Chapter Eight

Katniss

I wake, sore and stiff once again, to the sound of the baby pack breaking camp. It took me a long time to get to sleep after seeing Bannock's face in the sky, trying to figure out how I could have missed the cannon. Eventually I surmised that it must have fired while the unnatural 'smoke' kept me sleeping.

The rest of the questions come back when I wake up. What happened? What must his family be going through? Worst of all; what do I do next? Yesterday my only plan began and ended with finding Bannock. Now I'm perched in a tree above the weakest Tributes in the Games, and I can't do the one thing I've been sent into the arena to do.

Maybe the baby pack aren't the weak ones after all.

I untie myself from the tree and slip the rope and sleeping bag quietly into my pack, glancing down to check that nobody has seen or heard anything, when a flash of movement at the edge of my field of vision catches my attention. At first I'm afraid the cat is back, but then I spot the golden ponytail. Dazzle.

I quickly spot the other two. The Career girls are crawling up to the clearing where the babies are packing up their things from the exact same direction I approached by last night. They'll be right on top of them before anybody sees a thing.

This is exactly what I wanted when I found them last night. The Careers take out the babies, and I take out the Careers. After witnessing their brutality at the Cornucopia and hearing the tortured screams of the girl they set upon that first night, I'm reasonably sure I can kill the Career pack without hesitation.

Once I've sat by and done nothing while they slaughter the most defenceless children in the arena.

"Get out of there!"

Nova and the others all turn at my shout. The boy from Nine is at the edge of the clearing closest to the Careers, and looks to be disabling some trap I never noticed - and came very close to walking into - last night.

"Now!" I roar, plucking an arrow from my quiver and drawing it.

The Careers are on their feet now, and the boy from Nine abandons his work and turns to run the instant he spots Laurel charging at him. I loose the arrow, which catches her right in the heart.

And then the ground explodes where she falls, blasting the boy from Nine right across the clearing. The blast catches me off-guard, and I stumble out of my perch, barely catching myself on a lower branch before I can crash all the way to the ground along with my bow.

My pack is still hanging above where I was sleeping, along with my quiver. My bow is on the forest floor. All I have is the knife belt I never removed while I slept. But if I'm going to take out the Careers, I won't get a better chance than this. The girl from Four is nowhere to be seen, and Dazzle is flat on her back, probably unconscious from the blast.

When I get to the ground, the rest of the baby pack hasn't fled like I assumed they would, but are fussing over the charred, legless corpse of the boy from Nine. They completely ignore me, and the boy from Three has his back to me.

Briefly examining the three of them wasting time trying to wake the dead when they could be finishing the Careers or running for their lives, I reevaluate my estimation of their brains. These people have nothing to offer me but their supplies. I could easily cut one throat before the other two noticed me, and finish them both in seconds.

Dazzle groans loudly, and I turn to find her clambering unsteadily to her feet. Swearing, I grab my bow from the ground and rush at her. She regains her composure upon seeing me, reaching for the short sword at her back.

"Catch!" I snap, and toss her my bow, just as I'd seen Bannock do with his axe to the instructor who'd brutalised him in training.

Not quite as stupid as the instructor, Dazzle forgets her sword and bats the bow out of the air rather than trying to catch it, but that still gives me the opening I need. I knee her in the gut at a run. Wheezing, she reaches out blindly, grabs a fistful of my hair, and we stumble to the ground.

Kicking blindly until she loosens her grip in my hair, I slam my fist across her jaw, apparently hurting myself more than I do her. Dazzle's response is quick and blinding; disoriented or not, she's still much stronger than me. Her fist explodes across my own jaw, a straight jab to the eye immediately follows, and the entire left side of my face radiates pain. Rolling away, I blindly throw a kick, eliciting a howl of pain. Struggling to one knee, she reaches for her sword again.

I grab a knife from my belt and fling it at her face. She tries to dodge it, and I just miss her eye. Her hand flies to her face, where a long gash instantly results in a river of blood flowing down the temple and the side of her head, her pale face and golden hair turning crimson.

Apparently the worst thing anyone can do to a girl from District One is damage her looks. Realising what I've done to her precious face, and apparently not a fan of the idea that scars add character, she flies at me with a furious shriek, her sword seeking my throat. I dodge the blade and scramble away frantically. I don't know where my bow is, most of my other weapons are still up in the tree, and all I have left are four stubby little throwing knives. I grab and toss one at the first opportunity; she knocks it away and keeps slashing at me as I retreat.

I'm reaching for another knife when she gets me. Once again she was aiming for my throat, but instead the blade slashes from just below my collarbone halfway to my left elbow. The pain is immediate and agonising, as if the entire wound was immediately engulfed in flame. I fall, the scream I let out barely sounding human.

The bloody blade whirls above Dazzle's head. Whining pitifully, too weak to lash out, I try to crawl out of her reach, only to be stopped by her boot on my chest.

It's a good while after dawn. Is it the same time in District Twelve? I have no idea; I don't even know where the arena is, or what the Gamemakers might have been doing to the sky and the weather. Maybe it's close to noon or well before sunrise immediately outside the arena. Maybe Prim won't be in front of the television, having just planned to make sure I hadn't died in the night before our mother forced her to go to school. Not that it really matters. The Games don't air live in school, but Prim will be forced to watch my death when they're all updated on the 'highlights' of the show.

The rock catches Dazzle right where my knife cut her. She drops her blade with a startled cry, takes one look at where the rock came from, and vanishes from my view. Then Nova is standing above me, her own sword out. She looks me over briefly, sheaths the sword and drops to one knee.

"Get up," she orders, "before they decide to come back."

The searing pain is getting worse. My entire body is shaking, the tears stinging my eyes. I want to tell her to just finish me off, but I can't get the words out, then her arm slips under her back, she grabs my uninjured arm and I scream as she pulls me into a sitting position. She examines my wound, grimacing. "Not the worst thing I've seen - or even the worst in the last two minutes - but we don't have time to anything about it. I think the girl from Four ran as soon as the mine went off, but if she changes her mind she could cut through us all in a few seconds."

"Mine?" I ask, my voice high and weak.

"The mines from the Cornucopia. We dug them up," she says simply. "Can you stand?"

I can, but it takes much longer than it should. Twice I fall, wincing and sobbing. The third time it's with Nova's arm around my waist that I make it all the way to my feet, my teeth clenched around a scream. My eyes snap to a loud thud; my pack hitting the ground, followed quickly by the boy from Eleven. He scoops up the pack and slings it over his shoulder.

"Do you have her bow?" he asks Nova. "It wasn't up there."

"She had it with her. Check the edge of the clearing."

Nova and I move slowly to where Nova's District partner is hunched over the remains of the boy from Nine.

"Tock, get your things. We have to find somewhere we can hole up and deal with this," Nova tells him, gesturing vaguely at me.

Tock turns to us, his face ashen. "He's still alive," he breathes.

Nova groans, leading me to a nearby tree and propping me up against it. Once she's sure I'm not going to fall over, she ushers Tock out of the way, and that's when I get my first good look at the boy from Nine.

He's facedown on the forest floor, facing away from me, his entire back scorched black. Both his legs end somewhere around the knees, the two pools of blood coming together as one. Then the smell catches me, and my good hand clamps over my mouth.

I've seen and smelled plenty of charred lumps of human flesh in our house in Twelve. Nobody who works the mines can ever afford a real doctor, so any fall, cave-in or explosion victim still breathing invariably gets brought to my mother. It's an experience that sends the big brave hunter fleeing for the woods every time, while tiny, frail Prim and my mother dive in without hesitation or fear, doing whatever they can. But sometimes my mother will simply take one look at the victim, give a small shake of her head, and move on to the next one. There's hardly ever only one. They can sometimes cram as many as six into our tiny house. Others have to wait in the street.

My mother wouldn't bother bringing this boy inside. She'd take one look at him, give his whatever she could spare for the pain, and tell them to take him home and try to keep him comfortable. Sometimes she might direct them to Ripper, the one-armed woman who sells white liquor in the Hob, and whose prices will usually drop for something like this.

Nova turns away from the boy, fighting the urge to retch. "We can't help him," she mutters at last. "Let's just get out of here before they change their minds and come back for us."

"We can't just leave him like this," Tock protests. "Shouldn't we... do something?"

Nova opens her mouth to respond, but she's interrupted by a gurgling from the dying boy, which quickly turns into a choked scream.

"We have to go," says the boy from Eleven, glancing around furtively. "If they hear, him, they'll come back for sure."

Nova draws her sword. The boy's scream subsides into a low, wordless mewling. She grasps his hair and gingerly pulls his head back, but the boy doesn't seem to notice her until she brings the blade to the front of his throat. He doesn't speak, but his moans sound a lot like pleas; whether for her to stop or finish him off, I couldn't say.

With a defeated sigh, Nova releases the dying boy and falls back on her butt.

Then recoils with a squeak as my flung knife buries itself in the back of his neck.

"Time to go," I tell them, looking everywhere but at the dead boy. "Don't forget the knife."

I push myself away from the tree, take a single stumbling step, and fall flat on my face.

I wake to the sound of rushing water.

The river is maybe forty feet wide and moving fast. Maybe there'd be a possibility of crossing somewhere further down, but here it seems that our tiny river course in the Training Centre did nothing to prepare us for the real thing.

"Tock and Ash are looking to see if there's anywhere nearby we might be able to cross."

I turn my head painfully to find Nova on my other side. Seeing her sitting next to the river reminds me of the Training Centre; she couldn't keep her feet in a fight, but she was my only serious competitor on the assault course.

I'm lying on a makeshift litter just off the muddy riverbank, my chest, shoulder and neck wrapped too tightly in too many bandages. My jacket and shirt, torn and bloody, are also dripping wet, hanging on a tree branch after an apparent attempt to clean them. The trees are thick enough to provide some cover, but this was a bad place to settle down. If the Careers catch us here, the only thing the river might offer is a slightly quicker death.

"Well, that's what I told them, anyway," Nova continues. "I really just didn't want to hear any more of Ash's whining. Truth is, I don't think they're going to let us put that much distance between ourselves and the Careers," she grumbles, jerking her chin to the sky. "We're already down to the final eight – there was another cannon while you were out of it – but a quick Games is better than a boring one. They need to keep up the pace."

"We had a delivery," she adds conversationally. "The first any of us had received, so I assume it was from Haymitch." She holds up large tube of what looks like some sort of medicine. "Skin glue. I don't think it's usually used for something as big as a sword wound, but he probably thought it was better than trusting me with a needle and thread."

"Or it was cheaper than real medicine," I groan, wondering what my remaining sponsors are capable of. Picking a fight with Dazzle might have won me a little respect, even though I came off worse in the fight, but I doubt it made up for all the support I lost last night. If I'd acted like a Tribute is meant to and shot them, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

"Maybe. You probably should have just killed us last night." She smirks at my wide-eyed stare. "I spotted you when the anthem was playing. Kept waiting for you to start shooting, but then you just went to sleep."

"And that makes you trust me?"

She shrugs. "As much as I trust anyone who has to kill me to survive. Can you sit up? I want to check your wound."

Before removing my bandages, Nova dips her finger in a pot of water suspended over a small fire, and adds a few twigs to the flames, and we both glance apprehensively upwards to be sure the smoke isn't enough to be seen from a distance.

Twisting painfully to get a look at the damage, I grimace. Nova did a good job cleaning the wound, but the jagged slice across my shoulder and down my arm along with my glued flesh and mottled bruising are a gruesome combination. If I do somehow manage to go home, the scars will be quite the memento of my time here. The Victor is usually cleaned up to be me made presentable for Capitol audiences, but I've wondered before about some of the less visible damage. Would they bother fixing scars in an area that wouldn't usually be on display, or would Seneca Crane prefer I carry the grim reminder?

Shaking off any far-flung thought of victory, I give the arm an experimental stretch at Nova's instruction, recoiling and swallowing a whimper at the pain that shoots across the length of the wound and all the way down to me elbow.

"I'd say you got pretty lucky," Nova tells me. "A quarter inch higher and it would have hit your collarbone. A quarter inch deeper and all the glue in the world wouldn't have kept you from bleeding to death. It's not pretty, but it's a flesh wound."

Using one of the bandages as a rag, she gives the wound another brief cleaning with hot water. "Assuming blood poisoning doesn't set in, you'll be fine." She lays a clean dressing over it and goes a little lighter on the bandages this time. She's just finishing up when the boys return; she passes me her own jacket and helps me into it.

"The river just gets worse as far as we could see," Tock announces, looking away from my bare chest as Nova helps me cover up. He was another surprise in training; not a pick of muscle, but that didn't help the instructor when it came to hitting him. The boy from Eleven - Ash - made absolutely no impression in training, which is how it usually goes for babies like us. That three of us managed to distinguish ourselves even a little next to the Careers is pretty abnormal. If this boy wasn't here right now, I doubt I'd be able to recall his face at all. Anonymous corpses are usually the Games' most common product.

"It's pretty far, so I couldn't be sure of what I was seeing, but there could be a bridge leading into those ruins," Tock adds, pointing vaguely south.

"Good place for an ambush," I suggest. "I'd bet there's something waiting at that bridge likes to play with its food." I tell them about the cat. "Have you seen or heard any mutts?"

"Just that thing from Six," Nova tells me.

I blink at Nova. That's what Resa called him. And Bannock.

"He ran right by me without even seeing me after the Cornucopia," she says. "Never even saw me. No supplies, just that monster axe of his. With so few of us left, we might get lucky in that regard. They should hold the mutts in reserve unless somebody tries to get away from the action."

"Who's left?"

"There were two cannons right after we left the clearing," Tock tells me. "The girl from Two, and Cropper." He pauses, uncomfortable. Ash, who has yet to say a word, takes his eyes off the forest floor for the first time, looking at me with open distrust and not a little fear. "The third cannon came about an hour later."

"Maybe the Career girls turned on each other," I say to fill the silence, not really confident in the idea.

"Maybe," Tock stumbles on. "The other choices are girls from Five and Eight, and the boy from Six. I suppose we'll have to wait until tonight to find out. At any rate there are only eight of us left."

"They'll be talking to our families," I realise. My stomach lurches at the thought of my mother and Prim having to answer questions about my conduct in the Games, of having to gush about how proud they are of my poisoning Senan and blowing up two people. My most understandable action so far will have been putting poor Cropper out of his misery. A mercy he would never have needed if not for me. My mother at least may have some understanding. Prim, on the other hand, is fast learning what kind of creature her sister is.

The thing from Six isn't the only two-legged mutt in this arena.

"Good," says Nova. "Between our exciting morning and getting ready for family interviews, they should leave us alone for the day." She jerks her head to the sky. "And the Career girls will be busy licking their own wounds. I say we eat while we can and turn in early. Tomorrow we figure out our next move."

The three of them go into their packs, coming out with handfuls of various dried foods. Nova finds the last of the rabbit in my pack and looks to me, questioning. I nod, and she divides it up as evenly as possible, splitting her own food supply with me. I eat carefully, not moving my injured arm at all. Flesh wound or not, the throbbing and stinging are near constant, but I can ignore it as long as I don't move.

While we eat I glance around at the wealth of supplies. Everyone has weapons, a pack and sleeping bags, and none of them seem to be hurting for food. A flat disc secured to Nova's pack must be one of the mines from the Cornucopia.

"So it was you who burned the Cornucopia?" I ask. "When I saw it I thought it must have been the Careers."

"Actually, it was Bannock."

I pause in the middle of chewing and stare at Nova.

"The four of us were running more or less alongside each other after the gong, but none of us had much in the way supplies," Tock tells me. "We decided to go back together. It looked like everybody had left, then we went around to the front and there's Bannock, sitting on a crate with no pants on, patching up his leg."

"Such a waste," Nova breathes dreamily. I glance at her, curious, while Tock huffs with laughter and Ash just gapes at her, disgusted. "What?" she shrugs, unashamed as I catch her meaning and blush. "He was a lot to look at."

"Anyway," Tock continues, still chuckling, "he may not have been totally prepared for company, but he was the only one armed. Still, he told us to take what we wanted, so we did."

"And then Tock thought of digging up the mines and seeing if they could be rearmed," Nova adds proudly. Tock blushes a little at the praise. "We all took one. They're heavy, but having them set up around us lets us sleep at night."

"Did Bannock stay with you?" Nova nods. I take a deep breath before blurting the question that kept me tossing and turning last night. "How did he die?"

"Saving my stupid life," Tock mutters, before turning all his focus to his meal.

Nova regards him pityingly. "It wasn't your fault."

Tock won't look at her. She glances back to me, gives a small shake her head. We both drop the subject, but the lump in my throat doesn't go away. Big, goofy, scary Bannock allied himself with the weakest kids in the arena and died protecting them. I've been trying to talk myself into killing them since the moment I found them.

The rest of the meal passes in silence. Once we're done Nova suggests piling all our remaining food so we can divide it evenly. She pulls the packs of crackers and dried foods out of my pack, then finds the berries in the pocket. "Not those," I tell her. "They're poison."

"Why carry them?" Tock asks, absently separating the various sorts of dried foods we all had. "If you leave them out, anyone who finds them is going to smell a trap."

"That depends on how you use them." I tell them about Senan and the rabbit. They all go a little green, and I decide not to mention that I had also considered using the berries to poison the arrowheads. Ash, at least, is already terrified of me. I don't want my allies' fear outweighing their desperation. If they turned on me in my current condition, it would be a very short fight.

The weapons and tools go in another pile, and I'm reminded of what my carelessness has cost me since the Games began. I lost another arrow this morning when Laurel was blown to pieces, and it doesn't like the knives I flung at Dazzle were recovered. I'm down to three arrows and three throwing knives, as well as the one longer knife and the arrowheads in my pack. Each of my allies has a short sword, along with a spear that must have been Cropper's, and whatever happened to Bannock they must have had time to reclaim his supplies; my eyes fall on twin axes and a second mine pulled from Nova's overstuffed pack. Everybody has a large water bottle and iodine. Finally, five large, serrated knives like my own, five small pouches of basic medical supplies, two small shovels, a single bundle of rope, and a coil of wire a little thicker than the one from my pack.

Tock sets about dividing everything as evenly as possible. He and Nova take an axe each, while Ash and I get an extra knife. He doesn't bother parceling out the arrowheads or throwing knives. I keep my bow, though I doubt I can use it right now, and one of the mines goes into my pack. They've only set a single trap each night, but Tock also divides up the thicker wire coil, and promises to show me how to rig the mine when we're settling in for the night.

The rabbit was the only fresh food any of us were carrying, and the open packets of crackers and fruit are left out while the rest is divided up. Since we're not going anywhere, I suggest using the wire from my pack to set up a couple of snares. We're not exactly short on food, but we might as well keep the preserved rations as a backup, just in case.

I clamber carefully to my feet, grab my bow and quiver, and the wire. Nova goes with me, sword in hand, while the boys guard the camp.

We walk for about five minutes – Nova slowing to keep pace with my pained shuffling – when we come across a likely spot. The small clearing has seen a lot of traffic; patches of bushes have been chewed at fairly frequently, and in addition to the rabbit droppings, the trampled earth and marked oak trees point to deer – not bears, as I assure an apprehensive Nova, pointing out that the markings are clearly from antlers as opposed to claws. This really would be prime hunting land if not for the sullying presence of the Gamemakers. The only large predator I've seen any evidence of is the one they grew in a lab.

I pick out a spot and hand Nova a length of wire, biting back a wince as the pain that shoots up my arm when I extend it. She easily copies my movements, setting her own snare a few feet from mine, after which there's just enough wire for two more, which we set at two other thickets at opposite ends of the clearing. We complete the work in silence, and are just heading back when I cock my head at the flapping of wings, and find I was wrong about the large predators. A massive bird something like a falcon alights on the bow of an oak and begins tearing into the spoils of its own hunting; a fawn.

"Mutt?" Nova breathes.

"No," I respond in a whisper, though I never thought birds as big as this existed in nature. Its wingspan is longer than Gale is tall. But if this was one of the Capitol's creations it wouldn't ignore us in favour of the local wildlife.

The throbbing in my shoulder picks up the instant I begin to reach for an arrow, and I decide against it. I catch Nova following the movement, but she says nothing. The bird continues to ignore us, too focused on its meal.

By the time the short walk back is done, I all but collapse with exhaustion. Nova suggests I try to get some sleep, and although I've slept most of the day away, I know it's a good idea. Warm as it still is and exhausted as I am I don't bother with my sleeping bag. Instead I just stretch out on the forest floor, my pack as a pillow.

As soon as I close my eyes, awareness of my injured arm peaks, burning constantly and throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I try to focus on something else, but the only obvious thing is the river, too loud and wild to be at all relaxing.

I lie there for what seems like hours of certainty I won't sleep, but sleep I must, because when I open my eyes the sun is setting and the river has calmed considerably. It's quiet enough that I can just about make out the angry whispers from the huddled group next to the dying fire.

"Supplies are all well and good, but our weapons might as well be made of paper for all the use we can make of them," Tock is telling Ash. "The mines were the best chance we had until this morning. Maybe we can still lure Six into a trap or the other girls, but the Careers will be ready for it. You've seen her shoot; she can take them out without breaking a sweat."

"Not right now she can't," Nova interjects. "She can hardly move that arm. She's not shooting anything like that, and she was barely a threat to Dazzle in close quarters before she was hurt."

"She could be a lot better tomorrow. If she can shoot, there's no need to fight."

"And then what?" Ash hisses loudly, prompting the other two to shush him. "What," he demands more quietly, "are we going to do if she takes out the Careers and the freak?"

"What are any of us meant to do if we're among the last few standing?" Tock asks. "It's the same problem no matter what. All anyone can do against anyone else is fight and hope for the best. Maybe whoever's left can agree to a fair fight."

"He's right," Nova says sullenly. "There are only two relatively positive outcomes to being in the Games. The more likely one is a quick death. I don't want to die in here, but do you really think either of us is going to win? Realistically, the best we can hope for is not to suffer. If the Careers or the freak get us, suffering's a given."

"You're dumber than he is," Ash breathes. "Right now, she's the weak link. You want to wait until she's a threat again and hope for the best?"

"If you want to leave, you have your share of the supplies," Nova tells him, clearly tired of his whining. "Nobody will stop you. And who knows; maybe she manages to take them all out but is easy pickings afterwards. Then I only need to kill you two," she says lightly. Tock laughs weakly at that.

"Bannock was right," Nova goes on, her tone becoming more pensive. "Only one person can win, but if it's any one of us, and we do it without turning into some kind lunatic or stabbing anyone in the back, that's worth something. When have you ever even heard of a Games like this? That crazy cripple didn't just stick it to the Gamemakers, she gave all of us the chance to do the same. She completely skewed the odds, and left behind a Games where the weakest can be something more than cannon fodder. Bannock chose to be a part of that the moment he didn't kill us, and he seemed pretty sure Katniss would do the same."

"And she did," Tock added confidently. "If she was playing by their rules she would have killed us all last night."

This conversation has taken a dangerous turn. It reeks of rebellion, which is exactly what got us and so many other kids into this mess to begin with. And when, exactly, did my being too cowardly to kill them become an act of glorious defiance against the Capitol?

"Well, that's worked out for her. She has the three of us for bait and human shields."

I like Ash's thoughts on my character a lot more than Nova's. Having the Districts hate me isn't as dangerous as having the Capitol hate me. Then I remember that the one Capitolite who holds my fate in his hands hates me already.

"She can barely move..." Ash continues.

"Like Tock said, she might be a lot better tomorrow. Her injury isn't really that bad."

"That's my point! If we're going to do something about her, we should do it now. If we don't, and she beats them? What's a fair fight when she can pick us off just as easily as she does them?"

"I'll give you a warning and a head start."

Nova and Ash flip around to me; Nova looking slightly worried, Ash absolutely terrified. Tock, facing me across the fire, barely reacts, instantly making me paranoid. Did he see that I was awake? Is that the only reason he was talking me up to the others?

I shrug off the suspicion. Like it or not, these are my allies, and I have to trust them.

Besides, Ash is clearly the one most likely to stick a knife in my back.

"Then I suppose that's settled," Nova announces with something approaching cheer. She glances skyward. "Feel up to checking the snares before it gets too dark? There won't be time if we have another exciting morning."

I nod, clamber carefully to my feet, and start to unzip Nova's jacket. "Keep it," she says. "Yours is still soaked, and your tunic isn't doing much better. That, at least, might be dry by morning." But the moment she steps away from the fire, she gives a little shiver in the cooling evening. Tock, still sitting close to the flames, tosses her his jacket, and she shrugs into it gratefully.

I leave my bow, which is essentially a fashion accessory for all the good it does me right now, and strap on my knife belt within reach of my good arm. Nova carries her sword in hand.

We reach the snares quickly, only to find three empty, and one gone. With the light rapidly fading, I'm starting to think I misremembered where the fourth snare was and begin to search around, but Nova produces a flashlight and shines it at my feet - and the ring of blood I'm standing in.

"Well," I breathe, hopping back to examine the mess and determinedly ignoring the pain that shoots down my arm at the movement, "looks like it was a good catch. A buck, maybe, and big."

"Great. Four snares, and all we managed to do was feed that damn bird."

"It wasn't the bird." I grab her hand and direct the flashlight beam to a massive paw print in the blood. "Let's get back."

We abandon the empty snares and start to jog. We're barely out of the clearing when we hear the shriek overhead. Nova dashes behind a tree, and my hand moves to reach over my shoulder for an arrow that isn't there. Following Nova, I watch the sky and glimpse a flash of massive wings as the bird descends like a meteor into the trees a couple of hundred feet away. An instant later there's a second shriek; one unmistakably emitted by an enormous cat, furious and pained.

"Run!" I hiss, shoving Nova ahead of me.

By the time we get back, my shoulder is throbbing and burning worse than ever. I duck my head and scrub away tears before anyone can see them. Nova collapses, breathless, next to the fire. The boys are one their feet, watching the woods apprehensively.

"What was that?" Ash squeaks. He has his jacket on, and a bulging backpack slung over his shoulders.

"Hopefully, a dying cat," I groan, rubbing at my shoulder. "But if you're leaving, I'd recommend going that way." I point back the way he and Tock came after their scouting. "We don't know what's in those ruins, but there's at least one very big hunter out there right now."

Ash glares at me as if the whole situation is my fault – which, given the presence of the cat, it probably is – and sinks to the ground, tossing his pack away from him.

"Could you please not throw the mine?" Tock snaps at him.

"We'll need guards for the night," Nova gets in before Ash can respond. She opens a water bottle, guzzles what must be half its contents, and passes it to me. "The bird doesn't seem interested in us yet, but that could change, and the cat could still be out there."

"What bird?" Tock asks.

"Some kind of massive falcon," I tell him. "Probably not a mutt, since it barely even looked at us when we saw it earlier in the day."

"Or maybe it was just happy with the meal it already had," Nova suggests.

"So a giant raptor that might be a mutt, and a giant cat that's definitely a mutt, both hunting around our camp," Ash complains. "Is there any good news?"

"If the cat's still alive," I offer, "it's probably not in a hunting mood. It sounded like the bird hurt him, and he was probably full anyway after stealing a deer from one of our snares."

"With our luck, the deer would have had poisoned antlers," Ash grouses.

"Don't make me drown you," Nova growls.

Before the argument can escalate, we're interrupted by the blaring of the Capitol anthem.

"A lot earlier than last night," Tock notes.

The girl from Five appears as well as Cropper and Laurel, but the anthem continues to play long after Cropper's face is gone, and as it fades we're greeted by the jovial voice of Hunger Games announcer, Claudius Templesmith. He congratulates those of us remaining on a very exciting Games, and tells us it's about to get even better.

"Are you joining us?" Nova asks sweetly. "That would be fun. Bring your friends."

Apparently Claudius hears her, because he loses his place and has to double back, informing us that the Games are about to get even better because we're having a feast.

"We could be preparing venison right now if not for that mutt you keep sending after me," I point out. Nova laughs.

"Now, I can see some of you already rolling your eyes," Claudius booms cheerfully, "but at dawn at the Cornucopia there will be a plethora of supplies some of you need quite sorely. Maybe you're hungry, maybe you're hurt, or maybe you just need something to give you an edge over your opponents. Rest assured, your needs will be catered for in the morning. Good night, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

"Whoever wins punches him right between his beady little eyes," Nova announces. "Agreed?"

"Um, perhaps more importantly right now," Tock asks, "are we going?"

"Why?" Ash demands. "We're better supplied than anyone else. For all we know whoever shows up at that feast dies for a loaf of bread."

"Or there could be proper medicine. We have aid kits and that glue Haymitch sent us, but Katniss needs anti-infection meds and something that will let her use that arm."

"An anti-inflammatory maybe," Tock suggests. "It would give her some range of motion in the short term. I wouldn't count on anything to really help with the pain, though," he says to me. "They need you able to keep the games going, but I don't see any of them caring if you hurt."

"You were both saying she might be fine in the morning!" Ash explodes.

"Or she could be worse," Tock points out. "If that arm swells up too much, there's no way she's shooting anything. And there aren't many of us left. We don't have time for her to heal up."

"It's too risky," I say before Ash can fit in his next complaint. All heads turn to me.

"A feast is always a fight," I tell them. "I can't fight at all right now. Can any of you?"

"Not really," Tock admits, "but that's the point. You don't have time to heal naturally, and you're the only one who can stand up to the Careers or the freak."

"Exactly," Ash mutters. "This Games isn't going their way. They want to take her out, and all of us at the same time if they can. Then it's down to the real fighters."

"If that means not having to listen to you anymore, we're definitely going," Nova snaps.

"What if we turn this into our trap instead of the Gamemakers?" Tock asks. "Dazzle's hurt; maybe she needs medicine too. The boy from Six didn't have any supplies at all. And we have the mines."

"Explosions and fire have worked for us so far," Nova agrees. "You want to rig the entrance to the Cornucopia?"

"Right. We go now, get there a few hours before dawn. If we set them close enough to each other, one sets off the others. We get at least one Tribute and all the supplies. We wouldn't even need to bury them; a bunch of Tributes running flat out at the Cornucopia aren't going to be watching their step."

"But if we do that we lose the supplies too," Nova points out.

"Not if wait inside the Cornucopia. We set the mines, wait for the feast, grab what we need and get out of there."

"I'm not running through a minefield!" Ash exclaims.

Tock looks at him pityingly. "Four mines isn't a field, and we'll know where they are. We just need to watch our step, and anyone running towards the Cornucopia while we're running away isn't coming after us. They need to gather their own supplies. One false step and they're dead, and we run off with the explosion as cover."

Nova considers for a moment, glancing shiftily at me and Ash. Finally she shakes her head. "No. We're splitting up. You and Ash take all the supplies you can carry. Katniss and I go to the feast; and we'll be travelling light."

It takes a while before both pairs are ready to leave. All Nova and I will take is her sword, my knives, and a single pack containing a little food, water, a first aid kit, and a single mine. Nova and Tock converse for a few minutes, and suddenly Tock is on the ground prying open the casing of said mine.

Nervously, I watch him tinker with it by flashlight, half-expecting him to accidentally blow us all up. But he works quickly and confidently, explaining as he works that the Gamemakers installed multiple triggers, each of which they could activate or deactivate remotely if need be. They can be set to respond immediately to increased or decreased pressure, or set for a delayed detonation. "I saw a clip from an old Games," he tells me. "Sixtieth, I think. They called the Tributes to a feast, and reactivated the mines, but instead of blowing up as soon as someone stood on where they were planted, they kept going off behind the Tributes, seconds later."

"What's to stop the Gamemakers from reactivating them now?" I ask.

"That wouldn't be very sporting, would it?" Tock says with a smirk. "And the first thing I did was disable remote communication."

My apprehension must show, because he grins at me as he snaps the casing back in place. "The second thing was to change the settings on the pressure trigger so we don't set them off accidentally when we're carrying them around."

He slips the mine into the pack Nova will carry.

"Just set it on the ground and step on it. You'll hear a loud click, and then you have ten seconds before it blows. Or you should, at any rate," he adds darkly. Nova slaps him in the back of the head, and he laughs.

Ash goes along sullenly and not-quite-silently with Nova's decision. He does manage to contribute something useful to the conversation between grumblings – he comes up with a place for us all to meet up after the feast.

Admittedly, I don't really contribute anything. I can only watch while Nova lays out the plan. A plan that splits up the pack, endangers her life, and hinges on us surviving a Gamemaker-engineered massacre, then meeting up with the boys later, assuming nothing happens to them in the meantime.

All so I can shoot again.

I don't point out that my being able to draw a bow makes me as dangerous to them as to everyone else. They already know that, and Ash's face tells me he isn't forgetting anytime soon.

A last glance over my shoulder as we part ways sees Ash glaring at me as he stalks away, my bow, remaining arrows and most of my supplies on his back. Tock, with his own heavy pack on his back and a second dangling from his hand, gives us a cheerful wave.

"It isn't just for you," Nova says once the boys are out of sight. Her eyes are on me as we walk.

"I don't want to die," she snarls, and for the first time I see the strain of our situation on her face. "But if you can fight – more importantly, if you can shoot – that makes it more likely that one of us makes it out of here alive."

"I hope it's me," she says firmly. "Tock hopes it's him, and Ash hopes it's him. You're allowed to hope it's you, too."

"I do want it to be me," I insist. "But…" I struggle to find the right words. "I want to deserve to get out of here."

"You sound like Bannock," she tells me. "It's a nice idea, but it won't help. You or us. I can only think of one person who ever made it out of the Hunger Games without having to do some pretty horrible things."

That would be last year's Victor, Annie Cresta. Despite her status as the most recent Victor, she spent almost no time giving interviews in the run-up to these Games, or even during her own Victory Tour. Her speeches in every District and in the Capitol had been brief, delivered in a quavering voice with downcast eyes, and we'd all seen very little of her beyond that. The few times I'd seen her myself in the Capitol she'd been with Finnick Odair, usually clinging to him for dear life. She'd won her Games by being the best swimmer.

I couldn't think of another Victor who'd won by being anything but the best killer.

"So you'd be okay with me shooting you?" I demand.

"No. But if it comes down to you and me, I'm okay with killing you first if you can't. And if you can," she adds, "I'm counting on it being quicker than anything the Careers or that thing from Six would do to me."

I don't respond. Her tone suggests she's trying to convince herself as much as me. Despite her talk of 'sticking it to the Gamemakers,' all she really wants is what any of us want. And to get what she wants, she'll have to do what's expected of her.

I will too, I tell myself furiously, but I can't quell the desperate hope that going home doesn't mean having to go through my allies. I know that if I'm physically capable I can kill the Careers, or the boy from Six with as little hesitation as I did Laurel. I'm pretty sure I can kill the girl from Eight, whose features I can dimly picture. I think if it comes to it, I can kill my allies too.

I just don't know what will become of me if I do.

Despite the chill of the night, I can feel the constant beading of sweat on my forehead over the next few hours. Despite Tock's suggestion that we could reach the Cornucopia hours before down to prepare, I realise not long into the trek that we'll be lucky to get there on time. Nova is carrying the pack, but my jerky movements are still slowing her down. She hasn't said a word, but her occasional glances at the sky have me forcing myself to move faster, increasing both the pain in my arm and shoulder as well as the exhaustion.

Twice we stop at Nova's insistence, nervously watching the dark sky – conspicuously absent what should be a bright half-moon – while we quickly eat the first thing we lay our hands on and chug some water.

The second time we're stopped a finally ask what I've wanted to ask since the moment we left the boys.

"How did Bannock die?"

Nova pauses in the act of stuffing closing up the pack.

"When we left the Cornucopia, Bannock insisted we head up the same mountain you'd taken."

More of a hill than a mountain, I think, but with Bannock's injured leg and none of them used to the outdoors it wouldn't have been an easy journey. Then I think how crowded that hillside must have been that first night – myself, all the surviving Careers, and a pack of five.

"Why?" I ask. "This," I gesture to the much flatter forest around us, "would have made a lot more sense."

Nova shrugs. "Like I said earlier, he was pretty sure you'd join up with us. He wanted to find you before the Careers did."

My stomach drops. Bannock was looking for me when he died.

"When it got too dark to keep searching, we settled down for the night. There were too many people on the mountain to risk a fire, so we were just sitting there huddled together in our sleeping bags."

I remember being perched in my tree that night, waiting for Senan and the others, my fingers so numb with the cold I didn't know for sure I'd be able to shoot them if they did come along.

"Then right after the anthem, there's another cannon, then a few minutes later the whole mountaintop is on fire."

I must make some sort of sound, because Nova's eyes raise up to meet mine, worried. "What…" she begins, then realisation dawns.

I drop my eyes, trying and failing to catch my breath. "Tell me," I manage between ragged gasps.

"You don't need to…"

"Tell me!" I half shriek. She flinches, and I close my eyes, forcing as slow and steady a breath as I can manage through my lungs.

"We grabbed our gear," she tells me tremulously, "and started heading back down as quickly as we could." I hear her fumbling at the clasps on her pack. "Tock went missing. The fire was making better time than we were, and when we looked back to see how close it was, there were only four of us."

I know before she tells me. Bannock, already lamed from an injury my terrible shooting at the Cornucopia helped cause, ran back towards the fire – my fire – to find Tock.

I flinch at the arms moving tentatively around my shoulders. Whether she's offering me comfort or trying to hide my silent sobs from the cameras, I don't know.

Distantly, some small part of my mind chides me for my behaviour. I barely knew Bannock Mellark. Before the Games I'd exchanged maybe a handful of words with him in the bakery; usually it was Gale and his father doing the talking when we went there to barter. Bannock barely gave us any more acknowledgement than his youngest brother – the boy who saved my life with a loaf of bread and who never said a single word to me all the times I was in the bakery after that day.

In the lead-up to the Games I hadn't known quite what to make of Bannock. In public he'd mostly played the fool, while privately he'd been much more serious. More than once he'd absolutely terrified me, before retreating into himself as suddenly as his ferocious temper had exploded.

He'd also gone out of his way to give me the best chance he could in the Hunger Games. He'd forced Haymitch to accept our alliance, made sure the instructors in the Training Centre took note of me. Then, after I nearly got him killed in the first minute of the Games, he gathered a pack and set out to find his first ally.

And I killed him.