"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, hammers Alessia's ears. She has less than a minute to get her bearings. Then the gong will sound and the tributes will be free to move off their metal plates. But move where?
Alessia can't think straight. The image of Cinna, beaten and bloody, consumes her. Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an avox? Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge her, the same way Darius's presence in her quarters was. And it has unhinged her. All she wants to do is collapse on her metal plate. But she can hardly do that after what she just witnessed. She must be strong. She owes it to Cinna, who risked everything by undermining President Snow and turning her bridal silk into mockingjay plumage. And she owes it to the rebels who, emboldened by Cinna's example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment. Her refusal to play the Games on the Capitol's terms is to be her last act of rebellion. So she grits her teeth and will herself to be a player.
Where are you? Alessia can still make no sense of her surroundings. Where are you?! Alessia demands an answer from herself and slowly the world comes into focus. Blue water. Pink sky. White-hot sun beating down. All right, there's the Cornucopia, the shining gold metal horn, about forty yards away. At first, it appears to be sitting on a circular island. But on closer examination, Alessia sees the thin strips of land radiating from the circle like the spokes on a wheel. She thinks there are ten to twelve, and they seem equidistant from one another. Between the spokes, all is water. Water and a pair of tributes.
That's it, then. There are twelve spokes, each with two tributes balanced on metal plates between them. The other tribute in her watery wedge is old Woof from District 8. He's about as far as the land strip on her left. Beyond the water, wherever you look, a narrow beach and then dense greenery. Alessia scans the circle of tributes, looking for Peeta, but he must be blocked from her view by the Cornucopia.
Alessia catches a handful of water as it washes in and smells it. Then she touches the tip of her wet finger to her tongue. As she suspected, it's saltwater. Just like the waves Peeta and her encountered on their brief tour of the beach in District 4. But at least it seems clean.
There are no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of driftwood to cling to. No, there's only one way to get to the Cornucopia. When the gong sounds, Alessia doesn't even hesitate before she dives to her left. It's a longer distance than she's used to, and navigating the waves takes a little more skill than swimming across Alessia's quiet lake at home, but her body seems oddly light and she cuts through the water effortlessly. Maybe it's the salt. Alessia pulls herself, dripping, onto the land strip down the sandy stretch for the Cornucopia. She can see no one else converging from her side, although the gold horn blocks a good portion of her view. She doesn't let the thought of adversaries slow her down, though. She's thinking like a Career now, and the first thing she wants is to get her hands on a weapon.
Last year, the supplies were spread out quite a distance around the Cornucopia, with the most valuable closest to the horn. But this year, the booty seems to be piled at the twenty-foot-high mouth. Alessia's eyes instantly home in on a golden bow just in arm's reach and she yanks it free.
There's someone behind her. She's alerted by, she doesn't know, a soft shift of sand or maybe just a change in the air currents. Alessia pulls an arrow from the sheath that's still wedged in the pile and arms her bow as she turns.
Finnick, glistening and gorgeous, stands a few yards away, with a trident poised to attack. A net dangles from his other hand. He's smiling a little, but the muscles in his upper body are rigid in anticipation. "You can swim, too," he says. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"
"We have a big bathtub," Alessia answers.
"You must," he says. "You like the arena?"
"Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you," Alessia says with an edge of bitterness. It seems like it, anyway, with all the water, when Alessia bets only a handful of the victors can swim. And there was no pool in the Training Center, no chance to learn. Either you came in here a swimmer or you'd better be a really fast learner. Even participation in the initial bloodbath depends on being able to cover twenty yards of water. That gives District 4 an enormous advantage.
For a moment they're frozen, sizing each other up, their weapons, their skill. Then Finnick suddenly grins. "Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"
Sensing a trap, she's about to let her arrow fly, hoping it finds his heart before the trident impales her, when he shifts his hand and something on his wrist catches the sunlight. A solid-gold bangle patterned with flames. The same one Alessia remembers on Haymitch's wrist the morning she began training. She briefly considers that Finnick could have stolen it to trick her, but somehow she knows this isn't the case. Haymitch gave it to him. As a signal to Alessia. An order, really. To trust Finnick.
Alessia can hear other footsteps approaching. She must decide at once. "Right!" Alessia snaps, because even though Haymitch is her mentor and trying to keep her alive, this angers her. Why didn't he tell her he'd made this arrangement before? Probably because Peeta and her had ruled out allies. Now Haymitch has chose one on his own.
"Duck!" Finnick commands in such a powerful voice, so different from his usual seductive purr, that Alessia does duck. His trident goes whizzing over her head and there's a sickening sound of impact as it finds its target. The man from District 5, the drunk who threw up on the sword fighting floor, sinks to his knees as Finnick frees the trident from his chest. "Don't trust One and Two," Finnick says.
There's no time to question this. Alessia works the sheath of arrows free. "Each take one side?" she says. He nods, and she darts around the pile. About four spokes apart, Enobaria and Gloss are just reaching land. Either they're slow swimmers or they thought the water might be laced with other dangers, which it might well be. Sometimes it's not good to consider too many scenarios. But now that they're on the sand, they'll be here in a matter of seconds.
"Anything useful?" Alessia hears Finnick shout.
Alessia scans the pile on her side and find maces, swords, bows and arrows, tridents, knives, spears, axes, metallic objects she has no name for ... and nothing else.
"Weapons!" Alessia calls back. "Nothing but weapons!"
"Same here," he confirms. "Grab what you want and let's go!"
Alessia shoots an arrow at Enobaria, who's gotten in too close for comfort, but she's expecting it and dives back into the water before it can find its mark. Gloss isn't quite as swift, and Alessia sinks an arrow into his calf as he plunges into the waves. She slings an extra bow and a second sheath of arrows over her body, slides two long knives and an awl into her belt, and meets up with Finnick at the front of the pile.
"Do something about that, would you?" he says. Alessia sees Brutus barreling towards them. His belt is undone and he has it stretched between his hands as a kind of shield. Alessia shoots at him and he manages to block the arrow with his belt before it can skewer his liver. Where it punctures the belt, a purple liquid spews forth, coating his face. As Alessia reloads, Brutus flattens on the ground, rolls the few feet to the. water, and submerges. There's a clang of metal falling behind her. "Let's clear out," she says to Finnick.
This last alteration has given Enobaria and Gloss time to reach the Cornucopia. Brutus is within shooting distance and somewhere, certainly, Cashmere is nearby, too. These four classic Careers will no doubt have a prior alliance. If Alessia had only her own safety to consider, she might be willing to take them on with Finnick by her side. But it's Peeta she's thinking about. She spots him now, still stranded on his metal plate. She takes off and Finnick follows without question, as if knowing this will be her next move. When Alessia is close as she can get, she starts removing knives from her belt, preparing to swim out to reach him and somehow bring him in.
Finnick drops a hand on her shoulder. "I'll get him."
Suspicion flickers up inside her. Could this all just be a ruse? For Finnick to win her trust and then swim out and drown Peeta? "I can," Alessia insists.
But Finnick has dropped all his weapons to the ground. "Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition," he says, and he reaches down and pats her abdomen.
Oh right. I'm supposed to be pregnant, she thinks. While Alessia is trying to think what that means and how she should act- maybe throw up or something- Finnick has positioned himself at the edge of the water.
"Cover me," he says. He disappears with a flawless dive.
Alessia raises her bow, warding off any attackers from the Cornucopia, but no one seems interested in pursuing them.
Sure enough, Gloss, Cashmere, Enobaria, and Brutus have gathered, their pack formed already, picking over the weapons. A quick survey of the rest of the arena shows that shows that most of the tributes are still trapped on their plates. Wait, no, there's someone standing on the spoke to her left, the one opposite Peeta. It's Mags. But she neither heads for the Cornucopia nor tries to flee. Instead she splashes into the water and starts paddling towards her, her gray head bobbing above the waves. Well, she's old, but Alessia guesses after eighty years of living in District 4 she can keep afloat.
Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. Alessia doesn't know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands- showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of Alessia waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, Alessia helps haul Peeta up onto dry land.
"Hello, again," he says, and gives her a kiss. "We've got allies."
"Yes. Just as Haymitch intended," Alessia answers. "Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?" Peeta asks.
"Only Mags, I think," Alessia says. She nods toward the older woman who doggedly makes her way towards them.
"Well, I can't leave Mags behind," says Finnick. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me."
"I've got no problem with Mags," Alessia says. "Especially now that I see the arena. Fish Hooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."
"Alessia wanted her on the first day," says Peeta.
"Alessia has remarkably good judgement," says Finnick. With one hand he reaches into the water and scoops out Mags like she weighs no more than a puppy. She makes some remark that Alessia thinks includes the word "bob," then pats her belt.
"Look, she's right. Someone figured it out." Finnick points to Beetee. He's flailing around in the waves but managing to keep his head above water.
"What?" Alessia says.
"The belts. They're flotation devices," says Finnick. "I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."
Alessia almost asks Finnick to wait, to get Beetee and Wiress and take them with the group, but Beetee's three spokes over and Alessia can't even see Wiress. For all she knows, Finnick would kill them as quickly as he did the tribute from 5, so instead she suggests they move on. Alessia hands Peeta a bow, a sheath of arrows, and a knife, keeping the rest for herself. But Mags tugs on her sleeve and babbles on until Alessia has given the awl to her.
Pleased, Mags clamps the handle between her gums and reaches her arms up to Finnick. He tosses his net of his shoulder, hoists Mags on top of it, grips his tridents in his free hand, and they all run away from the Cornucopia.
Where the sand ends, woods begin to rise sharply. No, not really woods. At last not the kind Alessia knows. Jungle. The foreign, almost obsolete word comes to mind. Something Alessia has heard from another Hunger Games or learned from her parents. Most of the trees are unfamiliar, with smooth trunks and few branches. The earth is very black and spongy underfoot, often obscured by tangles of vines with colorful blossoms. While the sun's hot and bright, the air's warm and heavy with moisture, and Alessia gets the feeling she will never really be dry here. The thin blue gray fabric of her jumpsuit lets the seawater evaporate easily, but it's already begun to cling to her with sweat.
Peeta takes the lead, cutting through the patches of dense vegetation with his long knife. Alessia makes Finnick go second because even though he's the most powerful, he's got his hands full with Mags. Besides, while he's a whiz with that trident, it's a weapon less suited to the jungle than her arrows. It doesn't take long, between the steep incline and heat, to become short of breath. Peeta and Alessia have been training intensely, though, and Finnick's such an amazing physical specimen that even with Mags over his shoulder, they climb rapidly for about a mile before he requests a rest. And then Alessia thinks it's more for Mags's sake than his own.
The foliage has hidden the wheel from sight, so Alessia scales a tree with rubbery limbs to get a better view. And then wishes she hadn't.
Around the Cornucopia, the ground appears to be bleeding; the water has purple stains. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the sea, but at this distance, with everyone dressed exactly the same, she can't tell who lives or dies. All she can tell is that some of the tiny blue figures still battle. Well, what did she think? That the victors' chain of locked hands last night would result in some sort of universal truce in the arena? No, she never believed that. But she guesses she had hoped people might show some... what? Restraint? Reluctance, at least. Before they jumped right into massacre mode. And you all knew each other, she thinks. You acted like friends.
Alessia has only one real friend here. And he isn't from District 4.
Alessia let the slight, soupy breeze cool her face while she comes to a decision. Despite the bangle, she should just get it over with and shoot Finnick. There's really no future in this alliance. And he's too dangerous to let go. Now, when they have this tentative trust, may be her only chance to kill him. She could easily shoot him in the back as they walk. It's despicable, of course, but will it be any more despicable if she waits? Know him better? Owe him more? No, this is the time. She takes one last look at the battling figures, the bloody ground, to harden her resolve, and then slides to the ground.
But when she lands, she finds Finnick's kept pace with her thoughts. As if he knows what she has seen and how it will have affected her. He has one of his tridents raised in a casually defensive position.
"What's going on down there, Alessia? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?" Finnick asks.
"No," she says.
"No," Finnick repeats. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance." He eyes Peeta for a moment. "Except maybe Peeta."
Finnick knows then what Haymitch and Alessia know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep-down better than the rest of them. Finnick took out that tribute from 5 without blinking an eye. And how long did Alessia take to turn deadly? She shot to kill when she targeted Enobaria and Gloss and Brutus. Peeta would have at least have attempted negotiations first. Seen if some wider alliance was possible. But to what end? Finnick's right. Alessia is right. The people in this arena weren't crowned for their compassion.
Alessia hold his gaze, weighing his speed against her own. The time it will take to send an arrow through his brain versus the time his trident will reach her body. She can see him, waiting for her to make the first move. Calculating if he should block first or go directly for an attack. Alessia can feel they've both about worked it out when Peeta steps deliberately between them.
"So how many are dead?" he asks.
Move, you idiot, Alessia thinks. But he remains planted firmly between them.
"Hard to say," Alessia answers. "At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."
"Let's keep moving. We need water," he says.
So far there's been no sign of a freshwater stream or pond, and the salt water undrinkable. Again, Alessia thinks of the last Games, where she nearly died of dehydration.
"Better find some soon," says Finnick. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."
We. Us. Hunting. All right, maybe killing Finnick would be a little premature. He's been helpful so far. He does have Haymitch's stamp of approval. And who knows what the night will hold? If worse comes to worse, Alessia can always kill him in his sleep. So she lets the moment pass. And so does Finnick.
The absence of water intensifies her thirst. Alessia keeps a sharp eye out as they continue their trek upward, but with no luck. After about another mile, she can see an end to the tree line and assume they're reaching the crest of the hill. "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something."
But there is no other side. Alessia knows this before anyone else, even though Alessia is farthest from the top. Her eyes catch on a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first Alessia thinks it's the glare from the sun or the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it's fixed in space, not shifting when Alessia moves. And that's when Alessia connects the square with Wiress and Beetee in the training center and realizes what lies before them. Her warning cry is just reaching her lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines.
There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gone and Alessia sees open space over a short stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground.
Alessia rushes over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. "Peeta?" There's a faint smell of singed hair. Alessia calls his name again, giving him a little shake, but he's unresponsive. Her fingers fumble across his lips, where there's no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. Alessia presses her ear against his chest, to the spot where she always rests her head, where she knows she will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart.
Instead, she finds silence.