"This place was where all the hardware was done. We had to move the hives next to the Spiral suburbs in the capital. My father says the city has become more massive than any other in Panem. You literally need two whole days to walk from one edge to the other. The spiders don't like it so much since our jobs are often loud and mess with all their thinking. Isolation wasn't the first priority when we had to rebuild since we weren't sent any food until we met the quotas."
"Hives? The spiders?" Fife interrupted, her voice brittle.
Gyan smiled wryly. "Spiders are those who live in the Web, they're the big brainiacs. We tech guys live and work in the Hives. But we're Monkeys, not Bees. Go figure."
The long-haired boy had been prattling on for the last two hours. He sounded a little high but his step was steady enough that Mags wasn't concerned. She only loosely focused on his words, her eyes on their surroundings. Strange smells assaulted her senses and, despite the thick make-shift scarf around her face, made her head spin dangerously. The stale stifling heat only increased her discomfort. She swallowed, only to taste a bitter tang on her tongue and throat. She clamped her mouth shut. Was little death entering her lungs with every breath? She looked around, searching for an end to the desolate ruins.
Some of the houses were almost intact but corroded by rust and aggressive chemicals. Mags glimpsed furniture behind one of the darkened windows, an open book on a table, forgotten plush toys. People had left in a hurry.
"Will there be landmarks on our way to the Capitol, aside from the sun and stars?" She said, feeling she was walking in fog. An unhealthy fog full of out-of-place wisps and hues. Was she hallucinating? She checked her head for bumps. Her skin itched just from looking.
"We're close to the edge of the mountains, I think. We'll reach the plains if we keep going straight and it's cleaner there. No big lakes or anything. Can I have more morphine? My arm is really killing me."
"When we set camp. We need the supply of pills to last at least five days, and we're already hoping that no one other than you will need any. You have to deal with it," Mags said, not unkindly. She peered in the distance. Behind the swirling substances, shadows that could have been mountains seemed to circle them. They couldn't be too far, but the air was too foul to see.
Gyan grimaced but didn't complain.
Constantine walked straight and silent next to them, looking like a portrait who'd been summoned into the world of the living. While he was undeniably attractive, everything about him screamed privileged. Loyalist. But he was holding it together, and that Mags respected.
They made an odd group, clad in their dirtied but still most elegant clothes -except for Fife in her dreadful avox uniform- but with scarves, rubber gloves, boots and bulging backpacks.
Whereas the aristocratic boy stood stiff, as if defying intangible enemies to come close, Fife was a flurry of little movements; tentative steps, darted glances. She never stood at the exact same height or walked at exactly the same pace, as if she was terrified something would slip past her scrutiny. She said very little except the occasional question, her hand white on one of the knives she had taken on the train.
Mags herself was tense as a nut, as if trying to take as little space as possible, to breathe as shallowly as she dared. The rubble groaned and creaked all around them, filling the air with low disquieting moans. Sometimes she thought she heard bubbling or the eerie hiss of venomous air drafts. She could do little but glare at the potential threats.
Gyan's rapid speech had given way to sulking and regular gasps of pain. Mags clenched her fists in annoyance. She had braved greater pain in silence at a younger age. There was really nothing more they could do for him except being sympathetic.
A prickling sensation made her hair rise on end. She turned, spotting a smoking pool of yellowish matter.
"Sulfur won't kill you straight away. Just no fire," Gyan muttered, looking utterly miserable as he walked hunched over his broken arm.
Mags flashed him a small smile. "I'm sorry it hurts."
The boy blushed, looking annoyed at himself. "I know."
"Are there people still living here?" Fife said, edging closer to Constantine as if he would protect her from danger.
Mags froze. She finally placed where her sense of disquiet came from. It was the feeling of foreign eyes spying your every move.
Gyan had paled. "Sca... Scavengers. Some say some people stayed here, because the Capitol wouldn't find them. Because they can be free."
Free? In this desolate hell? Mags' heart clenched. It was brave, yes, but at what cost?
"Then why didn't the Capitol blow up these ruins once and for all?" Constantine said, his face somber. "Then this place can start healing."
Mags' jaw tightened. Gyan had just said there were people living here.
"It might be a lesson, I really don't know," Gyan admitted, "people have tried to come for their belongings and literally burn everything down in the hope the land will be healthy again one day, but it's forbidden."
Mags shut her eyes as sudden rage boiled inside her, willing herself to keep calm. Rash anger rarely offered good solutions. Such was the evil of the Capitol that it would rather cripple productivity than allow District citizen to reclaim their homes and rebuild their city.
"If those 'scavengers' are more than a myth, what do they eat? Where do they sleep? Would they attack us?"
Constantine's questions echoed her own. How could even the most hardened rebels live in such a place for nearly a decade? She eyed her surroundings critically.
"We can sleep in any of the erect houses, many look solid enough. We can't escape the fumes but we'll notice anyone coming close. Maybe tomorrow we'll think about what we have to do more clearly."
Mags just hoped one more day in this unwholesome fog would not kill them, but they couldn't travel by night.
"Walking north-east does not require great intellect. Could you start one of the rusty vehicles we saw, Gyan?" Constantine said, glancing down at the smaller boy. Behind his aloof bearing, Mags could glimpse a light of desperation.
"No. I'm a tech trainee, not a frigging magic mechanic," the teen grumbled, his eyes reddened from pain and dust.
A whistle cut the air. Gyan yelped.
Fife gestured from inside a house, twenty yards away. Constantine turned around in shock, as if expecting the brunette to still be by their side. He reddened and swiftly walked away to join her.
"She was literally right behind me, when did she move?" Gyan whimpered, clutching his wounded arm harder.
Mags almost rolled her eyes. They were all tense and had been self-absorbed in their conversation; Fife slipping away for half a minute was neither astonishing nor a reason to have a stroke. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen, why?"
"We'll take care of you," she said with a small smile, amazed at how easy it was to convince both Gyan and herself that it was a promise she could keep. "Don't let your mind play tricks. We have supplies and we know where we are going."
Gyan looked like he was about to be ill. He lowered his eyes, flushing slightly. "I can't think straight from the pain. I just need to knock myself out. Did you grab some alcohol? I'd be happy to literally forget today."
Mags chuckled. If only it could be that easy. She willed herself to concentrate on the present, on the sound of her boots on the ground, on the evening heat on her skin and her grumbling stomach. As long as she focused on what was happening and not what could happen, she would remain calm.
Constantine and Fife were locked in a staring game when Mags entered the house. The slightest of smiles graced their lips but their bodies looked poised to strike.
Mags shook her head slightly. "You look like two peacocks striving to impress the other into submission."
Constantine looked so scandalized by her comment that Mags failed to conceal a grin.
"I'm afraid he's a much prettier peacock than I am, Mags," Fife said, her black eyes sparkling, "this house looks as solid and clean as they get. The storage room over there has no windows. We could sleep there. Just careful with the bathroom, it looks like some cleaning products exploded a long time ago."
Mags smiled in approval and dropped her backpack next to the others. It was high time they stopped to rest.
"Peacocks?" Constantine finally mouthed in wounded tones.
"Would you prefer eagles, Aquila?"
Mags' eyes widened at Fife's teasing tone. She had indeed stumbled on a power play. Fife sounded testy, almost angry.
Constantine leaned against the wall, his detached imperious expression back in place. "I would."
"What is your problem?" Mags said with curious frown. She didn't want a fight, but she did want to get to know her travelling companions better.
Fife's face fell like a child denied candy. "What's the fun if we have to spell it out?"
Mags crouched next to the bags and pulled out some of the fruit she had taken. "We need to work together. It doesn't matter if you don't like each other. You can't allow yourselves to get distracted."
"What are we, soldiers on a mission?" Gyan said, curled up in a corner. He looked so pathetic that Fife threw him the morphine box. Mags kept her eyes on him to check he didn't swallow the whole supply. Yes, they were soldiers. They had to be to survive.
"I'm a volunteer, she is not," Constantine lazily explained, removing his rubber gloves.
Mags narrowed her eyes. So he wasn't here because of bad luck.
"He came with us because of a hunch. It doesn't make sense," Fife said, crossing her arms. There was nothing light in her expression anymore.
"No rule dictates that I should favor a group of half-trained glory-hounds over a true soldier."
Mags met Constantine's intense brown eyes, touched by the compliment even if she wondered how soldierly she had truly been today. But Fife's was a very valid question. If Constantine dismissed the others as glory hounds, why was he here? Mags jaw tightened, her mood darkening. Whatever the reason, she could not let him win.
"You believe he is… shallow for volunteering, Fife?" Gyan cautiously said. "How do you know it wasn't for a family member?"
The short-haired girl didn't answer. She didn't look hostile, but simply as if she found the idea of volunteering absurd, even offensive. Mags stiffened further at the thought, feeling the pressure of her own volunteering threaten to hunch her back and bow her neck. She willed herself to keep her head high and not betray her fears.
Fife bit into an apple, noisily.
"Afraid to hurt my feelings, Nine?" Constantine challenged with raised eyebrows, stressing the number.
Mags repressed an aggravated sigh. They hadn't listened to a word she had said. She didn't intervene. Maybe this was the semblance of normalcy they needed to function after the day's terrible events. She crouched next to Gyan, putting a comforting hand on his good shoulder. He gave her a weak smile that caused her throat to tighten. Gyan was healthy, sane and normal. No one would expect a fifteen year old to shrug off the pain of a broken arm or to do more than answer questions and follow orders after such a traumatizing afternoon. Normal didn't stand a chance during the Games and Mags suddenly wondered what her ability to remain calm said about her.
"I believe you feel your life lacks luster and you want things to be great," Fife finally said, "and that volunteering was like blowing the train up. It felt brilliant at the time."
"Why would my life lack luster?"
Constantine's guarded expression made Mags wish that Fife had kept silent. Conflict could tear their precarious alliance apart. She wasn't sure that Constantine was above taking his supplies and leaving if he felt slighted, and they needed him, whatever his flaws were. Unfortunately Mags was also plagued by a little voice that urged her to listen. Her life might depend on information she scrounged tonight and Fife had clearly seen something Mags hadn't.
"Because your whole bearing shouts 'my high expectations aren't ever met' in a way that goes beyond what I'd expect of ultra posh upbringing," Fife said, eyeing him frankly. "How would the Games have possibly met them?"
Mags winced at ultra posh upbringing.
Constantine removed his sword from its scabbard, his handsome features reflecting themselves on the polished blade. "Challenges show the strength there is in people," he said, his dark eyes far away.
"People who have had to be too strong are rarely happy," Fife said, her face now dark, "and challenges also show just how much cowardice there can be in the world. You saw a soldier in Mags, yet you'll have to kill her in the Games. Doesn't that bother you?" Her voice grew harsh. "Do you really need the Hunger Games to find challenge? Why not something that doesn't involve the murder of kids?"
"Enough," Mags snapped. Fife's valid arguments didn't help, not here. "We deal with the situation, not 'what ifs'."
"Fife is just trying to show us how clever and observant she is," Constantine said coolly.
A flash of anger entered Fife's eyes, she opened her mouth, her lips set in a snarl, but seemed to change her mind. She swiftly turned her back to them and went to check on her supplies.
Mags narrowed her eyes at Constantine. Yesterday's Reapings had been the worst moment of Fife's life for all they knew, and her dead district partner might have been a friend. Constantine was dangerous in his dismissal of people and human life. This was something she would expect a Capitolite to say. Yet as she spared Gyan's trembling form a glance, she knew that regular decent people couldn't make it. She would work with Constantine and Fife, and try to bring out the best in them. Somehow.
Fife lowered her gaze and sat on the floor. "Sorry," she muttered as she emptied her bag. "Take mine, Gyan. I'll sleep between two covers."
Luckily a bedroll was one of the few things Gyan had forgotten to take. The boy from Three had a glazed look and a small dopy smile on his face. Mags spared him a longer glance, making him blush. He was thin and light but not starving either. Maybe he was just sensitive to narcotics. He smiled but didn't say anything when Fife threw him the bedroll. He clumsily undid it and draped it around himself, curling in a ball.
"I…"
"No, Constantine," Fife gently said, "it's warm and I've slept on roofs more times than I can count. You'll have many occasions to be gallant when it matters."
At least Fife didn't seem to hold grudges. Mags felt a burst of relief.
"Logical assumptions about Constantine being wealthy aside, what kind of family did you two grow up in?" Mags said as she organized their bundled supplies in more neat piles.
"My father invests in promising undertakings. The Aquila name is an indicator of taste and quality. We have enough servants and property to be considered a prosperous family," Constantine said with unconcealed pride. "My mother oversees all peacekeeper deployment and activities in the Southern Sector."
Mags nodded slowly, her face carefully blank. A peacekeeper's son. A peacekeeper officer's son. But family was family, and she couldn't condemn Constantine for taking pride in his. She was deeply disturbed that wealth and power seemed the sole source of this pride but decided she had to dig first, to see what personality lay hidden behind that ultra posh upbringing, as Fife has said. The more critical part of her hoped she wasn't finding him excuses because of his outlandish highbrow manners and all too handsome features.
"You have peacekeeper training, then?" Mags winced at the suspicion in her own tone. "Did you train for this specifically after the seventh Games?"
An indulgent smile graced Constantine's lips. "I knew how to wield a sword before the rebellion ended. An interesting life and a complete education begets more skills than mimicking whatever you see on television."
"Clearly you chose your parents well..."
Constantine ignored Fife. "The one advantage the seventh Games brought is the ready supply of opponents."
"Anyone good enough for the illustrious heir of House Aquila to be called your friend?" Fife's head was cocked to the side, as if he remained a complete enigma to her.
Constantine's lips actually twitched. "Some, although training skills aren't what make a person worthy but the ability to live without compromising one's values."
"Well spoken," Mags approved, surprised. They probably would disagree on which were the right values, but it was a start. At least Constantine didn't seem the type who would try to kill them without warning.
"And...it was your choice, not anybody elses'?" Fife insisted, her expression guarded.
"I make my own choices."
"Lucky you." Fife sighed and flashed them a smile. "Should one of us stay awake?"
Mags shook her head, glad for the change of subject. "No. No guard turns. It's pointless in the dark. I'll bar both the front door and this one. I will wake if a window is broken."
"Dude, you know your stuff," Gyan said, nodding in drowsy appreciation, "just keep the ants off our stuff."
Fife cracked another smile. "Sleep before your arm starts hurting again."
Mags' eyes swept the ground. No ants in sight. She doubted even creatures as resilient as ants had to be common in these hellish ruins.
"We should beat our clothes before the dust sticks," she added, shooting the now curled up boy an apologetic glance. She didn't want to riddle their sleeping bags with more filth than necessary.
"I will not comment if you ladies disrobe to sleep," Constantine said with a small mischievous smile.
Fife coughed, hiding a slight blush.
Mags grinned at him, hearing no malice in his flirtatious tone. "Another time, Handsome. We might need to run at a moment's notice."
Her smile fell when she remembered the three were only temporary allies. In the end, they were together to use each other. The Hunger Games were no place to bond.
Mags sat up before her eyes had opened.
"It's okay," Gyan whispered, "I just really need to pee. I'll be careful."
She let her head fall back against her scarf, uncomfortable from the dry heat, but sleep had learned to come when she asked.
She drifted into unconsciousness.
She is standing on a horse-driven coral chariot in her azure dress, a puffed-up Delphin trying to look impressive by her side. Her eyes are fixed on the coliseum track where other chariots are trailing hers, one after the other. They're all flashy, colorful things, directed by Capitolites in white uniforms. It reminds her of peacekeepers. She ignores the sand that whips her face, accustomed to strong winds.
She looks to the side. Something is wrong with Eight's chariot.
An agitated curly-haired boy fails to grab his staggering district partner. The girl loses her balance. Mags watches in silent horror as she collapses on the beaten track.
The young teen who'd screamed wildly gestures at the chariot eating up the distance to his fallen District partner. "Move!"
The crowd's gasps and laughter soon swallow any other noise. The wheat-colored chariot barely avoids the stunned girl. Mags stiffly stands still, her heart racing. She cannot afford to play the hero for a condemned tribute. The Capitol mustn't be allowed to see her as a threat.
Her eyes dart to the sides, hoping against hope that the Capitol will send assistance. Instead, she sees a colorful figure topple from the penultimate chariot. The vehicle moves out of the track and comes to an abrupt stop. A dark-skinned young man with a fierce expression is holding the reins.
He jumps to the ground, hurrying to cradle the pretty blond girl in his arms.
Ignoring the moaning chariot-driver on the ground, his grinning district partner - a dark-skinned girl with wild hair- helps the two back up and takes the driver's seat. She flicks the reins. The chariot speeds off again. The Capitol isn't laughing anymore.
Mags shifted, half-asleep, annoyed even her dreams brought her back to the Capitol and that now the sight of the tributes had given her mind fodder to mess with her. Nasty dreams had been frequent ever since she had decided to volunteer. Now, though, the tributes had faces.
Mags deeply missed her mother's dark eyes and confident smile. She wished the night would soothe her instead of exacerbating her fears.
An alarming detail pierced through her early morning haze.
She hadn't heard Gyan come back in.