+ Another big thanks to super-reviewer ArtemisCarolineSnow, RadioFreeDeath, and Izziwolfy! Seriously, feedback is awesome, and I'm always happy to hear what you guys think of the story! As a note, the arena action from the end of this chapter on out is going to ramp up significantly – just a heads-up, as some of the stuff I have planned for the wasteland isn't exactly sunshine and butterflies. Or the Hunger Games version of sunshine and butterflies.

/ / / / /

"Where'd you get all this stuff? The Cornucopia?"

Ember's backpack was a wormhole to some infinite dimension of supplies. He had enough food to last for days, along with thin, tightly-wound black rope, a log-like hunk of pink clay that he said worked as a fire source, a flint, and more. The only thing he was missing was a weapon, but I felt ten times better for everything he'd picked up.

"I didn't stick around the Cornucopia," Ember said, packing everything back up. "My mentor told me not to."

"Huh. Smart mentor, I guess."

"He's actually kind of lazy. He's definitely drunk all the time. Haymitch. He's probably forgotten me."

Hearing Ember curse surprised me more than listening to his worries about his mentor. "Maybe he's just reserved. One of my mentors wasn't all that friendly, but he didn't seem that bad on the inside."

"No, I don't exactly think that's Haymitch. But I got this at the ruins. That whole place is loaded with supply drops."

That made me angry. I'd run from the ruins, fearing that danger lurked all around them, only to find nothing but bugs and rocks. If I hadn't stumbled into Ember, I'd have been in serious trouble finding anything more to eat, much less anything to give me a leg up out here.

"So why'd you come this way?" I asked, playing with my blanket in my lap as we talked. According to my new…friend? Ally? Whatever Ember was, he'd been hiking awhile and wanted a short rest. I certainly wasn't in any hurry to get a move on. "I haven't found anything out here. Just rocks and snakes and stuff."

He frowned and looked off at the dark hills. "Ran into trouble."

"What kinda trouble?"

"District 1 kind. Those two found me. I ran off."

I ran my fingers over a stone I'd been playing with. There really wasn't anywhere safe out here. The stone ruins had supplies I desperately needed but apparently had lured the other tributes in. Out here I'd survived so far, and I could see danger a mile away – but would I just wither and die on these plains?

"Maybe it'd be better to stay out here, then," I ventured. "Maybe there's some supplies I haven't found. It's at least a little safer when we can see people coming from a long ways away."

"Safe?" he scoffed. "There is no safe."

"I mean, besides the one kid I ran into, there hasn't been anything else out here. We'll be safer than running to trouble."

Ember looked frustrated. His face took on an odd sort of complexion, as if he were ten years older, his eyes seeming to sag and shadows crossing across his chin. Maybe it was a trick of the light here in the eternal dusk of the arena, but I got the feeling that Ember was a kid who'd grown up too fast in whatever District 12 was.

"There's nowhere safe," he repeated.

I slumped my shoulders. I'd run into others inevitably, and I doubted all them would be as peaceful as Ember – but I wanted to stave that moment off as long as possible. This place frightened me, and every little fear instinct in my head told me to shut down and stay put. Yet doubt gnawed away at my conviction. Elan's advice tainted my thoughts: Stand out. Make yourself memorable. There sure wasn't anything to sell about a girl who had walked along the rocky fields since this whole thing kicked off.

I didn't want to make this decision.

"What d'you wanna do?" I asked, kicking a stone between my feet and staring at the ground.

Ember's eyes widened, and he pointed off into the distant dark sky. "I'm not staying out here. Look."

An abomination floated between dark storm clouds maybe a quarter-mile off. It certainly wasn't something I'd ever seen: A great gas bag, as large as a house and robed in a hide of purple leather, floated through the air, moaning with a terrible baritone cry. Bulbous black tumors scattered about its skin discharged sickly green puffs of gas, and the gas bag jetted forward with each exhale. I couldn't spot a mouth or eyes or any other familiar opening, but that haunting wail it made sent a swarm of goosebumps jumping to attention on the back of my neck.

If the sight and sound of the horrid thing weren't bad enough, it was bringing danger with it, too. Lightning struck the gas bag every two or three seconds and coursed over the monster's body, shooting out of a cluster of jellyfish like tendrils dangling from its bottom. Deadly bolts blasted the ground in explosions of white and electric blue – and they were coming closer.

"What the hell is that?" Ember said, his voice quivering.

I didn't want to say hello. Snatching up my crowbar and backpack, I grabbed Ember's arm and took off at a sprint. I had no idea where to go, but I knew I wanted to get away from whatever the heck was coming our way.

"Where are we going?" Ember shouted. I didn't answer: The blasted plains rushed by me as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Something exploded behind me and the landscape flashed with a blinding white glow. My hair stood on end, and the gas bag moaned with another low, mourning cry.

Bang!

"You alright?" I yelled to Ember. I glanced back as my ally's eyes widened as large as dinner plates. The gas bag had made up ground in a hurry: In less than a minute it had risen on top of us. The creature's wrinkled carapace clenched and shriveled above. A scaly black tumor shot out a cloud of gas, and I struggled to keep myself from choking against the stark smell of sulfur. My throat burned.

Something roared up ahead. I stumbled forward to the lip of a hill of scree, where below, a whitewater river probably fifty feet wide raged. Small stone outcroppings loomed on the other side, the first ruins of the great necropolis that towered on the horizon. Violet lightning crackled ahead as loud bangs sounded behind me.

"Wait, wait, wai-" I stammered as Ember ran into me.

We both tumbled down the hill. Loose rocks rushed around me as the world turned over again and again. Sparks raced past my eyes, and another blast of lightning from the gas bag blinded me as I fell head over heels down the rubble field. With an oof, I collapsed in a heap at the bottom, my backpack digging into my side and my fist clenched in a death grip around my crowbar. At least I hadn't lost anything.

I rubbed dust out of my eyes and recoiled as I saw the river in front of me. Dark water rushed in an angry torrent, with the hill behind me and the raging river in front of me. I couldn't see a way around, and the only other option meant running straight into the hail of lightning bolts the gas creature was sending our way from the rear.

I sure as heck wasn't getting across the river on my own.

"Ember?" I cried as my newfound ally got to his feet, clawing at his shoulder to scrub bits of rock away. "Ember, I can't swim."

He clutched his pack tighter to his shoulders and glanced back at the hill. The gas creature was closing in fast, its lightning bolts already blasting at the top of the scree hill. "Neither can I," he said. "See if we can go around, maybe there's a –"

"There isn't an around!"

Something stirred at my feet before I could argue further. Dust pushed aside as a slimy pale noodle inched its way out of the ground, coiling up in a ball and hissing. A mucous-covered snake longer than I was tall stretched out along the ground behind Ember and I, leaving a trail of translucent ooze on every rock it touched. It reared up three feet into the air. Its head was something born of nightmares, a smooth, rounded globe divided into two sacs that spat and rattled as it curled up into the air.

Ember backpedaled towards the river as the mucous snake hissed at me. Its head divided into a hideous flower, splitting into two flat, triangular flanges lined with bony needles. I leapt out of the way just in time as the creature lunged at me, snapping at the air a millisecond after I'd moved.

"Just jump!" Ember shouted. "Dive into the river!"

"But I can't swim!" I screamed as the snake coiled in front of me, hissing and rattling as it slithered forward. Another bang of lightning lit up an explosion of rock and light from the hilltop.

"Terra!"

I jumped. The snake lunged at me a half-second after I leaped toward the river, and a lightning explosion sent a shower of rock shards flying after me.

Sploosh!

Cold! I tensed up as I dove into the frigid water, but before I knew what hit me, the current swept me away. I flailed like a drowning insect against the incredible force of the river. My head burst over the surface and I gulped in air. All I had was a moment before the water dragged me under its dark surface again, blacking out the lights as I tumbled over and over in the cold, wet, howling tunnel.

"Guh!" I sucked in another gulp of air as I surfaced. The river roared around me, a wail of demons screaming in both ears as I lost myself in its grasp. I struggled to reach for a passing rock, missed, and submerged for another second before a towering rock rushed at me.

I didn't even get the chance to scream. My head collided with the stone and the darkness rushed in.

/ / / / /

"Come to bother me too?"

Cyrus gritted his teeth as he pushed past the doors to Creon Snow's office. He hadn't been the first to see Panem's leader about the situation in District 4, it seemed. Everything seemed peaceful in here: Golden afternoon sunlight shined in through the scarlet-and-violet stained glass behind Creon's mahogany desk, casting a picturesque array of light and color on the wall behind him. The rocky alpine peaks of the Capitol looked radiant, their sun-dried cliffs stoic and strong as a backdrop to the silver towers of the Capitol that glimmered behind the balcony of the spacious room. Even Creon himself loomed regal in the sunlight, his gaunt face bathed in shadow, contrasted against his sun-bathed crimson suit. He'd turned off the television that hung up in the far right corner of the room, hanging above the stylized bronze statue of a Dark Days warrior. No Hunger Games here; the violence the people sought had stayed on the streets.

Yet this place was anything but peaceful, for Panem's twelve districts weren't all feeling so.

"Not to bother," Cyrus said, clasping his hands behind his back and taking a step forward. "Counseling. It's my job title."

Creon leaned back in his seat. In the afternoon glare, his grey stands stood out just a bit clearer than usual. "So counsel me," he said, tossing his pen on his desk. "You going to say I shouldn't be hasty? That a protest in District 4 over some dead girl washed up on the docks shouldn't be met with force? Taurus agreed that I should come out swinging."

Uh-oh. Cyrus held out his hand, sucked in his breath, and said, "Taurus is an aggressive man. Doesn't mean you have to be. You've only been in office six months. You can show them mercy, show them that you can negotiate – "

"Talk?" Creon folded his arms and laughed. "These people only respect strength, Cyrus! A band of them rush out on the streets, shouting slander, and you want me to talk to them? If I look weak, they don't respect me. You and I both know what that leads to."

"Doesn't mean –"

"My father kept order during the riots in District 11 and 8 with force. It's worked before."

"And your father is dead!" Cyrus said, letting his voice get away from him as anger bubbled up within. He wasn't angry at Creon. He respected the man – but his opponents had gotten to him first, and he had no doubt that Taurus had his own goals in mind in convincing the President to shed blood on the streets of District 4 after the prior day's protest. What a nightmare: Some commoner girl, the daughter of a cannery worker, had washed up bloated and with a slit neck near the docks. One little spark, that's all it took to kick off a near-riot. Force would only make things worse.

Cyrus took a breath and went on: "You've said it yourself: You want to make your own name, not rule as the son of Coriolanus Snow. Show that you can be merciful. Don't just rush onto the streets of District 4 with Peacekeepers and bullets, or those people will only grow angrier. That district's already on the verge of boiling over. We need to let it simmer down or we'll have a much worse problem on our hands. You tell me what's worse: Showing some compassion, or having a full-scale district revolt on our hands?'

"And where are they going to take these…these niceties you want?" Creon said, sweeping his hand over his desk and frowning. Cyrus hated when he did that: The man's eyebrows furrowed like a hawk's gaze, as if he could attack Cyrus's very soul with his stare alone. "You think a few kind words will make them feel good? I won't give them any special treatment just because they're mad. I'm not going to exempt them from the Games, or decide tesserae counts double in District 4. Every district gets the same helping."

Well, not exactly. Cyrus held back from saying the intricacies of Panem that he knew, but the new President didn't: The districts didn't receive equal shares. District 4 already had it much better than 8 and 11, which had rioted during Coriolanus's time after decades of hardship and crushing poverty. Shows of strength had maintained order then, but Cyrus wasn't confident the same strategy would work forever. Better to bring the districts under the Capitol's banner with an open hand rather than a closed fist – as long as it kept the peace, it was worth it.

"Let me go there," Cyrus said, leaning over on Creon's desk and clenching his fist. "If I can't do anything, then send in as many Peacekeepers as Taurus wants. But there's a man there, a Rio West, holds a lot of sway with the lower workers. He's even on good standings with the victors, including the Odairs."

Creon pursed his lips. "You just know this man?"

"Technically speaking, I know of him through Lucrezia Bierce's spies," Cyrus said. At least that shrew was good for something. "Doesn't matter. I do know him, I've talked with the man, and he knows me. Give me a chance to smooth things over. Progress is a lot easier when we're not shooting at each other."

Creon ran a hand through his hair. His hairline was receding by the day: Running this fracturing nation was taking its toll. "We're on the same side here, Cyrus. You don't need to tell me that," he said. "Fine. You think you can convince this…this man who commands respect in District 4 to calm things down? Take a shot. But if you can't, then I won't hesitate to flatten them. This Rio West, Finnick Odair, it doesn't matter. I'll keep what's mine."