Day 1, Part 1: Aftermath
Zeph pulled his straw hat lower over his brow as he walked down the unpaved road. The wind kicked up loose dust, swirling it into a miniature dust storm along the ground that occasionally wafted upwards, so he adjusted the bandana around his neck to cover his nose and mouth. He was thankful for the mandatory uniforms; the loose shirt did a decent job of protecting against the heat. He figured the Capitol didn't enjoy watching their tributes sizzle in the sun.
Up ahead, Zirconia kicked at the ground, releasing more dust.
"Watch it, will ya'?" he mumbled.
She shot him an unamused look and scraped her foot along the ground. "Happy now?"
"Real helpful." They trudged forward under the disheartening sun.
Zirconia sighed. "You know what would be helpful? Some clouds."
"Aye to that." He forced a chuckle. "You mean that little one up in the sky ain't enough for you?"
She squinted at the sky. There was a little cloud, but it wouldn't be doing them any good anytime soon. "Does that one even count?"
"You tell me. Doesn't make a difference to us either way."
"Maybe it'll get bigger."
"Maybe we'll wake up in District Twelve."
"Aren't you fun."
" 'Preciate the compliment."
The hottest part of the day was about to arrive, but they had to get as far away from the Careers as possible if they wanted any chance of survival—especially since it was so much harder for two people to hide than one. It'd only become harder to track them if they reunited with Liat and Clarke.
That was a big "if" in itself. He hadn't seen Liat at all since they entered the Arena. Had the other Careers off'd her despite their supposed agreement? He didn't put it past them. As much as he didn't want to think she was dead, he had to prepare himself for the possibility.
Regarding Clarke… Who was she with now? He couldn't quite remember which of the other tributes wore their hair in a bun, but the Fallen broadcast might answer their question. It troubled him to think that the Nine girl might've forged other alliances without telling them, though he didn't bring it up with Zirconia. She trusted Clarke. He'd wait until tonight before raising a guess as to the identity of Clarke's new friend.
He should've known that their happy lunchtimes in the Capitol wouldn't last. He'd known it in his head, but he hadn't really known. If he had, he would've been better prepared for this. He wouldn't be so worried about them now, wondering if they were dead or alive or if he could've done anything for them.
A cannon shot broke the desert town's ghostly silence, followed by seven others. Zirconia paused, so he did too.
"Eight?" she said.
"I counted eight. One-third of 'em gone."
"You think Liat and Clarke are safe?"
He bit his lip. "I don't think Clarke's dead 'cause we saw her at the end, but I got nothing on Liat."
She gave him a long look. Sadness had clouded her usually bright eyes, and he knew what she'd say before she opened her mouth.
"We couldn't have gone back for them," he said, voice barely louder than a murmur. "Don't feel guilty about it."
"You don't feel guilty?"
He sighed. "I'd better stop feeling bad about 'em. Fifteen more kids are gonna die and one of them will be one of us."
"Don't remind me."
He could hear the strain in her voice. He placed an arm around her shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. For once, he didn't have the heart to tell her that it was time to stop looking at the birds.
The cannon blasts further rattled Ven as he lingered in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Eight dead, and one of them was Adora. His ears still rang, echoing the clanging from that momentary storm of concrete and dust that'd flipped the game on its head.
Nearby, Ilithyia sat on a concrete beam, flipping a pocket knife open and shut over and over again. Her eyes were distant, as if she'd started processing but got stuck halfway through. She didn't even seem bothered by the hot sun overhead. He didn't blame her. It'd been a whirlwind, one he'd known was coming but still turned out far more destructive than he'd imagined.
He sat down beside her, no words of his own, though he heard Adair, Eros, and Nevaeh chatting somewhere amidst the rubble. Ili leaned over, just slightly, until her shoulder rested on his arm. Together, they stared out at the destruction around them. He knew she was his toughest competitor here in the Arena, having the highest training score of them all. He knew she was supposedly a threat to his life, for they wouldn't both be alive in two weeks. But for now, she wasn't any of that. She was his friend, and she needed him right now.
"Hey," Nevaeh said. She approached with Adair and Eros in tow. "We're fixin' to explore."
Though her posture exuded her regular confidence, he noticed her tense grip on her knife. Easygoing Nevaeh was no more. The girl meant business. The two guys behind her didn't seem any different than they'd been in training, though. He wasn't sure whether the change or lack of change was more worrying. For a second, he swore he caught a flash of displeasure on Eros' face, but towards what? Considering how Ven himself felt around the District Two boy, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd imagined the look either.
He tilted his head towards Ilithyia. "We'll pass. You guys go."
"Oh! I was just letting you know. I didn't want to disappear on y'all." Nevaeh gave him a strained smile. "Sos is staying too. He's digging anything usable outta this mess."
He nodded. "Appreciated."
"We'll be back before you know it. Actually, before we leave…" The Ten girl plucked two wide-brimmed hats off Sos' pile of supplies, placed one on Ili's head, and handed the other to Ven. "Gotta be careful in this weather. Don't want any sunburns." She gave Ili's shoulder a little squeeze before turning back to the two guys. "Alright! Let's go!"
Perhaps he had little to worry about with Nevaeh. The other two boys were still far more worrying.
Once the trio was gone, all voices disappeared from the air, leaving only the sound of Sos' rummaging. He was glad of it. Since the very nature of the Arena meant that there wouldn't truly be any peace, he'd take any bits of silence he could get.
A grunt came from Sos, who was struggling with a bag trapped under a beam. Ven patted Ili on the back and rushed over to help him. With Ven lifting the beam, Sostonio yanked the bag free. It was a green one. a large flishlight poked out of its unzipped compartment.
Sos wiped his brow. "Muchas gracias. Good thing we got this one."
"It was nothing. How's it going?"
"Más o menos. Looks like we still have a good bit," Sos said. He unscrewed a water bottle and took a small sip. "Could be worse, though we lost a lot of water." He grinned. "No worries. We'll have enough if we're careful with it."
Ven nodded. "What about you?"
"Pues…" Sos pressed his lips into a firm line. "Not feeling too great, but I'm holding out. Y tú?"
"Exactly that."
"Could we move away from here to let them take the bodies? I found some earlier and…"
Poor guy. Ven himself didn't like the blood and killing, but at least the Academy had prepared him for it. It almost seemed like the other guy hadn't expected to be here at all, all the more puzzling since the guy had volunteered. But what did he know of District Ten customs?
"Sounds like a good idea. I'll tell Ili…" On second thought, perhaps moving Ili now wouldn't be the wisest thing to do. "Do you mind if we wait a bit?"
Sos gulped, but he didn't protest. "Sí. I understand."
"Why don't you take a break?" Ven offered. "I'll keep looking. You've already done so much work."
"No pasa nada." Sos smiled. If Ven previously had any doubt regarding the Ten boy, it was gone now that he saw its genuine warmth. "And no worries. We'll work together."
Ven smiled back. It was his first one since the Bloodbath, since he hadn't had reason to up to this point. But people like the Tens kept up his hope in humanity, and at this rate, he might dare to hope the best for the Star Alliance once more.
There was so much blood.
Inside a shack, Azolla cut off Navarro's sleeve at the shoulder so that she could treat the wound in his upper arm, where the Eleven Male had stabbed him. She ignored the mumbling under his breath, though she felt her blood pressure rising with every passing moment near him. Yes, she was glad he hadn't died. Yes, she was starting to wonder how long she'd be able to stand him.
Thankfully, because of how loose the clothes were, the sleeve slipped off his arm easily, even past his bleeding hand. But before she could wrap it up, she needed to treat it with antibiotics, and before she could treat it, she needed to clean up the blood everywhere.
"Hmm…" she said with her trained secretary smile, refusing to allow the frustration to surface. She gave her water bottle a pained look. It was all they had. "I think we'll just wipe it clean and hope the antibiotics do their job."
He cursed under his breath. "I don't care. Just fix it up."
She folded her arms. Hadn't she decided to leave him behind and move on? Why was she so determined to stick with him? "Do you want to fix it yourself?"
"Eff' it all." His eyes flashed with annoyance. "I don't need your help."
"Really."
He snorted. "Of course now."
"Fine. I'll leave. Good luck with your arm and no supplies."
"You won't leave."
Though she internally winced at his calling her bluff, she swallowed the fear, hoping that he'd turn around before it was too late—or before she couldn't keep bluffing anymore and caved. She hoped she wouldn't cave. She neatly repacked the first-aid kit and stuffed it back in her bag as he watched. Complete silence on his part.
By the time she was fully packed, her heart started to pound, but she stood up anyway. The defiance in his eyes continued to challenge her. Who did he think he was, the center of the world? He really must've thought she wouldn't do it.
To be fair, she herself wasn't sure she could. But she was sick of his attitude, even if she still hoped he might change. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mind came up empty. So without a word, she walked towards the exit, heart sinking with every step.
No words. As her heart yearned to turn back, she reminded herself of the way he'd roared at her. It kept her moving.
The sun beat down on her head when she stepped across the threshold. So this was how it'd end. She'd really thought it wouldn't happen like this, especially after he followed her out of the Bloodbath. She told herself he was past saving. She wasn't sure she believed it.
Once outside, she stuck to the side of the road, where the occasional awning provided her with some shade, but it hadn't been a block when she heard his voice behind her.
"Hey! Azolla!"
Her heart flew out of her chest at his voice; it took every ounce of self-control not to run back. She turned her head back and squinted at him. She didn't dare speak; her resolve might crumble again. If the two of them were to work together, he'd have to be the one to make adjustments.
"I'm… sorry, okay?"
"Are you really?" A lump formed in her throat. It physically hurt to talk like this. "It's hard to tell."
He sighed. "Please… I'd really, really like you to stay."
There it was again, that contradictory message he'd sent ever since they met on the train to the Capitol. She was tired of offering her sympathy only to be beaten down again, yet he couldn't be beyond hope. She couldn't accept that anyone was beyond hope.
"Azolla, I-I… I can't believe I'm saying this but…" He took a few steps after her, shaking his head. Rarely had she ever seen him struggle with words like this. "I need you."
She averted her eyes. "Let's work this out."
Ellis felt his sore legs complain with every step further, but he pushed forward anyway, a backpack over each shoulder. He'd ask Kiran, who trudged behind, to carry one, but he figured the boy had his hands full with the gash across his upper arm. Sweat soaked his back; dust caked his cheeks. He lifted a bag over his head to shield his face from the sun.
"Ugh," Kiran muttered under his breath.
Ellis chuckled. "It's… definitely a bit warm out here."
"I wonder if they have air conditioning anywhere here."
"You have air conditioning back home?"
Kiran gave Ellis a funny look before he suddenly narrowed his eyes and grunted. "D-Don't need no air conditioning."
He shut up, probably realizing that District Eight citizens did not, in fact, have air conditioning. Though he felt a little bad about it, Ellis was secretly glad. The boy's grumbling, while understandable, was starting to grate on his nerves.
"How's the arm?" Ellis asked.
Kiran spat. "Doesn't hurt at all."
"Not at all?"
"Perfectly fine."
Ellis didn't believe it for a second, but he smiled anyway. "I'm glad."
"What do you mean?" The boy spat. "It doesn't hurt. The heat doesn't bother me. Okay?"
"Sure."
The boy cursed under his breath and kicked open the door of a nearby building, glaring at the sky. "We could explore these stupid things."
The heat clearly didn't bother Kiran one bit, not at all. "Sorry bro. Water comes first."
"Don't we already have water?"
He noted Kiran's use of "we," but he figured he didn't mind sharing. What was he going to do—let someone die of thirst? Forget the Hunger Games; he couldn't do something that inhumane.
Ellis chuckled. "Only enough for three days if we're really lucky." And based on his skill (or lack thereof) at conserving his cookie stache at home… he wouldn't bank on the water lasting longer than tomorrow. "C'mon. Let's keep going."
The boy gave the shady interior one last longing look. "It could rain."
Other than a wisp high up in the sky, there wasn't a cloud in the overhead hemisphere of blue. In his peripheral vision, Kiran fidgeted uncomfortably with the gauze over his upper arm, a move swiftly followed by a wince. The poor kid, having to travel while wounded.
Ellis pretended not to notice. He looked back out towards the road, which ran out into the distant desert. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to break for a bit, though they'd have to watch out in case the Star Alliance started hunting early this year.
He curled up the corner of his mouth. "Fine," he said. "We can sit down for a bit."
"I never said I wanted—"
"Then pretend I wanted to sit down." He grabbed the back of a nearby chair, only for it to come off the rest of the chair. "The ground it is."
Kiran narrowed his eyes, but he eventually sat down. His cheeks were flushed red; his lips looked almost as dry as the road outside.
Ellis dug in his bag for the water bottle. "Do you need some water?"
"I don't—"
"Forget I asked." Not many people tried his patience, but this kid was getting there. He gave the boy a serious look. "Drink some water. I'm not asking."
Nearly instantly, the boy snapped to attention. He grabbed the bottle and drank a third of it in one gulp. Alas, this was exactly why they needed to find more water, but supplies were meant to be used, right? For better or for worse, the two of them were a team now. Ellis wasn't the type to withhold anything from a teammate… even if the teammate was Kiran Malhotra, District Five Male.
"What's home like?" Ellis asked as the boy screwed the bottle cap back on.
"W-What?" Kiran crossed his arms. "None of your business."
He shrugged. At this point, it took effort to keep exasperation from creeping into his voice. "Fine, fine. I never said you had to tell me. I'd love to know, though."
The boy blinked, still watching him warily.
"Just mom and dad, no siblings," Ellis offered. "So life at home is pretty quiet. I do a lot of baking."
Though he didn't explicitly ask, the unspoken question hung in the air, the ball firmly in Kiran's court. He raised an eyebrow. When the boy just stared off into the distance, Ellis shrugged and rummaged through a backpack, taking inventory. The water bottle… some kind of repellent… half a roll of gauze…
"I write."
"Huh?"
"Happy now?"
Ellis grinned from ear to ear. "That's so cool. Poetry? Stories?"
"Stories."
Finally. The ice had melted, or at the very least cracked. He almost didn't know what to do with it—though he'd hoped for it, he hadn't fully expected it to actually happen. Or if he had, he hadn't expected it now.
Thankfully, a light beeping just saved the silence as a silver parachute floated down outside the doorway. They looked at each other; Ellis got up to retrieve it to save Kiran's wounded arm the hassle. A small water bottle was nestled inside the capsule, which was labeled with a bold "5."
"It's yours!" Ellis called, tossing it to him without a second thought. He chuckled at the boy's shocked expression. "Congrats! More water too."
After a moment of one-armed fumbling, Kiran eventually picked the capsule up. He stared at it, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. Ellis smiled too and gave the boy a pat on the back. Though Kiran might be wounded and a little temperamental sometimes, this teaming up would be for the best. He could feel it.
Clarke sat behind the counter of a shadowy old saloon, her back to a wall. Her cocoon of an arm rested on a nearby chair. Virginia had tried to bandage it up, but Clarke had no idea if it'd work at all. It sure hurt like it wasn't done right—her teeth felt sore from all the gritting, yet she continued anyway. She wouldn't scream. Not yet, or rather, not again, for she'd let out a yelp while Virginia did her thing with the gauze.
She missed Liat, even if her mind kept wandering back to Liat's girlfriend back home. Hadn't Clarke done the bold thing and gone back for the Seven girl? So much for rewarding bravery. Virginia was nice enough, but she wasn't her. Clarke hoped the girl didn't harbor any hard feelings. She'd felt justified in giving the girl the cold shoulder after the interviews, but she hadn't realized that it would be the last time they saw each other before the Games. Now all she had were a million what-ifs.
Virginia returned from a back room with her baton in hand, humming a song. As she navigated the maze of tables and chairs, she wove in and out of sunbeams pouring in through the open windows. It revealed her cheeks flushed red in the heat, dotted with sweat. Evidently, District Eight citizens lacked experience in the sun. "How are you holding up?"
"I ain't holding anything up with this hand. Still hurts like a trucking mother—"
"I'm sorry about the hand." Virginia tried to smile. "Most of the items here aren't particularly helpful. There are a few old bottles, but I don't think that's worth risking."
Clarke grunted. "At this rate I might try the bottles."
Virginia extended a small pill bottle. "Are you sure you don't want some painkillers?"
"Don't need 'em."
"You don't have to need them to want them."
Clarke gritted her teeth. She'd refused them the first time—she was resilient, she knew—but the bottle looked increasingly tantalizing by the minute. With a heavy sigh, she extended her hand.
She wasn't sure what to think of the Eight girl. Hadn't the girl been allied with the monster from Six? The two couldn't have been more different. Clarke found it hard to believe that well-fed, rich-girl Virginia would hurt a fly, yet the girl's kindness was the only reason why Clarke was still alive, freed from the concrete that'd trapped her at the Cornucopia courtyard.
Still humming, Virginia gave her a sweet smile and teased a pill from the bottle into Clarke's open hand. Clarke tossed it back dry.
"Are you sure?" Virginia gave her a funny look. The girl had just pulled out her water bottle.
"It's okay—" A clod of powder burst in Clarke's throat, producing painfully dry coughs. Why couldn't she be stronger than this? She reluctantly took the bottle and spilled a bit into her mouth. She gulped, grimacing at the bitterness that flooded her mouth; at least the nerves in her arm had begun to soothe. "…Thanks."
"My pleasure."
How polite of her. Clarke didn't know how to respond to it. She was glad she had Virginia, yet the girl's presence seemed to only show her how incapable she was at every turn. Incapable of surviving the Bloodbath. Incapable of fixing herself up. Incapable of bearing the pain or even taking a dumb pill. How would she make it out alive when she'd only made it this far on the undeserved kindness of a stranger?
She put the questions out of her mind. Once she found Liat, everything would make sense again. Who knew what the Seven girl would think of Virginia; Clarke wagered that Liat wouldn't hurt the Eight girl and that was reward enough in the Hunger Games. She just had to find Liat.
No matter how much she rubbed her puffy eyes, Iggy couldn't wipe Mati's death from her mind. The swift axe, the splatter of red, the lifeless collapse—they'd been burned into her memory and nothing she did could lessen it. She'd never seen someone die like this before, so unceremoniously, with its accompanying scream that gripped her heart and twisted it out of her chest. How could Nature allow such brutality?
In some way, she didn't want to forget, even though her heart split every time the memory resurfaced. It felt wrong to forget such an atrocity.
She paused under an awning. She gasped short breaths of air. It did little to steady her breathing. She closed her eyes in search of that once-prominent peace, but her soul felt as dry as the rocks outside. She'd been plucked out of paradise and exiled far, far away from Mother Tree's loving shade, likely never to return.
Ramb had told her up-front that her odds weren't good, but he'd also told her that he'd do his best as long as she cooperated. If he could speak to her now… he'd tell her to find a reliable source of water. She had the little bottle Ellis gave her, but how long would it last in a desert? A third of it was already gone, guzzled in the post-Bloodbath rush.
Though the harsh sunlight looked even more uninviting than the Five boy's glare in training, she forced herself to move forward. She hoped Ramb was happy with her.
When she rounded a curve in the alley, a small courtyard greeted her, a tiny fraction of the one that'd housed the Cornucopia. A dried-up tree stood in the center of it. Its dessicated trunk poked up from cracked stone slabs, weathered by the elements; any leaves that once thrived here had long rotten away. The sight of its brittle branches brought tears to her eyes. She ran up to its base and stared up into its bare boughs, searching for a sign of life. She found none.
She tried to sit down, legs crossed, the way Mama taught her to, but the stone burned when she brushed her fingertips against it and she stayed standing. With desperate hope, she eased her eyes shut to listen, in case Nature had anything to whisper to her, even through this empty husk of a natural vessel. A dry wind brushed against her cheeks. It swished through the nearby alleys. A loose branch rattled like a death knell, followed by a snap and then a clatter.
No sensations. No voices. No life.
Maybe she wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe she'd messed up a crucial step, or accidentally committed an offense against Nature. If only Mama were here to show her what she was doing wrong! She didn't like being here all alone, forced to figure everything out herself.
Tears spilled from her eyes, but they didn't linger long. The hot wind soon dried her cheeks out again, making her one with the parched world around her.
Nevaeh trailed behind Adair and Eros as the three of them walked down a dark hallway, shadowed doorways on either side. When the three of them had gone exploring, they hadn't expected to find nothing but streets upon streets of derelict wooden shacks. So when they found a two-story brick building on the backside of the concrete tower, they had to stop and look inside. Barely any light from the hot outdoors snaked its way into this corridor, where the carpeted floorboards creaked under their weight and none of the ancient light bulbs would turn on. Her hands fidgeted with a leather pouch of marbles they'd found in one such house, once some child's toy. Useful? Not really. But she figured Ili would find it fun, and Ili could use any cheering up they could get.
Something cracked up ahead.
"Ay!" She jumped, knife raised, before realizing that Adair had just broken through a door on his left.
Adair chuckled and poked his head in the room. "The handle was jammed. Nothin' interesting inside, though."
Ever since the Bloodbath, Nevaeh found herself jumping at everything. This wasn't like her! Hadn't she handled plenty of 'em before? But before, she'd been playing on her own turf, in her beloved district, with Papá nearby. Here anything could happen. Nothing fell under her control, and she hated it.
Eros' voice came from the end of the hall. "Woah!"
Nevaeh rushed up beside him. The hallway opened up into the largest room they'd seen thus far, a full two stories in height. Light streamed in from a glassless window in the roof. An imposing raised podium stood at the far left side of the room, gazing downwards at the assortment of seats and smaller podiums arranged around the perimeter of the room. A few rows of wooden-backed benches faced them from the far right side, separated from the rest of the scene by a wooden bar. Double doors stood behind the benches—likely the front door to this building, since they'd entered through the back.
She stepped in softly, as if not to disturb the orderly atmosphere. Unlike any room she'd seen before, the furniture here looked unmoved, as if they'd taken their rightful places eons ago and now refused to budge.
"Well, I'll be," Adair said. "We've found ourselves a courthouse."
Her eyes ran back over the room, from the judge's bench on one end to the gallery on the other. How ironic—a courthouse in the Hunger Games, where there truly was no such thing as justice.
With a playful smile, Eros stepped up to the judge's bench. His eyes lit up as he cautiously picked up a gavel and banged it thrice. "Order in the court?"
"Yes sir, yes sir." Adair laughed. "Look atcha! Judge Worshire presiding today?"
"Of course. Now I sentence you, Adair Ryder, to death."
Nevaeh snorted as Adair flopped dramatically onto the floor, sending up a small cloud of smoke. "Y'all."
Adair propped himself back up. "Y'know, this wouldn't be a terrible place to settle."
"Isn't the tower right next door?" Eros said. He placed the gavel back on the podium. "What if they bring it down on us?"
"The opportunity will lure 'em in. Ain't it perfect?"
"I see…" Nevaeh nodded. "High risk, high reward. Plus it's better than livin' at the Cornucopia. We'll get the others and move here today?"
She looked between the two. Neither objected.
"Perfect."
Ada surveyed the Cornucopia courtyard from a paneless window on the second floor of the remaining concrete tower. Never mind that the other one had just gone down and this one could too—she needed the height, the perspective, the hope that her allies might still be alive and well, even if logically speaking, the fact that the other tower had gone down necessitated that Ace and Electra were most likely dead. She couldn't bear to leave the tower. If her allies were anywhere nearby, she'd see them from here.
Oh, why hadn't she prioritized them before? Why hadn't she taken the time to care for them, to ask them how they were doing? She'd told herself so many times that it would wait until after the Bloodbath, when they might have a chance to breathe, but the explosion had blown that chance to bits.
Voices from below. The boy from Seven appeared from one of the roads beside the tower; he and two others must now be returning from their scouting mission. They'd only left three at the Cornucopia, so one of the seven Star Alliance members had to be dead. Better than nothing.
She retracted her head back behind the wall, out of their sight. Her eyes wandered from the square-spiraling staircase in the corner to the various rooms on this floor, hidden behind ancient wooden doors that the dry climate had preserved. Her fingers tapped the dusty concrete floor without a sound, as her prep team had trimmed her nails down.
The waiting was crushing. She'd never been one to simply wait, and that wasn't about to change now. If her allies were still alive, she didn't want to show up with nothing of use. Gathering supplies was the least she could do for her team. With the remaining bombs, not all was lost, right? They could regroup, replan, and recover.
Gingerly, she rose to her feet, brushed the dust off, and tip-toed down the stairs. She could distantly hear the Star Alliance's chatter from here. Heart pounding, she sidled up to a side entrance and poked her head out, where she and Scythe had planted a bomb before everything fell apart.
Other than a rectangular disturbance in the dust coating, the space looked as barren as it'd been when the tributes entered the Arena. The bomb was gone, along with the other one they'd planted ten feet down the wall.
She looked around—was this the spot? It had to be. She desperately hoped that Scythe had been the one to collect the bombs, but at this point, she wasn't sure how much desperate hope she could still cling to. Sticking to the shadows, she inched away from the building and into the adjacent streets, almost expecting the building to collapse on her at any moment, just as abruptly as the other one had.
She stumbled into a rickety shack a few blocks down. Those were her bombs! She'd earned them from the Gamemakers; they'd been planted in the Arena for her plan.
Ace was probably dead, and Electra had likely died with him. She hadn't seen Scythe since they lost each other in the smoke. Now the bombs were gone too. Had the universe conspired to steal everyone and everything from her? What were the probabilities?
She felt water building in the corner of her eyes. She grit her teeth and resolved not to cry. At the moment, she needed to function at max capacity, and tears would only get in her way.
But what could a girl from District Three do? Without her team and her weapons, she had nothing left.
As she suffocated in the silence, a gentle beeping from the back of the shack roused her, beckoning her towards the alley behind it. The glimpse of the silver parachute might as well have been a caffeine shot—she hurried over and opened the cardboard box attached to it.
Her eyes were greeted with a flashy yellow label, wrapped around a set of fireworks.
Ilithyia kicked a small chunk of concrete. She sighed as it bounced away, leaving a powdery trail. With a lilt in her step, she circled the Cornucopia, pausing every few seconds to drum her fingers on the dented metal.
She was bored—at least, that was what she told herself. She'd tried to help Ven and Sostonio as they sorted their supplies, but she'd noticed them re-sorting what she'd already done and figured that they were better off without her. She should've gone exploring with Nevaeh and Eros and Adair. Never mind that she'd be a sweaty mess by the time she returned with this sun; at least she'd be moving around, seeing new places, finding things to do. For the love of Snow, even if they found nothing interesting, it'd still be better than this.
Anything other than sitting under the crushing weight of Adora's death.
Her finger absentmindedly tugged at her friendship bracelet, the one she'd made with Franziska. It'd be nice to be home. If she weren't here in the Games, she'd probably be traveling District One with her best friend. Or maybe she'd be playing with Croissant!
She shook her head. C'mon, Ilithyia! Snap out of it!
She was finally here in the Hunger Games; she'd wanted to be here since forever! Who had time for negativity? This was all she ever wanted. It couldn't possibly be disappointing. She wasn't disappointed. She stood up straight and looked out again at the Arena around her. Perhaps this wasn't the most exciting Arena she'd ever seen, but she was here. Forget the sinking pit in her stomach. She needed to be fully present for every moment she spent in this place.
Voices from the streets alerted her to the others' return. Their figures appeared in the shadow of the tower. Nevaeh waved at her; she waved back with a grin.
"Hermana! You're up now!" The three had reached the Cornucopia now. The Ten girl gave her a side hug.
Ilithyia chuckled. "It's about time too. I wish I went with you!"
"No pasa nada," Nevaeh said. She produced a leather pouch from her pocket. "Not much out there, but I found this for you."
She gave Nevaeh a quizzical look. "For me?" She ran a finger over the worn-out surface and reached in, only for glass marbles of many colors to spill into her palm. She laughed in surprise. "Woah!"
"It's not super useful, but I thought you'd like it."
"Aww!"
"Oh! Guess what else we found!"
Eros pointed at the road beside the tower. "There's this really cool courthouse just down there."
"Oh!" Ilithyia's eyes lit up. This was what she was talking about! Well, fine, a courthouse wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, but it sure beat twiddling thumbs here in the rubble.
Nevaeh waved Sos and Ven over. "Sí! It's a brick building, probably the sturdiest one in the entire Arena. How about we grab everything we can and move over?"
Sos looked at the pile of supplies and weapons. He wiped his brow with his bandana. "Guay. We got a lot of stuff though."
"Then let's all get to work!" Ilithyia said, bouncing from leg to leg. She couldn't care less if the work took all day—they were finally doing something.
Nevaeh cocked her head, thinking. "We could burn some of it and save some time."
"Or we could bring all of it and have no regrets later." Sos gave her a pat on the back. "It'll be done in no time. Vamos!"
Though the Ten girl rolled her eyes, she raised no objections, and they followed Sos to the supplies, which had been neatly laid out in piles of filled backpacks and boxes.
"This one's for food, this one's water," Sos pointed to the respective piles. So this was what he and Ven had been up to this whole time. "…emergency supplies, weapons, and others."
Adair nodded, clearly pleased. "I'll be dipped, you put in a lot of effort."
Sos grinned as he slung a few packs of food over his shoulder. "Sure did. Now if one of y'all will show us the way to the courthouse…"
"Claro!" Nevaeh said, her hands also full. "Follow me."
Ilithyia picked up a box of weapons, eyes bright like a child in a candy shop. All these different blades and blunt ends! As the Tens started off, Ven and Adair right behind them, Eros stopped her.
"How are you feeling?"
She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "I'm fine now. Thanks for asking."
"Anytime. I'm just worried about you, with the death and all." His eyes brimmed with sympathy. "I mean, it's not easy for any of us, but it looks like it hit you particularly hard."
The wave of dust passed over her mind again. She felt Adora slip again, heard the cry again, felt the panic again. She'd done her best—and it hadn't been enough? Since when had she been not-enough? She swallowed to stop the shudder she felt coming on. Hopefully Eros didn't see it.
"Y-Yeah. It was rough." She sighed. "But now I'm fine and ready to roll!"
He grinned. "That's good. I'm glad to have you around."
"Aww…" She couldn't hug him with her hands full, so she gave him a shoulder bump instead. "How did exploring go?"
"Eh." He shrugged. "It was fine, I guess. It's just a ghost town. Would've been better if you were there to help with Nevaeh. She'ssuch a handful sometimes."
Ilithyia frowned. She didn't know what'd gone down today, but she was certain of one thing: Nevaeh was her trusted friend. Or was she certain? She'd been so sure up till last night, when the Tens just felt… off. Though nothing seemed wrong today, the worry still whispered in the back of her head.
Ven interrupted. "You guys coming?"
"Oh, for sure," Eros said, smiling again. He nudged her. "C'mon. Let's go."
Rusk laid in the sleep room in the Mentor's Center, a dark place with beds provided for mentors to rest. Of course, it was usually occupied by mentors with living tributes, but he hadn't found the heart to leave, even though it'd been hours since the initial bloodbath.
Mati had placed 24th. Dead last.
As he stared at the ceiling, Rusk wondered what he'd done wrong this year. Perhaps he should've warned the boy more strongly against the initial Bloodbath, or perhaps he should've blocked the alliance between Mati and Thomas. Would it have made a difference? He told himself it would've. Even if Mati probably would've died of thirst without the water from the Cornucopia, he'd at least be alive, and that'd be infinitely better than this. Every new what-if weighed on his mind, driving him to long for the sweet escape of sleep, just like it did every year he mentored.
Rusk Flanders had never mentored a victor. Maybe it was his fault District Nine hadn't won since he did. Mati would've been better off with anyone else.
With a groan, he forced himself to sit up in the empty room. Very rarely did anyone stay here on Day 1, merely hours after the Bloodbath. No one was that pathetic. No one but him, too afraid to face the hordes of reporters outside the Center. They'd shove microphones in his face and force him to talk to them about how much of a disappointment he was.
He couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to step out into the mob, so he might as well rip off the bandage now.
When he stepped out of the sleep room, he found the Mentor Center subdued, the way it usually was on Day 1. The tributes on-screen seemed more preoccupied with exploration and gathering supplies, hardly the most exciting footage. The Official Games channel was likely interviewing analysts to fill the lull now that the post-Bloodbath hype had died down. He walked up to the railing and looked down at the ring of mentors. A third of the seats were now empty, his included.
Matza gave him a pat on the back when he descended to retrieve his belongings. "I'm sorry," she said. "Don't blame yourself. This wasn't your fault."
Though he didn't fully believe it, he nodded anyway.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Take good care of yourself. I'll send Cia over with some brownies later."
Rusk mumbled a thank you and turned to leave.
"I'm glad you're finally letting us in." Her tone held no accusation, no frustration. "We Nines have to stick together."
It dawned on him that for once, he wasn't alone after his tribute died. Perhaps he still wasn't particularly close with the other Nine victors, but this was leagues better than mourning alone. He gave her a smile and hurried up the stairs. He could already hear the reporters outside. He bit his lip; he steeled his resolve.
He ran into Avisa near the doors. Weren't both Fours still alive?
"Going back?" she said.
"Yeah. You?"
She nodded. "Myrddin's taking over for the night. What about you?"
"I… have no business here anymore."
"I'm sorry." She frowned in sympathy. "That crowd outside is vicious."
"You tell me."
"I guess… maybe I could help with that."
"What—"
Without warning, she flung the door open. Immediately, every eye and camera turned towards them. The calling for his attention began soon after that.
But Avisa pushed into the crowd, beckoning Rusk to follow after her. "Move out the way!" she yelled, her voice tinged with exasperation as if the reporters were naught but annoying children.
He cringed as he shuffled in her wake, half at her loudness, half at the reporters' glares. He'd never dream of doing something bold.
Up ahead, someone refused to budge. Avisa shoved them out of her way. "Your story isn't my priority. Scram!"
The two finally emerged from the pit into the Victor transportation lane, blocked off from the public by Peacekeepers at every entrance.
Rusk grinned weakly. He still shook all over. "Th-Thanks."
"Nah, I get a dopamine rush yelling at them." She chuckled. "I'll see you around." Her figure disappeared into a car, and then she was gone. He followed suit.
When Rusk arrived on the District Nine floor of the Victor's Tower, he paused at the door to his room. For once, the peaceful darkness inside didn't call to him. He glanced down the hall at the Common Room. Maybe… things could be different. It was worth a try.
He scanned his card. When the door swung open, he found the other Nine victors staring at him in silence. Something intangible hung in the air, as if his entrance had abruptly cut short their conversation.
Cia, one of the other female Nine Victors, smiled awkwardly. She broke the silence. "Matza told me about the brownies; I'll bring them over in a bit."
"Is something wrong?" His voice was low. "I'm sorry; I'll leave—"
Vannes spoke quickly. "It's not you."
"Okay…" Rusk narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly.
Cia broke in. "He deserves to know," she said to Van.
What had they been hiding from him? And he'd just started to trust them! He shouldn't have associated with them at all. Rusk wanted nothing more than to run, yet his curiosity kept his feet frozen in place.
"Sit down then," Van said. His right hand fidgeted with the nearby table.
Rusk complied. He felt his energy drain as he sank into the couch's cushion. What could've happened? Were Matza and Avisa okay? Had something happened back in Nine? He hoped not, though he had no living family to worry about. Van's nervousness only made it all worse.
"What's going on?"
"Acacio LeRoux has been released from Ravenstill State Prison."
A/N Woah. It's been a month. I didn't mean to go so long without an update, but life is very busy and not conducive to writing. Between that and finishing up the POV structure… Don't expect another update for another month. I've got so many stories to catch up on too.
Hope you enjoyed this little peaceful catch-up with all our groups 'cause peace ain't gonna last much longer. Eulogies coming next chapter after the Fallen broadcast!
I'd love to know y'all's thoughts!
