Chapter 9: Just Another Day

Tim Sherwood, Age: Old, Victor, District 7

Plutarch Heavensbee collapsed in the Control Room during the early hours of Day Six, and even with rapid medical intervention, the news soon came and spread throughout the Capitol that the long-time Head Gamemaker was dead.

Despite his age and often-referenced health issues, many were shocked.

Tim Sherwood was not.

People tended to underestimate him. He was a very old man himself, a Victor from a near-forgotten era when the current familiar patterns of the Games were still being formed. Few Victors from around that time were still alive, and even fewer, like Clytemnestra Cairn of Two and Beetee Latier of Three, had managed to stay relevant to the general populace.

Tim had won his Games even before Clytemnestra and Beetee. He'd been Seven's second Victor ever. He was the oldest still alive, to the Capitol almost invisible behind over seventy newer faces. In recent years, he couldn't even go out and about his own district as much as he wished.

But wherever he did go, he could listen. His hearing was going but far from gone yet, and his memory hadn't deteriorated along with the rest of him. So while in the Capitol, he went out in public, attended open events, talked with other Victors. He never had to go far for information.

He'd heard enough to know Plutarch was, in fact, actually dying. He'd also heard that, while the city and loyal districts celebrated another Hunger Games and the outer districts tolerated it like the oppressive summer heat, there were those in Panem's leadership who were nervous. Even with nothing obvious occurring, in recent years there had been whispers of rebellion, rumors of District Thirteen reasserting itself, stories about organized resistance groups in the other districts. Even the Games had not always told the same story they were supposed to. There had been a decade full of unusual winners, a Victor who had allied herself with almost every tribute under fifteen, a boy who had volunteered to save his sibling and had lived to tell the tale.

And now there was a volunteer from an outer district who seemed motivated by some kind of vengeance, who had killed a major competitor then comforted and mercy-killed another tribute much like the same one who had struck down his younger brother years ago.

Everyone watching the Games on Day Six were distracted from the news of Heavensbee's death less than an hour after the official announcement by the horrific murder of Eight's female tribute. The Career pack, down to three and on their way back to the Cornucopia after a rough night out following the spider mutt attack, ran into Lenore Muslin; the boys from One and Four cut her to pieces while the girl from Two stood by and watched.

She did try to join in at one point, but the Four boy, Gill, threatened to kill her next.

Following that, the announcement that Celeste Snow had been named provisional Head Gamemaker went largely unnoticed.

Tim did take note, knowing that she would probably be given the more concrete title once the Games were over. Nepotism went a long way, even when the family members didn't always get along. Besides, she had been Heavensbee 's choice for a successor.

Tim had heard that from Plutarch himself.

Around lunchtime Tim was in the cafeteria, drinking tea and nibbling crackers while Alder gobbled down an obscene about of food as always, when the Careers arrived back at the Cornucopia to an unwelcome surprise. The previous evening, Kia from Three had sneaked back to the horn and started setting traps, cleverly re-purposing ropes and blades and even pieces of supply crates all through the night. She was hiding in some brush near the lake's shore when the Careers showed up.

Petra from Two stepped right into one of the traps and died within a minute when both of her feet were almost completely severed from her legs. Adonis narrowly avoided a similar fate, but still sustained a bad injury to his thigh. He was dealing with that when Gill spotted Kia trying to get away and went after her.

Almost two hours later, Kia's cannon fired and Gill returned to the Cornucopia, where Adonis had been hobbling around disabling what traps he could. They ate a small but decent meal, sent to them by sponsors, then settled down around the same time Ten's male tribute walked straight into the lightning trap in the far north of the Arena. Unlike Darien from Five a few days earlier, he did not escape.

"And then there were three," he murmured, sitting in the cafeteria with both Alder and Johanna this time. " I wonder how it will end."

"Same way it always does," Alder muttered.

Johanna poured them both a glass of beer out of the pitcher she'd just brought back from the bar. "Unless Four and Five managed to off each other, One's not getting another Victor this year. Their boy can barely walk and if there was enough sponsor money to send him medicine instead of food, his darling cousin would've done that already."

"Gloss must be throwing a fit." Alder snorted. "First the way his tribute died, now this…"

" That fucker can throw as many fits as he want s."

With the Career boys resting, the screens were mostly showing shots of Darien moving steadily through thick forest, towards the Cornucopia. Arena or no, the trees were beautiful, much better than the giant mushrooms.

Tim sighed. Even with the Capitol looming over everything, he was always happy to go home. There was large evergreen grove behind Seven's Victor's Village, one of those protected from logging. It was his favorite place in the whole world, and the first place he would go after disembarking the train. The moss on the ground in parts of it was so thick that even he with his old bones could nap on it.

Although he might have to check on Blight first unless Alder or Johanna volunteered to do it. Blight tended to go on an extra intense drinking binge after the victory ceremonies were concluded.

By the time Seven's Victors finished their dinner and drinks, Darien had found a rocky outcropping near the lake, just within sight of the Cornucopia, to shelter behind for the night. After days of mostly sunny weather, the Gamemakers were creating a steady drizzle. As if to make up for it a container of hot soup, was sent down to the boy from Five. He didn't thank his sponsors for it, but then again, he wasn't the type who would.

There would be a showdown in the morning.

Tim went to bed thinking about this year's Seven tributes, dead on Day One and Three, respectively. Owen had been too arrogant, running deeper into the fray for more supplies when he could have fled, and the One girl had been ready for him. Holly got out of the Bloodbath more quickly; however, she had not escaped with a weapon big enough to fend off the Arena's massive spider mutts.

They'd been sixteen and seventeen. Old enough to stand a chance.

But Tim had seen and heard enough to know that the odds were never in anyone's favor. Not the tiny twelve-year-olds, not the older ones without the strength or knowledge to put up a fight, not even the Careers with their training and good looks and cultivated sadism.

Years back, when Tim and Haymitch were getting drinks together, the Twelve had put it best.

"There are no winners, just survivors. Even if they don't know it."

Tim had also seen and heard enough to know how almost a century of such survivors, and of what went into making them, had created an undercurrent of instability Panem would soon have to reckon with.

The Hunger Games had created Darien Lopez, too.

And if the finale goes his way, I think we'll all have to reckon with that, too.