Makari's POV

Every bone in Makari's body wants him to try and make a break for it. The door's locked, so he'll get about two meters before he body-slams the metal, but his legs can't stop bouncing. Like they're trying to run for freedom. He rubs his palms over the sheer blue fabric on his body. Deimos called it a 'wetsuit' and said it's built for swimming and sweating. Apparently, Makari should expect the arena to be some sort of tropics, which makes Makari feel a little better knowing he's probably going to an arena heavy with trees.

A pleasing female voice comes on over the speakers. "Please prepare for launch."

Makari closes his eyes. He can't do this. He can't do this. Deimos leads him, trembling, to the glass tube. The extent of their relationship has been the stylist quietly working around him and generally ignoring his existence. But as they get to the tube, the Capitolite pats him on the back softly and gives him a soft prod toward the tube. He takes deep breaths as he steps into the glass cylinder. They bounce back at him in the enclosed space. He closes his eyes with anticipation. His pulse thrums through his ears, arms, and throat. It's all he can hear as he slides upwards towards the arena. He doesn't open his eyes until he's sure Deimos won't be awkwardly watching him.

The moment he's lifted into the open air, his vision goes white as he's washed by the scorching sun. He squints, trying to get a better bearing of his surroundings, praying that the sun doesn't mean they're in a desert. He almost jumps out of his skin when cool water washes over his feet.

Once his eyes adjust, he sweeps them across his surroundings. Forty feet away, the Cornucopia rests on a small island of black sand. Spokes come out of the island, like a wheel, dividing the twenty-six of them into twelve sectors. The closest land strip is about as far on his left as the tribute on his right, which happens to be the young girl from District 8. To get to the Cornucopia, you've gotta swim. Thankfully, District 7 has plenty of lakes and rivers; it's how they bathe when they're in the camps. But looking at the trembling girl next to him, he's willing to bet a lot of the tributes won't make it to the island. He can't see how miners or factory slaves would have any bodies of water in their districts.

"Welcome to the seventy-fifth Hunger Games!" Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes into the arena. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

As the clock ticks, Makari takes in the rest of his environment. Satchels of supplies are bobbing up and down near the pedestals. The closer to the Cornucopia the buoys get, the bigger the packs are. Piled up in the mouth of the Cornucopia are scores of weapons and heavy-looking black backpacks. His stomach turns uneasily as he surveys the rows of gleaming blades. Makari thanks the Gods he's situated practically in front of the opening; several unlucky tributes are placed at the tail-end of the Cornucopia and will have to dart around the structure before they can reach the best supplies.

On the other side, behind those tributes, is a long stretch of green jungle. It stretches around the entire beach, encasing the center of the arena in a ring.

He searches for his allies across the hoop. He spots Eila, who's been unfortunately placed to the right of the District 4 boy. Makari can only just see Yash near the other side, but the Cornucopia blocks the other tribute in his sector. The way he confidently points himself at the Cornucopia gives the impression that he's not worried about whoever it is. He rakes his eyes across the circle but can't see the others. Just his luck; they're probably all put near each other.

The countdown hits zero, and the opening gong sounds. Makari dives into the water, realizing before it's too late that he should have proceeded with more caution. Fortunately, nothing underneath the waves tears him from limb to limb. He cuts through the water, gliding to his left for the land strip. He reaches the strip at the same time as the girl from District 5, and without thinking, he kicks her in the face back into the water. She shouts as her dark hair disappears beneath the deep blue. Guilt shoots through his body, but there's no time to acknowledge it. Already the pair from District 4 have reached the Cornucopia and are clutching tridents, spreading out to attack. Makari's mouth curls in envy. This arena is built for them. He flattens against the land and lowers himself back into the water until they both move away from him. Thankfully, they split off to the sides, and once the girl from Five drags herself back onto the spoke, Makari can follow suit.

He kicks up black sand as he sprints down the strip toward the pile of supplies heaped inside the Cornucopia. He whips his head from side to side, watching for the Career pack. There's movement on his left. He's terrified it's someone coming for him, but it's Eila making a break for the Cornucopia as well. Relieved she's on her way, he reaches the Cornucopia and dives for a large backpack. The sand cakes to his arms and chest.

A shriek pierces the air, and his stomach drops. The Bloodbath has officially begun. He scrambles to his feet. The girl from Two has arrived at the Cornucopia, and she pulls a long, wicked blade from the District 5 girl's chest. He watches, wide-eyed, as the Two girl lightly shoves the other. The Five girl coughs blood onto the ground and falls face down. She doesn't move again.

His legs don't know where to move, and it costs him. The District 2 girl is on him in an instant, throwing him to the ground and pouncing. She raises her dagger and brings it down at him. His hands move of their own accord. They slam into the girl's hands, catching the weapon midair. The adrenalin surging through his body must be working overtime because he's not sure how on earth he's holding back such muscular arms.

His heart hammers against his ribcage. The girl from Two inches the knife towards his throat, somehow putting more strength behind it with every second that passes. Tears form in his eyes from the physical exertion it's taking to hold the knife back and from fear. He can't die here. His elbows start shaking, and he prepares himself for death when the girl screams as she's thrown off him. Yash slams his foot into the girl's face, sending her head to the ground.

"Let's get shit and go!" He shouts.

Makari should just leave, but he has no idea where half of his alliance is, and one of the frontrunners is sprawled on the ground, holding her face with one hand. One of the most dangerous tributes could be taken out right now. He snatches an axe off the wall and, taking a breath, raises the weapon. He hesitates, unsure if he's willing to cross that line. The moment of uncertainty gives her time to roll away. She screams as the hatchet buries itself in the sand, the tip of her finger flying off. She sweeps her leg, knocking his knees out from the back, and the world goes upside down. He hits the sand, recovers quickly, and scrambles towards the spoke that Yash is bolting across. The girl doesn't follow them, choosing to stay amidst the chaos rather than waste time.

Makari whips his head around, searching for his allies, but they're nowhere to be seen. Halfway down the land strip, a tribute with dark hair is floating face down. Blood seeps out of their head and forms a circle around their corpse. Makari can't get a proper look at who it is because his stomach turns, and threatens to bring his breakfast onto the sand. All he can do is hope it isn't one of the others. The spoke opens onto the beach, and the boys plunge into the jungle.

It's like visiting another world. In theory, forests and jungles are very similar. But this is nothing like the forests back home. The ground is spongey with thick moss. Long vines hang from the trees, threatening to entangle him if he gets too careless.

He and Yash thunder through the greenery. The best course of action is to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. Unfortunately, the forest is on an incline, and going up the shallow hill saps much of their energy. They manage to stumble along for about an hour before they have to stop to rest.

Makari leans into a thick tree, using the low branches to support his weight. He forces himself to breathe through his nose, and he listens out for any sound other than the exotic birds. Nothing. No sign of heavy feet from one of their fellow fleeing tributes.

"Who was that girl?" Yash asks.

"The girl from District 2?"

"No, the one on the ground near you. Was she… you know…"

"Dead? Yeah. It was the girl from Five. The Two girl got her just before she attacked me."

Makari's chest aches as he remembers how he kicked her in the head. Could that decision have contributed to her death? What if he'd concussed her or something?

"Thank you for saving me, Yash. Seriously. Without you, I'd be dead."

Yash shrugs and gives a slight shake of his head. "We're allies."

That's all he offers. Makari doesn't push for more. Twenty minutes pass before they're capable of continuing their path. With a groan, Makari pulls himself off the tree, and the two boys start up the incline.

Clementine's POV

The boy from One's face is inches from hers, snarling and gleeful. His hand reaches for the sword in his belt as he presses her into the hot, golden Cornucopia. Clem lunges forward, earning a forearm to her windpipe. She spits at him.

"Two can play at that game," he growls. He works up a glob of saliva and snot and gobs it into her eye. The rage and primitivity on his face are jarring for someone so beautiful.

As a last resort, she presses her left foot flat against the Cornucopia and pushes with all her might. She slams her forehead into the boy from One's nose. There's the sound of it breaking, and blood gushes down his face. He yells in pain and swipes at her with his sword, but she avoids the blade easily. She scampers away, grasping her fingertips around a bag on her way out, away from the screams of the Bloodbath. She refuses to look back. A stupid move, but it'll waste precious seconds spent reaching the jungle.

There's a shout, the whistle of an arrow, and her left shoulder explodes with pain. She howls with pain, and she reflexively twists her body and lets herself fall to the sand. It's a technique she learned from the uncles back home. They teach the girls in the village how to defend themselves against men, but Clem found more use for it in the riots. Peacekeepers are surprisingly inept.

Eila has tackled the boy from One to the ground and raises her axe to bury it within his skull. He punches her in the throat, throws her off, and reaches for the bow by his side. Clem's right-hand moves of its own accord and feel for the back of her left shoulder. Her fingers needle the arrow sprouting from her flesh. Her hand comes away slick with blood. The shout; Eila saved her from getting an arrow through the back of the neck.

Clem pulls herself off the sand and runs for the Cornucopia. Chaff is probably screaming at his screen, but she doesn't care; Eila saved her life, and the debt needs repayment. The boy from District 1 has his bow now, and he swings it at Eila's head. There's the sound of the metal against her skull, and she falls to the ground. He slides an arrow from his quiver. Clem wills her body to go faster. The head injury wasn't enough to kill Eila, but an arrow to the chest will be. Clem grits her teeth and rips the arrow from her flesh, raising it above her head as she draws near to the boy. He pulls the arrow back to plunge it into Eila's body.

"Hey!" Clem bellows.

He turns, and she spins the arrow at him.

He shouts as the arrow bounces comically off his forehead. The distraction hands Eila enough time to recover, and she swings her axe at him. Her head injury must be serious because she doesn't succeed in driving the metal into his neck. He screams as blood gushes from his bicep. A weak attempt at a shove is all he can manage as he stumbles away. Eila doesn't stick around to finish the job.

"Run!" Eila yells at her. "Get out of here, Clem!"

She takes off, grabbing a frantic Thatcher by the arm as she passes and dragging him away from the Cornucopia. Clem stumbles, confused about where to go. Should she follow? Talking a big game was easy enough when she wasn't in the arena. The boy from District 4 rounds the Cornucopia, and the decision makes itself. She turns and runs.

Even after she melts into the shade of the jungle, she doesn't stop. She gets twenty minutes uphill before she remembers she's wounded, and she rips a handful of moss from underfoot. The stuff absorbs the blood like no other. She shoves a few more small clumps under her wetsuit for good measure. The humidity baring down on her reminds her of home. The familiar rivers of sweat down her neck and the slickness of her lips.

She doubts she's on screen right now, not when the fighting at the Cornucopia is still happening, but she hopes everyone back home saw her get out. They need to know she's safe. She thinks of Chaff. Probably passing a bottle back and forth with Haymitch Abernathy. He's likely got a few fistfuls of hair in his palms after watching her altercation with the boy from District 1.

A couple of hours pass before she needs to stop and rest. She should be far enough from the Cornucopia to be safe here. She rests against a tree and wipes the layer of sweat from her face, properly taking in her surroundings for the first time since she crashed through the tree line. The jungle is lush. Thick, green vines hang like hair from the branches. There was an arena similar to this about a decade or so ago. Many of the Mutts were poisonous, but the plant life was fresh and sustaining. Her eyes sweep across the floor. Nothing but moss and rocks.

She's thankful for a naturalistic arena. Growing up in District 11 gifted her more than enough knowledge of vegetation, and considering the Cornucopia is a no-go area probably until the end of the games, living off the land is essential.

Clem slides the machete from her belt and hacks at the green tendrils, clearing space for herself. It's too difficult to think and be groped by vines at the same time. There's rustling off to her right. She melts behind a tree and clambers several meters up its branches. Two tributes stumble out of the foliage. Clem bites her lip, trying to remember who they are. Nothing comes to mind, not from the interviews or training, until she remembers the recap of the Reapings that first night on the train. The boy tribute towered over the kids he walked past to get to the stage. She remembers him spitting at the escort's feet. It's the pair from District 10.

He's got the same idea as Clem, swinging a long sword back and forth through the greenery. He's got a pretty nasty gash on his cheek. His district partner limps behind him, clenching a bloody arm between her fingers. By the looks of it, they had a rough time at the Cornucopia, but they managed to get a bag and weapon each. Going for the weapons is probably the reason behind their injuries. Clem doesn't know a lot about District 10, but it seems like a desert based on what kids have said in the games. How did these two even make it to the Cornucopia?

It might be an idea to take them out now, especially considering they're roughed up. District 10 has had some scary tributes in the past; slaughtering livestock during childhood gives them an advantage in the arena. But Clem's not in much better shape, and they still outnumber her, regardless of how badly the girl is hurt. She stumbles and calls out for the boy to wait. She finds a tree and leans into it.

"What do we do now?" She says, looking up. Clem shimmies closer to the trunk. "We're completely out of our depths. I bet the kids from Seven and Eleven are happy," she says bitterly.

Clem rolls her eyes. What idiot thinks they have jungles in District 11? The closest thing is the greenhouses for the hard-to-grow fruits, but those glass flower pots don't compare to this place.

"We just have to keep moving, V." The boy says. His voice is deep. "We can figure out a plan when we find somewhere to hunker down for the night.

'V' buries her face in her hands, sighs, and then nods. The boy pulls her off the tree, and the two are off again. Clem waits until they're gone for a while. Then, when she's sure no one else is around, she climbs back down to the spongy floor. Against her better judgment, she climbs the incline for another ten minutes. Seeing the tributes spooked her. Any water will be flowing down, but it's too risky. The Careers will be prowling through the arena tonight.

Thames' POV

The young boy from District 9 rockets down the spoke. About halfway down, he abandons the bag bouncing on his back to the water, trying to get rid of the weight. It doesn't matter in the end. Beatrice shifts her weight and heaves her spear through the air. It's a clean shot, but it's far. Thames watches, impressed, as the spear slams through the back of the kid's chest, and he sprawls out on the sand.

"Never doubt my skills again, Four," she says, punching Thames' arm. He waits until she's turned away to rub it tenderly.

"So that's everyone?" She calls. Rather than fetching her weapon from the boy's corpse, she takes a fresh spear from the Cornucopia, stepping over a body to do so.

"Should be," Adriano says. He kicks one of the crates in the Cornucopia. "Yep, no one hiding and waiting for us to leave."

In the fifty-eighth games, the boy from District 6 hid in the Cornucopia and poisoned the food there. The pair from District 1 standing guard heard him rustling around and killed him, but the damage had been done. Only the boys from One and Four survived because they were busy arguing about something. Their allies dropped like flies around them. Every year the alliance checks the Cornucopia, just in case. This year especially.

Thames scans the line of jungle that meets the beach. It's dead quiet. His heart beats rhythmically in his chest. It's still rapid from the Bloodbath. The adrenaline pumping throughout his body doesn't feel like it will be wearing off anytime soon. He's starting to comprehend the opening, and with it, the guilt of killing strikes him in the chest. He and Brita were the first at the Cornucopia. Buzzed with adrenaline, he took a trident and went for the closest tribute. As he watched the tributes close in on the supplies; the boy from Seven, the girl from Eleven; he panicked. He dove into the waves, cutting beneath the surface and pulling himself to the nearest pedestal. The boy from District 12. His gray eyes went wide with fear, but that was all he could do before Thames plunged the trident through his heart.

He's a killer now. It was inevitable, but he'd always thought he'd only cross that line when he was pushed over it. Self-defense. But he'd sought out that boy, and his family back in District 12 probably watched as he killed their son.

The water looks like it's bleeding. Several bodies rise and fall with the tide, tainting the waves red. An unnerving silence has taken hold of the arena. If the sand was a normal yellowish color, he imagines there'd be strokes of blood everywhere.

"Watch out," Adriano says. He nods his head at the sky, "The hovercraft."

The group huddles in the Cornucopia and watches the hovercraft claw lower. It scoops a girl from the water. Then the claw comes down again. And again. Eight times before the hum of the engine disappears, and the waves washing gently back and forth can be heard again.

"Eight," Thames says. "Who'd we get?"

"I got the boy from Eight," Amaryllis said. "I was gunning for the girl from Seven, but he got in the way. The girl from Six too."

Thames tallies the first digits with his thumb.

Glitz cuts the bandage he's wrapped around his bicep and pins it. "Boy from Five," he says bluntly.

Brita got the girl from District 8. The young one. She looks guilty.

Adriano killed the boy from Thirteen, and Beatrice killed the girl from Five and the boy from Nine. Bile squeezes up Thames' throat. He bites his lip and forces steady breaths through his nostrils.

All he can choke out is, "Boy from District 12." He then shoves the memory from his mind.

Beatrice leans against the Cornucopia. "Great. How are we supposed to find twelve people in that."

She gestures to the jungle. It's thick, that's easy to see even from the beach. It stretches back for miles. Thames hopes the Gamemakers are prepared for the situation in which the alliance can't find anyone.

"Three, Seven, Ten, and Eleven still have both. Six, Nine, Twelve, and Thirteen have one each. Five and Eight are out of the competition." Amaryllis says. "We didn't do a great job killing off the tributes who could actually hurt us."

Year after year, the outer districts have displayed such savagery during the Games. There are feats they've performed in the arena only truly desperate and scrappy people can pull off. There was a girl from District 9 a few years ago who somehow survived falling off a cliff and pulled herself from the rubble after it collapsed on her. She died a couple of days later from infection, but Thames isn't quick to forget her will.

Amaryllis rifles through the Cornucopia, pulling a bag from the pile. She turns it upside down, spilling the contents onto the sand.

"The Gamemakers won't fire the cannons until we disperse. Let's get hunting! Everyone should pack provisions in case they get lost or trapped."

She opens a wooden crate and takes a couple of bottles of water. She drops them in the bag, and continues on to the next crate.

Brita scoffs. "Why should we pack? We have every resource in the arena here."

"You'd be stupid not to," Glitz says. "What's the guarantee you can make it back?"

Brita looks startled by the conscientiousness suddenly displayed by their ally.

"So," Beatrice starts. "How do we decide who's stuck guarding the supplies?"

"We'll draw for it," Thames says.

"How?"

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Sounds good to me," Adriano says.

They decide on a process of elimination; four rounds, last person standing in each round gets to hunt. The two leftover have to guard the Cornucopia. Glitz wins the first round, Thames wins the second. Amaryllis wins the third round and does a little victory dance on the spot. The Twos roll their eyes. Beatrice gets the final hunting spot, much to Adriano's chagrin. Brita just shrugs.

Beatrice suggests they partner with someone not from their home district to "ensure no treachery in the group." There's still plenty of opportunity for treachery, but Thames doesn't say so, considering he and Brita may be the ones to do it.

Naturally, Brita and Adriano pair up as the first camp guards. He gets stuck with Glitz. Tomorrow Amaryllis and Beatrice will guard; the day after that, it'll be his turn. On day four, the cycle will restart, assuming all six of them are still around. If not, well, they'll cross that bridge later.

Amaryllis closes her eyes, points to a random spot in the jungle, and tromps off towards it.

"Good luck," Brita says, grabbing his forearm.

"Thanks," he smiles. "We'll be back before you know it."

Eila's POV

Eila slides from the branches of the tree and lands flat-footed on the spongey floor. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "The fighting's stopped at the Cornucopia. I guess the Gamemakers are still doing the tally before they fire the cannons."

"How many bodies are there?" Chip asks.

Eila shrugs. "A few. There might've been more behind the Cornucopia, but at least five are dead. I couldn't get a good look. The foliage up there is thick, and I couldn't move around much."

"Maybe one of the Careers is dead," Thatcher says hopefully.

There's a fat chance that's the case, but she doesn't say so. He'll see when they project the dead's images into the sky tonight, anyway.

"C'mon, let's keep going," Eila says. "The pack will be in the jungle soon, hunting for everyone else now that the Bloodbath is over. We can sort out what's in our packs when we've settled camp for the night and work out our plan from there."

"What about Yash and Makari?" Chip asks. "Shouldn't we look for them?"

"We'll have to wait to see the dead tonight before we look for them. What's the point of wasting time if they're already dead?"

It's harsh, and an uncomfortable silence settles over the four of them. Her face flushes with shame, and she thinks back to this morning before they left for the arena. She sat with Makari and ate breakfast in silence, a sort of solidarity regarding how terrified they both were. Now he could be bled dry in a Capitol coolroom. Waiting to be shipped back to Seven whenever the games end. Perhaps she should have a little more respect for the dead.

Eila slices the branch from a nearby tree, fashions it into a walking stick, and continues leading their group uphill. Several times the group has to stop so Visia and Chip can pant loudly until they think they can move again. Thatcher rolls his eyes every time. By the seventh time, Eila's patience wears thin, and she clenches the walking stick until she knows she won't lose her cool. Their lack of physicality isn't their fault, but it takes everything in Eila not to just run for it and take a chance at the arena alone.

It's late afternoon when the Gamemakers fire the cannons. The cannon sounds off eight times before falling silent and allowing the jungle to continue its ambiance. Eila wipes sweat from her face and resumes the uphill climb.

"If there aren't any spiles in these bags, we need to get back to the Cornucopia. It doesn't look like there are any ponds around here."

"What's a spile?" Visia asks.

"It's like a tree tap. We use them back in Seven so we don't use up all the water from the pumps."

Thatcher stops. "How are we going to get anything from the Cornucopia with the Careers standing guard? We can't kill them."

"You never know," Visia says. "All of us got away from the Cornucopia okay. We could surprise ourselves."

"Don't jinx it; Yash and Makari could be in the sky tonight."

Eila tries to ignore them. The thought of Makari's death fills her with anxiety and guilt. If his face stares at her from the sky tonight, she'll spend her final days unable to forgive herself for losing him at the Cornucopia.

She makes it her mission to find them a place to camp for the night. By nightfall, the trees blend together, and she can't distinguish the difference between any of them.

"This looks good," she says, picking the closest one. It'll have to do.

Eila jabs the stick into the soft ground so it stays, and she gets to work clearing the vines draped over the trees. If she can work some magic, sleeping right at the roots of the trees will camouflage them. When she's cleared the branches, she heaves herself up the trunk and begins lowering the vines around their camp. She comes back to the ground dripping with sweat, but she did a good job. It'll be almost impossible to find them in the darkness. She's not sure about during the day, but she'll have to worry about that tomorrow.

While she worked, Thatcher found nuts in the greenery and has gathered several handfuls. He assures the group they're safe, even popping one into his mouth to prove it. Trying to eat with minimal saliva in her mouth reminds Eila of how essential finding a source of water is.

"Finding water is our priority. This jungle is a steambath." She says.

"Me and Chip have no idea how to help," Visia says uselessly. "Not a lot of nature in District 3."

"That's okay. Thatcher and I have more than enough experience. Water travels downhill, so if we can't find anything tomorrow, we'll go back."

Chip groans. "We spent all day walking uphill just to have to backtrack tomorrow?"

Thatcher flicks a nut at him. "We walked uphill to get away from the pack, idiot. We were always going to have to go back towards the Cornucopia. That's where all the supplies are. Water or a spire is the most important thing right now."

"Spile," Eila corrects. "I know it sucks, and I know you're out of your comfort zone, but the Hunger Games are hard. This was never going to be easy."

She pulls her stick from the ground. She can't stay here, she needs time alone. She puts her hand on Thatcher's bicep. "I'm going to look for more of those nuts. Stay here with the Threes, and if anything attacks, be as loud as you can. I'll come running back."

He gives her a look and leans in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. "They're useless, Eila. They're completely clueless in an arena like this. Let me come with you. If someone finds them, maybe they'll get taken off our hands."

Eila glances at the Threes, who are moving around restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position on the jungle floor. It's horrible, but Thatcher's right. This arena isn't built for them. When the time comes for flight, they'll only put the group's lives in danger, unaware of how to traverse a landscape as lush and dense as this one. She hasn't seen much of Three except when they show the Reaping, and it's a barren district. White roads and buildings. Not much in the way of nature.

"Thatcher's coming with me to make sure we don't come back with poisonous nuts," she says. "One of you stay awake until we come back."

Chip volunteers, and he wearily sits against the tree. She waits until they're well out of earshot before she turns to Thatcher.

"You really think we should abandon them?" She asks.

Thatcher shrugs. "Now's the perfect time. They're gonna be dead weight, and without them slowing us down, it'll be easier to find Yash and Makari. Assuming they're still alive."

Eila rubs her eyes. "Wait for now. We don't even know who's dead. If things get dicey, we can drop them in the commotion. If the Careers find us, I won't hesitate to leave them behind. I think they know themselves that they were never really contenders for the Games anyway."

"Why couldn't we have gotten those District 3 tributes who pull a massive upset," Thatcher whines.

"I'd rather them useless than technological geniuses," She says with a shiver. "I don't want to die in an electrical trap."

Anona's POV

This jungle is nothing like the open plains back in District 9. Every snapping branch causes Anona to jump. She only managed to scrape out of the Cornucopia by the skin of her teeth, and still, after all that, she managed to get nothing but a small fanny pack. The only things in it are bandaids, a pocketknife, and a coil of wire. This is probably the worst day of her life. At least she can handle this heat. It's a small victory, at least.

Her mind races, trying to latch onto even a semblance of a plan. Most years, the outliers put as much distance as possible between them and the Cornucopia. That won't do for her. She's exhausted. The combination of terror and the Bloodbath has sapped her energy like she's never felt before. She won't cover much ground in the state she's in.

She tries to climb one of the trees, but she's unfamiliar with the smooth bark. She thinks bitterly of the kids from District 7. This jungle seems perfect for their skills, and they both scored high training scores. Assuming they weren't killed at the Cornucopia, they're probably thriving. She finds herself hoping they did, and then she catches herself, ashamed. What a horrible thing to think. The arena is already turning her into someone she doesn't want to be.

The sun gets lower and lower in the sky, and as the jungle fades into inky blackness, Anona draws into herself more. She thinks of the spiders that scuttle about at night back home. They're not deadly, you'll only get ill for a couple of days if you're bitten, but this is the Hunger Games. Any spider in here would be deadly. The Gamemakers have probably engineered the poison so that it takes hours for the poison to finally kill you. A few years ago, the arena was a desert, and the snakes bared potent venom that drove the tributes bitten to madness. That's not a fate Anona wants.

The nightly death recap will be in the sky any second. She remembers seeing Aslan just before the gong. She caught his eyes, he was about ten pedestals to her left, and then there was chaos. She tries to pull any sort of memory out of her head that might be dormant. Maybe she saw Aslan escaping when she was running from the girl from District 4? She's got nothing. She doesn't even remember seeing him get off the platform.

Hopefully, he was smart enough to realize that Cornucopia was too dangerous for someone as young as him. Work in the fields made him strong, but a fourteen-year-old is still no match against the Careers.

The sky is illuminated with the Capitol seal. She leans against a tree to watch. The anthem reverberates through the arena, and the seal changes to the face of the first dead tribute, the girl from District 5. That means all six Careers are, unfortunately, still around. Both from Five are dead, the girl from District 6, and both tributes from District 8. The girl from Eight was one of the young ones. Even in the headshot they've used, her face is fresh and innocent.

As the boy from Eight begins to fade, Anona barely prays for Aslan's safety when his face is staring down at her. Tears well in her eyes. She should have done more to protect him. She shouldn't have lost him at the Cornucopia, otherwise he'd be alive. She was so worried about getting herself out of there. She thinks of home. What's Nine thinking? Most try to ignore the Games, but now that Anona's in the arena, she finds herself wishing they cared more. She hopes they don't hate her. Surely not, right? Only one of them could win. Maybe it's better he's gone; she won't have to worry about him now. She won't be watching the sky every night, anticipating seeing his face.

After Aslan, there are only two more tributes; the boys from District 12 and 13. Then the sky goes dark once more.

Anona brings her knees to her chest and hides her face behind her legs. The tears come quickly. The scared boy she comforted last week in the Capitol is dead. She clutches her chest, as if the spikes of guilt could kill her. She thinks of how young he was, the tears perpetually in his eyes. With a start, she remembers the mentors. Have they already tuned out now that Aslan has been lost? None of them gave her much attention. They at least gave Aslan a bit of kindness in his final days. Do they even care that she's curled up here alone?

She kicks her heel at the ground in anger. It feels good, so she does it again. And again. Then she punches the mossy floor. She only stops when she remembers she's in the arena and could be attracting attention by throwing this tantrum. The fact she's on television doesn't matter to her now.

Restless and dazed, she gets up and moves around unsurely. Her mind pumps images of her family into her head as if reminding her why she has to snap out of whatever this is and fight to win.

When her foot catches on a root and sends her thumping onto the ground, she doesn't fight it. She rolls over onto her back and stares up at the jungle roof. There's not a single patch of sky amongst the thick canopy. She lies there in the darkness, wishing she could just die. What's the point of prolonging the inevitable? She should have just jumped off the pedestal before the gong rang and blew herself up. At least that would have been quick.

It takes her a while, but she manages to find the energy to pick herself off the ground and keep staggering through the arena. Every step is painful, but with no other goals for survival, she pushes on. It must be close to midnight before she hunkers down.

She curls up under a particularly thick clump of vines, but her eyes won't close. Every murmur, every click keeps her alert. She swears she can hear tributes nearby and curls into herself. Scratching above her reveals some sort of strange rat. She watches it curiously, desperate to take her mind off her surroundings.

It's a cute thing, and it sniffs at the bark, intrigued. She watches it, waiting for something useful to happen, but it just disappears. She remains curled up on her side, watching the void. Even as her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can barely make anything out beyond a few feet from her. She hopes she's just in a particularly dense part of the arena, and she can move camp somewhere with a bit of moonlight tomorrow.

A couple of eternal hours scrape by, and she can't stand lying here anymore. The darkness makes her feel trapped. She climbs to her feet and continues wandering aimlessly. If she could find a tribute of her caliber, maybe the girls from Twelve or Three, an alliance may form. It would be nice, she thinks, not to go through this alone.

At midnight a bell tolls. Twelve times. Anona jumps. She waits for something to happen, shaking with fear, but the jungle continues to buzz around her. In the distance, a storm begins raging.