it was noon. Certainly it was well into the morning. The second day of the Games. That was something to go by, at least.
Then he heard a rustling, coming from the far side of the room. Breathing. Heavy breathing. The sound was deep, more of a growl than a breath. Skyton froze. It was some sort of animal. Some sort of mutt. It had probably been in the room all along. Maybe it had been sleeping, and the sudden light had woken it. And there was nowhere to run.
Skyton took a deep breath. He might as well look. It was there, whether he looked or not. No point in not looking. And no point in turning around slowly. Something was there – and, from the sound of it, moving closer.
Skyton whirled around to face the mutt. It was big. His head came to the mutt's shoulders – shoulders that looked, more or less, like a lion's. Not that he'd ever seen a lion up close, of course, but the arena during Presley's Games had been a boat full of all sorts of animals, and there had been lions there. The Capitol really seemed to enjoy showing footage from that one.
Skyton looked up, but the head didn't look like it belonged to a lion. It had a beak, like some sort of bird. It had wings, too – large wings that stretched out from its body as the creature studied him. Skyton took a step back. Then another. But soon, he was backed up against the wall. Still, the creature made no move to attack him.
Then he saw why. There was a chain around the creature's neck, the other end attached to the wall on the far side of the room. It was already stretched as far as it would reach. Skyton took a tentative step closer. The creature snorted. "Easy there," Skyton coaxed, holding out a hand. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."
The mutt snorted, as if to say, "Like you really could." He had no weapons. No way to defend himself if the creature decided he looked like a threat – or a snack. But if the Gamemakers wanted him dead, he would be. There was no way the creature in front of him wasn't strong enough to break through that chain – or rip it out of the wall – if the Gamemakers wanted it to. Instead, they were giving him a chance to … what?
Do you have a horse? That was what he'd asked them during his private session. One of them had started to say something, to suggest that they had something that might be similar. Was this what they'd been talking about? Maybe. Skyton took another step closer, then another. The creature lowered its head, inviting him to make a move.
Reaching up, he slid a large metal pin out of place, and the collar snapped open. The mutt shook its large, feathery head, nearly knocking Skyton off his feet. Skyton staggered backwards, but the mutt took a step closer, ducking its head a little lower.
An invitation.
An invitation he wasn't allowed to refuse.
The mutt held almost perfectly still while he climbed onto its neck, positioning himself just over its shoulder blades. It did almost feel like sitting on a horse. A big, feathery horse that could eat him in one gulp if it had a mind to.
But it didn't seem interested in gobbling him up just yet. Instead, the mutt snorted and drew itself up to its full height, then dug its front claws into the wall and began to climb. Skyton held on tightly as the creature climbed higher and higher, making its way to the window.
The window swung open as soon as the mutt pressed against it, which was good because the only other possibility was that it might shatter, instead. Skyton gripped the mutt's neck tightly as its head, and then its shoulders, and then the rest of its body hurtled through the window and out into the air. Part of him wanted to shut his eyes, but he resisted the urge. It was just like riding a horse.
Just like riding a horse hundreds of feet above the ground.
Skyton looked down as the mutt climbed higher into the sky. The castle didn't look quite so big from above. He could see now that there were five towers, reaching towards the sky from the stones below.
Just then, something caught his eye – a figure on top of one of the towers. A tribute. The mutt noticed, too, and immediately began to swoop back down towards the tower. Skyton held on tightly. He'd wanted to keep flying, to get as far away as he could from the other tributes.
But now he didn't have much of a choice.
Presley Winters
District Ten Mentor
He wouldn't have much of a choice now.
Presley glanced over at Glenn as the griffin continued to dive, Skyton hanging on for dear life. "He's not going to be able to avoid it now."
Glenn looked up. "What?"
"Killing. You don't think it's a coincidence, do you – that the griffin is bringing him right to Merrik? The Gamemakers must want him dead, even if he blamed Lena for their little stunt during the private sessions. The Careers almost found him, but he got away. Ronan and the pair from Eleven had a chance to kill him, and they didn't take it. Hell, it looked like he was going to throw himself off that tower for a while, but he didn't. So now they're sending Skyton to finish the job – and prove that he's got what it takes to be a contender."
The only question, of course, was whether or not he did have what it took. He wasn't armed, of course, but neither was Merrik. And he had a griffin on his side. But, in the end, the Gamemakers would want him to make the kill, not the mutt. Would he really have the guts to do it?
Presley leaned back in her seat on the couch. If he didn't have what it took, now was as good a time to find out as any. He was the only chance District Ten had now. If he turned down the opportunity for an easy kill, the Gamemakers wouldn't take that lightly. The mutt might even turn on him, if he wasn't up to the task.
Presley turned to Glenn, curious. "What do you think you would have done?"
"What do you mean?"
Presley shrugged. "Everyone knows you won your Games without killing. But if the Gamemakers had sent a mutt to bring you face-to-face with a tribute who would have been an easy kill … Do you think you would have done it?"
Glenn fell silent, and, for a moment, Presley was worried that she'd struck a nerve. "If that was the wrong thing to ask, I'm sorry. I was just curious."
Glenn chuckled. "You and me both, kiddo." He shook his head. "You're not asking anything I haven't asked myself during every Games for more than forty years. The truth is, I honestly don't know. I don't think any of us know until we're actually in that position."
"I knew."
Glenn raised an eyebrow. "You did?"
Presley nodded. "Maybe it's just a matter of time, really. There were three Games before yours. I grew up watching them. You can't help thinking about it, watching the Games for years before you're even eligible for the reaping. You can't help wondering what you'd do, picturing what it would be like to be in them. Now, mind you, I never wanted to be in the Games. But I'd already made up my mind before I was even reaped that if I ever was in the Games, I would do what had to be done in order to make it home."
"Just like that? You just made up your mind and … did it?"
Presley couldn't help a smile. "It sounds a lot easier, I guess, when you put it like that. It wasn't easy. I didn't want to. But I also didn't want to die." She shook her head.
"And I'll wager Skyton doesn't want to, either."
"By these I see, so great a day as this is cheaply bought."