Warning: violence and death. The longest chapter in Book One (most will be shorter by a third or more).
I am using aimmyarrowshigh's Panem map as a reference, google it if you are curious. The chapter begins around modern day's Colorado Springs. Canon has placed the Capitol in Denver. If I write a geographical aberration that can't even be explained by centuries of cataclysms, PM me, I'll try to fix it.
Mags' eyes fluttered open. Beneath her, a soft armchair-pillow; around her, colors, and noise. The rumble of a train racing through Panem. Mags rubbed her temples, feeling as if she had spent hours deep underwater. A yawn cracked her jaw open. When had she dozed off?
She let out a deep breath, her arms wrapped around her chest. The Reaping had been just yesterday, yet it already felt like a week. Her brain was full of fog. The trip to Lycorias, Four's main town, had been so long and tense: she'd clutched her mother's and sister's hands, her courage threatening to flee. "I volunteer!" She'd done it. They'd cheered when she'd volunteered, and that thought brought a smile on Mags' lips. For one shining moment, the mist of dread choking Reaping Square had lifted. The goodbyes had passed in a blur, such a blur she barely remembered them, and her careful preparations felt inadequate now that she was confronted with reality's fickleness. Already, some things she had taken for granted had proven to be wrong.
Her district partner, Delphin Vega, was a volunteer.
Mags squared her shoulders. There was no turning back now.
Delphin was stout and sandy-haired, his eyes black and his skin tanned. He slouched next to the window, lazily propped on two chairs, his eyes hooded. The empty dishes had been cleared, only a jug of water remained on the spotless tablecloth. Mags frowned, still disoriented. That meal felt like ages ago, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours. She tied her golden-brown hair back and smoothed her fresh-smelling azure dress. Reaping clothes were the prettiest, and cheapest, Creneis' shops ever saw: the Capitol filmed the reapings and they wanted to see children clean and pretty. They didn't want to face poverty, the cowards.
Mags leaned back in the comfortable armchair and rubbed her eyes again. "Did they drug us?" she whispered at Delphin. "I feel..."
"Me too," he said tightly. "Afraid we'd take our temper out on the train, perhaps..."
Perhaps. The Capitol didn't need an excuse to strip them of control. To remind them who pulled the strings. Mags took a sharp breath, her eyes never leaving Delphin.
He might try kill her. There had been little privacy during the quarter hour they'd been granted to say goodbye in the Justice Building, and Delphin's family had been loud.
"The girl's nothing. You're no simple volunteer, Son," the tanned man with the mustache had said. "You're a man, you have what it takes. You've always made us proud. You won't fail us."
"Don't worry, Father," Delphin had replied, sparing Mags an assessing glance, "I know the stakes. I'm ready. No one has as much reason to come home."
"No, they don't," the mother had stammered, straightening Delphin's shirt collar. "Be strong, don't forget what we've taught you. Vegas don't lose."
Loyalist or rebel? Desperate or suicidal? No simple volunteer... Had he already killed? Mags sat tense, her muscles coiled. She could not overestimate district kinship. No matter who he was, she had to win. Her mother had buried too many loved ones, Esperanza had let her go with such trust in her fearful eyes.
Mags straightened, anger replacing the cold fear in her veins. The Rebellion wasn't dead. They'd taken her cousins, they'd taken her father, a man so much better than they could ever hope to be. They wouldn't have her.
Delphin was staring back at her. He lowered his gaze slightly. Mags could tell he didn't want to be rude, but that she'd hear a similar storm of thoughts if she could read his mind.
"Who are you?" Mags whispered. "I'm from Creneis. Ma handles accounts. The war took Dad." She couldn't give too much, but a little felt right.
His whole body tensed and his eyes grew far away. "Mom and Dad were traders, with District Five. Now, with borders closed... We trade still, we know nothing else. We're good at it." His lips curled. It was ugly and hateful. "The black market has its own rules. It's a dark place with dark deals, and peacekeepers, the same you give a cut to, avox you if you leave. It makes them look good: arresting smugglers. I need to save my family."
He wore satin. Ten years after the Rebellion, he could still afford satin. Satin was seldom even sold in her small town. She didn't doubt he had a real home that was his. Not like the cramped house they'd shared with four other families when Esperanza had been small enough to grant them shelter priviledges. Mags folded her arms protectively around her stomach. To make big money on the black market... it was a cutthroat world. One Delphin belonged to.
"Didn't see the man leave. Did he say anything helpful to you?"
The man. Their escort. Mags' lips twitched sardonically at Delphin's hopeful expression. The Capitolite would have been happier to spend time with diseased mongrels from the look of him. "You wish. I don't-"
A violent screech drowned her words.
Mags stumbled, almost biting her tongue off as her mouth snapped shut. A metallic groan assaulted her ears. The train was shaking! Her hands fastened painfully on the armrest as she lurched forward. She forced herself upright and snapped her head towards the window.
Mags' lips froze into a silent scream.
The rear of the train had derailed. It twisted upon itself, a deadly mass of metal, its wheels soaring high above the rails. With a horrible crunching sound, the last three wagons broke off, crashing on their sides. The now loose tenth wagon sailed straight for the two petrified tributes.
Shouts mingled with the scream of metal as the world exploded.
Mags slammed into something soft, the wind knocked out of her by the blast. Blind from dust and debris, she struggled to get some air, her lungs wracked by desperate shallow coughs.
The world upturned again. Mags lost all sense of directions. Her tearing eyes widened in terror as the heavy table groaned and started sliding towards her. The couch she was clutching had toppled backwards and pinned her to the wall as their wagon collapsed on the side. The wall buckled, metal panes groaning and windows shattering as it crashed against something.
Finally, the curled-up girl regained a sense of space, gasping in the stifling heat. Burning tablecloth was almost touching her dress. Mags gingerly climbed on the armchair which had saved her life. Fire was beginning to eat at its fringes. Her heart hammering, she shoved the burning table away and forced herself to stop and listen to her body.
Just scrapes and bruises. Her eyes hardened as she quickly evaluated the danger. The smoke was the most dangerous thing in the steeply tilted wagon, unless whatever the wagon was leaning on failed to support its weight. Then, they'd crash against the hard ground. It would hurt. She had to move.
Mags focused on her feet to avoid cutting herself before stepping down on the sharply tilted wagon floor. The wagon was devastated. The windows looked like the only way out, but shards of jagged glass remained all around the edges. Mags made to grab a chair before realizing that would mean walking over the burning curtains.
"Move, Delphin!" They couldn't die like this.
She could kill him now, Mags realized, but in the middle of nowhere, far from the Capitol's arenas, it would be criminal murder and nothing else.
"Someone alive in there?" A girl's voice. Accented, but not Capitol.
Mags smiled in relief.
"District Four, there's two of us! We can both move," she replied, rolling up her ash and dust-covered sleeves. She was now glad she had picked a long and practical dress.
"Lucky," the voice shouted back, "Ten's wagon's pulp and Five's is little better. Okay, stay back from the window on your left."
Mags coughed, crouching down as something heavy came crashing down on the windows, clearing the glass shards. Mags licked her fingertips to soothe some of the burning. She tasted bitter ash.
"Delphin! Take the curtain rod lying over there. Use it to keep your balance until I can grab you."
Delphin grunted, kicking at a half-charred cushion in anger. "How much does frigging fire-proof material cost?"
More than the Capitol will spend on us, Mags bitterly thought.
A wiry arm fastened itself around Mags as she struggled to push herself out. A lean girl with short dark-brown hair gifted her with a small smile. Her amber dress was a mess. She stood nearly a head shorter than Mags but she helped Delphin like she'd been wriggling in and out of burning wagons all her life.
"I'm Fife Chican," the girl said. She was as tense as a fisherman caught in a storm, sweat pouring down her face and hands trembling, and her words came out clipped as if she was forcing herself to speak clearly. "The only tribute from Nine now." Fife took a deep breath and Mags was impressed the girl didn't burst into sobs. "My mentor must have escaped from the other side."
District Four hadn't won any Games. They had no mentor.
The three teenagers found themselves standing in thin space under the two crashed wagons which formed a precarious tent-like shelter. Mags realized what Fife had meant by 'pulp' when she saw the wagon attached to hers. Ten's wagon had slammed into it and all but cut it in half. She looked away, brought back to another time.
"But Ma, how are we going to go to Four if we blow up all the trains?"
"We'll have to walk, Preziosa. The Capitol controls the trains on this railway. Those people wanted to go burn District Four."
"So we didn't let them," the six year old said with great satisfaction. "I don't mind walking. We'll win, won't we?"
"Of course, Mags, we will."
But when? Mags forced her attention back on the girl from Nine. Despite the chaos, Mags felt sudden relief at the thought the deathmatch was postponed.
"One of Five's is still alive," Fife said, her black eyes darting from left to right like a cornered beast. "I saw someone crawl under their wagon. I don't think they have a mentor."
"They don't. I'm Mags Abalone," Mags said, willing confidence in her voice. She wished she had better to offer than a friendly word. "Thank you. Let's move before the two wagons crash on us."
Fife blinked rapidly. All color drained from her face. "Yeah, that…" She stumbled, her eyes wide in distress, but quickly shook herself and all but bolted away from the train.
Mags straightened, a sense of urgency dispelling the last remains of the sluggishness that had invaded her body. She seemed the less affected of the three, which meant she was responsible for them. Delphin was blowing on his burns with a lost expression. Mags shoved him in the right direction.
"Come on," she said firmly.
For someone who was putting his life on the line for his family, Mags found the boy from Lycorias rather disappointing in a crisis. At least he wasn't screaming and thrashing. Her ringing ears soon informed her that some were not as silent. Mags ground her teeth in helpless rage as she forced herself not to take too large strides. Her shoes weren't for gravel, especially gravel riddled with cutting debris. She greedily gulped a mouthful of air when a cool wind brushed her face.
A pair of blood-stained avoxes was pulling the train driver out of the crushed locomotive. Fife swiftly averted her eyes. The body was mangled beyond recognition. Mags didn't need to turn to know Delphin's stomach had rebelled. Her eyes narrowed in hate at the sight of the mute slaves' red uniforms.
"Come throw up over here," a harassed-sounding Fife said, "let's get fresh air." Shewiped her face in sudden fury, a strangled scream escaping her throat.
Mags almost didn't dare breathe in fear of having the other break down.
Fife's black eyes -not District Four black, a softer black that came with freckles and delicate features, a reddish-brown tan, and a boyish frame- narrowed at her. "You've seen death like this before."
It wasn't a question. The shorter tribute seemed about her age, and Mags wondered what kind of war child Fife had been. Mags squeezed Fife's upper arm. Fife relaxed.
The three wagons that had been yanked away from the whole had toppled over, almost twenty yards from the rails. Two particularly miserable-looking tributes were dragging a dark-skinned boy out of the wreck. His leg was at an odd angle.
"They don't dally," Fife muttered, latching onto Mags' arm.
Mags followed her gaze. Two boys with makeshift bags were already disappearing in the distance, looking relatively unscathed. Mags suspected others would be soon following them. Where were they? Would the Capitol come look for them? Fife's grip suddenly felt like a choking hold. Only one of them would survive. Anyone she met was a potential murderer. She had to remain suspicious. She had no friends here.
Mags hit the ground, dragging Fife with her, before she consciously registered the sudden noise as an explosion. Explosions had not been rare during the war. Fife was breathing hard but seemed unhurt and Delphin's rapid but low cursing was good news. As soon as Mags dared open her eyes, she found the source. She gasped. If there had been anything left of wagon Ten, there was nothing left now. It had been gutted.
Belly down on the ground still, Mags slammed her fist down. It wasn't even an arena! Pointless deaths. They were just pointless deaths!
Fife was biting her clenched hand, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. "What now?" She whimpered. "This shouldn't have happened."
Mags could only nod, her mind reeling. Nothing had prepared her for a crash in the middle of nowhere. Only Wagons One and Two were still upright although Two's windows were shattered and Wagon One had rolled over the wrecked locomotive. Mags counted a dozen survivors, including a handful of avoxes. For the first time, Mags wondered about her unpleasant escort. How ironic if he were to die here. She couldn't see on the other side of the train but she could hear voices.
"We should go with them," a green-looking Delphin said. He didn't wait for an answer.
Mags turned to follow him and stopped dead. An inexplicable yet intense dislike spiked through her at the sight of a group of tributes Delphin was heading for. The blonde girl in the luxurious red dress, especially, made her hair rise on end.
"Stay," Fife said, "they look like volunteers."
Mags bristled. Fife was right, though. People here to give the Capitol a show. Twisted minds or people so desperate to win that they shouldn't be approached. Those would be the killers, the ones who knew how to wield weapons.
"Well, maybe you have reasons, Mags." Circe, had Mags' face been so open? "But I'm not following you over there if you go."
"You're with me now?" Mags said after a stiff pause.
"Looks like it. Problem?"
"No." Fife had helped them out of the wagon. Mags would take what she could.
"Hey, it's Vicuña," a boy -a man. He was scary.- shouted. Maybe it was his stern suit, or just his bearing, but Mags would bet he and the muscular redhead by his side were from District Two.
They couldn't see anything from where they were standing. Fife glanced at her, and Mags broke into a run, heading for the other side of the wreckage. Soon, Fife was following.
As some of the dust settled. A hovercraft had landed. Another carrier was already leaving. Mags wondered if the surviving mentors and escorts had gotten on it. The avoxes were already climbing into the grounded craft. Vicuña, her muscular black-clad figure unmistakable, laughed harshly as one of the tributes made a move to follow her up the hovercraft's ramp.
The victor's condemning words carried over the noise. "You sabotage the train and expect to get away with it? Find your own way to the Capitol, now. Head north-east. You should glimpse it in a few days if you make haste. Maybe then we'll take pity on you. Except the two terrors from Six, obviously."
Mags' jaw dropped slightly. They would be left here? What about the dead?
"No, you can't!" A youthful curly-haired boy shouted in despair.
"We're supposed to go the Capitol. To fight!" The boy from Two echoed, his fist raised in outrage.
The hovercraft was deaf to their pleas as it took off and sped east. Mags stared in shock. All her carefully laid plans. The Capitol's Games were revolting, but at least the rules were simple. As Mags forced herself to swallow, she suddenly remembered the taste of fear.
A snarl ripped the air as people soon identified the tributes from Six. "You!" The blonde in the red dress shouted, pointing at the culprits.
A polished male voice made Mags start, she'd not noticed the third shadow mixing with hers and Fife's. "Their arms…."
Mags tore her eyes away from the departing carriers and the now cursing blonde fury and found herself facing a fit eighteen year old who, despite the dust on his well-tailored suit, had a striking air of nobility to him. His chestnut hair fell elegantly around his handsome face and his dark brown eyes had a distant alertness to them. He looked peculiarly unruffled by the day's events, as if he'd just set foot on the scene. Mags was torn between suspicion -he looked much too rich to be decent- and purely aesthetic admiration.
"Constantine Aquila, at your service," he said, inclining his head fractionally, "but I fear they're more interesting than I am."
Mags arched her eyebrows at the amused undertones to his voice. She had met her share of confident and flirtatious young men, but here? Honestly? Sheer surprise seemed to have dissipated the fog in her mind. She turned her eyes back towards where the aristocratic boy had been gesturing. The two tributes from Six had grease up to their shoulders. Oil grease.
Mags swallowed, torn between pride and fierce sadness. The tributes' train was the Games' symbol. They were almost all condemned anyway. This... this was brave. But not useful. Nevertheless, her heart warmed at the knowledge people still cared deeply about not letting the Capitol get its way.
"No way…" Fife muttered, clutching her head in disbelief.
The blonde in the red dress brandished a piece of debris like a rod as she advanced on the two shocked tributes from Six. Delphin and the couple from Two broke into a run, heading for her.
"You blithering idiots," the blonde screamed, tears of anger ruining her make-up.
"I wish a hovercraft blows up on those monsters' bloody city!" The girl from Six spat, trembling from head to toe. She was a tiny thing, all elbows and knees, who'd obviously skipped too many meals.
Before anyone else thought to move, a sickening crush of metal against bone struck the air. The little girl fell to the ground, her screams splitting the sickly-warm air like shards of glass. A second strike left her limp before the muscular redhead from Two could yank the crazed attacker back.
"I didn't do anything, Man. I really didn't," the dead girl's district partner wailed, edging back. "I don't know what happened. You got to believe me."
"Blew up by itself did it?" The District Two boy sneered, lifting him by the shirt and shaking him forcefully.
"It wasn't me!"
"A coward to boot," he spat.
The redhead had wrestled the weapon out of the blonde's grasp and now was staring in horror at her District partner. "Jason, don't!"
Mags's knees gave away when the hulking tribute snapped the boy's neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll.
"Come on, Styx! He was being annoyingly loud. It's not like he'd have stood a chance in the arena."
She didn't hear what the irate Styx said next.
A strong arm steadied her.
A thin sneer twisted Constantine's face. He looked personally offended. "At least my District has no monopoly on murderous imbeciles…"
Mags swallowed painfully and averted her eyes. What had just happened? Why hadn't she done anything? She breathed in deeply, trying to regain control over herself. She was glad Constantine seemed lucid about the horror. Maybe he wasn't a rich boy who'd volunteered for glory but simply an unlucky one. Fife was staring away from the action, her hands over her ears. Fife looked down when she met Mags' eyes and tried to regain a semblance of dignity. Mags felt burning shame sear through her veins. At least Fife had been honest: she'd not pretended to want to play hero. She'd shielded herself from the terrible sight.
Mags had just... watched. Not even a shout of 'no'. She had watched the girl from One and the boy from Two do exactly what she prayed to have the strength to later do... But not like this, not before they even reached the Capitol.
Mags had been a child during the rebellion. Being silent and unmoving was what her parents had taught her to do and what had saved her life more than once. The war child had grown but it seemed her reflexes hadn't evolved. Her insides clenched painfully as she wondered for the first time if she truly had the strength to return home. She straightened. She couldn't think like that! She'd never allow them to bury her.
Mags envied Fife for what the other girl had not seen.
"Enough," Constantine said, "as killing them would be hypocritical, I suggest we find what is salvageable and start walking east."
"Going South-West would be childish, you think?" Mags said, unable to tear her gaze from the two corpses. The red-haired Styx had thrown a tattered curtain over them but their limp bodies were etched in Mags' memory. "We shouldn't go on the train," she added, "what if it blows up on us?"
"Well, if that fire spreads to the leaking engine there…" Fife said in hushed tones, pointing with a trembling hand to the half-crushed locomotive.
Before Mags thought to stop him, Constantine purposefully strode towards one of the large debris and wrapped a stone in a burning piece of curtain. She watched in disbelief as he hit the spilled fuel with perfect aim.
"Down!" Fife exclaimed.
Mags barely had the time to fall to her knees. A cacophony of screams rose all around her. The explosion was deafening. The whole wagon was lifted off the ground as the train carcass groaned and twisted on itself, crushing the few remaining intact wagons.
"Now we know there will be no more explosions, the supply wagon seems intact," a disheveled Constantine said, briskly walking up to it without waiting their leave.
"He's insane," Mags said, still under shock. There could have still been trapped people under there! She was astonished to see none of the locomotive's pieces had landed on someone's head.
Fife chuckled weakly, her face regaining a little color. "He's walking very fast. I think he realized it was a bit careless."
A bit.
Mags shut her eyes for a few seconds, hoping to dispel the horrible clamor in her ears. She decided analyzing the others' motives could only endanger her sanity. Sometimes, there was no rhyme or reason to be found in a crisis.
"Let's see what's in that thirteenth wagon," she said in stronger tones. She had to move, to stop thinking about the bodies and the screams. "The food and drinks have to be stockpiled somewhere."
They were indeed, although the commotion had made a mess of everything. Bags, various weapons and supplies as well as spare covers and avox uniforms, and even a damaged closet full of boots. Mags gingerly stepped inside, afraid to step on a corpse. When she saw none, she began to sort out the food, trying to see what they could keep.
Soon the others joined them. There was enough none of the surviving tributes had to fight, but Mags still hurried, uncomfortable at being so close to the two murderers. Her hands shook in anger and disgust.
"Get warm clothes and a pike, please," she stiffly told Constantine. She decided that it would be too stupid to refuse the help of an able-bodied man because she was suspicious of his background. At worst they'd separate later, when they would have made sense of the situation.
Why had they needed all of this to be in the train? She then wondered as she saw Fife come back with a full bag and plastic water bottles. Were Games-ware manufactured outside the Capitol? Then again, the Capitol had the districts do everything unsavory. It shouldn't come as a surprise.
The supplies, spare towels and cleaning gloves, and even the medicine the brunette had discretely showed her made sense, but not the weapons or even the backpacks.
"Hold this," Fife said, before putting on a pair of red trousers and unabashedly removing her ruined dress to slip on the top. "Now I just need to find a way to make this less… shockingly red."
Mags smiled at the other's lively tone, relieved almost to the point of tears that Fife was pulling herself together. She didn't want to be alone. She was also glad her own dress had survived the crash. The mere idea of donning an avox uniform made her skin crawl. Her eyes fell back to the three loaded backpacks.
"The thirteenth wagon attached itself after we left District Two," Constantine answered as Mags voiced her confusion. He eyed the sturdy rubber boots with a resigned expression before removing his own scratched dress shoes and putting the protective wear on. "Vicuña hinted that some of the Capitol's preparations were last minute. Apparently expenses for the Games are incredible."
Mags snickered at the idea of the Capitol bankrupting itself with the Hunger Games. Oh the irony. All trace of humor swiftly fled when she realized Vicuña had made the President a huge favor by encouraging wealthy Capitol citizen to pay outrageous sums to give their favorite tribute a crust of bread.
Constantine seemed set on not leaving her side. Mags didn't dare ask why, feeling his company could make the difference between her survival and a long lingering death in what was, if her sense of directions wasn't too off, southern District Three.
They were as loaded as they dared. Mags hadn't found any ropes and didn't bother asking Jason to share what he had found in the small kitchen, especially matches. Fife muttered something about having taken the emergency torches before gesturing they leave.
Mags' eyes fell on a soft-looking girl with a big gash on her leg who was pouring water on her burned hand. The child would need the medicine Fife had secretly hoarded, yet Mags had to establish quick priorities if she wanted to survive. She turned away, feeling terrible, but her step was sure and her jaw set. She had known volunteering would have involved dismissing the other tributes' lives as necessary sacrifices. This was not the situation she had had in mind but it unfortunately changed little.
"Aquila, don't be ridiculous. Come with us."
A bored-looking Constantine lazily turned towards the voice. He seemed to hesitate before looking away, as if he had lost interest. "I have other plans. Try not to forsake all honor, Mirabelle."
The soot-covered blonde chuckled in disbelief, apparently more upset by his words than by the fact she had just killed a barely pubescent girl. "I was trying to be loyal, you pompous fool. Fine, stay all on your own."
Pompous maybe, but at least Constantine wasn't deranged.
The muscled Styx had turned to face them, surprise and shock freezing her features in a mask of stone.
Mags felt a blend of pity and anger ripple through her at the sight. That expression reminded her of hardened veterans, but the tribute before her was too young to have had her emotions sucked from her soul by violence. The Capitol's evil was leaking into the districts, molding people's minds. It had to be stopped.
Careers. Vicuña's damning legacy.
Mags had to survive. Four couldn't become populated by oblivious killing machines shaped to quench the Capitol's thirst for inhuman entertainment. Not in her homeland, not ever.
A foreign male voice caused her to break eye contact.
"We'll come with you."
"And who are you?" Mirabelle demanded, throwing a thin blanket over her torn scarlet dress.
"Robin and I are from Seven. You know, the only District with two surviving victors," the big teen said, crossing his thick arms.
A ring of metal cut the blonde's reply short.
"They're coming with us," Styx said, sword in hand, daring anyone to challenge her. The redhead's district partner was eyeing her with obvious apprehension. Mags' lips thinned in a hard line. Was Delphin really going to stay with those Capitol-worshiping murderers? How could he trust them not to slit his throat for sport? How could he readily forget the two bodies under the half-charred curtain, a mere ten yards away?
A hand tugged at Mag's arm. Fife gestured at Constantine. He had his back to them all and was already walking away.
Mags spared Delphin a last glance. A bitter taste invaded her mouth as the sandy-haired boy held her gaze. There was pain there, but he'd made his choice.
"You're right, Fife, we should go," she said, pulling herself together.
It was mid-afternoon, they were wasting precious time. Mags made sure nothing would fall out of her two backpacks before hurrying after Constantine. She couldn't wait to leave this horror behind.
Constantine shortened his strides to let the two catch up. A resigned smile graced his lips.
"I wonder if the gamemakers' imagination could have conjured an arena as bleak as these ruins," he said, absently fastening the belt holding his newly acquired long-sword.
Mags scoffed at the irony in his tone. It brought her mind back on the Games. Had the rules really changed with the crash? She finally took the time to process their surroundings. They train had derailed from a low twisting bridge which connected the two banks of a dry stream bed. Sand and gravel crunched under their feet but soon gave way to muddy earth of an unhealthy color, as if soaked by oil or some other chemical. Collapsed dwellings and ruins of factories littered the ground and the surrounding mountains as far as the eye could see, which wasn't much farther than a mile. There was an opaque hue to the air that made Mags itch to hold her breath. Arenas had always been small and obvious until now. This... this was the wilderness. No worse, a war-made wilderness. What had happened here?
She tensely pulled on the pair of gloves she had taken, wishing she had a huge cloak to hide under.
"Wait!"
A lanky boy in his mid-teens was running for them, wiping his sweaty long dark hair out of his face. His shredded suit was filthy with dirt and blood as he ran; cradling what seemed to be a broken wrist.
"I'm Gyan. I'm from here. I can help you. And I neither want to stay in this place waiting for help that won't come or go with the other literally crazy bunch."
"The sane young man over here blew up the train," Fife intervened, looking both wary and amused as she pointed at Constantine.
Constantine's expression was an incredible mix of focus and boredom. He was tall and fit but not so physically intimidating. Mags wondered how he'd survived to see eighteen without being punched to death. His superior attitude was unbelievable. And it made her uneasy. You didn't get rich, not even in One, without the Capitol's stamp of approval.
The boy from Three chuckled. "I think you actually saved my life, Dude. I was literally stuck under a plate until that last explosion moved it. I heard engines but I was more concerned about getting out. Besides I saw you guys sneak the medicine. I'm betting you grabbed morphine or something in there." Gyan's hopeful smile devolved into a grimace of pain. "Where is everyone else gone by the way?" His lips began to tremble. "So many missing…. They can't all be dead. You haven't seen Comet, have you?"
Comet was the previous year's victor. The spry girl from Three, hate blazing in her eyes, had struck the others down like a snake as soon as they had made the mistake of letting her close. Mags didn't meet Gyan's gaze, hoping the others would not feel the need to tell him how the most recent casualties had died. She didn't dare ask about his district partner.
"We saw two boys leave together," Fife said, "probably the boy from Five with someone else."
"The Eleven female tribute is alive. She left alone," Constantine added, his piercing eyes lost in the distance.
"Girl," Mags muttered. Not female. Words had power. The Capitol used them to decree who was human and who was... less.
She glanced back at the burning wrecked train. Eleven's boy, dark-skinned and decent-looking, was still clutching his crushed leg. A pretty blonde in her mid-teens had knelt besides him, evidently offering comfort. They looked oddly at ease with each other for perfect strangers. Two other tributes, including the pale kid who had shouted at Vicuña, and who could not have been over fourteen, were hovering next to them, lost looks on their faces.
Mags clenched her fists in anger as a wave of heat assaulted her senses. Her eyes burned from the stench of melting metal and charred flesh. The Capitol was not above organizing a second reaping to have their Games. She desperately hoped they would not decide to add some morbid twist and select the tributes' relatives instead. They could not touch Esperanza!
"If we find more supplies or a way out, we will come back for them," she vowed. The remaining tributes had enough for days if they were careful. Surely they would find a way to get to the Capitol, although Mags wondered what good could come of that.
Fife looked away. The short-haired brunette wore a guarded expression. Constantine inclined his head in assent when Mags met his eyes, but he didn't say a word. Mags realized with a sunken feeling that they would never go back, and worse, that leaving was the smart thing to do. She blinked back tears.
"Just don't light a fire," Gyan said, his voice thick with fear. "We got lucky we crashed on the old bridge-" he let out a nervous giggle- "honest. This place has been a no man's land since the end of the rebellion. Since we'd found a way to scramble hovercrafts' and missiles' autopilot, the Capitol literally dropped thousands of chemical filled balloons on the whole sector. The air is slow poison, in some places not so slow…."
So Four's shores had not been the only region ravaged by the Capitol's vile weapons. This had to have been one of Three's greatest cities. Now a deadly wasteland. Bile burned Mags' throat and she felt small, small and weak. Circe, she hated it. This was like learning the Capitol had won all over again.
Hitched breathing made her start. Gyan flinched in apology, his face twisted in pain. Hunched over his wounded arm, he looked a fright. Mags forced her lips into a friendly smile. "Give him the medicine. We're lucky somebody knows the land."
Constantine sighed, brushing ash off his eyebrows. Peculiarly elegant eyebrows. "He also seems to have an even more pessimistic view of our survival chances, although the morphine will doubtless brighten his spirits."
"Dude, I'm counting on it," Gyan said with a forced grin.
Mags stared in mild amusement at Constantine. He had the same air of annoyance as her friend Marlin when his brother tagged along with them instead of going off with his friends. Perhaps Constantine's ego hadn't been taught to handle a base-born kid knowing more than he did, even if this was Gyan's district.
Mags' lips twitched. Perhaps rich-boy was just sensitive about being called Dude.
But Constantine had chosen to follow them instead of his district partner. It had to mean something. He didn't look much affected by the day's events, but Mags knew that she outwardly looked calm herself. Emotions were dangerous in Panem. Peacekeepers arrested for thoughts as much as for words or actions.
She winced at her justifications. Truth was, she wanted to give him a chance. Suspicion was exhausting and everything was already so... so much. She leaned on her five-foot long pike, now almost glad for the wreck. This wasn't an arena. They weren't safe, no, but at least they wouldn't have to lock away their humanity so soon.
Gyan managed a strained grin when Fife finally found the much needed morphine pills.