She'd made it to the final eight, but the Games were taking their toll.
Sam spent the night in various states of hysterics or fitful sleep, taking the first watch to expunge the oceans of adrenaline that coursed its way through her veins. Without Gannet by her side and only accompanied by the sleeping Storm, Sam felt small and alone under the night sky. When she traded spots later and tried to get sleep, she pulled the camel blanket tight enough around her to nearly cut off her circulation.
Why had she been spared? She who had two deaths and an assist to her name, who had no redeeming quality in her own eyes – yet they'd taken the purest spirit in the Games, the tribute who couldn't even dream of taking a life yet willingly tossed aside hers for another? Sam realized now the things that Gannet had that she didn't: courage, self-sacrifice, bravery even through fear. Sam had none of those; just an insatiable drive to survive that had tossed aside the little girl from District 4 like an unnecessary utensil. It wasn't noble, nor remotely heroic. Sam was simply a survivor to this point of the Games; just as the Capitol wanted.
Now she understood why Storm had no drive to win. These atrocities would never leave you; there was no victor. She'd never forget Gannet; not just for the good things, but for the terrible sight of the previous night.
Low-clinging fog and a cool morning topped with stratus clouds did nothing to improve Sam's spirit. Storm had taken the entire thing well, playing with the halberd he'd retrieved from Hadrian as she awoke.
"This thing's pretty useful," he mentioned to her as she rubbed her puffy eyes. "Gives us a leg up."
"Get rid of it," Sam grunted.
"What?"
"Get rid of it!" she snapped at him. The sight of the weapon that had killed the third member of their party was bad enough; Storm's enthusiasm of getting a new killing device was far worse. She needed no reminder of the reality that accompanied the Games to this point.
"Okay, okay," Storm dropped the weapon, holding up his hands. "I'll bury it. Okay."
Sam pulled the blanket around her as Storm kicked sand over the halberd. She couldn't tolerate his words right now when all she wanted to do was curl up and go home – was that too much to ask for? To let a girl who had just had to watch a friend brutally murdered go back to the only place she'd ever found a place in?
"Sam, are you okay?" Storm asked.
"No, I'm not. I'm really not," she gritted her teeth. Gannet had told her to stay with Storm, yet here she was berating him for every comment. She really couldn't help it.
"She wouldn't want you to lose it all now," Storm sat down beside her, pulling his arms around Sam's blanket-wrapped body. "You meant a lot to her. If you win, it'll make everything she did worth it – but you can't do that if you just sit here."
"I know," Sam pouted. Unfortunately, he was right.
Storm grasped her pinky in his hand, holding it for a moment as he looked down at her. "She wasn't the only one looking after you."
Sam bit her lip and looked away. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to be having now, no matter what she felt. For now, she needed to be up and moving – to keep going, for her sake or Gannet's.
"You said you wanted to go to the Cornucopia," she spoke up, keeping her eyes downcast. "Guess we should go."
She tied the camel blanket clumsily onto the backpack with the last of the twine and kept her two weapons close at hand. Storm carried both his own spear and Gannet's makeshift wooden weapon – between the two of them, they had enough of an arsenal to pose a good threat to any other tributes looking for a fight. The other two Careers hadn't looked for battle the previous night after Hadrian's demise, but they could certainly be prowling now during the daylight. Worse, there were still four other tributes – including Royal, who had almost taken out Sam five minutes into the Games – moving around the arena. By now it'd be much harder for them to come together; certainly the Gamesmakers had something up their sleeves to keep up the killing.
"Rex doesn't like to go a day without a death…"
Dallas's words came back to Sam as she began moving along the fog-lined desert top. Would the Head Gamesmaker give them a day off after six kills in three days? Would he be pushing the pace? It'd only been seven days (seven days! It felt like a lifetime,) but Sam remembered previous Games that had ended inside a week. The longest drew out to two weeks, but with the escalating death count, she figured this wouldn't be one of them.
"What do you think they're asking during interviews back home?" Storm popped the question after a half-hour of walking in silence. "'Cuz, you know, we're in the final eight now. Everybody back in the districts gets questioned."
"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "Probably stupid stuff."
"It's probably crazy in District 12," Storm said. "Well, comparatively crazy. Haven't had two in the final eight since…I dunno, I guess not since the 74th. Long time."
"What happens when you meet her?" Sam asked.
"Haven't really thought about that," Storm replied, understanding the implied "her" being his district partner. "She was a lil' too nondescript. I don't think I'll have much trouble doing what I have to, but I figure the Careers will get her first. She…wasn't really the fighting type."
"It's her, the girls from 5 and 9, the two Careers, Royal, and us," Sam counted up the remaining tributes. "I don't think 5, 9, or your other person from 12 will be super killers, since it seems most of the people since the Cornucopia who died have crossed paths with us. Only the girl from 11 really hasn't."
"That's…a little weird," Storm mused. "It's almost like they're funneling the other tributes at us. Maybe since we're a team and all…I guess the others are probably working independently, then; maybe just struggling to find food and water."
Sam didn't figure how that would be the case. Food and water had been relatively easy to find; Dallas's assertion that the Gamesmakers liked providing such things easily to stave off "boring" deaths had been right on the money. To her knowledge, everyone but the unknown girl from 11 who had died had done so through combat with a mutt or another tribute – and the girl from 11 might have, as well. If nobody had fallen victim to starvation, dehydration, or related things yet, then the likelihood they would in the ending days of the Games was small.
The late morning walk near the edge of the canyon brought a new venture by the Gamesmakers – and satisfied Sam's lingering questions on how the tributes would be brought together. A thundering rush of noise poured out from every corner of the arena, causing both she and Storm to draw weapons – but what happened was far more devious.
Billions of gallons of water poured down the canyon in a colossal flash flood, spraying mist through the hanging fog and crushing anything still remaining on the canyon floor. There would be no going back to the bottom to avoid detection and hide from probing eyes. Now, everyone was on the same plain; there was no more hiding.
"Well," Storm fretted as the flood worked its way down the canyon. It was no danger to them, but it was an unexpected setback. "I guess we can go swimming if we want to go back the way we came."
The deluge provided a unique benefit, however. Armed, with a source of warmth in the camel blanket, a renewed water source, enough dried food to keep going for a few days, and two eyes looking out for danger, Sam began to wonder what else they really needed to win. The Careers seemed to have something else on their minds – Royal, maybe – while the other kids had made no impression on her during the pre-arena events. She didn't want to presume that they were odds-on favorites, since dealing with Fresco and Cascade would be brutal, but…what else was there, now?
That explained the lack of parachutes, as well. Sam figured she and Storm had to be raking in some sponsorship money after several survived confrontations, yet they'd only had the healing agent she'd received after the scorpion mutt's attack and the earlier meal. Sure, there was the odd water bottle find, but that wasn't their parachute. Dallas and Storm's mentors had to be holding back for something, waiting with donations for the right time to drop in. What was that time?
Furthermore, what-
"Sam, stop!"
She froze in her tracks at Storm's command, eyes up and hand going for her weapon. What had drawn his attention wasn't a tribute, however, but far more lethal. The new waterway that had filled the canyon gorge had brought its own danger: a rippling in the water carried its way down the fast-moving current, and something about it was oddly familiar.
"Oh no," Sam whispered.
She'd seen that before. The edge of a violet piece of skin – rubbery and coated in suckers – broke the surface of the water just long enough to be seen before it dipped back under. Of course the mutt hadn't been taken out; it's water-going. The flood had just let the…thing…that had taken Laredo's life loose on the arena as a whole.
Well, that was a good way to get tributes killed.
"Let's try not to make any river crossings unless we absolutely have to," Storm said – he'd seen the break in the water as well.
"You think that's how they're gonna drive us together?" Sam's voice trembled. "Mutts? Worse?"
"Not if I can help it," Storm said. "Not gonna let another one of those things get at you."
Sam smiled wryly. "As much as I want to say 'thanks,' they're not just letting us stand around out here forever. They already took away the canyon."
"Then we're just going to have to make our own way, huh?" Storm clapped her on the shoulder. "You and I. Together we'll figure something out. You're smart after all, and I'm…good at hitting things."
"Oh so I'm making the plans?" Sam laughed. "I thought that was you."
"No, you're telling me how bad my plans are," Storm poked fun. "See? Teamwork. Watch this great plan of mine in action."
Storm picked up a rock and stared straight at it, as if it was a camera. "I'm Storm Hawthorne from District 12, and this is my favorite sponsorship solicitation message in the Hunger Games."
"That's not gonna work!" Sam slapped away the rock playfully. "They're probably laughing at you right now."
"Look at the great teamwork, though," Storm held up a finger like a professor. "That's worth a few bucks right there."
He's done it, Sam thought in a moment of clarity. He's managed to draw me away from all the killing and death, just like that. This morning I'm crying over Gannet, and now I've entirely forgotten it and am laughing with him. How does he do that?
Storm gave her physical protection – that much was obvious – but what Sam finally saw was the other walls he built around her. In a horrible situation of death and fatalism, he kept her spirits up when someone weaker would have crumbled. He kept going when a lesser mind would collapse and fall down. Without him, Sam figured she'd be curled up in the fetal position on the sandy turf – if not straight out raving insane. Multiple people killed, and she still had coherent thoughts – how much of that was due to Storm and his protective aura, his infections personality?
Later in the day, however, the upbeat voice of old Claudius Templesmith alerted Sam to who was still in control.
The sun had begun to creep towards the horizon when the trumpets played out. There hadn't been any deaths, and no doubt the audience was craving violence after the action-packed prior two days. The Gamesmakers wouldn't tolerate this sort of lull now that they had built up the intensity.
"Tributes, fighters," Claudius's voice surprised both Sam and Storm during their walk. "We congratulate you on making the final eight. You are all on the cusp of taking home victory for the glory of your district. However, none of you have gotten quite far enough. Some of you may believe you have everything needed to succeed...unfortunately, what you cannot see may be your worst enemy."
Sam felt the goosebumps rising, even though the fog and clouds had lifted long ago. It was as if he was targeting Storm and her individually, what with their supplies and armament. What you cannot see?
"Some of you are in need of food, water, basic supplies. You will find that tomorrow around the Cornucopia."
"Forget that," Storm dismissed. "We have all that."
"The rest of you are in need of something...less material," Claudius went on, his voice turning seductive. "You will be rewarded for your attendance, of course. But what you really need is an…opportunity. You know who you are. Tomorrow at noon; you'll not want to be late."
The trumpets sounded again and Claudius was gone. The way he had let "opportunity" hand in the air chilled Sam. What did that mean? Sure, they had to kill the other tributes, but there was no rush. Was that aimed at the Careers?
Then she had a chilling realization.
"Sounds like a trap," Storm said. "As much as I want to knock off the Careers, it's not worth it."
"I don't, uh," Sam struggled to overcome the reality of the words she'd heard. "I don't think it's negotiable."
"What?" Storm asked. "Feasts are never required. You go if you need something. It's bait."
"'You'll not want to be late,' is what he said," Sam repeated Claudius's line. "He's telling us something, Storm. Between the flooding of the canyon, the…feast, I guess, and all the killing over the past two days. We don't have a choice."
"It's...the Capitol still in control," Storm saw what she was saying grimly. "Show up or die."