Author's Note: Chapter number 42: The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. Well, not really.

Chantelle has now been added to the rotating "loner" list, so we won't be getting her POV for another couple of chapters.

Special recognition goes to Maysilee Survived for catching the Quell (my story about the 25th Games) reference last chapter even though I didn't point out that there was one in the first place!

Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Mentors Won Their Games, Part I. Ivan Chekhov, Luka's mentor, won the 175th Games by using a cannon built into the Cornucopia to take out his fellow Careers at the Feast. This cannon's existence had been discovered during the bloodbath, but there had been an unspoken agreement among the tributes not to use it and thus it had been all but forgotten until Ivan decided to cash in on the fact that the rule was unofficial.

…..

Parker Bates, District Eight

I wake to the sound of a cannon firing. Instinctively, I look around me. No one's here except Che, who's looking around just as confusedly as I am.

It wasn't us, then. It wasn't anyone near us. Some unlucky tribute on the other side of the arena just died. I wonder if they were a victim of the Careers or of a betrayal or of a mutt or of some other deadly feature of the arena. Were they poisoned or stabbed or shot or torn apart or strangled or garroted or worse? Did anyone watch? Did anyone have to watch them die? Did they try to save them? Did they say something to them before they died? Or did they enjoy it? Did they laugh? Was the last thing that poor tribute heard a cold taunt of a Career or a district partner, an ally, a friend? Were they asleep or wide awake in fear?

I can't stop my thoughts from racing down this morbid track even though I desperately don't want to think of it, of death, of Mary's death, of my death and my heart and my brain just can't keep up and I know I'm going insane because my soul can't help but breakbreakbreak-

"Parker?" It's Che. He's coming over. Helping me up. Walking me to water. Helping me drink. Is the water poisoned? I spit it out.

"No, Parker," he says. "You have to drink." He's right. I'll get dehydrated. But we don't have anything to fix the water and make it pure and safe to drink, and what if it is poison? What if it is a trap? Che, don't drink it! I say, but he can't hear me and he drinks anyway. I grab his arm and pull him away.

"Parker, please, you need water. It's fine. It's clean. Come over here." He leads me over. Talks to me some more. Soothingly, quiet. Like I'm a child. A child that needs patronizing. I'm not a child.

I have a sister who's a child and her name is Mouse—Mary—and she's in District Eight—District Six, dead at the bloodbath—and she's safe—dead, dead at the bloodbath, killed by One—and I have to get home to her—I have to die in these Games, because there's no way out—

No way out. But I'll find a way out. I need to get back to District Eight. Where is District Eight? Somewhere here. Somewhere near. Somewhere...

"Parker!" I hear Che call. Calling me back to the arena. But no, I run through the forest because I'm going home and nothing can stop me, I can run home through this forest—

And then I fall to the ground. Che finds me. He looks scared as he leads me back to our camp by the fountain. He's scared, and he should be. Because the Gamemakers want to keep us from going home. They want to keep us in this forest and they have tricks to do it and that's what's happening now.

I fell because the ground started shaking.

…..

Bri Geers, District Seven

"What the hell-"

Before I can finish my sentence, the ground rumbles again. They're only slight tremors, but they're enough to knock you to the ground if you were moving. The squirrel I was tracking has scampered away, leaving me with no meat after an hour of hunting. Game seems to be ridiculously hard to find in this arena, and now the Gamemakers have blown away my chance of actually catching something. Damn.

I head back to my allies' camp, walking somewhat warily in case another earthquake strikes and keeping my eyes out for more squirrels. I see a few, but they're moving so fast I can barely get my bow loaded before they're gone. Sighing, I continue on. After a few more minutes, I think I hear a girl sobbing somewhere in the distance, but I don't follow the sound. If I don't get involved with her, then she won't get a chance to kill me. I'm not about to go picking fights with innocent tributes. Well, except for Emily Raine.

I think back to the conversation Caprice and I had yesterday evening. This whole thing is so wrong, so sick. I shouldn't be devoting the rest of my life to slaughter. I shouldn't be out to get a girl who never even knew my father, never mind murdering him. He shouldn't even have been murdered in the first place. And I shouldn't be forced to pay for it with my life in these ghastly Games for the Capitol's amusement.

Hell, Panem is a sick place. Nothing is as it should be. But I have to make do with what I have.

The earth rumbles again. I lose my balance, but grab onto the low limb of a tree to keep myself standing. I'm jerked out of my thoughts, reminded that I should be paying attention to the here and now, because if I don't then I might die a lot sooner than if I do.

With that in mind, I grab some edible berries from a low bush around a nearby fountain so the alliance will have something to eat besides crackers and make my way back to camp.

"Did you feel that?" Caprice asks.

I nod. "The whole arena probably felt it. Typical Gamemakers."

"This forest was just too good to be true," Jace mutters.

"Yeah. And I couldn't find much in the way of food besides some berries." I hand them to Caprice, who puts them in the bag. "There were a few squirrels, but they were too quick to catch without proper traps. Do we have ropes?"

"Some cords, yeah."

"I can probably rig something up," I say. And I can. Back in Seven, I was the trap-setter when A.J. and I went out hunting. But for some reason, this makes me pause. Even though I'm more than capable of taking care of myself in the Games, I still feel like I'm missing something. I don't have A.J. to watch my back or to trade stories with. Caprice and Jace are nice, but they haven't known me all my life and they're certainly not going to put my safety over their own. They're allies, not partners. And what I need more than anything right now is a partner.

More reminders of home. More of a reason to get back there.

…..

Yon Trizzle, District Eight

The ground is shaking. It has been, on and off, for the past couple hours. I was panicked at first, but then I calmed down when I realized it wasn't going to hurt me. It's just a little shaking. Nothing's wrong with that.

I've been hiding out in the forest, keeping to myself and listening for cannons. There have been six so far. Six people gone. Twenty-four minus six is eighteen. I am one of eighteen people left in these Games.

I've followed all my instructions so far, so I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do. I haven't come across any more tributes I have to kill, so I'm just waiting. Waiting here by the fountain, waiting for them to come.

I don't mind waiting. It gives you time to breathe, time where you don't have to be acting on orders, just drifting. But you're not drifting without a purpose, because you do have orders, and it's just everything's not set for you to follow them yet. Waiting's a time where you don't have to be anything. There's been a lot of waiting in the time before these Games. There's probably going to be a lot more in this arena.

Another earthquake comes. It's stronger than the others, knocking me down even though I've been standing still. And it goes on longer, too, almost a full minute. I hear a cracking sound and then it goes away, just like that.

I look around for what could have made the noise and see that the fountain near me has a crack in it, near the bottom. It's not a big crack and nothing's leaking out of it. I wonder if anyone else heard it and if they'll be coming to investigate so I can kill them. They don't, and I don't.

I come out of my spot and get some water from the fountain, because my mentor said I should stay hydrated. If I don't have enough water, he said, I could get sick and die. And then I wouldn't be able to come home, and I promised Thera I would. I'm going to fulfill that promise.

And if somehow I don't... If somehow, I don't get to fill out my orders like I should...

For a moment, I don't know what to do and I think I'm going to cry. But my mentor said I shouldn't do that, so I push the thoughts away. Simple as that. I just won't think about it.

I drink my water and then move back into the shadows to wait some more.

…..

Link Anderson, District Three

Thalia and I set out this morning to build some traps. The earthquakes complicated that some. Well, actually, they complicated it a lot.

Complication number one: we don't know when they're coming so they throw us off balance. Thalia was up in a tree when the first one hit, and she's lucky she was low enough that the fall didn't break any of her bones. We both were more careful after that, which ended up with Thalia hesitating every time before she scaled any of the trees, which decreases both our speed and the number of traps we're going to be able to set before the day is out. That might end up costing our lives—you never know in the Hunger Games.

Complication number two: The earthquakes cause the branches and leaves of the trees to shake, messing up our camouflage work and sometimes even critical parts of the traps. We keep having to go back and fix them—decreasing our speed even more.

Less speed. More time away from the camp. More of an opportunity for other tributes like the Careers to find us. More worries for me. Decreased odds of survival, even if the traps may eliminate some of our competitors.

At least we're always on the move. That's better than staying still—there's little cover on the ground, and I can't exactly climb a tree in my condition. Which really isn't fair—given the "fight or flight" response, logically my only choice is to fight. I can't run. I can't climb to safety. All I have are my katanas and my wits—valuable weapons, of course, but perhaps not enough. My options are limited, and that gives me even more of a disadvantage in these Games than I already have.

47%, I think. Even with the decreased numbers of competitors. Maybe even 46%, or 45%, or 44%—

No. You don't have time to be nervous now. You have to be alert, no matter what. Another quake could knock you down.

Which leads me to complication number three: my prosthetic leg and earthquakes do not mix. I have more balance issues than the average person, and when I get knocked down, it's hard for me to get up quickly. I had been counting on my agility and skill in swordplay to remedy that issue—I simply wouldn't allow myself to fall. But the earthquakes don't exactly give me a choice, do they?

All it would take is an earthquake, the lightest of tremors. If Thalia were somehow gone, unable or unwilling to help me, I'd have to struggle to get up. Then one of the Careers with their arrows or throwing knives could spot me and then it would all be over...

41%, 40%, 39%... odds dropping, numbers falling, a flick of a Gamemaker's switch and then... then I'd be gone.

I shake my head as if to shake away the possibility. That's not going to happen. And if it is, I'll think of something and make it through. I always do.

Odds are just numbers, and numbers don't necessarily make a reality.

…..

Eadem Ordinaria, District Six

These quakes may scare some of the other tributes, but not me. We have plenty of earthquakes in District Six, and bigger ones than these at that. I know how to prepare, and I'm strong. I'm ruthless. I'm unafraid. I'm abnormal, and I have only one goal: make it out of these Games alive, no matter what.

I sip from the water fountain and head to the west. I've noticed that the bases of some of the fountains are cracked, and if the earthquakes continue, then the fountains may end up destroyed. I'll have to collect as much water as I can before that happens, but all I have is a spear. I'll have to get a water bottle from another tribute. Preferably a dead one, or at least one that's dead after I'm through with them.

So I'm off to find a water bottle. There are plenty of footprints in this soil—it's soil made for a hunter, perfect for tracking and sneaking up silently—and several tributes are stupid or scatterbrained enough not to cover their tracks. I've been following some footprints for a while now—two allied tributes wandering across this part of the arena. One of them makes odd scuffling marks with long patches of well-concealed trail—the lame but high-scoring boy from Three, perhaps?—and the other doesn't even bother to cover up their deep, fresh footprints. They've been visiting fountains, so it makes sense that they'd have the bottle I need.

I rather like tracking. It's quite fun.

I crouch down to gather some berries from one of the bushes by a fountain—edible berries, obviously; blackberries, or something of the sort—and notice the crack at the base. On cue, the earth rumbles again and the crack widens a little.

Only a matter of days until that crack makes its way up the base and into the bowl of the fountain. The water will spill over and out and through, washing away my lovely footprints and flooding the ground. I'll lose both water—a necessity—and my lead in this arena. I'll have to prepare. I'll have to be quick.

I smile and finger the piece of rubber in my pocket that is my district token. I can do that. I can be swift, just as I can be strong and ruthless and courageous. I can do anything I want to, including winning these Games in a way no one else has ever seen.

I am Eadem Ordinaria, and I am willing to be insane, if that's what it takes.

…..

Luka Saroque, District One

Not only are my allies complete idiots, they're also lazy.

Now, don't get the wrong idea, I dislike unnecessary work as much as the next teenager, but this is the Hunger Games, for Panem's sake! You can't just take a day off, like you have all the time in the world! We're Careers, though I'm starting to think that label is in name only. We hunt. It's what we do.

I'm bored. I've had enough of sitting around camp and cleaning and sharpening my knives. If I don't go somewhere else soon, I might just end up running those knives through those annoying District Four tributes' throats. Again and again. And then slitting their throats, just to be sure. And I'd actually do it, too, except Emerald and I have a solid plan and acting on that impulse would definitely jeopardize its foolproof nature.

I stand up abruptly. "We're hunting. Now."

"Shouldn't we wait until nightfall?" asks Emily. She looks genuinely confused. Airhead.

"No," I spit back, ready to snap. "That was all right for day one, but this is day two and we're wasting time."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the woods, are you, Emily?" Emerald chimes in, partly feigning innocence but partly enjoying the opportunity to taunt the inferior Career. "'Cause that would be really bad for our group. But you can stay back here and guard if you'd like."

Emily swallows. "No, thank you."

Carreen rises, still attempting to look like she's actually leading this crew. "Hunting it is. Marius, would you mind staying behind?" He nods and takes up his position as guard as we all grab our weapons and head into the woods for what I hope is not another day of fruitless searching.

If Emily is afraid of this forest, I can see why. It's creepily silent. When all five Careers aren't talking and are actually focused on the hunt, you can't hear anything, not even the footsteps. Each of my allies simply exudes determination and deadly skill, and I'm suddenly reminded why we're the most feared players of the Games—not because of our weapons training, but because of our mental training. We're not afraid. We're not barely holding onto the edge of survival. We dominate this arena, make it our ground. For others, this is a battle for survival. For us, this is a battle of glory.

The silence makes it easy to hear the whimpering coming from my left. There's someone there, someone who knows us and fears us like they should. "Show time," Emerald mutters, and we sprint as a pack over to the small camp where the two tributes have settled.

The girl—the one from Eight, as I recall—is the whimperer. She's crouching, leaning back against a tree with a knife hanging limply in her hands. Her ally, however, stands immediately. The boy from Seven has some kind of boomerang from the Cornucopia and aims it at us, but doesn't throw. Hesitant, then. He's never had to kill before. And even though he's much larger than me, he doesn't stand a chance.