13.
The Night Before the Games
Isley kept the blueprints for what would have been that year's arena on a drive and was currently displaying them on the television screen in the living room as the two of them sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Emmer on the right, Isley on the left.
Emmer used the buttons on the remote to flip through them in amazement. What he was seeing absolutely fascinated him. "Two levels."
"All of my arenas had multiple levels," Isley said, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms across his chest.
There were four different paths that took the tributes away from the Cornucopia, or as the plans called them, 'vivariums'. Emmer looked at the spiral path down in the south vivarium, which set it apart from the others whose paths were straight, even if they did split off in certain parts. Not to mention at the start of the spiral path was an image of a snowflake.
"What does that mean?" Emmer asked, pointing to the screen.
Isley shrugged in disinterest. "Don't worry about it."
"It's just a question."
Isley rolled his eyes. "I was going to make that area very cold. It was supposed to get warmer when you solved a puzzle."
"What kind of puzzle?" Emmer asked, fascinated.
Isley hesitated for a moment, then he sighed and seemed to decide that there was really no point in holding back now. After all, they weren't gonna use his design, someone should see all his hard work on this remarkable project.
"Like with all my other Games, there's puzzles all over the arena," Isley responded. "Or at least there would have been. Solving them is the only way to get through."
"Is that why there's dead ends everywhere?" Emmer asked, noticing the four paths that lead away from the Cornucopia to four individual vivariums and how the places they led to showed no other ways out, at least on the surface. "The exits are hidden?"
"Mm-hmm," Isley responded, nodding.
"The puzzles are the key," Emmer said, almost to himself. "I remember one year you made it so the tributes had to move stones over a button and only a certain amount of weight could open the door. In some cases the stones wouldn't be anywhere close to where the tributes were. Another where you had to find a way to light torches just to see the path when, again, there was very little nearby to make a fire with. As if the Hunger Games need to be any more of a test in resourcefulness. So, what would have been in store for us this time?"
"Well," Isley leaned forward, starting to sound like he was in a better mood, something Emmer tried hard not to smile at. He was perking up, Emmer realized, because this was where he shined, this was his element. He wasn't a mentor, he was a creator. A pathmaker. Some might call him more of a mass murderer, but at the moment, he was simply an artist explaining the complexities of his work.
"See up there, in the north vivarium?"
"The playground? Yeah."
"Well, there's a picture on the wall that's a guide for how to get out. I was inspired by the cave paintings of ancient man for that one. After you solve it, you're taken through a tunnel, reminiscent of the mine shafts of District 12. Then eventually they, meaning the tributes, would get to a door, and on that door is a klotski. It's a kind of sliding block puzzle."
"I've never even heard of one of those before. So, what's on the other side? Once you get past that."
Isley smiled slyly. "Well, I haven't told you the best part. You see, down there, in the shaft, if you step on a certain spot, a booby trap gets triggered and that tiny, barely lit space starts to fill with sand."
"So there's incentive to solve it quickly."
"Absolutely." Isley leaned forward, smiling excitedly. "Not only that, but at the center of the puzzle is the key you have to use to unlock that door."
"Okay, so assuming you're clever, quick and careful enough to survive all of that—"
"On the other side there's a wide plain that gives the impression that it goes on forever. It tests the tribute's attention span, discipline and resolve to see how long they're willing to go on for in order to see what's on the other side."
Emmer raised an eyebrow at him. "That's it?"
Isley nodded.
"And how long does that actually go on for? In real time?"
"A while. But the thing is, that area is connected to all the other vivariums."
Emmer's eyes widened even more as Isley continued.
"The south vivarium, as I said earlier, I designed so that it would get colder and colder as you went on."
"Then what's the incentive to keep going?"
"Because you can't go back the way you came. Not for hours, anyway. Besides, the only way out of my arenas is forward, you know that. And at the center of this vivarium, where it's at its coldest and it's literally all ice, whoever finds themself in that path sees their reflection in the ice walls. Only the reflections are all wrong. And figuring out what's wrong with those reflections is the key to getting out of there. Once you do that, a door opens up, allowing you a way out of the cold. But you barely have the time to feel relieved when you realize that you're on the edge of a cliff with rushing water at the bottom."
Emmer let out a dark chuckle. "And how do your brains get you out of that one?"
"That one is more about hand-eye coordination and just trying not to lose your mind. There are many holds in the cliff going down, but the tribute has to differentiate between an actual, man-made hold and a slippery crack that could cause them to lose their grip and fall."
"Wow. Okay, so what happens if you manage to get to the bottom?"
Isley smiled. "You have to find a way to cross the water. "And there's a way. It's all around the tribute. They just have to be savvy enough to figure it out. And once they've crossed then they just start walking. Just like with the plains."
Emmer nodded. "Okay. I think I see where this is going. And what about the east and the west? What's going on there?"
Isley shrugged slightly. "Admittedly I got a little lazy with the east vivarium. It's basically just boring foliage on the walls. There's nothing there. I wanted to see how long a tribute would search before giving up and realizing it's a dead end."
"This whole arena is starting to feel more like a thought experiment than anything."
"Hey, if we're gonna demand that people sacrifice their children, why should it have to be a bloodbath? That way when you win it means you're the smartest and fastest, not just the best killer."
Emmer blinked at him, feeling offended. "Oh wow. So Maizie was right. You really just see us as lab rats."
"Don't, alright," Isley groaned. "It's my job, just like your job is baking bread and tending to wheat fields. Or it was."
"Yes, but either way, you have options," Emmer pointed out to him, his temper rising. "You can be doing anything else. Our job descriptions are pretty much limited to what district we're from. Maybe some of us in Nine don't even like bread. Maybe we can't process it and it gives us stomach problems."
"Wait, really?"
"Yes. Like me, it's been a problem ever since I was a child. Isley, you know what, whatever. There's really no point. You're Capitol, you're not gonna get it."
"Oh, what don't I get? I wasn't born this morning, I know your life is hard—I know life for people in the districts is hard, it's painful and brutal and terrible, and the Games don't really help just because there's a cash prize at the end. I know that. But what do you think? Do you think there are people rioting in the streets calling for district children's blood? There are people who watch these games who weren't even alive during the Dark Days. They're not emotionally invested, they don't want retribution, this is just a tradition to them. It's like a family dinner or a monthly inspection. It's not personal."
"You really picked an excellent way to make me feel less human," Emmer deadpanned.
"Oh grow up. What? You think that if enough Capitol citizens marched in the streets against the Games then, what? They'd stop? No. It's just like with anything else, it's not up to the people, it's up to the people in charge, which isn't even me, by the way, not even when I was Head Gamemaker. I served at the pleasure of my president—the president. And it was that lack of pleasure, along with some meddling from a jealous, manipulative colleague that got me fired and stuck doing this job that yes, I agree, I'm completely failing at, and I'm sorry. I am. I don't like failing, but this is where we both are, where all three of us are. I'm sorry."
Isley looked away from Emmer, stood up, headed towards the bar and poured himself a drink, which he downed in one gulp, seemingly not in a hurry to return to his seat.
Emmer just sat there, unsure of what else there was to say. They were never going to agree on this, he knew that much, and how much longer would they really have to be in each other's lives anyway? So why waste time arguing, really? After all, he'd been right, Isley would never really get it. Not until he had to go into the arena himself, and that would never happen.
"So," Emmer said, clearing his throat. "What about the west? What would have been waiting for us there?"
Emmer thought he heard Isley sigh as he watched him straighten his shoulders and turn around to tell him…
…
Everyone did eventually get to sleep that night, they just didn't sleep well, Emmer especially. He just kept having nightmares, ones he hadn't had in years, only instead of Demetria in his room with black nightlock juice coming from her mouth, it was Maizie.
The next morning everyone walked around, looking for a way out of there. Everyone except for Emmer, he just sat there in the center of the field, staring into space, feeling drained and unsure. Part of him wanted to lay down on his back and just never get back up. It would be so easy to do. It was what he wanted to do.
"Hey," came a gentle voice on his left. He didn't look over to see who it was, but he knew it was one of the girls. "You can't sit here forever, you know."
Emmer didn't respond. She sighed and continued. "Listen, eventually that food's gonna run out and we're gonna need to get out of here. I mean, unless their plan is to keep us here and force us to fight to the death. I don't know about you, but I'm not waiting around to find out if that's what's gonna happen. I don't know you. I don't really know anyone here to be honest aside from the Fives, and even that's kind of, well…The point is, I don't want to leave you behind. Not if I don't have to. Not in this state, alright? So please don't put me in a position where I might have to. Get up, help us figure this thing out, and who knows? We might…I mean, best case scenario, we all get killed off one by one and don't have to lay a hand on each other. That sounds nice, right?"
Emmer slowly looked to his left and up into the face of the District 1 girl—Alexandrite, who was kneeling down next to him so that they could be at eye-level. Since they'd all woken up, she seemed to have undone her braid and had put it up in a ponytail instead. She had a serious and concerned look on her face.
Emmer gestured slightly for her to come forward. Alexandrite looked confused, but Emmer gestured again. Though clearly hesitant, she slowly bent down towards him. Emmer leaned forward and whispered into her ear as quietly as he could, his voice hoarse, "You want out? Do you really want to leave this place?"
Alexandrite moved away and gave him a confused look. She looked around to see if any of the others were listening in. She looked back at him and nodded slightly.
Emmer gave her a serious expression. He focused his attention on his boots and slipped them off, setting them off to the side and stretching his legs out in front of him.
"Emmer?" she asked curiously. "What are you—?"
He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. He leaned back on his palms, threw his head back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. All Alexandrite could do was just look at him with slightly nervous curiosity.
"Is this phase one?" she asked hesitantly. "I don't—"
"You know Isley said something pretty interesting," Emmer began, surprised at how calm he was. "He said that the arena plans aren't always set in stone. They change things as the tributes go. For instance, they might decide to cause a thunderstorm to force two popular tributes together. Isn't that interesting? I mean, imagine this, even if you had access to all the answers, it still wouldn't matter. Isley said he didn't like that so he decided to make a rule against it when he was in charge. But, he's not in charge anymore, is he?"
"Do you—" she began, then she stopped herself. He looked up at her and saw her eyes go wide with realization as she finally seemed to understand what he was trying to say to her. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Do you know something? You're afraid the Gamemakers will mess with us if you say it out loud."
He pulled his shoes towards him, lifting up the right boot as if to put it back on, tilted it so that the hole was facing towards him. He reached inside to retrieve the piece of paper and tucked it tightly into his sleeve before pulling his hand out, careful to make sure the paper didn't fall out again as he put his shoes back on.
He turned to Alexandrite to see if she'd caught what he'd just done. By the look on her face it was clear that she knew that he had done something.
He leaned back over to her and whispered, "Do me a favor, and please trust me: let me rest my head on your knees and cover my head while I do it. Make sure that no one else sees me. Please, trust me."
"I—" Alexandrite whispered back. "Uh, okay."
Emmer made a loud sobbing sound that he was sure got the attention of the others, but he didn't look up to check. He just placed his arms across Alexandrite's lap and rested his forehead against them. He made his body shake to add to the effect, but thankfully, and much to his relief Alexandrite understood what he was trying to do and wrapped her arms around him. Confident that she was blocking people's view of him, he slipped the paper out of his sleeve and quickly unfolded it. He scrolled down the bullet points until he found what he was looking for:
Western Vivarium
The way out is in the pond—the one thing that is not like the others
It was easier than he thought it would be. Continuing to sob, he quickly folded the paper back up and pushed it back into his sleeve. He slowly lifted his head and made a show of wiping his eyes and calming himself down.
"Will you take me to the pond, please?" Emmer asked, intentionally sounding weak.
Alexandrite nodded and helped him up, although he didn't really need it.
As they walked past, Alba watched them and asked, "Is everything okay?"
Alexandrite just waved her off, assuring her that everything was alright. They made their way to the pond and Emmer got down on his knees and looked into the water. Alexandrite did the same and tried to follow his line of sight.
"What is it?" she asked.
"There's a lever or something down there," Emmer responded, his tone hushed. There was a strong determination suddenly coming over him that he didn't really understand, but he decided to ride it all the way out of here if he could. "I'm sure of it."
He scanned the pond, looking at all the rocks and weeds, trying to find the one thing that was not like the others. What did that mean? "One of these things doesn't belong in this pond. That's the way out."
"Meaning what? It's the wrong color? It's fake?"
"That could be it. But how could you tell? Wait, the feel. Of course."
"What do you me—what are you doing?" She asked, scandalized, her eyes going wide.
Emmer started to carefully take off his jacket and shirt so that the paper didn't fall out. As he started to take his pants off, Emmer casually insisted, "Look away if you don't like it."
"And you don't think there's an easier way to do this?"
"What is he doing?" Wicker asked, coming closer to them.
"Looking for something," she responded quickly. "He's testing a theory. A possibly crazy theory."
"How do you propose we look?" Emmer asked her. Alexandrite didn't have a better suggestion, not for the moment at least. "Right. Okay, here I go."
"That's our drinking water," Latia chastised, sounding panicked.
Emmer ignored her and submerged himself completely underneath the water, which was about three feet deep, forcing him to bend down slightly. He quickly felt around the mud at the bottom, touching the weeds and rocks, determined to hold his breath as long as he could. Eventually he grabbed a weed that felt strange to him, like it wasn't a plant at all. It felt hard, like plastic. This was the one! With all the strength he could muster, he wrapped his fist around the plant and yanked it from its roots.
By that time he desperately needed to get up for air as he raised the weed over his head, smiling victoriously. But he didn't have a lot of time to celebrate as he heard a strange noise. It sounded like something was being sucked through a vacuum, like one of the street cleaners in Districts 1 and 5. They all looked around to see where that sound was coming from, but they quickly realized that—
"It's the pond," Alexandrite realized out loud. "Emmer, get out!"
He didn't need to be told twice as he quickly rushed out of there and saw the pond turn into a mini whirlpool as the water quickly drained. They all watched, mystified as the last of the water went down a newly formed sinkhole that looked large enough for one person to fit through. They all gathered around it, looking down. Then they all looked around to see if any of the walls had moved. They hadn't.
"Please tell me that's not—" Alba began.
"I think it is," Wicker said calmly.
Alexandrite, sounding like she had resigned herself to this unpleasant fact, said what they had all realized out loud: "That hole in the ground is our only way out of here. Hooray."
…
Meanwhile, in the east vivarium, Dove, Marrow's district partner, was being killed.
After a day of boredom, walking and dehydration, she heard a strange noise. It was a growl, quickly followed by metal scraping against itself. But Dove didn't have a chance to form any theories about what it might have been as it threw her against a wall, crushing her skull before she even had time to be shocked and frightened of its monstrous appearance.
Registering that she was dead, the thing simply walked away. It was neither eager nor dreading finding its next prey. It didn't have emotions or even instincts, it had functions, as all machines do. It was also the one piece of this maze that Tiberius Isley Longwell could not take credit for, as much as he might have liked to. The brutal and even unnecessary killing of a tribute aside, creatively speaking, it really was a work of art.
Somewhere out there, someone should have been proud. They had done a good job.