Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Results of the "favorite district" poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll up on my profile, this time asking which alliances are your favorites. Because of the somewhat shifting nature of alliances, some tributes are included more than once in different combinations of groups. Read the chapter first, though, because some of that shifting is going on here.

Day Two
Chain of Events

Kalypso Wayland
District Four Mentor

"At least one of our tributes knows what she's doing."

Kalypso smiled, satisfied, as Imalia, Indira, and Shale searched the cabin for anything useful. They didn't manage to find anything the younger tributes from Eleven hadn't, but what they did have would be enough for now. A knife, a crowbar, a sack of potatoes, a lantern.

And, more importantly, two kills.

Not two particularly impressive kills, perhaps. The younger tributes had never really posed a threat. But a kill – any kill – meant one less tribute in the Games. And that brought District Four one step closer to victory.

Meanwhile, Jarlan seemed to be taking a few steps backwards, a fact that certainly wasn't lost on his mentor. Bierce drummed his fingers on the table, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for Jarlan's actions. "Maybe he figures Delvin has some sort of expertise that would be useful. District Six – transportation. Maybe he can figure out how to fly the hovercraft."

Kalypso rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes. Because he's from District Six, he must be a technological genius. That's definitely how it works. And, in any case, do you think the Gamemakers would leave them a fully functioning hovercraft? I'm sure they've done something to disable it."

Bierce shrugged. "And there's no way the Gamemakers would let tributes ride around on giant eagles, either." He nodded towards Harakuise and Camden.

"Point taken," Kalypso conceded. But Delvin hadn't exactly seemed interested in the possibility of flying the hovercraft. Mostly, he seemed grateful to be alive. Grateful that Jarlan hadn't killed him when he'd had the chance.

When he'd had the chance. He'd had the opportunity to rid their alliance of a considerable opponent. Instead, Jarlan was now the only living tribute from District Four without a kill to his name. Kalypso shook her head. "It just reminds me a bit too much of last year. Making allies instead of killing opponents. The whole 'join us or die' option. He has to know the audience will make a connection."

"He's no rebel."

"You know that. And I know that. But what about the audience? What are they going to think? Hell, what's Imalia going to think when they get back and find they've got another ally instead of a corpse?"

"She didn't seem to have any issue with Indira and Shale," Bierce pointed out. "What's the difference?"

Kalypso hesitated. What was the difference? It wasn't as if it was the final eight or anything. There were still three dozen tributes left in the arena. Their pack could certainly use an extra member. Finally, she decided what the real problem was. "I don't trust him. Shale and Indira – they asked to be part of the group. Delvin only agreed because the other option was Jarlan killing him. What makes you think he won't turn on them the moment a better opportunity presents itself?"

Bierce shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure he would. So would any of us – that's why we're still sitting here, alive. But, for now, he doesn't really have any better options. His former allies are on the other side of the arena, and they're not exactly looking for him. And we just saw how well he does on his own. This alliance is as good for him as it is for them – if not better. And as long as that remains the case, he'll stay."

He was probably right. "I just hope they watch their backs." Unlike Mavina and Auster.

Bierce smiled. "They will. You trained Imalia well."

Kalypso nodded. Imalia had always been a promising student. When she'd volunteered a year early, Kalypso had admittedly had her doubts, figured that another year of training might have done her good. But with the training center gone … maybe it was better to take her chances now.

Maybe things would work out, after all.

Barry Zephir, 15
District Twelve

Maybe he had been imagining things, after all.

Barry stretched his arms as he sat down next to Eleanor. Five minutes, she had said. It had been at least ten. Maybe fifteen or twenty. And nothing had happened. No one had come. If someone was following them – if someone did want to attack – wouldn't it make sense to do it while one of them was asleep?

Barry yawned, stretching a little more. He had half a mind to wake Eleanor and ask her to watch for five minutes – or maybe ten – while he got a little sleep. He hadn't realized until they'd stopped just how tired he was, how sore his legs were from hours of scrambling over the rocky shore. And it wasn't as if they were going to find a better place to rest. The sky was growing lighter, so they would be able to see if anyone did decide to attack.

Maybe stopping hadn't been such a bad idea.

Not that he would ever admit that to Eleanor, of course – or to the cameras. It was bad enough that she had called his bluff, bad enough that she had known he wasn't serious about splitting up. Maybe she was a bit unprepared, but any company was better than going it alone. Especially so early in the Games.

Eventually, he would have to go it alone. One way or another, they would be separated. Either one of them would die, or they would eventually get to the point where they had to split up. Peacefully, he hoped. He couldn't imagine trying to kill Eleanor.

Then again, no one went into the Games expecting to kill their allies. If they did, no one would have allies in the first place. There was probably always that unspoken hope that circumstances would separate them before it came to that. But if not…

Barry shook the thought from his head. That was a long way away. It was only the second day of the Games – and very early on the second day, at that. There were still thirty-six tributes left.

Thirty-six. The same number of tributes as Brennan's year. Barry smiled a little. Maybe it wasn't much of an accomplishment, but it was something. Ten tributes gone, and both of them were still alive.

But the Games were still far from over.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Barry thought he saw something. Movement. Behind one of the rocks. Immediately, he shook Eleanor awake – but not quickly enough. Before either of them could fully react, a boy burst out from behind one of the larger boulders, rock in hand.

"Run!" Barry shouted, but he already knew that was useless. He was barely on his feet by the time the boy reached them. But that was more than he could say for Eleanor, who was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, dazed. The boy dove for his easier target first, striking Eleanor's head with his rock. Without thinking, Barry leapt onto the boy's back, but the older boy shook him off without much effort, throwing him backwards onto the rocks.

But that was enough to get the boy's attention. Abandoning Eleanor, he threw himself at Barry, flinging him down harder against the rocks. Barry could feel blood as his head struck the stones. The boy's hands closed around his neck.

Barry thrashed. No. No, he couldn't let it end like this. Not now. Not so soon. But the older boy's grip was tightening.

It wouldn't be long now.

Zachary Travelle, 17
District Five

It wouldn't be long now.

Zach squeezed harder. Tighter. What was taking so long? Why wouldn't the boy just die?

Suddenly, something struck the back of his head. Hard. Zach turned, startled, and, in his surprise, let go of the boy's throat. That was the opportunity the boy needed. As Zach turned to face his second attacker, the boy leapt at Zach, wrapping an arm around his neck.

This time, he didn't let go.

Panicked, Zach struggled to pry the boy's arm away with one hand while still keeping the girl at bay with the other. But the girl was quicker than she looked. With the rock in one hand – Zach's rock, still wet with her own blood – she ducked beneath Zach's reach, trying to circle around behind him.

Instinctively, Zach threw himself backwards, slamming the boy against the rocks. A cry of pain erupted from the boy as he finally loosened his grip. Zach rammed him against the rocks once more, and, this time, the boy let go. But, in that moment, the girl dove for Zach's legs. Too late, he tried to kick her away, but she had already gripped one of his legs. The extra weight threw him off-balance, and the two tumbled down in a heap.

Zach kicked at the girl until she let go, but, by then, it was too late. The boy was on his chest, a rock in his hand. Zach caught the boy's hand as the rock came down, but he couldn't stop both him and the girl. As he held the boy at bay, the girl's hands wrapped around his throat.

Quickly, Zach let go of the boy, clutching wildly at his throat in an attempt to free himself from the girl's grasp. But, even as he did, the rock struck him in the temple. For a moment, everything went fuzzy. Zach gasped, but the girl was squeezing. Harder. Harder.

Not like this.

The rock struck again, and Zach could taste blood. He kicked. Thrashed. But the girl's grip held firm, and the rock struck again.

Everything was getting blurry. Or maybe that was the rain. Filling his eyes, his mouth. Zach sputtered, trying to cough, but he couldn't get enough air. Everything seemed to be growing colder. Darker.

It wasn't fair.

Or maybe it was. He wasn't sure anymore. He had been trying to kill them. Why shouldn't he have expected them to do the same? And there were two of them. One of him. That was fair, wasn't it? Two lived; one died.

None of it made sense anymore.

Maybe it never had.

Far off in the distance, he thought he heard the sound of shouting. People – so many angry people. A mob, like the one that had taken Allison from him. Allison. For a moment, he thought he saw her again. Thought he heard her call his name.

But it was probably just the cannon.

Eleanor Marxs, 16
District Twelve

Both of them breathed a sigh of relief as the cannon sounded.

Eleanor collapsed back onto the rocks, exhausted. Her head ached. Blood covered the rocks – hers, Barry's, Zach's. Barry was clutching his side. Her shoulder throbbed where the older boy had kicked her. But the pain almost felt good.

Because it meant she was still alive.

Eleanor grasped Barry's hand as the pair of them simply lay there, catching their breaths. "Thirty-five," Barry gasped, his voice a bit wheezy. Eleanor simply nodded back. Thirty-five tributes left.

And they were still alive.

Finally, the two of them sat up. "You were right," Eleanor admitted, wincing in pain as she clutched her shoulder. "We were being followed. I should have listened. If we hadn't stopped—"

Barry shook his head. "We would have had to stop eventually. If it hadn't been here, it would have been somewhere else. Sooner or later, he would have attacked. At least this way … this way, it's over with."

Over with. The other boy was dead. They had killed him.

Eleanor clenched her fists. Clearly, he'd had no qualms about killing them. Why should they feel any differently? It wasn't as if they'd wanted a fight. Wasn't as if they'd attacked him. He was going to kill them. It had been their lives or his.

But she still couldn't help a queasy feeling in her stomach as she looked at the body. He didn't look anywhere near as threatening now. He wasn't much older than her. Stronger, yes, but not as different, not as monstrous, as she would have thought.

He was just a boy.

Eleanor shook her head. A boy who would have killed her. Would have killed Barry. Had tried to kill them. Had almost succeeded. He didn't deserve their pity.

Did he?

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle pinging noise – quiet amid the rain, but unmistakable. Eleanor looked up, grinning. They had done it! Someone had decided to sponsor them!

The parachute was small, the package fitting easily in the palm of her hand. Eleanor turned it over. What could be inside? Her fingers fumbled with the package, the rain making it slippery, but, finally, she got it open. Inside was a single piece of paper, folded twice. Eleanor's hands were trembling as she opened the paper.

What lies in the shadow of the statue?

Eleanor stared at the paper, confused. She handed it to Barry, but he simply shook his head. "What statue?"

"No idea," Eleanor admitted. She glanced around, not quite sure what she was looking for. Maybe another parachute. A second clue. Some hint about what the message really meant.

Then she saw it – in the distance, along the beach. It was a statue – too far away to see clearly, but unmistakably different from the rocks they'd found so far. It was tall, shaped like a man. Or a woman. There was no way to tell – not without venturing closer.

Which was clearly what they were meant to do.

Slowly, the pair got to their feet. "All right," Eleanor nodded. "We get to the statue. We find whatever's in its shadow. Then we can rest. Deal?"

Barry nodded. "Deal." Eleanor smiled.

At least they had some idea where they were going.

Baylor Alanis, 14
District Eight

He wished he knew where he was going.

Baylor brushed the water from the face of the compass and tried to hold it as flat as he could. He had been hoping that perhaps if he changed its position a little, it wouldn't lead him up the slope that now lay in front of him. But the needle never wavered. Whoever had sent it, they wanted him to climb.

"All right, then," Baylor muttered, tucking the compass in his pocket. "Let's go." He felt a bit silly talking to himself, but what harm did it do? Besides, if the Gamemakers hadn't wanted him to end up talking to himself, then they shouldn't have separated him from Melody.

Melody. The thought made Baylor climb a little faster. He had assumed from the start that the compass was leading him to her, and he had to keep hoping that was true. Hoping that she was still alive. She had been last night; her face hadn't appeared in the sky. But there had been four cannons since then…

Baylor shook his head. Four wasn't that many. Not really. Not when there had been forty-six of them at the start. Thirty-nine left after the anthem last night. Four cannons since then. What were the chances that one of them had been Melody's?

After all, none of them had been his. And if he could make it, so could she. If he could survive, if he could fight, if he could kill, then she could, too.

If he could kill. Baylor reached into his pocket, his hand closing around one of the stones he had tucked there for safekeeping. The extra weight was tiring, but he felt a little safer knowing that they were there. Knowing that, when it came down to it, he could do what had to be done.

He hadn't wanted to. He had never wanted to kill anyone. But there had been no avoiding it. He had done everything he could. He had tried to calm the girl down. He had even offered her an alliance. But she had refused. She had attacked him.

What was he supposed to do?

Baylor swallowed hard, blinking against the rain as he stopped to rest on the slope. As far as the Capitol was concerned, he had done exactly what he was supposed to do. He had fought. He had killed. Because that was what they were here for, after all.

And he had gotten his reward. If he hadn't killed Cordelia, the sponsors would never have sent him a gift. He wouldn't have even a slight chance of finding Melody again. All because, when his life was on the line, he'd been able to kill.

But what about when it wasn't?

Baylor started climbing again. He didn't want to think about that. Not yet. When he'd killed Cordelia, he had only been defending himself. He didn't want to think about doing what she had done – about attacking someone who hadn't done anything to him.

One step at a time.

Baylor clenched his teeth. He had taken the first step. And, clearly, the audience was satisfied with that for now. But, eventually, it wouldn't be enough. Eventually, he would have to take the next step.

People notice.

Baylor plunged forward into the rain, up the steep slope. People were watching. The audience was watching. He had their attention now. But if he wanted to keep it, he would have to prove that he was ready to take that next step. That he was willing to take an opportunity if it arose.

But was he?

Nadine Olliston, 14
District Six

Where was he?

Nadine glanced around in the rain, as if doing so would somehow make Aleron appear. The others were starting to wake up – those who had been able to fall asleep, at least. Even before Aleron had gone missing, she hadn't slept much. She was too wet. Too cold. Too hungry.

She was no stranger to hunger, of course. But even when her family had struggled to put food on the table, they'd always had a roof over their heads. The rain hadn't been particularly cold during the day, but overnight, it had turned colder. Things were starting to warm up again, but it would be easier to stay warm if they were dry.

But it was no use saying so. They all wanted to be dry, but, for now, they had no shelter. They would just have to keep going until they found something.

But not everyone wanted to leave. "Maybe we should stay a little longer," Evander suggested. "If we leave, and Aleron comes back here, he won't be able to find us."

"If he comes back here," Adelia pointed out. She didn't say the rest, but everyone knew what she meant. There had been three cannons since Aleron had gone missing. If one of them had been his…

Nadine swallowed hard. If one of them had been his, then there was no point in waiting around for him to come back. And if he was still alive, he'd had plenty of time to find them. The longer they stayed in one place, the better their chances that any tribute would find them – not just Aleron. And the longer they did nothing, the more likely the Gamemakers were to send mutts after them or drive tributes their way just to spice things up a bit.

But no one wanted to make the first move. No one wanted to be the one to point out that Aleron might very well be dead. That they might be waiting for nothing. That they had to think about what was best for all of them, not just their wayward ally who had wandered off for no apparent reason.

No one wanted to say that maybe they didn't need him. That maybe they were even better off without him.

But someone needed to do something.

Her mind made up, Nadine jumped to her feet, pointed downhill away from the cornucopia, and shouted. "Look! Do you see that?" Then, without another word of explanation, she took off.

The others sprang up and hurried to catch up, calling after her. "Wait! See what? What do you see?"

Nadine didn't answer. She simply ran faster. "Come on!" she called after a moment. "Hurry! We're almost there!"

She didn't see anything, of course. But they needed a push. A reason to start moving. And, after losing Aleron, they wouldn't simply let her run off. That was what she had been counting on, and, as Nadine glanced behind her, she could see it had paid off. Even Evander was following, his concern for Aleron overshadowed by his fear of losing someone else, too.

She just hoped there was something worth finding up ahead.

Elizabet Brower, 15
District Ten

She just hoped the creatures tasted better than they looked.

Elizabet sat down on a large rock next to Fallon, exhausted. After resting for the night, they had spent most of the morning searching for food. Their first attempt at making a fishing net had failed. So had the second. And the third. Just as they had been about to give up and venture into the jungle in search of food, Fallon had spotted some sort of small, shelled creature growing along some of the rocks. After collecting several pockets full of them, they were finally sitting down to eat.

Elizabet tried to pry one open, but the shells were too slippery in the rain. Finally, she simply shrugged, then slammed the shell against the rock. A few pieces broke off, and Elizabet slowly started to peel away the outside. Inside, the creature was a light brown, wet and slimy, a little smaller than her palm. Elizabet winced as she plucked the creature from the shell. Fallon had done the same, but was still waiting. Neither of them wanted to be the first to try it.

"On three?" Elizabet suggested, and Fallon nodded. Elizabet turned the creature over in her hand. "One. Two. Three." She stuffed it in her mouth.

Immediately, she had to fight the urge to spit it out. The creature was slimy. Smooth. And it tasted almost as bad as she'd imagined. But she forced herself to chew. To swallow. Because, for the moment, it was the only food they had. And they were in no position to be picky. Elizabet smiled a little, hoping to convince the sponsors that the little critter was delicious.

"Not bad," Fallon said at last, though she, too, was clearly faking enjoyment. "Almost like mushrooms."

Yes, that was about right. Wet, slimy mushrooms mixed with saltwater. But it was better than nothing. Elizabet opened another. Then another. By the fifth one, they didn't seem to taste quite so bad. And at least there were plenty of them; they weren't likely to go hungry anytime soon.

And they were still alive.

Elizabet smiled a little despite the slimy food. Morning must be nearly over by now. Morning on the second day of the Games. And she and Fallon were still alive. They had food. They had water. Neither of them was hurt. All in all, they were doing pretty well so far.

"We should keep going," Elizabet suggested once they had both eaten their fill. "We can collect more along the way; the rocks seem to be full of them up ahead. But we should keep putting distance between us and…"

She trailed off, but Fallon nodded anyway. They hadn't seen anyone following them, but that didn't mean there wasn't anyone nearby. Any progress they made would be a good thing. One by one, Elizabet tossed the empty shells back into the ocean. "A big pile of shells might give them a trail to follow," she explained.

Fallon nodded and tossed away her shells, as well. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

Elizabet shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't have thought of eating these things. So I guess we're even." She clapped Fallon on the back. "Ready to go?"

Fallon nodded. "Ready."

Calantha Harlyn, 16
District Ten

She wasn't ready to get up.

Calantha rolled over sleepily, trying to find a more comfortable position. Some place on the ground that wasn't sopping wet. Some patch of dirt that hadn't already turned to mud. She just wanted a few minutes of sleep. Just ten. Maybe even five. But it was clear by now that she wasn't going to get it.

Slowly, Calantha sat up and leaned back against the nearest tree. Her clothes, her skin, her hair – it was all caked with mud. Calantha sighed. It wouldn't take long for the rain to wash it away.

Sleepily, she cupped her hands and drank a little rainwater. But the mud on her hands made the water dirty. Still, it was better than nothing. Slowly, she stood up. She knew she should go somewhere. Nothing good ever happened to tributes who stayed in one place too long. But where was she supposed to go?

Calantha rubbed her eyes. She wasn't even sure which way the cornucopia was – or which direction would lead her away from it. She had no desire to go back to the cornucopia, but she certainly didn't want to find herself back there by accident. She glanced up, looking for the sun. For some hint of which way she had come, which way she should go. But the sun was hidden. Her footprints, by now, had all been washed away.

Calantha closed her eyes, listening. Finally, she could hear something over the rain – the sound of waves crashing against the shore. She turned to face it, hesitant. She had been heading inland; she was pretty sure of that. But if she could find the shore – if she could get out of the jungle – then she might be able to get a better look around, get her bearings.

But would there be more tributes that way?

Slowly, she took a step towards the shore. Then another. Suddenly, she stopped. She had thought – for a moment – that she had seen something, in the trees off to her left. Calantha glanced around. If there was another tribute, there was probably only one. The Careers would have attacked by now. Domingo would show himself. So it was someone else.

Calantha's mind raced. Who else had run this way? Slowly, she reached down to pick up a nearby branch. But, even as she did, a girl sprang from behind the trees. Calantha screamed and tried to run, but the other girl was faster. A rock struck Calantha in the back as she ran, throwing her off-balance long enough for the other girl to tackle her. They both fell to the ground, the other girl on top. Calantha felt something strike the back of her head.

Then everything went dark.

India Telle, 17
District Three

There was no cannon.

India took a step back, eyeing the girl. Not dead – not yet. Just unconscious. She would be dead soon, of course. After India decided what sort of death would give the audience the best show.

She had to be careful, though. When the girl woke up, she might scream. And screams might attract the Careers. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Not when she didn't even have a real weapon. Okay. So that was the first step: make sure the girl couldn't scream.

Cautiously, India approached the girl, removed one of her boots, and slipped off one of her socks. Then she opened the girl's mouth and stuffed the sock inside. Okay. That was a start. India sighed, eyeing the rock she'd hit the girl over the head with. "All right, then. If you want me to do something besides bash her head in with a rock, now's the time to say so."

As if in answer, a soft pinging filled the air. India glanced up, smirking, as a parachute floated down. Inside was a small knife – almost a scalpel – and a coil of thick, rough rope.

India clenched her teeth. It was clear what they wanted. They wanted her to show what she was capable of. To do something clever or creative – not to simply slit the girl's throat with the knife.

India turned the rope over in her hands. First things first. Quickly, efficiently, she tied the girl's hands and feet. Then she propped the girl's limp form up against the nearest tree and bound her in place. By that time, she was stirring. The girl started to thrash as India pulled the rope tighter. Her tied hands flailed, but India caught them, pulled them over her head, and used the last of the rope to bind them to the tree.

"All right, then," India said at last, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "Where should we start?" The girl simply stared back, her eyes wide and frightened, struggling as much as she could against the ropes. India forced herself to look. The Capitol didn't want to see squeamishness. They didn't want to see a predator who shrank from her prey.

But, now that it came to it, she wanted nothing more than to simply stab the girl and run.

No. No, that was too easy. They hadn't sent her a weapon – a real weapon – so that she could make a clean, quick kill. If they'd wanted that, she could simply have strangled the girl as she lay unconscious, or smashed her head with a rock. That would have been simple. That would have been painless.

That would have been kind.

But she couldn't afford to be kind – not with the whole Capitol watching. They were waiting for her. India took a step forward, and the girl flinched away in terror. India gripped her scalpel. Start with something small. Casually – or, at least, she hoped she looked casual – she took a clump of the girl's hair and cut it off near the scalp. Then another. Then another. Soon, she looked just like one of the replacement tributes.

That helped – changing her appearance. It made her less human, somehow. Almost like an animal. And that made it a bit better – what she was about to do. India knelt down at the girl's side and forced herself to smile.

The sock only muffled the screams.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

The screams were muffled.

Domingo crouched lower behind a tree. The rain was pounding, but the screams were unmistakable. Someone was dying. Someone nearby. Someone…

Domingo clenched his fists. It could be anyone. He had no reason to care. Not really. It was the Hunger Games. Tributes died. That was how the Games worked.

But did they have to die so loudly?

Slowly, Domingo crept closer and closer to the screams. Maybe he didn't know who was screaming, but it might be someone he knew. It might be Calantha. It might even be Audra. Audra had let him go, spared his life when she'd had no reason to. If there was a chance he could save her now…

For once, Domingo was grateful for the rain; any noise he was making was almost certainly covered up. So was his gasp as he finally saw what was happening. Calantha sat tied to a tree, her hands bound over her head, her hair cut off and something stuffed in her mouth. Blood soaked through her jumpsuit from slices to her arms and legs. A girl knelt at her side, drawing the knife slowly across her stomach.

Domingo closed his eyes, trying to convince himself not to do anything stupid. Not to attack. The girl was armed. He had no weapon. And what would he be able to accomplish? Calantha was already as good as dead.

There was no point in him being dead, too.

Suddenly, Domingo heard another sound – a strange, almost metallic clicking. His eyes shot open in time to see a column of smoke, right behind him. Domingo ducked, but he wasn't the target. As he watched, the smoke swooped forward, grabbed hold of the other girl, and lifted her into the air. She screamed, but that did nothing to stop the smoke from slamming her down against the ground. Her body went limp.

But there still wasn't a cannon.

Immediately, Domingo rushed forward, grabbed the knife from the girl's hand, and gripped it tightly. "Wait!" the girl gasped. "Wait, please! It's not fair! I did everything they wanted. I—"

Whatever the rest of the sentence was going to be, she didn't get the chance to finish it. Domingo plunged the knife into her neck, then hurried over to Calantha as the cannon sounded. "Are you all right?"

Calantha barely seemed to hear him. "Domingo? How did you…? She was going to…"

"It doesn't matter," Domingo said quietly. "You're safe. You're gonna be fine."

But, even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Her wounds were deeper than they'd looked from a distance. Blood pooled around her on the ground. It was a wonder she was still alive. As quickly as he could, Domingo cut her free. Immediately, her body drooped limply into his arms. Calantha smiled a little. "Thank you."

Then the cannon sounded.

Domingo swallowed hard, fighting back tears. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't saved her. He hadn't even stepped in until the smoke had already—

The smoke. Domingo looked around, but it was gone. He glanced over at the other girl. What had she meant? I did everything they wanted. Had someone told her to go after Calantha? What had Calantha ever done to anyone?

She was right, Domingo thought as he stood up and made his way to the other girl's body. It wasn't fair. What she had done wasn't fair.

Frustrated, Domingo gave the girl's body a kick. Then another. Harder. A little too hard. He slipped in the rain, falling forward onto the body. But as he caught himself, his hand hit something. Something metal. The body was lying on top of something. Domingo quickly rolled it out of the way, then brushed away some of the mud, revealing some sort of metal door in the ground. Domingo pulled on the handle, and the door gave way, revealing a tunnel leading down into the earth.

Domingo stared. Was this why the smoke had attacked her? Had it been protecting this? Or had it meant for someone to find it? Meant for him to find it? Calantha's death, the other girl's death – Had it all been orchestrated so that he could find this?

Had there been a reason for all of it?

Horatio Connors, 15
District Three

There had to be a reason for all the rain.

Horatio sat huddled beneath a large tree, eating one of the plants he'd found in the garden, wishing the rain would just stop. By now, all the tributes who didn't have shelter were certainly soaked. By now, they were all miserable. So why didn't the rain just stop? What further purpose could it possibly serve? They couldn't really be any more wet and cold and tired than they already were. Maybe it had been a clever idea at the start, but now it was just redundant. Pointless.

Unless…

Immediately, Horatio stood up, staring out at the water. It did seem a little closer than before. But he had to be sure. Slowly, Horatio crept back closer to the hovercraft on the beach. The Careers were gone – they had left in the early morning, going the other direction – but, still, he didn't dare venture close. Just close enough to confirm his theory.

But that was enough. When the hovercraft had first landed, it had been resting on the shore. Now it stood in a good half-inch or so of water. Which wasn't much water, perhaps – for now – but it meant he was right.

It meant he had to get to higher ground.

Immediately, Horatio made his way back to the garden. There, he stuffed as many vegetables as he could carry into his pockets. There was no telling how soon the garden might be underwater. How soon the whole island might be underwater.

Stop it. Horatio shook his head. It had taken more than a day for the water to creep up from the ocean to where the hovercraft stood, and, even then, it wasn't very deep. He still had time. But there was no harm in getting a head start. There was no harm in finding a better position now.

Horatio glanced around. Uphill. He had to head uphill. His mind made up, he started making his way towards the nearest slope. The whole ground was wet and slippery, but the slope looked even worse. If he fell…

Horatio shook the thought from his head. If he fell, the slope wasn't steep enough to do any real harm. And it wasn't as if there were sharp rocks at the bottom. No, he had no reason not to go up.

He started to climb.

He didn't see the caves until he had almost reached them. There seemed to be several, but one was decidedly bigger than the others. Horatio hesitated a moment. What if there was something in the caves? What if there was someone in the caves?

But it was worth it. Worth the risk to get out of the pouring rain. Horatio took a deep breath, pulled his small blade from his pocket, and approached the mouth of the cave. He didn't see anyone. Which could mean there was no one – or that they were hidden. Horatio held up his weapon. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just looking for somewhere to rest."

And, to his surprise, a voice answered.

Beckett Furlan, 16
District Ten

"Come on in."

Beckett took a step forward out of the shadows. The other boy stepped hesitantly into the cave, his fear clearly outweighed by his desire to escape the rain. He clutched something tightly in his hands, but, from what Beckett could tell, it looked more like a gardening trowel than a weapon. Maybe it would be useful in a pinch, but the boy didn't look particularly eager to use it. And Beckett had no intention of giving him a reason to.

Beckett held up his hands in what he hoped was a clearly non-threatening manner. "I'm Beckett. What's your name?"

"Horatio."

"District Three?"

The boy nodded. "And you?"

"District Ten." Beckett took a step closer. "I can't say this is the best place to rest, but it's a lot better than nothing. And there's plenty of room. You're welcome to join me." Beckett smiled, but, inside, he was trembling. If the other boy did want to fight, he wasn't really sure who would win. Beckett was stronger, but Horatio had a weapon.

"Join you?" the boy repeated. "Like … an alliance?"

Beckett nodded. "If you want." His own allies were nowhere to be found, after all. Making a new one might be a good place to start. And the only other choice was a fight. Both of them knew there was no simply walking away from this sort of situation.

"Why would you want me as an ally?" Horatio asked skeptically.

Beckett shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? You're smart enough to still be alive. You've managed to find a weapon. And unless those bulges in your pockets are rocks, you also found some sort of food."

Horatio nodded. "That would seem to put me in a pretty good position, I suppose. So why would I want you as an ally?"

Beckett took another step closer. He was a few inches and probably thirty or forty pounds larger than the other boy. The advantages of having him as an ally were fairly obvious. But if the other boy wanted him to spell it out, he would. "Protection. Shelter. Two of us can defend this cave better than one, if anyone else comes along. But if you'd rather fight…"

"No," Horatio said quickly, lowering his weapon. "No, you're right. It would be better if we worked together. And it's just you?"

Beckett nodded. "It's just me. My allies were in the other hovercraft. I don't know where they are – or if they're even looking for me." He shook his head. "What about you? Did you have allies?"

Horatio shook his head. "Didn't see the point. But now … maybe it's not such a bad idea after all." He dug in his pockets, pulled out a turnip, and tossed it to Beckett. "Allies?"

Beckett grinned as he caught the turnip. "Allies."

Melody Anson, 15
District Nine

Maybe she should have found more allies when she'd had the chance.

Melody kicked a rock as she wandered through the jungle, no longer even sure exactly which way she had come. Stopping for the night had disoriented her, and in the rain, all the trees were beginning to look alike.

Melody clenched her fists. When Baylor had told her they might be separated, she should have suggested that they try to join one of the other alliances, offering their new information in return for being allowed in. That way, at least they wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't be alone.

But she hadn't thought of it. And, if Baylor had, he had said nothing. Both of them had assumed it would be fairly easy to find each other again. But it had been more than a day. Baylor was still alive – or, at least, he had been the night before – but she had no way of knowing whether she was any closer to finding him.

It would almost be easier if he were dead. Horrible, but easier. Easier than continuing on with no real idea of where to find him, but not wanting to give up the search in case he was still looking for her.

But was he? Was he even looking, or had he found new allies? With no idea of where to find her, would he still be searching, or focusing on keeping himself alive?

She wished she knew. Wished that Crispin would send her something – some hint about what she should do next. But her mentor and the sponsors had been silent. No one was interested in one girl wandering around the jungle.

Suddenly, Melody stopped. Looked around. She had thought – for a moment – that she had heard something. Some sort of sound. Maybe a mutt. Maybe another tribute. She listened closer. Yes. Yes, there was something. Above the rain and the wind. Something that sounded almost like … crying.

Cautiously, Melody followed the sound. Maybe it was Baylor. Maybe he had found her. Maybe…

But it wasn't. As she neared the edge of the jungle, Melody could see him. One of the younger boys – District Eleven, she was pretty sure. Sitting alone at the edge of the trees, sobbing.

Melody clenched her fists. This was her chance. Her chance to get their attention. The sponsors. Her mentor. All she had to do was kill him.

Melody swallowed hard. The thought made her sick. The boy hadn't done anything to her. He had no food. No supplies. And, from the look of it, no allies.

Melody took a step closer. No allies. That wasn't right. She recognized the boy. The other two from Eleven – they had always been with him during training. She remembered the three of them – wandering from station to station together, cutting off each other's hair so they would all look the same. She didn't remember seeing their faces in the sky.

So where were the others? Whatever had happened to them, it hadn't been very long ago. Not if he was still crying for them.

Melody brushed the rain out of her eyes. Yes, that was all it was. Just rain. She couldn't afford to cry, too – not if she was going to kill him.

Melody took a step closer. Then another. The boy didn't seem to notice her at all. Soon, she was right behind him. The perfect position to attack.

But she didn't. She couldn't. Not like this. Instead, she knelt down beside him and gave his shoulder a little shake. "Are you okay?"

The boy practically jumped up, startled. How had he not heard her? His eyes were wide with terror as Melody held up her hands. "It's all right. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy stared for a moment, wide-eyed. He pointed to Melody, then to himself, then back to her. It took Melody a moment to put the pieces together, but, once she did, she nodded. Then she took a step closer and wrapped her arms around the boy.

"It's okay. You're safe with me."

Brennan Aldaine
District Twelve Mentor

"So what lies in the shadow of the statue?"

Brennan looked up as Harakuise took a seat next to him. "Your guess is as good as mine," he admitted.

Harakuise nodded. "So you didn't send the message, then."

Brennan shook his head. "No. You?"

Harakuise chuckled a little. "Why would I send your tributes a parachute – especially right after what happened with Zach?"

Brennan shrugged. "I figured it might be a trap – because of what happened with Zach. A message from sponsors luring tributes to their deaths wouldn't exactly be a first for you."

Harakuise took a long drink. "True, but I'm not that petty," he said at last. "I don't blame your tributes for defending themselves; anyone would have done the same thing. Zach should have known better than to take on both of them at once – or should have made sure Eleanor was dead before turning on Barry. But, more importantly, it was his choice."

"His choice to attack them, or his choice to volunteer for the Games?"

"Both. And that makes it a little better – a little easier."

"Does it really?"

"Only a little," Harakuise admitted. "Part of me wishes he hadn't volunteered – at least not this year. Even though we didn't have to send any extra tributes ourselves, the sheer numbers are … well, a bit daunting."

"Tell me about it," Brennan agreed. And it felt good – even saying that to someone. It felt wrong to complain to any of the others; most of them were dealing with more tributes than he was. But to hear Harakuise, of all people, admit that the extra tributes posed a challenge even for the districts without increased numbers – it certainly wasn't something he'd expected.

Harakuise took another drink. "I've been meaning to thank you, Brennan."

Brennan cocked an eyebrow. 'Thank you' certainly wasn't on the list of things he'd been expecting to hear from Harakuise, either. "For what?"

Harakuise met his gaze. "For your work with the tributes last year. Every non-Career district had at least one tribute join the rebels – all except District Twelve. Whatever you said to them, it must have been convincing."

Brennan shook his head. "I just told them the truth – about the rebels' chances, about what would happen to their families if they didn't fight. The same thing every other mentor told their tributes. I just got lucky enough to have two who listened."

Harakuise smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe it means something more. If tributes from District Twelve, of all districts, can remain loyal in the face of an uprising, then maybe that says something about the district as a whole."

"Sure," Brennan nodded. "It says we have a disproportionate amount of common sense. We know what a full-blown rebellion would mean for the districts, and we want no part of it. I don't think that's a secret."

"So you're saying that District Twelve recognizes the need for peace – even if there's a price."

"I suppose so."

"Even if that price is the Games?"

Brennan hesitated a moment. Where was Harakuise going? "Yes," he said at last, tentatively. "If the choice is between the Games and a rebellion that kills tens of thousands – maybe hundreds of thousands – yes, I'd choose the Games."

"And you would say that most of your district agrees with you?"

Brennan shrugged. "Given those two choices? Yes."

"And given the choice between sending tributes into the Games unprepared or sending them in with a little advantage…"

Brennan finished his drink, then waved to Eldred for another. "Harakuise, I just spent an entire night staying up watching your tribute stalk both of mine. As soon as they find whatever's in the shadow of this statue, I intend to get some rest. I've been awake since the start of the Games yesterday; I'm really not in the mood for riddles. If you're trying to make a point, it would be wonderful if you could get to it before I finish another drink."

Harakuise smirked. "Fair enough. Have you ever considered that District Twelve might do a bit better in the Games if your tributes had some training?"

So that was where he was going. "I'd be lying if I said no," Brennan admitted. "I think every mentor has wished at some point that their tributes were a bit more prepared. That they had some idea of how to deal with what was coming. That they had more than three days of training. But if you're suggesting that District Twelve start training Careers … I don't see that happening, Harakuise."

Harakuise nodded. "Neither did I – not for a long time. And it takes the right person to make it happen, or else Five would have been a Career district long ago. We're certainly loyal enough, but I wasn't the right person to start any sort of Career system. I didn't exactly win my Games because of my physical abilities. And while strategy is important, one can't build a Career system based on mind games alone."

Brennan shook his head. "And you think I'm a better candidate?"

"I think we both know the answer to that. You didn't win your Games because of your physical strength or fighting skills."

That much was certainly true. He'd killed five tributes, yes, but none of them had been particularly intimidating physically. Saoirse had been roughly his equal. Asteria had been almost dead by the time he had found her. Blythe had been unarmed. Alasdair had been twelve years old. And Mercury…

Brennan glanced down at his gloved right fist. Mercury had been his equal, his toughest opponent in the Games. And he hadn't bested her because of his strength. He had simply outlasted her. He'd been able to hold onto life a little longer than she had. And that had gotten him out of the arena alive, it was true, but that didn't make him qualified to train any sort of Careers.

"So neither of us was an amazing fighter," Brennan summed up. "What's your point?"

Harakuise smiled. "My point is that, even if you know you can't be the one to facilitate any sort of Career training, you could still encourage it. When Camden asked me to train her, I didn't say no. I didn't tell her how unqualified I was. I simply did my best. I taught her what I knew. So did Jai. She did the rest on her own, because she knew she had our support."

"So what you're saying is that if someone asks me to train them, I should say yes? I don't think I really have to worry about that happening."

Harakuise leaned forward a little. "What I'm saying, Brennan, is that a considerable amount of weapons were recently confiscated from District Four. Some of them will be channeled to District Five, but, quite frankly, our Career system isn't large enough to make use of all of District Four's resources. And if another loyal Victor – another loyal district – could make use of them … all the better."

"And if there's no interest?"

"Then there's no interest – yet. It took more than three decades for District Five to emerge as a Career district. I'm not saying volunteers will appear in Twelve overnight. But, quite frankly, Brennan, isn't your district tired of losing? Aren't you tired of losing tributes simply because they're unprepared, especially tributes who might do a little better – or might even win – if they had even a little training?"

Yes. He almost said it, too. Instead, he simply shrugged. "In case you haven't noticed, both of my tributes are still alive." And just killed a 'more prepared' tribute.

Harakuise nodded. "Fair point. And maybe one of them will be the one to turn District Twelve's luck around. But if not … all I'm suggesting is that while you're handing out bread and cookies and trinkets, maybe you could throw in a lesson or two – no strings attached."

Brennan scoffed, holding up his crippled right hand. "You're kidding, right?"

Harakuise rolled his eyes. "All those years of carving and painting and molding pots and plates and all manner of other crafts? Don't pretend you're not left-handed by now."

Brennan almost said something. Something about the difference between holding a brush and holding a knife. Between creating a carving and carving the life out of a body. But he said none of it. In his own way, Harakuise was offering him a gift. A gift that might, in some small way, help District Twelve. Because even if he never gave a lesson, the fact that he could be trusted with weapons provided by the Capitol while District Four's Victors couldn't – that would mean something in the Capitol's eyes. Finally, Brennan nodded. "I'll give it some thought."

Harakuise smiled. "That's all I wanted."

"What happened … was a part of a chain of events that led us here – that led us down a path – that led you and me to this day, to right now."