11.

They all stood in a circle around the pond, the five of them, handfuls of water that they'd scooped out with their two hands together, exchanged glances, and on the count of three, brought the handfuls to their mouths and swallowed. They looked at each other, watching for a reaction, a sign that they had either just found a life source or had all just committed suicide together.

"Well?" Alexandrite asked, looking uneasy but sounding like she was trying to keep her cool. "How do we all feel?"

Everyone exchanged glances and shrugged. No one really felt anything, not even soothed by how refreshing the water was, they were all too wracked with nerves.

"Okay," Alexandrite nodded, like she was trying to comfort herself with this seeming lack of a bad reaction. "Okay. So, should we do the vegetable garden now or wait? I mean, for all we know the water could be poisoned and the food is the antidote, or maybe even the reverse."

"Now it just sounds like you're being paranoid," Emmer advised her. She gave him a look of exasperation, which he ignored.

"It's the Hunger Games," she reminded him. "Who knows what the hell is happening to our bodies right now? Hey, this whole place could fill with gas if we step on the wrong spot, you don't know."

In actuality, Emmer did know, or at least was confident enough that what she was suggesting wouldn't happen. But none of them knew about the notes. He thought about the paper that was under his foot right now and wondered if the sweat was ruining the paper, making the words on it illegible. He would need to check on that the first chance he got. But how would he be able to check on it without the others seeing? He would have to wait until they were all asleep.

He supposed he could tell them. But at the same time, self preservation was keeping his mouth shut. They could kill him for it. Steal it, damage it, destroy it, anything really. No, for now while they were all safe in here he could probably just keep this to himself.

They were all still debating if they should try the veg when the other Five, Wicker, walked over to the garden, plucked a tomato off a plant, lazily rubbed it off on his shirt and took a large bite out of it. Everyone looked up at him in horror. But he chewed as if this was just an afternoon snack, shrugged at them and insisted, "It tastes okay."

Wicker held it out as if offering each of them a bite. Alba was the first to stand up and walked over to the garden, bent down, plucked a carrot from the ground, wiped it off on her sleeve similar to how Wicker had and took a dainty bite of the tip. She swallowed, looked over at the other three and nodded reassuringly at them.

Alexandrite, Latia and Emmer exchanged glances, still somewhat unsure.

"We should ration," Latia insisted. "Pick all the food off, the food that's ready to be picked, put it in the center and decide how much we should eat. No one gorges themselves as long as we're stuck here."

Alexandrite raised an eyebrow at her. "You seem to know a lot about survival."

Latia shrugged indifferently. "It's just common sense."

"I agree," Emmer spoke up. "It's a good idea."

"I second that," Wicker agreed.

Alexandrite let out a small exhale. "Yeah, it sounds smart. A no-brainer."

Alba nodded at each of them. "Same with the water, we should all be careful with it."

Everyone murmured their own agreement. Then, out of nowhere, Alexandrite just started randomly chuckling. The group gave her a confused look.

Seeing their looks, she explained, still smiling, looking only slightly embarrassed, "Sorry, I just…we're all working together—I mean, we have to, because of circumstance and everything, but still. I don't know why, I just think it's kind of funny that we sort of have our own Career pack. Maybe we should come up with our own nickname. You know, like 'the Losers'. Or 'the Runner Ups'."

"The Five," Wicker offered good naturedly, playing along

"I don't know if that's fair," Emmer spoke up, addressing Alexandrite directly. "I mean, we're hardly the worst of the worst here. I think at least one of us has a chance."

They all gave him a look of disbelief. But he was saved from being questioned or having to further explain himself by Alba chiming in. "What's the opposite of a 'Career'?"

"Unemployment," Emmer answered. "Homeless."

"Screwed," Wicker said.

"The Amateurs," Alexandrite said, sounding as if she had been struck with inspiration and was happy with what she'd come up with. "I mean, that's what I feel like."

Latia cleared her throat and got all of their attention. "How about we spend less time trying to figure out what to call herselves and more time trying to, you know, live. Come on, let's sort through all of this. Who knows how long it's going to last us."

"I'm sorry," Alexandrite deadpanned. "But who elected you the leader?"

Latia gave her a challenging look but showed no emotion. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to take charge?"

"Of course not. I'm just asking how you became the one in charge."

"I'm okay with it," Wicker said. Emmer and Alba didn't argue with him.

Alexandrite rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Latia turned away from her dismissively. "Yeah, whatever. We should also probably build a fire for when night falls."

"Assuming night does actually fall," Alba said. "I remember one Hunger Games where night never came and it was just day for almost two weeks. It kind of messed with the tributes and their whole concept of time."

"Well, assuming that night does come," Emmer said. "Where should we light the fire? What if we accidentally set the whole field on fire?"

"How would we even light a fire?" Alba asked. "Without wood, I mean?"

"The light," Latia said simply, looking around trying to find a good place to start a fire safely. "Sunlight. Look."

She pointed towards the opposite sides of the field. Everyone followed where her finger was and noticed that there were spots of dirt in the far left corner of this space.

"We can use some of the leaves and the water to make a sort of magnifying glass," Latia said, sounding very professional. "We can light a fire over there. We'll have to do it while it's still light out though."

Everyone helped, doing as instructed by Latia. Alexandrite watched as the spark created a small fire, then she walked over to Wicker and whispered to him, "Does she seem different? Like, different to how she was in training?"

Wicker nodded. "Even more serious than before? More in control? I noticed."

"It's not that," Alexandrite said. "I mean, it almost seems like she knows what she's doing. Almost like…almost like she's had more than three days training."

Wicker turned and gave her a curious look. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I mean, you knew her from back home in District 5. Did she have some kind of survival training? Her parents—"

"Her parents were weirdos," Wicker said simply, not a hint of malice in his voice. "Just weirdos. Whatever they taught her, I wouldn't ask her about it. Trust me on that much at least."

Alexandrite looked over at Latia and saw her bend down on her stomach to blow on the fire, causing it to rise slightly. She looked determined, no longer the walking dead that she'd been a few days ago, and not the banshee that she'd been in her interview. This was a Latia that she hadn't seen before. She wasn't sure if this was the real Latia or if it was just the persona that she'd adopted for the games. But either way, she seemed like someone that Alexandrite should want on her side for as long as she could possibly keep her there.

…

Marrow just stared at the little boy from District 8, unsure if he was even there or not. He didn't know why he would imagine the boy looking so afraid, like how the other kids back in District 10 had been taught to look at him by their parents. He'd hated being looked at like that.

He was tempted to ask the little boy if he was real, but then decided that would be a bad idea. After all, why would he want to give someone that kind of power over him? Why would he want to broadcast it to all of Panem? He could still get sponsors, like Hedy had said. All he had to do was take a deep breath and stay focused in here. Then maybe if he was lucky he could find some place to hide where he wouldn't have to hurt anyone. He didn't want to hurt anyone. And based on the way the path had closed up behind him when he walked in here, it seemed like he would never get the chance to do such a thing. Or much else.

He'd come up here to look for something, anything that might help him stay alive while he was trapped in here. Or better yet, maybe the view from up here might allow him to find a way out. He didn't trust that other path that he'd seen on his left, and not just because he wasn't sure if it was real or not, though that would be easy enough to find out. It was because Marrow had no idea where that other path would lead and he didn't want to take any chances, not until he got a better idea about where he was. Then the District 8 boy had shown up.

"No," Marrow said calmly. "Not here."

"I—" the boy said nervously, slowly backing away from him. "No, I—I don't want any trouble—"

"Wait," Marrow realized something. He looked out the window of the tower, down at where the paths were, or rather, had been. They were gone. "What have you done?"

"I just came in here. Where's…where's the boy from District 7?"

"Gone," Marrow said simply, not looking back at him. "Where did he go? There were only two paths, but I didn't see him anywhere."

"He must have been taken somewhere else," Patch realized, swallowing. He felt another cough coming on, but he choked it down. "Maybe we could work together to figure a way out."

Marrow chuckled a little bit. "Together? Why?"

Patch gulped, his throat itching. "We, uh, well, I mean, we're trapped here. Maybe we could come up with ideas that the other didn't think of before. Just for the time being. Until we can go our separate ways."

Marrow couldn't deny the logic of this argument. The little boy obviously wasn't very strong, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to have someone around who could, well, be his seeing eye dog so to speak. Someone to tell him what was real and what wasn't. Of course he wouldn't tell this boy that he needed him for that. He would let him take the lead. Of course, there was a risk there too. The boy could lead him into a deathtrap and not warn him. But for the time being, this was the option that made the most sense. What had Hedy told him one night after training?

"When you're in there you can't overthink everything. As a matter of fact, you're going to need to make split second decisions. Survive."

This seemed like one of those moments. He slowly turned around and faced Patch. "Yeah. Okay. Partners. Temporarily."

Patch nodded, surprised, but trying not to show it. He wondered what was going on in Marrow's head right now. He also wasn't sure that he really wanted to know.

"Great," Patch said. "Do you…do you see anything?"

"No," Marrow said regretfully. "This feels like a dead end. Like we're rats in a cage."

"Ew," Patch shuddered at the thought. He hated rats. There was a cat in a textile factory that was always catching them. And it was a great source of relief whenever Patch saw the cat, Spool, grab a creepy rat and crush it under his paw. "Well, there's got to be a way out."

Despite his better judgment Patch walked up to the left side of Marrow to see what he was seeing. He noticed the different colored bricks in the otherwise grey wall. Some were red, others were purple, black, and brown. He craned his head around to observe the wall. But then Patch began to notice a pattern: three red bricks stacked on top of each other like downward steps, a purple, a space, another purple, four blacks stacked on top of each other in the shape of a box, a single brown, a lot of space and then the pattern started all over again. Patch walked back down the staircase and started to walk around the open space. The pattern was everywhere. There really was a pattern. That couldn't have been just a random design choice.

"What is it?" Marrow called down to him.

"I'm not sure," Patch answered honestly. "It could be nonsense, it could mean everything."

Patch coughed quickly into his fist, but placed a hand on his chest to steady his breathing.

"Are you okay?" Marrow asked.

"I'm fine," Patch answered, his voice sounding rough. "These bricks on the wall make a pattern. A color pattern."

"Colors?"

"Yeah. Maybe there's a meaning behind it. Colors have meanings. Red is passion, love and anger. Purple is power, ambition, royalty. Black is elegance and wealth. Brown is comfort, safety and stability. Then there's the grey that surrounds this place, that's wisdom."

"Maybe it's a story," Marrow suggested.

Patch looked up at him, surprised by his suggestion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look," Marrow pointed directly ahead at the pattern. Patch followed his line of sight. "Three red steps, that could be about people climbing somewhere. Maybe over each other, or fighting. Maybe it's three people fighting over power. And there's two leaders, the purple bricks who are on opposite sides. Maybe the black box is treasure, or something. And the brown brick is like a safe passage somewhere. And it's all on a grey surface because this is a warning to us. Advice."

Patch looked up at him in disbelief. Marrow looked down at him and shrugged.

Patch looked around the room again, sighed and admitted to himself, "We're gonna be here a while."

…

When evening came everyone either sat crisscrossed or laid on their backs around the tiny, man-made fire pit with the weak, but fairly effective fire they'd all helped get going. They all watched as the anthem played and the faces of the tributes who died that day appeared in the sky:

Both tributes from District 3, the boy from District 6, the girl from District 7, Maizie Nanahara, and the boys and girls from Districts 11 and 12.

Everyone turned to Emmer and Alba to see their reactions. Alba looked almost relieved, explaining simply, "He wasn't a very good guy."

There was clearly a lot that she wasn't saying, but based on their time in training where they'd gotten a fairly good sense of what the other tributes were like, they could all fill in the blanks themselves.

Emmer on the other hand looked like he was going to be sick.

"Are you okay?" Alexandrite asked him, her voice surprisingly gentle. She might have spoken to Maizie twice, and based on those minimal interactions she could probably accurately deduce that she and Emmer hadn't bonded in their time together. But still, she had been District 9, too. And now she was just gone.

Emmer shook his head and started breathing heavily. "I don't—she always—she always got away back in Nine, I don't know how—"

Emmer got on his hands and knees and continued to breathe heavily, trying to gain some composure.

"Give him some space," Latia instructed everyone.

Emmer continued to breathe heavily. Why didn't he make sure that she was behind him? Why didn't he drag her along? Who had killed her? It could have been anyone. She could have just fallen and hit her head for all he knew. But he didn't know, that was the thing. Because for all his talk about doing all of this for the people of District 9, he'd run away, only thinking about himself and not his district partner.

"I don't—" he panted out again. "Something's wrong, I can't—I don't know what's wrong. I didn't—I didn't know her—I don't even think I liked her—"

"Yeah," Alexandrite said, trying to rub his back in an attempt to comfort him. "No offense, she seemed like the loner type. But, look, it's gonna be okay."

"Don't say that," he pleaded. "Don't say that. You were right, this is so stupid. This is so, so, so, so stupid, why did I do this? No one in District 9 cares, they knew this was gonna happen to Maizie and they didn't care, no one cares! She was right, they're all just a bunch of animals. I never should have done this. Why am I doing this? I need to leave. I need to get out. I need to get out. This was a terrible idea."

"Okay," Alexandrite said again. "We're walking over to the pond, you're gonna get some water, and hopefully that'll calm you down. Alright? Let's go."

"I'll go with you," Alba said, standing up.

Alexandrite gave her a grateful look and mouthed, "Please."

The two girls led him over to the water, got him on his knees, placed his hands in the water, pushed them together so they would make a bowl and brought it up to his face.

"Drink," Alba insisted. "Drink, come on."

Emmer didn't drink the water, instead he used the water in his hands to drench his entire face. He blinked, feeling like he was snapped out of a trance, but only slightly. "Oh God, what have I done? What have we done?"

He turned to his right and looked up at Alexandrite. "You know, my district has had one whole victor in almost a quarter of a century. Demetria Langford. She was about your age," he turned and said to Alba before looking down at the water. "No one knew she existed. Not until she was about nine or ten, I think. Her parents kept her hidden, her mother pretended to miscarry so that she would never have to be in the Hunger Games. No one in Nine likes to talk about it because the Capitol wants to pretend it didn't happen. That some nowhere dump like District 9 got away with deceiving them for so long. Not even all of the district, it was just a lady and her boyfriend. They were thrown in jail and eventually executed and Demetria was sent to live in the children's homes. Like me."

This time Emmer did actually scoop some water into his hands and brought it up to drink it, feeling relieved when the water went down his throat. Without looking at either of them, he continued. "I think that's why I did this. Her. She inspired me. She had to have twice as many slips in the reaping as punishment for what her parents did and she survived, then she didn't and…it was my home. My parents, they moved into her home after her parents' arrest. She came back, broke into the house, her real home and she hid in the closet where she was forced to hide all those times peacekeepers would randomly search the house. She did it in my closet, my room used to be hers. I'm the one who found her. Five years old and I saw my first dead body. Her mouth was covered in nightlock berry juice. The juice looked like evil ooze…"

Emmer was crying now. He tried to wipe his eyes off with the back of his hand. "People said she cursed our house. That's why my parents died. That's why I ended up in the same children's home. I was five. And ever since I've just felt this absurd, moronic connection to her. I think I told myself that I could…I could win when she couldn't in the end. I could make it out alive. To the end. The end of my life. I was so stupid! I'm such a stupid, stupid, ass!"

He started hitting his head over and over again. "I haven't let myself think about that in years. Every time it tries to come up, I've just shut it down. I've tried to block it out and ignore it, but now I'm here, and it's my own fault. What is wrong with me!"

No one had an answer. No one had a good answer for any of this.