Twenty Four Shades Darker: The Hunt

(6) The Joker in the Pack

One thing that was really surprising Lincoln was how well everybody was getting along, all things considered. During the three days of training there had been a tense, fragile peace; people had skirted around each other, only spoken if they'd had to, spent most of their time on their own or keeping a careful eye on him and the rest of the Careers. It had made it hard to spot possible targets. Most of the people he'd identified had died in the shambles of a bloodbath anyway. But now there was a definite camaraderie between them. The groups that had formed as they'd fled the city had solidified: Marisa, Blaire and Avery; Will was starting to tag along with Erik and therefore, by extension, with Holly and Jute; Cordelia and Barley drifted around on the fringes, rarely speaking.

There was still a definite tension in the air. Forgetting that two days ago these people would have been trying to kill you was impossible. Every so often the sunlight picked out a blade, or Satine would get bored with just walking and would get out the sword and start twirling it around, occasionally glancing for his approval, and he'd think how easy it would have been to disarm the boy. But the more they walked, and the more they spoke, the more people stopped trying to keep their distance from each other.

And besides, he had a plan. He hadn't told anybody, not even Satine, but the moment that hovercraft had come down and destroyed the Cornucopia - and killed half of the surviving tributes - his brain had whirred into life. Here were rebels at work. He'd heard about them, probably met a few without knowing it, but now he'd been absorbed into part of their plan and he'd have to make the best of it. He hated trailing around after someone else, following someone else's orders. But by the time they'd stood and watched the arena begin to burn, he'd worked out a way to use this to his advantage, even if it did mean suffering the humiliation of standing back.

The one thing that Lincoln craved more than anything else was power. He couldn't have said why. Ever since he'd been a toddler first learning to swim he'd wanted to feel the thrill of saying something and having people do it, of knowing that his was the most important voice in the room. Of knowing that he would be listened to and, as a bonus, obeyed without question. The Games had been supposed to bring him that - Victors not only got respect but they got status - and that opportunity had been taken from him. Well, that didn't matter. Now he had a better plan.

Everybody of importance knew where Thirteen was. But how many of them would know what went on inside it? The Capitol was not lacking in gratitude; anybody who could provide that information would surely be rewarded...

"Link! Lincoln, sorry."

The sound of Satine's apologetic tone brought him away from dreams of the Capitol and back into the here and now, where they were trekking seemingly at random through a damp, cold forest with Peacekeepers chasing close behind. The faint smell of eleven different people's sweat hung over them. He and Satine had fallen into step just behind Jute, Holly and Erik. Next to them Will stuttered along, struggling under the weight of Erik's knapsack, which he had insisted on carrying even though it was too heavy for him. It was a wonder the boy could coordinate himself enough to walk in a straight line.

Behind them was the constant hum of girlish chatter. Avery was telling some kind of story about Nine and her brothers. The younger girl's storytelling style was long and rambling and she seemed to have gone off the point entirely. Every so often Marisa said something. His district partner was a puzzle to him; she'd been at training sometimes, though like many of the others she'd only attended part-time and worked the rest of the time, and she'd always been capable. But in his eyes she was lacking in fire. She'd just never seemed to care that much. One time they'd been teaching how to disarm someone by bending their thumb back until it cracked and she'd run from the room.

Satine coughed. Of course. There hadn't been a question, but he was expected to answer.

"Link is fine," he said, adding his best grin and a sideways glance. The ginger boy's eyes jumped forwards and he ran a hand over his hair. Again. He seemed constantly concerned that it was out of place; sometimes it fell forwards and stuck to his forehead and he would seemingly not notice until they were talking.