Sometimes I have to scrabble my way up rocky slopes, or pull myself on my belly through crevices that are barely wider than my shoulders, but I keep moving. Most of the cave system is very dimly lit, like a night with a full moon. Some places I pass through are somewhat brighter, and I notice patches of luminescent fungi growing here and there. I guess it's been several hours from the way my body feels, but there isn't any way to know for sure. The cave is almost uncomfortably cool, but very humid, and I am clammy with sweat inside my jacket. I am bruised and scratched in many places and covered in smelly mud. I had no idea that cave mud sucks all the moisture out of skin as it dries, and the exposed skin of my face and hands is parched. My fingertips and palms are getting rubbed raw from grabbing at the rough stone, and I wish I had some gloves. Even the places where I have calluses from weapons training are getting worn down.
The swell of a large flowstone catches my eye. It looks like it might have a flat top and I decide to see if it is a protected enough place for me to rest. I don't find any good handholds on the stone's smooth, knobby surface, but the rubberized toes of my boots give me enough traction to force my way up the side. I'm right, it is mostly flat at the top, with a gentle slope to one side. In the center of the area there is a pool of water that's collecting from a continuous slow drip from overhead and then spilling down the front of the stone, but there's plenty of room for me. There is a shallow hole at the back, little more than a divot of missing rock. It's not large enough for me to hide inside, but I put my backpack in it, so no one can see by just passing by. If I lay flat, I doubt that I can be seen unless someone else is actively searching for a hiding spot. And if anyone does actually come up here, it will be like walking into a lion's den, I think grimly.
I unwrap one of the beef sticks. The smell is enough to make my stomach growl a loud complaint, and I'm only hungry, not even starving yet. I eat half of it and carefully put the rest away. I wonder if there is anything to hunt in here? I could make a trap out of something and try to scoop some cave minnows or crayfish. I'm not sure if bats are safe to eat, but I haven't seen any. Making a fire to cook with wouldn't be such a good idea. It would stand out in the darkness like a signal flare. And I wouldn't so much as taste any fungus unless I was dying of hunger and ready to make an end of it anyway. Now I regret not spending more time at the survival stations at the training center. At least there's plenty of water. I don't even want to think of what condition I'd be in without it.
I wouldn't be worrying about this at all, if Fia hadn't jumped Gaius, I think grumpily. We could have found everyone else before the food ran out, and then it wouldn't have mattered. The Hunger Games isn't built on trust, but it sure would have helped. Now I have to watch my own back against every single tribute who is still alive in this hole, not just against the other four. I'm hungry, cold, tired, and generally miserable. Kier took the easy way out by just sitting there on the starting plate. It's already over for him. But how easy was it really to just sit there and let Gaius kill him?
The whole thing is bothering me a lot, now that I have time to just be still and think about it. Kier seemed to think that his Reaping wasn't random. But how could it be anything else? It was just a coincidence that the tribute who was going to volunteer in his place had been killed that morning. If I had been killed…
The Academy would simply have nominated another girl to volunteer. There were plenty of us. I touch the scar above my eyebrow. The cosmetic injection treatment has made it perfectly smooth, as if the chemical burn had never happened. I don't know how things are done in District 4, but I know their tributes arrive at the Games ready and well-trained. It doesn't make sense for them to focus their resources on training just one person, and risk the possibility that the one won't be able to volunteer. They had to have trained several. So why didn't they just tap someone else?
What was it that Fia had said to Kier? That he had a big mouth, just like his mother and father? Kier said they were dead. What happened to them? When did they die?
Why didn't he think he would just be allowed to go live on his District's Victor's Island, even if he had won?
He thought it was pointless to win. Well, maybe for him. If his family had been making trouble for the Capitol, maybe he was right. But I've never done anything like that, and neither has my family. So there's no reason for me to believe that I won't be able to take them with me to Victor's Village after the Games. Except that I'm having more difficulty believing it than I did before Reaping Day.
I'm tired, and too confused to make sense of my racing thoughts. I listen for a minute or so to make sure no one is approaching my perch. Then I unroll my sleeping bag and climb inside. The plicks and plunks of water falling into the pool from the ceiling of my stony nest lull me to sleep very quickly.