Not much more happens in the Arena by the time the sun sets and the Panem anthem plays. The skies light up to show the fallen tributes. So much death in a single day; it has been hard to keep track of it.
The first fallen tribute to be shown is Cassius, from District Two. Then the woman and boy from District Three. District Four lost their young boy, stabbed in the back by Rafe during the bloodbath. Both female tributes from District Five have fallen. The girl, boy and man from District Six. The woman, Esme Pinewood, and the boy from Seven. Both young children from Eight. District Nine lost their girl, boy and woman. The girl and man from Ten. The woman and man from Eleven. And finally Hettie Undersee is Twelve's only fallen tribute.
Watching the faces of the twenty-one tributes who have died in the very first day I feel a terrible guilt that I only knew the names of three of them. Twenty-one families irrevocably torn apart today but to most of us they were simply another nameless, faceless obstacle that has been cleared.
None of the tributes have yet found water and all of them appear to be suffering as a result. Hair lies flat on top of their heads as a mixed result of sweat and humidity. If water doesn't appear soon they will start dropping like flies.
Some of the tributes are trying to settle down for the night to get some rest. Dad found a thick cluster of trees and bushes. A particularly large root stuck out of the ground formed a roof, and using leaves and vines he has built himself a makeshift tent. Thankfully with the obvious heat he won't need to build a fire to keep warm. I think back to last year, to my first night in the Arena. If I hadn't managed to convince the Careers I was an asset to them I may well have ended up like the girl whose death I witnessed.
I try and find our other Tributes. Rafe hasn't ventured far from the beach, and although he looks tired he isn't resting. Probably taking the opportunity to try and hunt more tributes.
Ava has finally ventured down from the tree she was hiding in. She gathers some nearby vines and as quickly as she is able she sets some snares around her tree before darting back up, using another vine to tie herself to the branch. She must mean to get some sleep.
Beside me Katniss is struggling to keep her eyes open. Her head rests on my shoulders and every now and again I feel her jerk slightly as if she is falling asleep against her will and forcing herself to stay awake.
I kiss the top of her head. "Go get some rest," I tell her.
"What about you," she answers quietly, stifling a yawn.
"I doubt I'll sleep until this is all over," I reply, my eyes fixed on the screens.
"How did Haymitch do this alone for so long?"
"By usually having tributes who died on the first day," Haymitch's voice cuts across us as he stumbles in to view. He sits down heavily in a chair near me. "You two were a pain in the ass last year."
"Sorry for being so damn selfish," snaps Katniss, but her tone lacks any real bite.
"You're welcome," says Haymitch. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Rafe will be getting a parachute any moment. I thought you'd rather hear it from me before you see it."
My jaw clenches painfully and I refuse to look at Haymitch. I keep an eye on Rafe's screen and sure enough, down floats a parachute. He looks surprised at first then a grin spreads over his face as he picks it up and sits down to examine his gift. He looks up at the sky, the cameras on his triumphant face and says in a voice that won't carry through the jungle but that is easily picked up by the recording equipment, "Cheers, Peeta." He smirks as he raises the bottle of water he has just been sent up high, as if to toast me. It looks as though he has also been sent some bread, cheese and dried fruit, which he takes a few bites of before stashing the rest away and washing his meal down with water.
In silence I stand up and turn away from the screens. The sight of Rafe is sickening, especially after his display of thanking me. I hear Katniss call after me, but I look at her and shake my head slightly. She understands and stays in her seat, resuming her vigil of the screens, tucking her legs up on her seat. I seek out Briar immediately amongst the bar's patrons. She is laughing and talking to a couple of other Capitol citizens, including the sister of one of the gamemakers, Damiana Ivory. I do my best to steady my nerves and head straight towards her.
As I approach she doesn't seem pleased to see me. She excuses herself from her friends and says, "Can I help you?" in a tone of pure impatience.
"Well…yes," I reply. She raises an eyebrow questioningly. "I mean, you already prom-" I stop talking under the glare I receive from her.
"Everything ok, Briar, sweetie?" one of the other Capitol women call to us.
"Fine, Abrey, just being hounded as usual."
This woman, Abrey, glances over at us. "District Twelve again? We just sent that boy a parcel, what more do they want?"
"He wants me to help the man."
"Oh no, really? But he's so boring."
I am about to open my mouth in protest but Briar shoots a hand out, holding my arm in her vice-like grip and steering me away. "It wouldn't do well for you to question the choices that others have made," she hisses.
"But you are going to help him?"
She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Buy me a drink and I'll send him something." I order her another flute of her favourite champagne which she accepts then says, "Follow me."
She slides her arm through mine and together we head back out of the bar. We enter an ornate elevator, she presses a button and we begin to descend in silence. After a moment or two she presses a button on the elevator which causes it to halt in its descent. She runs her fingers over my stomach. Please, not now… Not so soon… I freeze in place; even if this is inevitable I won't encourage it. She breaks the terse silence. "He isn't a popular choice, you know."
That throws me. His cheers were tumultuous at his interview. "Why?"
She shrugs. "It's always fun watching a Victor struggle with the death of a loved one. We've seen them lose a child, but never a parent. This could be a once in a lifetime opportunity."
I can't contain the anger that rises in me. "That's my dad you're talking about! This isn't 'fun!' This isn't an exciting 'opportunity!' This is life and death!"
She smirks at me. "Thank you for proving my point exactly, Peeta. Always fun." She reaches for my stomach once again but I grasp her wrist before she does and shove her away. "Now, now, Peeta. No need for that kind of behaviour. I never said I wouldn't help him, merely that he was an unpopular choice. Don't make me change my mind."
"Sorry," I mumble, cursing myself for my inability to control my emotions around her.
She presses the button that starts the elevator again. "Apology accepted, for now."
The elevator doors open, and I find myself in a large, white room, an even bigger and more detailed version of the holographic map of the arena in the centre of the room. At least thirty Capitol workers sit around it, working at monitors. This must be the main control centre for the games.
In front of the arena map sits a Capitol worker at a desk facing us. As we approach she asks without looking up, "Name and District of the Tribute you are sponsoring?"
"Steffan Mellark, District Twelve," replies Briar.
"And what are you sending?"
"A spile," she replies.
"A what?" I ask.
"It's how he'll get water."
The worker taps several buttons and a holographic projection of a long thin tube appears hovering in the air in front of us. "Is this acceptable?" she asks.
"What do you do with it?" I ask.
"It can be used as a tap to siphon water from the trees. Is this acceptable?" the worker repeats.
"Perfectly so," says Briar.
"He won't know what to do with it!" I retaliate. "You'll send instructions too?"
"We cannot send explicit written instructions."
An idea comes to me. I turn to Briar. "Can we send him some food?"
"If you are willing to…pay… then of course."
I nod my silent assent. I will worry about those insinuations later. "Two or three cookies, that's all I'd need, and some royal icing in a piping bag."
The items I need are sent for and after a few minutes they appear. It is a few more minutes work for me to roughly ice the cookies showing a diagram of how the spile can be hammered in to a tree to get water. Not my neatest or prettiest work, but hopefully it will at least be informative enough.
The Capitol worker eyes the cookies with interest, before asking Briar to eyeball a scanner. "The cost of sending these items will be eighty Coins. Do you wish for me to proceed?"
"Yes, yes…" She is beginning to sound impatient.
"Thank you. Your tribute will receive their sponsorship momentarily."
My heart leaps. I've given him a fighting chance at least. The hell is worth it, knowing that I have done what I can.
"As a matter of interest, how much would it cost to put a stop to any lethal traps he may be in at the appropriate times?"
The worker taps a few buttons. "At this stage in the Games that will cost ten thousands Coins. Price will, of course, increase."
"Thank you," she responds before leading me back to the ornate elevator. Once inside with the doors closed, Briar speaks. "It certainly will cost a lot of money to keep him safe through these games. Possibly more than you will be able to afford to repay before the end. Unless of course you would be willing to travel back to the Capitol at other times during the year?"
My breathing hitches as my heart hammers furiously in my throat. "Wouldn't people notice if I kept returning outside of the Games?"
She shrugs. "I was planning on having a word with Snow anyway. Making our arrangement a little more… official."
That sense of vertigo again… Does that mean I would be sold to anyone? Like Finnick? "What about Katniss?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You'd want to keep all to yourself, wouldn't you?"
"Of course."
"I'm sure it could be arranged."
Everything is spiralling out of my control. I wonder if there was a moment I would have been able to say 'no' to any of this, to stop it before it truly started. I think back to our first encounter; how I blacked out and awoke with that ominous note. I have to know the truth.
"Miss Baxwall?" My voice sounds so nervous, hesitant. Completely unlike my own.
"Hmmm?"
"Is…." I pause and swallow my apprehension. "That is to say, did you…?"
"Spit it out, boy."
"Did you make sure it was my father's name that came out?"
Her face is blank and completely unreadable. "Is that what you've been thinking?"
"Did you?"
She steps a little closer to me and lightly draws a nail down the side of my cheek. "I don't think I'm going to answer that one. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. But watching you squirm is just too delicious."
At that moment the elevator doors reopen and we find ourselves back on the floor with the bar. She heads away from me, and it takes all my effort to remain upright. She has as good as confirmed my suspicions. This is all my fault. Dad is in this situation because of me. And I will have to sacrifice my own future to get him out again. I want to run away, to pretend none of this is happening, but then who would there be to protect dad? Or Kern and Rhees back home? Or Katniss? I stumble back to the bar. After the announcements of the day's dead only a few hardened Capitol Games fans have stuck around, and as the tributes settle down for the night, so are some of the mentors, to grab a few hours of relaxation and respite.
Haymitch and Chaff are propping each other up at the bar, while Katniss appears to have fallen asleep in one of the armchairs nearest the monitors. I join her and she jerks awake. "Hey," I say, putting an arm around her and pulling her in. "I thought I told you to go and get some rest?"
"Didn't want to leave you," she says as she drapes an arm across me. I fight the tears that threaten to fall. I don't want to her to see the pain I have caused myself. She closes her eyes again and in moments her breathing deepens, and she is asleep.
I find dad's monitor. He is still in his makeshift shelter, lying down with his eyes open. He must be exhausted but unable to sleep. He then notices something, and my heart lifts at the sight of it. A parachute falling gently to come to land just in front of him. He crawls out of his hiding space and unravels the silk. The first thing to be pulled out is the spile which he turns over in his hands, a look of confusion on his face. He then spies the cookies. There is just enough moonlight for him to be able to make out the crude drawings on the front. He clearly recognises this as my work. He looks at the diagrams, and back to the spile, back and forth until a slight smile creeps across his face. He wipes the tears that have fallen from his face, pockets the spile then traces his finger across the diagram of one of the iced cookies. "Thank you, Peet," he whispers, taking a bite from one of them.
At that moment a bell seems to chime. It sounds mournful, funereal even, and it can only herald something ominous. On the screens I see that all of the tributes seem to be looking to the skies, wondering what these bells can mean. As the twelfth bell strikes, the lightening begins.
A/N – Thanks to all who are reading and enjoying the story. Please leave a review to tell me what you think :)