Chapter 24: Into the Arena

I do not sleep at all that night. So, Haymitch's rapping on my door in the morning is almost welcome. My mentor hustles me and Bond to the roof of the Training Center, where a hovercraft awaits.

"Any last advice?" I ask.

"Stay alive," Haymitch tells us grimly.

Bond and I are forced into seats, and the tracker is injected into an arm for each of us. Amidst the other tributes, I spy Martin; in the dim lighting of the plane, I see him give an almost imperceptible nod.

There are no windows, so even with the couple hours of flight, I cannot tell where we are going. When we finally do land, all the tributes are hustled down into underground tunnels that lead to separate holding cells. Inside mine, I find my stylist. As soon as the door shuts, I turn to her.

"Have you got it?"

She wordlessly presents me with a locket, and I click it open. Yes, the picture of a smiling Katniss, holding Riley and encouraging her to wave for the camera, is still there. I had worn it to the Reaping for luck, then had to surrender it to the Gamemakers who would inspect it, to see if it might give me an unfair advantage. I clasp the token around my neck, where it rests right over my heart.

"Ten seconds to launch." My stylist ushers me into the launch tube with a parting, "Good luck." Glass walls seal around me and I feel myself being pushed up, up, up.

At last, I emerge into sunlight. The light seems to come from all sides. When my eyes finally adjust, I can see why.

I am in a jungle. A frozen-over jungle. Snow covers the trees. Snow blankets the Cornucopia, yards ahead of me and standing on a island in the middle of what looks like a frozen sea. The light bounces off the ice.

"Let the 75th Hunger Games begin! May the odds be ever in your favor!" Claudius Templesmith booms. The countdown begins. "10….9….."

When the gong sounds, I don't go right away. And it's a good thing I don't. I don't blindly trust the ice to hold me the way that some of the other tributes must. Indeed, the tribute immediately to my left launches off his pedestal, barely going three steps before the ice suddenly gives out from under him. His scream is cruelly cut off by the chilling waters that suck him down. A cannon sounds.

Cautiously, I step off my plate with one foot, then the other. The ice holds. I then begin to go at barely a jog, my feet hardly touching the white substance below me. It's slow, I know, and the Bloodbath will have already started by the time I get there, but if I can cross and get my hands on a weapon, I figure I'll have a fighting chance.

Looking down at my feet, I can only hear the sounds of cracking ice, screams of drowning tributes, and soon, the clash of weapons from boys who have managed to reach the horn.

"Peeta! PEETA!" I look up and to my left. There is Martin, on one of the rocky spokes used to separate every two tribute pedestals into icy wedges. He is laden with weapons, including swords and spears for me. "I have what we need! Come out to me and let's go!"

I change direction, going marginally faster now. Suddenly, feet from my ally, the ice cracks around me, leaving me stranded on a rickety ice flow. I try not to panic.

"Martin!"

"Just jump!"

I do, hoping I can reach the rocks, but I fall just short. The ice gives at my landing and I feel myself falling.

"No! -"

My cry is cut off by a sharp grip on my arm, as Martin literally hauls me up to the rocks and safety. We share a look.

"Run like hell," he gasps. And we do. We run into the winter wonderland until we can't run anymore. At last, we rest beside an imposing tree - with its wide trunk, I wonder if it is the biggest in the arena. Martin plops down in the snow.

"Sorting time," he begins. "Spear for you, sword for you, backpack for me…."

This goes on for a bit until everything has been divvied up fairly equally. Martin got an impressive haul from the Cornucopia, and I wonder just how many tributes he had to take out to get it. Before I can ask, Martin is up and wandering a bit into the trees; he comes back with his arms full of firewood. He starts up a fire almost immediately, waving me off when I try to help.

"It'll be ready soon, hopefully. You need to take off your boots and prepare to roast your feet before frostbite sets in."

I look down at my snowy arena outfit and figure he's right. The parka and snowshoes and pants keep you warm enough in the harsh wind. But in that frozen water…. I tear off my boots as soon as I see that Martin has the fire going. Then I stick my feet as close as I can to the flames with burning myself. I feel the effects after a little bit, and am grateful to Martin that he did not mess around.

About what I judge to be fifteen minutes later, a parachute lands in the snow patch just to our right. Martin scoops it up, muttering, "It better be what I think it is…. Oh, here we go!" He pulls out squares of white muslin, and returns to me.

"Heat packets. Stuff them into your boots. They should keep your feet warm as we travel." I do as he says, and then put the now-heated footwear back on. I don't feel as nervous about getting frostbite anymore.

There is a long silence while Martin tends the fire and I begin to cook what food we could find in our packs. There isn't much that can be cooked - some raw beef, a can of beans - but it's a good enough meal for our first night. Hopefully, we can find some wildlife to hunt tomorrow. At last, my ally speaks.

"I know you heard enough from Caesar, and there isn't much left to tell, but…. if you're not the little tyke's father, who is?"

I swallow my scoop of beans a little too fast so that it burns my throat. "You know the guy who went up against Cato in the finale last year?"

"No!" and Martin stares at me with wide eyes. "Is he really? I was rooting for him!"

I nod grimly. "So was I…. though, perhaps not as enthusiastically."

Martin nods knowingly, the firelight dancing across his face. "Jealous, huh? I would be, too, tell you the truth."

I nod.

"Last question, I promise. How'd you get his girl to fall in love with you, then?"

I chuckle awkwardly. "Now, that's a whole other story." I don't really want to say, and am unsure if I should; Katniss's privacy has been damaged enough. Thankfully, I am saved by a series of BOOMs in the distance. Martin turns his head to the sound, not even phased.

"Bloodbath's over." We count in our heads. When the last cannon fades on the wind, 13 tributes are accounted for as dead.

"11 left to play. Fairly average," Martin throws out there. I don't answer. What I really want to know is who lives and who dies, exactly. I can make some fairly reasonable guesses beyond Martin and myself, but….

My answer comes about an hour later, once the sun sets. Through a space in the canopy, the Capitol seal appears in the sky alongside the anthem. We see the faces of the dead.

The first to appear are the boys from 3. Then it is the boys from 6. Martin's district partner - a scrawny little twelve-year-old - made it out, then. Only one boy from 7. All from 8 through 11. That's it.

"Good on Jesse!" Martin must be referring to his district partner, and seems genuinely pleased that he survived. He turns to me. "Your buddy got away, too!"

"Yes, I'm real enthused!" I tell my ally sarcastically, and he laughs.

"OK…. not a buddy, then." He peers at the fading embers of the fire. "We'd better get some sleep. It's late."

And cramming into the single sleeping blanket Martin got from the Bloodbath, we do, sharing our body heat.

A/N: Whoo boy! And we are a little over halfway there! More will come in due time. Until then, please REVIEW! The ones I've gotten already have been excellent!