Chapter Twenty - "On My Lonesome"

"Good morning, tributes!"

My eyes fly open and my rifle is aimed toward the space in front of me within a millisecond, ready to blow away an interloping tribute.

No tributes are in my sights, except for the holographic images of Vi and Pax gazing down impassively at me. Good morning tributes. I lower my rifle and ease out of my sleeping bag as the holograms seem frozen, as if they're waiting for me to come down from my state of readiness. Maybe because they're not only addressing me but the arena in general.

Convinced that I'm no longer in danger, I place the rifle on the ground. I could only imagine that dozens of other tributes throughout the arena reacted the same way.

"Welcome to the second day of the Seventy-Sixth Annual Hunger Games!" Pax cheers.

"Congratulations are in order!" Vi adds. "Twenty-seven tributes have been eliminated, a Games record."

"We're due for more historic moments...in due time."

"Until then, it is highly recommended that you...gain your bearings, and gain them fast."

"We're aware of the space in which you inhabit. One should never get too cozy in an arena, lest its motions overwhelm you. So go forth, collect, familiarize yourself! Things are about to become more...taxing."

"Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The holographic children dissipate back into my communicuff as I drag myself onto my feet and casually stretch away the post-sleep fatigue. Day two, here we go.

The first thing that comes to mind is Syndra and her posse of fellow Capitolites. I'm still surprised that not one of them graced the nightly roll call, which means that they're all together, launching from the same cornucopia. If they're competent enough to achieve that, escape a bloodbath, then they must be in good shape and holed up somewhere around here. But where?

As I consult my communicuff's map, I notice that I'm not even as far north as I can get before bumping into the forcefield. Nowhere near it. If they followed the plan, they should be just beyond where the park ends, hopefully in a secure camp waiting for me.

That settles it. I'll continue north and link up with Syndra and co. if I can.

I look around my immediate area, taking in all my gains of the past day. A full sleeping bag complete with an inner and out lining, a bunch of food, a rucksack with even more packets of food and spare articles of clothing in it. It's all too much to carry.

"I'd travel light if I were you." Paulus says, reclining back on a ratty sofa. "Don't wanna end up like that Eight you killed, clankin' around with that ruck on his back."

I nod and murmur in agreement. That's right. In an arena like this, you're going to want to travel light, squeeze back into a cranny just as quickly as you came out of it.

I transfer some of my loot into the multi-pocketed harness I wear, leaving the remainder in a kitchen cupboard. I make sure to block the cupboard with pieces of furniture, lest some tribute comes poking around for it. That, on top of the couch I wedged in the stairwell last night should be enough to deter any intruders.

And then there's my trusty rifle.

As I make adjustments to it, Paulus kneels down and eyes the weapon like a cat does a bird.

"Lookin' to practice your marksmanship skills, Sis?" he muses, snorting. "Been a while since I've seen you shoot. Should be a pretty sight."

Viondra and my treasure trove of followers were so kind to sponsor me a nifty sight to attach onto the rifle. On one hand it's telescopic with a range of eight hundred meters, and with a flick of a wrist, it breaks away into a holographic sight for up close engagements.

As much as I would love to pick the arena's highest point and spend the rest of my time picking people off, my time in the arena calls for a more personal approach.

So, after securing my excess loot, I exit the dilapidated apartment and make my way north. I consult with the map, making sure to follow the circular trajectory in a counterclockwise motion.

Even with the thick, thermal mittens and knitted scarf I wear, It's quite brisk outside. It doesn't help that it's raining significantly, adding to the chill. I quickly remind myself that Two is probably colder than this right now and that pretty much any form of weather beats a blistering desert or freezing tundra.

I make sure to hug the sidewalk of the road I'm on, in case I get blindsided by tributes from the row houses that loom on either side of me. Where I can use the debris to my advantage, these former Rebel soldiers can do the same.

Along the way, I find numerous low-tier loot crates. Most of which have already been picked at judging by the slightly ajar lids. I get lucky, snagging a few stray bullets which I quickly combine into the nearly-spent twenty-round magazine from yesterday.

Hiding in the husk of an old taxi, I study the two magazines. Just having a rifle in my hands is a stroke of luck. Even still, having only two magazines against tributes like these…

And as if Viondra was reading my mind, a parachute quickly drifts down onto the roof. I flick open the lid of the small, rectangular box to find two more empty magazines. Studying one in my hand, I quirk a brow and shrug in confusion.

"What the hell?" even with the crates strewn around, there was no guarantee I was going to get the ammo type I needed.

Paulus leans one arm against the hood of the rusted-out car. "I think our girl Viondra forgot the ammo with the magazine, the whole point of having a clip in the first place..."

"You should definitely make use of those items, tribute," advises Vi from my communicuff. "You can use all the help you can get…"

"In terms of acquiring ammunition," adds Pax. "One shouldn't always rely on what's...visibly obvious."

Paulus and I exchange weary gazes before I focus my attention back on the the holographic boy. "I'd appreciate it if you guys were a bit more literal."

In an odd show of 'humanity', the holograms blink.

"How much more 'literal' can we be?" Pax replies with a strong hint of displeasure in his voice.

"Data shows that District 2 tributes prefer a more...applied approach rather than a theoretical one." says Vi.

I snort. I very much prefer the silence of the arena and the occasional intrusion of Claudius Templesmith's wiry voice. "Did they just call me stupid? I…"

I glance down at my feet, snorting again as I reach down and retrieve a bullet about four inches long, just about as long as those needed for the rifle.

"They're really thinking outside the box for this one." notes Paulus.

And I'm not complaining. Beats scrambling towards a cornucopia and having to manage a pyramid's worth of supplies. I quickly remind myself that as I continue to run the outer perimeter of the arena, picking up round after round, other tributes - Rabe, Gibbs...Matix - are finding things as well.

Not as good as what I'm picking up. I grin from ear to ear, halting just before an intersection where what appears to be a checkpoint of sorts. It's smack dab in the middle of the street. Military, with ancient humvees and ratty tents signifying it so.

A place like that would be a nice spot to find a crate or two. Slowly but surely, I inch my way toward the checkpoint, raising my rifle and scanning from left to right just in case one of the many row house windows shelters houses a snoopy tribute eager to pick me off.

I run a hand over a tank that's rusted to high heaven. It's definitely not a set piece. Everything is legitimately frozen in time. Part of me wonders if I peruse around some more, I might find some written orders detailing what exactly went on here. School covered the gist of it - riots over what little remained, massive treks to the interior of the nation in an attempt to escape the violence.

I snicker to myself as a certain Garrison Forge comes to mind. The whiz kid. He'd quiver over a time capsule like this.

But then I look over my surroundings once more, immediately becoming conscious again. The city was just a backdrop to what was really going on. No time to genuinely wonder when everyone wants to kill me expressly. Paulus whistles, sitting himself onto an orange and black crate across the way.

"Zen, what's this?"

"One second," I say. One footlocker, which doesn't seem Gamemaker placed, contains soppy, moldy paper and rusted equipment. Immediately to the right of it sits an ammo crate, which is also a relic. It takes some elbow grease but I manage to pop the darn thing open. My reward? A healthy supply of bullets by the handful.

I smile. "Lovely." I'm not shy about it, opening one of my many pockets and shoving what I can in, throwing away the rest in various directions. Wouldn't want anyone else stumbling across free ammo. I close my pocket, relishing in the slight jingle the rounds make as I pat my pant leg down.

I feel all the more invincible now that I have a considerable amount of rounds. Cushion room is always good. Now for the real loot.

I cross the other end of the intersection, making my way toward the orange box while passing by gurneys and tables that have seen better days. I pop the lid, relishing in the soft hiss it emits.

My heart flutters as I'm immediately greeted with an armored vest, a machine pistol, a knife and an assortment of food.

I let out a low whistle. "Well I'll be…"

I immediately go for the knife, noticing the lug portion at the hilt. I slip it on the barrel of the rifle, giving me a functional bayonet.

I'm about to slip on the protective vest when I hear noises directly to my front. My hear soars with anxiety as I peer to the side, down the eastbound street.

"Look, I see something-"

"A crate-!"

"But it's open-"

Well, shit. I waste no time, leaping out from behind the crate where I find a whole squad of tributes cautiously advancing my way. An alliance of Tens and Elevens judging by the gray and chocolate-colored jackets they wear.

As they shout out in surprise, I level the rifle toward them and fire as fast as my finger would allow me to, enjoying the way they cry out and scatter like roaches.

Again, so much for 'ne'er do wells'.

I flinch when bullets start flying my way, sounding like firecrackers going off in my ears as the rounds pound and skitter harshly against my surroundings. I hear them barking commands to one another.

Not wanting to get pinned, I return fire briefly, only to shield myself against the crate as another hail of bullets pounds against the steel container. I notice now, as they continue to fire at me, that they obviously aren't packing a rifle like I am. Maybe a bolt-action, a handgun judging by how slow the rate of fire is.

When the firing lulls, I take my chance, springing from out of cover. I freeze when I see there's a Ten and Eleven male charging my way, just meters away, with a sword and spiked club respectively.

Before they're right on top of me, I let them have it, firing toward them haphazardly. That stops them dead in their tracks. Both shout out in pain as Eleven crashes onto the ground, clutching his leg while Ten scampers out of view behind the husk of a truck, dropping his sword while nursing his arm. A girl cries out in anguish.

Without thought, I scramble northward, just as the gunfire begins again.

It's weird. Just as I make my way up the intersection, heading northbound, I could see the road was as clear as day. I could see for at least a kilometer or two. Just some one hundred meters into my sprint, the road was no longer clear, now shrouded by a heavy fog. It's enough for me to stumble to a halt, regardless of the shouts that grow closer and closer.

I'm between a rock and a hard place.

Not good. Not good... My head swivels from left to right, taking in the row houses on either side of me. All of them were either welded shut or piles of rubble that the squad of Tens and Elevens will surely find me in.

"Zen!"

I head snaps toward Paulus, who frantically waves toward a tenement building that appears open.

"Get over here!"

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I fire a few rounds at my pursuers who are now down the road, halting their advance as I bolt across the dilapidated streets and up the steps of the tenement building.

Just before I cross through the front door, I spy one of the Ten females off in the distance with her rifle raised.

I duck just in time, hearing the round whizz past the back of my head and explode against the concrete.

The first thing I manage to notice in my already clouded mind when I enter the building is that this place is a fucking mess. I guess some buildings lasted the tests of time better. Parts of the upper floor have given way, strewing debris everywhere. My eyes fly toward the stairwell, which was blocked. There is no elevator. Their yells are getting closer.

My head snaps right, toward an alcove a few meters inside. I scramble toward it, nearly tripping on the debris. But I make it, hugging myself into the small indent. I share it with a low-tier loot box. At least there's some good in my shitty situation. I open it.

The box yields a grenade and an oatmeal cookie.

I look at Paulus, who takes a prone position behind a mound of debris. Holding each other's gaze, we both cackle out loud. A grenade and cookies...What a odd mix.

The scuffling of boots directly outside the tenement entrance shuts me up quick. My hand quickly manipulates the rifle, my thumb switching the firing mode to 'automatic' while my other hand firmly grasps the forestock.

"What are you laughin' at, Spitfire?!" calls one of the boys. "I wouldn't be laughin' if I were you! You damn near blew my leg off! Imma do you somethin' worse than that, just watch!"

"Little miss spitfire, all alone!" jeers one of the girls. "No one here to save you now! Get 'er!"

My sights are already trained at the door. As soon as I see a dark-skinned Eleven attempt to make his way inside, I fire a burst toward him, chipping the concrete as I send him skittering away like a startled doe as he belts out a string of curses.

"She's trapped, let 'er burn!" a female yells.

My heart thumps a million miles a second as I reaffirm my grip on the rifle. Burn? What do you mean let her burn?

I receive my answer almost immediately in the form of a bottle flying through the entrance. Nowhere near me of course as it lands some feet away. At first, the result is nothing until a split second later, the entire space is engulfed in flames.

I let out a startled cry, flinching as the flames continue to eat away at the ample amount of flammable debris strewn about the tenement lobby. The smoke is immediately beginning to become acrid as I attempt to squeeze further into the alcove to escape the spreading flames.

I keep my eyes trained on the doorway. Will they attempt to rush me? Or will they use the flames to flush me out into their waiting arms?

"You can't stay here, Zen!"

I listen to the taunting jeers of the tributes outside. "Where can I go?"

"Try one of the hallways. Maybe there's a back entrance!"

I crane my head toward one of the hallways. The last I saw, it was literally clogged with debris and now, that entire area is engulfed in flames. There's no use trying to get out there without coming out roasted on the other side. My head whips back toward the entrance. If I break out of here, I'd get gunned down the moment I pass the alcove.

Breaking out into a bout of coughs, my neck whips down to my communicuff as it begins to beep alarmingly. The holographic display showcases the arena map unprovoked, showcasing my location - which was now red and shrinking - and a green zone.

"The time has come to...redefine the boundaries of the playing area," announces Vi.

"As some of you may have noticed, there is an omnipresent vapor that shrouds the outskirts of the arena," adds Pax.

"If you don't want to feel the vapor's effects, we highly suggest you...relocate at your earliest convenience."

A flurry of panicked yells come from my attackers outside, followed by desperate pleas seconds later. That thick wall of fog turned out to be something after all.

"Now's your chance, Zen!" says Paulus, who now stands at the entryway and pokes his head out. "Time to make yourself scarce."

"Right, right...now or never." with my rifle at the ready, I tread through the debris and push my way out of the flaming tenement.

I've stepped into something far, far worse. I'd rather take my chances inside the burning building than be out here.

My assailants gone, I allow myself to shroud my nose with my jacket in an attempt to stave off the putrid smell of musty clothes from my nose. As if flicking a switch my eyes immediately become watery and my lungs force me to dry heave in protest.

I stumble forward, feeling immediately overwhelmed by the fog's thickness. "Oh Gods-!"

"Let's go Zen, you're not keelin' over to damn gas!"

Even though I couldn't see ten feet in front of me, I push my way forward. It seems I'm running along with the fog's advancement because no matter how fast I run, I can never seem to escape the fog indefinitely.

My momentum is immediately quashed as I find myself upright one second and kissing the concrete the other. There's a considerable weight building on my legs, as if I'm being pinned down.

The fog begins to swallow me, alarm bells ringing in my brain as I flip onto my back and see the Eleven I had shot in the leg. His eyes, puffy and tearing, are as red as the blood that flows out his mouth as he wheezes, prompting flecks of it to pepper my vision.

"Where...you...goin', Spitfire?" Eleven splutters between coughing fits. "Gonna...stay right here with me!"

My response is to jam my fingers into his eyes.

He lets out a loud cry, only to be silenced by my boot crashing into his face not once, but three times as I free myself from his grip and get back on my feet.

As I sprint away, I watch as the Eleven continues to wreathe while the smoke envelopes him. Extending a hand toward me, he lets out a bout of coughs before he's shrouded indefinitely. His cannon booms a split second later.

Good. I exhale, coughing myself as I continue my rush towards the 'safe zone'. It's funny. The arena was so easy to navigate moments ago, but now with the fog having its way, everything is turned upside down. It's getting so bad that my eyes focus solely on the communicuff and the little white dot that represents me on the map. I'm well into the 'death zone' yet despite my lungs protesting with every excretion I make, I make sure to continue to pump my legs and navigate my way through the fog.

My path leads me to another tenement building. It's interior is mashed up beyond repair, like every other interior. The only way is up the stairs so up the stairs I go. As I ascend the stairwell, it too is choked up with fog.

The second floor is blocked up with debris.

"Go higher Zen, higher!" Paulus yearns, and I do, groaning as I use the bannister as a crutch and continue climbing. I think I can say without a doubt that Sergeant Floris' PT regimens have nothing on this...'fog run' I've decided to call it.

When I climb the third floor I immediately see an open door through the thick haze. I notice the light of the sky. Grinning, I push forward into the apartment.

I make it ten feet into the 'apartment' before I notice the entire flat is one giant hole, bombed out during the Apocalypse or something.

My vision becomes a flurry of the sky above and the debris I tumble over until I drop five feet or two onto solid ground. A wave of discomfort washes over me like a smothering blanket as I moan out a groan of pain.

My communicuff lets out a series of beeps.

'"Arena boundaries - readjusted," Says Vi.

"And with a grand majority of tributes worse for wear - not that they weren't already," adds Pax.

Five minutes...I think I deserve five minutes rest. So I do just that, lying on my stomach as I suck in air like a fish out of water. The air doesn't take in easily, as my body shudders with most breaths I take.

"Hey, Zen…rise an' shine, wake up an smell the turkey," says Paulus wearily.

I clamber onto my hands and knees, keeping my rifle close as I dribble out a wad of spit. "Whys tha - ah shit…"

A hundred meters away. The grays and browns of the Tens and Elevens are at odds with the dark teal of the Fours. Rief Cohen and Esmeralda are right there in between the guns and melee weapons readied against either group. They spend a few seconds arguing before the weapons among them are tentatively lowered.

Paulus is screaming at me to run, but I can't.

Just as they reach an impasse, Esmeralda looks my way. At first she's confused, but that confusion turns into a wide smile as she points her trident toward me and alerts the now sizeable group of my presence.

"Time to leave, Zen!"

I fire out a burst from my rifle, causing them to scatter and hide amongst the debris strewn around the street. From left to right, I continue to spray, keeping their heads down long enough for me to make my escape. I force myself onto my feet and compel my legs to work, breaking out into a brisk run.

As I sprint down the street, I feel something pinch me in the shoulder hard. Hard enough to make me shout out in pain but not enough to get me to stop completely. Something tells me that I'd prefer this stinging pain to the pain they would dish out to me if I'd stopped.

A few feet away I see something - a black shed-like structure that says "110 STREET C-TH-DRAL P-K SUBWAY"

I hiss as a bullet whizzes past me. It'll have to do. I bound down the stairs into the pitch black darkness, wincing as I nearly slip down the remainder of the steps. The pain becoming too much to bear, even for me, I rest up against a pillar in the station's lobby. Holes shine light in from the surface, allowing me to fiddle with my communicuff and activate its weak flashlight. Beggars can't be choosers.

I hug myself against pillar for just a moment, attempting to regain some of my bearings. It barely works, my chest heaving up and down as if I were a cartoon character. I expect my heart to explode, but it doesn't...miraculously.

I hear them. Cohen and his newly-found gang of rebels. Their voices are jovial. One of them gushes about how happy they are to have found one another. It reminds me of Games prior, how Careers who came before me would chase after an unfortunate outlier. I guess I'm the outlier this time around.

I have to keep moving.

I peer down the steps that lead further underground and shamble my way down, freezing at the sizable body of murky water that awaits me. I give my head a shake. Is this even a part of the arena? How could the Capitol police these tunnels, which can be an arena within itself? What in the hells awaits me down there?

"All are good questions," says Paulus, already waist-deep in the water. "I'd rather get the answer to that over the question of "What will those band of rebel tributes do to me if I'm caught?" which is nothing good! So hurry the hell up and get down there!"

"Godsdammit…" wasting no time, I wade into the body of water, ignoring the ice cold temperatures as I push forward into the tunnels proper.

I crane my head back to watch as just meters away, the lights of my pursuers shine down from the stairs to the surface. They're on my tail and closing in fast.

I twirl around and level my rifle toward the steps, firing a burst at them. It stops them in their tracks, prompting them to shout out in surprise as the rounds kick up sparks upon impact with the rusted metal of the escalators and beige tiling. I then crane my head back toward the flooded tunnel and then back to the surface.

I have nowhere else to go but forward.

With absolutely no choice left, I continue my trudge into the darkness.

A/N: School has released me from it's abusive grasp...for now. Being free for a couple of weeks, I can now pursuit my craft to my hearts content. I'm somewhat ahead, too.

Coming Up Next...

"Just as I prep myself for the worst, I see it. A bottle flying through the air, its tip a bright orange. My eyes wide, I watch as it lands on the lead mutt, dousing it and three others in flames. They let out a horrible shriek, wreathing on the ground like erratic firecrackers."