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Finale
Try The Last

Tamika Ward
Head Gamemaker

She'd never seen him hesitate quite this long.

Tamika waited silently as Silas gave her question some thought. He had time, of course; the trees were still extending the tributes towards the center of the castle. She could wait as long as necessary before releasing them, and claim she was only adding to the suspense. Actually, she was waiting for an answer – an answer to a question she'd never really seen him consider much before.

The question was always the same – whether he wanted her to nudge the finale in a certain direction, give one tribute an advantage that might make them more likely to win, or even outright ensure their victory. Or the reverse – ensure that a particular tribute didn't make it out. She had asked every year – as she had asked with President Snow, who had rarely needed to even be asked. Apparently, it was tradition, she had learned from her predecessor, though no one besides Snow had ever made much use of it. In general, problematic tributes had already been eliminated by the time the finale began.

For a long moment, Silas was silent, and she knew better than to interrupt, to anticipate. It wasn't a good idea to try to anticipate the president's decision. Silas certainly wasn't as capricious as Snow had been, but he was occasionally more unpredictable, and it wasn't a good idea for anyone to assume they knew what his instructions would be.

Still, she couldn't help being surprised that he was considering the matter for so long. Every other year, the answer had been a quick, decisive no. He always said it was because it was none of his business and she was perfectly capable of handling the Games herself, but she'd always suspected that part of the reason was that he didn't want to be personally responsible for deciding whether a tribute should live or die.

So why was he considering it now?

"No," he said at last, his voice unusually tense. "No, you can handle this."

Now it was Tamika's turn to hesitate. There was something in his tone, something in his expression. Was he trying to make a suggestion without sounding like he was making a suggestion? But that wasn't really his style. If he wanted her to do something, he would just come out and say it, wouldn't he? On the other hand, she couldn't afford to get this wrong – not now, not during a Quarter Quell. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Silas blinked, and the look was gone. The hesitation, the doubt, whatever it was – just gone, as if it had never been there at all. He nodded crisply, even smiling a little. "I'm sure," he decided, and headed for the door. Tamika turned back to her team, forcing a smile despite the questions racing around her head.

"Let's go."

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

The tree finally let go.

Aleyn landed on her feet, but a quick glance around the castle told her the others had done the same. Neither of the other two immediately started moving, though. Maybe they were all waiting – waiting for someone else to make the first move. Maybe the other two were still getting a feel for the roof of the castle, and taking note of the gaping hole in the center.

Aleyn didn't move either. She'd been hoping maybe the two boys would go after each other, but both of them had clearly been hoping the same thing about the other two tributes. One of the boys had a hatchet, the other a cleaver. But either of them might have other weapons she couldn't see, just like the knife she had tucked back into her pocket. It had probably saved her life when she was fighting Ronan, and it might do so again.

Funny, really, that she had Consus to thank for that. He was the one who had gone back to the cornucopia all that time ago and gotten them weapons. And while she'd certainly had opportunities since then to better arm herself, it was that particular knife – the one Consus had kept hidden until deciding to share them with her – that had saved her. One more thing that she owed to an ally.

An ally who had tried to kill her. An ally she had left to be killed. In the end, the fact that Consus had been her ally didn't mean anything more than the fact that Ronan had been her district partner. The two tributes in front of her were perfect strangers, but it wouldn't really matter if they had been her allies since the start of the Games. Right now, they had to die.

Suddenly, the boy with the cleaver reached into his pocket. Was he reaching for another weapon? Something he could use from a distance? If so, it was small. No, it looked like some sort of bottle or vial. What was he planning to do with that? Break it?

"Stay back!" he called, his voice trembling a little. "Or I'll drop it."

The other boy took a step towards him. "Okay."

"I'll do it," the boy with the cleaver insisted.

"And what do you think it's going to do?" the other one asked.

The boy shrugged matter-of-factly. "Explode."

An explosive? But why would he have been carrying around an explosive? For that matter, why would he tell them about it, rather than simply tossing it at them? It was a bluff. It had to be a bluff. She glanced at the other boy, who shrugged. He began to charge. So did she. The boy threw the vial.

And something did explode.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

It couldn't have exploded.

Retro staggered as the whole castle seemed to shake. Something had exploded, but it couldn't have been the vial. He recognized it. He had seen an empty one just like that when he and Ti had been exploring the food pantry after it had been abandoned. Abandoned because the previous occupants had been fighting over an antidote to the poisoned meat.

An antidote that had been in the empty vial.

But something was making the castle shake. It took a moment of trying to get his bearings before Retro realized what. The trees. The branches were crashing through the edges of the castle, making everything shake. On every side of the castle, tree limbs were breaking through the stone, tearing everything apart. It was only a matter of time before it would collapse.

Retro clenched his teeth. The Gamemakers were trying to get the moving. They didn't want them talking; they wanted them fighting. Okay. He took a deep breath and charged at the girl from Four, who was still getting her bearings. She saw him coming and swung her spear, but instead of dodging, he grabbed onto it, wrapping his arm around the shaft. He couldn't afford to let go, but neither could she. Maybe…

"Help!" Retro called as the boy from Nine finally got his balance. "Help me!"

For a moment, he saw the girl from Four hesitate, maybe wondering whether they were allies. "Help me!" she called, trying to wrench the spear out of Retro's grip. He held on. And she held on.

The boy from Nine staggered a little as the castle continued to crumble around them. Retro played the only card he had left. "Vashti would want you to help me."

Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn't. He hadn't really known Vashti all that well, and he had no idea how well the boy from Nine had known him either – or how well he would remember him. But they had been working together when he'd found them before, so maybe that would be enough—

The boy dove for the older girl's legs.

Barlenn Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

She hadn't expected him to go for the legs.

Barlen held on tight as the older girl tried to kick him away. Maybe she'd been expecting him to aim higher. Maybe she just hadn't wanted to let go of the spear. Either way, she toppled to the ground, and the two of them rolled a little. She was kicking, trying to free his grip on her other leg. Her foot struck his chin, and he could taste blood. But he still held on.

Vashti. The other boy had said that Vashti would want Barlen to help him. He had no idea whether that was true. He remembered Vashti – or at least, he was pretty sure he did – and the other boy looked vaguely familiar. Had they been allies? But all the names on his arm had been crossed off.

It didn't matter now, of course. He'd already made his decision. He gripped the girl's leg tighter in one arm, trying to get a good grip on the cleaver with the other. The girl was reaching for something in her pocket. A knife. Barlen held on tight as they rolled again, the castle shaking beneath him. She couldn't reach his neck or his chest, but the knife sank deep into his hand. Barlen let out a scream, but the girl's scream was louder as he swung the cleaver a little close to his own hand for comfort, driving it deep into the girl's wrist.

He was screaming. She was screaming. And suddenly, there was someone else – someone on top of them both, swinging a hatchet. The girl dodged, blood still pouring from her left wrist, and the hatchet sank into a crack between two of the stones of the castle. The other boy recovered his balance, but not before the girl had used her good hand to pull the knife out of Barlen's hand and lunge at him instead. The boy ducked beneath her blow, prying the hatchet from between the stones and diving towards Barlen.

He hadn't been expecting that.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

He hadn't been expecting that.

Retro cursed under his breath as the other boy dodged. The blow that had been meant to strike him in the chest sank into his shoulder instead. The boy screamed, but his cleaver came rushing back at Retro, who barely dodged in time. He had been hoping to finish off the boy quickly now that the girl was injured.

Injured, but not dead. The other boy had nearly sliced off her hand, which made her less dangerous, but he had to keep an eye on her nonetheless. But that was hard in the dark, with a cleaver swinging dangerously close to his head. He could see the girl out of the corner of his eye, desperately looking for something. Maybe a better weapon than a knife. Maybe a way to stop the bleeding. She probably wasn't going to have much luck finding either, but that didn't mean he could count her out. If she waited long enough, after all, she would only have to fight him or the other boy, not them both.

Retro staggered to his feet, and the boy from Nine did the same. His shoulder was bleeding, and so was one of his hands, but that barely seemed to slow him down. Adrenaline, Retro thought somewhere in the back of his mind, vaguely aware that the same thing was happening to him. He should be exhausted. Only a few hours ago – if even that – he'd been seriously thinking about settling down and trying to get some rest.

Now he was glad he hadn't. He was as alert as he could be, and he was going to need every bit of it. The other boy lunged towards him, and Retro barely dodged in time. He was having a hard time keeping his footing; the stones were so slippery. Maybe he should have kept those boots after all.

But it was too late for that. Too late to worry about what he should have done. And too late to wonder whether he should have just let the other two finish each other off. He'd wanted to attack while the boy was distracted, but now that element of surprise was gone.

And he wouldn't get another chance.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

She wouldn't get a better chance than this.

Aleyn reached for her spear, gripping it in her right hand and wedging it under her other arm. Her left arm was still bleeding, but she didn't want to look at that. She could feel from the weight at the end that her hand was still attached, but barely. It was flopping around loosely, and the pain in her wrist was quickly turning to numbness. She had to end this quickly.

But the two boys didn't appear to be in much of a hurry to do that. They looked fairly evenly matched, darting around each other, aiming blows, dodging out of the way in time. One of them was bleeding, but the wound didn't look too deep. Not deep enough for him to bleed out.

Not before she would, anyway.

No, she needed to speed this up. The one who wasn't injured kept glancing at her, trying to steer the fight away from her. She could use that. They were getting close to the hole in the roof. If she could get them close enough, maybe they would both fall in. Maybe not on their own, but if she gave them a little push…

She didn't exactly have any better options. The roof beneath their feet was shaking, the trees eating away at the edges. They weren't close enough to be a threat yet, but it was only a matter of time. Time she probably didn't have.

She charged.

The boy who had been watching leapt out of the way, away from the other boy. The other boy dodged to one side, but she'd never been trying to drive the spear through either of them. Once the spear was beside him, she swung the shaft against his chest, knocking him off-balance.

That was the idea, at least. He toppled to the ground, but not, unfortunately, into the hole in the roof. Instead, he rolled as her own momentum propelled her forward, and she rolled onto the ground, as well, barely missing the hole herself. Something struck her in the back, and she could feel blood spurting from the wound.

The boy with the hatchet. He'd been too quick. Or she hadn't been quick enough.

She barely felt the second blow.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

Boom.

Barlen staggered to his feet just as the other boy yanked his hatchet out of the girl's back. He gripped his own weapon – a cleaver – as tight as he could. His left shoulder felt as if it was on fire, but he didn't have time to worry about that. He was only worried about what was written on his arm. A reminder. You're in the Hunger Games.

He was fighting for his life. That was the only thing that mattered. How he had gotten here, how many of them were left, how long he had been in the Games – none of that was important, and that was good. It was all too fuzzy. But the thing that mattered – the fact that he would have to kill the boy in front of him – that was crystal clear. Clearer than anything else he could remember.

The other boy lunged. Barlen dodged. There was a body at his feet, but that one was almost certainly dead. Who had killed her? Had he? Had the other boy? For a second, Barlen considered picking up the spear she had dropped, but he decided against it. It hadn't done her any good, and it was big. The cleaver in his hand was just the right size.

It was the perfect friend.

He swung again, and the boy backed up, turning a little to one side. Then a little more, as if trying to drive him towards something. But it was too dark to tell what.

Until he saw the trees.

Why were there trees? That explained why the roof was shaking, of course. The trees were tearing it apart. Barlen struggled to keep his footing as he drew closer to what was now the edge of the castle, but the other boy was also having trouble staying upright. Maybe he was hoping that Barlen would fall off the roof first. Maybe he would.

He took a step backwards. Then another. Drawing the other boy in closer. He wouldn't get a second chance if this went wrong. He needed to time it just right. The trees were close – almost close enough to reach out and touch them, if they hadn't been moving so quickly. Who would have thought tree branches could move that fast?

Barlen backed up one more time, his feet nearly at the edge of the roof. The other boy sprang forward, lunging, hoping to hit him just right, to knock him off the roof.

Barlen jumped off the roof.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

The boy jumped off the roof.

Retro hoped for a moment that maybe he had fallen to his death, but then he saw the tree. The boy had leapt onto one of its branches – a somewhat shaky-looking branch, but it seemed to be holding him for the moment. Shit. Okay, but he had a hatchet, didn't he? All he had to do was cut through the branch.

But in order to do that, he needed to reach it. Or at least reach the end that was attached to the tree. And he couldn't do that from the roof. Retro gripped the hatchet tightly in one hand, took a running start, and leapt. He landed on the branch, closer to the trunk of the tree than the other boy. Okay. All he needed to do was get his balance and cut through the—

Before he could, though, the other boy leapt at him, maybe realizing what he was doing and hoping to shove him off the branch. His cleaver shone in the moonlight as he crashed into Retro, knocking both of them off balance. Retro's fingers grasped at the branch, trying to hold on, but it was too late. Both of them were falling.

For a moment, he thought he heard someone laughing.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

He was still laughing as they fell.

Barlen couldn't catch his breath as the pair of them crashed into branch after branch, hurtling towards the ground. It shouldn't have been funny. But it was. It was hilarious.

He just couldn't remember why.

He was still laughing as he hit the ground, landing awkwardly on his arm, right on top of a piece of the roof. Smaller pieces of debris were crashing down all around him. But there hadn't been a cannon. Or at least, he didn't remember a cannon. Maybe they'd both hit enough branches on the way down to slow their fall. Maybe they hadn't been as high up as he'd thought.

Maybe they were just lucky.

Barlen tried to move his left arm, and was met with a shooting pain. Okay. So that wasn't a good idea. He tried to get to his feet, but something struck him in the back. For a moment, he thought maybe it was the other tribute, but it was just a rock. He lifted his right arm to try to shield his head. Only then did he realize he'd dropped his cleaver.

At least, he was pretty sure it had been a cleaver.

But that didn't matter. The rocks didn't matter. All that mattered was finding the other boy. It was too dark. Too crowded. Rocks, loose tree branches, pieces of the roof of the castle – all lying around him.

Then he saw the other boy, slowly climbing to his knees. But he didn't get up. Why not? Barlen crawled a little closer, and he saw it – a large piece of the roof, pinning the boy's right leg, keeping him on his knees, with the rock at his back. Barlen almost raced forward to help him free himself, but something stopped him.

You're in the Hunger Games.

"I won't hurt you." The boy's voice was strained. That rock had to hurt. "Help get me out, and we can find somewhere safe."

Safe. That sounded good. But that wasn't right. There wasn't anywhere safe – not in the Games. The other boy was trying to trick him. Wasn't he?

He wished he could be sure.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

The boy didn't look so sure.

Retro held his breath as the other boy slowly hauled himself to his feet and took a step closer. Than another. Retro didn't have a weapon – he'd dropped his hatchet in the fall – but if the other boy got close enough, maybe he could strangle him or … or something. There wasn't much else left to hope for, unless the boy was really going to be stupid enough to help free him.

The boy nodded a little, unsteadily. "You really think we can find somewhere safe?"

"Of course."

"And you'd trust me?"

"We're friends, remember? You, me, Vashti – we were all friends." It was a shot in the dark, but something in that word seemed to register with the boy, who nodded a little. "All we have to do is get back inside and wait," Retro coaxed. The boy was closer now. Almost close enough for Retro to reach him. But he had to be patient. If he tried to lunge for him now, the boy could just dart out of the way, and find some way to kill him from a distance. He had to get him to come closer.

The good news was, the other boy didn't seem to be armed, either. If he could get him within arm's length, he might have a chance.

It was the only chance he had left.

The boy came closer. Closer. But he wasn't getting close enough. Instead, he was circling around behind Retro, back where the hunk of stone was pinning his leg. He really was going to help. "Thank you," Retro gasped out, bracing himself, ready to jump as soon as the weight of the rock was lifted. Instead, he felt something against his throat.

"I'm sorry."

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

"I'm sorry."

Barlen drew his knife across the boy's throat, jumping back before the boy could reach him. He wouldn't have been able to, anyway. The rock was pinning him too tightly. The boy fell forward onto the ground, grasping at his throat, trying to stop the bleeding. But he couldn't. No one could.

Barlen held his breath, gripping the knife as blood dripped from it, blood that almost hid the word friend. He wanted to help. He desperately wanted to. He'd wanted to believe what the boy had said about working together, about finding somewhere safe. But this was the Hunger Games. There was nowhere safe.

And he didn't have any other friends.

He didn't need any other friends.

But there were still other tributes out there. How many were there? Barlen glanced around, looking for any sign of where they might be. The boy had gone still – so still. But there hadn't been a cannon yet, had there?

Maybe there had.

Boom. The sound of the cannon shook the air, and Barlen leapt. It was too dark to tell if there was anyone else nearby. The cannon had almost certainly been the boy's, but—

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Victor of the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games: Barlen Rimmonn!"

Barlen froze. What?

What?

Then he burst out laughing.

"I will not yield, to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, and to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed, being of no woman born, yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'"