Caitlin
We all froze. We stared at him. He stared at us. His eyes were huge, wild, brimming with a kind of twisted madness that made me shiver and back away even though he didn't appear to be armed. He should have looked terrified. There was Thalia, to my left, and then Columbia and Titan to my right, and I knew from the sound of footsteps that Sylvester had emerged from the Cornucopia. There were five of us, and one of him. And yet he just stood there, as if he was hardly seeing us at all...My heart was thumping against my ribcage, I'll admit it.
And then Milo screamed.
I'd never heard an Avox scream before, and I hope I never have to again. In Garnet we only get the best Avoxes, the ones who wouldn't scream if you broke their fingers, and anyway the Knopes have always been against using them. But that scream...I've heard some horrible things in my twenty years. I've heard politicians lie outright in interviews and then order around their staff as if they were born better. I've heard the people my family supported initially supported destroying our homes with reckless disregard for the innocent. I've heard crying children fleeing from gunshots. I've heard a husband sobbing over the body of his wife.
Nothing, none of that, compares to the sound of an Avox screaming.
It goes right to your core. Right to the soul. It's like someone is raking a knife down your spine. It's a life of pain, anger and fear all rolled up into one piercing, tongue-less sound. It's a weapon all of its own. Milo stood there with madness lurking around the edges of his eyes and he opened his mouth and that came out, and I could tell by the expressions on the faces of the others that they were as stunned as I was.
Thalia was closest; perhaps she knew she would have been his first target. After all, it was too late for him to run away. From the moment every eye turned to him, there was going to be a fight. Even though we were unarmed. We'd let our guard down. With the cold and the headstones and the clothes it was impossible to forget that you were in the Games, but somehow we'd fooled ourselves into thinking we were safe. That we could make ourselves comfortable. That we could make friends.
Milo was going to tear all that apart, though of course we didn't know it then.
Funny how this hits you only every so often. The rest of the time it hides away, waiting to pounce. Letting you get along, letting you laugh and joke and grow fond of people.
That's half the torture.
Milo prowls forwards, towards Thalia. She's backing away, waving the stick in a just-identifiable parody of a sword sweep, and her face doesn't seem to be able to find an expression to stick to. It sneers briefly. "Back away, or I'll use this! I'm warning you!"
He doesn't even pause. Perhaps he hears the wobble in her voice. Or perhaps he senses, like I do, that these aren't her words at all, that they come from years and years of past tributes and bear as little link to Thalia's personality as I do to his situation now. She's visibly shaking. I don't blame her. If I had Milo creeping towards me silently with that look in his eyes, I'd be counting down the seconds until my courage gave out and I ran for it. I won't even try to pretend that that isn't part of the reason I'm hanging back now. Even Titan looks alarmed.
We're going to watch Thalia die.
There's no point even trying to pretend that this is going to end any other way. We all saw Milo wrestling Walt, and compared to him Thalia is skinny and suddenly looks a lot more fragile than ever. And there's no Probus Fidelis here to intervene this time. And Thalia isn't quite all there anymore.
I like her. She's kind and funny and probably a good actress, though nowhere near the best. But I don't like her so much that I'll risk whatever is driving Milo along to try and rescue her. The boy looks as though he's possessed, his dark eyes burning, his hands clenching and unclenching so that even under the arena clothes his muscles flex. We can hear every single one of his footsteps, crunching on layers and layers of dead leaves, and the high keening noise in his throat. Thalia casts another glance over at us.
I can't turn down a face like that. A Knope always helps those in need; it's why we helped the rebels along at first. Quietly, so that Milo won't notice - not that I think he'd notice anything, he's so focused on pacing around after Thalia, choosing his moment - I shuffle into the Cornucopia and select a bow and some arrows. Not my best weapon, but I'm not getting close to Milo. Sylvester pulls his feet aside so that I can pass him and I tap a hand to his shoulder in reassurance, but the expression in his eyes is so blank that I don't think he's noticed. Sylvester had retreated back into himself, protecting himself from the horrors of the games. I wished I could do the same, but inability to ignore how things really are has always been part of me. He could fool himself. I couldn't. Milo could have set this whole circle on fire and I don't think Syl would realise.
Titan and Columbia, arms brushing, are just watching. Neither of them look afraid. Neither of them look about to intervene. Columbia spots me, though, and her perfect model's skin creases in a small frown. Notch! The arrow doesn't seem to want to fit around the string and it's threatening to tip me into panic, and I haven't got time to sit and work it out. And Milo is gaining, and even as it finally clicks a treacherous thought in the back of my head urges me to run and save myself.
No. I'm not running. It's not even about whether I like Thalia or not now. If I don't help, I'm not a Knope. That's all it is. No sentimentality, not in the Hunger Games. Just my identity.
Thalia swipes at Milo, but he's just out of her reach and instead she nearly topples over herself, her feet catching on the rough ground. Spotting her unbalanced, he lunges forwards; she avoids it, but only just. Her eyes catch mine.
"Caitlin!"
And I fire.
The arrow whips by Milo's face. It's a foot or so ahead of him, almost closer to Thalia, but for a second his eyes flicker over to me - chills run down my back again - and Thalia doesn't need the shout that Columbia gives her. The stick cracks into Milo's temples. He cries out again and teeters sideways but somehow doesn't fall.
And then Thalia's running, not towards us but away. It's not much of a run; all desperation, it's just one foot in front of the other, lurching here and there, but it's getting her away from Milo and his strange expression and it's getting her away from us. Columbia meets my eyes. I had the bow in my hand. In that moment, my vision shifted, though nothing had changed. I was no longer looking at Thalia Glitz, re-enactment actress from the Silver sector, a girl who once played Annie Cresta and struggles to start fires. I was looking at a shape running away from me. Not anybody. Hardly even human. For that fraction of a second, firing the bow seems so easy...
Milo howls. It drags me out of the horror of this thought and just in time too, because he's given up on Thalia and is lurching towards us. Blood streaks down his cheek, sticky red against the darkness of his skin and the grey of the sky. He looks like nothing could stop him. My breathing is coming quicker. In the time it takes me to notch the next arrow he's covered half the remaining space and I can hear him panting with effort. Thalia has disappeared, but we won't be so lucky. I won't be so lucky. The Cornucopia is behind me and although the thought of taking refuge in it seems tempting, my logical side kicks in and reminds me of all the horror flicks I've seen where the foolish victim traps themselves somewhere small with only one way out. I have to stand my ground. As terrifying as that it, as much as every part of me is screaming for me to run apart from the little bit telling me that I'd never fired an arrow this time last week, I have to do it.
Titan and Columbia aren't doing anything. This stings until I realise that all the weapons are in the Cornucopia, therefore behind me, and therefore they'd need to get past Milo to get to them.
That is the sort of mistake you never saw the Careers make.
"Stay back," I warn him, and although I'm trying to stop my voice from trembling I know I sound no better than Thalia did. "That was just your warning shot!"
I'm a terrible liar. Either he notices this or just doesn't care because he keeps on coming, one step after another, and I'm going to have to shoot soon, soon, but I can't guarantee I'll hit yet, so I wait, and so...
A movement like a mountain unfolding reveals Syl, emerging from the world of counting protein packs. For the second that I can't see the look in his eyes I feel an absurd flash of relief, but then I catch a glimpse as he stands and I see that he's terrified. Milo's relentless surge pauses; with two targets, which does he pick? Me, armed with an arrow, slim and untrained, or Syl, six feet five at the least, with muscles bigger than just about anybody I've ever seen?
He chooses Syl.
Syl tries to back away from the onslaught, but he's too slow and Milo is unstoppable. The Avox manages to get an arm around him, trying to drag him down to the floor. Syl bucks - there's a ripping sound - and almost manages to throw him off. Milo's fingers grip tight. And then his hands move and he's clinging to Syl's back like a child being carried, where Syl can't easily reach to move him, and he's pulling something around his neck. His face is gritted with concentration and effort, because Syl is shaking and twisting to try and get him off, his hands pummelling at the air, his eyes bulging. They sweep over me. Good, kind Syl, who counts protein packets, is slowly having the life crushed out of him.
I drop the bow and run over, dodging Syl's fists. His mouth is gaping now, his face entirely red. Milo is still hanging on. My hands grab his shirt and pull, but this doesn't work so I grab for his shoulders instead. We're wheeling around, Syl, Milo and me, in some crazy dance. The walls of the Cornucopia spin past me. I hardly notice. All my effort is focused on my arms, trying to drag Milo down, and Syl is slowing down, he's fighting but slowing. If I don't separate Milo soon, he's dead. But my arms are aching and my feet don't have enough purchase on the ground and I'm not even sure the Avox has realised I'm here.
"Get off!" I shout. "Get off him!"
Milo shrieks, half turns his head, spots me. His eyes are even worse up close. They're red where they aren't black. His mouth is flecked with saliva. I try to give him one last tug -
And I don't see his elbow until -
My head explodes. Everything goes black.
***
Afternoon. I can feel the sun, just about warm enough to make itself noticeable, and the space behind my eyelids is a faint red colour. My head feels twice its normal size. Apart from that I appear to have all my limbs, which is a pleasant surprise, and although I'm aching it's a dull pain that suggests I have no bleeding wounds.
Something above me moves.
My eyes fly open of their own accord. I'm expecting Milo, expecting a face darker than mine with raging eyes and pouring with blood, so when I see -
It's Titan -
And I falter, seeing his hand hovering above me and the knife in it, he's holding a knife, and he's looking at me. For the first time, I saw death coming my way. There doesn't feel like there's anything I can do to stop it. Suddenly it's as though I can feel every blade of grass underneath me, and Titan's eyes are bluer than I remember, and even the grey of the sky has a kind of vibrancy I could never have imagined. When you think you might never see anything else again... But I can't give up that easily. I can maybe grab his knife, if I'm quick. I'll have to be quicker than I've ever been in my life, but it's possible. I just have to be ready. That's all...
The tip of the blade trembles. Titan stares at it for a moment, then at me, and then, slowly, holds the knife out and drops it. "I'm letting you go just this once," he gasps, and his face twists in an unattractive grimace of pain. "Just this one time, you understand?"
The rush of relief sweeps my voice away, but I manage to nod. The sky dulls. Titan hoists himself back to his feet and shuffles away, letting me stand. My head throbs; the Cornucopia twists away from me and rights itself. You're not supposed to move around too much after you've been knocked out, but obviously this is the latest in a series of luxuries to be denied. Once I'm upright - wobbly, but upright - I look around to try to get a handle on the situation. I'm still at the Cornucopia, though I'm about fifteen feet from the entrance, which I wasn't when I took the full force of Milo's elbow to the face. Thalia is gone. Milo is gone too. There's no sign of Syl...
"We put him out for the 'craft."
...and there's Columbia and Titan, standing apart and both watching me as if they think I'm about to produce a gun from somewhere and start shooting. Columbia has a knife in her hand. Titan is blocking the Cornucopia. There's nothing close to a smile on either of their faces. There's nothing close to anything but the desire to see me a long way away.
I knew then that whatever things had been, they were different now. There was a tension, low but insistent, like the sound of gunfire in the distance, that hadn't been there before. Maybe we'd all thought it was just a game. Maybe we'd now realised what Thalia had back in the bloodbath: that for once in our lives, everything we did here was real. Everything we did was life and death. We'd known that before, of course. But only now did we really understand it.
Right. I can't stay here. But if they wanted me dead right now they'd have killed me, so I can negotiate. If I'm leaving, striking out on my own, I'll need supplies. I've seen enough Games to know that.
"I want a weapon."
Columbia tosses the bow to my feet. "Here."
"This is no good on its own."
"Fine." A quiver of arrows follows it; I count them as I buckle it over my shoulder. Seven. I've got seven shots. "Anything else?"
"Water."
Two bottles. I clip one into the belt - the belt might be ugly but it's growing on me fast - and tuck the other into the quiver. I want more, but Columbia's face says there's no point asking.
"And food," I add.
Titan shakes his head. He looks like himself, still astoundingly handsome, all platinum hair and perfect teeth, but...doesn't, and it takes me a moment to work out what the difference is. It's the way he's standing. It doesn't look too different unless you know how he stood before, which is with his shoulders hurled back and his chin stuck high, to show himself off. Now his hands are in his pockets and he's almost slouching. His weight is very definitely to his right side. I remember him wincing as he stood up. Did he join the fight? He must have done.
"No," he says.
"Please."
Columbia backs into the Cornucopia and comes out with a handful of protein packets and a small sack of dried fruits. Well. They'll be fake dried fruits. The genuine stuff goes out into the districts now. But it's better than nothing, and I snatch them up from the floor gratefully. Titan scowls, but he's not going to contradict Columbia, is he?
So. A weapon. Some food, some water. I don't know what's out there in the arena, so maybe I'll find more, but I don't want to bet on it. I have more than many tributes I've seen, and I've left the Cornucopia in a much better state. Out there are the graves of those who have been killed trying to do what I have to to; does that give me a better chance? Of course not. But the thought is oddly comforting.
"Don't follow me," I warn.
Titan glances at Columbia and they nod. "We won't."
For whatever reason, I believe him. I even manage to turn my back on them as I head out into the gravestones, to meet whatever awaits me among the names of tributes long dead.
***
As it turns out, that's not much. I wait out the rest of the day pressed behind various gravestones, cleaning them so that everybody watching can see their names. It's tedious and it cracks my nails and some of the moss just won't move, but as I'm doing it I can forget everything else and focus on the task in hand. I don't make good viewing, that's for sure. I try to think about my autobiography a few times, but the words don't come. Around mid-afternoon - it's hard to tell without a clock and with the sun hidden away - it starts to rain. I tip my head up, which doesn't slake my thirst at all but it's better than nothing, and much better than going back to the Cornucopia. I don't want to waste my precious water, no matter how much my body growls for it. I've never thought of water as a luxury before, not even when the rebels came down and we were stuck in the vault. Now I'm hoarding it like the best of them.
Every so often, my head throbs at me.
As the distant fuzz that is the sun starts to sink, I start trying to fight off sleep. I've always needed a full six hours a night, and a combination of my head injury and boredom and nights on watch is telling me to go to sleep, now. I struggle against it for what is possibly a few hours. Every so often the clouds part and I catch a glimpse of a few stars; I'd love to see the full night sky in all its glory. I've only ever seen it on screens. The moon is out somewhere. It's hard to tell where.
I try to stop myself wondering what the other tributes are doing now. That turns out to be almost impossible. At any moment there could be a cannon, but time ticks past and still nothing, and the space around me is so silent it could be a tomb. Fog drifts over my feet. Maybe I can afford to...just a little...
The anthem rouses me from my doze, and the schoolgirl in me stands to attention and mouths along. I stay resolutely lying down, though I do twist so that my back is now getting soaked and I'm staring up at the sky. I can't say that I liked Syl, but he didn't deserve this and I feel I owe it to him to see him leave the arena for good. As the anthem fades away, the pictures start:
Dustrio. A babyish face, eyes wide; he looks as enthusiastic as I remember him looking in life.
Melonie. All spiky edges and attitude, she's glaring down the camera as if she expects to melt it through sheer force of presence. She must have come up against something that needed something stronger.
And Sylvester. Syl. Quiet and humble and unable to hurt even a fly. If he was involved in the rebellion in any way he never mentioned it, and I'm inclined to believe not. So he shouldn't have been here. He was no threat to anybody. And now he's dead, and the part of me that is still a Knope is raging against the rebels. They will pay for this, somehow. Maybe it won't be me who makes them, but they will.
And that was the first time I genuinely thought that I might not make it out of here alive.
If only I had a pen and paper to write this down.