Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Attack - Jay

Jay

Two down...eleven to go? Something like that anyway. There must have been a big fight or something because they were fairly close together, so maybe the Careers have finally done what it's been obvious they're going to do since training; exploded.

For a moment I'm distracted by the idea of all of the ridiculously photogenic killing machines all suddenly bursting into flames. In my mind the two squabbling girls from One run around shrieking, too dumb to even roll on the ground. The brother and sister from Two would, I reckon, but she'd probably still be talking. I don't think I saw her with her mouth shut once.

Then again, time in this place is so fucked up. I know it's getting dark on the third day but I couldn't tell you whether it's closer to six or nine. There could have been anything between two and twenty minutes between those cannons.

I don't even know where I am. I don't think I'm walking in circles, but I haven't seen a blackberry thicket in a while and my stomach is empty. My throat calls for water. The clouds don't look much like rain. They're still those pointless wispy clouds that might be rain but probably aren't. There's got to be water somewhere, but who even knows if I'm going the right way? I don't.

I should have gone to whichever fucking station was meant to teach us that.

It's just a wood. I'd never have thought a wood could be this weird, this disorientating. That and the fact that I might actually die of boredom before even seeing another tribute.

My foot makes a squelching noise and slips slightly; the trees swing as I get my balance back. Stupid mistake, that. I should be looking where I'm going, not that it looks that different to the rest of it. It's just a patch of mud.

Mud is damp, and mud means water. Awareness lights in my mind and my throat screams in relief; there's water nearby, somewhere.

A tiny piece of advice suddenly decides to make itself known. Where there's water, there's other tributes, or at least there's likely to be anyway. I'm unarmed, too. Unless my branch counts as a weapon, which it doesn't. It might be good for hitting people with - in fact, I'm pretty sure it is good for hitting people with - but you're a fool if you don't take a chance to completely eliminate the competition while you're at it.

Eliminate meaning...get rid of. Of course.

As I spin around on the spot, looking for some kind of clue, 'ten to one' pops into my mind. Why? What's so special about it? It's just a number, a ratio of some sort. Which is useless because I never paid attention in school; what good are ratios when your life is in trees? Seven shouldn't try and kid itself otherwise.

No, it's my odds. The chances of me living. A stupid idea, if you ask me. Nobody's life, especially not mine, can be reduced down to numbers. Though ten to one isn't bad. Something to be proud of, at any rate. If it makes any difference to the memory of the dead.

We have a monument, back home. Its full name is 'The Tree of Those Lost and Never Forgotten', presumably thought up by somebody who thought they were being deep and meaningful when they were actually stating the bleeding obvious. Most people call it the Tree. There's a pretty story involving quite why the Justice Building was built around an oak tree, but I can't remember it. Probably it was written by the same idiot who named the Tree.

On the tree is carved the face, name, age and Games number of every tribute Seven has ever lost to the Games. I've seen it every time I've been summoned to the Mayor's office to explain why the Peacekeepers seem to endlessly demand my presence as if they've actually got nothing better to do with their time. It never gets any less creepy, all those faces of the dead looking down on you. Whoever does the carvings does a good job, because each one has such an  individual expression that it feels like you knew them, knew that exact moment their pictures were captured. But it's just weird, and after the first time when I stopped to gawp, I always scurry past it with my head down. No wonder the Mayor always looks so grim.