Chapter Eight

Fern watched from the stands as Ursula moved from corpse to corpse, kneeling beside each one and saying something. But what? Most of the time the District 2 girl was too far away for her words to be audible, though Fern noted that she never flinched once, not even when faced with Pasture's headless body, simply moving the head closer to the body. It was hard to believe Ursula was only twelve years old. What had she seen during the war that made her so unafraid of dead bodies? Had she simply seen so much carnage that she had grown used to it? And what was she saying to the fallen tributes? Not that they could hear her.

It was when Ursula performed her little ritual for Zack, who was still lying where he had fallen near the perimeter wall, that Fern received an answer to one of the questions going through her mind. Ursula was just close enough for Fern to catch what she said as she knelt beside Zack's body.

"Sorry, I don't have any bread."

What did it mean, though? Was it some kind of funeral rite practised in District 2? Officially, Panem was completely atheist, but some vestiges of the old ways had persisted in the districts. Such as the way people in District 7 treated an enormous redwood tree that grew in the heart of the district. It was said to be so old that it had been around since before the disasters that had led to the creation of Panem out of the ruins of what had once been North America, and it was almost regarded as a god. It even had a name, The Veteran.

Did that mean the people of District 2 had some sort of belief about bread and death?

Perhaps, but it wasn't like Fern could walk up to Ursula and ask her. This was not a opportunity for kids from different districts to learn about each other's customs; it was a battle to the death. And for that reason alone Fern had vowed that she would not try to find out anything about her fellow tributes, her opponents in a game which could have only one survivor. One survivor. That was all. Everyone else had to die. And if she, Fern, wanted to live that had to include Ursula.

That had to include Ursula.

Fern wrestled with her conscience. Killing in self-defence as she had done with Zack and Pastrure was one thing, but Ursula was an unarmed twelve-year-old girl who posed no threat to her. Even under her current circumstances, could she bring herself to attack, much less kill, her? It would be easy enough to do, but could she do it? An axe to the back of Ursula's skull should take her out easily. But could she do it?

In the end, the decision was taken out of Fern's hands. Ursula had just knelt beside Nigella and was about to carry out the same ritual she had already performed for the other dead tributes when Flicker, Cabochon and Hector emerged from wherever they had been hiding, weapons poised ready to attack. They circled around, but none of them spoke until Ursula had closed Nigella's eyes and repeated that she was sorry she didn't have any bread.

"What's she talking about?" Flicker demanded in a loud whisper.

"It's a District 2 custom," Hector whispered back. "When someone dies, we sprinkle breadcrumbs over the body. For their final journey," he added when his two allies looked at him as though they had no idea what he was talking about.

"What for?" It was Cabochon who spoke this time. "If you're dead, the only place you're going is the cemetery."

"Never mind that," Flicker told him. "Let's get this over with."

At that moment, Ursula looked up from Nigella's body to find Hector, a boy she had known all her life, standing in front of her, flanked by the tributes from District 1. All three of them had their weapons pointed right at her, the looks on their faces leaving her in no doubt what they meant to do. "No." Ursula's voice shook with fear as she stared helplessly at Cabochon's spear and the swords wielded by Flicker and Hector. She'd noticed Hector hanging out with the District 1 tributes during the journey to the Capitol, had heard them talking about teaming up to take out the other tributes, but for that to include her . . . "Why?" she pleaded, though the look on his face told her he would not listen. The fact that she was from the same district as him, that she and his younger sister Tertia were in the same class at school didn't matter. To him, she was just another opponent to be eliminated. All she'd wanted was to honour the dead tributes as best she could and now she was about to become one herself.

In later years, a twelve-year-old from District 2 would not have been in the Games. Even if their name had been drawn at the reaping, their place would have been taken by a volunteer. Someone older and stronger. Someone who had spent several years training for the Games. Someone who chose to put their life on the line. But these were the First Hunger Games and many elements that would one day become standard had yet to be introduced. Including the option to volunteer in the chosen tribute's place.

Desperate, Ursula tried to scramble to her feet and make a run for it. If she could just get back into her crevice, none of the other tributes would be able to get to her. But she was shaking so much that she couldn't make her legs do what she wanted. Flicker, Cabochon and Hector advanced towards her, weapons drawn, faces as hard as the stone quarried back home. Stone. Everything in District 2 revolved around stone or at least it had. Since the destruction of District 13, 2 had started to become the centre of the Capitol's military might. Not that it had prevented her from ending up in the Arena.

Get away. She had to get away. Against three older, bigger and stronger tributes she had no chance. She had to . . .

Before she could complete the thought, her attackers were on her and she felt herself being pinned to the ground. She struggled to break free, but they were too strong for her. A figure loomed over her, seen through a blur of tears that made it impossible to tell who it was. Not that it mattered because, seconds later, a blade was thrust into her chest and, less than a minute after that, she ceased to think about anything at all.

Hector pulled his sword free from Ursula's chest and wiped the blade on the ground. No emotion registered on his face as he looked down at the young girl lying dead at his feet, telling himself he had done what needed to be done. The Capitol had to know Districts 1 and 2 were loyal and the only way Flicker, Cabochon and Hector could prove their loyalty was to participate in the Games. And that meant killing the other tributes. Put simply, anyone not in their alliance had to go. So when Ursula emerged from her hiding place, she very quickly became their next target.

If Hector had any doubts about what he was doing, he had quickly suppressed them. He'd said himself that he didn't want Ursula in the alliance, that a kid like her wouldn't stand a chance in the Games. Indeed, she'd only lasted this long because she'd been hiding somewhere the other tributes couldn't get at her. "Stupid kid," he muttered. "You should have stayed undercover." He knew full well why she had broken cover, but these were the Hunger Games. Besides, it wasn't like she and Tertia were friends, just classmates.

Turning his back on Ursula, he faced Flicker and Cabochon, who were standing nearby. "Come on," he said, his tone neutral. "There's still six left to eliminate."

"Hey!" Flicker glared at him out of her emerald green eyes, her grip on her sword tightening. "Who put you in charge?! I think you'll find," she added, jerking her head in Cabochon's direction, "that there's two of us and only one of you."

"Meaning?" Hector asked, though he could tell from the expression on her face exactly what Flicker had meant. It made him realise how little he could trust his allies, that they could kill him as easily as any other tribute, especially if they decided to test the theory that they would both be allowed to win if they were the last ones alive. As long as there were other living tributes, he was safe. But the moment it came down to Flicker, Cabochon and himself, the District 1 tributes would turn on him. And, as Flicker had pointed out, they had the advantage when it came to numbers.

Which meant there was only one thing he could do. Before either of the tributes from District 1 had time to react, he charged towards Cabochon, swinging his sword wildly. The blade sliced through Cabochon's thigh, leaving a bleeding wound in its wake and causing him to stagger. As Hector moved in for a second blow, Cabochon called across to Flicker, telling her to throw him her sword. His spear wasn't much use at close quarters, but if he had a sword of his own . . .

Hector, however, was too quick for Flicker. Just as she was about to do as Cabochon had told her, the District 2 boy lunged again, thrusting his sword right into Cabochon's stomach. Already in pain from his leg wound, Cabochon sank to his knees, looking down at the sword sticking out of his middle with a look of stunned disbelief etched on his face. It wasn't supposed to end like this; Hector was supposed to be his and Flicker's ally, at least until all the other tributes were dead. And when that happened, the two District 1 tributes, having the advantage in terms of numbers, were going to take Hector out, win the Games and prove their loyalty to the Capitol. It hadn't occurred to either of them that Hector might turn on them.

"Hang in there, Cabochon."

Flicker's voice was choked as she knelt beside her cousin, pleading with hiim to stay with her. Hector had run towards the stands, no doubt hoping to find and eliminate a few more tributes, but he wasn't her main concern right now; Cabochon was. He lay on the field, blood soaking his clothes, his life rapidly ebbing away. But she refused to believe it was actually happening, that the boy she had known nearly all her life would soon be dead. He had to survive; they both did. They shouldn't have been in these Games in the first place, but since their names had been drawn at the reaping they had chosen to play along so that the Capitol would know they were loyal. They didn't deserve to die like the traitors from the other districts.

"Flicker . . ." Cabochon's voice was barely audible. "I'm . . . not . . . going . . . to . . . make it. You . . . have . . . to . . ."

"I have to what?" But even as the words left Flicker's mouth, she knew she would never receive an answer.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end. She and Cabochon were supposed to show the Capitol that they were willing to participate in the Games thereby proving District 1's loyalty. And since participating in the Games meant killing their fellow tributes, that was what they had done. Shaft. Caddie. Nigella. Anthea. All of them had been eliminated by herself or Cabochon, sacrificed in the name of proving District 1's loyalty, but in the end it hadn't made any difference. She and Cabochon were not going to win together.

A grim expression settled across Flicker's face as she looked down at Cabochon. Her cousin. Dead. And Hector, the boy they'd recruited as an ally, was the one responsible. In which case . . . "I'll get him, Cabochon," she vowed in a harsh whisper. "And I'll make him pay for what he did."

With that, she got to her feet and, keeping a tight grip on her sword, set off to search the stands, taking the path Hector had taken moments before.

From her position in the stands, Fern had seen everything.

Flicker, Cabochon and Hector circling around Ursula. The two District 1 tributes holding Ursula down while Hector finished her off. Hector then killing Cabochon as well. So much for Cabochon's theory that he and Flicker would both be allowed to live if they were the last ones standing; Hector had just prevented that scenario. Not to mention that it was unlikely the Capitol would allow such a thing. One victor, President Ravinstill had said. One victor out of twenty-four tributes. That was all these sadistic Games allowed. One victor. One survivor.

Even if the final two were both from the same district, one of them would still have to kill the other. And, following the elimination of Cabochon and Ursula, only one district had both its tributes still standing. District 7. Her and Logger's home district. She had no idea where Logger had gone when the gong sounded at the beginning of the Games, but he must be in here somewhere. And, if it came down to the two of them, she would have to do to Logger what Hector had done to Ursula.

Kill the other kid from her district.

After all, she reasoned, she'd already killed Zack and Pasture. What difference would one more tribute dying at her hands make? Even if that tribute came from the same district as her? None, she told herself. It certainly hadn't made any difference to Hector when he killed Ursula. And the way Hector had then turned on Cabochon even though he and the tributes from District 1 were supposed to be allies told her something else.

She had been right not to team up with any of the other tributes, right to go it alone. An alliance with anyone under her current circumstances could only end in one of three ways: either she and her ally would both die, or she would die and her ally would survive, or she would survive and her ally would die. She might even have to kill her ally. Or her ally might kill her. None of her fellow tributes could be trusted, and she'd never trusted any of them. They were enemies who would kill her unless she killed them first.

But before she could kill them, she would have to find them. Since climbing into the stands, she hadn't seen anyone, no-one who came within range of her axe at any rate. That meant she would have to leave her hiding spot and go in search of her fellow tributes. She would have to go on the hunt.

She checked her axe was tucked into her makeshift belt and was within easy reach if she needed it, then set off to search the Arena. A grim expression etched itself across her face, the expression of someone who was prepared to do whatever it took to stay alive. Including killing anyone who stood between her and survival.

When the gong had sounded, Fusey had ignored the pile of weapons in the middle of the field and headed straight for the nearest exit. Her plan had been to force open one of the barriers which had slammed down over all the exits and escape into the maze of tunnels beneath the Arena, where she would hide while the other tributes, who she doubted would risk entering the tunnels and losing themselves in there, wiped each other out. Then, she would emerge and claim victory in the First Hunger Games without ever killing another tribute. No-one had said this was against the rules and she figured it was probably her best chance; she wasn't very strong and she doubted she would last more than a few seconds against the likes of Hector, even with a weapon.

Get the barrier open. Escape into the tunnels. Wait out the Games. Become the victor.

That was the plan, but it hadn't worked out like that.

When she reached the barrier, she found to her disappointment that there was no way to open it from within the Arena. So the controls which operated it must be outside. Where neither she nor any of the other tributes could reach them. And she needed no-one to tell her that every other exit would be the same. Sealed to prevent escape. One of the Peacekeepers had said this would happen when the tributes had been picked up to be taken to the Arena and it looked like he'd meant it.

At first, Fusey had tried pushing against the barrier with her body, hoping desperately that it would give just a little. Enough for a teenaged girl to slip through. But this hadn't worked either; the barrier remained solid, unmoveable. All she'd succeeded in doing was making her shoulders ache and she'd eventually had to give up. Knowing the other exits would be similarly sealed, she'd slumped to the ground and buried her face in her hands, despair overwhelming her.

Was this what her parents and the other rebels had died for? The Capitol still in charge and more oppressive than ever? Kids forced to take part in a game where they had to kill each other and only one of them was allowed to survive? And now that her plan to hide in the tunnels had been thwarted, Fusey knew it was unlikely she would be that one. The other tributes might overlook her, which they seemed to have done so far, but that couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, someone would spot her crouching by the barrier, an easy target.

How long had it been now? She'd lost track of time, but she guessed it had been a few hours. A few hours trapped with several potential killers, with no means of escape. She occasionally cast glances in the direction of the field, now strewn with bodies, hoping against hope that the other tributes would continue to overlook her. How many were left now? Five had died before the Games began, but how many had died since? She tried to count the number of corpses she could see, but before she could get very far a shadow suddenly loomed over her. Startled, she looked round to see Fern from District 7 standing there, an axe in her hand.

"No . . . don't . . ."

Even as the barely audible words escaped Fusey's lips, Fern swung her axe and brought it crashing down on her skull.

Fern had closed her eyes as she delivered the blow, not wanting to look at the girl she was about to murder in cold blood. But she opened them now, revealing Fusey slumped against the barrier, her skull split open by the axe which Fern still held in her hands. Dead. Fern needed no-one to tell her that. After all, who could survive having the blade of an axe slice through their skull? And she needed no-one to tell her that she had just crossed a line she would never have thought herself capable of crossing.

She had committed murder.

As she looked down at Fusey's body, thoughts ran through her head. This was her third kill since entering the arena, but Zack and Pasture had been out to kill her, so she'd had to kill them first. Fusey, on the other hand, had been crouching by the barrier, probably for hours, not participating in this deadly game, not even armed. Yet she had killed her. She'd seen her by the barrier, gone right over to her, raised her axe and . . .

She hadn't wanted to do it, hadn't wanted to kill an unarmed tribute who posed no threat to her, but she'd vowed to do whatever she had to do to get out of the Arena alive. And that meant taking whatever lives she needed to take. As many as it took. Fusey just happened to be the first tribute she had seen since she took the decision to go on the hunt. Besides, she'd vowed not to think of her fellow tributes as anything other than opponents that had to be eliminated. And she'd also vowed to act alone. It was better that way, she told herself, better than teaming up with someone only to have to kill them later, or for them to kill you as Hector had done to Cabochon.

"I had to do it," she whispered to Fusey's corpse, repeating the words she had uttered after killing Zack and Pasture. She turned to walk away . . .

And immediately saw Ida from District 5 and Heddle from District 8 running towards her, weapons poised to attack.