Chapter Thirty - "Into The Howling Dark"

"I'm sorry, Clancy," I say with a sniffle, fishing a hand into my jacket pocket to retrieve some clean tissue. "I just can't think without seeing her," I rub the headband I brought into the arena, her headband. "Smelling her."

It always goes back to that final night at the prison camp. Her holding me like I was a baby again. Things weren't the best leading up to our time there but in the middle of it all, we had that moment. But when I discovered her the next morning, dead, there were no more chances to make things even better than they were before.

At least I apologized for my stubbornness and she accepted.

"Mother would be very proud," Clancy soothes. "I imagine she's quite proud of the both of us, you especially."

In the olden days, before Panem, people used to believe in a variety of gods. It was them apparently who created the earth and all its life and when that life ends they return back to them in the heavens, people included. If there is such a place as the heavens and she's there, watching us, I'd imagine she would be terrified for us. But proud, too. Yes…I think she would be proud of me for making it this far.

"Are you done with the waterworks?"

I glance up at Zenobia as she enters the living room once more, flustered at what she just said. Waterworks? Mother dies before I even got to say goodbye and she calls my sadness over her 'waterworks'?! Even Clancy seems put off, trading a just as flustered look with me before rising onto his feet. I'm about to say something back before Clancy catches me with a dismissive wave.

"She just lost her mother, our mother," Clancy hisses, stomping over to Zenobia. He towers over her so much she has to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "It's been a whirlwind couple of months with very little time to comprehend the utter gongshow that is our life. So forgive her if-"

"Forty-odd tributes are gonna converge on a singular spot in literally a few hours," Zenobia replies with just as much ice in her tone. "All the merit badges in the world won't save you if your head is in the clouds, worryin' 'bout the past."

She turns to look at me, and I can't help but feel a thousand times smaller under her hardened gaze. I know what she's capable of. I can't help but wonder if she's looking at me like one of those rebels she slaughtered during the private sessions.

"Are you ready?" she asks me. "You're the youngest, which means if anyone is certain to lose, it'd be you."

I've been told that since the day Pluto drew my slip from the bowl. Yet here I am, still alive while most if not all the other tributes around my age are no longer alive.

"I'm aware of that, Zenobia," I reply with a pointed glare. "I think my '9' in training explains it all, no?"

From her, I glance at my brother, who grins and nods in approval.

Zenobia eyes me. Probably drawing conclusions in her head about me. Through the dim lights I see the smallest of grins on her lips. "That's right. You're the youngest tribute to score so highly. How'd you manage that?"

"I like to keep my cards to myself, I say. I mean, the bloodbath, the earthquake, the close encounters? Yes, Clancy was there to help, but I didn't make a bother of myself. I didn't make it harder for him.

I'm not useless like she thinks I am.

She snorts, prompting me to scowl as she picks up Clancy's lamp and saunters over to the kitchen island, planting it there. "Whatever you say, city mouse," she says, turning on her communicuff. "Hurry, let's formulate a plan. We need all the sleep we can get."

Feeling a flash of hotness spread throughout my body, I reluctantly make my way over to the table with Clancy, my stomach becoming increasingly knotted as I stand inches away from 'Ms. Spitfire'. I see why she got that name now.

She gets right into it. With Clancy and her doing most if not all the talking. She explains that they're most likely going to utilize the toxic haze that surrounds the arena like a ring, so we all agree to pack in advance. Only what we need. And then there's the issue of the gas pushing us towards the direction the Gamemakers want us to go.

"What I've been doing is running the perimeter clockwise," says Zenobia, running a finger around the holomap. "That way-"

"We've been doing that too." I pipe up, frowning when she stares blankly at me.

"Incrementally," Clancy adds, noticing Zenobia's expression. "We figured that other tributes would be rushing towards the center, making them easy pickings. Other tributes are picking up on it, too."

"Are they?"

I raise a tentative finger. "We almost got-"

"Hold on, Emmy," says Clancy. "The Eight's almost got us during one boundary shift. They were going from building to building, too. Waiting for stragglers."

My shoulders sag. I was about to say that.

Zenobia then says we can let the gas envelop us, to which we both eye her with wide eyes. She goes on to explain that a group of Tens tried to kill her and they got caught up in a boundary shift. It's confusing to navigate due to the thickness of the vapor, but as long as you're masked up, we should last a few minutes. The two of them get into a huge discussion on whether the gas will be a constant fear, or if mutts will be in play.

And every single time I try to talk, they butt me out! I can't be ready if they don't give me a chance, right?

"Will it even be an open space!?" I say aloud, loud enough to cause both Clancy and Zenobia to glare at me.

"Why are you so loud?" Clancy hisses, shaking his head incredulously. "Keep it down-"

"We're twenty floors up," I snap back, shifting my glare between him and Zenobia. "The Gamemakers I don't think would host a feast at the cornucopia. It's too open."

"What do you mean? Everyone knows where it is."

"City Mouse is right," Zenobia says. "With a minimap for each tribute and a city at their disposal, it'll be in a building. The action will be intimate. Very intimate."

The two of them get very…military-like, talking about things like a 'rendezvous point' and 'so on. As much as I try to pay attention, I simply can't. It's pretty hard to pay attention when no one includes you. I think. It's like spending time with Victoria DeWynter. A lot of words are said but they all concern her, no one else.

All I have to do is follow. I think, eyeing my sleeping bag longingly. It's what I've been good at most since I got here. Follow Clancy, don't die on him.

When I turn to leave the kitchen island, the two of them don't say a word until…

"Don't fall asleep just yet," Zenobia calls. "You're starting off our watch."

I hear Clancy's objections and the resulting spat, but I don't care to react. I flop onto my sleeping bag, take off my glasses and pour my heart out into my diary.

November 26,

Day 10

I'm starting to take back what I said the other night, about wanting to sit and talk with our 'new friend'. Pet names, overall impoliteness, basically taking my care for her for granted, I'd go as far as to say this alliance is held together by…I'm not sure what's holding this alliance together.

'Likemindedness' doesn't count. I want to be her friend but she's making it extremely hard to do so. There's not much 'opportunity' to be had when your 'partner' isn't much of a 'partner'.

…

Clancy decides to do our watch together. This gives me ample time to continue writing. Still, I dislike having to do this because why on Panem's hallowed land would a tribute be up 'hunting', let alone creeping around a twenty-floor building? Clancy says it's to build 'discipline'.

So much for 'discipline'. He's sleeping right now.

So here I am, writing in a stairwell using my communicuff as light.

I was beginning to be quite cross with him, especially when he and Zenobia were having their little 'meeting of the minds' earlier tonight. At least he wasn't too daft to sense how I was feeling. I explained to him my anger over Zenobia's attitude, bringing up my survival till this day and the 9 in training I achieved (I didn't do much with brawn, but brains are just as important).

Clancy in return brought up a story about a time when he was my age, going through the Young Nationalist Pioneers.

It turns out he wasn't as big and burly as he was now, not just yet. He wasn't always a 'machine'. The lead pioneer and the older boys would always doubt him due to his smaller stature.

He was quick to point out my low odds at the beginning of these Games and asked me what I thought people were thinking now.

Truth be told, I blushed. I imagine a lot of people back in the Capitol are surprised at my performance…even if it's mostly tied to him having my back. Like me, Clancy gained respect by constantly proving himself. Apparently Father told him the same thing:

"Life's a staircase, Emmy. You might reach a landing, but there's plenty more steps to climb."

So, in order to gain Zenobia's respect, it seems I have to prove myself. Clancy wants me to stay as close as possible, but that doesn't mean that I'll cower away while he and Zenobia do all the work.

I'm Emery. I'm brave. If I can run into danger with a kitchen knife, survive prison and last ten days into the Hunger Games, I can survive a feast, too.

Here's hoping this entry isn't my last.

Like a class presentation or a big test, I absolutely hate the wait that happens before I inevitably take my place at the front of the room or flip the page of my booklet to reveal the first question. This is what it is, isn't it? The feast: a big test or presentation.

I look over my final entry. Despite my written words of confidence, I physically feel a mess, a bundle of nervous energy just waiting to get it over with. Thankfully I'm able to keep down breakfast. The arena's boundaries are shifting towards the east side of the park, but Zenobia doesn't seem to mind one bit. Speaking of Ms. Spitfire, Clancy and I watch as she dismantles, cleans and assembles her main tool: a rifle, rubbing it down like someone would a prized trophy.

"I highly suggest you kit yourself out for what's coming up," she says, slapping a magazine into the gun and cocking it. "Preferably you wanna use somethin' you're good with. Very good with."

Finding a nice, clean spot on the ground, I detach my utility belt and place it on the ground before me. I have my 'bowie knife' as Atala called it, a rather large knife I hope I can use right when the time comes. When I first fished it out of a loot crate, Clancy joked that it was an 'upgrade' from my kitchen knife.

And then there's my handgun. I have the sponsors to thank for the two additional magazines attached to my belt and my vision for allowing me to pick up an assortment of bullets from off the ground, some of which match up with this gun. Heaving the silver gun into my hands, it still feels weighty and 'unnatural'. Using it on mutts is easy…but an actual person? I guess I'll find out.

And if the handgun feels unnatural, well…I take out two grenades from my rucksack, two olive balls attached to steel 'handles' to help me 'enhance their range' as Atala says.. I study one in my hand, and then look over the other items in my possession. I wish I could see myself now, on screen back in The Capitol. I wonder what everyone is saying? I think I can imagine Caesar right now in his studio. "Even little Emery Smithson of District 12 is armed to the teeth, ready for a fight!"

Sighing, I reluctantly slip on my load-bearing belt once more. If being sentenced to a prison camp was mind boggling, then what does being a Capitol-born tribute do?

Zenobia must think so too. I watch her now, eyeing me with a slight grin as she saunters over from her side of the room, hovering over me while turning her attention to the bombs.

"Whatcha doin' with those, City Mouse?" she asks.

"I found them in a crate," I say, clearing my throat from the roughness. Nerves are getting the best of me.

"If y'don't mind, gonna take these off your hands," she says while swiping the grenades up. "Somethin' tells me I'm gonna need 'em more."

I'm in no position to say no. I've seen what she can do. Even a slight glance toward my big brother and his shrug and nod in response tells me all I need to know. Better to hand it over to the expert…I don't mention the lone smoke grenade remaining in my rucksack. Keep my cards to myself, right?

The morning quickly turns to afternoon. My nerves don't allow me to dig into my lunch ration, as I'd probably throw it up. I opt for another pouch of fruit salad. At least that stays down.

I watch Zenobia as she fiddles with her communicuff. She looks it over as if she's getting active messages on it. I can't help but wonder if people on the outside are giving her pointers. Even Clancy watches her, but decides not to say anything besides give me a weary glance.

She looks at Clancy, nodding. "It's time to move. Let's go!"

My limbs feeling like they're rusted shut, I let out a deep breath while I rise onto my feet and join my brother and Zenobia as we file down the stairs and out of the apartment. I'm surprised when we halt just outside.

"What's the matter?" I ask them, only to turn my attention to two packages floating our way. One for Zenobia and one for Clancy. Frowning, I watch as the two rip the packages open, revealing two heavy vests comparable to something a Peacekeeper would wear.

Only two of them.

"Where's my vest?" I ask them.

The two exchange brief glances before Zenobia nudges Clancy to secure his vest. Shaking her head, Zenobia looks at me. "We'll deal with this in a second. Come on, we need to move."

Easy for you to say. I think, nearly getting left behind as the two of them begin to jog briskly away. There's three of us. Seriously, why would they forget about me?

With our rucksacks left at the apartments, the two block jog wasn't as fear-inducing as I thought it would be. Zipping to and from overturned cars, buses and piles of rubble, we find ourselves in the reception of a medical office. Much to our disappointment, all the crates are looted. Old military checkpoints have plenty of ammo, old dwellings often have clothes and food, so surely a medical office would've had handy supplies to heal wounds. I figure whatever is in those feast bags will last us until the end of the Games…whenever they come.

"Why did you bring us here?" I ask aloud. "Surely the feast won't be held-"

And then my communicuff vibrates up a storm. The arena's boundaries are slowly but surely shifting, a wide circle slowly closing in towards a school highlighted green. A school only a hundred meters away from us, maybe even less. Another vibration makes me check my messages. LIBRARY.

"The feast is underway," drones Vi from within the communicuff.

"We trust that you all have prepared accordingly?" drones Pax.

"It seems some have more than others," replies Vi.

The others are coming…I turn to Zenobia and Clancy, who take up guard by the still-intact glass windows. "I never got a vest. Why?"

"Seems clear to me," Zenobia says frankly. "It's a two man job. Better to have two capable people…"

"Than a twelve-year-old." I finish with a sigh. "A Capitol one who hasn't killed a fly let alone thrown a punch before…"

I find it confusing and quite frankly unfair. Pluto said that the brother and sister angle was popular. Don't our supporters know it could end here? Or maybe they do know, and our escorts sent them the vests because spending one on me would be a waste of sponsor funds.

"Or" Clancy adds, "They may be offering you another role."

"Hm?"

"In past Games' feasts, most alliances had a lookout just in case," Zenobia explains. "You can be our lookout and this office can be our ORV."

I frown. "OR-?"

Zenobia frowns. "Clancy and I go in, get our loot, and come back here, where it's known and safe. Our rendezvous point."

"You're leaving me here? Alone?" I sputter. "What happens if the office isn't safe? What happens if Clancy gets hurt? What if you get hur!?-"

I zip it when Zenobia shushes me harshly. She gives me what Careers and Peacekeepers call a GOTWA.

Again with the military slang. My heart races with anxiety. "What's a GOTW-"

"Quiet," Zenobia snaps. "Do you want to die today?"

I shake my head so hard I see double.

Clancy lays a hand on my shoulder. "Emmy, listen closely."

She gives me her five point plan. Zenobia is going to the feast within the school. Clancy is going with her. It may be a while, a few minutes, an hour, depends on the Gamemakers' schemes. If they don't come back I am to continue to wait here at the office an hour from now. If I make contact with another tribute then I move to the nearest, open next door. If something crazy really kicks off, I go back to the apartment off East 108th Street.

If I live to see the anthem and I see their faces in the sky…I'm on my own. Very straightforward, I think.

As she speaks to me, I can't help but notice that outside is getting ever so foggier, drowning out the daylight with a thick curtain of vapor.

"Do you understand?"

A cannon fires close by, causing my insides to shudder. Zenobia on the other hand seems unfazed, her eyes fixed solely on me. I nod.

She returns it. "Good. Clancy let's go."

My brother envelopes me in a bone-crushing hug. "We'll be right back, Em. Stay strong."

"Clancy, let's go!"

"Be careful," I tell him with a final squeeze of the hand.

With a count to three, the two slip out of the office front and make a beeline towards the school. I watch them disappear across the intersection, retreating back into the office as I secure my gasmask and wait. Zenobia said what she was going to do and it seems easy enough. Easier said than done but she's Zenobia, she's capable. It's up to me now to hold my end of the bargain.

I find the nearest corner and hunker down there, watching as outside gets heavier and heavier with vapor. A quick look at my communicuff shows me that there are no 'boundaries' anymore, they're dousing the entire area with gas. They want people to die. I find myself scrunching into a ball, hoping that their mission will end sooner rather than later. Even with my heavy breathing and thudding heart, I can hear the panting breaths and clomping boots of other tributes as they too begin to storm the school. The occasional 'pop' of gunfire causes me to flinch, but I know the shots are a little ways off and not a true threat to me.

That is, until the shots start popping off even closer.

I whip my head towards the long-paneled window where I hear muffled screams and snarling barks. A figure, a tribute, teeters into view across the street, mongrel mutts nipping at his heels as he fires aimlessly at them. I see the flashing barrel turning my way and I duck, whimpering as bullets pierce through the glass, shattering it outright as they loudly whizz and skitter throughout the office. My brain tells me 'run', but I don't. Instead I find myself turning to get a closer look at the tribute in question.

I may not have known him long, but I know that green hair from anywhere.

With a deep breath, I move from out of the broken window, training my gun on the nearest hound I see. Poor, poor dogs…If I can even call them that. Bred from what looks to be bullies, their furry coats are now barely-there patches and all of them have open sores. I shoot it once, twice, three times, watching as it whimpers and collapses. I do the same to the next mutt that rears its head toward me, gunning it down just as its head splits down the middle and divides itself into four, jagged tendrils. Cicero takes out the last mutt that gnaws on the toes of his boot, striking its head with a sickle until it's a bloody pulp. All pumped up, he springs onto his feet and raises his blade toward me.

"Cicero, wait!" I cry, flinching.

A moment of realization washes across his weathered face. "Emery," he moans, dropping his sickle to the side. He's happy to see me, I think. "Oh Gods…I'm happy to see you!"

"Are you okay?" he looks an absolute mess. Sunken, tired eyes, muddy, ratty clothes, grimy skin. It's clear the earthquake didn't treat him well.

"Better if I got my package," he replies breathlessly, groaning as he looks over his mangled boot. "Where's your brother? What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Inside the school with Zenobia," I reply, pausing. "They're getting our packages while I wait."

"Zenobia…" he repeats, blinking. "Just the other day, we were-"

Our heads spin towards the school where very loud gunfire erupts. Immediately behind us, sharp howls could be heard. We can't stay here. Shakily, I reload my gun and watch as Cicero collects his submachine gun from off the ground. Now we were entirely shrouded by gas.

"You can't stay here," Cicero says. "The gas, the mutts-"

"I know, I know," I reply as he begins coaxing me along. My legs are hesitant to follow, only to end up joining him as we briskly jog towards the school, navigating through what looks to be like old emergency checkpoints. "Our loot is in the library-"

"My loot is located in the auditorium," Cicero replies.

"If this old school is anything like the schools in the Capitol, then they shouldn't be too far apart," I say. "The two locations, I mean."

"Two birds with one stone," Cicero adds, nodding.

We reach the double door entrance, wide open for anyone to enter. It surely isn't inviting, however. I can't decide which one is worse, the outside that's choked with gas and prowling mutts, or the pitch black darkness that lies further within the school. The yelling and gunfire within isn't helping. Cicero must be thinking the same thing I am, judging by the sharp curse under his breath and the groan that follows.

"Have you got a light, Emery?"

I nod, slipping a flashlight attachment onto my gun and shining it down the foyer. It's good for a few feet but a few feet is more than enough. With a shaky breath I stride forward, only for Cicero's hand to clasp my shoulder tightly.

"Let's avoid confrontation, yeah?" he says, showing me his crudely bandaged leg. "The quake left me a little gammy."

With a firm nod and our guns raised, we press forward into the howling dark.

Thank Panem we don't have to go far for a map of the school's layout. The Gamemakers were considerate enough to make a brand new map and bolt it to the wall. It turns out the auditorium is right in front of us in the form of three, closed triple doors. I'm about to open the door when Cicero grunts in disapproval.

"I don't trust it," he murmurs, his head shifting this way and that. He points out a ramp to our left, lined with washed out portraits of students from a forgotten era. He yearns me up the 'ramp' and I don't object. "If these doors are the main entrance, then up here is the overflow entrance."

Without warning, I rip the centermost door open and follow after Cicero, hugging behind the closest row of seats we could find. Being all-enclosed the auditorium is pitch black, apart from the center stage. Bright lights shine down on a solid black table decorated with numerous parcels on them, each of them labeled for Districts 4 through 6 and color coded as such…if my eyesight isn't betraying me. I rise to help Cicero storm the stage, only for him to firmly hold me in place.

"Stop stop stop! I hear something," he hisses harshly.

The commotion further down begins as soon as he says that. Peering over the edge of the seat before me, I watch as the other Sixes, illuminated by their communicuffs, burst through the lower entrance and make straight-line towards the table.

"There it is!" one of them hisses.

"Go go go!" cries a female.

I watch as the curtains surrounding the table shuffle, revealing a District 5 male with something large in his hands.

It's a gun, a machine gun.

He lets it roar, pouring bullets into one male who drops to the ground and rolls off stage. At the same time, bullets rip through a female while she bolts forward, causing her to front flip.

Two cannons ring out and it's so loud. Despite the rounds ricocheting all around us, destroying seats further ahead of me, I can't help but watch.

One of the Sixes returns fire and I notice shots were point blank, yet the Five male doesn't flinch. It's then that I notice he's wearing body armor and a helmet to boot. He turns his gun towards the row they retreated behind, chewing the seats up with a roar of gunfire. And then the gun jams. He yells out a curse, whipping his head back to his allies who emerge from backstage to secure their loot.

"Hey!" someone barks out to our left. I look there, noticing the flurry of light that their communicuffs give off. One of them stands and lobs something toward the stage. Something slim like a toothpick and pronged at the end. The Five male goes down with a cry, a trident embedded within his body. A Four male and his partners now storm the stage, and with the Five male no longer firing, the Sixes storm in too and a scrap ensues. The trident thrower is on the Five boy like a swarm of tracker-jackers, prodding him with trident as the boy from Five squirms with each strike. A Five female puts the attacking Four boy into a chokehold, leaving the Five boy to wreathe on the ground. The Four's partners descend on the Five girl, tackling her to the ground in a flurry of fists and flailing knives.

"Come on, Emery! Quickly!" tugging me upward, Cicero and I scramble down the central aisle towards the stage with our guns drawn. Even with the dense toxic fog and gun smoke, I can't help but notice the shell casings and blood that litters the floor the closer we get to the stage. One of the Four males gasping for air on the ground, the female from Five manages to toss the other Four male off the stage, only for the Four female to get behind her and tear her mask off, exposing her to the toxic air as she drops to her knees and wheezes aloud. The Sixes make way with their District-coded bags - all of them.

Cicero hisses out a harsh swear as we pivot from the stage and make a straight line towards the exits. Before I leave I spare a glance towards the two Fours on the stage, noting them to be the couple reaped together, Esmeralda and Rief. Maybe too overwhelmed with fatigue, all they do is trade glances with me.

Back in the hallway I see that Cicero has caught up with one of the Sixes, a male by the looks of him, tackling him to the ground. His partners, rightfully scared out of their minds following the machine gun attack, have probably fled without looking back. With my gun drawn, I attempt to take aim at the offending Six but can't get a bead on him due to their moving around so much. I can't intervene, I can't get drawn in, what use will I be? So, all I can do is stand guard and watch as the two roll into a wall. Cicero gets the upper hand, pinning the Six boy against the wall as he thrusts a blade into him multiple times. Leaving the Six boy to clutch his belly and moan out in agony, Cicero stumbles over to the two bags of loot, looking not worse for wear.

"They're very hefty," he huffs, the pressure of the mask intensifying his breaths. "How am I gonna-"

"Here," I spin around and present him with my rucksack, emptied and carrying only the essentials. "Stuff them in here." I say, gasping as multiple cannons ring out. "Quickly! We still need to find Zenobia and Clancy!"

Whether it was by tributes previous, Gamemakers or our ancestors, our straight shot down the hallway to the library is inhibited by it being clogged with debris and furniture. All of it is deliberately stacked up so that we have to consider using the adjacent stairwell, clearing two floors to the third because the second is blocked.

It's there that we run into Spinel Knudson.

As soon as we emerge from the stairwell, we train our lights on a commotion ahead of us. A boy from Seven cries out in pain as she strikes his side with a bat and then follows up with another strike to the head. Spinning, the Seven boy crashes onto his belly, his mask discarded. Wheezing and spluttering, the boy from Seven, Cedar I recall his name to be, looks up at us one last time before Spinel's bat collides with the back of his head. Cedar lets out a few loud rattly breaths before Spinel slams her bat down again in a splash of blood. She notices us now, sniggering as she grins from ear to ear.

"Well-"

I don't wait for her to talk, raising my gun as I fire wildly at her. She lets out a snarl, stumbling out of the way as my bullets pepper the space around her, slipping into a washroom alcove.

"Well, that's not very nice!" Spinel calls out.

I'm hoping that one of my bullets found their mark, but judging by that mocking call, Spinel seems to be alright. I don't bother pursuing her, because even with the occasional window letting light in and our own flashlights, the hallways are still dark and something tells me that Spinel enjoys dark places. Cicero tugs on my shoulder.

"Forget her!" he yearns. "Let's get to the library."

I nod in earnest, ripping the smoke grenade from off the belt, pulling the pin and letting it drop as the bomb detonates in a fraction of a second. We make our escape as the halls become choked with smoke. While Spinel continues to hurl taunts at us, Cicero fires bursts from his gun into the smoke until a telltale click causes me to whip my head up at him.

"I'm empty!" he hisses, pushing me forward.

"Haven't you got any more bullets?" I yell back.

No!"

"Hold on, I do." I'm too busy fumbling with my own magazines to notice the giant mound of furniture in front of me, crashing into it face first, the prongs from one of the desks digging uncomfortably into my stomach. My head swivels from the smoky hallway to the mound. Stupid, stupid barricades!

Cicero tears at the pile of debris, to no avail. "It's clogged from ceiling to floor, it's no use!"

Clambering on top of the pile, I notice a clear path through in the form of neatly stacked desks. It's the face of the mound that makes it look impassible. "I found a way thoug-"

A locker being blown off its hinge nearby causes me to scream out. I shield myself as the ceiling above me explodes in a shower of dust and sparks. Spinel is carrying more than a bat, a shotgun most likely due to the spread of the impacts. A chill runs through me as I peer through the debris. If we move fast, if we move now, we can make it no problem.

"We can make it, Cicero!" I cry out to him. "Come quickly!" A spread of bullets impacts against a desk just inches away from me, shards clattering against my mask. "Cicero-!"

"We can't, there's-!" Cicero whips his head toward an ajar classroom door, cringing as Spinel's giggles get closer and closer. "Shit, shit, shit!" He zips towards me, pushing me into the small little crevice. "Go, Emery, go!"

My mind is racing a mile a second. "What about yo-?"

"Go, go! I'll be fine!" he cries. "Emery go, please!"

He doesn't have to tell me again. I wriggle as fast as I can through the gaps between the desks, hearing his pounding of footsteps as he retreats away. Seconds later, I hear Spinel exclaim loudly, then a loud gunblast and then nothing. No cannon. Whimpering, I continue to wriggle through the mass of desks, chairs and so on, suddenly finding myself on the opposite end as I drop hard onto the floor. I rush to a nearby map, consulting it for directions to the library.

All while there's a pair of flashing lights behind the set of doors behind me. If I could see myself, I'd resemble an animal caught in lights as I scramble towards the stairwell adjacent to the lights, screaming as bullets whizz through the space I just stood, shattering glass and scattering sparks.

As I fly down a flight of stairs, clumsily slapping a fresh magazine into my gun, my breaths clouding my mask visor with each one I take, my brain races with a zillion thoughts. What happens if they're out of the building already? What if they come back looking for me? What happens if they die trying and it's only me left?

My heart aches at the sound of two more cannons ringing out.

Did I jinx it? I opt for the second floor entrance to the library, barging in as I hear bustling. There's a balcony and I rush for it, hoping to get a good vantage point. Laser-focused on the railing, something hard - a black form - collides into me and I'm sent screaming onto the floor, my gun tumbling out of reach. I glance upward, returning the gaping expression Thom eyes me with. Why in the world is a Twelve - Thirteen - in the room dedicated to District 2 allegedly?

He could ask me the same thing. "Emery? What're you doing here?" he says, his eyes slowly following my own.

Both of us eye my gun, lying just inches away from either of us.

He's older - a rebel soldier - so naturally he's faster, shoving into my chest with a singular arm as he grabs the pistol with his other hand. Just as I think he's going to level it at my face and end me, he quickly maneuvers himself onto his back, unloading into a black form that I just took in was about to maul us both. The rat muttation collapses before our feet, its gray fur soaked red.

Stunned, I watch as he claims his carbon-black spear and skewers the mutt twice for good measure. I skitter up against the balcony railing when he turns around, approaching me with his hand extended.

"Would you rather the alternative?" he asks me when he notices my lack of accepting him.

Behind my mask, my face cringes. Thom is…nice, surprisingly. As far as the train ride and brief moments afterwards. But he's Thirteen and I'm Capitol. Who knows what his other friends think of me? He doesn't care, making the decision for me by yanking me up by the collar and hastily rushing me in a direction. I continue to eye the pistol - my pistol - that remains in his hand.

"Thom! Thom!" a familiar voice yells into a microphone attached to his jacket. Found in a loot crate, I assume. "I see you, we found an exit, hurry!"

Just over the balcony I barely see them, the rest of the Twelves killing off the remaining mutts all while flagging us down. Scrounging up my hood in his fist, Thom has us on the second floor lickety-split. I'm on rails at this point, my heart threatening to burst out my mouth while my mask visor is clouded with my breath. It gets infinitely worse. With hoarse voices barking for us to "Move, move, move," we - they - sprint for what feels like minutes before stumbling to a halt. My brief years of softball and pioneering don't seem to hold a candle to the intensity of the Games.

I flop onto the street, sucking in what little breath I can. Not even the coolness of the ground can make me feel better.

I feel like I need to pee…no, vomit, no, sleep. My body ends up choosing 'vomit', not before someone tears my mask off, allowing me to empty the contents of my stomach so hard I my mind nearly transported back to the camps where I and the rest of the population were sick and bedridden.

"You're okay…there's no more gas," Thom soothes, adjusting my clothes so that they aren't getting in the way of my sick. "All you need to do is breathe. Yes, just hang your head over-"

"The fuck is she doing here?!" a voice spits.

Slowly, I turn my head to the side, finding myself glancing up at what was pretty much the entirety of the Capitol's hate list.

Judging by the way they all eye me, I'm surprised I haven't been dogpiled and killed yet. The entirety of Zenobia's district team - Lilith Rabe, Tatiana Gibbs, Eldwyn Bishop, Lucas Shadd - the remainder of 'my' partners and two District 9 tributes are all here, together. All the sons, daughters, nieces and nephews to Panem's most infamous rebels.

I'm petrified more at the fact that I'm in close proximity to a group of tributes the Capitol would kill in a heartbeat if it weren't so much trouble, not at the fact that I'm a Capitolite - the symbol for everything they hate so heavily. Lucas, two years my senior, steps forward.

"Why is she here?" he snaps again.

"The same could be said for you," Thom says evenly, narrowing his eyes. "Having this many 'rebels' in one area is just asking for them to kill us on the spot…not that it matters anyway." he looks at me now. "What brought you to the library?"

Inwardly, my being cowers at the sight of all these eyes glaring me down. But then I recall a night in the camp, before Mother died, her warm gentle hand cupping my cheek. "Tackling this War the way you have, running into danger with only a knife. You're such a brave, powerful young woman..."

My bout of sickness over, I lean upright and simply stare at the ginger-headed boy. Emery before the Games didn't allow people to bully her, so she wouldn't do it now.

"You can front all you want, we know that you're in cahoots with that bootlick bitch Ms. Spitfire." the dark-skinned girl, Tatiana, says. "Or whatever the fuck stupid name they have for her."

"We should kill her here and now," Lucas continues. "Surprised she isn't dead already."

My body chills at the thought of one of them drawing a gun and planting a bullet in my head. But then I look over the baby-faced sixteen-year-old and return his glare.

"If it weren't for your-" I wave a dismissive hand towards Lilith, Tatiana and Eldwyn, "'Muscle', the same could be said for you."

My stomach churns as the group deliberates over what happens to me next, heatedly debating over me as if I'm not even here, or as if I'm some dilemma that needs to be solved right now. All while they squabble, I can't help but notice the white-haired Justin meters away, brooding to himself.

"She's a Capitol. Let them see what it's like for them to lose a child, nice and slow," says the 9 female, Astrid.

"I like that idea," seconds Tatiana. "Let them see their own precious ones die." a deadly sneer spreads across her lips. "Though this one probably ain't so precious. You get a kill yet, little girl?"

As I shy away from her sneer, Lilith shakes her head. "Have you seen the brother? You want a guy like that coming for you?"

"How would he know?" grunts Eldwyn.

"If they're sending mutts and disasters on us on purpose, what makes you think they won't send him?"

"Send him," says Lucas, waving his hands into the air where cameras are most certainly watching. "We'll make an example out of him and Rivendell at the same time."

"I agree," Ethan from 9 says. "They can only control so much from their gilded city-"

"How about we let her go," Irene grumbles. "Take her gear and let her loose. She's more trouble than she's worth. In fact, why are we here together? Nine people, nine 'rebels'. We're asking for it."

Lilith seems to disagree. "We-"

"Quiet." all eyes turn to Justin as he dawns his backpack and points his handgun towards the entrance of a very large building. My glasses in my pocket, I squint my eyes and focus on the lettering: "THE MO-T SI-AI HOS-TA-". "Shut your mouths, get inside. We'll deliberate further in there…instead of outside like a bunch of idiots."

It seems that despite his small stature, Justin Matix is the leader. He guides the Twos in, seeing as they're new to this grouping as much as I am. Before they leave, Lucas can't help but give me one last jab.

"Won't be needing these anymore," he says as before I know it, my load-bearing belt and rucksack are stripped from me. I can barely resist, glancing up at a grim-faced Thom as he places a firm hand on my shoulder and guides me forward into yet another unknown, an unknown seemingly darker than the hallways of that school.

A/N: To those concerned, Ill be sure to properly "update" progress via my profile page, so you can check when I update again.

Coming up Next...

"This is it," I say to Clancy.

"You lead, I'll follow," he replies with a firm nod. "If things go haywire…"

"Then you go back to the apartment," I say, flicking my rifle off 'safe'. "With or without Emery and me if it shakes out that way."

We pick up our pace, skirting around the perimeter of the skylights to get a closer look. Through the grimy glass, aided by the various glowsticks littered about, I spot them, two figures.

"Don't! What are you doing?!-"

"What's it to you?! You a loyalist now?!" shouts a familiar voice. "She's getting away!"

I breathe in, nodding to Clancy who returns it. I've only ever seen Peacekeepers do stunts like these, I guess I'm getting ahead.

"Obviously not!" replies the female. "We wait for Justin! This could be just another mutt swarm-"

"Who cares about Justin! They don't get it, everything happens for a reason. The mutts are a ruse-"

I line up my shot with the male tribute. He had me "Justin".