17.

Nona had needed to take a deep breath. She closed her eyes, bent down on her knees and prayed. She wasn't really sure what she was praying for, but she raised her chin up to the sky, took another deep breath and imagined going home. After doing that for a few moments, she opened her eyes, suddenly filled with a newfound determination. She was getting out of here. She was going home. She was going to live and she was going to become the hero that she'd always wanted to be. She was going to make her mother and grandfather proud.

She looked around for a little while, and after accepting that jumping wasn't an option, decided that the safest way to get down would be to climb. She had some experience climbing thanks to training back in school so it wasn't as hard as it probably would have been otherwise. She slid her sword back in the scabbard and tried to ignore how ridiculous she must have looked with the way it was sticking out of the pack when she slipped the straps back over her shoulders.

She almost slipped several times, but she managed to get to the ground with only a few scrapes. She exhaled with relief. Now she had to think of a way to get across that damn rushing river. She looked around and behind her she saw that there were several vines entangled into the cliff. But one looked a little thicker than the others. A large smile spread across her face.

She managed to pull the rope down, lightly swung it across the river to test it, was happy to see that it was still very much attached to the cliff and swung right back. When it did, she gripped it tight, got up on a high enough rock that was nearby, jumped on and swung, extremely careful not to lose her sword as she did so. When her feet landed on the ground, she pumped her fist in the air and whooped. She looked straight ahead and saw that there was a cave. Nona whipped her sword out and held it up defensively as she walked in, ready to face whatever was in there, since it just had to be the only way out.

It was pitch black for a few minutes until she saw a spot of light, then she started to walk faster. When she walked into the light, she was greeted by the sight of a wide open field. Her smile only got wider. Someone, somewhere had answered her prayers. The rest was up to her. And right about now she felt like she could do anything.

…

Everyone decided to camp out that night. They looked up at the sky and watched as the faces of that day's fallen tributes appeared.

Grant from District 1, Servius from District 2, Sky from District 4, Leeward from District 4, and Dove from District 10.

Every one of the Amateurs had decided to take their clothes off and hang them up on the branches of a nearby tree as a way to dry off and not get sick. By that time they and their garments were dried, albeit wrinkled and a bit hard, and they were fully dressed again. Xandra looked up at the sky and her jaw dropped. Alba and Emmer exchanged glances, having experienced what she was currently feeling just the other day and each sat on opposite sides of her, ready to give their support in any way they could.

"I knew him," Xandra said simply, her expression unreadable. "I mean, we weren't friends, and he just…he thought I was pathetic and my family were scum, but…I don't know. I don't know how I feel. He wasn't, you know, a bad guy, he just…"

Xandra looked up at the sky, and only then did she start to appear emotional. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your son. And I'm sorry…I'm sorry if it's me. I mean, I won't be sorry, but I'll be sorry that your son can't come home. I'm really sorry."

She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Emmer gently rubbed her right shoulder while Alba rubbed her back.

Latia looked over at them and frowned. She was lucky, she realized suddenly. She was the only one here who hadn't lost her district partner. She hadn't realized how nice it had been to have Wicker be on her side, to not feel so alone in here. She'd made a vow that she wouldn't play the Capitol's game, but really, how long could that last? She would have to make it last as long as she possibly could. And that was assuming she could at all.

Xandra walked over to the fire that they'd built earlier when they still had some sunlight to work with. Before that she'd gone scouting for some food nearby and found some berries. And after 'apparent survivalist expert' Latia verified that none of them were poisonous, Xandra had proudly presented them to the rest of the group, finally feeling like she was contributing something. It had only recently started to occur to her that she had no idea what she brought to the table with these guys. She felt useless, and she didn't like that feeling. It was worse than being useless just to herself.

Emmer walked over to Latia and said quietly so that they were the only two who could hear their conversation. "That's almost all the Career tributes. You don't think—"

"That it was that psychopath from District 8?" Latia guessed in a whisper. She shook her head. "Somehow I doubt it. Maybe one of them—maybe. But almost all of them?" Latia shook her head. "No, it had to be something else."

"What?" Emmer suddenly looked nervous. "What the hell could have killed all of them? Well, almost all of them, there's still Nona Elwes."

Theories, and clearly not a single one of them pleasant flashed across Latia's eyes. "I don't know. But it did get to them. And all I and any of us can really hope for is that whatever it was that got them lives up there and isn't coming for us any time soon. So let's just all have something to eat, get some rest, because we have come a long way in a short amount of time. And right now, all I want to do is rest. Just…rest."

Emmer nodded in agreement. "We have come far. The notes—"

"The notes are gone now. Like you said. It's all up to us. A good old fashioned arena. And we're going to prove that we can do it. That we don't need to turn on each other in order to win. I'm not going to, and I'm assuming none of you are going to."

Emmer shook his head emphatically.

"And," Latia added. "I'm almost a little ashamed to say this, but, we can only hope that whatever took out the others will take the District 8 girl—"

"Inga," Emmer said simply.

"Inga. Let's hope that Inga won't be a problem for much longer."

Emmer let out a deep sigh. "That's so sad. That we have to actually root for someone else, a fellow kid, to die in order to make it out of this. That's so disheartening."

"I think that's kind of the whole point of the Games," Latia said, sounding tired. "Lose faith in the human race, lose faith in each other, it's harder to start an uprising that way."

"You know I used to think that I would be a good leader in an uprising," Emmer said with a self-deprecating smile. "How stupid is that? I mean, I don't know if you saw my big 'speech' in Nine, but I was terrible. I'm not charismatic. No one's dying for a cause that I'm standing in front of."

"That's 'cause you're a flesh and blood human," Wicker said, suddenly standing next to them, a friendly smile on his face, just like always. "You're not an idea. Revolutions are started by ideas. Not people. Projections, myths, fairy tales. In fact, revolutions are like the Games themselves, they're all propaganda, they're what the world tells them that they are. I mean, if you looked closely at what a revolution is and were a part of one, you would have a hard time declaring proudly that you were the good guy, even if you were the one being oppressed."

"What are you babbling on about?" Xandra asked from over by the fire where she was sitting with Alba, having snapped herself out of the negative train of thought that she'd been on a moment ago.

"Revolutions," Wicker called over to her. They all sat around the campfire and continued talking. "It's all about telling people what they want to hear. It's like a high stakes marriage proposal. You're making all these promises, telling them everything they want to hear, painting a picture of a bright and beautiful tomorrow, and then what happens once you get everyone on board? War. And what is war? Blood, pain, struggle, sacrifice, treating people like they're expendable—and why did we decide to pick up a weapon and fight in the first place? Because that was what our daily lives consisted of and we were all sick of it. We wanted something more. And what did we get? More blood. More sickness, more starvation, more poverty—all we had to do was just work together. That's it, it's so simple. Children are taught to do it from a young age. They learn that not fighting is the only way things get done, it's the only way we can all function. So why don't we? Why don't the powers that be want us all to get along?"

Emmer answered in a deadpan voice, remembering Isley's words just days earlier. "Because they're the powers and they want to stay that way. And if we compromise—if they compromise, they won't be the powers. They'll be the kings and queens of the world who bowed to peasants that proved that they can function without them, and they won't be all powerful anymore. That is the worst thing in the world for someone with power, to not be seen as all good or all powerful, or even necessary."

Everyone nodded sadly in agreement. Alba asked, "How did we get to talking about this?"

"I told Latia that I would make a very terrible leader in a rebellion," Emmer answered.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Xandra said with a scoff. "No one could do that job. Eventually everyone screws up, no matter how long of a winning streak they've been on. Just look at the Careers. I mean, I've watched those guys train my entire life. I've had a front row seat to just how tough and resourceful and fierce they are, and look at them now. The odds were in their favor and they still died. Because your stats don't matter, your history doesn't matter, your motivations don't matter, because circumstance always wins in the end. And circumstance is so unpredictable. You could be the most competent person in the room—and Emmer, you are superbly competent, more than that, even. But that doesn't matter. Because everybody wants something different. In a rebellion for example, some people will want to surrender, others will want revenge, others want a truce, and it's never unanimous. Never. You could be saying the most reasonable thing that has ever been said, and someone will call you weak or a sellout."

Latia let out a deep exhale. "Well in the spirit of talking about great ideas and still getting nowhere, I'm tired. I say we all get some rest."

"Good idea," Alba exhaled. "Goodnight you guys."

A chorus of 'good nights' rang throughout the group.

As Alba laid down on the grass, using her rolled up jacket as a pillow, she placed her hands over her stomach, thinking about what would happen if she won, as much of a longshot as it was. What kind of life would this child have? Would they get reaped too? Would life just be an endless misery? Would the baby even survive all of this? The way that Alba had been falling and tumbling and running it was a miracle the stress alone—

No, she wouldn't think like that. She couldn't. This wasn't the time. Looking around at all of her allies—really, she should be honest with herself, they had become her friends—she thought about how nice it would be if they were waiting for her when she got out. If she got out.

…

Marrow's jaw dropped. He was also crying. Patch had been too busy being disappointed that he hadn't seen Inga's name up there yet to notice it right away, but when he turned his head, he could clearly see that Marrow was crying. Actually, he was sobbing.

"Marrow," Patch began delicately. He extended his arm, but hesitated. He let it drop, sure that Marrow probably didn't want to be touched right now. "Marrow, I'm so sorry. Were you and her, were you close? Were you friends?"

"So it's true?" Marrow asked softly. He sounded utterly destroyed. "It's true? She's gone? Dove? She's dead?"

Patch paused for a moment. "Yes. I saw it, clear as day. She's gone. I'm so sorry."

Marrow didn't move to wipe his eyes, he just kept looking up at the starless sky, almost as if they had answers to about a million questions that were most likely buzzing around in his head right now. "Why?"

"What?" Patch asked.

Marrow didn't look at him. "Why does this keep happening? Why do people get sick? Why do they have to die? Why do these Games…there's no point to any of it. The suffering. You with your flu, me with my silly, silly head. Dove…she wanted to…she just wanted to…I don't know what she wanted. I could have just imagined that whole conversation. Maybe she was reaped because no one wanted her, just like I was."

"Hey," Patch said, resting on his knees next to Marrow. "No, don't do that. Don't talk like that, okay? That's not…no."

"But it's true," Marrow said, still not looking at him. "That's the whole point of this, isn't it? To show us all that we're replaceable. They can always breed and make more of us, just like farmers do. The Capitol is no different than any other human on the planet. They kill when they're hungry or when they want to send a message. Well, message received: no one is special."

"So what?" Patch asked, starting to get nervous. "You're just giving up?"

"Why not?" Marrow asked. "Between you and me, even if one of us does make it out, what's the point? What kind of life are we gonna have outside—how long of a life are we gonna have, either of us? Even if I win, maybe Ten won't want me back."

"Who cares?" Patch demanded, getting to his feet. "Who cares what they want? Who cares what the Capitol wants? Who cares? You're here. You're the one who's fighting for your life, and so am I. All that really matters is what you want. And me, personally, I have absolutely no intention of going down without a fight. I'm gonna fight. And I can't believe that someone twice my size, twice as strong as me isn't going to fight either."

Marrow looked over at him, smiling sadly. "You sound like Rex."

"Who's Rex?"

"My best friend in the world. He came with me here, to the Capitol, to see me off. To support me. But he stayed…he's in my head. He's always been in my head. I don't know for how long. Maybe he's someone I knew, maybe he never existed. Or maybe I saw him once and thought he was so cool and I would really like for a guy like that to be my friend. Maybe, maybe, maybe…it's always a maybe with me and my silly head. I'm tired Patch. I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of struggling, I'm tired of being different. The way I'm different doesn't make me special or interesting. It just makes everything harder. Everything happens too quickly and too slow all at once."

Patch nodded in understanding. "He helped you to stay focused when it was all just so confusing?"

Marrow nodded.

"Okay," Patch agreed. "Okay, listen to me, listen carefully, one sick bastard to another, I'm not going down without a fight. But I can't do this alone. And honestly, I don't think that I want to do it alone, even if I could. I've been so scared since I got here. In fact, I'm grateful for the lack of hydration because otherwise I definitely would have peed my pants by now. I'm really, really scared that Inga is going to find me and slit my throat in my sleep, and there are no Peacekeepers or mentors here to stop her this time. So please, I'm begging you, please hold on a little longer and help me get through this, and I'll help you get through this. Because if it's not me, I want it to be you. I definitely don't want it to be her."

Marrow blinked at him. "This…was your pep talk?"

Patch took a deep breath. "Yeah."

"You're desperate, I'm all you have, and you might pee yourself?"

Patch shrugged. "It's not a rallying cry for the ages, but…" Patch shrugged slightly, looking a little awkward.

Marrow looked up at him for a moment, then he stood up, straightened his shoulders and looked down at Patch, his face still wet, but there was a newfound determination in his face. There was still some vulnerability there, but it was clear that he was now on a mission that he had every intention of fulfilling.

"Okay," Marrow said, nodding. "Let's get you home."

That made Patch stop. "Don't you mean—"

"No," Marrow's voice was soft and firm. "I'm getting you home. If Dove can't go home, then I want you to go home. I don't want you to die in here like she did. You might not like it, but I want your last days to be in a bed, not on the ground. But for now, let's go to sleep. Or try to, anyway."

Patch couldn't really argue with him. Instead he just nodded and they both laid back down.

…

Nona woke up bright and early the next morning ready to kill Inga the minute she saw her.

It was seeing Servius' face that had done it. They had been friends, they'd known each other, grown up together. She had liked him. But now, according to the faces in the sky last night, he was gone, just like the others. All but Inga. Nona was the last true Career tribute, and when she saw Inga she would teach her exactly what that meant.

She was fully prepared to go back—cross the river, climb back up the cliff and go back to the Cornucopia where she would most likely find Inga, who had probably slit all of their throats in their sleep, sitting comfortably on one of the crates, enjoying the rations she now had all too herself. Nona could imagine her just sitting there like some troll guarding her treasure, ready to kill anyone who got too close. She could picture the lazy smile as she patiently waited for the bodies of the others to be picked up like they were boxes of junk she couldn't wait to get rid of.

Nona kept imagining that twisted smile as she killed Servius and wanted to plunge her sword right through her heart, wiping that smile off her face forever. Then again, maybe not. Inga seemed like the kind of person who would want to go out with a smile just to spite her killer. The thought made Nona even angrier.

But as she was about to walk back into the cave, thinking about all the different ways she would and could kill her, she suddenly remembered the promise that she'd made to Grandfather about not taking a life unprovoked. She had sworn to him, made a promise, sworn to God and everything. She could have made an argument that anything she did to Inga was very much provoked. Inga had threatened her, maybe not verbally, but the threat was definitely implied. And she'd killed Nona's friend. But still, she'd made a promise. And that had to mean something. It had meant everything in the beginning.

Nona let out a loud, frustrated scream, but decided that it was best that she just keep on walking for now. Keep going forward, see what she could see. But with any luck, if she ran into Inga and the other girl was ready for a fight, was ready to kill Nona for the chance at winning, Nona would honor Servius by taking his advice. Advice that if she had taken in the first place he might have lived longer than two days. She would be keeping her promise and avenge her friend. She liked the sound of that.

At that point, all she could say for certain was that one way or another, she was walking out of this Arena and Inga definitely was not.

…

What none of them knew was that someone in the Capitol was angry. They were angry with what was being said, being sung, angry with the mentors and because of that they decided to send a message to everyone and anyone who could hear it.

The walls were being rearranged to allow two monsters greater access to the plains and the remaining tributes: Inga and the mechanical beast that had killed Dove and most of the Careers. Neither were really sure what was going on, but neither one really cared. They knew what they had to do and were both all too happy to do it. It was, after all, in both of their natures to kill.