Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: So I wasn't planning on updating quite this soon, but lazy weekend = another quick chapter. It's amazing how much faster things always seem to go once we get to the actual Games.

Most of the focus this chapter is on the tributes who weren't featured in the bloodbath chapter – mostly the ones who ran away from the bloodbath and are now exploring various parts of the arena. Again, don't be alarmed if your favorite tribute – or even their alliance – doesn't get a POV in this chapter. That doesn't mean they're not important. It just means I'm not a fan of 40-POV chapters.

Lastly, if you haven't already voted in the "final eight" poll, please do so before too many more of our tributes die off. A new poll will be up with the next chapter.

Day One
Survive

Hazel Birnam
District Seven Mentor

She still wasn't quite sure what she felt.

Hazel drummed her fingers quietly on the table as she watched the screen. The bloodbath was almost always emotionally draining, but having four tributes made it even more so. Ciere was dead. But she had saved Fallon, who was now relatively safe, heading north with her small alliance in tact. Audra had been too frightened to kill, but that had saved Domingo's life. She wasn't quite sure whether she should be worried for Audra's sake or relived for Domingo's.

"Not bad at all."

Hazel glanced up as Balthasar slid into a seat beside her. He was right, as far as his own tribute was concerned – and Audra, as well. Their alliance was the largest on their side of the island, and second only to Adelia's overall. Septimus had picked up a kill in the bloodbath, and the others had at least tried. "I suppose so," Hazel agreed. "They're in a good position. Heading inland is a good choice; they'll have a better chance of finding food, and no one in the area is likely to attack such a large group."

Balthasar smiled. "True. But I was talking about Audra in particular. If you're going to chicken out of killing someone, your district partner's a good pick. For all the audience knows, they grew rather close during training. They can pass her hesitation off as district loyalty rather than cowardice."

The word was there, even though he didn't say it. "But…" Hazel prompted.

Balthasar shrugged. "But we both know better. She didn't spare Domingo because he's her district partner. She spared him because she was too afraid to kill. At least for now."

Hazel nodded. "Did you suggest Audra as an ally for Septimus?"

"No, but I certainly didn't object. I still don't." He took another sip of his drink. "Don't kid yourself. Septimus knew what he was getting. If he'd wanted an alliance of cold-blooded killers, he would have sought out the other Careers. And they might have accepted him, once he told them what he and Harakuise had figured out about the arena."

"So why not, then?" Hazel asked. "Why choose a group of people he knew wouldn't kill?"

"They won't kill yet. There's a difference. Audra's life wasn't on the line. It wasn't her or Domingo … not yet. Septimus knows the Games don't usually go to the tribute who makes the biggest splash in the bloodbath. It's a good start, mind you, but he's in it for the long haul. He wanted allies who would grow more confident as the Games went on – not ones who would draw a lot of attention at the start and then lose their momentum." He smiled a little. "Give Audra time. How many tributes did you kill in the bloodbath? How many did Casper kill?"

He already knew the answer, of course. "None."

Balthasar nodded. "Exactly. The audience isn't expecting ruthless killers from District Seven. Or Nine, for that matter. Septimus made a kill, and his alliance is mostly in tact. For now, that'll be enough for the audience. He can worry about making killers out of the others later."

Hazel nodded. Hopefully, the audience would see it the same way. Casper had waited three days, after all, before his first kill. And her own first kill had been her last – the last of her Games. But that had been the Third Games. Things were different now. After last year, the audience would be expecting blood.

But Balthasar was probably right, and it seemed the Gamemakers knew it, as well. If they had wanted a blood-soaked beginning, they would have provided a real cornucopia with at least some sort of weapons. They didn't care how many tributes died today. Or the next day. Or even the next. Eventually, one way or the other, forty-five tributes were going to die.

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Fallon Ladris, 15
District Seven

There was nothing she could have done to stop it.

Fallon gripped Elizabet's hand tightly as the two of them made their way along the shore. It hadn't taken long for the sand to turn to a rocky coast, but they didn't dare head inland. Most of the tributes had gone that way. Hopefully, by keeping to the shore, they would be able to avoid most of the action.

That was the plan, at least. Then again, nothing had gone according to plan so far. She certainly hadn't planned to be one of the Careers' first targets. She hadn't planned for Ciere to throw herself in the way.

She hadn't planned for anyone to die saving her.

It didn't make any sense. The two of them hadn't exactly been enemies during training, but they certainly hadn't been friends, either. She had never imagined that Ciere would risk her life for her. She would never have asked her to.

And yet she had. Without being asked, seemingly without any thought, Ciere had saved her. The older girl had given her a gift – a beautiful, priceless gift. Because of Ciere, she was still alive. Whatever time she had left, she owed to her district partner.

And she wasn't going to let that go to waste.

Finally, the pair slowed their pace a little. No one seemed to be following them. In fact, as far as Fallon knew, no one else had even come this direction. Maybe they could afford to rest a bit. "There," Fallon suggested, pointing to a large boulder along the shore up ahead. If they took shelter behind it, they could rest there for a while.

Elizabet nodded, clearly eager for a break herself. Quickly, the two of them ducked behind the rock, and Fallon immediately sank to the ground and removed her boots, dumping what seemed like gallons of water out of each of them. Elizabet did the same, wringing out her socks, as well. Not that it did much good; the rain soaked them again even as she wrung the water out. "Well, at least we won't go thirsty," Elizabet offered, clearly trying to find something good to say about the situation.

Fallon nodded. There was that. And, of course, the fact that they were alive. And together. With so many of the alliance split up, she couldn't help but be grateful for Elizabet's company. If they didn't have each other, Fallon wasn't sure what she would have done.

The same thing, probably. She would still have run. But it would have been much more frightening on her own. Simply having someone with her was a comfort, even though they both knew that comfort couldn't last forever.

"Look!" Elizabet called suddenly, pointing at the water. "Fish!"

Fallon peered through the rain in the direction Elizabet was pointing. Sure enough, there were fish in the water nearby. Mostly small ones, but a few larger ones, as well. Elizabet grinned. "Remember anything about making nets?"

Not much, Fallon almost said. But she didn't want to admit that. Not with the whole audience watching. Elizabet would understand, she was pretty sure, that it was impossible to remember everything they'd learned briefly during training. But the audience might not be so considerate.

So she simply nodded instead. "I think so. Do you see anything we could use as rope?"

Elizabet pointed inland a little. "Some of the trees have vines. That might work."

Fallon shrugged. "Sure. Let's give it a try." Why not? Fallon figured as they headed for the trees together. It was certainly worth a try. It wasn't as if they had anything to lose.

She was just glad she wasn't alone.

India Telle, 17
District Three

She was glad she was alone.

India took a step back from Paget's body, the rain already washing the blood from her hands. Already clean. Already almost forgotten. And there was no one with her to remind her. No one to whom she would have to justify herself.

Quickly, India retreated to the tree line, hoping the hovercraft would come to collect the body. The other girl was already gone – most likely, too far away for India to catch even if she could tell which way she had gone. That didn't matter now. It had never mattered. She hadn't been after them in particular. They had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Because she'd needed to kill someone.

It was the best way to make an impression with the sponsors – especially for a non-Career. The sooner she convinced the Capitol she was willing to kill, the better off she would be. And if attacking a tribute in the bloodbath with nothing but a few rocks wasn't convincing, she didn't know what was.

More importantly, she had convinced herself.

It was easy to convince the Capitol she could kill in self-defense. Almost anyone could, when it came down to it. When their life was on the line, nearly everyone would fight to the death. What she had done was different. But it was what she would have to do eventually, anyway. Eventually, everyone came out of the Games a killer – not just in self-defense, but a cold-blooded murderer.

And if she'd gotten to that point before the others, all the better.

India clenched her fists. She knew she should feel something. Guilt. Shame. Remorse. Year after year, she had seen those emotions on the tributes' faces after their first kill. But, for better or worse, she felt none of it. She wasn't sorry – and not just because she couldn't allow herself to be. She had no reason to be.

They would never have made it far, anyway – the two tributes she had been chasing. Their deaths were inevitable. Inescapable. So why did it matter if she had played a role in them?

Soon, a hovercraft descended to remove the body, leaving only the blood in the sand, quickly washed away by the rain and the waves. And that was it. It was over. He was gone, and now she could move on.

Now she could plan her next move.

India stuffed a few more rocks in her pockets, just in case. In case another opportunity came along. In case another tribute stumbled into her path.

In the meantime, she might as well keep going. There was no reason to go back the other way. No compelling reason to turn inland. There was as much opportunity for food along the shore – between the fish she had seen and the plants that grew along the edge of the tree line – as there would be farther inland. So she might as well stay out here in the open, where she could see other tributes coming.

They could see her, too, of course. Which made things a little more dangerous, but it also looked good for the sponsors. If she stayed out here, it would prove to them that she wasn't afraid to be seen. She wasn't afraid to present herself as a target – because she understood how quickly the predator could turn into the prey.

And she knew which one she wanted to be.

Melody Anson, 15
District Nine

She wished she knew which way to go.

Melody stopped to catch her breath, hoping the pounding rain would hide the tears in her eyes. When Baylor had approached her the night before with the theory that the tributes would be separated in two groups at the start of the Games – the replacements and the non-replacements – she had thought it would be fairly easy for them to find each other again. All they needed was a plan.

They had agreed that they would both head west. They knew they couldn't count on any specific landmark in the arena – a mountain, a tree, a building – but had figured that they would at least have some sense of direction. That they would be able to follow the sun west and find each other.

It might have been a good plan if they could see the sun.

Melody blinked the rain out of her eyes. Since running from the cornucopia, she had been searching for any brighter patch of sky. Any hint of which way might be west. But there was nothing. No hint of which way she should go.

Knowing what was coming hadn't helped her at all.

And now she had no way of knowing where Baylor was. Whether or not he was looking for her. Or even whether he was still alive. But she kept going. Kept walking in the direction she hoped was west. Because she wasn't sure what else to do.

They hadn't decided what to do if they couldn't find each other. Was she on her own now? How long should she keep looking before admitting she simply wasn't going to find him?

Melody cupped her hands, catching some of the rain and taking a long drink before continuing on. She had always known she would eventually be on her own in the arena. No alliance lasted forever. But she had been counting on Baylor's company for a while, at least. Alone, she didn't stand a chance if another tribute happened to find her.

Melody shook the thought from her head. Her best chance was to keep moving, so that they wouldn't find her. If she and Baylor weren't going to be able to find each other, the best thing she could do was make sure none of the other tributes could find her, either.

But where was the best place to go? The shoreline was exposed, so she could see other tributes coming – but that also meant they could see her. Inland, the trees would provide some cover, but that meant that was probably where the other tributes would go, too. Seeking shelter from the rain. So did that mean she should stay in the open?

She wished she had someone to talk to. Someone who would know what to do.

Melody clenched her fists. She was supposed to know what to do. Even if she had someone else with her, the decision would ultimately be hers. "Okay," she said quietly, the rain drowning out her own voice. "Okay. Can't stay on the shore forever. Especially for the night. Too exposed. Have to find somewhere safer."

So did that mean she had to head inland?

She didn't get an answer. But she wasn't really expecting one. No one was going to sponsor a girl from District Nine who had managed to lose track of her only ally. Not when there were three groups of Careers and several other large alliances to sponsor. No, she couldn't count on any help. Not yet. Not until she had earned it.

She was on her own.

Cordelia Astier, 15
District Six

She was on her own.

Cordelia kept running. Her legs ached. Her clothes were soaked, her boots full of water. Her lungs were throbbing from trying to breathe too quickly in the terrible humidity. But she didn't dare stop. Not yet.

Not until she was safe.

But she knew better. Deep down, she knew. She would never be safe. They were going to kill her – just like they had killed Paget. They had arranged it, somehow – the Gamemakers. They had both been doomed from the start.

It was only a matter of time before they came for her, too.

Finally, exhausted, Cordelia sank to her knees. "It's not fair!" she shouted, though part of her knew no one was listening. No one who cared, at least. If their aunt and uncle had cared what happened to them, they would never have agreed to their reaping. And there was no one else in District Six who would be sorry to see her go.

Maybe it was better if it happened now. "Well, come on, then!" Cordelia shouted. "Why don't you just finish it?" Maybe she should have run back with Paget. Maybe she should have helped him fight.

Maybe he would still be alive.

Cordelia picked up a thick branch and swung it against a tree as hard as she could. "Come on! What are you waiting for? You got him! Why not me, too?" She swung again. "Will that make you happy, Velion? How about you, Violan? That's what you wanted, right? Us, out of the way, so you can get on with your normal lives?" She swung harder. "Well, if it's coming, then why not? Why not get it over with? Come on!"

"You don't want that."

Cordelia whirled around to face the voice – a quiet voice, coming from a small tribute. One of the boys from Eight, going by the number sewn on his outfit. "How do you know?" she demanded. "How would you know what I want?"

The boy shook his head. "Because if you really wanted to die, you could just run back to the cornucopia. I'm sure the Careers are still there and would be more than happy to oblige." He waited a moment. "No? Then I'm guessing you probably want to live. And if that's the case, then shouting might not be your best option. I saw a few other tributes running this way. Now, they didn't look like the sort who would attack on sight, but if they think you're going to attract the Careers' attention..."

"Maybe I don't care," Cordelia spat. And she was surprised to find it was true. It wasn't that she wanted to die. She simply didn't care. None of it mattered any more. Paget had tried to save her, but they both knew it was pointless, in the end. She was going to die. It was only a matter of when, and where, and by whose hand.

And how many people she took down with her.

Cordelia lunged. The boy dodged, but not well enough. The end of the branch left a cut across his cheek. Her second blow struck him in the side, knocking him off his feet. "Wait!" he pleaded. "Please, just wait. Just think. Just listen."

No. No, she wouldn't listen. She was tired of listening. Of waiting. Of hoping things would get better. They were never going to get better. No one was ever going to care what happened to her. So why should she care what happened to anyone else?

She lunged again.

Baylor Alanis, 14
District Eight

The girl lunged again.

Baylor rolled out of the way just in time to avoid a branch that would have collided with his head. Desperate, he scrambled to his feet and took off in the rain. But the girl was right behind him. She was faster. She would catch him.

Stupid. So stupid. Why had he tried to reason with her? Why hadn't he just let the Gamemakers or the Careers or even the other tributes come after her? Why couldn't he just let her die?

Maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe she would have seen him anyway. Come after him anyway. Baylor gasped for breath. The girl was gaining ground, and he was no closer to being able to defend himself. Maybe if he could grab something. A branch. A stone. Anything.

But there was nothing. Nothing useful. Nothing worth the time it would take to bend over and grab it. Small stones. Little sticks. Nothing he could really defend himself with.

Just then, he saw a river in the distance. Or a stream, maybe. He couldn't really tell how big it was. But if he could reach it…

Then what? He couldn't swim. A river wasn't much help. Unless…

He didn't have time to think it through. Just as the girl reached him, he plunged into the river. The girl didn't hesitate to jump in after him. Baylor reached down, hoping. Sure enough, the bottom of the river was lined with stones. He scooped one up, then surfaced just in time for the branch to whack him in the head.

Dazed, Baylor nonetheless managed to hold onto the rock he had grabbed. As the girl swung again, he dove for her legs. Hindered by her clumsy boots, one push was enough to make the girl lose her footing. Together, the two of them tumbled into the river. But he was ready. The girl wasn't. She lost her grip on her branch as they fell, while Baylor held onto his rock.

Without thinking, he swung. The rock hit the girl's head once. Twice. She was thrashing beneath the water, but he held on. Held her under. Struck her again. And again. Blood began to flow, turning the river red. Still, he held on. He swung again.

And then a cannon sounded.

Startled, Baylor sprang back. A cannon. Distantly, he registered what that meant. A tribute had died. A tribute had been killed.

It took him a moment to realize which one.

Still in a bit of a daze from the blow to his head, Baylor stared at the body in front of him. As he watched, the current took hold of her body. But instead of dragging it out to the shore, the river carried her body inland. His vision was still blurry, but Baylor thought, for a moment, that he saw a cave. A cave filled with some sort of light. Then Cordelia's body was gone.

Instantly, the ground began to shake. Baylor scrambled out of the river as the mouth of the cave grew dark. Dark with smoke. Through the rain, he saw – or thought he saw – a pillar of smoke rising from the cave.

But then it was gone. It was over. Baylor pressed his hand to his head, trying to staunch the bleeding. The blow from the branch must have been worse than he'd thought. His ears were ringing.

No. Not ringing. There was a noise. A soft, pinging sound, almost drowned out by the rain, but unmistakable. A parachute. Baylor looked up in shock as the small package landed by his feet. Hesitantly, still not quite believing what had just happened, Baylor opened the package. Inside was a small compass, a long strip of bandage, and a note.

You earned it, kid.
P.S. No, it doesn't point north.
~ L.C.K.

L.C.K. Luck? No, Baylor realized with a smile. Lander, Carolina, and Kit. They were trying to help him. All of them. Baylor wrapped the bandage tightly around his head. Then he folded the note, stuffed it in one of his pockets, and turned the compass over in his hands.

It didn't point north.

"Okay," Baylor whispered. "Okay, Melody. It's okay. I'm coming to find you."

He started walking again.

Louis Soren, 14
District Eight

Finally, he had to stop.

Louis gasped for air as he slowed to a walk and, finally, simply stopped for a moment along the beach. "Stupid boots," he muttered as he took them off and emptied the water that had accumulated. His socks were uselessly drenched, and his jumpsuit, as well, was already soaked clean through. Whose idea was this, anyway? Why hadn't the Gamemakers given them wetsuits or something if they were going to drop them in the middle of a monsoon?

He didn't dare say so, though. The audience didn't want to see tributes who whined at the first bit of discomfort. And they certainly didn't want to see tributes insulting the Gamemakers. It was probably too soon to expect sponsors to send anything to help. And unless they were going to send him a ready-made shelter, he couldn't think of anything that would be particularly useful, anyway.

Shelter. He had to find shelter. So far, he had kept to the shore, but, by now, it was clear he wasn't going to find anything here. There was water, of course, but there wasn't exactly going to be a shortage of that anywhere. Louis sighed, put his boots back on, and rolled his pant legs down over the top in the hopes of keeping out some of the rain. It probably wouldn't do much good, but it was something.

And something was always better than nothing.

Louis took a deep breath and started heading inland. Once he crossed the tree line, the canopy above him shielded him from a little of the rain. Most still made its way through, but it wasn't the same steady pounding as it had been out in the open. Better than nothing.

Slowly, he trudged onwards, heading away from the cornucopia as much as he could. With any luck, the tributes there would decide to stay inside the hovercraft, where they would be safe from the rain. Better to put as much distance as possible between him and them before they realized the rain probably wasn't going to stop.

And why would it? The Gamemakers seemed intent on making sure the tributes were as miserable as possible. Why would the weather be the only exception?

It probably wasn't even raining wherever the 'normal' tributes were.

Wherever they were. Louis hadn't really given that much thought, aside from being grateful for the fact that there were fewer tributes in the same area who might want to kill him. He didn't have any allies to worry about. No one to find. No one to miss.

No one who would miss him.

Stop it. Louis kicked a tree branch out of his way. It didn't matter whether the other tributes in the arena would miss him. What mattered was the people back in District Eight. His family. His friends. He had to hold onto that, even if he was all alone here. Alone with a bunch of trees and rocks and—

Trees. Louis turned back towards the branch he'd kicked. Quickly, he broke off a few of the smaller twigs, leaving the branch about four feet tall. A staff. Maybe it wasn't much, but he felt better now that he had a weapon of sorts. The fact that he was armed might make other tributes less likely to attack him, even though any of them could easily find a similar weapon.

Louis turned the staff over in his hands. Was that why the Gamemakers had provided only wooden weapons during their private sessions? Had it been a hint?

How could he have missed it?

Horatio Connors, 15
District Three

How could they have missed it?

Horatio slowed to a stop as something caught his eye. Something along the tree line, just a little bit inland. A bit of earth that seemed … off. Different, somehow. Overturned, darker than the rest. Horatio approached as cautiously as he could, but there didn't seem to be any other tributes nearby.

Other had run this way, of course. He had seen the pair from Twelve in this direction, as well as one of the older boys. District Five, maybe? Horatio wasn't entirely sure why a Career would be running away from the cornucopia, but it was so hard to keep track of which Careers were in which alliance.

Not that it really mattered. They were all equally capable of killing him, if they happened to come across him now. But none of them seemed to be coming.

Finally, Horatio reached the strange patch of earth, nestled between a few trees. Some sort of plants were sprouting from the soil, only green shoots visible aboveground. Hesitantly, Horatio reached down and gave one of them a tug.

And more than green came out. Some sort of vegetable was attached to the end of the sprout. It was a little smaller than his fist, round, with a pointed tip at the lower end. Purple on top, turning to white at the bottom.

Horatio's mind raced. He was fairly sure the plant wasn't poisonous. But was he certain enough to test it? He turned it over in his hands. Would the Gamemakers really put a garden of poisonous plants so close to the cornucopia? What would be the point? No, surely the garden was meant to keep tributes here. Keep them close to the cornucopia, where the Careers would find them quickly. And, assuming that was the case, it was rather pointless for them to be poisonous.

Besides, he was hungry.

Horatio took a bite. Then another. It didn't taste poisonous. Not that he knew what poison tasted like, but he had always imagined that people would try to make something poisonous taste good. Not that the plants tasted bad – just rather bland. Mild. Harmless.

It certainly wasn't Capitol food, but he wasn't exactly in a position to be picky. Horatio pulled up as many of the plants as he figured he could reasonably carry, ate a few, and stuffed the rest in his pockets. In addition to the larger purple-and-white ones, there were also some smaller red ones, crisp and slightly spicier than the others. Horatio smiled as he stood up, brushing the sand from his rain-soaked jumpsuit. He wasn't about to be tricked into staying so close to the cornucopia, but at least now he knew where to come to get food, if he needed more later.

He was about to walk away when something else caught his eye. A wooden handle, sticking out of the ground. Horatio gave a tug, and a small, metal blade emerged from the sand. Horatio turned the object over in his hand. It looked more like a gardening tool than a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

Horatio scanned the ground one more time, looking for anything else that might be useful. There didn't seem to be anything, but what he had was more than enough for now. He had enough food to last a few days, at least, if he was careful. He had a weapon – or, at least, something he could use as a weapon in a pinch. And he knew where to come to get more supplies if he ran out.

So far, luck seemed to be on his side.

Elani Ingram, 14
District Eleven

So far, luck seemed to be on their side.

Elani gripped her allies' hands as the three of them trudged on. She hadn't let go of them, it seemed, since they'd fled the bloodbath. She didn't want to lose track of them in the blinding rain – not when Philus wouldn't be able to hear them if they got separated.

The fact that they were together at all seemed to be quite the stroke of luck. She hadn't seen any of the other 'non-replacement' tributes. Not that she'd seen many other tributes in general since they'd started running. One of the other girls had run the same way, but she was probably far ahead of them by now. Other than that, they had seen no one.

Not that she had a problem with that, of course. They were in no position to fend off an attack. So the fact that her allies were the only other tributes in sight was a comfort.

But why were they together?

All the other groups had been split apart – or not – based on whether the tributes were replacements or not. But not them. What made them special? Unless…

Elani nearly burst out laughing as she realized. But she caught herself in time; all that came out was a small chuckle. That was enough to grab Pan's attention, though. "What? What's so funny?" The younger boy stopped short, drawing Philus' attention, as well.

Elani broke into a grin. "Don't you get it – why we're together?"

Pan shrugged. "Because the Gamemakers put us together?"

Elani shook her head. "No. No, they didn't. We did." Both boys stared at her, uncomprehending, until Elani ran her fingers over where her hair should have been. "We chose to be part of this group – Philus and me. They only put us together because we asked them to, without realizing it."

Philus nodded his understanding, and Pan, too, was smiling. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was a little bit of hope. A little something to hold onto – the idea that maybe they did have some say in what happened to them.

Suddenly, Philus grabbed Elani's hand, pointing inland towards the trees. Elani squinted in the direction he was pointing. She couldn't see anything through the rain. "What is it, Philus?" she asked, but Philus simply pointed.

"You think we should go that way?" Pan asked, and Philus nodded emphatically. Elani shrugged. One direction was probably as good as another. And maybe there was something in the woods. Maybe Philus had seen something.

As they neared the edge of the trees, she saw it, too. Some sort of building, just beyond the tree line. A cabin of sorts. Pan started to run towards it, but Elani gripped his hand, holding him back. "We don't know what might be inside." Or who might be inside. Just because they had only seen one tribute running this way didn't mean no one else had come from a different direction.

But as they crept closer, Elani still saw no one. And when she ventured closer to the open door and poked her head inside the small cabin, there was still no one. Nothing. The cabin was bare except for an old lantern on a small wooden table, a rickety old wooden rocking chair, and a few cupboard drawers along one of the walls. A little exploring revealed that most of the drawers were empty, but one held a sack of potatoes, and a second a small knife.

Elani gripped the knife tightly as the other two quickly shed their wet boots and socks. "I don't think we should stay here."

"Can't we rest for a little while?" Pan suggested, choosing one of the potatoes. "The Careers won't be out hunting – not yet. Someone can stand guard tonight, and we can leave in the morning. Maybe by then the rain will stop."

Elani wasn't sure he was right about that. But he was right about needing rest. There were three of them. They were armed – with a potato knife, but it was better than nothing. They weren't likely to find a better place to rest for the night.

But if they stayed now, would she be able to convince them to leave later?

Delvin Flynn, 18
District Six

Sooner or later, they would have to leave.

Delvin eyed the hovercraft from his position just beyond the tree line. Staying so close to the cornucopia was risky, he knew, but it might be worth it. Eventually, the Careers would have to leave. And, by his count, there were only four of them. Even if they split up and left someone to guard the hovercraft while the rest of them went hunting, they could only leave one guard. Two, at the most. But probably one, unless there was something particularly important inside.

He had no doubt that there was something. The Gamemakers wouldn't leave the hovercraft unless there was something useful inside. Maybe some supplies hidden in the cockpit. At the very least, there were parts that could be used as weapons. And even if the Careers had the chance to loot it first, they couldn't take everything with them. And they might not think of everything. All he needed was a chance to look – a chance to find what they wouldn't see, what they would overlook.

But first they had to leave.

So far, the four of them had only emerged to place Ciere's body outside the hovercraft so it could be taken. But they hadn't killed Ciere; Delvin had seen that much before fleeing the cornucopia. The other girl from Four had nearly killed her by the time Delvin had run. And the only other body the hovercraft had retrieved had been farther down along the beach. The Careers in the hovercraft now hadn't been responsible for any deaths during the bloodbath.

Which meant they would be restless. Eager to do something. Sooner or later, they would have to leave. Then it would be his turn.

Delvin crouched a little lower. He might be waiting a while. The idea of staying in the hovercraft, where they were safe from the rain, obviously appealed to some of them – otherwise, they would have left already. But he had heard shouting not long after the bloodbath. Clearly, they didn't all agree on the best course of action.

It was only a matter of time before their impatience won out.

And he was in no hurry. The rest of his alliance was out there somewhere, of course, but, even if he wanted to go looking for them immediately, he had no idea where to start. They could be anywhere. He needed some sort of direction before he struck out blindly, or he would never find them.

Maybe there was something in the hovercraft. A map. Some sort of guidance system he could use to find the other hovercraft. Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe he would be better off not finding his alliance. Who knew if they were still alive? Who knew what sort of condition they might be in?

Who knew if they would even be happy to see him?

They had been split apart for a reason, after all. He was part of a different group. One of the replacements. He hadn't given much thought before to the fact that he was the only 'replacement' tribute in the group. But the Gamemakers had been trying from the beginning to drive a wedge between the two groups of tributes. What if it worked? What if the others wouldn't even want to find him?

What if he was alone?

Beckett Furlan, 16
District Ten

He was alone.

Beckett clenched his fists as he stumbled through the rain, trying not to trip over every branch in his path as he ran. Where were Indira and Shale? Where were the rest of the tributes?

And where were all the cannons?

There had only been seven. Six cannons during the bloodbath, and one shortly after. With forty-six tributes, that didn't seem nearly enough. There were still thirty-nine of them. Still thirty-eight other tributes to worry about.

But he couldn't worry about them all right now. For the moment, it seemed, he was safe. Either no one had seen which way he had run, or no one had been interested in chasing him. Not when there were other targets. More dangerous targets.

Larger groups.

Beckett stopped for a moment, catching his breath. Okay. Okay. First things first. He had water. Well, everyone had water. Water wasn't going to be a problem. Food, then. He glanced around, but the trees didn't seem to contain anything particularly appealing. Maybe some of the leaves or bark were edible, but he wasn't that desperate.

Not yet.

Shelter, maybe. Beckett staggered forwards again in the rain. There was a slope ahead. Rocky. Steep. That was probably as good a place as any. Better, maybe, since other tributes might prefer to avoid the strenuous climb. But years of manual labor had given him endurance, if nothing else. Beckett made his way to the slope and slowly began climbing.

About halfway up, he saw it. A hole in the rocks. A cave, maybe. Yes, he realized as he got closer. Not just one cave, but several. One was barely large enough for him to fit inside, but a second stretched back farther into the hill. Beckett quickly ducked inside, out of the rain.

Perfect.

Water. Shelter. Not bad for the first day. Not bad for being alone. Not bad, but not all that good, either. He had no food. No weapons. No means of protecting himself if another tribute happened to find him.

Beckett inched his way towards the back of the cave. Who would be looking here? He hadn't even been able to see that there were caves until he'd started climbing. Surely any groups that would be on the hunt would look somewhere a bit more accessible first. They probably wouldn't find him any time soon.

Probably.

Beckett peered out the mouth of the cave. He would be able to see them coming, if they did come looking. Quickly, he gathered a few of the rocks that lay around the mouth of the cave. It wasn't much – and certainly wouldn't be a match for a group of tributes with real weapons – but it was better than nothing.

Besides, he hadn't seen any real weapons. Or a real cornucopia. Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe these rocks were as good as it was going to get. Beckett smiled at the thought – the idea of a bunch of Careers running around hitting each other with rocks.

As long as they didn't start attacking him with rocks, it was a pretty amusing image. Beckett leaned back against the wall of the cave. The rain would have to let up sooner or later. He could stay here, get some rest, dry off, and head out again when the rain stopped. Indira and Shale were out there somewhere. Maybe they were even looking for him. But that could wait. It could all wait.

For now, he had what he needed.

Eleanor Marxs, 16
District Twelve

For now, they had what they needed.

Eleanor allowed herself a small smile as she and Barry scrambled over rock after rock. The coast had turned from sand to rocks after the shore had taken a sharp turn to the right. They'd had to slow their pace, but speed wasn't the most important thing right now. Neither was the rain that constantly pelted them. Or the waves lapping at the rocks, making them slippery. They already had the most important thing they needed.

They were still alive.

They had made it away from the bloodbath alive. Unharmed. And together. Everything else was secondary. Everything else could wait.

Well, everything except water, maybe, but there wasn't exactly a shortage of that. Eleanor cupped her hands to her mouth and took another drink. The water surrounding the island was salty, but the rainwater was fresh. She and Barry were both sopping wet, but at least they didn't have to worry about going thirsty.

Which probably meant finding food should be their next priority. She had been looking, of course, but, so far, had seen nothing but seaweed along the rocks. And while she seemed to recall something about certain varieties of seaweed being edible, neither of them was quite that desperate.

Not yet.

Eleanor shook her head. She couldn't quite imagine ever being that desperate. Brennan had mentioned eating rats during his Games. Raw. Bloody. Eleanor scrambled over another rock, trying not to imagine being that hungry. Being driven that far.

"Up there! Look!"

Eleanor turned to where Barry was pointing. Through the rain, she could see some sort of bird had landed on one of the larger rock faces. Without another word, Barry smirked, removed his boots, and quickly clambered up the steeper slope. Eleanor stayed at the bottom, watching. Waiting. Hoping he wouldn't slip. She saw him reach the top, stuff something in his pockets. Immediately, he scrambled back down, unharmed.

Eleanor bit her tongue, not wanting to admit she was impressed. That she would have hesitated a lot more than that before risking tumbling off that high a slope. And for what? "What did you find?"

Barry smiled, reached into his pocket, and produced two light brown, speckled eggs a little smaller than his fists. "Lunch."

Eleanor smiled, trying to hide her hesitation as Barry handed her one. He cracked his open immediately, drinking what was inside without any question about whether it was safe, whether or not he should. Not wanting to appear squeamish, Eleanor quickly did the same. The liquid inside was smooth and slimy, but surprisingly good.

Or maybe she was simply hungry.

Eleanor clapped Barry on the back. "Nice work." And, to her surprise, she meant it. Eggs weren't a source of food she would have considered. She would have assumed any mutts on the island would be too dangerous to steal eggs from. But Barry hadn't thought twice about the attempt, and it had paid off.

She just hoped their luck held out.

Zachary Travelle, 17
District Five

Their luck wouldn't hold out forever.

Zach watched from a distance as the pair from Twelve shared their meal. He should have attacked while he'd had the chance – while the boy had been climbing. He could have taken out the girl, then the boy as well once he climbed down. He could have.

But he hadn't.

He had hesitated. By the time he'd really considered it, the boy had been on his way down. It had been too late.

Another failed plan.

Zach clenched his teeth. He was keenly aware that his performance in the Games so far had been … well, less than perfect. He had run from the cornucopia, leaving Mavina to be killed by the other Career group. Jarlan and Imalia were nowhere to be found. And here he was, chasing the pair from Twelve, too cautious to make the first move.

But there were two of them. And he was alone. He hadn't expected to be alone – not this early on. He had expected to stay with his alliance until … well, he wasn't exactly sure, but longer than this. If only he had an ally with him – or even a weapon. Then he wouldn't have hesitated to attack.

Would he?

Zach shook the thought form his head. Of course he would have attacked. That was what he was trained for, after all. What he had volunteered for. It was only their advantage in numbers that was stopping him now. But, eventually, that would change. Sooner or later, they would have to rest. They would have to sleep.

Then he could make his move.

As far as he could tell, they didn't even have any idea they were being followed. He was watching from a little farther inland, near the tree line. Their attention wasn't on him. They were simply focused on getting as far away from the cornucopia as they could. But, eventually, they would tire.

And they would tire before he would.

Yes. Yes, that was the right choice. The right plan. Let them tire themselves out. Then attack when they were weaker. When they decided to stop for the night, when they decided to sleep – then he would be ready.

That would be his chance. His chance to make up for his failure during the bloodbath. Not that there was anything he could really have done differently. It wasn't his fault Jarlan and Imalia weren't in the same hovercraft. And what was he supposed to do to save Mavina? Stay and take on four other Careers by himself?

No. No, he had made the right choice. Not an impressive choice, but the right one. The safe one. He couldn't afford to play it safe forever, of course. Eventually, he would have to take a chance. But not yet. He didn't need to do anything risky just yet.

Camden hadn't fared so well during the bloodbath herself, he remembered. She had ended up alone, on the run from the other Careers. And she had managed to turn her luck around. So why couldn't he? All he needed was the right opportunity. An opportunity that was sure to present itself eventually.

All he had to do was be ready.

Kit Rawlins
District Eight Mentor

He had thought he was ready for this.

Kit huddled in a chair in the corner of the room, watching. Carolina and Lander had already come over to check on him – twice – but he didn't want to bother them. They were busy worrying about the tributes who were still alive. Adelia. Jediah. Ivira. Louis.

Baylor.

Kit sank deeper into his chair, wishing he could disappear. Carolina and Lander had already managed to send Baylor a gift. They had even attached his name to it alongside their own, but he had done nothing to help. He was just sitting here, too terrified to talk to the sponsors. Too afraid to talk to anyone. To say anything.

Because the last time he had said something…

Kit wrapped his arms around his chest. The last time he had said something, he had sparked a rebellion. A rebellion that had ended in death. So much death. So many lives destroyed forever – in the most brutal, horrifying ways – all because he hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut.

He hadn't meant to. He hadn't meant to get anyone killed. He had only meant to apologize – to apologize for the deaths of his allies. To say that he was sorry. But, once he had said that, it hadn't taken him long to say that he had been wrong to kill them. That he shouldn't have betrayed them, even when it seemed he had no other choice. That there had been another choice.

And people – hopeful, idealistic people – had latched onto that last idea. The idea that there was another choice. That tributes in the Games could simply choose not to kill each other. And that, if they did, the Gamemakers would have no choice but to honor that decision.

It was his fault. His fault the tributes last year had thought they had a chance. His fault their families had been executed. His fault the tributes had been tortured. His fault Avery had been forced to execute eleven of her allies. All of it – every blow, every drop of blood – it all came back to him.

He wished he could go back. Take back the hasty, careless words that had cost so many lives. But he couldn't. So the next best thing was to make sure no one ever died because of his words again.

"Mind if I join you?"

Kit nearly jumped in surprise. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed the other mentor approaching. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you," Nicodemus said gently. "I just wanted to come over and say hello. I know how rough mentoring for the first time can be, and I wanted you to know … well, I'm here if you need anything."

Kit looked away. Of all the people he didn't want to talk to, Nicodemus was pretty high on the list. What had happened to him … Kit was partially responsible. If the tributes hadn't rebelled, if Snow hadn't ordered their families' execution, Nicodemus would never have been harmed.

And the fact that he was being so kind now only made it worse. Only served as a reminder that he hadn't deserved what had happened. He was offering his support despite everything that had happened to him, and despite the fact that Kit's tribute had just killed one of his own. Cordelia had attacked Baylor, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he had killed her. That Cordelia was dead. That three of District Six's tributes were now dead.

Nicodemus laid a crooked hand gently on Baylor's shoulder. "If you want to be alone, I understand. Part of the reason I came over here, I suppose. It was a bit too crowded over there. Being with so many other people who share the same experience, the same pain … it can be overwhelming. But it can also be healing. And sometimes it can be both at the same time." He smiled a little. "Just know that whenever you're ready … we're here."

With that, he turned and slowly wheeled back the way he had come. Kit closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions of the chair. He wasn't ready. Maybe he would never be ready. How could he be? How could he accept their support, when he couldn't forgive himself? He didn't deserve the comfort they were offering.

He deserved to be alone.

"We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out … It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're going to survive here."