Chapter 3: 65th Annual Hunger Games
The Capitol is enormous. It's much smaller than District 4 in area, but its technological enormity is not something that escapes Finnick's attention. It's like stepping into the future. There are buildings everywhere – some more than twenty, forty floors. People dress as though each day is a Reaping Ceremony. And there is a constant buzz about the place – even when Finnick lies awake in bed in the dark, early hours of the morning, there are noises. Incessant hums of activity coming from just outside his window. The Capitol does not sleep.
He is wide-eyed and enamoured, despite the reality of his situation. The Capitol is what makes him know he's not dreaming, for he never could have imagined a place so alive and so vibrant.
It's difficult to focus on the upcoming Games, though he knows he should. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 seem interested in him, and it hits him that he is considered a Career tribute – so much better prepared than the tributes from the poorer, hungrier districts.
He knows the interests of his fellow tributes also stem from the fact that he has caught the attention of the crowd. The audience never screams louder than when he makes his appearances. His mentors gave him advice for his interview with Caesar Flickerman, but he forgets every word and instead flashes a few grins and pronounces his fascination with the Capitol. That earns him more points than his team had ever expected.
In Training, he makes an effort to speak to the stronger tributes. The older ones who might take him under their wing. He practices camouflage and setting snares and throwing spears, but mostly observes the others and gets to know them. In private presentation with the panel of judges, he demonstrates his agility with a trident and ranks amongst the highest of the contestants.
His stylist, Desmeretta, is his favourite Capitol personality by far. With her wonky blue curls and silver tattoos that creep up her neck and cover the right side of her face, she's just as intriguing to him as anything in the Capitol. While she inspects him at fittings, she's always quick to mention that she can't wait to design for him once he's won the Games.
"Your Victory Tour'll be easy as pie," she tells him. "I'll put golden flecks in your hair, spray you with bronzer and send you off without a shirt. You'll win everyone's hearts before you even open your mouth."
Finnick wonders if he likes Desmeretta so much simply because she speaks of his future. She's the only person who dares to these days.
His moments with Desmeretta are amongst the only times he allows himself to think beyond the present. Past and future are otherwise effectively shut out of his mind. He won't think of those he's left behind, and he won't think of what's destined to come.
Unless his mentors, Mags and Qais, are determined to talk strategy. And most of the time, they are. They throw situations at him and he must spit back his plan of action. What if the arena is a frozen wasteland? What if there's no game to hunt? What if there's a flood? A drought? What if it's too humid? Too cold?
Finnick hates these questions. He answers them; he works out a strategy with his mentors – but he hates every minute of it. It only reminds him of the danger that lies ahead. It lights a very prominent, very paralyzing fear in his heart.
In moments like these, when he chokes upon thinking of home and balks at the thought of the Arena, he waits for Qais and Saskia, Marcocia and the prep team to retreat for the night. Then he has Mags, the wise seventy-year-old victor, all to himself. Someone he feels he can trust.
"One thing at a time," she tells him. "We're giving you all the knowledge you need now to develop a solid strategy when you're in the arena. As long you take a step back and breathe, you can work through it."
Finnick nods, a worried crease in his brow.
"You're ahead of the pack, Finnick. What is it you're worried about?"
He contemplates her question, digging into his subconscious. "It's… everyone has such high expectations. But what if I'm… what if it's all…?"
"Not good enough?" she finishes.
With a gulp, he nods again. Wetting his lips, he cracks, "What's so great about me, Mags?"
A soft chuckle escapes her lips. "Why, I thought you knew."
He gives her a pained glance.
Unfazed, she continues, "You're a smart boy, Finnick. Smarter than most of the tributes I've worked with, even the older ones. You're high-spirited. You can turn yourself on in front of an audience – it's rare that you show any vulnerability. You're quick-witted and endearing." She sits back in her chair, adding nonchalantly, "And it doesn't hurt that your smile has all of Panem in hysterics."
He can't help but grin at that.
"Yes, that's the one," Mags says. "Finnick, the real trick of the Games is not to let your insecurities get to you. Stay strong, every minute of every day. Remove your heart so that instinct takes over."
"Is that what you did?" he asks.
"That's what all victors did," is her sober reply. "Trust me on that."
He releases a shaky breath, knowing that he must rid himself of these moments of weakness before stepping into the arena.
"Everyone's scared, you know. That's what you need to remember."
Everyone is scared for themselves. An image of Annie flashes in his mind. He hasn't thought about her since the day of the Reaping. If anyone is scared for him, it's her.
"I don't wanna die," he whispers, lip quivering.
Mags leans close to him, gripping his wrist in her bony hand. Fixing her eyes on his, she says fiercely, "Then live."
Tears threatening to spill from his eyes, he nods quickly, exhaling to compose himself. He whispers one last thing to Mags:
"Okay."
A glass cylinder lifts Finnick from the Launch Room to the platform in the Arena. As is customary, all tributes surround the Cornucopia in the center – the giant, golden horn filled with weapons and supplies. They will have sixty seconds to get their bearings in the Arena and develop a strategy for gaining supplies. Then the Games will begin.
Finnick's eyes are alert as he rises onto the platform. The glass cylinder lowers around him until he stands free, in the fresh open air of the Arena.
Sixty seconds.
He catches a glimpse of Saskia four platforms over. She's been so strong throughout the training, but suddenly, she appears overcome by nerves.
He can't worry about her. Instead, he surveys the Cornucopia – packs and weapons lie within it and spill out of its mouth, but the fact is that if any of the tributes want to set off with some supplies, they're going to have to cluster together and fight for them.
Forty-five seconds.
He wants a trident. Oh, let there be some sort of spear in there! And a loaf of bread with some fruit or crackers will help to tide him over until he can figure out what's edible in the arena.
Thirty seconds.
It's hard to judge the size of the Arena as the Cornucopia is hidden in a clearing in the woods. Towering trees surround the tributes in a perfect circle. There's no telling which way one should go to find shelter, food or water.
Fifteen seconds.
He can't spot the District 2 tributes – they must be hidden behind the Cornucopia – but he spots the male tribute from District 1 on his right. They meet each other's eyes and nod. Allies, it seems.
The clock begins to count down. In ten seconds, the landmines surrounding the platforms will deactivate. The Arena will be a free-for-all.
Nine… eight…
Finnick takes one last deep breath, steadying his eyes on the target.
Seven… six…
If I have to die, he thinks, this isn't such a horrible place to-
BANG!
All tributes startle at the sound, whipping their heads to the noise. Landmines have exploded around one of the platforms. All that remains is a cloud of smoke and a burnt hole in the ground.
One of the tributes is already dead. It's impossible to know who.
Two… one…
There's another burst of noise to alert the tributes that their time is up. Many stay rooted to their platform, terrified to move and in shock over what has just happened.
But not Finnick. He runs for his life.
"Ladies and gentlemen," booms the familiar voice of Claudius Templesmith, "let the 65th Annual Hunger Games begin!"
On his second day in the Arena, Finnick receives the first gift from his sponsors. He receives it in the dark of night, on guard while his Allies – both tributes from District 2, the male from District 1, and a brute from District 6 – sleep. It floats down from the sky attached to a small parachute, landing safely in the palms of his hands. He's not in want of food or water – the Careers have secured themselves enough of that, as well as amassing themselves with as much weaponry as they could defend at the Cornucopia.
But no tridents, much to Finnick's dismay. He's shoddy with a bow and arrow and not particularly adept with daggers.
When he unwraps the parcel, he finds coils and coils of very thin – but very strong – rope. He could wake the others; let him know of their newly-acquired supply. But something tells him that Mags wants him to keep this to himself. To save it for the opportune moment.
Finnick stuffs the coils into the pouch at his belt and, with quiet, slow movements, buries the parachute in the dirt.
By day seven, Finnick's clothes are worn, but otherwise, he's in good physical shape. Generous sponsors have ensured that he never goes hungry, and he has a vial of medicine in his stockpile, too. Just two days ago, the Careers went to the pond nearby their shelter to refill their canteens with water, only to discover that the water had been poisoned. A clever trick of the gamemakers'.
The poison had killed the male tribute from District 2 almost instantly. He'd taken the largest gulp. The rest of them writhed on the ground, choking and convulsing and hallucinating, until a parachute had dropped from the sky into Finnick's outstretched hand. Trembling, he'd opened the vial and gulped.
He shared the medicine with the male from District 1 and the female from District 2. By the time he got around to the District 6 tribute, it was too late. His skin had turned a purplish-grey and he convulsed no more.
Since then, the Careers had moved their shelter each night, searching for a reliable source of water – although in the Games, nothing was reliable. They'd also killed two tributes who'd been so stupid as to set a faulty snare to entrap them while waiting nearby. The first had been killed by bow and arrow, courtesy of District 2. The second, when she'd tried to flee, had been hunted down by the male from District 1. He'd tackled her from behind and flipped her around while he straddled her. Finnick heard her gasping pleads for mercy, her apologies, her prayers – and then there was an axe in her skull.
When the time came, Finnick wondered who in his alliance would turn on whom. If Districts 1 and 2 ganged up on him, would he get an axe to the skull? An arrow in the back? Or would they simply dunk him in the poison water and leave him writhing in agony on the ground until he slowly, painfully left the world? The other Careers show no mercy, and Finnick hates, fears and admires them for it.
Nine tributes remain, by Finnick's count. He and the two other Careers are on a hunt for the female from District 6. Their dead ally from the same district had informed them that she's particularly skilled in the art of camouflage. Better to hunt her out now than face a lonely, frustrating dilemma at the end of the Games.
The woods end, opening into another clearing. They tread carefully into the clearing, weapons at the ready. Finnick wields a machete, which he fervently hopes he will not have to use. The thought of it is vile.
Halfway across the clearing, they begin to relax. If someone were going to launch an attack of arrows or spears, they surely would have done so by now.
It is as they re-enter the woods on the opposite side of the clearing that things change.
A tribute drops from high in the trees, launching himself onto the female from District 2. She's knocked to the ground, slit across the throat, and dead almost instantly.
The District 1 tribute is in shock for only a split second before he engages in combat with the tribute. District 1 has an axe, but it's too heavy for him to wield in the fight.
"Finnick!" he bellows, attempting to hold down the attacker. He means for Finnick to use his machete.
Eight tributes left. No need to sever the alliance just yet. But at what price?
Eyes wild with madness, Finnick raises his weapon over his shoulder, approaching the restrained attacker.
"Kill him and you die," says a calm voice from behind.
Despite the grunts and groans of the two in battle, Finnick swirls around to face Saskia. She's approaching him with a bow and arrow aimed straight for his forehead.
He shakes his head slowly. "Saskia, no."
"Finnick!" District 1 calls again.
"I'll do it," she warns.
"Kill him!"
Finnick looks over his shoulder at the struggling pair. The tribute from District 1 still has the upper hand, but they're matched for strength and he's waning.
"You have three seconds to drop your weapon," Saskia tells him.
The tribute from District 1 screams in frustration.
Finnick drops the machete and holds up his empty hands. "Saskia," he mouths. "It's okay."
Saskia begins to lower the bow. Finnick breathes a huge sigh of relief.
And then, with the last ounce of strength he can muster, the boy from District 1 reaches across the earth for Finnick's discarded weapon and kills his opponent before anyone can blink an eyeball.
Venom in his voice, he points the machete at Finnick and growls, "We're done."
Then he sprints into the woods, armed with an axe, a machete, and a backpack of supplies.
As he flees, Saskia raises her weapon again, though Finnick blocks her from a shot of District 1.
"Don't shoot!" he cries, wincing at the thought that she might kill him here and now.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because I can help you," he spits out. "We can help each other."
"What can you do for me?"
"I have supplies," he says, motioning to his pack. "I'm fast. I'm a quick thinker. I know what he's—" he points to the tribute who's just escaped in the woods, "—capable of and what his strategies are." He catches his breath, realizing that he's literally begging for his life. "And," he adds, "I get sponsor gifts. I've gotten three of them already. If you keep me alive, they'll send more."
"Arrogant bastard," she snarls, though she lowers her weapons once again.
"Not arrogant. Just honest," Finnick replies, flashing her an innocent smile.
Saskia raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Still a bastard, though."
At the end of day nine, Finnick and Saskia watch the sky light up with a projected image of the girl from District 6. Wherever she was hiding, it's likely that the boy from District 1 has found her.
Six tributes remain.
The day before, the District 4 tributes had received a dinner feast from their sponsors. They laid low in their shelter in the woods and happily ate away. They'd rationed it for the next few days, so as they watch the girl from District 6 fade away in the sky, they munch on crackers and cheese.
Finnick looks over at Saskia, her eyelids drooping.
"Sleep," he tells her. "I've got the first watch."
Obediently, she crawls into the little hut they've made, threading together sticks and leaves, and curls herself into a ball. Finnick sits at the opening of the hut, staring into the distance.
He wonders now how he will die. It's not a question of if; it's when. He can't aim an arrow accurately enough to kill. His machete was taken by the boy from District 1. The only real weapon he has is his knowledge – from hunting with the Careers, he was able to develop a fairly solid map of the Arena and can remember where the ponds are, which is a good indicator of where all the tributes are hiding.
Other than that, he feels useless. And the useless tribute perishes in the Arena.
He'll never see District 4 again.
"What do you miss most?" Saskia asks him sleepily, as if she can read his thoughts.
"Huh?" he asks.
"I miss the clear blue sky," she answers for herself. "The sky over the Capitol was always a hazy grey. Did you notice that?"
He pauses. He'd noticed, but had been so enthralled with the Capitol that he hadn't wasted time on comparisons. "Yeah," he murmurs.
"And I miss the waves. How they used to lull me to sleep," she goes on.
"Uh huh," he says, leaning his back against the hut. He tries not to listen. It hurts to think of those things.
"And my momma," she finishes, her voice wavering. "She'd tell me not to be afraid of the dark, not to worry. She wouldn't let anything happen to me…"
While Finnick stares out into the serene woods, Saskia sobs quietly to herself. He has no words to comfort her. Not when he's so sure of his own miserable fate.
She cries herself to sleep. He feels his crusty heart hardening.
The following day, there are no deaths. Saskia and Finnick are on edge, knowing that the gamemakers will soon manipulate the final tributes into closer quarters, forcing them to duke it out. Between the two of them, they only possess one bow with five arrows. There's no way they stand a chance.
Finnick paces around their hut most of the day, kicking trees and groaning to himself when he thinks of what's to come. He can't devise a plan when he has no leverage. There's just no way in which he can see himself coming out on top.
Until it's dark again. Finnick takes the second watch, waking up well past midnight to stay up until the dawn. To calm himself, he listens to Saskia's breaths grow deeper and deeper.
He waits at the foot of the hut, thinking of anything but home for an hour or so. The forest is deadly quiet – not even crickets are chirping anymore.
Something flashes overhead. He looks up – another parcel is floating downwards. And this time, it's a big one.
Stealthily, Finnick pushes himself to a standing position to catch the next sponsor gift in his hands. He stares in disbelief – it's a trident. A real trident, just like the ones he'd spent years using to fish.
Then he feels around in the pouch on his belt. He's almost forgotten the coils that were given to him so early on in the games. Rope and a trident… two of the most familiar things in Finnick's world.
He looks up to the sky, a crazed smile on his face. "Thank you," he breathes to whoever is up there. Mags. Qais. Adoring sponsors in the Capitol. "You've saved my life."
He knows now what he must do. What they intend him to do.
Steel-faced, he enters the hut. Saskia sleeps peacefully.
She wouldn't let anything happen to me…
He hoists his weapon.
Before he sends the trident through her chest, her eyes fly open and lock with his.
Then, through the solitude of the woods, a cannon booms.
Within three days, he's killed them all.
Yikes.
Up next: Our victor's homecoming. Although, as you may recall, there was at least one personality from District 4 who didn't bank on Finnick returning...
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