Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.
Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't already. Also, my sister could still use a few more tributes. The deadline is technically today, but she's willing to extend it a little if you're working on one.
Day Six
Together
Vernon Barrow
District Six Mentor
Why would they choose to do something now?
Vernon stared at the screen, his vision still a bit blurry from the drinks, as the president rambled on. Something about a riot in District Six. Of course. Of course they would riot now. This year. Not the year his son had died in the Games. But now.
And because of what? The death of their six tributes? A murderer, two teens the district was convinced were witches, a petty criminal, and two others who were … well, who were certainly not much different than any other year's tributes. Why this year? Why now?
Vernon shook his head as the president continued. "The reasons for these unprovoked attacks remain unclear. Merely twenty-four hours ago, the situation looked grim. But, following an explosion in one of District Six's warehouses – an explosion caused by rebel forces – one voice spoke out for peace."
Vernon sprayed his drink all over his shirt as President Grisom's face was replaced with a more familiar one. Nicodemus. Vernon glanced around the room, startled to see that his fellow mentor was, in fact, still missing. Instead, his voice echoed from the screen. "When the blood and the fear and the destruction have become too great, we have to take a step back and think – really think – about what we're hoping to accomplish. Do we want revenge? Or do we want something better? Something greater? Do we have what it takes to work together to bring about what we all really want: peace?"
"Be the people who stand up and say, No. I'm better than that. You are better than that. We are better than that. Stronger than that. We have a choice today. We can be a voice calling out for revenge, for blood, for war. Or we can be a voice that cries out for peace. The choice is mine. And it is yours. Make your choice."
Vernon chuckled a little as Nicodemus' face faded from the screen. Still naïve, despite everything. As if people really had a choice. As if people could simply choose not to be violent, not to seek revenge, not to care that their loved ones were dead. It wasn't that easy, but if Nicodemus was stubborn enough to believe that it was, after everything he'd been through, well, that was his problem.
Because there weren't really any better alternatives. The Capitol was ruthless, cruel, harsh – that much was certain. But the rebels – however many of them there were, whoever was left – were they really any better? How long had they stood by and done nothing, waiting for what they considered to be the right time to move? And they were just as careless about who got in their way as the Capitol was.
Fortunately, that wasn't his problem. His only problem was how long it would be before their bartender came back. Brennan had been filling in ever since Eldred had disappeared, but it wasn't the same. Funny, really, how quickly he'd gotten used to Eldred.
Or maybe he was just too drunk to care.
That was probably it. Vernon glanced up at the screen, where the president was babbling again. "Just as disloyalty must be punished, loyalty will not go unrewarded. Despite the events of last year's Games, and despite the incidents in Districts Four and Six this year, most of you have remained loyal. The tributes have remained loyal. And so, as we near the end of the Games, I make you a promise: your loyalty will be rewarded. Next year, the number of replacement tributes will be reduced to one per tribute who participated in last year's rebellion. Provided there are no further … incidents … the need for replacement tributes will be eliminated following the Second Quarter Quell. Thank you for your time – and for your continued loyalty."
Vernon nearly burst out laughing. What a joke! Six tributes, four tributes, two tributes – none of that mattered. Not really. The numbers weren't important – but, as long as the president pretended they were, then he could appear merciful … all while ripping their children away from their families and sending them off to die.
And no one could do a thing about it.
Eloise Davies
District Nine Mentor
No one seemed to understand what this really meant.
Eloise turned her drink in her hands, glancing around at her fellow mentors. A few were nodding along with the president. Most were smiling. How much of their relief, their gratitude, was genuine, and how much of it was an act, she wasn't sure.
Eloise took a drink. It was an act. It had to be.
How could the Capitol expect them to be grateful?
A reward for loyalty. Only three of your children will be taken to their deaths instead of four. What sort of a reward was that? Had everyone forgotten so quickly that it was President Grisom who had called for the increase in tributes in the first place? Couldn't they see that the numbers weren't really the important thing? Four tributes, three, two – it didn't matter. As long as one child was being torn away from their family to fight for the Capitol's entertainment, it was wrong.
Do we want revenge? Or do we want something better?
Eloise took another drink. She had hoped that Nicodemus, of all people, would be sympathetic towards any sort of rebellion. Now, she was glad she hadn't gone to him. Hadn't gone to anyone. She would have to be more careful than that. One wrong move – one wrong decision about who she could trust – and it would all be over.
Eloise turned her attention back to the screen. Domingo, Imalia, and Indira had settled down for the night. Thane was still moving swiftly in Myrah's direction, while Myrah had started wandering uphill from the stone building where she had been resting. As we near the end of the Games, Grisom had said. And things certainly did seem to be drawing to an end.
But whether that was good or bad, she wasn't sure.
Five tributes left. Five tributes, and both Myrah and Thane were still alive. But if the Gamemakers drove them together – as they certainly seemed to be doing – then what would happen? Would they be forced to fight each other? Or…
It must have occurred to Thane, if he had figured out where the compass was leading him, that maybe an alliance would be more beneficial. Imalia and Indira, after all, were still alive – and still together. And Thane knew that. Would he be willing to ally with a district partner – even one as young as Myrah – long enough to take them on?
And, even if he did, could the two of them hope to be successful? The two girls had taken down Audra and Sariya without much trouble. They'd fought tributes, a boar, and a polar bear – and come out on top every time. Could Thane and Myrah together hope to accomplish what the other tributes had been unable to?
Eloise shook her head. They had a better chance together than either of them would have alone. Surely they would realize that. But Thane's alliance with Evander and Myrah's alliance with Aleron had both ended with them killing their temporary ally. Would either of them be willing to trust the other?
Eloise took another drink. Maybe that was the worst part of the Games, in the end. The fact that people died – yes, it was terrible, but the awful truth was that people died every day in the districts. No, the worst part of the Games was that it took friendships – friendships that had been formed over the course of a few days, yes, but friendships nonetheless – and destroyed them. Trust. Honesty. Loyalty. The Games destroyed them all, one way or another.
Loyalty. Grisom had said that loyalty would be rewarded. And maybe that was true. But only loyalty to the Capitol. Loyalty to a district, to friends, to family, to one's own self – none of that was appreciated anymore. Not in any way that mattered, at least. Occasionally, people would praise tributes' loyalty to their allies, but there was always an understanding that that sort of loyalty wouldn't last forever – not if the tributes wanted to win.
And she was no exception – she knew that, at least. After losing most of her allies in the bloodbath, she'd killed the last one, a boy named Gavis who had been injured in the fighting. Not because she believed it would be less painful. Not because she wanted to spare him a slow death. But because she had been worried that his screams might attract the other tributes. Her own loyalty hadn't survived the first day of her Games, and it was now the sixth.
Eloise turned back to the screen. It wasn't loyalty that might prompt Thane and Myrah into an alliance. It was convenience. The opportunity to take down a greater threat. And maybe that would be enough – enough to keep both of them alive a little longer.
But, in the end, only one could live.
Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four
In the end, only one of them could live.
Imalia leaned back against the polar bear's body as she and Indira ate some of the food they had taken from the greenhouse. They still had more than enough. There were only five tributes left, after all. They might as well eat what they had left while they still had the chance.
While they still had the chance. While they were still alive. Imalia glanced over at Indira, who was also eating as much as possible. No point in saving it now. Not when tomorrow would probably be the last day of the Games.
The last day. Maybe her last day. Imalia swallowed hard, forcing down a bit of carrot. She'd been trying not to think about that. She was still alive, after all. Five tributes left, and she was one of them.
But five was a long way from one.
Imalia turned the carrot over in her hands. It felt so different now – the numbers. When they had started with forty-six, every cannon had seemed like an accomplishment. Every cannon brought them one step closer to the end. But now, it seemed, each cannon only brought them closer and closer to something more inevitable.
Each cannon brought them closer to the point when they would have to turn on each other.
Imalia took another bite of her carrot. She had known that from the start. They both had. But every hour, every cannon, every moment they spent eating and laughing – it only made it more real. Eventually, they would be forced to turn on each other. Eventually, Indira would have to die.
Or she would have to die.
Imalia leaned back against the bear's body. No. No, she wasn't going to die. Not when she had fought so hard to stay alive.
But hadn't Indira fought just as hard?
Imalia glanced over at her ally. At the bandages that covered her back, the knife in her hand. She had fought just as fiercely. Worked just as hard. She deserved a victory as much as anyone – maybe even as much as Imalia did.
But victory wasn't about who deserved it. It was about who was willing to claim it. Who was willing to do anything – anything – to survive.
She had always been convinced that she could. And, so far, she had been right. She had five kills, after all. Some of them she had shared with Indira, yes, but five kills nonetheless. Five tributes who were dead at her hands – and maybe a few more because of her words, if Delvin had, in fact, been the one to kill Shale and Jarlan. Didn't that prove she was willing to do anything?
But Indira…
Stop it. She wasn't any closer to Indira than she had been to Jarlan. Killing her – if it came to that – wouldn't be any different than sending Jarlan and Shale to their deaths.
Would it?
Imalia closed her eyes, sinking back into the bear's fur. It was different. If she and Jarlan had been facing the bear together, instead, and Jarlan had run – and if the bear had gone after him – she would have let him go. She would have let the bear take care of him. But she hadn't let the bear kill Indira. She'd thought about it, as she and Indira had been approaching the bear, but, in that moment, when her ally had bolted, she hadn't thought twice. She had risked her life so that they could take on the bear together.
But how much longer could 'together' last?
Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven
How much longer did he have before the water caught up to him?
Domingo glanced down the hill once more, as if watching would somehow stop the water from slowly creeping its way up the slope. The water was rising faster now – as if it wasn't simply rising due to the rain. As if maybe the island itself was starting to sink.
But where else was he supposed to go? As far as he could see in the dark and the rain, he was already at the highest point in the area. There was nowhere else to go.
So maybe he should simply wait for the other tributes to come to him.
There weren't many of them left, after all. The Gamemakers would have to start driving them together soon. Maybe he was already right where they wanted him. And if that was the case, maybe it was better to be well-rested by the time the others arrived.
But, on the other hand, sleeping now could be a terrible mistake. The boy he'd just killed had made the same mistake, after all. It probably hadn't been his first mistake, judging by his injuries, but it had certainly been his last. And that was a mistake Domingo certainly didn't want to make.
Because as frightened as he'd been when the girl from Two had attacked, as terrified as he'd been at the thought that he might die … at least he had been awake. He'd had the chance to fight. The other boy – he'd never had the chance. And maybe that had been kinder. More merciful. But it wasn't the sort of death he wanted for himself.
Not that he wanted to die at all, but if he did … well, fighting seemed like a better way to go. At least then he could try to take his opponent out with him. That was better than nothing.
Not dying, of course, would be even better.
Domingo sighed and sat down next to the tree, stretching his legs. Staying awake it was, then. It wouldn't be long, after all. Four more tributes. Four more deaths. Just a little while, and he would either be safe, and he could rest as long as he wanted, or he would be dead, and none of it would matter.
Domingo swallowed hard, fingering his knife. That was the worst part, really. If he died now, none of it would matter. It wouldn't matter that he made it to the final five. It wouldn't matter that he'd made four kills. If he died now, he would be dead – and that was it. His family would remember him, of course, but, to everyone else, he would simply be another tribute who didn't quite make it. Another tribute who died in the Games.
After all, how many tributes who had placed fourth or third – or even second – did he remember? Not many, that was for sure. He vaguely remembered that Avery's district partner had been her last kill. Kit's two allies had made it to the end with him. But their names? Their faces? Anything else about them? No. No, all of that was lost to everyone but their families and friends.
He wouldn't let that happen to him.
Indira Serren, 18
District Ten
She had told herself she wouldn't let this happen.
Indira turned her knife over in her hands. How many times had she thought about leaving Imalia? Or even about killing her? And yet here they were, in the final five – and stronger allies than they had been before.
Indira shifted, stretching her legs. Immediately, Imalia's eyes shot open. Indira smiled a little. Allies, maybe. But, this late in the Games, did anyone really trust each other anymore? Maybe. Occasionally. But those tributes had a tendency to end up dead.
And she didn't want that to happen to her.
Indira clutched her knife tighter. She couldn't let that happen. Not now. Not after everything she'd done. Not after fighting so hard. She couldn't let it all go to waste now, when they were so close.
No. Not they. She was close. It just so happened that Imalia was, too. They were both close – so close to the end. But only one of them could make it. Only one of the five tributes who were left – five tributes who had made it so far – could survive.
And she meant for it to be her.
"I wouldn't blame you if you want to leave."
Imalia's words caught her off-guard. Indira had assumed she had been discreet enough about her desire to leave. But, apparently, Imalia had picked up on her train of thought. Or maybe it was simply a lucky guess. Or maybe she had been thinking of doing the same thing…
"I…" Indira hesitated. Imalia was practically giving her permission to do what she'd been thinking of doing for days. Not that she needed permission, but that did mean that Imalia wouldn't try to stop her. Wouldn't try to kill her for leaving.
Of course not. If Imalia had wanted her dead, she could have simply let the bear kill her. Or, even if her story about wanting to take on the bear together held up, Imalia could have killed her easily while she was still crawling out from under the bear's carcass, or while she had bandaged her injuries. But she hadn't.
"It is the final five," Indira hesitated. "I don't want to end up…" She trailed off, not really sure how that sentence should end. I don't want to end up killing you was what she had been about to say. But if they split up, then that amounted to saying that she hoped someone else would kill Imalia before she had to.
Was that really any better?
And who else was left, anyway? Was there really anyone else she could count on being able to kill Imalia? Or, if they split up, would they simply end up facing each other again in the finale? At least if she stayed with Imalia now, she would be able to keep track of where she was. And if she had the opportunity…
"Maybe we should stick together – for a little while, at least," Indira suggested. "There are two tributes from Nine left, I think – unless the last cannon was one of theirs. If they're working together…"
That was a stretch. And, from the look on Imalia's face, she knew it, too. The girl who was left was one of the replacement tributes; the boy wasn't. The chances of them finding each other – and then allying – were slim.
But who else was left? One of the younger tributes from Eleven, and one of the tributes from Seven. And of the four of them, one was already dead. Did any of them really pose enough of a threat to justify staying together?
Apparently, Imalia thought so – or, at least, was as willing to use it as an excuse – because she nodded. "A little while longer, then," she agreed. But they both knew. If they didn't split up now, they would be together until one of them died, or until they had to turn on each other.
She wasn't sure which was the better option.
Thane Hayer, 17
District Nine
He still wasn't sure which was the better option.
Thane glanced at the compass once more, even though the direction hadn't changed for at least half an hour. Maybe more. How long had he been walking? Shouldn't he have come across someone by now? Was Myrah hiding somewhere? Waiting for a chance to jump out and kill him?
Was that how she had made it this far? Thane glanced around, surprised to find the knife in his hand was shaking. What was he so afraid of? Myrah was fourteen, after all. One of the youngest tributes in the Games. Chances were, it was luck that had brought her this far. Luck that had led her to the final five.
But what if it wasn't?
Thane took a deep breath, wondering – not for the first time – if he should turn the light on his helmet on. It might attract attention, of course – but wasn't that the idea? He meant to find Myrah, after all. Maybe it didn't particularly matter whether he found her, or whether she found him.
But maybe it did.
If she found him, and didn't wait to listen to his suggestion that they ally to take on the Careers – if she simply attacked, instead – then she would have the upper hand, however briefly. But chances were, if she was anywhere nearby, she already knew he was there. He wasn't exactly being quiet. Not that he was purposely attracting attention – and not that he was laughing like the two girls had been – but he'd made no particular effort to cover up the sound of his footsteps, the sound of the branches breaking as he stepped on them or as he brushed them out of the way. If she was nearby, and if she wanted to attack, she could have done so by now. Should have done so by now.
After all, that's probably what he would have done. Thane shook his head. If it was Myrah approaching him about an alliance this late in the Games, in order to take on two Careers – and if he had no way of knowing whether that was the truth or not – would he really accept? Would he even consider her offer?
But certainly it was worth a try. Because the more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to take on the two girls alone. And he wasn't sure who the last tribute was – one of the younger boys, maybe – but they would have even less of a reason to trust him. At least he and Myrah were district partners.
District partners. What did that really mean, in the end? Did it really matter that the two of them just happened to be from the same district? They hadn't known each other before the reaping. Their families didn't know each other. He couldn't even remember Myrah's last name, let alone anything else about her. He'd spent his time on the train with Eloise along with Sariya; Myrah and Melody had split off to get advice from Crispin. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea – avoiding his younger district partners, allying with the oldest, strongest one. Sariya had seemed like a better choice – certainly a more natural choice.
But had she been the wrong choice?
Thane shook the thought from his head. If he had allied with Melody or Myrah, instead, they would have been separated at the start of the Games. Chances were, they wouldn't have found each other, anyway. Chances were, it would have made no difference.
Probably.
And probably was all he had. Myrah was probably the one the Gamemakers were leading him towards. She would probably listen. The two of them would probably be able to take on the Careers – or, at the very least, make a better fight out of it than he would have been able to on his own.
But was it really a fight they could win?
Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine
Was this really a fight she could win?
Myrah ducked lower as Thane approached, still glancing around, looking for someone. For her. He had no way, of course, of knowing that she was nearby. How could he? She hadn't seen him since the night before the Games. And they had spoken very little before that. The fact that he was her district partner … Did it really mean anything this late in the Games?
Myrah clutched her knife tightly. That wasn't why she was hesitating. Not really. She didn't really know Thane. He had never done anything to her, of course – not like Aleron – but he had never been particularly kind, either. And he and Sariya had gone after Myrah and Melody during their private session with the Gamemakers, despite Myrah's pleading with them to wait, to stop. He hadn't shown her any mercy then.
Why should she expect anything different now?
Myrah gritted her teeth. He hadn't waited. Why should she? But that had been practice. With wooden staffs. She had never been in any real danger. If she attacked him now, it would be real. She might be able to kill him, but it was just as likely – if not more so – that he would be the one to kill her.
He had won, after all, that day with the Gamemakers. And he'd gotten a higher score. But none of that mattered now. They were both here, in the final five. And maybe it wasn't an accident. Maybe she hadn't done anything particularly spectacular, but she had earned it – the right to be here. Her allies were gone. And she was still alive. Maybe she really did deserve to be here. To be alive.
Maybe she did deserve to go home.
But part of the reason she was still alive – part of the reason she had made it this far – was because she had known when not to fight. She hadn't attacked Aleron when the two had found each other again. The two of them hadn't attacked the boy from Four when they'd seen him leaving the stone building. She had waited. She had been patient.
But how much longer could she wait?
"Myrah?"
Myrah froze. For one terrible moment, her stomach churned, and her heart seemed to stop. "Myrah?" Thane repeated. But he wasn't looking at her. He hadn't seen her. Was he only guessing? Did he know, somehow?
Then he glanced down at something in his hand. Myrah peered closer. He was holding something. Something small and round.
A compass.
So he did know. Somehow, he knew she was here. Or nearby, at least. Myrah shook her head. She had assumed that, if she attacked, surprise would be on her side. But if it wasn't…
"Myrah?" Thane called again, this time pulling something from his pocket. A knife. Myrah tensed, but Thane dropped the knife. For a moment, she thought that maybe it had slipped from his hand in the rain, but, slowly, she realized he had meant to drop it. He was offering a truce. Maybe even an alliance.
The only question was whether or not she should accept.
Thane Hayer, 17
District Nine
The only question was what Myrah would do now.
Thane glanced around, waiting for the younger tribute to show herself. For the last few minutes, his compass had started spinning wildly in a circle. So either the Gamemakers were toying with him, or she was close. Close enough that the needle wasn't going to point directly to her. Maybe they figured that would spoil the game.
Or maybe it hadn't been leading him to Myrah, after all.
He had only been assuming, of course, that it would lead him to his district partner. But was she still alive? Had the cannon that had sounded since the faces had appeared been hers? Was the compass leading him to someone else entirely?
Or was she simply waiting for the right moment?
Thane took a step away from his knife, waiting. He still had time. If she attacked, he would still have plenty of time to scoop it up again. But laying it down, he had hoped, would draw her out. Maybe make her curious enough to wait before attacking.
Seconds passed. Seconds that felt like hours. Thane swallowed hard. Maybe he should simply pick up his knife again and move on. Maybe if she thought he was about to leave…
Just as he took a step closer to his weapon, however, Myrah stepped out from behind one of the larger trees, her own knife drawn. Thane nodded a little. "Good."
Myrah cocked an eyebrow. "Good?"
"I'm glad it's you," Thane reasoned, holding out his compass. "It had a nine on the back, so I was assuming it would be you, but … well, you never know."
"No, you don't," Myrah agreed, taking a step closer. But not close enough to use the knife in her hand. In fact, she was eyeing his knife, still on the ground by his feet. "Where did you get that?"
It took Thane a moment to put it together. Evander's knife, and the striking resemblance it bore to the knife that Myrah was holding. Of course. They had been allies. So he had to be careful…
"A tribute I met," Thane answered. "He was looking for someone, but he found me, instead. We were allies – if only for a short while. The Careers found us, and he was killed, so I took his knife, and—"
"He was looking for someone?" For a moment, Myrah's voice broke. Could she have been the one Evander had been looking for when he and Thane had found each other, instead? Had they gotten separated, or had she left him? If she had left, was she blaming herself for his death?
Could he use that?
"You were his ally," Thane pretended to realize. "I'm sorry. I hadn't realized … of course. It's just that there were so many of you, and…"
"Six of us," Myrah nodded. "They're all gone now. All of them. I…" Were those tears in her eyes? In the dark, Thane couldn't quite tell. Could he get that lucky? Had she made it this far simply because of her alliance? Maybe.
"My allies are all gone, too," Thane nodded. "How did you two get separated?"
"I … I left. I thought that if I went after another tribute by myself, the Gamemakers would … but everything went wrong. I should never have left them." She was crying. Thane took a step closer. "I should have stayed. He was coming after me. If I hadn't left…"
"If you hadn't left, he would never have come after you," Thane agreed. "But then he would never have found me. He saved my life, Myrah, when the Careers came. He was brave – right up to the end. I wish I had known him better."
Myrah nodded, venturing a little bit closer, lowering her knife. "I'd only just met him. None of us knew each other very long. None of us have the chance. Even those of us who are district partners – what do we really know about each other?"
"Not much," Thane admitted. "But there's one thing I do know. We can help each other now. Back the way I came from – there are two Careers. They're the ones I was trying to get away from, but with two of us…"
"Really?" Myrah asked, her voice a little skeptical, but with a twinge of hope, nonetheless. "You'd want me as an ally … this late in the Games."
Thane nodded. "For a little while, at least. There are two of them. We have a better chance with two of us." He held out his hand. "What do you say?"
Myrah took a step closer. Then another. "I … I don't know what to say." She brushed a few tears from her eyes. "I…"
He barely saw the knife in time.
Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine
He saw the knife too soon.
Myrah struck as quickly as she could, but it wasn't quick enough. Thane saw the knife coming and backed away. Her knife sliced through his shirt but barely scraped his skin. But as he stepped back, he stepped away from his knife, which still lay on the ground, practically right beside her. He was unarmed.
Unless he had another weapon.
Think. What else might Evander have been carrying? One of the hammers, maybe – the ones he and Adelia had taken from the two girls when the Careers had attacked. Some food, maybe. Not much else…
Myrah took a step forward, keeping her knife positioned between her and Thane. He didn't reach for another weapon. He was waiting. Waiting for her to make the first move.
Well, the second move, really. She had already made the first move. She had rejected his offer. Myrah clenched her teeth. How stupid did he think she was? There was only one Career left – one of the girls from Four. So how could he be running from two of them?
And if he was lying about that, then what else was he lying about? For all she knew, he had killed Evander himself. Thane took another step back, never taking his eyes off her as he reached into his pockets and removed a hammer and some other sort of weapon. At least, it was probably meant as a weapon. But it looked more like a gardening tool.
Myrah gripped her knife tightly, reaching into her pocket for one of Aleron's, keeping her eyes fixed on Thane. "You killed him, didn't you," Myrah spat. Even if it wasn't true, the audience would eat it up – just like she had hoped they would eat up her sympathetic crying act. It had almost worked. But she hadn't quite been quick enough.
She wouldn't make the same mistake again.
"Him?" Thane smirked. "You mean Evander? He was practically begging me to kill him. I offered an alliance, he turned his back, and – boom!" He took a step to one side. "You're a little bit smarter, at least. But not smart enough."
"Smart enough to be able to count," Myrah shot back. "There's only one Career left – and that's assuming that last cannon wasn't hers."
Thane nodded. "Fair enough, I suppose. The other one's not a Career. One of the girls from Ten – she joined up with the Careers."
Myrah hesitated. That made some sense. Back in the hovercrafts at the beginning of the Games, the older girl from Ten had said something – asked one of the Careers if the offer still stood. An offer to join them? Could Thane be telling the truth? Would they have a better chance against the Careers together?
Myrah gripped her knives and took a step towards Thane. It was too late for that. Too late to start second-guessing herself. Clearly, Thane would have no qualms about killing her. And she didn't need another ally she couldn't trust. Not after Aleron had tried to kill her.
She would have to do this herself.
Thane Hayer, 17
District Nine
He would have to be careful.
Thane took a step back towards his district partner, keeping an eye on the knife that still lay on the ground. He'd been playing it tough, trying to sound as if he knew what he was doing. But the fact remained that he was unarmed, except for his hand rake and a hammer. She had two knives. Maybe more. If he could just get his knife back…
Stupid of him to drop it in the first place, Thane scolded himself. He had thought it would be easy to simply pick it up again. He hadn't counted on the younger girl charging so quickly. Now he was at a disadvantage.
But not for long. As soon as he got his weapon back…
Myrah charged, aiming low. Thane stepped out of the way, reaching down with his hammer, but Myrah was too quick. She struck again, missing once more, but keeping her position between him and his knife. Thane stepped back again. Then again.
Suddenly, he was stepping back into a pool of water. The ground was growing soft beneath his feet. Thane glanced over at Myrah. That was it. He stepped backwards again, this time falling back into the water.
Myrah took the bait. She charged. But, even as she did, Thane rolled out of the way and grabbed a leafy branch that lay on the ground nearby, thrusting it into her face. Myrah gave a yelp – more from surprise than pain – as Thane leapt to his feet, striking out with his hammer as Myrah lost her balance, slipping into the mud.
But even as he charged, Myrah rolled out of the way, striking at his legs with her knives. Thane gave a kick, and one of the knives flew out of her hand. But she held onto the other, plunging it deep into his thigh. Thane reached down, taking hold of the younger girl's wrist as she tried to squirm away. She lashed out, kicking and thrashing, and one of her boots found his groin. Thane doubled over, releasing her, and a sharp pain filled his stomach as she struck again.
Immediately, the younger girl took off running, back towards the knife that lay on the ground. But instead of returning to try to finish him off, she scooped it up and ran. "That's right, run!" Thane called after her, gasping. But, even as he said it, he knew she had done the smart thing. He was dead, anyway, if he didn't get help soon. Blood poured from both his stomach and his thigh.
Slowly, Thane struggled to his feet. He couldn't let it end like this. Not after he had come so far. It wasn't fair. Cursing, he stumbled blindly in the direction Myrah had gone. Maybe if he kept following, the Gamemakers would do something to stop her. Maybe they would send a mutt. Maybe they would block her path.
Maybe. But probably not, Thane realized bitterly. What had he ever done to earn a favor from them? He had killed, yes, but only one tribute. And only when it had been clear there was no other option. He hadn't even managed to kill his little district partner. A district partner who should have been an easy kill.
Of course they weren't going to help him now.
Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine
She could only hope the Gamemakers wouldn't decide to help him.
Myrah kept running, as fast as she could, away from Thane. She could have stayed. She could have tried to finish him off. But it was easier to simply run and hope he would eventually die form his injuries. And it was certainly safer.
But did that make it a better idea?
Would the audience be satisfied with her simply running? Myrah slowed a little. Should she have stayed? Should she have made sure to finish the job, even if it meant risking an injury? Surely the audience would understand that she had been lucky to survive. That if Thane had been armed, too, it wouldn't even have been much of a fight.
Besides, there were still three other tributes out there.
Myrah kept running. But there was still no cannon. He was still alive. Myrah slowed a little more, trying to catch her breath. Maybe she hadn't injured him as badly as she'd thought. Or maybe he was simply taking longer to die than she had imagined. Or maybe it only seemed like a long time because she was waiting for a cannon.
Maybe.
"Listen!"
The shout caught Myrah off-guard. It was coming from nearby. Shit. In the confusion, she hadn't even realized which way she was running. This was the direction Thane had come from. He had said something about Careers.
And now she had run right into them.
She could see two shapes – coming towards her fast. Myrah swallowed hard. There was only one thing to do. "Over here!" she called. "This way!" Immediately, she turned, running in the opposite direction. Back towards Thane. Maybe if the Careers – if that was even who they were – followed her back to him, they would see him as the bigger threat. Maybe they would waste their time finishing him off instead of going after her.
Maybe.
But first she had to get back to him. Would she have the time? Myrah stumbled forward in the dark. She had been able to outrun Thane, but he had been injured. These two didn't seem to be slowing. And she was already getting tired. There was no way she would make it back to Thane.
She would have to turn and fight.
She turned just in time to dodge one of the girl's knives, but, even as she did, the other girl dove for her legs. Myrah slashed across the girl's arm with her knife, but the other girl was stronger. She held on as the second girl pinned Myrah's hand to the ground. A crowbar came down, and Myrah barely squirmed out of the way in time. "Please!" she gasped. "I know where another tribute is! I can help you find him!" The water's rising too fast! We can only get out together! In that moment, she knew her pleas sounded just as pitiful as Aleron's had.
And her pleading was just as useless. The girl with the crowbar nodded to the other, who raised her knife. Myrah closed her eyes as the knife came down towards her throat.
It only hurt for a moment.
Indira Serren, 18
District Ten
It only took a moment.
Indira wiped the blood from her knife as the little girl's cannon sounded. "She's not even that old," Indira said softly. "Thirteen? Fourteen? How did she make it this far?"
Imalia shrugged. "People get lucky sometimes. It happens. She's had a kill or two herself, from the look of it. Look at her clothes."
Indira nodded. The girl's clothes were covered in blood – and not all of it her own. Some of it had dried – as much as could be expected in the rain, at least. Indira glanced up as Imalia laid a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. We have work to do."
Indira slowly got to her feet. "Work?"
"She said she knew where another tribute was. If she was leading us back this way, she probably meant to lead us to them, hope that was enough of a distraction for her to escape. Might have worked, if she was a little faster, or had a little bit more of a head start." She shook her head. "It was a good idea. It just wasn't good enough."
Indira nodded a little. The girl had to die eventually; maybe now was as good a time as any. It just seemed unfair. As unfair as it had been when Imalia had attacked the two tributes in the cabin.
That seemed like ages ago, Indira realized as she followed Imalia back the way the girl had come. She had been shocked then, terrified by what her ally had done. But she had just done the same thing. The two of them had killed a little girl who stood no chance against them.
And now she understood. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But it was necessary. It was what she had to do in order to go home.
Home. Home was only three tributes away. Only three more tributes who had to die before she was safe. And they were on their way to find one of them now.
They.
How much longer could 'they' last? How many tributes could be left before Imalia decided she could take on the last one alone? Who else was still alive? If they managed to find a tribute and kill them, would that be the end of their alliance? Maybe she should just leave now.
Indira clutched her knife tightly. Not yet. She could wait a little longer. But only a little. Only a little longer before she would have to either leave, or…
"There!"
Indira looked where Imalia was pointing, ahead of them on the ground. But, even as they approached the tribute who lay in front of them, a cannon sounded. "His?" Indira asked. "Or someone else?"
Imalia shook her head, taking a few steps closer. "Probably his. There's a lot of blood. But just to make sure…" She drew her knife across the tribute's throat. Nothing. No more cannons. "His, then," Imalia concluded. "One more."
One more.
Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four
One more.
Imalia stood up, wiping the blood off her knife. One more tribute. But they both knew that wasn't quite true. There were two more. Two more tributes had to die before the Games would end.
One of them would have to die.
But not yet. There was still one more tribute out there. They could wait a little longer. They could stay together a little longer.
Because there was no point in splitting up. Not really. The Gamemakers would start driving them together for the finale soon, anyway. What would be the point in separating? No, better to take on the last tribute – whoever it was – together.
Then they could worry about each other.
Imalia tucked her knife in her pocket. She had no idea, really, where to look for the final tribute. "Let's head back uphill," she decided, eyeing the water that was quickly rising around the boy's body. "Chances are, the Gamemakers will drive everyone to higher ground. We'll just find the other tribute, and then…"
She trailed off. Neither of them wanted to say it. If they managed to kill the final tribute together – and she had no reason to believe they wouldn't be able to – then they would be left to fight each other. To kill each other.
But not yet.
One thing at a time. They still had to find the last tribute. Imalia led the way back uphill, trudging through the water that was slowly rising. The rain seemed to be pouring harder – and colder. It wouldn't be long now.
Just a little longer.
Imalia clutched her crowbar tightly. She couldn't afford to start getting impatient now. Water was good, after all. The more water, the better. She could swim. She doubted Indira could. And whoever the other tribute was – well, they probably couldn't, either. So if the water kept rising…
She would definitely be at an advantage. The longer she could stall, the better. Yes. Yes, that was a good enough reason for not attacking Indira now. She could wait until she had an advantage.
And then she would do what had to be done.
Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven
The Gamemakers would have to do something soon.
Domingo shook his head, pacing back and forth as the water slowly continued to rise. Two cannons had sounded since he'd killed the boy sleeping beneath the tree. There were three tributes left. Just three. Soon, there would be two. And then one.
Only one.
But it wouldn't be him if he just continued to sit here. Domingo gripped his knife, glancing around. Were the other two tributes nearby? Was this the finale already?
Was he ready if it was?
Maybe. Maybe he was as ready as he would ever be. A little more time wouldn't make him any stronger. Wouldn't give him skills that it would take years to learn. He had made it this far using … what? His wits? His will to survive? Would that be enough now that the Gamemakers would almost certainly no longer be helping him?
Maybe it was time to find out.
"All right, then," Domingo whispered, his voice a bit shakier than he'd intended. "All right," he repeated. "I'm ready. Where are you?" He turned around, glancing this way and that. There was no telling where an attack might come from. "Where are you?"
But the only response was a gentle whirring noise as the black column of smoke appeared one more time. Domingo swallowed hard, but he held his ground. The smoke wasn't here to kill him. Not now. Not so close to the end. No, it was here for something else.
It was here to fetch him.
Domingo stood perfectly still as the smoke came closer and closer, closing around him. Wrapping around him. He couldn't see, but maybe that was for the best. He could feel himself being lifted off the ground. Into the air.
He was flying.
Domingo clenched his knife tightly, but he didn't struggle. That had been the girl's mistake – the Career who had found him in the hatch. He had no way of knowing how high up he was, but he had no desire to be dropped to his death by a column of black smoke. That wasn't how he was going to go.
And if he had any say in it, he wasn't going to go at all.
Maybe what he had would be enough. Maybe whatever tributes were left would be surprised enough to see him arrive in a column of black smoke that they would be caught off-guard. Maybe it would give him an advantage.
But it would only be a brief advantage, if he had one at all. So he would have to be quick. Once the smoke released him, he knew, he couldn't afford to hesitate. No matter who he was facing. No matter who the last two tributes were, he couldn't hesitate to attack.
Domingo smiled a little. Maybe it was a good thing, after all, that his allies were dead. That his district partners were dead. Calantha, Gadget, Ivira. Fallon and Ciere. Audra, who had spared his life when he had fled from the bloodbath. She had hesitated then. She had let him go. She'd chosen sympathy over action.
He wouldn't make the same mistake.
Tamika Ward
Head Gamemaker
"Glad to see it wasn't a mistake."
Tamika barely glanced up as President Grisom nodded towards the screens. "Leaving Domingo alone on that side of the island? No, it wasn't a mistake. Not that I planned it, but Smokey would always be available to round up the tributes at the end, no matter how far apart they were."
"Smokey?" The president finally cracked a smile. He'd been wandering in and out of the control room since the start of the Games, but since the riots in Six, he'd been much more subdued. "You gave a column of smoke a name?"
Tamika shrugged. "It's a lot shorter than saying 'the column of smoke.' Besides, naming things makes them more manageable. Reminds us that they're really under our control."
"Just like you've been controlling the help you've given Domingo?"
"The audience likes a good show," Tamika reasoned. "Domingo was aware enough to take advantage of that. But now … well, now it's up to them. Once Smokey gets him where he's going, that's the end of that."
"So you don't plan to interfere in the finale, then."
Tamika cocked an eyebrow. "Not unless you think I should."
"I wouldn't presume to tell you what you should do with a finale. Two years ago, three boys were left sitting in a library for three days, and the audience was still on the edge of their seats. You know what you're doing, and I'm content to leave it at that."
No. No, that wasn't all. "And…" Tamika prompted.
Silas shook his head. "And quite frankly, Tamika, I wouldn't want the pressure of your job."
"The pressure of my job? You're the president."
"And I never particularly wanted that, either. It's mine, nonetheless, and I hope I've had some hand in bringing things back into balance, but … it's not quite the same, is it. The lives I deal with, the decisions I'm asked to make – are on such a large scale, it's easy to detach. Easy to see numbers instead of lives. But it's your job to get the audience to see people instead of numbers, and then to care when those people die … but not enough that it calls the morality of the Games into question. It's a difficult tightrope, Tamika, and I'm glad it's not mine to walk."
Tamika smirked a little. "The feeling's mutual. The mess with the training center in Four, the riots in Six … I'll stick to the arena. At least there, if something goes horribly wrong, we can send in a giant smoke mutt to fix things. Real life isn't quite so simple."
Silas nodded. "And that's why it's probably best if we stick to our own arenas." He turned to leave. "Give us a good show, Tamika."
"Yes, Mr. President. I won't disappoint you."
Silas smiled, genuinely amused. "I know you won't."
Crispin Zephyr
District Nine Mentor
"I knew it."
Crispin shook his head as Brennan poured him another drink. "I knew it, damn it. Thane should have suggested an alliance when he had the chance. Together, they might have stood a chance against the girls. But, no, they had to pick that moment to start being suspicious."
Brennan shook his head. "You can't blame them for that. This late in the Games, everyone's suspicious."
Crispin took a long drink. "Sure. Everyone except the Careers. The ones who are supposed to know what they're doing, who are supposed to know what's at stake, who are supposed to know that whatever friendship they've managed to find in the Games can't possibly last. But no. They're the ones who've decided to stick together – right up to the end." He shook his head. "Why couldn't Myrah have allies like that?"
"She did," Brennan pointed out. "She chose to leave them, because she knew they would have stayed with her to the end. Or, at least, Evander would have." He shook his head. "But Aleron was right. Eventually, it's better to be with people you don't care about. People you don't trust. In the end … it hurts less. Take yourself, for example."
"Me?"
Brenann nodded. "Think about it. You didn't have any allies during your Games. Do you wish you had? Do you wish you'd come to trust and rely on a group of people over those weeks, only to have them snatched from you? Or are you glad you kept your distance?"
Crispin looked away. He was right. Of all the things he'd wished for in the arena, allies had never been one of them. Worrying about himself had been enough to keep him occupied. "So what's the answer? No one should have allies?"
Brennan smiled a little. "Maybe. Ideally. But it'll never happen. It's human nature to seek out friendship. Companionship. Even if it's not in our best interests. And even if it's only for a little while."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You had allies. Do you regret that?"
Brennan hesitated for a moment, but then shook his head. "No. No, I don't regret it. And not just because they kept me alive. Not just because Elaine died when it could have been any of us, instead. Not just because Grace sacrificed herself to save Blythe and me. I'm grateful I had them, if only for a little while. Even if everything ended … badly."
Crispin nodded. "It's a choice everyone has to make for themselves, I suppose. I just wish…" He trailed off, staring at the screen, where Domingo's smoke cloud was still hurtling towards the pair of waiting allies.
"I know. Myrah was close. It's never easy when they get that close and then…"
"Yeah." Crispin chuckled a little. "And I'm supposed to be the one who's been at this longer." He drained his glass.
Brennan smirked a little. "Another?"
Crispin nodded. "Why not?"
Harakuise Swallot
District Five Mentor
"Why not wait until after the Games?"
Harakuise shook his head as he helped Nicodemus out of his bed and back into his wheelchair. "I could ask the same thing," he pointed out. "Why not wait until after the Games to go back to the bar? It's almost over, anyway. Why put yourself through the stress of being around mentors who are still waiting to find out whether their tributes are going to make it out alive? Why not wait until it's all over?"
Nicodemus smiled a little. "Don't think it didn't cross my mind. But my place is there. My tributes are gone, but the other mentors – they need me. Kit—"
"Kit is doing fine," Harakuise assured him. "As well as can be expected, at least. Talking again, thanks to you. And doing his best to help Avery through the loss of her own tribute. So … why now?"
"I…" Nicodemus thought for a moment, but then decided. "I don't want to be alone, either. Not that I don't appreciate you coming to visit me, but—"
"But I'm not exactly the comforting sort," Harakuise finished. "Fair enough. The desire not to be alone – it's a powerful thing. And I suspect it's the answer to your question, as well."
Nicodemus cocked an eyebrow. "You think President Grisom chose to make his announcement about the riots now rather than after the Games because he was lonely?"
"Well, it sounds a bit silly when you put it like that," Harakuise admitted. "But think about it. Who do people blame when things in the districts go wrong? Who is the Capitol going to blame for the riots in Six or for the fire in Four? Who did the districts blame for the increase in tributes? Even if he's only doing what's necessary to keep things in order, all the blame gets placed on him."
"And making the announcement now – rather than after the Games – helps because…"
"Because now, even if something goes wrong, he's made a gesture. The two of you took the first step, calling out to both the districts and the Capitol to work for peace instead of revenge. No matter what happens in the next few hours, you've made progress."
"No matter what happens," Nicodemus repeated. "You think something's going to go wrong? In the Games?"
"Do I think so? No. But, after what happened last year, I wouldn't discount the possibility. The Gamemakers have done their best to drive Imalia and Indira apart, to no avail. The boar, the polar bear, the tributes they've come across … and they're both still alive. Don't pretend you've forgotten what happened two years ago."
Nicodemus nodded. It had been one of his tributes, after all, who had banded together with Kit and the boy from Three, surviving until the end and then hesitating when it came time to kill each other. Harakuise doubted Imalia and Indira would try anything similar, of course, especially after last year. Imalia was a Career, after all, and Indira … well, she was beginning to act like one. Maybe she was beginning to think like one.
And that would probably be enough.
But if it wasn't…
Harakuise shook his head as he wheeled Nicodemus back to the bar. It wasn't his concern, really. Wasn't his responsibility. Wasn't his mess to clean up if things went wrong. And they probably wouldn't. But he couldn't help a twinge of gratitude that Silas had, indeed, chosen to make his announcement before the finale. Whatever happened, for a moment, he could appear generous. Forgiving. He could take a step towards the peace they all so desperately needed.
But how long would it last?
Avery Bentham
District Three Mentor
How long could Carolina keep talking?
Avery glanced at the door once more, wondering if Carolina would notice if she simply slipped out. The older mentor was clearly a little drunk, going on and on about how wonderful it was that she and Kit seemed to be getting along. How much Kit had needed a friend. Avery nodded along, waiting for a good moment to leave. But every time she started to stand up, Carolina grabbed her arm, pulling her back into a hug.
It was almost as if she knew.
Avery shook the thought from her head. There was no way Carolina could know. No way anyone could know what she was planning to do.
Just as Carolina pulled her back down a third time, however, the door to the bar swung open, revealing Lander, along with an older man. It took Avery a moment to place him. She had never met him in person, and he looked so different from the pictures the Capitol always showed when his Games were replayed. He looked much older, much more tired, and a bit more drunk. Avery looked away, hoping that maybe he would be enough of a distraction for her to sneak away.
But, instead, Vester made his way to the table where she was sitting with Carolina. "Hello, Avery." He took a seat next to her. "Carolina, could you give us a moment?"
Carolina nodded and headed back to where Lander had taken a seat at the bar. "Quite a crowd," Vester remarked, glancing around the room. "I remember when there were only a few of us." He shook his head. "Hell, I remember when it was just me. It wasn't technically just me, of course. We had Capitol mentors back in those days. Did you know that?"
Avery nodded a little, wondering where Vester was going. She'd heard of Capitol mentors, of course. But it had been a long time since any district had needed one. Since the first Quarter Quell, every district had at least one Victor.
"But in some ways – in some very important ways – it was just me," Vester continued. "The first year I mentored, I was the only one who had been in the Games. The only one who had killed. But, slowly, as there became more and more of us, we realized that we weren't alone."
Avery looked away. He didn't understand. He couldn't. Percival and Miriam, they had told her the same thing. That she wasn't alone. That they would always be there for her. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to make up for what she'd done…
"I killed them," Avery insisted, her voice barely a whisper.
"The other tributes?"
Avery shook her head. He still didn't understand. "No. Not them. My family. What the Peacekeepers did to them … It was my fault. They died because I was afraid to. If I had just said no, if I had let the others kill me instead of joining them – my family would be alive. It's my fault they're dead."
"Maybe."
Avery looked up, shocked. Every time she had said the same to Percival and Miriam, they insisted it wasn't her fault. "What?"
Vester shrugged. "Maybe it is. And maybe it's time someone said so instead of coddling you, because anyone with half a brain knows it's true. They just don't want to admit it, because they're afraid admitting it will break you." He leaned forward a little. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because it didn't break me. You've seen the tapes of the First Games. You know what I did."
Of course she did. Everyone did. "And the worst thing is, I meant to," Vester continued. "You got your family killed, but you didn't mean to. You never wanted it to happen. I wanted to kill every tribute I killed in the arena. I wanted them to suffer. I could have given them quick deaths, but, instead, I drew out every breath, every drop of blood. I did that. And I have to live with it. And so do you."
"It's not the same."
"Of course not. Everyone's pain is different. Everyone has different ghosts. You're different, Avery. But that doesn't mean you're alone."
"It would just be easier if…"
"Of course it would. It would be easier – for a moment. For you. But then it would be over. It would be done. Death doesn't solve anything. It just ends everything. And maybe it seems like that would be better, but it won't always be that way."
Avery shook her head. "How long, then? How long before I can … before I can look at myself in the mirror and not see the blood? How long before I can close my eyes and not hear them screaming? How long before they're gone?"
Vester shook his head. "Never. They're never gone, Avery. But they get quieter. They fade. Slowly. There will be good days and … well, not-so-good days. The Games will always be the worst. They'll always bring it back. But that's why this place exists, Avery – so none of us have to face those memories alone when they're the strongest. None of us." He leaned back in his chair. "Think about that, Avery, before you do what you're planning."
What you're planning. "How do you—"
"You're not the first Victor to think it would be easier just to put an end to it. Some people try to drown out their memories with alcohol or drugs. Some of us are a bit more drastic." He shook his head. "You have people watching out for you, Avery. As did I. Give them a chance. Give yourself a chance." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Give yourself tonight. You can do that much. Just not tonight."
Avery shook her head. "And then?"
Vester smiled a little. "And then you tell yourself the same thing tomorrow night. And the night after. And the next." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "So what do you say? Not tonight?"
Avery swallowed hard. Not tonight. One night. One more night. Maybe she could do that. "Not tonight," she finally agreed.
Vester nodded. "Me, too."
"If we can't live together, we're gonna die alone."