I take another tablet in the morning, promising myself that if Balia does make it through the day that I'll stop. At least temporarily. Beetee seems surprised when he sees me eating from the buffet spread in the Viewing Hall and I remind him that I have to keep up my strength if I'm to keep my sister alive. Even I can hear the strange monotone of my voice and he shoots me a suspicious look as he fixes his own breakfast.
I barely avoid a collision with Arturus from Two, who gives me a brief nod as he continues over to the knot of Career victors gathering on the front couches. Two victors who just want their little sisters to survive, though at least his has had years of training.
Diya sits beside me on one of the back couches, offering silent support with her friendship. Beetee on the other side fidgets constantly as he plucks at a pastry. I just watch the screen, which is still black or flip through my notebooks, reminding myself of the names and the facts and the figures and the suggestions that Beetee, Balia and I have been over a hundred times or more.
A flurry of movement by the door catches my eye—Carmenius Fallow, our obnoxious former Escort who got bumped up to District Four last year, is looking my way. With the drugs in my system I can probably brush off anything he says. It turns out I don't have to as Morstan Wake steps in his path, grabs him firmly by the shoulder and says something quietly that makes the Capitol man flinch. The two turn aside and join the large cluster of Careers at the front of the room.
Cupros, who surprisingly decided to come with us to the Capitol to help however he can, joins us just before the screen flickers to life and briefly rests an awkward hand on my shoulder. The lights slowly brighten enough to see the face of Selena Karshan, the volunteer girl from Four as she rises through the long, dark tube into a stunning blue light. I spot Amber two places around, the Career girls flanking poor, shaking Jakson. The camera pans around the circle as the countdown begins and I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Balia on the far side of the circle from the vicious girl from One. My sister glances around dazedly, breathing deeply with a calm smile on her face, and I wonder if I'm not the only one on drugs. Then I notice most of the other tributes are doing the same thing, even the Careers. I will my sister to focus, and to follow the plan to find her allies and grab a few useful supplies from the outskirts of the Cornucopia before running for the nearest patch of forest.
When the gong sounds she doesn't react immediately, but then neither do most of the others. The Career victors yell at the screen as they watch their tributes slowly shake free of the seeming daze and start towards the Cornucopia. Some of the weaker tributes take even longer, still standing on their platforms after five, eight, ten seconds have passed. The only person who seems immune to whatever soporific is in the air is the boy beside Balia, who races straight down the middle and snatches a pair of knives and a large pack. He's already on his way out towards the forest by the time the others start moving.
The sudden movement helps nudge Balia and Salley, his neighbors, into action. They escape their stupor as early as the other Careers and both make use of the extra space to start collecting nearby supplies. For a moment I see Cruz from Four start to move towards Balia, who is crouching down to stuff two water bottles into her small bag, but she stands and sees him in time and he backs off when she waves a tiny but sharp knife.
A loud scream breaks the air making her jump and startling the last few dazed tributes into action. Balia glances around, then starts backing away towards the ring of metal plates, slowing twice to snatch odds and ends from the ground as she moves around the circle. I lose her on the array of screens for a few minutes as the focus moves to the fighting and killing. The main screen lingers on Amber Noble wielding a wicked axe as she takes out the legs of one of the smaller girls. She laughs and leaves her screaming on the ground, blood gushing from the stumps where her knees used to be. I see Diya's hands clench tightly on the couch as she glares at the pack of Career victors cheering near the front of the room.
Keston from Four and Trey from Ten trap both boys from Six in-between them and take turns toying with them. The tributes from Two are a little more business-like and are shown wiping out anyone who ventures too close to the main supply pile. I spot Oaklan and Caitri, two of Balia's allies trying to fend off the smaller boy from One. Chiffon laughs as he knocks Oaklan backwards with a kick and swings quickly to the side to bury his sword in Caitri's chest. Oaklan rolls to his feet with an angry yell and charges, though his only weapon—a short, awkwardly shaped wooden club—won't last long against the Career boy's sword. Out of nowhere Chiffon stumbles forward and the club connects solidly with his jaw. He crashes to the ground, Balia still clinging to his legs.
"Let's go," she yells to her ally as the boy from Seven pauses to smash Chiffon's head a few more times.
"Just making sure," he tells her as he takes over the pack and they start running. "Bastard killed Caitri. Least I could do was make sure he got his back. Jakson?"
"Didn't see him," Balia gasps as they pick up the pace towards the tree-line. "If he made it he'll find us."
I glance at the tribute photos on the lower right screen, counting along rather than trying to spot his face. Jakson's is grayed out, and when they show a panoramic view of the killing field again I spot his small body barely five steps from his platform.
"Career girls got him," Cupros says shortly when he sees me looking.
Tyan's photo is already gray too, his body among the pile of tributes stupid enough to fight the kids from Two for the good supplies. Seebee is one of several in the process of dying. The left side of her face—the one Balia bruised just a few nights back—is caved in and two long, bloody cuts across her chest and stomach are slowly draining her dry.
The Career pack leaves them to die slowly as they gather up their loot. Caldinus and Uriah find Chiffon's body; neither seems too distraught about losing him though they go through the motions of planning to hunt his killers first. Luckily none of them saw who brought him down, and since it was clearly someone strong they don't suspect my sister.
The camera leaves them planning their attack routes to show the others, starting with the beautiful snow-capped mountain, the high ground that several tributes mentioned in their interviews. Sure enough a good number are headed that way, though I can't think what advantage they believe the high ground will give them. I think back to the old Games I'd reviewed, skimming through the notebook to help with my drug-addled memory, looking for any that centered around a mountain.
There were some that made use of steep cliffs: Warrick's year, where he dropped a land-slide onto some of the Careers, Whisper in the tiered fields of grass and flowers clambering down the rock walls between the flat levels. Denissa and her island of waterfalls and lagoons, Dominic and Pelline's steep canyons. I pause at the note on Diya's Games and glance up at my friend beside me, who is also staring at the white-capped mountain thoughtfully.
"It sure does look like it, but would they do it again so soon?" she murmurs more to herself than to any of us.
Like any of us I'm sure her Games are still fresh in her mind, but in reality they were twelve years ago, more than enough time for people to forget. Especially since most people don't have Royan's hint that the arena includes tributes to the last twenty-four years. With the snowy covering and the summery haze in the air, I doubt many of the tributes would question whether the pretty mountain is a volcano in disguise.
Luckily that's one thing I don't have to worry about for Balia. She and Oaklan are shown walking together now, past the front edge of the forest, well away from anyone else. They pause to rest under a tall, shady tree, drinking from the water-bottles Balia grabbed and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from their foreheads. My sister of three months ago would be exhausted by this much effort but the weeks of running appear to have payed off and she seems no more tired than her ally. She wedges her tiny knife into her belt and sits to stretch out her legs. Suddenly she leaps up with a yell and snatches Oaklan's club, swatting ferociously at his head. His yell of surprise is matched by Olivia, the mentor from Seven who proposed the formal alliance.
"Sorry," Balia says as she steps back slowly, lowering the weapon and offering it to her ally. The end is coated in the smushed remains of a vibrant blue butterfly. "They had these last year, remember? Stung one of the tributes."
Oaklan takes the club in shaking hands and examines it, nodding slowly. "Yeah, yeah I remember. They got Tansy—I knew her back home. Thanks, I guess."
He swallows heavily and suddenly they are both laughing.
"I thought you were crazy," he says as they gather up their supplies and start moving again.
"I am," Balia tells him with a mischievous grin. "Just not that sort of crazy. And I'm no backstabber."
"Good," he replies. "Though with that knife I'm not sure you'd make it through my shirt."
He nods at her tiny weapon and she sticks her tongue out in reply. I heave a small sigh of relief as the camera cuts away from them to the blonde girl from Twelve, who is sitting up a tree a few hundred yards away examining her supplies. She looks to the sky as the cannons sound for the fallen tributes. Eighteen. So, so many young lives snuffed out in just two short hours.
Beetee squeezes my shoulder gently and gets to his feet. "I'll go make the phone calls. Including the Laus."
I give him a brief nod and go back to watching the main screen, which now shows the surviving boy from Twelve watching from the bushes as one of the boys from Five bends over to scoop a mouthful of water from a trickling stream. He licks his lips after the first and scoops himself a second, then splashes his face with a double-handful to cool off. Suddenly he starts gasping and choking, clawing at his throat. Within seconds there is blood pouring from his nose and mouth and even his eyes are leaking red when he collapses head-first into the apparently deadly body of water. The cannon booms into stunned silence in the Lounge, which is quickly filled with whispered conversations.
"I wonder if it's just that stream," Cupros murmurs to me. "Or if all of them are bad."
I shrug, flicking through my notebooks, looking for some mention of apparently good water sources that turn out to be deadly. The only things I can find are the parasite-infested pools in my Games (easily avoided by drinking the flowing water) and in Seeder's Games, when a clump of poisonous fruit contaminated the little creek it was floating in.
Balia and I had discussed the likely possibility of poisonous plants and she had agreed not to eat anything unless she had watched one of her allies surviving the experience first. But the water? I can't think of any reason she or any of the others would question the water except the boy from Twelve who was lucky enough to witness another tribute dying from it. Even the Careers wouldn't think twice about refilling empty bottles.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE TWENTY TIMES THE PRICE?" Brutus' bellow echoes throughout the Viewing Hall, causing a momentary lull.
"He's right," Diya says dully, reappearing at the edge of the couch. "I went as soon as I saw him bleeding but they'd already bumped it up. Sneaky sneaky Gamemakers"
Of course. Send the tributes extra water bottles to hint that the streams are bad. Why didn't I think of that?
I decide to definitely skip any further mood-control drugs as they clearly dull more than my emotions. With the increased price I would have to beg extras from at least one of my other sources just to afford a single bottle, with no guarantee that Balia would even get the hint. I figure I can hold off for now as she has her own bottles from the Cornucopia and is making sure they last. Surely they can't force the tributes only to drink from sponsor-supplied water at that price. Which means there must be other good sources. Maybe that stream was the only bad one, or maybe…
The unnaturally blue sky of the arena is punctuated with white fluffy clouds. A few near the edges of the arena are more gray than white, heavy with…
"Rain."
Diya and Cupros both stare at me. Cupros snorts. "It's a summer arena. Blue sunny skies and all that. They're not going to ruin it with gray clouds and thunderstorms."
"No," says Diya, "But they might bring the clouds across at night. Just for an hour or two otherwise half the tributes will die of poison or dehydration. No-one wants to watch that."
He grunts non-committedly in reply and takes a swig from his hip-flask.
"You should probably start writing," he says, nudging my shoulder. "Technically both girls are yours and the interviews start early."
I'd forgotten about first night interviews, a final glimpse at the tributes who went down in the opening hours of the Games. With nineteen already dead there will be plenty of hours scheduled. Luckily they decide to combine mentors where both a boy and girl had died and I let Beetee do most of the talking about our three dead tributes. I still have enough drugs in my system to not particularly care about Seebee or Tyan, though I do feel a brief pang of sadness for poor little Jakson. The replays showed Selena from Four grabbing him by the collar and holding his arms while Amber punched him half-unconscious, then finished with a hard heel-kick to the side of the neck.
Glory Winchester, once again mentoring for One, rides back with us from the studio to the Viewing Hall. I already gave him my apologies for Balia's involvement in Chiffon's death and he responded in kind for Amber's killing of Jakson. "I've never had to do a first night before," he tells me as we dodge the cameras at the front door of the Training Centre. "I doubt he did his folks many favors with that showing either. Beaten to the stage by a girl. Beaten up by a lumberjack and a…a little girl."
I glare at him and he grins, waving his hands to show he meant no offence.
"Back home it's seen as a mark of status to have a kid in the Games. Even if they don't win, as long as they put on a good showing it still gets your family respect and public acknowledgement. Maybe gives a parent or a sibling a leg-up getting a job or a promotion. Maybe a contract, selling to some of their Capitol sponsors. Most kids do it to help their families out of a bad hole. Even getting close to volunteering at the reaping run can help."
I remember him telling me about how his parents raised him to volunteer and win the Games so that they could live a life of luxury. How his little sister married some rich man that only wanted her because she was pretty and related to a victor. I wonder how many of these volunteer kids are actually here because they wanted to be and how many see this as their sacrifice to help the people they love.
We enter the Viewing Hall in time to see Amber Noble cleave the head off Cruz Palmer, the non-volunteer boy from Four, while the rest of the Career pack cheers her on.
"Of course there are some from the rich end of town," Glory continues, nodding to the screen. "Want to remind the rest of us that they're superior in all ways. They're the ones whose parents pay for proper training and equipment. I can't stand them for the most part."
He forces a false grin as his fellow Career victors wave him over to cheer on their tribute pack's continued success. I duck into our private cabin to check in on Balia and Oaklan—both resting again, as safe as anyone can be in the arena, then join Beetee and Cupros for quick dinner.
"You should try to get some sleep while you have a chance," Beetee tells me as the moon rises over the arena and the tributes start to settle down for their first night. He's probably right. Usually nothing too much happens the first night, not with all the dead from the bloodbath still to talk about. I go back to our rooms and toss and turn for a few hours before deciding I'm just not tired. I can tell by the re-emergence of my hand tremors that the stronger drugs are almost gone from my system. I doze briefly, waking with a fearful lurch as my mind shows Balia being beaten to death by Amber. But that didn't happen. Yet.
I head back downstairs, not caring that it's half-past two in the morning and that I'm in my pajamas. I find Beetee snoring gently in our private cabin, his face smudged with blue pen-ink. Out in the lounge there are a surprising number of people still awake. Three Career victors along with one of their escorts are dressed up for a night out. Probably stopped by to check if anything happened on their way to bed. Old Marcie from Twelve is sitting in her favorite chair, muttering to herself as always. I don't know her well enough to know whether the strange sheen on her face and drawn, pale features are because she is unwell, or whether she is just worried for her remaining tributes.
Dominic from Six is sprawled on a lounge, drooling, both of his tributes already long dead. Their stronger girl, Porshia is still in it though, hiding out inside the hollow of a tree. She looks damp, as do the other tributes when they are shown, suggesting my guesses about the rain were right. I just have to hope Balia decides to get her water from it. Not unreasonable hope as she did watch Beetee's Games, where the only real water source was from the rain, and from the pools it formed as the days went on.
Low voices near the door make me turn and I see Arturus and his father standing together, both looking unhappy. The younger man is dressed sharply in a black silk shirt which is unevenly buttoned. He nods as his father rests a hand on his shoulder and murmurs something that doesn't carry across the room. They both pause to watch the screen as it lingers on the Career pack, also resting now. A father and a brother, both hoping for a miracle, just like me.
Justus leaves and Arturus, to my surprise, nods at me and wanders over to sit nearby. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I spot a reddish mark on his neck as he settles back into the seat and four parallel scratches on his arm as he unbuttons his sleeve.
"I'll do anything to get her out of there. Anything. You understand?"
I nod. I do, though I don't have what he has to offer. I've already lost most of the people I could appeal to in some way. I haven't dared try to get in contact with the few who might have escaped that awful night a few months back. I know from Beetee that Plutarch Heavensbee got away unscathed, but what of Odelia? What of Royan? All those others, faces without names for the most part who I avoided giving up. The charismatic Andronicus Dexter and his loyal underlings. For all I know they might blame me for everything that went wrong. I doze off again on the couch, mind running slow circles around a chaotic mesh of images and memories and wake to the sudden boom of a cannon.