Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: I'm an aunt! Wasn't expecting her for another few weeks, but a little over two weeks ago, my sister gave birth to a healthy little baby girl. :D
On a different note, just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final 8" poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be up along with the next chapter.
Win Us to Our Harm
Day Four
Harakuise Swallot
District Five Mentor
In the end, people were predictable.
Harakuise nodded a little as the crowd slowly gathered in District Five's quarters. The younger Careers were the first to arrive. Camden and Oliver, then Tosh, Jasper, and Harriet. Imalia arrived along with Mags; even if they were a little hesitant about jumping into something without having all the information, the chance to do something that might benefit their district was too good an opportunity to pass up.
Brennan and Kyra were the next to arrive, which wasn't much of a surprise. Brennan always seemed to be itching for a chance to do something good for Twelve. Eight years ago, he'd taken Harakuise up on his offer to funnel some of the resources from District Four's training center to Twelve in the hopes of starting up a rudimentary Career system. No one had taken him up on it, but after Twelve's dismal performance this year, anything that might offer them a bit of an advantage in the future had to look good. Kyra didn't have as much of a reason to come, but he'd expected her to follow Brennan's lead, and she knew a good opportunity when she saw one.
For a while, no one arrived, and Eldred seemed ready to get started. "I'd been hoping for a few more of the outer-district Victors to come," he admitted quietly as he and Harakuise watched the others. "Do you think this will still work if—"
"Give it a few more minutes," Harakuise suggested. "I think we'll have one or two more."
Probably not Violet, which was probably for the best. Harakuise had no doubt she was drunk in a corner somewhere. Presley had started tuning Eldred out when he'd mentioned that what he was proposing might be dangerous. Felix's reaction had been much the same when it had come to the thought of endangering their families; besides, the Careers were well-represented enough without him. But that still left a few…
After a few moments, the door opened, and Basil slid into a seat beside Kyra with a noncommittal shrug. Harakuise hadn't been as sure of him as some of the others; he was one of the more recent Victors, and had kept mostly to himself the year before. But out of the younger outer-district Victors, he'd seemed like one of the more reasonable choices, and he was clearly curious.
Eldred let a few more minutes pass before glancing at Harakuise, who shrugged. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the last one wouldn't be coming. Maybe…
Just as Eldred opened his mouth to start, however, the door swung open again, and Duke entered, quickly glancing around, taking note of who was there. He nodded, satisfied, and approached Eldred. "I'm in. On one condition."
Eldred raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
"Fair reapings in District Six."
He didn't say anything more. He didn't have to. It wasn't exactly a secret that the reapings had been rigged for years, and that Vernon was behind it. Back in District Six, Vernon's voice carried more weight with the Peacekeepers than either Duke's or Nicodemus', easily. But here…
Eldred didn't hesitate. Of course he didn't. He held out his hand to Duke. "Gladly." And he probably was glad. Maybe he'd even been waiting for an excuse to do something about it, and was grateful that Duke had given him that chance.
Duke raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn't expected the negotiations to be that easy. But he certainly wasn't going to turn down the offer – an offer that was exactly what he'd asked for. He shook Eldred's hand, then took a seat beside Basil.
"So what's the big secret?"
Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five
It looked like the Gamemakers were going to keep their secrets.
Macauley raised an eyebrow as Retro's face faded from the wall, with no other faces replacing it. One of the boys from Four – the one she hadn't already killed – had come before her district partner's, and then nothing. Four cannons, two faces. And she was one of probably only a few tributes who knew why.
The Gamemakers had shown the faces of the killers, but nothing for the mutts. The mutts that had killed both Mae and Justus. That meant that the other two killers were the boy from Four and Retro, the district partner who had slipped through her fingers. Who had he managed to kill? Macauley couldn't help a smile, despite the fact that she hadn't taken him out when she'd had the chance. District Five was doing well if even their youngest tribute had worked up the guts to make a kill.
Of course, just because a tribute was younger didn't mean much. Etora was twelve, after all. But she had training. Retro had broken down in tears at the reaping, and yet here he was, playing the Games well enough to make it to the final fifteen. Twenty tributes dead, and at least two tributes from Five had managed to outlast them. At least two. Elliot was probably dead, and Vashti … she had no way of knowing. He could have been dead for days, and she would have no way of knowing. But Retro was alive.
And she was almost glad she hadn't killed him.
It shouldn't have mattered. He was going to have to die eventually, if she wanted to win. Everyone else from Five would have to go, in the end. Whether they placed last or second didn't really matter; what mattered was who came home. Still, there was something satisfying about the idea that she still had some company as far as her district was concerned, even if her allies were gone.
Not all of them were gone, of course. As far as she knew, Genevieve was still alive, but they had no way of finding each other. Macauley turned a corner, glancing around cautiously. She had no way of knowing who else might be down here, or whether Genevieve might have found her way back to the main level of the castle. For all she knew, her ally might be right around the next corner.
Former ally. Surely Genevieve didn't count as an ally anymore, just as Darian wouldn't if they managed to find each other again. Once the Career pack split, it was rare for them to team up again. The fact that she had joined up with the others once she'd found them was a bit of an oddity. But what other choice had she had?
None, really. Taking on the other three hadn't really been an option. But now she didn't have to worry about that. Two of them were gone, and part of her … part of her was relieved. Now that she was a safe distance away from the mutts that had torn apart Justus and Mae, part of her was grateful that she wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable breakup up the Career pack. It was already taken care of. The other Careers were already gone.
She didn't have to worry about anyone but herself.
Genevieve Odele, 17
District One
She didn't have anyone to watch her back anymore.
Genevieve shook her head as she made her way down the tunnel, glancing this way and that, watching for any hint of movement. The tunnels had been bad enough when there had been four of them. Now she was on her own, and she knew for a fact that somewhere down here in the tunnels was a hungry mutt that would like nothing better than to finish off the rest of District One for dessert.
Genevieve clutched her dagger a little tighter. Maybe it should have been a relief that she didn't have to worry about the others anymore. She hadn't really trusted Macauley – not after she'd already run off and left them once – and Mae had never really seemed like she wanted to be there in the first place. Justus, at least, had known what he was doing, but it would only have been a matter of time before he'd decided that he didn't need the rest of them.
So maybe it should have been a relief. But it wasn't. There were still fifteen tributes left, after all, and she was all alone. How many of the others still had allies? What if she came across a group of tributes who decided that one Career alone wasn't really much of a threat? Even when she'd made a kill during the bloodbath, she hadn't made it on her own. Mae had been there to help her.
And she hadn't stayed to help Mae.
It probably wouldn't have made a difference. Justus had stayed, after all, and now he was dead. But if they had all stayed, if they had all made a stand and tried to kill the mutts together, would things have turned out differently? Would the Gamemakers have been impressed?
She would certainly have been impressed, if she'd been watching. She would have been inspired by the Careers' determination to keep their allies alive as long as possible, even knowing that the rest of them would have to die eventually. She would have wanted to see them bring the mutts down, and the audience would probably have been impressed.
But.
But they hadn't done that. They hadn't even tried. Only Justus had stayed to try to save Mae from the mutts, and he'd paid for that loyalty with his life. And why? Because he'd felt sorry for the little girl? Because they were from the same district? District partners or not, the others would have had to die eventually, if she wanted to go home. It was only a matter of time before they realized that it was every tribute for themselves.
And if she'd realized it sooner than the rest of her allies, all the better. She was alive, and they weren't. So maybe it was time to stop worrying about them, to stop wondering what she could have done to try to keep them alive. They were dead. She wasn't.
That was all there was to it.
Etora Nanovi, 12
District Two
Was that all?
Etora stared at the wall as the second face faded. The first face had belonged to the boy from Four, and the second to the boy from Five – the one standing beside her, very much alive. But there had been four cannons. "Maybe that means I got two of them," the boy offered, forcing a smile. "They're certainly awfully quiet in there."
Etora smirked. The boy was trying to sound like a Career, and that might be enough to fool the audience into thinking he knew what he was doing, but he was clearly terrified. Still, he'd held up his end of the bargain. At least one of the pair of cannons since he'd started shooting had probably belonged to one of the tributes in the other room. Maybe even both.
But not three. There had been three tributes in there, and at least one of them was still alive. They hadn't heard anything that had sounded like tributes running, so they were probably still there, waiting for the coast to be clear, hoping that she and the boy from Five would simply leave them alone, that the audience would be satisfied with one or two deaths.
And maybe the audience would be. But she wasn't. Whoever was in there, they would be an easy target. They hadn't come racing towards the door to attack the boy from Five, and they'd apparently been too scared to even run from the darts that had been flying at them. Etora clapped her companion on the shoulder. "Let's see who's left, then, shall we?"
"We?" There was a look in the boy's eyes that she couldn't quite place. Confusion? Curiosity? Desperation? "Do you mean it?"
She hadn't meant it. Not like that, at least. But maybe the boy would be useful for a while. "Why not?" she asked, shrugging. "Seems like you know what you're doing after all."
He didn't. She knew better than to trust him, and he would certainly know better than to trust her. But for the moment, she didn't have a good reason to finish him off. She could do that later, after he'd served his purpose. Right now, she might as well make use of the fact that there were two of them. "You go first. They'll be expecting you, if they saw you in the doorway. I'll be right behind you."
For a moment, the boy looked like he might object, but he thought better of it. If he disagreed, all she would have to do was use the knife that was still in her hand. He wouldn't stand a chance – not now that he'd used all his darts. Finally, he nodded a little. "Can I at least have one of my weapons back, then?"
It was a reasonable request, if she was asking him to go into the room first. Etora nodded and handed back the hatchet she'd taken from him. "Don't do anything stupid."
"I won't," the boy promised, then disappeared through the doorway. Etora waited a few seconds, then peeked around the corner. Sure enough, the boy was headed for where the bodies lay in the center of the room. Either it hadn't occurred to him to run for one of the other exits, or he'd figured out what she had – that anyone left alive in there would be an easy kill. Maybe he wanted that kill for himself, or maybe he was hoping that his district partner was the one still alive, and that the two of them could finish her off…
Stop it. If things turned bad, she could always run. She was far enough away. But not too far away. She didn't want the audience to think she was afraid.
Because she wasn't. She wasn't afraid. Her heart was pumping quickly, but that was just the excitement, wasn't it? That was all. Anticipation. Adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt, of waiting for the right moment to strike.
And she wouldn't have to wait long.
Retro Liu, 12
District Five
With any luck, he wouldn't have to keep his secret long.
Retro held his breath as he made his way closer to the center of the room. The boy by the pit still hadn't noticed him. Or maybe he was pretending not to notice him, just like he was pretending that both of his allies were dead. Two forms lay motionless on the floor near the boy, but Retro knew better. He'd worked it out – or at least, he was pretty sure he had.
The girl from Two had no way of figuring it out, of course. She hadn't been with the group of Careers he'd been following. The Careers accounted for two of the four cannons that had sounded since the last group of faces had appeared on the walls. And those Careers had been killed by mutts.
He might still have been able to claim the last two cannons, if it hadn't been for the face of the boy from Four. Retro's own face had appeared, meaning this group of cannons had belonged to the killers rather than the fallen tributes. If the boy from Four had killed someone, that meant Retro hadn't killed both of the other tributes in the room. Which meant that one of them was pretending.
But which one? He was pretty sure he had hit someone, but he'd been in a rush to duck back behind the door and couldn't be sure which one. Both Vashti and his ally had been wearing armor, and he'd heard several of the darts bounce off what sounded like metal. He'd been aiming for the girl – the one who wasn't his district partner. But he couldn't be certain. Not completely certain.
Not yet.
But he wouldn't have to wait long. He was getting closer. Closer. Finally, even his bare footsteps on the floor made enough noise for the boy to notice. He sprang to his feet, startled, and Retro could see a knife in his hands. "What do you want?"
Not exactly the question Retro had been expecting, but he had an answer. "To help," he answered in a low voice, hoping the girl from Two had stayed close enough to the door that she wouldn't be able to hear. The boy didn't seem to have seen her, but maybe she was staying out of sight. For his own part, Retro kept his distance. If one of the others was playing dead, they were probably hoping to lure him in. He couldn't let them. Not yet.
The boy's baffled look didn't fade, so Retro continued. "I'm not alone. One of the girls from Two is close behind me. She thinks I came in here to kill you. Instead, we're going to lure her in. You pretend to attack me, we fight, and she comes to help. When she does, we jump her. And so does he." He nodded to where Vashti was lying on the floor, his face turned away from them, his chest barely moving, his breathing almost invisible underneath his armor.
Almost.
The boy's expression hardened. "Is this some sort of joke?"
"No."
"He's dead. They're both dead! And you—" Realization crossed his face. "You're the one who killed them. That's how you knew we were here. You killed them."
Retro took a step back. "I didn't have a choice. The other girl would have killed me if I hadn't gone along with her plan. But now I—"
He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence, because the boy sprang, lunging at Retro with his knife. Retro dodged, trying to steer the boy back towards where Vashti was lying, hoping that his district partner had heard his plan. Hoping that he would be able to keep up the act long enough for the plan to work.
Because the boy in front of him certainly wasn't acting.
Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine
Why was the boy acting like he didn't want to fight?
Barlen lunged again, and the boy dodged. Again. And again. It didn't make any sense. The other boy had a weapon. If he didn't want to fight, he could simply run away. But he hadn't made a move towards any of the doors. Instead, he was moving closer and closer to the pit. Closer to the bodies on the floor.
The bodies of his allies. Barlen lunged again, and this time the younger boy wasn't fast enough. It was almost as if he wasn't trying. Almost as if he wanted Barlen to attack him.
Almost as if he'd been telling the truth.
Barlen brought the knife down, but the other boy caught his wrist. He didn't make a move with his own weapon, however; he simply deflected Barlen's blow. "Hit me," he hissed, his hand still gripping Barlen's wrist. But Barlen still had his other hand free. If the boy wanted him to hit him…
The punch connected with the boy's jaw, and both of them cried out in pain. Barlen clenched his fist harder. He couldn't remember ever punching someone before, but he'd always thought it would feel … well, better than this. Maybe not good, but at least satisfying. This wasn't satisfying at all. It hurt.
But somehow, it did feel good, too. The boy in front of him had killed Mariska. He had killed Vashti. He deserved this.
He deserved worse.
Barlen's next punch landed a little harder, and then a little harder. His own hand was bleeding, but so was the other boy's face. Still, the boy made little effort to defend himself, aside from squirming away from a few of the blows. His hatchet was still gripped tightly in his other hand – the one that wasn't holding Barlen back from using his knife. It didn't make any sense.
But it didn't have to make sense.
Then he saw the girl, running towards the two of them, dagger in hand, ready to make her move. Ready to kill him. It had been a trap all along. The boy had wanted him to attack so that he would be in a more vulnerable position so that the girl could—
But that didn't make sense.
The boy rolled over a little, dragging Barlen closer to the bodies. But one of the bodies – one of his allies, his friends – was moving. Just a little. Not enough for the girl to notice. But enough for Barlen to see. The girl dove towards Barlen and the boy he was wrestling with, her dagger drawn.
Then Vashti sprang.
Vashti Rii, 16
District Five
He sprang as quickly as he could.
Vashti snatched up the hatchet that Retro had dropped – deliberately, he was certain – and lunged at the girl from Two. It was a risk, but he wasn't going to get a better chance than this. The girl barely had time to dodge the hatchet; she didn't have time to dodge him. He tackled her to the ground, pinning her right arm so she couldn't use the dagger.
He didn't see the other weapon – the knife in her left hand. As he raised the hatchet, something struck his knee. Vashti gasped, but the hatchet came down, sinking deep into the younger girl's neck. Almost immediately, the cannon sounded.
It was over.
Vashti glanced around at Retro and Barlen, who had stopped fighting. He didn't dare look down. Not yet. For a moment – just a moment – he could allow himself to savor this. It had been his plan. His idea to let Barlen convince himself that both he and Mariska were dead. He hadn't known Retro had company, but the plan had worked anyway. The girl from Two was dead. And Retro…
Retro was picking himself up, wiping the blood from his face as Barlen stumbled backwards, confused but very much alive. Vashti forced himself to his feet and clapped a hand on Barlen's shoulder, holding out the other to his district partner. "Nice work."
Retro looked genuinely surprised – not that he was alive, perhaps, but surprised by the response. "I'm sorry … about your ally," he managed to get out.
Vashti nodded. The boy had killed Mariska. But his gut told him Retro had been telling the truth about the girl from Two threatening to kill him if he hadn't. He would have done the same thing in a heartbeat. "I understand," he nodded, and Retro shook his hand.
"I should probably go, then…" Retro's voice trailed off, as if he was waiting for Vashti to interrupt him, to invite him to stay, to join their alliance.
But it was better if he didn't. Better for all of them. Vashti nodded crisply towards the door on the opposite side of the room. "If there's a mutt back that way, and you found the girl from Two over there … then maybe that way?"
"What about you?"
Vashti hesitated. "I think we'll be staying here for a little while, at least." He forced a smirk. "Try not to lead any other Careers right to us."
Retro nodded shakily, removed the hatchet from the dead girl's neck, and turned to go. As soon as he was out of sight behind the door, Vashti inhaled sharply, shifting his weight to Barlen's shoulder as he sank back to the floor. "Damn." He finally looked down at his knee. He'd been avoiding looking because he knew. He knew the girl had gotten a blow in. The knife had cut between the plates of armor around his knee, sinking in the back of his leg. And worse, she'd pulled it out, and it was bleeding.
And it would keep bleeding.
Vashti clenched his fists. A dead man walking. That was what he'd said at the reaping, and he'd known it was the truth. It had only been a matter of time before something like this happened. But he had been doing so well. He'd begun to think that maybe – just maybe – he could actually pull this off. But now…
"What happened?" Barlen asked, frantic. Maybe he didn't even remember that he'd just been in a fight, even though his own knuckles were still bloody from when he'd punched Retro. "Was it her?" Barlen asked, gesturing to the girl on the floor.
Vashti nodded, and Barlen immediately knelt down beside him. "I can help. Leo and I – we spent a lot of time at the first aid station. Most of training, I think. Well, most of the stuff I can remember."
Vashti shook his head. Barlen didn't know. He didn't remember. "It won't help," he said stiffly. "You won't be able to stop the bleeding. I have a condition. You can't do anything. I'm going to—"
But he didn't even get the word out before Barlen shook his head emphatically. "No. No, you're not. You're not going to die. I lost Leo. I lost Mariska. I thought I lost you." He glanced down at his arm. "You told me to do that, didn't you? To cross out your name?"
"Yes." No point in lying about it now. "I suggested it, but you went along with it. We both knew that the best way to lure him in was to let him think that two of us were already dead, rather than one. The cannon went off at the perfect time, and … It seemed like a good idea at the time." It had seemed like a good idea. And even if he hadn't thought of it then, chances were good that the girl from Two would still have come after them. And then it might be all three of them who would be dead instead of…
Instead of just Mariska and him. Because he was as good as dead now. The cut wasn't all that deep – not deep enough to kill on its own, certainly – but it was only a matter of time. The blood would keep coming. Eventually, it would be too much. There was no stopping it.
"I trusted you," Barlen said softly.
"I know. You trusted me to attack while you distracted them, and—"
"I trusted your plan," Barlen repeated. "I knew I'd forget, and I trusted you anyway. Do you trust me?"
"It's not about trust. Trust won't fix—"
"Do you trust me?"
Vashti hesitated. But only for a moment. Because as much as he didn't want to admit it, Barlen had held up his end of the bargain. Even though he hadn't remembered that he'd made it. He'd been so upset at the thought of his allies being dead that he'd been willing to attack Retro. Might have killed Retro, if things had gone on much longer. "Yes," Vashti answered at last.
Barlen smiled. "Then let me try to help you. Please." He took the dead girl's pack and opened it, clearly looking for supplies. Finally, he found what he wanted. He turned back to Vashti.
"What do you have to lose?"
Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four
What did he have to lose?
Ronan closed his eyes for a few seconds, leaning on the wall as he staggered away from the cornucopia. He'd taken a sack and stuffed a few bottles of what appeared to be medicine inside, along with some water and a bit more food. Now he just needed to find somewhere safe to rest for a little while. Just a little longer. There had to be something in his sack that would help clear his head. He just needed to think straight.
And getting away from the cornucopia would help with that. Away from the body of the girl he'd killed. She'd fallen through the ceiling, quickly followed by two of the other tributes. At first, his only thought had been to lie still so that they wouldn't notice him. Sure enough, the other two hadn't. They'd simply run away as quickly as they could, assuming the cannon had been hers.
But it hadn't been. He'd killed her. He'd been hoping that maybe if he made a move, if he proved that he was still willing and ready to play the Games, that the audience would be impressed and might send him something. Maybe some sort of hint as to which of the bottles of medicine he'd found would be the best to take. Instead, there had been nothing.
So he had taken what he could and run. Well, not 'run' exactly. He still wasn't up to running. But he was steadily moving away from the cornucopia, back into the room with the barrels. If nothing else, they might provide a good place to hide if someone else decided to come this way. He certainly wasn't going to stand much of a chance in a fight. Not against someone who was in better shape. The girl he'd killed had been injured. She probably wouldn't have lasted that long, anyway.
Ronan held back a chuckle. That was probably what someone else would say, if they happened to find him. That it would be better – kinder, even – to put him out of his misery. That wasn't a position he'd expected to find himself in. He'd always been perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He was the one others counted on, someone who had always been able to pull his own weight. That was what had drawn Kilian and Shanali to him in the first place. He was supposed to know what he was doing.
But he didn't. It was all he could do to keep moving, and finally, he couldn't even do that. He slumped back against the nearest wall, mostly hidden behind one of the barrels if anyone came in from the same direction he had. If they came from a different direction…
He would just have to hope they didn't. Or that they wouldn't notice him, if he stayed put. As quietly as he could, he took one of the bottles out of his pack. He had no way of knowing what it was, but that wasn't going to change anytime soon.
He would just have to take his chances.
Shanali Theisen, 17
District Eleven
She would just have to take her chances.
Shanali took a deep breath as she made her way into the next room. She'd made her way back to the room with the armor, only to find that Ronan was gone. Until the last set of faces, she hadn't been certain whether he was gone or whether he was dead. The Gamemakers could have easily removed the body, just as they'd apparently removed Kilian's; she hadn't seen it when she'd returned to the room with the cauldron. But if the last set of faces had belonged to the tributes who had killed, then Ronan was still alive.
Probably. He could have killed and then been killed himself, of course. Or the Gamemakers could have decided to switch up what they were doing with the faces. There had been four cannons, after all, and only two faces. Did that mean Ronan had killed more than one person? That didn't seem likely, considering he'd been hurt, but the other option was that the twelve-year-old boy from Five was responsible for more than one kill.
Shanali glanced around the room with the barrels. There didn't seem to be anyone around. If they were, they were probably hiding. She gripped her dagger a little tighter. This would be a perfect place for an ambush. In fact, it wouldn't be a bad place to stay for a while if she could just be certain that no one was here.
"Shanali?"
She nearly jumped at the voice, which was little more than a whisper. It was coming from behind one of the barrels. But if someone was going to call her name before attacking, that probably meant—
"Ronan!" She kept her voice low; she was pretty sure they were close to the cornucopia. But she immediately hurried over to her ally. Ronan grinned when he saw her despite the fact that his head was bandaged and there was blood on his shirt. "Are you all right? Why didn't you stay in the other room? I was looking for you!"
Ronan winced as he sat up a little more. "Didn't know if you were still alive, or whether you were coming back. Figured there might be some medicine at the cornucopia, and it turns out there was. I was just about to try some when I saw you."
"You think it's safe?"
Ronan shrugged. "Safer than not doing anything, I figured. And if it's something that'll kill me, don't you think the sponsors would have sent something by now telling me not to try it?"
Shanali shook her head. "What makes you think we still have sponsors?"
"I just killed a girl."
Shanali stared. What? In his condition? And where was she, if he had? What was the point in lying, if he hadn't? The audience would obviously know whether he was telling the truth. She had a million questions, but the only one that came out was, "Who?"
For a moment, Ronan's stare was blank, as if he hadn't really expected her to ask who he had killed. "The girl from Six," he answered at last. "I was at the cornucopia, and she fell through the roof along with two of her allies. They ran off, but she was hurt, and I … I finished her off." The last few words were quieter, but he still said them. He had killed.
Just like her.
Shanali said nothing as Ronan raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. He waited a moment, as if he expected some sort of immediate effect. Any sort of poison would probably act quickly, wouldn't it? He took another sip, then another. "Anything?" Shanali asked.
Ronan shook his head. "Nothing yet, but that's probably a good sign. I think—" Suddenly, he held up a hand. "Shhh. Do you hear that?" he whispered.
Shanali listened. She could hear voices, coming from the direction of the cornucopia. "Let's get out of here," Shanali whispered. "Before they decide to come this way." As quietly as she could, she helped Ronan to his feet, and together they headed for the opposite door – the one she had just come from. For a moment, she considered suggesting that they could stay where they were and try to ambush anyone who came their way. But from the sound of the voices, there was more than one tribute in the throne room – and they might be Careers. It was probably better to keep their distance for now.
Besides, she had a better idea.
Darian Travers, 14
District Two
At least now they had a better idea of who they had been chasing.
Darian looked up from the body of the girl from Six. As far as he could tell, she had fallen to her death when she'd fallen through the trap door. Maybe that explained why there had only been two faces on the walls rather than four. If the Gamemakers were giving credit to the killers, there was no one to show when a tribute had simply died in a fall. That accounted for one of the missing faces, but the other…
Maybe one of the tributes shown had killed more than one. Or maybe someone else had fallen, or been killed by mutts. Either way, there probably wasn't anyone left to chase. It had been too dark and rainy on the roof to make out who they had been shooting at, but the girl from Six had been working with three of the other tributes – one of the boys from One, one of the girls from Four, and one of the boys from Eleven. The boy from Eleven's face had appeared before, so that probably left the tributes from One and Four. If they had any sense, they would be halfway across the arena by now.
And what was worse, they had no idea which direction to go to look for them. Well, not the direction they had come, but that still left four other doors heading away from the cornucopia. "Well, I guess that's that," Mae muttered, glancing up at the ceiling, maybe hoping for some sort of sign about which way to go. Or maybe she was simply inspecting the hole in the roof. It didn't seem to be raining anymore, and daylight was shining through. "At least it's a bit brighter in here now."
Darian couldn't help a smile. The audience would like that – looking on the bright side, quite literally. And it was nice to be able to tell what time of day it was, at least. The sun seemed to be high in the sky, so it was probably somewhere around noon. Maybe a little before or after. Darian shook his head. He had thought it was night when they were up on the roof, but maybe it had just been dark because of the storm. Or maybe making their way down the stairs had taken longer than he'd thought.
Finally, Margo came limping in from the other room. "Doesn't look like I missed much," she remarked when she saw the two of them simply standing there.
Mae shook her head. "Nothing, really. She was dead when we got here." She nodded at the body of the girl from Six. "Probably died when she fell. The others must have run off pretty quickly. We can try to find them once we've rested a bit."
Margo nodded. "Sounds like a plan." It didn't, really. They had no good way of locating any of the other tributes. But with any luck, it would sound like a plan to the audience. Margo sank down near a pile of supplies and took some food from her bag. Darian and Mae quickly followed suit. They could afford to rest for a little while. Even if they hadn't personally killed the girl from Six, they'd been directly responsible for the fact that she'd fallen through the roof. That had to count for something.
Besides, at least they had a plan. Or they were going to have a plan by the time they set out to look for the others. They would come up with something. They had to.
They just needed some time to think.
Consus Caepio, 15
District One
He just needed some time to think.
Consus slowed down a little as he and Aleyn staggered into the next room, exhausted and still soaking wet. "Close the door," Aleyn suggested. "Looks like that's the only way in."
She was right; there was only one door leading into the room, which seemed to consist mostly of a large, wooden table stretching about halfway to the ceiling. After checking to make sure there was a handle that they would be able to use to open the door again, Consus closed it, then sank to the floor, leaning back against the door.
As if that would really stop anyone from following them if they had a mind to. It wouldn't be hard to break down the door – not for tributes who had access to whatever was still at the cornucopia. The tributes who had been shooting at them had bows, after all. That probably meant they were Careers. They hadn't managed to hit any of them, but that could simply be because it had been dark. And raining. And they had been a good distance away.
They couldn't count on that in here. Not that anyone who found their way to this room would need to use bows to take them out. They could simply break down the door and attack, and there wouldn't be much that he or Aleyn could do about it. They'd lost most of their weapons while trying to break out of the dungeon. The hatchet had broken, and they'd ditched most of the rest of their supplies while trying to swim up and out of the room.
Except…
Consus felt his pocket. The knives were still there. The knives he'd taken from the cornucopia and hidden from his allies. Now he was glad he had; that meant he still had all of them, rather than half. Besides, it wasn't as if they would have done Charu any good. Having a weapon wouldn't have saved her from falling through the roof.
But now it was just him and Aleyn, and they would need any advantage they could get. Which meant both of them needed to be armed. Slowly, so as not to startle Aleyn, Consus removed the knives from his pocket and handed her one. "I think you'll need this."
Aleyn said nothing. For a moment, she studied him, piecing together why he still had weapons. At last, she took the knife. "Guess it's a good thing I decided not to go after you, huh?" she asked, trying to smile.
Consus nodded. "Good thing for both of us. I don't know how that would have turned out." That was certainly the truth. There was no way to be sure what would have happened if Aleyn had attacked him instead. Yes, he was better armed than Wes had been, but that wouldn't have changed the fact that Aleyn was more comfortable fighting in the water. He was just glad he hadn't had to find out.
And the chances of her turning on him now seemed pretty slim. He was the only ally she had left. She needed him. Besides, he had just offered her a rather significant gesture of trust. He could have kept the weapons for himself, just in case. Hell, he could have left her behind while they were running from the cornucopia. She was slower, thanks to the wound in her leg. But he hadn't left her. Hadn't even thought about it.
Because by the same token, she was the only ally he had left. He couldn't stand the thought of being alone in the arena – not this soon, at least. Eventually, of course, it would only be one of them. But not yet.
Not yet.
Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten
Pigeon didn't seem ready to settle down just yet.
Skyton stroked the griffin's neck as the mutt continued to pace around the room, which was filled with small cages. Black feathers were scattered around the room, and there was a staircase leading up, as well as three doors leading out. The griffin didn't seem particularly interested in going through any of the doors, but any time Skyton or Merrik suggested that maybe it would be a good time to get some sleep, the creature began ruffling its feathers and stomping at the floor.
"Easy, easy," Skyton coaxed, running his fingers through Pigeon's feathers. "What's the matter?"
"Maybe he's trying to warn us about something," Merrik suggested. "Maybe there's someone coming."
"Maybe. But would anyone really be stupid enough to attack us if they saw him?" The griffin seemed almost frightened, but what would be able to frighten a creature like that? It didn't make any sense.
It didn't make any sense for the griffin to be frightened. But maybe it made sense for the Gamemakers to want them to think the griffin was frightened. To make them think something was coming. Maybe the Gamemakers figured that if they thought they were in danger, they would do something stupid, something reckless. Tributes who were frightened started making mistakes.
But he wasn't frightened. Not really. That was something he hadn't expected. He'd been terrified at the reaping, during the train rides, and all throughout training. But now … now there were only fourteen tributes left, and he was one of them. Who would have expected that?
Certainly not him, and probably not anyone else in District Ten, either. "Did you think you'd make it this far?" Skyton asked at last.
Merrik chuckled. "To be honest, I thought I was dead the moment I fell off that tower. Maybe before. What about you?"
Skyton shook his head. "When Arabel died at the start of the Games, I…" He trailed off. "That seems like so long ago. What's it been? A few days, maybe? A week at most. But I can barely … barely remember what she looked like. Arabel. Connor. Klaudia. They all died so quickly. I guess I just figured that out of my alliance … I'd be one of the first to go. But here I am."
Merrik nodded. "Here we are. The first day of the Games, on my way up the stairs to the tower, I ran into some tributes. They could have killed me, but they didn't. I got lucky."
"We both did," Skyton agreed. But there was something in Merrik's voice. Something he wasn't saying. Something he was trying not to say – maybe because saying it would make it more real. Skyton nodded at last. "The tributes we attacked – the boy we killed. That was the group of tributes who found you before."
It wasn't a question – not really. He knew the answer even before Merrik nodded. "Yes," the younger boy admitted. "I'm only alive because they didn't want to kill me. Because they felt sorry for me."
"That's why you wanted to know if I thought they would come looking for revenge," Skyton reasoned. "You think that because they spared you, they would have expected you – us – to spare them, and they'll be angry because you didn't."
"Don't you think so?"
Skyton hesitated. "Maybe," he admitted. "I think they'd be angry no matter what. But anybody who's survived this long has to understand. This is the Hunger Games. You did what anyone else would have done. Anyone who wanted to survive, that is. Only one person makes it out of this arena, and if you want it to be you, then it can't be them. And if I want it to be me—"
"Then it can't be me," Merrik finished quietly.
Shit. That wasn't where he'd meant for that sentence to go, but Merrik's words hung in the air. The problem was, he was right. The two of them made a good team, but it couldn't last forever, and they both knew it.
Eventually, they would have to stop pretending otherwise.
Mags Pharos
District Four Mentor
Eventually, they would all have to stop pretending.
Mags took another drink as the rest of the mentors continued to mill around District Five's quarters, processing everything Eldred had told them. Imalia had ducked out after it had become clear that Ronan and Shanali were headed away from the cornucopia, seemingly with some sort of plan in mind, but the rest were still there, watching the screens, trying to pretend they weren't bothered by what Eldred was proposing.
Some of the younger mentors were probably still wondering whether what he'd said about District Thirteen was even true. But Mags knew better. There was no good reason for him to lie about something like that, and Eldred wasn't a man who would lie without a very good reason. District Thirteen had survived the rebellion, and Eldred had a plan to bring them back into the fold.
That was how he had put it – as if they were a long-lost part of the family that he meant to reunite with. He really believed that, and so would many of the other people in the room. Most of the Careers, certainly, continued to see the Capitol as the head of a family, and the districts as their sometimes disorderly children. The younger Careers were on board, as was Harakuise, and the rest of the Career-district mentors would fall in line. Before she'd left, Imalia had been nodding along.
Brennan and Kyra were chatting quietly in one corner, but Mags had little doubt they would reach the conclusion Eldred was counting on. Given the choice between what might be best for District Thirteen and what certainly was best for Twelve, they would choose District Twelve. Duke would choose District Six – or, rather, the children in District Six who would benefit from his agreement to make the reapings fair again.
That left Basil, who seemed a bit distracted, but whether that was because of what Eldred had said or because his tribute was trying desperately to remember the correct steps for applying a tourniquet, Mags wasn't certain. Harakuise, for his part, looked pleased as punch that Barlen was having some measure of success, and that, consequently, Vashti hadn't bled out yet. How much longer the younger boy could keep his ally alive was anybody's guess, but for the moment at least, there was no cannon.
Retro was still moving steadily away from the center of the tunnels, a little banged up from his encounter but very much alive. Camden and Harakuise had shared a few drinks to celebrate the fact that neither of their tributes had killed the other. There was still a chance that Retro would run into either Genevieve or Macauley, since both were still trying to find a way out of the tunnels, but he'd managed to escape one Career's clutches already. Maybe he could do it again.
At the cornucopia, the remaining tributes from Two were resting. Margo had finally worked up the courage – or maybe the desperation – to try a little medicine out of one of the bottles, and so far, there hadn't been any ill effects. The same was true for Ronan, who seemed to be walking a little straighter, leaning on Shanali a little less as they made their way into the next room.
Consus and Aleyn, meanwhile, had decided to get some much-needed sleep. Consus was keeping watch at the moment, leaning back against the only door in or out of the room. A few rooms away, Merrik and Skyton sat in uneasy silence, silence broken only by the griffin occasionally fluffing its feathers or pawing at the floor.
The same sort of silence that had settled over the mentors in the room. Slowly, Mags got to her feet and headed over to the kitchen counter, where Eldred had taken up his accustomed role of serving drinks. "I hope you know what you're doing," Mags said quietly.
"Me, too," Eldred agreed casually.
"This isn't a joke," Mags insisted. "These aren't a few people waiting for drinks or complaining because their food got cold. These are people's lives. Their futures. They've been outside the Capitol's influence for fifty years now. You have no idea what you'll be dealing with."
"I know a bit more than you might think," Eldred answered vaguely.
"I hope so. Because if your plan fails—"
"Then it fails," Eldred finished. "If it fails, I'm as good as finished, and my presidency is over almost as soon as it begins. I know that, Mags. I do. If I play my cards wrong, it could mean war."
"But do you really know what that means?" Mags asked. "How old were you during the last war?"
"I was three when it ended," Eldred admitted.
"I was seven. That's old enough to remember. To remember the fear, the uncertainty, the constant feeling of dread, the terror that any moment might be our last. That's what keeps the districts in line, Eldred. We remember that, and we never want to go through it again. We remember, but sometimes I think the Capitol has forgotten."
Eldred leaned on the counter a little. "Maybe we have. But the districts … all they remember is the end of the war, how everything turned out. You said it yourself – that's what keeps them in line. They know the Capitol always wins, that they have the power to completely decimate the districts if they choose to. Look at what happened the last time, we can say. Look at what happened to District Thirteen. But District Thirteen is alive, Mags. Think about what that means."
"It means the Capitol failed."
"No. No, don't you see? It means we gave ourselves the chance to succeed. Do you think the Capitol wanted to see District Thirteen destroyed? Do you think we wanted all that death? No. No, but we believed we didn't have a choice, that there was no other way to deal with a particularly rebellious child than to cut them off completely. I have a chance to fix that mistake. To bring them back without any bloodshed, without any unnecessary death."
"With only the threat of unnecessary death," Mags reminded him. "What if they call your bluff?"
"It's not a bluff."
"You'd really—?"
"Yes."
Mags raised an eyebrow. She'd assumed that had been Harakuise's suggestion, that Eldred had gone along with it only as a last resort. "All right, then, Mr. President."
The man behind the counter winced at the formality. "I'm still Eldred, Mags."
Mags shook her head. "It's time to stop pretending. You're either a simple bartender serving drinks … or you're the man who's planning to change the course of Panem forever."
"Why can't I be both?"
Mags shook her head. "You and I both know why. If you go through with this, there's no going back." She leaned forward a little against the counter. "You're an honest man; most of us like that about you. So let me be honest with you. You're going to need District Four's support in order to make this work. I can give you that."
"And what do you want in return?"
Mags couldn't help a smile. He thought he was dealing with Duke, who had simply wanted an assurance that Six's reapings would be returned to normal. "I want your word that you believe this will work. As the future president, can you honestly tell me that you believe you can do this, and that it's really what is best for all of Panem? Are you certain – absolutely certain – that this is what you want?"
Vice President Brand thought that over for a moment. "I'm not sure any of us can be completely certain about anything," he admitted at last. "I've been wrong before, and I'm sure I'll be wrong again. But for whatever my word as a bartender, as the vice president, and as the future president is worth … yes. I believe this will work. I believe we can do this, together, and that Panem will come out of it better than it has ever been."
Mags nodded, satisfied. "All right, then. District Four will back your play."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." She reached over the counter and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good luck, Mr. President."
"But 'tis strange: and oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray us in deepest consequence."