14.

Despite their excitement, Patch and Marrow decided that it would be best to get some sleep. After all, they needed to be well rested to explore whatever it was they were walking into. It could be safe passage, it could very well be the thing that ended up killing them both. Needless to say, they took their time getting down there.

Marrow actually needed a minute before it was time to leave, looking around the space that had been their home the first day of the Games. It appeared he'd gotten somewhat attached to it, much to his own surprise. Or at the very least, it became what was familiar to him. And soon enough they were going to be surrounded by things that were very much not familiar, and the thought made him nervous.

"Are you ready?" Patch asked tentatively. Marrow nodded and stood by the hatch. It was clear by the way he was standing there for longer than Patch might have deemed necessary what he was saying: after you. But oh no, there was no way Patch was leading the way when Marrow was the size of a mountain. Marrow didn't know how to explain to him that it was safer for them both if Patch led the way. They would be less likely to go down a wrong path because Marrow thought he saw something that he hadn't. But he really couldn't explain that without giving away the truth about his silly head, so with much hesitation, he'd gone in first. When he was at the bottom of the metal ladder, Patch handed him the containers, one by one, very carefully, and then, with one more look around, finding it hard to believe that they were really going forward, or at least in a different direction, Patch took a deep breath and headed down.

Marrow held the food while Patch held the water, one of which he'd marked with an 'X' by scraping it against the metal staircase of the watchtower to indicate that it was his. After it was established who would hold what, Patch and Marrow looked forward at the narrow, dimly lit path that they were forcing themselves to go down.

"What if it's a dead end?" Marrow suggested cautiously.

"Then we'll just go back," Patch reassured him. "The hatch door is still open and I don't know how it would get closed. Let's just keep going, okay? Let's see what we can see."

"Can you—" Marrow hesitated. Damn his silly head. The words were always coming out before he could think of the right thing to say.

Then suddenly Hedy appeared—no, it wasn't Hedy, dammit! It was his stupid, silly head. Well, whatever it was politely suggested to him, "You should tell him that you have problems with your vision. That you've always had bad eyesight and can't see far away."

It was a perfectly plausible explanation. And since it came from his own silly little head, he could take comfort in knowing that even if he was mad, at least he was still somewhat sensible, maybe even smart.

"I have problems with my eyesight," Marrow said, hoping he sounded convincing. "I might, well, I might think I see something ahead that isn't there because it's too far away, but—"

"My eyesight's arguably not much better than yours," Patch said, not looking wholly convinced by his explanation as he slowly backed away from Marrow. "I trust you."

"No you don't," Marrow said miserably, shaking his head. "Patch, please. You need to believe me about this. It's better if you take the lead."

"No," Patch said firmly. "No. You go or we stay here."

"Patch," Marrow argued. "Please, I'm not strong like you think. My vision can't be trusted. Okay? It just can't. Yours can. That's all it is. I'm not going to hurt you when your back is turned. I promise. I want to help you, but you can't trust my eyes. I can't even trust my eyes. I want you to survive, okay? If I can't and Dove can't, then I want it to be you."

"Who's Dove—oh," Patch realized. "Your district partner. I forgot that there are some people who are, you know, not rooting for their district partner to fail."

"Is Inga really as bad as she seems?"

"She doesn't do her reputation justice," Patch said bitterly. "She undersells herself."

That made Marrow chuckle a little. "You're smart for someone so young."

"I'm not that young," Patch said defensively.

"You're the youngest volunteer. And you really did that to save someone my age? That's the amazing thing. It's brave."

"Brave?" That genuinely took Patch by surprise. "I think you might be the first one who's called me brave. Everyone else just wants to tell me the odds. What makes you think that it's brave? Maybe I'm just selfish? I wanted to win, I wanted glory."

"No," Marrow shook his head. "Not selfish. Selfless. At a time like this, a Hunger Games like this, it's easy to be selfish. You could have been. You could have saved yourself just by doing nothing."

Patch nodded and placed Marrow's water bottle down, unscrewed the lid and took a tiny sip of his water. After he did so, he coughed a little into his hand. No blood, thank goodness.

"You cough a lot," Marrow observed again. His seemingly bad eyes were dangerously observant. He looked over Patch's shoulder and nodded his head slightly like he was working something out based on evidence that was hanging up on some invisible wall behind him. "You really do. I knew a lot of people with that cough five years ago during the flu. I think I knew what it was, but I just assumed it was my h—eyes playing tricks on me. But it wasn't. You're sick. And since it was so easy for you to be selfless, can I assume you don't have much time left?"

Patch blinked up at him defiantly, clenching his fists at his sides. "My time isn't up yet. The Games have barely started."

Marrow smiled sadly at him and nodded. He looked over his shoulder again and whatever he saw gave him a troubled expression while he still wasn't looking at Patch. "Huh. That is funny."

"What's funny?" Patch asked testily.

Marrow still didn't look at him. "Nothing."

"No, what is it?"

Marrow forced himself to look back at Patch, though it looked like it took great effort. The thing that was pretending to be Hedy had pointed out something fairly profound to him: "His body is broken, but his mind is sharp. But for you it's the opposite. It's as if your minds and bodies are working against their own survival. In a way, it's almost sort of perfect that you found each other."

Patch watched Marrow curiously as he seemed to be pondering what would be the best thing to say next. But Patch didn't give him a chance to find out what that thing was. "Is there really something wrong with your eyes?"

Marrow let out a tiny exhale. Really, what was the point in trying to hide it anymore? And from Patch of all people? Marrow was worried he would use it against him, but then again, theoretically, Marrow could easily overpower him, so, really, like Hedy said, they were evenly matched. They both had an advantage and disadvantage over each other. And they certainly needed each other now. And honestly, who cared if the whole country knew? What were they going to do? Ship him off somewhere to be forgotten about where he would eventually die? The thought almost made him laugh.

"There's something wrong with my whole brain," Marrow explained, really surprising himself with how steady his voice was. How easily the words just came out. "I can't tell what's real or what's not. You might not even be real for all I know. I need help just knowing that the person in front of me is even talking to me and saying what I think they're saying."

Patch felt his whole body relax, though he wasn't quite sure why. After all, this huge guy who might have turned out to be Patch's only hope for surviving even just a little bit longer than he would have otherwise (until that very last moment where he ultimately decided that he didn't want to be anymore) was admitting to Patch that he was unstable. At the same time, knowing that there was someone else in here that was sick, even if it wasn't in the same way that he was, someone who had to try to survive the Hunger Games even with their sickness trying to hold them back, made him feel better. It was only a little bit, and there was, of course, that new added stressor of what Marrow might do because of his sickness. But then again, maybe that was a problem for when they got out of the dark tunnel. If they managed to get out.

Priorities. First they get out, then, after they overcome whatever was waiting for them on the other side, then maybe he would find the time to worry about Marrow's mind.

"I'll lead the way," Patch said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded. He watched as a grateful look passed over Marrow's face as he allowed Patch to go past him. "I'll tell you if I see anything, okay?"

"Okay," Marrow responded, almost sounding, at least to Patch, like the two of them were actually the same age, maybe even the same size.

They slowly walked forward, careful and on guard, unsure of what was waiting for them at the end of this path. Every so often, Patch called back to let Marrow know that everything was fine. He wasn't sure how long they'd been walking when they saw what had to be the end of the line. It was a large metal door. On the door, in the center, was a strange design; with several yellow blocks—long, short, small—surrounded by one slightly larger red one.

"Great," Patch groaned. "More block riddles."

"We're blocked," Marrow chuckled somewhat awkwardly. "Relax." Marrow placed a large hand on Patch's left shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "If this is the worst that we face, another stupid riddle, I think we're doing fine."

"Okay," Patch sighed, walking towards the door. But as he took that next step, he felt like he'd stepped into a very shallow hole and heard a slight click sound.

"Patch," Marrow said hesitantly, trying to keep calm.

"Yeah," Patch said, swallowing nervously. "I heard it too."

"What was it?" Marrow asked.

"I…don't know. And I don't want to find out."

"We should solve this puzzle. And fast."

"Let's."

The two got to work as quickly as possible. It didn't take them long to figure out that the objective was to get the red square out through the small opening at the bottom that was roughly the same size. While they worked, letting out curses every time a move they tried didn't work, they were almost willfully unaware that there was sand pouring out from holes in the ground, small amounts at first, but it wouldn't be small for long.

…

Nona somehow had a feeling that if she didn't do this, then the Career Pack was going to do it for her.

"Guys," she announced first thing in the morning, getting all of their attention. "I have an idea, but I need you to keep an open mind. I was thinking about taking my sword and a pack and scouting whatever's behind the south wall. We can't stay here forever."

Much to her surprise, no one really disagreed with her. They saw some logic in what she was saying. And, she thought bitterly to herself, if she died out there she would be one less tribute to compete with. One less bullet in the gun. How stupid was she to think that these people were her friends, or that they would all remain friends in here?

Servius, on the other hand, the only one who knew why she was really doing this, had looked at her like she was crazy. He took the opportunity while she was picking through the cornucopia for the perfect pack to question her about it without the others listening in.

"What are you doing?" he whispered. "I've seen you with a sword. You can fight her and win. I mean, if you're that scared of her—"

"No," Nona said firmly, still trying to keep her voice low. "So far, all she's done is try to intimidate me, she hasn't even really threatened me yet. I can't just execute someone—"

"Then don't. Just wound her instead of running away on a 'scouting mission'."

"I can't do that either. Again, she hasn't actually attacked me yet—"

"Nona," Servius sounded exasperated now. "You know you sound like a child right?"

Nona blinked at him, insulted, then looked away.

Servius, however, was having none of it. "Oh come on—"

"These aren't the Games that I grew up with," she insisted, the amount of sleep she hadn't gotten the night before suddenly felt like it was catching up with her. "Okay? These aren't the Longwell Games. It's brutal, it's terrifying—"

"It's the truth. Those weren't real Hunger Games. That was some architect trying to prove to the world how smart and inventive he was. At the end of the day, no one wants to watch tributes outsmart each other, they want to watch us fight to the death."

She looked up at him incredulously. "And you're okay with that?"

He chuckled bitterly. "Okay? Okay with—what does it matter how I feel? How you feel, how anyone feels? This is the way it is and it's not changing any time soon, and anyone who told you differently is a con. And you know what, why did you practice with a sword all these years if you deplore violence so much? Why did you get so good at it? Was it—oh, no, Nona…"

She looked away, embarrassed. Again, he'd figured her out right away, remembering that she'd often talked about her hero, the victor of the first ever Hunger Games who came from their very own district, Laelius Booth, Lale to his friends. He'd been a year younger than Nona was now and had trained to be a blacksmith all his life, which had led to him not only becoming very strong, but very handy with a sword. He'd had access to one in the arena, picked it up and with practically inhuman grace and swiftness, sliced through every tribute who came at him. Lale had found somewhere to hide while everyone else killed each other until it was just down to him and one other tribute who, of course, he dispatched with ease. It was over in two days and he'd accepted his win with silent, sober dignity.

Nona had admired him because he'd won only by killing people in self defense, and she'd always wanted to win that way. So she'd picked up a sword and ignored what literally everyone had told her about what a deadly weapon it was, that it was designed for killing, not a tool for a noble warrior's survival like she'd always wanted it to be.

It was stupidly occurring to Nona for the first time that she hadn't even prepared herself to take a life if she had no other option. All these years of watching the Hunger Games, all she'd ever dreamed about was being a victor, of being held up as a hero to her district, never thinking about what it would take to be an actual victor.

For years other people, her own family, had tried to warn her about what that price would be. But she'd just ignored them and bought into the fairytale, the stories like one from the tomes of the Old Gods that Grandfather had told her. She was a stupid child who had put herself in a terrible position where she might actually have to take a person's life. She'd actually thought that the promise she'd made to Grandfather would make it impossible for her to have to kill anyone. She was a fool.

"Nona," Servius said, sounding like he found her pitiful.

"Don't," she insisted, turning her back on him. "Just don't. And don't worry about me. If I don't come back then maybe it means I'm either lost or dead. Then none of you have to worry about the tribute with the best training score. One less bullet in the gun…"

He pulled her in for a tight hug, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him as well. He was sad about the possibility of losing her, she believed that wholeheartedly. It was the same way that she would feel at the thought of something happening to him. She was a little piece of home for him, the closest thing to family that he had in here, just like he was for her. An exaggeration, but if this was the last time that they ever saw each other, what would getting a little sappy over the prospect of losing each other really hurt?

So here she was less than an hour later, sparing one last glance back at her fellow Careers who were lined up shoulder to shoulder, watching her carefully with curiosity and concern (or in Inga's case, excitement) before going through the southern wall. As soon as the sixty seconds were up, the wall shut behind her. She looked behind her, firmly gripping the hilt of the sword, already feeling safer since there was a thick wall between her and Inga. In fact, she decided to use that time to catch up on some rest. The moment she laid down against the wall, her eyes became heavy and she fell right to sleep. Worrying about having your throat slit could really wear a person out.

She didn't know how long she slept when she finally woke back up. But she stretched her arms and decided to start walking. There was nothing here, just a long, curved gray pathway. But she started to notice the further along she went, the more she started to feel cold. In fact, before long she was freezing. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body, still gripping the hilt of her sword tightly as she walked.

She had been tempted to go back where it was warmer so many times, but the more she thought about it the more vivid Inga's face became in her mind. She could imagine a wicked smile spreading across her face as she waited for Nona to return. She knew she was being paranoid, but she didn't care. She kept on walking.

Eventually she found herself in a circular room covered wall to wall with mirrors. No, not mirrors—ice? Nona raised her sword in a somewhat ridiculous attempt to tap the surface with the tip of her sword to find out which it was. But then she noticed that, whatever she was looking at, her reflection in it was all wrong. She was raising her sword with her right hand, but it was showing her raising it in her left. That didn't make any sense. What was going on? Whatever it was she had to figure it out fast because she was seeing her breath. How long before her fingers and toes started to fall off?

…

Inga was already planning on killing a few of the others as soon as they all went to sleep when the eastern door opened and that thing came out.

It looked like, what did it look like? It was nearly as tall as the wall that it had come through and it looked like it had the head of a bull, but the body of a, what, a robot? It was made entirely of metal with a large jaw exposing what looked like its razor sharp teeth. Before she had the time to blink, it had let out a loud sound that sounded like a mixture of a wild animal's roar and a machine in one of the factories back in Eight hard at work. For maybe the first time in her life, Inga was actually terrified.

The others scrambled, but the thing grabbed and crushed Grant with its jaws, killing him almost instantly. Then it drove one of its sharp metal horns into the chest of Lee. The remaining Careers scattered. Then by some miracle the other walls had opened up, and because there was no way they were going back where that thing had come in, they went for the east wall and ran as fast as they could, thanking whoever was listening that the wall had shut just in time.

"Oh no," Servius realized.

"What?" Sky asked, catching her breath.

"Nona. She has no idea. She's still out there."

"Then it sounds like she's safer than Lee and Grant were," Sky said bitterly. "Come on, let's go before that thing catches up to us. These are definitely not Longwell's Games anymore…"

"No," Inga agreed, following behind them. "But it's still a game of survival all the same."

Neither one of them responded, they just exchanged a glance and kept on walking, not looking back at her. But both were suddenly wondering if having their backs to her was such a good idea.