The fifth day of the Games blooms as bright and sunny as always. We get three new sponsor calls from fans who enjoy watching another young Ling girl in a hedge maze, enough that I can almost afford to send her a water bottle if the rain disappears. Her basic snares nearly get tested by the boy from Twelve, who regards the twisting pathways blocking his continual march with disgust. Twice he tries to push through the walls, earning several nasty scratches from the sharp thorns, and he even tries climbing over until a swarm of the stinging butterflies descends, forcing him to ground. He wanders through the green-walled pathways, regularly glancing up at the sun trying to keep himself straight, though I notice that he slowly gets turned slightly back towards the forest over time. He pauses at a three-pronged intersection and scowls at the sky, the midday sun directly overhead and unable to guide him and I hold my breath as he takes three steps down the middle path leading towards Balia's loosely defended hide-out.
After twenty yards he turns back and repeats the process with each of the other pathways, perhaps relying on some inner intuition to direct him, or maybe just being sure that there's no-one else around to sneak up behind him. For whatever reason he settles on the right-hand fork and continues on determinedly. Balia doesn't appear to hear him and continues on trying to string up a snare I taught her, muttering under her breath as she fumbles with unfamiliar knots and spindly branches.
We get brief glimpses of some of the other tributes hiding out in the forest as the day wears on: Ytter from Five in his tree-house where he defends himself from a flock of swooping birds. Shelby Jackson from Ten, who appears to have allied with Porshia from Six after being driven from their separate hiding places in the meadowlands near the mountain. Both agree that the forest will give them more cover though they too are forced to repel a nasty squirrel attack.
Aurora Santes, the non-volunteer girl from Four finds Ulis from Nine huddling under a fallen log, his nasty facial injuries swollen and probably infected. She puts him out of his misery with little contest and starts setting noise-traps around the glade as she settles in.
To the surprise of no-one the remaining Career pack splits. Keston, on guard duty while the others sleep, gently shakes his two closer allies awake and the trio of boys from Two, Four and Ten sneak away from their former allies from One. Once clear they start arguing about whether or not they should have killed the kids from One while they were sleeping (Trey is for it, Caldinus against, and Keston refuses to take a side), and their raised voices alert pretty Maysilee from Twelve. She follows them, staying several trees back, her blowgun loaded and ready.
Haymitch from Twelve finally finds his way out of the hedge-maze and nearly walks into the Career trio just in time for mandatory viewing. I can hear Brutus bellowing advice and encouragement through the supposedly soundproof doors of our cabin as the surprisingly savage fight breaks out. Despite being outnumbered by three taller, stronger boys, Haymitch succeeds in dodging the first blow from Caldinus, grabbing his foe's sword arm in a wrestlers hold and biting at the fingers that attempt to control his head. Keston and Trey both leap forward to help, the tall boy from Ten accidentally standing on his ally's foot in his eagerness and they both stumble and fall.
Caldinus wrenches his arm free and swings his sword down at the unprotected neck, but the agile boy from Twelve shoves forward, knife swinging up to block the blade then darting down with startling speed to open Caldinus' throat in a gruesome red smile. He falls back, blood spattering the area, forcing Trey to cover his face as he tries to catch his deceased ally's body. Keston launches himself forwards at Haymitch, bellowing a warcry and is met by a solid fist to the groin as the boy from Twelve ducks under his swing. A second blow to under the jaw with the back of his knife hand drops Keston, eyes rolling back as the boy from Four hits the ground out cold. Haymitch takes a breath and recovers his balance just in time to meet the attack from the boy from Ten.
Trey nearly crunches him, then sweeps a quick strike towards Haymitch's throat that slices the collar of his jacket. Ducking and dodging, desperately blocking where possible, Haymitch manages to avoid being hit until he slips in a patch of blood and slides backwards, arms flailing. Trey lunges forwards, pressing his advantage and somehow ends up with the knife embedded firmly in his chest. Haymitch doesn't get time to retrieve it as the recovered Keston nearly removes his head. Ducking back he draws his second, smaller knife and tries to block the next sword-strike with it. The deflection causes the smaller blade to spin free, landing out of reach in a clump of yellow flowers. Disarmed and overwhelmed he stumbles backwards, trying a last desperate kick at the boy from Four who leaps on top of him, pinning him with his body.
"Payback time," Keston snarls, sword resting on Haymitch's throat as his left hand clamps down on the smaller boy's wrist, eliciting a yell of pain. Then he topples forward, limbs twitching sporadically as the poisoned two-inch dart falls from his neck. Haymitch shoves him away with another yell and scrambles backwards on all fours until he recognizes the blow-gun wielder as his district partner.
"We'd live longer with two of us," the blonde girl announces, offering him a hand up as the three cannons fire. He actually takes a few seconds to think about it and I notice her fingers drift unobtrusively down to her pouch of darts until he nods and says, "Guess you just proved that."
He rubs the thin cut on his neck where the sword-blade rested, eyes drifting over to the hastily dropped packs belonging to the three Career boys. "So, I'm nearly out of food and if you've made it this far I bet you are too? I figured if the water was bad then the fruits and berries were no good either."
She shrugs as they start rummaging through their new supplies. "Oh, they have their uses."
She shows him her belt-pouch of darts, each tip now wedged in a purple berry. He actually smiles for the first time I recall and they go back to sorting through the possessions of the trio, Maysilee keeping up a sarcastic commentary on each item.
I wait another hour before venturing out of our cabin for food, giving the Career victors plenty of time to get over their unhappiness. Sure enough the rest of the lounge is quiet, many of the victors apparently choosing to go out for their evening meal. I sit with Jackie Ledger who doesn't seem too upset about Trey's death as one of her girls is still alive and relatively well. On one of the smaller screens I can see Abram, Brutus and Morstan sitting at Caesar Flickerman's desk, discussing the unexpected downfall of their mini Career pack. They watch the death recaps with the rest of us, Brutus scowling as he watches his supposedly well-trained volunteer fall at the hands of a scrawny, underfed boy. Unfortunately I can't hear his grumpy replies to Caesar's follow-up questions as the sound is tied to the main screen, which switches focus to an argument between Amber and Garnet over sponsor-gift food that she's refusing to share.
They both seem surprised to see their former allies decorating the night sky during the anthem, and decide that the three boys must have fought amongst themselves as they think there aren't any other tributes left who could take them. They both plot their hunting route for the next day, which unfortunately now includes Balia as a primary target as far as Amber is concerned. I just hope that they run into the pair from Twelve and that all four wipe each-other out. Then my sister actually would have a good chance.
With so few tributes left there are enough smaller screens in the Lounge to follow each individual or pair of tributes, so I have no real motivation to get up and return to my lonely vigil in the cabin chair. I get to watch and listen as victors and escorts drift in and out, discussing the unexpected twists of the Games, the newest fashions, the high society parties that are already nightly events for the rich and famous.
With the deaths of Caldinus and Keston, Amber is now the easy-odds favorite to win according to all but five Capitol bookmakers. Haymitch and Maysilee from Twelve both have some believers, and for some reason a few people who claim they have discovered a secret mathematical formula are backing Porshia from Six. Balia, despite her brief popularity resurgence from finding my hedge-maze, has already dropped off the radar, which means less sponsors and therefore less options to help her survive.
~xXx~
The media descends the next day after the pair from One find Aurora Santes from Four. Garnet spots the crude noise-traps and signals silently to his district partner, who sneaks around to the other side of the glade, cutting off the only easy escape route. Aurora, dozing in the late afternoon sun, doesn't stand a chance, though she does land a long slice down Garnet's leg as the boy's sword pierces her neck. Down to the final eight, the special features on each of the survivors begins.
I'm forced to wash and change again, ready to front another interview about my little sister who has so far defied the odds. Glancing in the mirror as I step out of the shower, I can see the dark circles under my eyes and worry lines creasing my brow, testimony to my limited and sporadic sleep over the past five days. They all disappear under a coat of make-up, applied hastily by Juliette, who possibly chatters at me about how cute the boy from Twelve is. I don't really pay attention.
As always I stammer my way through the interview, this time unsupported by Beetee as, as far as the Games staff are concerned, he is no longer involved in mentoring this year. After numerous circular questions about Balia sharing my intuitive brilliance I'm released , and watch in the car on the way back with Glory and Laurela as Kaylee, the female mentor from Six gives an even less coherent interview than mine.
There's a great deal of commotion going on as we arrive back at the Training Centre. The District One mentors are dragged aside to answer more questions about Amber and Garnet and their vicious but unstable alliance. I duck behind them and manage to sneak inside, dodging around a whispering knot of Escorts, victors and Games staff as I aim for the Viewing Hall. It's been nearly half an hour since I've had a glimpse of Balia and the screen in the atrium is showing a live broadcast from bright District One, where they are interviewing Garnet's family.
To my surprise the door to the Viewing Hall is barricaded off and I'm forced back by two burly Games staffers who I think I recognize from the combat training stations. Dimly I register someone calling my name and turn to where Beetee, Cupros, Diya, Seeder and Chaff are standing, alongside the Escort from Eleven. "You didn't hear?" Chaff asks as I join them. "Poor old Marcie, she just…went. Fell out of that chair of hers with such a thud she scared the jeeps out of poor Nimia."
Seeder shakes her head sadly as the barricade breaks to allow a trolley surrounded by white-coated doctors pass. "Old dear must have been nearly seventy, and she was never well. And what's going to happen to her two kids? Hardly fair to leave them without a mentor, especially since that useless escort of theirs doesn't lift a finger."
I don't know much about Donella Grant except that she's friendly with our old escort Carmenius, so she can't be burdened with too much sense. Then again, I'd rather the apparently competent pair from Twelve don't get any extra help if it means a better chance for Balia.
We're forced to wait another half-hour before they let us back in and when they do it's for an official meeting presided by Pontius Vellum, the Head Gamemaker. He waits for all of us who are mentors to be seated, even the ones whose tributes have already died, and announces, "It falls to me to announce the tragic death of Ms Marcie O'Malley our dear victor from District Twelve. As some of you know she suffered a heart attack approximately one hour ago and was not able to be resuscitated. Normally this would not be an issue for the Games as a second mentor is usually available and it's uncommon for the tributes from…well, this is a situation without precedent."
He pauses to adjust his bow-tie, glancing nervously around the room as though hoping for an easy solution to present itself. Unfortunately, one does.
"Would you accept a volunteer mentor from another district to take over, at least until these Games are done?" Chaff asks loudly, scratching at his arm-stump. "At least then you'll have a year to decide on your precedents or whatnot. I'm happy to help out now since all of our kids are gone, especially since Daucus and Lark were friendly enough with Maysilee during training."
After some muttering between officials and low, whispered conversations between victors Vellum declares that this is a satisfactory arrangement and bustles out to make the official announcement. I don't particularly like it—Chaff's a better mentor and far more engaged than old Marcie was. When questioned by the other victors as to why he put himself forward he says that he likes the fight that both kids from Twelve have shown and since Eleven and Twelve are close, both geographically and in social attitudes he felt like it was the right thing to do.
From the big screen above, the only fight I see in the pair from Twelve is with each-other, arguing loudly as they continue walking in circles in the forest just to the west of Balia's hedge-maze. Balia herself has run out of food and is sitting in a hunched ball looking miserable. I wish I had something I could send her, even just a piece of district bread to remind her that I'm here and still watching over her. Unfortunately, between the plastic I sent and another price jump by the Gamemakers I can't afford anything on the list. I can't bring myself to eat that night, not while my sister is starving. Beetee tries to keep my spirits up and Gloria continually brings me plates piled high with food, chirping at me that I must keep my strength up if our district wants to win again.
I don't watch the live coverage from Three as I can't bear the thought of seeing my family's faces. I don't want to hear them talk about how they believe and how well I'm doing while my sister clutches her stomach in hunger and takes three tries to stand because she is so exhausted. I don't want to listen to Ezra and Laney talking about their plans to celebrate Balia's fifteenth birthday, now just a day and a half away, with a party the whole district is invited to (Gloria tells me this later; I hide in our cabin, letting the sound-proofed walls block out their voices). I doze and miss what is apparently an epic chase through the woodlands, the pair from One hunting down the girls from Six and Ten all through the night and into the early hours of the morning. By the time I wake, feeling nauseous and uncomfortably alert for five in the morning, Porshia and Shelby have separated, diving down different paths and forcing the pursuing Careers to split also. Garnet goes after Porshia, though he is hobbled by the half-healed wound in his leg and loses her trail temporarily as their passing brings down a swarm of hummingbirds that peck at his eyes.
Amber hunts like an animal, stalking her prey relentlessly until Shelby collapses from sheer exhaustion. The nasty girl from One corners her against a large tree and takes the time to lop off each of her limbs with her axe before splitting Shelby's face in two. The crew of reporters had barely reached District Ten and we see the live footage of Shelby's family forced to watch her bloody, brutal death. A man, possibly an older brother makes an angry move towards the camera and the video suddenly cuts back to Garnet's hobbling chase of Porshia.
The girl from Six lasts another three hours and puts up a spirited fight, but her crude mace (a hefty rock tied to a stick with twisted grass rope) isn't a match for Garnet's long, thin sword and years of training. He catches her arm with his off-hand and runs her through, leaving her to gurgle out her last breaths on a bed of pink and purple flowers as he rummages through her meager supplies.
The coverage shifts now to Ytter Marks, who is whacking his way through another swarm of stinging butterflies from inside his little tree-fort, and on to the pair from Twelve, who have ended up back at the edge of the hedge-maze and are trying to hack through it with Haymitch's knives. This appears to work at first until they hit a metal mesh in the middle which supports the twisted knot of trees. Haymitch throws his knife down in disgust while Maysilee sets out a portion of their remaining food and suggests they take the chance to rest.
This time when the camera pans, it follows the line of the hedge maze as it trails through the forest and my stomach drops as Amber Noble comes into view. She spots it and smiles wickedly, hefting her axe on her shoulder as she says, "I bet you're hiding in there. Time for some payback."
I thumb madly through the options of our sponsor gifts, though another price-hike means that even if I call in favors I'll still probably not be able to buy her anything that would help. I wonder if I can send her nothing, just a parachute which might warn her that something is up, but the Gamemaker I try to ask doesn't seem to understand me and eventually pushes me away with a vague instruction to consult my escort.
I look around for Gloria, for Beetee, for someone who might help me get my mind and my words untangled but I don't see any of them there. Just a knot of older Careers and their escorts, none of the ones I'm friendly with, and the unpleasant Warrick from Five, who likely wouldn't help me as his tribute is still alive. I'm torn between going and looking for someone and staying to watch over Balia, a decision that is made for me when my knees give way and I half-fall into the nearest couch. I tune out the commentators reminding watchers of my Games just two years past, of my desperate ploy that successfully saw Jasper Noble dead and me a victor. Amber hums to herself as she walks, occasionally swinging her axe to lop any branches that poke into her narrow path. She finds the three-pronged fork after half an hour and pokes around at the grass for a bit, before shrugging and heading down the middle path, eyes darting cautiously.
She finds the first snare thirty yards past the next turn and grins an evil grin as she tugs loose the trip line, easily ducking the swinging branch it's attached to. Sharp pains in my arms make me realize my nails have dug gouges into my own flesh and I try to take a breath, trying to remember how close Balia was to this corner the last time I saw her. Maybe she will hear the footsteps coming, maybe she's moved on to another part of the maze, though unlike my arena there's not much of it to hide in.
Amber dodges a second trap and a third, though the trip line around another blind corner catches her off-guard and makes her lose balance momentarily. Balia rolls to all-fours, takes one look at who has stumbled into her path and tries to run, fumbling for the tiny knife wedged in her belt. Amber, who has already kicked free of the vine rope gives a vicious whoop and chases after her, catching up quickly and swinging her axe back-handed into Balia's side. The blunt of the axe catches my sister off balance and smashes her into the thorny hedge with a choked scream. She rolls at Amber's feet, tiny knife in hand as she stabs wildly, though she hits only air. A second blow, again with the blunt of the axe crunches the side of her head. A stunning blow, not a killing blow, because Amber wants her to suffer a long, slow, painful death. I don't remember getting to the front of the room, reaching for her as her bloody face looks directly at her opponent and she reaches out with the last of her strength to drive her knife through Amber's foot. The third axe-blow cleaves through her knife-arm at the shoulder and opens the side of her neck in a spray of red gore. I try to catch her as she falls but my hands hit only glass and I scream in frustration, trying to claw my way through to her, to throw myself in the path of the bloody weapon as it hacks into her body over and over, turning my precious little angel into an unrecognizable pulp.
Dimly I register the hands on me, arms around me, pulling me back, pinning me down, a warm body pressed against my back, a man's voice shouting in my ear. I try to fight him off until I hear the boom of the cannon and look up one last time at her black curls, the only thing familiar around the bloody mess that used to be her face as my world comes crashing down.