Zephyr's height and muscle weight had made it difficult for him to tread across the snow without leaving a mark. Levi followed his trail with relative ease. Faint footprints were indented in the icy snow. Occasionally he would come across a place where the snow had broken and one of Zephyr's feet had plunged downwards. Levi carefully edged around these places, not in the mood for a bootful of snow.
He tracked his teammate slowly. He wanted to be able to watch Zephyr without him being aware of his presence. He depended on the element of surprise.
The trail wound past the Cornucopia and into the stretch of land between the northern and western lakes. Levi was just beginning to think that he was following the wrong set of footprints when he heard shuffling up ahead. He scampered over to the nearest tree and pressed his back up against it, peeking around warily.
Acton was facing away from him. He stared curiously up at the branches of a tree as if he had heard a peculiar noise from it. Levi watched as Zephyr stepped out from behind a row of bushes and fired an arrow into the back of the District 3 tribute's neck. Acton collapsed with a small noise of pain. Levi drew in a deep breath and pushed himself back against the tree. No, he couldn't be a coward. Not now. He turned again to see Zephyr fishing his arrow out of Acton's neck. Acton flailed his sword weakly, but his attacker easily dodged the weapon. Zephyr busied himself with cleaning the blood off the arrow. He then re-inserted it into his quiver and simply stood there while Acton bled to death.
Eventually, the cannon fired.
Levi watched Zephyr apprehensively. A minute passed. Two. Zephyr shrugged and sighed. So that was it. Just as Levi had guessed, the Gamemakers had never meant for there to be four Victors.
"Hello, tributes!" Livia's voice greeted, the sound booming around the Arena. Levi flinched. He hadn't been expecting the Gamemakers to send them any message at all. Maybe all four of them would get out alive. "Congratulations on making it to the final four! Unfortunately, we have decided that having four tributes from different Districts become Victors would be a financial disaster, and have thus reached the conclusion that it is better for only one tribute to win. My best to you all, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Zephyr wrinkled his nose. "Of course," he muttered just loud enough for Levi to hear. He began to head east. Levi guessed that he was planning to circle back to camp and pick off the tributes left there. Without thinking, Levi drew a dagger from his belt and whirled out from behind the tree. Zephyr didn't hear him. The boy from District 11 took careful aim and launched his knife at the dark-haired boy that was several meters away from him.
The dagger caught its target in the back of the head. It sliced through the thick sponsor hat and slammed into Zephyr's skull with a satisfying crack that made Levi wince. For good measure, he sent another dagger at his former teammate. This one burrowed its way into his upper back. Zephyr collapsed forward with a gurgling cough. The icy snow gave way at the weight of his fall and he fell a couple feet through the snow to the ground.
A smile crept across Levi's face. His biggest competition was dead. He would find Chester and Willow. He'd kill them like he killed Zephyr. It would be easy. He could go home.
He could actually go home.
As he knelt down beside the hole in the snow to retrieve his knives, however, he found his mind focusing more on October than on his home. Sure, District 11 would be loads better now that he'd be rich and he wouldn't have to work in the fields all day, but the thought of never seeing October made him feel sick. Or was that the blood pooling around Zephyr that made him nauseous? He felt like the massive fence surrounding District 11 would suffocate him. More than ever he felt that he would have to escape Panem if he managed to make it out a Victor.
With considerable effort, Levi pulled his knives from Zephyr's body. Just as he straightened up, the cannon fired. He couldn't wait to get out of the Arena. He'd make quick work of killing the others. He was tired of the cold. He shoved his knives back into his belt and started walking. Once he was out of the small strip of land between the lakes he'd go east. He'd circle back to camp and if Willow and Chester were gone he'd track them and kill them before they knew what was going on. If they were there, well, the sooner he won the better.
Levi abandoned the careful gait he had adopted earlier. He found that he was light enough to walk normally across the frozen snow without fear of crashing through. The area that he was walking through was unfamiliar, but he didn't take any precautions. Everywhere looked basically the same, anyway. The terrain was a little uneven, but it wasn't a big deal. All he could focus on was the prospect of home. The prospect of escape.
Slowly, he began to devise his plan. He figured that the trains couldn't go forever: they'd have to stop for fuel. Who would notice if he packed up a bag and sprinted away? Surely they couldn't stop him from going outside for air. He'd disappear before anyone noticed what was going on and then he'd be gone. He'd make it to the edge, to the ocean. He'd make a boat and get the hell away. He'd be an inspiration. He'd inspire rebellions. After telling his new home about Panem they would help to end the madness. He could end the Hunger Games.
Unless, of course, the places he found were even worse than Panem.
Was that possible? Could there be a government system worse than that of Panem? Were there things worse than the Hunger Games? Or maybe other places had adopted the Games. Maybe the next Quell would be an intercontinental event. And then, of course, there was the possibility that there was nothing beyond Panem at all, and Levi would simply sail around the ocean and end up on the other side, where authorities would be waiting to capture him.
But Levi didn't have much time to contemplate the answers to all the questions ringing around in his head. Before he knew what was happening the snow had given way beneath him. He stumbled forward, attempting to keep from falling, but this only caused him to tumble forward and skid down the slope, making indents in the ice all the way down.
There was a small drop-off at the bottom of the hill, and he fell a couple feet down to the ground. His body broke through the icy layer of snow and he plummeted through four, five, six feet of the powder. It must have piled up during one of the blizzards, he thought dazedly. He floundered around, attempting to get back on his feet. How difficult could it be? He kicked his left leg around, trying to find ground, but it was clear that the drift was deeper than he had thought. His right leg was sticking out at an awkward angle, and the weight of the snow was too much. He couldn't get it to be parallel with his left no matter how much effort he put into it. He tried to jump up and grab the icy layer that was a foot above him, but it was impossible to jump with his right leg immobilized. The snow shifted and spilled onto his shoulders, obscuring his face. He realized how tired he was. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stop flailing around. His arms hurt from trying to push through the snow.
He slowed, closing his eyes. He wasn't destined to win the Games. To leave Panem. It was silly of him to ever believe that the system could be changed. It was cold. The snow had rubbed his cheeks raw in the struggle. He wasn't built for the cold. He missed District 11, oddly enough. But more than that, he missed October. He didn't really believe in the afterlife, but if there was one he looked forward to spending it with the fallen girl from District 10.
Numbness swept through his body. It was too cold. Nothing could survive encased in snow at such a frigid temperature. Levi's mind felt foggy. He knew the end was coming. He gave a last half-hearted attempt at reaching the surface, but he couldn't find it in himself to move his limbs. They not only felt numb, but almost like they weren't there at all. His head was full of clouds. A wave rose up and he didn't try to resist. He let it wash over him, wiping his thoughts away.
Not far off, Willow and Chester paled as they heard the cannon fire.
They were the final two.