Disclaimer: I still don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't yet. Also, happy NaNoWriMo. I an painfully behind, so I'm going to keep cranking these out. What You Fight Against updates will probably be tabled until after November, but I promise they're coming.
Day Five
The Tyrant's Feast
Miriam Valence
District Three Mentor
What were the Gamemakers thinking?
Miriam drummed her fingers on the table, glancing around at the other mentors. None of them seemed particularly unnerved by the announcement, even though it was clear that the Gamemakers were trying to speed things along. It was only the fifth day of the Games – and barely that – and they were already trying to drive more of the tributes together. Why?
Or maybe it was simply the fact that they'd made an announcement at all that was bothering her. The Gamemakers usually didn't interrupt the Games with announcements. In fact, the last time they had…
Miriam glanced around the room, searching for Avery. Sure enough, she was curled up on a couch, trying to sleep. Vester was by her side, rubbing her back, stroking her hair gently, keeping her calm. Good. Miriam caught his gaze, and he nodded. He was always so good with Avery. Whatever it was that had brought the two of them together, that helped the unusual pair see eye-to-eye, she was grateful for it.
"I think it's probably our fault," admitted a voice beside her. Miriam turned to see Balthasar nursing a drink. "The announcement, I mean," he clarified when she gave him a blank look.
"Your fault?"
"Well, not mine, specifically," he grinned. "But District Two in general. Pretty sure they're trying to get the pack moving. Not sure it worked out the way they intended."
Miriam glanced at the screen. Margo, Mae, and Darian were still moving away from the cornucopia, but Mae and Darian had begun to make their way towards each other. But they still weren't anywhere particularly near the dining hall, which was where the Gamemakers had promised to hold their feast. They still had a while until sunrise, of course, but still…
Miriam shook her head. "Doesn't look like anyone else is particularly interested in the invitation." Macauley had found a spot to settle down and get a little rest, without any clear indication of whether she intended to start moving once dawn came. Shanali and Ronan seemed content to stay where they were, and Skyton had barely budged since he'd decided he'd put a good enough distance between himself and them. And the rest of the tributes … Well, they were still in the tunnels below the castle, and none of them seemed to be interested in making their way back to the surface to fight.
Balthasar shrugged. "They don't need to be. As long as the Gamemakers can get the pack to the right place, there'll be a fight. It won't take them long to figure out what Consus and Aleyn are up to, one way or the other. What's so funny?"
Miriam chuckled. "The pack. It's just a bit funny that you're still calling them that."
Balthasar shrugged. "I guess it just sort of sticks as a good way to refer to a group, even if they're not working together particularly well."
Miriam cocked her head. "They seemed to mesh pretty well. And they even split up peacefully, if this turns out to be a permanent split."
"That's the problem," Balthasar reasoned. "They got along too well, once they decided to team up. No drama. No flair. The audience doesn't want to see a Career pack that works well together. Not unless they're making up for that boredom by killing a lot of tributes. It isn't enough for them to just get along and survive – not like tributes from outer districts. Outer-district groups can get away with just surviving longer, because the audience doesn't expect them to be ruthless killers. But higher skills mean higher expectations – even if the pack doesn't actually have the skills the audience seems to think they should."
Miriam nodded. "Sorry."
Balthasar chuckled. "Don't be sorry. That's the way the Games work. It's the reason the Career system works, but it's also the reason the Careers don't win every time. It's easier for an outer-district tribute to come from behind and surprise everyone, and the audience loves that. Trouble with District Two's tributes this year is, instead of getting the best of both worlds, they've got the worst of both. They have the expectations of Careers but the skills of outer-district tributes." He shrugged. "But next year, things will be back to normal. More normal than recently, at least."
Miriam held her tongue. Normal. Things had been so bad recently, they'd actually come to think of a regular Hunger Games as 'normal.' Acceptable, because it was better than the alternative. Yes, Merrik and Dinah were dead, but that was only two tributes, rather than three. And next year, District Two would be sending the normal two tributes, rather than the five they had sent this year.
Everything would be back to normal.
Annemae Carty, 18
District Two
It was too late to go back now.
Mae couldn't help a smile as she turned the corner and saw Darian, who nodded crisply. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to. They'd both had the same thought, come to the same agreement. They would make better progress – maybe even stand a better chance in a fight – without Margo. Maybe it wasn't the most exciting way for a Career pack to break up, and maybe it wouldn't satisfy the audience's need for drama, but maybe it would at least show that the two of them were serious.
"No dining hall?" Darian asked as the pair of them took a look around the room, which was filled with armor. There was a hole in the wall on one side of the room, but it only led to a large, empty room with a hole where a window should have been. The sky outside was beginning to grow a little bit lighter. It was nearly dawn.
Mae shook her head. "Just some barrels. What's back that way?"
"Just a big room with a cauldron," Darian offered. "But I didn't check the other way out. Want to give it a try?"
Mae nodded. It was better than the alternatives – heading back to the cornucopia empty-handed or, worse, heading back in Margo's direction. If the dining hall was back that way, it was probably too late for them to arrive in time to do anything. They had no choice but to keep going and hope.
After the room with the cauldron was a room full of musical instruments. There was a staircase, as well as two other doors leading away from the room – one with a familiar golden glow. "Just a pile of treasure that way," Mae reasoned. "And I don't think they'd put the dining hall on the roof, so…"
"The other door, then," Darian finished as they made their way over to the door.
Mae put her hand on the handle. Her district partner nodded silently, holding up three fingers, then two, then one. Mae swung the door open.
Nothing. No ambush. Mae breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the room. Maybe they had been the first to arrive, after all. It was only a little after dawn, if even that. Or maybe no one else was coming. But the supplies that the Gamemakers had promised.
"Up there." Darian was pointing to the top of a large table, reaching high above their heads. On top of it were bags full of what certainly looked like supplies. Darian grinned and immediately started climbing one of the table legs. He only got a few feet up, however, before he slipped. Grumbling, he got back to his feet and pulled out a knife.
Mae, meanwhile, had drawn her own dagger and plunged it into the wood of one of the other table legs. "Race you to the top," she called, using the dagger to draw herself up a little, then again, and again. Darian wasn't far behind, but she had too much of a head start. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was something. Something to convince the audience, to convince the Gamemakers, that they were still in the running.
Or maybe to convince herself.
Finally, Mae managed to get an arm over the edge of the tabletop, grinning as she started to pull herself up. Just as she did, however, something came into view – the end of a spear. She had just enough time to scream as it came racing towards her chest, guided from a safe distance by a pair of tributes.
Mae stared, stunned, at the weapon sticking out of her chest. Blood already stained her shirt, and began to flow even more freely once the tributes pulled the spear out. Mae gasped, her grip on the top of the table slipping, and she tumbled to the floor. Darian had already dropped from where he had been halfway up the table leg. Whether out of concern for her or fear of something similar happening to him, she wasn't sure.
Maybe it didn't matter. He was still alive, and she … well, for the moment, she was still alive, but…
Mae stared up as Darian's face came into view. He looked at her, then up at the tributes on top of the table. "Damn," he muttered. "Clever." He took a few steps back, maybe worried that they might decide throwing the spear was a viable option. In the back of her mind, Mae wondered what he would do. It wouldn't do for a Career to run from a fight, but now he was outnumbered. And if they had spears up there, they probably had other weapons. Maybe they had something they could start throwing. All it would take was one lucky shot.
Still, Darian looked uncertain, like he might decide to run anyway. No. No, the Gamemakers wouldn't like that. Mae gritted her teeth. "Darian."
He looked down at her warily, his gaze flickering up to the tributes on top of the table. "Yeah?"
"Get them," Mae muttered. Her vision was growing blurry, but for a moment, she was sure she saw him nod. Or maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe it didn't matter. There wasn't anything else she could do for him, and there was certainly nothing he could do for her now.
He was on his own.
Consus Caepio, 15
District One
The boy was on his own now.
Consus breathed a sigh of relief as the girl's cannon echoed across the room. One down. One to go. They had lost the element of surprise, but they still had the high ground. The boy didn't appear to have anything he could shoot at them – and even if he did, they had plenty of supplies to use as cover. If he wanted to fight them, he would have to climb the table, and he didn't look particularly excited about that idea.
Finally, Consus let the spear drop from his shaking hands. It had dropped through the ceiling along with the rest of the supplies. Plenty of weapons, plenty of food, and even some medical supplies. They'd barely begun to sort through it, however, when the other group had arrived. It was sheer luck that they hadn't seen either of them rummaging through the stuff.
But that little bit of luck was all they'd needed. The boy from Two took a few steps back. Clearly, he was still considering running, despite what his district partner had said. Consus didn't blame him. There wasn't really much of a choice at the moment. He would probably run, if he were in the other boy's position, and damn what the audience might think about it.
But he wasn't in the other boy's position. He was in a position to take advantage of the situation. So Consus took a step closer to the edge of the table. "Come on up!" he called, feigning politeness. "It's rather nice up here!"
"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you!" the boy called back through gritted teeth, clearly trying to come up with a plan. Or maybe he was stalling. Hoping that someone else might show up. But surely if he'd had other allies, they would have been with him. Consus racked his brain, trying to think of who the younger boy had been working with. He'd been part of the larger Career pack, hadn't he? But the other one – his district partner – she hadn't. Had she?
Damn, there were too many Careers.
Well, not anymore. And for all he knew, the boy was doing the same calculations, trying to figure out how many more of them might be on top of the table. Maybe he could use that. "We're having a real party up here," he ventured. "Plenty for all of us."
If the comment shook the boy at all, it didn't show. "We all got an invitation," he reasoned. "Maybe a few more will show up."
Consus shrugged. "And if they do?
"Well, then I guess we'll just have to figure out what to do about you," came another voice. The boy from Two whirled around. Consus craned his neck to see around the doorway. Another girl stepped into view – the girl from Five.
The boy recovered quite nicely. "Yeah, we'll just have to figure it out." He shot the girl a look, and she nodded. It was a bluff, and an obvious one. He hadn't been expecting her. But they had both been part of the pack, hadn't they? Consus glanced at Aleyn. They still had an advantage, but it was no longer an advantage of numbers. If the other two figured out a way to get up to the top of the table or—
Or to get them down. The thought hit Consus just as the girl from Five reached for one of the candles that lined the walls. Shit. They were going to burn the table down. It wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it was the sort of thing they should have expected. They should have blown out all the candles first. They should have done something.
But they hadn't, and it was too late now. Consus glanced over at Aleyn, her eyes full of panic. They both stood up at the same time. Maybe they could jump from the table. Hell, they'd already fallen through a roof and survived. How far down was it really? The girl from Two had survived it – well, would have survived it, if not for the spear in her chest. And they'd both fallen several times trying to get up in the first place.
But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was dealing with the other two once they were down there. They were both armed. So were he and Aleyn, of course, but the chances that they wouldn't be hurt at all in the fall seemed slim. They needed another plan.
Flames were already licking at the bottoms of the table legs. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The fire shouldn't have caught that quickly, but that was probably the Gamemakers' doing. Maybe they'd anticipated this and made the table out of something that would burn quickly. Maybe they were fanning the flames somehow. Either way, they would have to come up with something quick.
No. No, he would have to come up with something quick. Consus dodged the spear just in time as he realized Aleyn had come to the same conclusion he had. If one of them provided a distraction for their opponents, the other one might be able to get away. But neither of them was going to stay behind and provide a distraction willingly. They'd already proven that. They both wanted to make it out. They both wanted to live.
But in the end, only one of them could.
Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four
Only one of them could make it out of this.
Aleyn swung again, but Consus dodged the spear, careful to avoid the edge of the table. Damn. So much for the element of surprise. Consus had figured out that she wasn't trying to kill him – just push him off the table and onto the pair of Careers. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance she had. There was nothing else that would distract the pair of them long enough for her to get away. Nothing she could count on, at least. There was always the chance that someone else would show up, but no guarantee that they would stick around to fight a pair of Careers.
As she swung again, Consus dove for her legs. As his arms wrapped around one of her legs, Aleyn kicked at him with the other foot. He pulled hard, and she toppled down onto the table alongside him, tossing the spear aside. It wasn't going to do her any good at this close range. They were both armed, but killing each other wasn't the point. Wasn't even an option. As soon as one of them died, it was pretty much a guarantee that the other one wouldn't be able to get away.
Consus rolled, trying to position himself as far away from the edge of the table as possible. But the sudden movement caused the table to jerk. Or maybe the legs were simply collapsing under the weight, weakened by the fire. In either case, Consus lost his grip. Aleyn kicked again. And again. She heard a crack as her blow connected with his nose. Consus raised his hands to shield his face. Aleyn took the opportunity to kick him squarely in the chest, then scrambled to her feet. She kicked again, her firsts clenched, tears streaming down her face. Maybe that was just the smoke. It was getting thicker. She could barely see the Careers below. She would just have to hope…
Suddenly, the table creaked, lurching to one side, rolling the bags of supplies in one direction. Aleyn, still on her feet, managed to duck out of the way in time. Consus didn't. Everything went sliding into him, forcing him over the edge. Aleyn braced herself as the table sank lower. She couldn't even see where the Careers were. She would just have to hope they were distracted enough, that maybe they couldn't see through the smoke, either.
She jumped.
It wasn't as far to the ground as it would have been only a few moments before, but immediately, something swung into the back of her head. One of the sacks from the table. Consus. He had managed to get to his feet. He was limping, but he swung the sack again, pausing only long enough to give her a shove in the direction the Careers had been before racing towards the door. Aleyn braced herself for the blow she was certain was about to come. But it didn't. The Careers weren't there anymore.
So where were they?
Darian Travers, 14
District Two
The doorway had been their best move.
Darian clutched his dagger, waiting as the smoke grew inside the room. It was only a matter of time before one of the two made a break for the door. There hadn't been any cannons yet, which meant they were both still alive. Going back inside the room after them, though, would be a mistake. The smoke was too thick. They could be anywhere.
But there was only one way out.
Beside him, Macauley gripped her rapier tightly. It had been a matter of dumb luck, her showing up, but he wasn't about to argue with luck when it was working in his favor. After they'd taken care of the other two tributes, they could worry about each other. Or maybe not. Maybe she would be content to let him go. Maybe he could simply slip away. Or maybe—
Before he could finish the thought, a figure came racing through the smoke. Darian dove for his legs, sending the boy sprawling on the ground. Macauley didn't waste any time. Her rapier came down quickly, certainly, finding its place in the boy's chest before he could even open his mouth to scream. The cannon immediately followed, and the anthem began to play.
Darian straightened up, glancing around, looking for the girl from Four as Macauley's face appeared on the walls. Then came the face of the girl from Four, along with the boy from One. Apparently, the Gamemakers were giving both of them credit for Mae's death. Not that it mattered now. The boy was dead. And as soon as the girl tried to leave the room, she would be next. The anthem was already beginning to fade
Just as the last notes faded into silence, all the candles went out.
Darian gripped his dagger. The only light now came from the fire inside the room. The girl was still alive; otherwise, there would have been another cannon. But how much longer could she hope to hide in there? Was she hoping that he and Macauley would eventually have to go in there after her?
How long would it be before they did have to?
Just as he was beginning to wonder, however, something bright and flaming flew towards him. Darian ducked out of the way just as a fiery loaf of bread would have struck him in the chest. Macauley stepped to the side, as well, as another bit of flaming food came flying towards them. Then he saw the girl – running towards them, wildly swinging a sack that was covered in flames.
He didn't even think. He dodged. The sack hit Macauley as she tried to strike out at the girl, the flames leaping from the sack to Macauley's sleeve. Both cried out in pain, but the girl from Four kept running, dropping the sack.
For a moment, Darian considered following, but it didn't take long for him to think better of it. Now that the candles were out – and assuming they were out everywhere – as soon as they got away from the light of the fire inside the room, they wouldn't be able to see properly unless they were in a room with windows. So the first thing they needed to do was salvage the fire they did have.
They.
Macauley was still patting down her shoulder, smothering the flames. "Damn it," she muttered as she came to the same conclusion about following the girl from Four. "No use chasing after her now, really."
Darian shrugged. "Got what we came for, though. The supplies are all ours."
Macauley raised an eyebrow. "The supplies that are all burning?"
She hadn't commented on the 'we.' That was something. Maybe not much, but it was something. It meant she probably wasn't interested in killing him immediately. "Sure, the food's probably toast – literally," he reasoned. "But anything else might still be good. Weapons and things like that," he added lamely, unable to come up with anything other than weapons that might survive the blaze. "And we can relight some of those candles."
"We?"
There it was. Darian put on his best poker face. "How many of the others are left?"
Macauley's face as just as blank in the firelight. "Justus and Mae were killed by mutts."
It took Darian a moment to process that she was talking about the other Mae. "Elliot's gone, too," he reported, not bothering to offer any more information. "And Etora, if the faces were right last time."
"Genevieve was alive the last time I saw her. We were down in the tunnels."
Darian raised an eyebrow. "Tunnels?"
Macauley nodded. "Don't get excited. I doubt there's anyone left alive down there to hunt. I just found my way back up again." The fire inside the room was beginning to die down. Macauley took a step inside, reached up, and grabbed one of the candles off the wall. She tossed a second one to Darian. "Might as well have a look and see if there's anything we can salvage."
Darian hid a smile. "We?" he echoed. Macauley shrugged.
"For now."
Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five
"For now."
Macauley studied Darian's face in the dying firelight. His expression gave away nothing. Nothing to indicate that he was suspicious of the reason why she was willing to join back up with him. She hadn't gone looking for Genevieve, after all, in the tunnels. At the time, it had seemed better to continue on alone. It had seemed to work better that way.
The mutt had changed things. Somehow, the boy from Four and the girl from Eleven had figured out how to control the three-headed dog mutt. The same mutt that had torn Justus and Mae to pieces without a second thought. For whatever reason, the Gamemakers had decided to give them an advantage, and that was something she couldn't face on her own. Two tributes, maybe, but not two tributes and a mutt. She was going to need all the help she could get.
And right now, Darian was all she had.
Not that she trusted him, of course. He had been pretty vague about whatever had happened to Elliot. She hadn't pressed for details, either, of course. She'd left the Career pack herself, and then run away when the mutts had attacked. If Darian had abandoned Elliot to die, she didn't exactly have any room to blame him for that. And yes, Elliot had been her district partner, but at this point in the Games, that didn't really mean much. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn't important now.
Darian lit his candle and started sorting through the bags. Sure enough, most of the food had been burned to a crisp. There were plenty of weapons, but they hadn't exactly been lacking those anyway. Still, it wouldn't do not to appear grateful. She stuffed a few more knives into her pockets once the metal had cooled a bit. Darian did the same. "So what's our next move?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Macauley blinked. Why was he asking her? But she had to say something. "Only one way out of here," she reasoned. "Back through that room." She indicated the room with the musical instruments that she had come through. "Which way did you come?"
"The room with the big cauldron in the middle. You?"
"The treasure room."
"Looks like those are our two options, then," Darian reasoned. "What do you think?"
Macauley glanced around the next room. "If I were the girl from Four running away, I'd go that way." She indicated the room with the cauldron. "It's closer." And we're less likely to run into a three-headed dog mutt before we have the chance to come up with a plan.
Darian nodded crisply. "Sounds like a plan."
It didn't. It didn't sound like much of a plan at all. But as long as they pretended it did, maybe the audience would, too. After all, they had just killed a tribute. Sure, another one had gotten away, but that was really the Gamemakers' fault for snuffing out all the candles. Maybe they had wanted the girl to get away for some reason.
Or maybe the candles going out was the advantage they were being given. If the same thing had happened throughout the arena, they could be the only ones with fire available to light the candles, unless the other tributes could find a way to make a fire. And that didn't seem likely. A lot of arenas had some sort of wood or other materials that could be used to light a fire. Here…
She hadn't really paid much attention to that, if she was being honest with herself. There had been plenty of lit candles lining the rooms that she hadn't given a second thought to what might happen if they needed to start a fire. "Maybe we should bring a few more candles along just in case," she suggested, and stuffed a few unlit ones into one of the less charred sacks. "Never know which of the other rooms might still have them."
Darian cocked an eyebrow. "You think the other tributes might destroy them or something if they can't find a way to use them?"
Macauley shrugged. "Or bring them along with them in the hopes of finding something to light them with. In any case, they'd probably head for somewhere where there might be windows."
"Or stairs that lead to the top of the castle," Darian offered.
Macauley couldn't help noticing the tone. "You've been up there?"
"Yeah."
"Anything interesting?"
"Not particularly. Five different towers, but not really any way to move between them. So unless you happen to end up on the same tower as someone else, not really much of an advantage."
"Still, somewhere that tributes might go if they just want to be able to see – when it's daytime, at least," Macauley pointed out. "Might be something to try if we don't find anyone."
"Fair enough," Darian agreed. "And at least from one of the towers, you'd probably be able to tell if anyone was on the others."
Macauley nodded to the stairs. "So that leads up?"
"Yeah. Well, the other one did."
"What do you say we check that out first, while we know it'll still be daylight?"
Darian nodded. "Why not?"
Margo Devereaux, 18
District Two
Why had they split up?
Margo took a few hesitant steps forward in the dark. Whether Mae and Darian had managed to find someone, or whether another couple groups had found each other, she wasn't sure, but she certainly hadn't accomplished anything worthwhile. And after that last cannon, all of the candles had suddenly been snuffed out. Now it was pitch black. Great. Just great. And she had no way to light a fire, even if she could figure out where along the walls the candles were.
It was almost funny. There had been plenty of them. She hadn't even thought twice about assuming that there would be light. Maybe not plenty of light, but at least some. All of the rooms they'd found so far had candles, and they had all been lit. Some of the rooms even had windows, but of course she'd been stuck in one that didn't when the lights had gone out.
She could go back to the cornucopia, of course. There was a giant hole in the roof, after all, and plenty of time before nightfall. If the time of the feast was accurate, after all, that meant it was only dawn, or only shortly after. If she could find her way back the way she had come, there would be plenty of light to see by.
But something about that felt wrong. Felt like she would be giving up and admitting that she'd failed. She had, of course. If her goal had been to get to the feast and take out some of the other tributes, she'd already failed. Chances were, the feast was over, and even if it wasn't, she was probably nowhere near anyone else. But there had to be something else she could do.
Besides, it wasn't as if there was anything back at the cornucopia besides light. She already had all the food and weapons she could ask for. And the others … would they even be coming back? Or had the fact that they had split up meant that they were splitting up for good?
If that was what the others had intended, it made sense. Maybe they thought she would slow them down. Maybe they simply didn't trust her. Hell, maybe it was a good thing they'd split up peacefully before either of the others had turned on her. Darian, probably. He'd turned on his former ally, after all, to team up with the two of them in the first place. Yes, they were district partners, but what did that really mean at this point in the Games? There were only eleven of them left. Did it really matter whether the others were her district partners or not?
No. No, if the others were alive, they probably weren't coming back to the cornucopia, either, which meant there was no reason for her to go back. Slowly, Margo made her way along the wall, feeling for something – anything – that might be useful. But even if she found one of the candles, she didn't have any way to light it. She hadn't thought to grab any of the matches from the cornucopia. Had there even been matches at the cornucopia? She couldn't remember now. She hadn't been looking for any, hadn't thought they would need any.
On the bright side, though, at least the other tributes were probably in the same position. There hadn't been any cannons since the candles had been extinguished, which probably meant that the others would have trouble finding each other, as well. That gave her a chance. A chance to do something before the Gamemakers decided to spice things up a bit. Hopefully, the two cannons would be enough to satisfy the audience for a little while – long enough for her to figure out her next move.
Just as she was beginning to wonder exactly how big the room was, anyway, Margo's hand brushed against the corner of the wall. Okay. That was something. Not much, but it was something. She followed the other wall until her hand brushed against something. A door handle. She had no way of knowing where it led, of course. She wasn't even sure where she was, or which direction she was going anymore. But as long as she seemed to be doing something…
As quietly as she could, she began to turn the handle. As soon as the handle turned all the way, however, the door swung open of its own accord. Something struck her in the chest, knocking her down, tossing her backwards like a rag doll. Something hard and unstoppable and—
Wet. It was water, she realized as she was propelled towards the other side of the room by the sudden wave. Water washed over her, around her, filling the room. She opened her mouth to scream as her head slammed against the far wall, but no sound came out. There was too much water. Margo flailed for a moment, trying to get her bearings, trying to stay right side up.
Then she felt the floor beneath her. She tried to kick off for a moment before realizing the water wasn't actually that deep. Now that the brunt of the wave had passed, the water left in its wake only came up to her hips when she finally managed to stand. She was entirely drenched, and her head ached where she'd struck the wall, but it could have been worse. Much, much worse.
Why had the Gamemakers filled a room with water?
It was a moment before she realized that she could see, at least a little bit. The light was coming from the room where the water had been. There was a window high above her, but most of the light was coming from a hole in the ceiling. Well, if it could even be called that. There was as much 'hole' as there was 'ceiling,' really, and the rest of it looked ready to collapse at any moment, now that the weight of the water wasn't there to support it.
Margo glanced around the room once, but looking for other tributes there was pointless. The room had been entirely filled with water. Now, presumably, the rest of the castle was flooded with a couple feet of water. Not enough for anyone to drown in, but certainly enough to make it difficult to find a good place to rest.
Margo shook the thought from her head. At the moment, rest wasn't what she needed, anyway. She'd gotten plenty of that while they'd been at the cornucopia. Her head ached, but she could deal with that. She could deal with a headache. Right now, she needed to find something, someone.
And a giant room full of water did not count.
Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten
The water was certainly a surprise.
Skyton nearly jumped as the water came rushing in, sloshing through the room with the food – the room where he, Klaudia, and Connor had settled down so long ago. The water washed in, picking up loaves of bread and other bits of food. Wherever it was coming from, though, there didn't seem to be an endless supply of it. Once it had risen a little past his knees, it stopped. However, that had been enough to douse the one candle he'd managed to keep alight when the rest had gone out. Now it was pitch black.
There was a solution to that, of course. There was a staircase nearby – a staircase that would lead up to the top of the tower. All he had to do was get up there, and he would at least be able to see. But then what? What was he supposed to do?
Merrik was gone. Pigeon was gone. And Skyton had run from the fight without so much as a second thought, without even grabbing anything. Merrik had had their axe, for all the good it had done him. There was plenty of food around him now, but he wasn't hungry. Besides, now it was all soggy. Even the thought of eating it made him sick.
Sick. He wanted to be sick, to lie down and rest, or to roll over and cry. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to do something, but he was too tired. Too tired of all of it. Slowly, he sloshed his way through the water and felt his way to the stairs. He climbed a few – enough to get far enough away from the water to dry out for a while – but then stopped. Climbing the rest of them could wait a while. The audience probably wasn't paying any attention to him, what with the feast going on.
The feast. Skyton choked back a laugh. From the sound of things, he'd been much better off not going. He didn't need much, after all. Well, except weapons, but that was the problem. He wasn't going to get anything from the feast if he wasn't armed, and that was the only thing he really needed, anyway. No point in going. That was what he had told himself. Still, he couldn't shake a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if the Gamemakers had wanted him to go?
Skyton clenched his fists. The Gamemakers wanted a lot of things. They had wanted Merrik dead, and they had gotten it. If they had wanted him at the feast, there were plenty of things they could have done to get him there. Instead, they had been content to let him sit here, collecting his wits, gathering his thoughts.
But he didn't want to gather his thoughts. He wanted to ignore them all. Because his thoughts kept going back to Merrik, back to the way he had died. The way they had killed him.
The way the Gamemakers had killed him.
The Capitol had killed him.
In broad strokes, of course, that was true of all the tributes. None of them would be in the arena in the first place if it weren't for the Capitol. He certainly would never have killed anyone, and most of the other tributes could probably say the same. If not for the Capitol, none of them would be killers, and none of them would be dead.
But Merrik … somehow, that was worse. Usually, the Gamemakers didn't step in and take sides so blatantly. There had been other times, of course – during the 41st Games, and a few others – but it was rare for them to target someone like this, to single them out for death. For execution. The boy from Four and the girl from Eleven may have delivered the killing blow, but it was the Gamemakers who were responsible. The Gamemakers, and, by extension, the Capitol.
Skyton sighed, slumping down on one of the steps and leaning back against the wall. He couldn't keep thinking like that. Thinking like that was dangerous, because if the Gamemakers found out, they wouldn't have any qualms about sending a three-headed dog after him, as well. They couldn't read minds, of course, but all it would take was one little slip-up – just one – and he would be joining Merrik.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
Stop it. He couldn't start thinking that way. He couldn't. Not when he was this close. He'd never imagined he would be this close, after all. On the train ride, he'd assumed he was a goner. But with the way things had been going, he had started to hope that maybe, just maybe, he stood a chance. But then Merrik…
Merrik was dead. He wasn't. But a part of him felt like he was. What was he supposed to do now? Who was he supposed to talk to, to turn to for help? Everyone he had trusted in the Games was gone. Arabel, Connor, Klaudia, and now Merrik and Pigeon. That was the way the Games worked, of course. And he had known that going in. But now … now it was real.
He was all alone.
Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine
At least he wasn't alone.
Barlen gave Vashti's shoulder another gentle shake, just to be sure. "Still alive?" he asked softly.
Vashti didn't try to hide a grimace. "Alive, yes," he mumbled. "Definitely not asleep."
"Sorry," Barlen apologized. "How many time have I—"
"I lost track somewhere around ten," Vashti muttered. "In the last hour or so."
"Sorry," Barlen repeated. "It's just that the cannons—"
"I know. Try not to think about it." He shook his head, sitting up a little bit, stifling a bitter laugh. "When it's mine, I'm sure you'll be able to tell."
The thought brought a lump to Barlen's throat. "There has to be something that—"
"Afraid not." He chuckled a little, causing the ooze in the pit to bubble. "Unless all the other tributes happen to kill each other off before any of them find us."
Barlen brightened. "Well, there were a few cannons." Two? Three? How many had there been? He wasn't sure, but there had been cannons. Hadn't there? And fairly recently, he was pretty sure. Not that they had any good way of telling time, but it hadn't seemed like that long.
"A few," Vashti confirmed. "Two recently. That makes eleven of us left. But unless you're planning on killing all of them for me, I don't think…" He lay back, exhausted. "Look, what I'm trying to say is, I'm as good as dead. Have been for a while. You should—"
"No." The tone in Vashti's voice hinted that this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and he was still here. He hadn't left. He didn't want to leave – not if there was a chance he might be able to do something for his friend. He felt around in his pockets blindly for anything that might be useful, but it was getting harder to see. Most of the candles were out. When had that happened?
In any case, there was something in his pocket. Barlen took it out. It was a small vial. "What's this?"
"Not sure," Vashti admitted. "I took it off the girl from Eight after you killed her. Gave it to you for safekeeping a few hours ago, but I don't suppose you remember that."
Barlen shook his head. "Why?"
"Because I thought it might do you some good, and I was this close to convincing you to leave that time."
"Really?"
"No. You're damn stubborn, kid."
"Why do you want me to leave?"
Vashti thought that over for a minute before answering. Maybe it wasn't a question he'd asked the last time, or the time before that, or however many times they'd had this discussion. "You'd have a better chance without me," he answered at last. But there was something in his tone, something else. It was almost…
"Are you embarrassed?" Barlen asked quietly.
It was hard to tell in the dark, but he was pretty sure what little color was left in Vashti's body rushed right to his face. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm dying. The blood's been cut off to my leg for hours, and the body can't handle that kind of shock for long. And even if that doesn't kill me, I'm useless in a fight. Be serious, kid. You might as well just kill me now."
"Really?"
Vashti Ri, 16
District Five
For a moment, he thought the kid might actually do it.
Vashti held his breath as Barlen seemed to consider this. For a moment, he almost wanted him to. Maybe it would be better than just sitting here, waiting to die. His head seemed a bit clearer than it had been, but his leg was completely numb, and he couldn't even move for fear of jostling the tourniquet and causing the blood to flow back into his leg. He couldn't do anything. He was helpless. And as much as he hated to admit it – and as much as he would never admit it to the cameras that were watching – Barlen was right. It was embarrassing. None of it was his fault, but it was embarrassing, nonetheless.
But then Barlen relaxed. He'd probably forgotten the entire thing. "Look," Vashti sighed. "If you're not going to leave, then—"
Barlen was already absently stuffing the vial back into his pocket. "Then what?"
Vashti considered that for a moment. Maybe that was the problem. He had no idea what to ask Barlen to do. There was nothing he could do – not really. Nothing either of them could do. There was no reason to be embarrassed that Barlen was here to see him like this – not when all of Panem was watching, anyway. But they weren't here. He couldn't see them. He could see Barlen, at least a little, even in this light. Waiting, eagerly listening for anything he could do to help.
Vashti sat up a little, even though the motion made his head spin. "If you're not going to leave, then at least listen. Listen, and write it down so you'll remember it. If I die…" He trailed off for a moment, then corrected himself. "When I die, you'll be on your own. It's too late in the Games to go teaming up with anyone else. You hear me? Don't go making any more friends. You can't afford to."
"But some of them might be like you."
Vashti laughed. He couldn't help it. Behind him, the goo in the pit began to bubble a little more, inching its way towards the surface. It didn't matter. "You really believe that, don't you," he chuckled. "Do you even remember how we met?"
Barlen's face screwed up with the effort of concentrating. "I was playing something."
"A harp," Vashti agreed. "Stupid thing to do, really, you know, in the middle of the Games. Mariska and I figured it was a trap, someone trying to lure us in so they could ambush us. But we followed the sound, and we found you all alone. Thought about killing you then and there, but—"
Recognition dawned on Barlen's face. "But you said you'd been working with Aven, and you owed it to her to help me."
Vashti cringed. "That's what we told you, yes."
"What?"
"That's what we told you, kid. It wasn't the truth. We killed Aven – Mariska and me. The only reason we didn't kill you was because my mentor sent us a sponsor gift marked with your district number – yours and Leo's."
"We traded."
"Yeah, and then we decided to let you tag along. Not because we wanted friends, Barlen, but because we thought you might be useful. We sent you scouting in the tunnels alone. That way, if any of us got killed, it would have been you. And it would have been you, if you hadn't gotten so damn lucky."
"But you're my friend."
The words stung more than they should have. Vashti sat up a little, pressing one of Barlen's hands between both of his. "Okay. Okay, kid. If it makes you feel better to believe that about me, I don't suppose that'll do any harm now. But you can't go trusting anyone else. Because they'll do the same thing Mariska and I tried to do. They'll use you, and you might not get so lucky next time."
There were tears in Barlen's eyes. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because in a few moments, you won't remember that I did. You'll forget that I killed your district partner, that I didn't care if you got killed, that we only teamed up because we thought you might be useful. It doesn't matter if you forget that, I guess. But what you need to remember – what you need to not forget – is not to trust anyone else."
"But if you … if you're gone," Barlen corrected himself before he could say the word 'die.' "If you're gone, how am I supposed to survive? I need … I need someone. I need friends."
Vashti reached for the knife nearby – the one Barlen had used to kill the girl from Eight, the one they had recently used to cut up a bit of bread. "This is your friend now. You got that? You can't trust anyone else. Trust yourself, and trust this." He held out the knife. "You understand me?"
Barlen nodded reluctantly, taking the knife and turning it over in his hands. Slowly, he took out his pen and wrote something on the handle, then something on his arm. Then he turned the knife to show Vashti what he had written. Friend. Vashti nodded. "Good enough."
Then he heard a laugh.
Genevieve Odele, 17
District One
She couldn't help a laugh.
Genevieve took a step closer to the pair in the center of the room. It had taken her a while to find them once the candles had all gone out, but this … this was well worth the wait. It was the perfect opportunity. She could take out two tributes at once with little or no trouble. The older boy appeared to be injured, and she recognized the younger one. The boy from Nine with memory problems. How the hell was he still alive?
Probably, he'd gotten lucky. And apparently found some allies, or at least one. But now that she had found them, his luck had run out. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. There were two of them, and the younger boy was armed. If she could lure one of them into attacking her, she would be able to make short work of them. It couldn't be too hard to goad the younger one into attacking to try to protect his ally, or maybe running and trying to make a break for it.
The boy from Five certainly didn't seem to be going anywhere. The younger one had stood up as soon as he'd heard her voice, but the older one had barely managed to sit up a little more, and even then, he seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance. Genevieve fingered her dagger, taking another step closer. Then another.
The younger boy made a move to step forward, but the older boy's hand clamped firmly around his wrist. "Wait," the boy from Five hissed. "I've got a better idea."
Genevieve stopped. Had she been wrong? Did they have something up their sleeves? There were two bodies nearby, but she had assumed they were dead. Had she been wrong? In the dark, at this distance, she couldn't tell who they were. Maybe it was a trap.
But that was a risk she would have to take. She couldn't turn down the opportunity for a pair of easy kills – not this late in the game. There were only eleven tributes left. Only ten more tributes who would have to die, and two of them were right in front of her, just waiting. Maybe more, if some of the bodies weren't actually bodies. But she would have to be smart. She couldn't just rush in. She had to think.
But she didn't have time to think.
Okay. Okay, she could do this. She took another step closer. The boy from Five whispered something, and the younger boy burst out laughing. Genevieve froze. What? What had he said? "What's so funny?" she demanded, but the younger boy just kept laughing. After a moment, the older one joined in. Genevieve could feel her face growing red. They were laughing at her. At her. At the person who was about to kill them, as soon as she got close enough. What was so funny?
What was she missing?
Jasper Floren
District One Mentor
It was an easy thing to miss.
Jasper drummed his fingers on the table as Genevieve made her way closer to the center of the room, closer to the pit. What, exactly, Vashti and Barlen had planned, he wasn't sure, but it obviously had something to do with the bubbling goo in the pit. They'd figured out that laughing made it rise, but what were they planning to do? Were they just hoping that Genevieve wouldn't notice it and might stumble into it? Or were they simply trying to confuse her?
That part seemed to be working, at least. Not that he could really blame her for that. It was the laughter that had drawn her in, after all, but she clearly hadn't expected them to keep laughing in the face of almost certain death. They didn't have any cards left to play. They'd managed to kill Etora by tricking her into thinking Vashti was dead, but the same trick wouldn't work this time. They were out of options. They were desperate.
So they were trying the only thing they had left – trying to keep their opponent off balance long enough to think of something. It wasn't a bad idea, but it would only keep them alive for so long. Eventually, Genevieve would realize they were bluffing, that they didn't really have any cards to play. That they were hoping she would just run away, because that was the only hope they had of making it out of this alive.
Jasper glanced over at Harakuise and Basil, who sat together, watching the screen. They had to realize it was over, didn't they? But the pair of them looked quite calm, as if they actually believed that their tributes had a plan, that they weren't just laughing to try to bluff their way out of this.
Unless they weren't bluffing. Unless they really did have something up their sleeves. Eleven tributes left, and three of District Five's tributes were still standing. Well, Vashti wasn't exactly standing, but he was still alive, which was more than he could say for Mae, Justus, and Consus. Genevieve was the last tribute District One had left.
He hadn't expected it to be her, really – especially before that business with the dog. If he'd had to bet on someone, it would probably have been Justus. He'd seemed the most prepared. Yet when it had come down to it, he'd decided to stay and try to help Mae, rather than saving his own life.
Genevieve had made the right choice. Well, maybe not the right choice, but the choice that would keep her alive. In the Games, the two were pretty much the same thing. Right and wrong didn't have the same meaning in the Games as they did in the outside world. Tributes either learned to accept that, or they died. Justus had died. Genevieve…
Jasper shook his head. Why was he so worried? Not only was she alive, but she was on the verge of getting two more kills. And yet Harakuise didn't seem concerned. Maybe that was simply because he had two tributes left once Vashti was gone, but Basil … Basil seemed just as unfazed. Maybe he was too drunk or too tired to care. Maybe he'd resigned himself to Barlen's death a while ago and had been surprised it had taken this long.
Maybe…
Harakuise gave Basil a pat on the shoulder, then came over to join Jasper. "Something bothering you?"
Jasper froze. Did Harakuise have eyes in the back of his head? Was it really that obvious that he was uneasy? "Should it be?" he asked, trying to keep what he hoped was a poker face. It wasn't. He'd never been much good at poker. Deception wasn't his strong suit. Never had been. His victory had been a result of his own skill and determination, not trickery.
Harakuise, on the other hand…
Harakuise shrugged, his own poker face unreadable. "Why do you think the Gamemakers sent the three-headed dog after the Career pack?" he asked calmly.
Jasper grit his teeth. He hated that tone of voice – the tone his parents had used when he was younger, the tone that made it clear that the question wasn't really a question. It was a test. A test he didn't have the option not to take. "Because they weren't doing enough," he answered simply.
"So it was a punishment, you think?"
"What else would it be?"
Harakuise took a long drink. "What if it was an opportunity? Shanali and Ronan seemed to think it was."
Jasper shook his head. "Apples and oranges. The dog didn't attack them."
"And why not?"
"Because the Gamemakers wanted them to do something."
"And getting slaughtered by a three-headed dog doesn't count as something?"
Jasper sighed. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for guessing games. Do you have a point?"
Harakuise smiled a little. "Griffins, three-headed dogs, pits full of ooze – they're all what we make of them. They're either a danger or an opportunity, depending on your point of view. What the Gamemakers want – what the audience really wants – is a show. Occasionally, they'll try to direct the way it goes, but for the most part, what they really want is for things to be interesting." He shook his head. "I can't tell you exactly what Vashti and Barlen have planned. I can't tell you that they have a plan." He took another drink.
"But it will be interesting."
"For from broad words and 'cause he fail'd his presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace."