CHAPTER 10 – PERPLEX / RAGE
Tackle Auger
Twenty four mentors sit in the monitoring room, staring at black screens. Out-district mentors share panicked glances, and while the career mentors try harder to hide their apprehension, it's obvious we're frightened too.
A question hangs in the air between all of us: where are our tributes?
Our circumstances are unheard of, never before have the tributes been taken away after their interview. Never before have we been locked inside overnight, woken by peacekeepers, then escorted to our stations. Victors already have so little freedom; my chest tightens at what the crack-down could potentially mean.
My brain fog is terrible, thoughts pass through sludge. I didn't sleep a wink last night, and haven't slept more than a few consecutive hours since arriving in the Capitol. At any moment, I'm liable to keel over and put my face through the monitoring screen. Adrenaline keeps me conscious, though, wired from the fear of the unknown.
The screens flash on. Then, complete darkness. Some comments are thrown around the room, but I remain fixated on the screen, hoping for another flash.
Not ten seconds later, the screen lights up again. I'm prepared this time, already staring, and in the brief moment the screen is illuminated, I see the shadowed silhouette of a girl, against a darker background. From the overhead view, her distinct curls drift around her head.
Mali.
She looks suspended in air. Zero gravity? I inhale sharply, anxiety building. They can't be in outer space, can they?
During the next flash, Mali opens her eyes. Her expression is lax, like she's fighting anesthetic. Within the next couple flashes, she tries to extend her arms, and panics as her movement's restricted. I can't understand why she'd be unable to extend her arms, if she's floating in mid-air.
I tear my gaze from my screen, and direct it towards Jig's. Wyatt's conscious as well, but motionless, observing, breathing deeply. He appears to be floating, as well.
Back to Mali, the strobing lights catch expressions of confusion, and blips of surreal, morphing horror.
Neon numbers project over her body: sixty. After a pop and a hiss, the air above her distorts. It dissipates, and while the details of her face become clearer, the projection over her becomes blurred and rippled, as it begins counting down.
Mali sits up, then her eyes widen with fear, as she chokes. Her throat won't open, won't take in air. As she flops down, I see a distinct distortion on screen that looks like a splash. The liquid is all but invisible in this fleeting light, but air doesn't displace like that. Mali elbows an invisible barrier.
"Glass." I gasp. I couldn't see it before- the glass is invisible through the screen, as well as the liquid- but it appears she's in a tank- floating through water.
An explosion rocks the chamber, sending cascading fire and carnage through the air. Mali's illuminated for the briefest moment, and I gasp in shock. She looks wrong- skin waxy and thick, slits in her neck, webbed hands and feet. Simultaneously, other mentors cry out in surprise as they get a fleeting view of their tributes. I worriedly look at Jig, and he mirrors my expression.
Pieces of flesh rain down into Mali's tank, bleeding into the water.
One of the mentors from D3 throws down her headset and storms out of the monitoring room, grumbling about the unfairness of her tribute's death.
When the countdown reaches zero, Mali drops through a hole in the bottom of the chamber- not into a void- but into vivid daylight.
Through my screen, the camera angle changes to a wide shot, displaying twenty-three tributes falling from a hovercraft, plummeting through the air, then smacking into the surface of the ocean. I spare a moment to feel relief upon realizing she's not in outer-space.
Most tributes are too stunned to react, and immediately begin sinking. Mali fights to keep her head above the surface, purely of out instinct. She can't breathe the air, and overwhelming fear shrouds her face. Panic and instinct merge, distracting her from accepting reality. Suddenly, she's dragged underwater. My stomach drops.
My camera angle switches again. As Wyatt pulls her under, he urges her to relax.
The cornucopia comes into view as Mali looks down. Sprawling, golden reef erupts from rock formations, spiraling over itself, twisting into an unnatural extension in the shape of a horn. It's raised above the rest of the arena; an obvious, gleaming destination, decorated with sparkling weapons. The rest of the arena lays beyond- or under- the beige rock formations.
I reach across my body, clenching my arms, rife with tension, trying to stuff down erupting emotions. Anger at the Capitol for this disorienting start to the Games; worry for Mali, as she hasn't quite recovered her wits, uncertainty about the nature of the alterations to the tribute's bodies- if they can sustain the physical stress for any extended period of time. What happens if these Games continue for weeks?
It sickens me to think about the nature of the experiments that inevitably took place before outfitting the tributes with gills, and water-durable skin. I try not to ruminate on Capitol matters, but they make it difficult when they produce new horrors each year.
Jig bumps his console beside me, and I startle. I try to cover the nervous action, but am unsuccessful. He glances over, and raises his brows, but doesn't say anything.
I nod and give Jig a tight smile, then turn back to the screen just in time to see Bevel's tribute commit the first murder of the Games. She hasn't even reached the cornucopia yet, not needing a weapon, opting to snap the other girl's neck. Mali was right, this girl is gunning to be leader, gunning for attention.
Panem, that must be the fastest District 3's ever been eliminated, in the history of the Games- and that's saying something, considering it's not uncommon for both tributes to die in the bloodbath. The other D3 mentor leaves the monitoring room, looking dazed.
Mali finally regains composure, I see the panic dissipating on her face as she swims toward the cornucopia. Despite the slow start, she's the second tribute to reach the reef- followed closely by Wyatt. I feel some of the tension leave my muscles as she takes a defensible position and finds a weapon.
The details of the golden reef sharpen through the screen as she arrives. Different corals grow overtop of one another; fuchsias, blues, and oranges mingle with the gold coloring.
The gamemakers have outdone themselves with the arena, and the alterations to the tributes. I can only speculate they're trying to distract their superiors- and the citizens of the Capitol- from the public execution of one of their own, after the last Games. Punishment for a sexual assault committed at the Victor's Party- at the Presidential Mansion. The victim was a victor- Bliss. The perpetrator was a gamemaker- Marcus. Both the assault and the punishment took place within the span of a couple hours.
The crowd at the Victor's Party tore Marcus limb from limb, an angry mob amped up by the President of Panem, himself, after Lustre Elysian- victor of last year's Games, was also publicly punished. Lustre was not killed, although the bloodlust in the room was palpable. By the time they brought Marcus out, he didn't stand a chance.
Although I mostly stay out of other victor's business, it would be impossible not to hear some rumors over the years. Especially sinister rumors, rumors concerning overfamiliar Capitol staff and victors. Rumors of Capitol-sanctioned "assignments"- forced dates, forced company... Which makes the President a hypocrite. Marcus was only punished for raping Bliss because it wasn't sanctioned by the Capitol. "Justice" was not delivered as punishment for Marcus' violence, but for breaking his contract.
I'll never be able to forget the noise the crowd made, roaring and begging the President to hand over the designated criminal. The sounds Marcus made as he was dismembered branded into my brain. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd make it out of the Presidential Mansion alive.
All to say, the gamemakers have a hell of a good reason to draw attention away from themselves, to evade further scrutiny.
Two tributes attack Mali, but she handles the challenge, adjusting to the dynamics of fighting through water. The clarity of liquid is only disrupted as blood is spilled, as mortal wounds bleed out. Clouds form, obstructing the dying tributes, hindering visibility of future threats. The female tribute from D12, Lyra, steals a satchel, spots her alliance, then drops below the lip of the reef and beelines it.
Mali's safe, threat retreating. Other careers hunt out-district kids. Some flee, some are trapped above the careers in open water, with no where to hide. As Mali's microphones picks up their screams, I flinch. I stretch and pop my neck, trying to work out some of the reactive energy. All that matters right now is Mali, I focus on her.
The bloodbath appears to be winding down, until Afflatus' tribute, Bristol, spots the tribute that stabbed him during training week. He has tunnel vision, perspective lost. It appears he's too intent on getting revenge, because he doesn't seem to notice a group of tributes surrounding him, until he's trapped. By then it's too late. I count six on one.
There's no hope for escape.
The other career tributes can only watch as Bristol's stabbed to death. I tear my gaze off the screen, and look over at Afflatus. Her expression is frozen in shock. I can't imagine the roller coaster of bringing a tribute to victory, only to have the next die in the bloodbath. Such is the nature of the Games, though. Sitting beside Afflatus, Lustre makes a comment that snaps her out of her daze. She gives him a scathing look, prompting him to shut up.
Afflatus' eyes trail over the other career mentors, and find mine. I drop my gaze immediately, shame weighing my head down like an anvil. Florence must have told Afflatus about Riel and the videos by now, and I find myself unable to look at her. I wish Riel's secrets died with him. This mess gets worse day by day.
The bloodbath finally ends, and the five remaining careers gather at the cornucopia. They act confident, inventorying supplies and weapons, but there's a level of awkwardness and unease as they adjust to their changed bodies and unfamiliar surroundings. Conflicted expressions waver over Mali's face, as quick to dissipate as they are to bubble up, but still, I worry.
Thankfully, at least in this moment, there's a break in the fighting, and Mali's alright. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling in relief. As I close my eyes, I get a sense of motion sickness, and a wave of nausea rolling through my guts. Sleep deprivation is no joke. I need caffeine. I feel justified in excusing myself to the lounge, because there's a lull in action.
The door to the monitoring room bangs behind me, and I momentarily feel a sense of relief that always accompanies leaving that hellscape.
"Tackle?" Someone with perfect pitch says, from behind me.
I rub my face before turning, trying to erase the troubled expression that arose at the sound of Afflatus' voice.
"Hi." I say, eyes flickering around the empty hallway. "What's up?... I mean, sorry about your tribute." I inhale sharply, nervously, stumbling over my words.
"Thanks." Afflatus says softly.
I can't bring myself to meet her eyes. "So… umm… what's up?" I repeat, awkwardly.
"I just wanted to check in with you... I spoke with Florence last night." She says.
I gulp forcefully, wishing I could disintegrate. "I don't- Umm. I…" Panem, I don't even know what I'm trying to say.
Afflatus reaches out and touches my shoulder. I don't see it coming, gaze elsewhere, and jump into the wall beside me. I smack my elbow, and hot tingles lance through my arm. "Sorry." I say, instinctually, vulnerability overwhelming.
"I'm sorry." Her concern is clear as day. "Tackle…"
"I'm fine, Afflatus." I stand ramrod straight, trying to ignore the pain in my funny bone.
"You-" She starts.
"Unless you have any updates…" I interrupt her. "I have to go." I stumble towards the lounge, humiliated, hating myself for being so weak.
Afflatus doesn't follow.
Mali Cypress
Nine cannons boom, signifying the end of the bloodbath.
As I gather supplies from the cornucopia along with the rest of the career alliance, I screw my head on straight. There's no time to wallow and contemplate. Although the reality of the Games is considerably more gruesome than I imagined, I'm here for a reason. The people around me are obstacles, nothing more. If I'm going to make it, there no room for other thought. Blips of horror are the nature of the Games. I count myself lucky for even having a moment to think, other tributes still fleeing in overwhelming fear.
I'm here for a reason, and I'd do well to remember that.
The gold cornucopia reflects rays of gleaming sun penetrating deep into the sea. Small fish swim in schools around us, observing. When I touch the reef with my new skin, I can barely feel the roughness. I wiggle my fingers, webbing between them facilitating and endless, smooth motion. The sensation of liquid entering and exiting my throat as I "breathe" is distracting, and I hope I become desensitized to the strangeness.
I locate a pack and fill it with a slick algae-like coat in case we face a drop in temperature, and couple rolls of bandages, and some packets of food. The supply of food is sparse, and split evenly amongst our alliance, we don't have much.
In another crate, I find body plates. The armor is similar to the plates I wore to my Reaping. After calling attention to the crate, I begin passing out plates to the other careers. Xio snatches a set without so much as a thank you, while the others are appreciative.
There isn't a vast variety of useable weapons. Straight blades, curved blades, long and short. Tridents, spears. The idea of wilding these items, fighting in near zero-gravity, restricted by dense, heavy water is baffling. Our training hasn't been rendered useless, exactly, but the rules are different here. The physics are different. We can't rely on movements we've carefully practiced for years, rather needing to adjust to unfamiliarity constantly. The arena doesn't exactly level the playing field between careers and out-district tributes, but the bloodbath showed if we aren't careful, we can meet a brutal end as easily as any out-district kid.
In another crate, I discover a pile of plastic orange guns. They look like flares.
"Wyatt." I call.
He straightens up, pausing packing his bag. "What's up?"
"Come here." I nod towards the crate.
"Those work underwater?" He asks.
"Only one way to find out." I respond.
"What's going on?" Xio appears, suspicious.
"Found a crate of flares, we're going to test a shot. Nothing to hide." I say, casually.
"Mhmm." Xio mutters.
The other careers gather as I exit the cornucopia and point the weapon towards the surface. As I pull the trigger, a small explosion erupts. A shockwave passes through the water, rippling over my face, as a smoldering projectile shoots off. It looks more like magma than fire, and leaves a bubbling, steaming wake as it arches through the water. About fifty yards away, it dies.
"Wow. How much ammo is there?" Parish asks.
"Two bullets per gun. Three guns. We have five shots left." I say.
"You didn't think to ask before wasting one of the shots?" Xio's tone is accusatory.
I've had enough of her. "Xio, you don't own these weapons. I found them. I don't need your permission. Can you try to remember we're on the same team? At least for the first damn day?!" I'm almost yelling by the time I'm done, red-faced, challenging.
Wyatt stands beside me at the ready. Parish and Star seem amused by the situation.
Xio's eyes narrow. "You little-"
"You know what?" I interrupt. "Get out of my face." I put up a hand and turn.
Xio lunges after me, as I expect her too. As I duck, her arm sails over my head. I grab her right wrist, and twisting it behind her back, then pin her left arm to her waist with my free hand, and hold pressure on the wrist joint. If she wrenches herself from my grip, her wrist will snap.
"Chill out." I say in her ear, teeth bared.
She squirms, and I twist her wrist tighter. "Are you done?" I squeeze and feel the joint pop.
"Fine. Yes. Fuck." Xio concedes.
"Alright." I release her, and she pushes away. As she swims back into the cornucopia, I hear her muttering profanities and threats.
Internally, I balk. What is wrong with me? The last thing I needed was to paste a target on my back. Erratic isn't a good look for me.
"She had the coming." Star pipes up. The haughty mask she usually wears gives way to something else. A broad smile spreads over her face, an expression I haven't seen before. A flash of amusement, just a moment, before she's back to scanning her surroundings.
My eyes linger on her floating blonde hair before answering. "Yeah, she did." Somewhat comforted.
"Watch your back." Star offers advice, nodding towards the cornucopia.
I nod, then turn to face Parish and Wyatt, as well. "When we patrol, we should carry these. Don't use them as weapons, use them to signal if you need help."
Parish considers, then nods. "Sound doesn't travel far down here, having a visual signal is a good idea."
"For patrol, I think it's smarter to break off in groups of two and three, instead of having someone wander alone. That alliance took out Bristol without much trouble." I spare a sympathetic glance for Star, as he was her district-mate.
"You leading now?" Parish half-jokes. There's weight behind the statement, though, wondering if I'm challenging Xio.
"Just brainstorming." I shrug. "If we use my ideas, fine; if not, also fine." I don't need more heat from Xio at the moment, though she's clearly not an ideal leader.
"Alright. Let's finish packing and get out of here." Parish says.
We break off into two groups, after Parish suggests the idea to Xio. She chooses Parish and Wyatt to travel with her, and assigns Star to go with me. Xio's flexing her power where she can, splitting Wyatt and I up. I chose not to add fuel to the fire, though, and accept my assignment. I doubt Xio would kill him to get even with me, especially on day one, and need to pick my battles with her carefully. I'll see him again by lunch, anyways.
We leave nothing of great value at the reef, shoving weapons into our packs. Only a crate of leftover medical supplies, and heavy, unusable weapons remain. Star and I are ordered to cover the north and east quadrants; Xio and the boys take south and west. In all four directions, we see nothing but rock formation and water, but our visibility isn't great. It's worse than on land, less than two-hundred yards. The group disperses, not wasting anymore time.
With our packs on our shoulders, Star and I go north, winding down the reef, into the rock formations. Pathways intersect and branch off one another, leading to pockets of broader space. The sunlight dies beyond the first layer of rocks, when I look in a tunnel oriented downwards, I see the refraction of the water fade from blue to black.
I figure we make it a few miles, but it's harder to keep track of distance in the water. Although I have more experience swimming than anyone else in the arena, constantly being under is disorienting.
"Keep your head on a swivel." I say. "There's a ton of places to hide, and we can't listen for footsteps as warning."
Star follows me through a crevice into a bowl-like space between the formations. "Absolutely." She says, scanning the scene.
I clear my throat. "Sorry about Bristol."
Star shrugs. "Bound to happen eventually."
"Was it?" I narrow my eyes, confused by her comment. Supreme confidence she's able to beat everyone?
"You think someone with his temper could win?" Star glances at me. "Especially after…"
Oh, that. Lustre Elysian, last year's victor from her district. Although she trailed off, it's obvious he's who she was referencing.
"Guess not." I reply.
When I look at her, I don't see a camera-ready career, I see somebody forlorn. I thought she was cocky, but that judgement seems far from the truth. Her words and demeanor imply she lacks confidence in the possibility of her victory, as well. My initial assumptions about her could have been off-base. I doubt she's detached because she's shallow. Perhaps she's accepted her fate. I hope my assumptions are wrong, though, because the attitude is unnerving.
"Can I ask you something?" Star says.
"Yeah, sure." I reply. We stop swimming, settling on the other side of the bowl.
"Do you think Xio's going to forgive you?" She asks, leaning against beige stone.
"Probably not. Something tells me she's no stranger to a scuffle, though. At least I was honest. Sometimes honest is less dangerous than unpredictable." I answer.
"Meaning?" Star cocks her brow.
"She knows where I stand. I don't think she'll try to kill me in my sleep tonight, at least." I say, holding her gaze.
"And tomorrow?" An amused expression blossoms.
"Another worry for another day." I wink.
A small smile tugs at Star's mouth. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out."
I chuckle. "Wouldn't say that… I feel like the Games are a test I've studied for my whole life, but still find myself making it up as I go."
"Like chess pieces on a board." Star mutters, dropping her eyes.
"As long as I'm the king." I joke.
Another hint of a smile appears on her face. It's an expression I don't mind seeing.
"Let's get goi-" Star cuts herself off, looking over my shoulder. Her hand goes to her belt, retrieving a short sword.
I turn and see Lyra, the D12 girl who escaped our fight during the bloodbath, part of the group that ambushed Bristol. Ballsy, confronting two careers. I draw my knife and trident.
"Watch for others." Star says, recognizing her as well.
A sting lances through my arm, then a searing tear. I look down and see my arm leaking from a ripped puncture above my forearm plate. Bloody droplets hang in the water, then burst, leaving a stain.
Lyra stands across from us, smiling, unarmed. I see no other tributes, no weapons.
I scan the formations around us, but see nothing. Something snags a few loose strands of hair, then rips a chunk from my scalp. I scream from surprise and pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of metal retracting through the water, flesh hooked onto the end. It glides around a formation to the right. I nudge Star, and point to the point of origin, indicating I'm going to check it out. Blood seeping from my arm and scalp begins to muddy the water.
Trying for stealth, I swim above the formation, instead of around the corner. As I poke my head over the rock, I see two tributes, the formidable pair from D9, Rye and Christina. Rye holds a fishing reel slingshot- a sling reel.
Another flash of metal pierces me in the cheek. I barely have time to examine the hook before it's torn from my mouth, shredding the skin with its barbs. The pain is staggering, stars explode over my vision. I reach and grab the nearly invisible line as it retracts, then pull my attacker closer towards me.
The momentum on the line thrusts Rye forward, as I extend my trident. He ducks his head, but one of the blades sheers flesh and hair from his scalp. When he jerks back, his ear trails behind him, holding on by a thread. He hollers and wails as Christina pulls him further into the rock formation. They turn into one of the tunnels that descends into blackness. I don't follow.
The sound of metal clanging on metal turns my focus back to Star. She's fighting Lyra, and Praise- the district mate of the D10 girl Wyatt killed in the bloodbath. Both out-district kids have a knife in each hand.
Rye and Christina emerge from a tunnel behind the fighting trio. Rye trails blood from his head wound.
Suddenly, the pair from D5, Bandit and Flare, emerge behind the D9 tributes. Six on two. I don't like those odds, especially because the others seem familiar with this part of the terrain.
Panem, I wish I could throw my knives. Damn this water.
As I swim to aid Star, she catches a slash to the stomach below her armor. Her organs remain in place, the cut not deep enough to eviscerate her. Impressively, she blocks blows as she recoils.
The trajectory of my course brings me above the other tributes, and I indiscriminately begin stabbing at the horde of out-district kids. A severed finger floats upward. Rye's ear detaches in struggle. Through the haze of blood, his sling reel shoots out, hooking deeply into my left inner forearm, pure luck evading the plate. It tears out a moment later, and I see frayed pieces of muscle. My ring and pinkie finger begin spasming.
An opening appears, clarity through the thickening blood. I see Bandit's head of short black hair, and thrust my trident. The blades punctures the top of his neck, severing his spine.
Flare shrieks, dragging his motionless body away from the scuffle.
A cannon booms.
Flare continues retreating, hysterically crying, pulling Bandit's body into the shadows under the rock formations.
Star's face materializes through the dense, bloody cloud. She extends a hand, and I pull her upward. We're above the rocks now, in open water, no nooks or crannies left for tributes to pop out from. Lyra and Praise follow. Rye and Christina tuck themselves away, trying to get a vantage point to shoot the sling reel.
I dart behind the red cloud, using it as cover to block his view. Star follows. Abruptly, she somersaults, flipping under Praise. Just as quickly, she skewers him, sword penetrating his stomach, exiting his back. As she retracts the blade, she twists, ensnaring Praise's guts, pulling them through the wound. Lyra and I are swallowed in the fresh cloud of gore.
A cannon booms.
I plunge my trident into the cloud, at Lyra's approximate location, but find no resistance. The bloody water enters my gills and mouth, gagging me with the metallic content. I swim towards the surface, away from the haze, trying to get a clear view of anything. All I see is red.
"Star!" I yell. The wound in my cheek opens, salty water against tender flesh. I clench my fists, trying to distract from the pain.
She swims from the cloud, towards my voice.
"Let's go!" I say. "There's too much blood in the water. We can't fight if we can't see."
"I'm with you." Star says, examining slash wounds on her stomach, arms, and legs. Blood still leaks from my wounds, as well. We leave a visible trail behind us as we flee.
"We need to patch ourselves up." I say, as if it isn't obvious.
"We need to find cover." Star calls back.
"Fuck, all these formations look the same." I begin to panic, feeling exposed, like tributes will spring out any second.
"I think there's a chasm here- through this passage." Star points to a narrow space below us.
I follow her through the restrictive space, and it immediately opens up. There's only two exits in the chasm, at least it's defensible. Rays of light pour through the two body-sized holes, softly illuminating the space. Star swims to a corner, wedging her leg under a rock shelf to stop aimlessly floating. I sit beside her, doing the same. We pull off our packs and retrieve rolls of algae-like bandages.
"Panem… my mentor said the way wounds bleed would be distracting… but fighting in water is something else…" Star says, still panting, tending to her wounds. "It's just… it's everywhere."
As our wounds continue to seep, the visibility is our chasm becomes worse, like the walls are closing in. I pack a wad of bandage into my forearm.
"Do you think they followed us?" I ask, preoccupied, thinking about how the hell I'm going to fix my cheek. Every time I speak now, I do so through the smallest opening in my lips.
"Keep watching the exits. Be ready to move." Star says, as she secures her last bandage.
I keep my eyes trained on the small orifices in the rock, waiting for a flash of movement.
"Here." Star says, handing me a jar of something from her bag. "It's adhesive for the bandages. Put it on your cheek, it's still bleeding."
Blinking rapidly, I do as she says. As my heart rate comes down, my wounds start fiercely aching. The tears in my skin are covered, but saturated in the saltwater. The pain burns, radiating.
"How are you?" I ask.
"Superficial wounds." Star replies, calm. "And you?"
I reach to the back of my scalp, gingerly prodding the small chunk of scalp missing, and feel a shock of rage. Considering the tears to my arms, cheek, and head, I could be better. Rye hurt me, and I want revenge.
"I'm going to kill that grain-fucking, out-district, hillbilly cunt." I seethe.
"Tell me how you really feel." Star says flatly, eyeing the exits.
I shoot her a glance. "We should keep moving."
"No argument here." She shrugs.
"Thanks for the adhesive." As I hand the jar back to her, her fingers brush mine.
"No problem." Star nods.
"How bad do I look?" I find the courage to ask.
She gives me a once over. "You look like a warrior."
Something in my heart flutters in recognition of the moment. I faced my first battle beyond the bloodbath, and survived.
"Thank you." I answer.