Volt
The ceiling is a really nice shade of navy, scattered with twinkling little lights like stars or a township in the distance.
The lights fade, the buzzing in my head stops and I compute what just actually happened. My brain very helpfully sums it up in one word: ouch.
"Well, that was a great idea," I say to myself, heaving myself onto my knees. It sounds like my voice is coming from a long way away, and my breathing is more like gasps. My back feels like it should be broken, even though I didn't fall that far. Not even all my height.
The instructor gazes down at me, completely apathetic. Her hair is chopped into a very severe frame and her eyes are yellow. I blink in case that's just a trick of the fall or the light, but no. They're definitely yellow. And there's not a flicker of compassion in them.
Looks like I'm helping myself up, then.
I struggle to my feet, wincing as my back protests. The Gauntlet stretches in front of me, the padded beams and the instructors' clubs suddenly looking so much more menacing now I've fallen off them. Still, I may as well have another go. I've got nothing better to do, and the others are all scattered around, nobody looking at me. There's a continuous, annoying bleeping from where the girl from Eleven, a tiny girl with her hair in a messy fuzz around her face, is pressing buttons on the plant match-up machine. The timer is counting down and she seems to be pressing at random.
I hobble over to the front of the course again, readying myself. The instructors fix their beady little eyes on me, and I'd swear that they're all glinting sadistically. If sadistically is a word. I get the uncomfortable feeling that they're looking at my arms. The kit is skin-tight, uncomfortably so, and it feels like my muscles are all on show. Good for getting a bit of attention from the ladies, but not for when the Careers are looking for targets.
The beams aren't that high. I fell off the top one, or nearly the top one, and all I've got is an ache in my back. I can definitely do this.
Without warning the instructors, I sprint onto the first beam.
Immediately, I'm being battered from my left, padded blows raining out of nowhere. I try to ignore them and concentrate on my feet instead. The gaps between the beams are almost a stride but they're steadily rising upwards and I have to jump to reach them. The trick to this is to stay quick but my breath is short and my legs feel tired already and I'm not even at the top yet...
Something collides with my head and the next second I'm looking at the ceiling again. The stars are back.
"You okay there?" asks a voice. Female. A head hovers into view, followed by another one. For a moment it's hard to tell which one is the girl and which is the boy; all I can tell is that it's the pair from Seven. Or is it Six? No, it's Six because the pair from Seven are both younger than me.
It seems odd to me to be asking how I am when in a few days they probably won't care, so I lever myself back onto my knees and reply, "Better than I will be in a week." This seems to amuse them, so I feel a small smile creep across my face. Maybe I have potential allies here.
Well, the boy seems to be amused. Now I can see them full length, it’s obvious which is which. Though the boy’s ponytail doesn’t help much.
The girl says, “Are you okay?”
I've already answered that question. Her gaze is odd, like she’s looking through me instead of at me. The tight training kit is baggy around her arms. The Six seal is emblazoned on the side of it, with ‘Tarrin, female’ underneath it. I can't tell if she really cares or not, so I'm slightly apprehensive as I answer, "Yeah. Fine, I think."
"That was a fall and a half!" the boy exclaims. He crouches slightly in front of the girl, and his eyes have a pleasant expression that I instantly warm to. The girl might not be ready to kill me but she looks like she'll not do anything else for me either. The boy looks more like he'd be a good ally.
"It wasn't so bad," I say. "I've done worse."
"District Five, right?"
"That's me. Volt Contrast, District Five." The boy helps me to my feet and I stretch out my arms, shooting a look at the girl. She doesn't seem bothered, which stings. I'm not used to girls who don't even smile at me.
"Massey. This is Cleo. District Six," the boy - Massey - tells me.
I nod a few times, though I'm not sure what to say to that. I try smiling at Cleo instead, adding, "That's a pretty name."
"My sister's called Isabelle; that's a pretty name," she replies, fixing me with a cool look. I'd probably get a more encouraging look from Solarelle - who, incidentally, doesn't like being called Elle - who at least acknowledges my attention a bit. But I can work with her reply.
I give her a little grin. "It is. I know an Isabelle back home and she's a stunner."
Massey snorts good-naturedly, but there's no real response from Cleo, not even a smile. Instead, she just nods and says, "My Iz is ten."
A little sister. Ouch. She'll never know what happens to her; just by looking at Cleo I know that unless she's chosen a secret Career to come with her, she's not getting past the bloodbath. She should have age on her side but she seems to be constantly in her own world, which is probably back home with her little sister. Whatever 'home' is like.
I don't know where to go from that. I want to know why they're talking to me, but that's not the sort of thing you can suddenly ask straight out. And I could mention Al back home, but I don't want to make it seem like I'm trying to get them to feel sorry for me because there's no point in that.
"So, are we allies or what, then?"
Well, we may as well get to the point. It'd be nice to sit around chatting and making small talk, but there's only three days before the arena and if I'm going to have allies, I want to have time to get to know them, start working as a proper team.
"Do you want allies?" Massey asks. His face has changed completely, from the pleasant, friendly smile to something more brisk and businesslike. He’s still smiling a bit, though. Almost like there’s something he’s not telling me. I suppose I should be curious, but since I doubt that it’s anything particularly serious, I’m not. I appraise them quickly. He looks quick, like he knows what he’s about, and I’d bet that despite the ridiculous ponytail he’s not that pathetic, not like the boys back home who let their hair go floppy. Everybody knows a boy like that, don’t they? The ones who think the best way to get girls is to sit around looking slightly troubled and complicated. The kind who you’ve just got to hate.
Cleo looks like she won’t bring any trouble, but no benefits either. But she must be good at something and it might be worth sticking around to find out. There's a yelp on the other side of the room that sounds like it probably comes from one of the three twelve year old girls from the Agriculture Districts, but when we look there's no sign of anything different.
“Sure, why not?” I reply, clapping both of them firmly on the back. Cleo just shrugs her shoulders. I get the urge to make some sort of quip, just to let her know that she’s annoying me, but bite it back. It’s probably not a good idea to piss off allies just after you’ve made them. Though I doubt she’d get that pissed off anyway. She probably wouldn’t even hear me. She just keeps staring into the distance.
She seems to be looking at a small group forming on the other side of the room, in the middle of the random clump of bushes. The Careers are close by, throwing knives with a collective air of superiority that is enough to convince me to stay away from them. Next to them the girl from Seven - Aspen? Something like that, anyway - is lingering with her district partner and talking very loudly to the boy from One. The one who was reaped. No wonder the Careers are ignoring him. The girl is almost funny in her stupidity. Well, she probably thinks of it as bravery, or cunning. I can see her game, though, and it's only going to get her killed. Even I don't think I can charm and outwit the Careers, and I can charm almost anything.
Almost.
It feels like I've spent too much time not doing anything. I can't just stand around chatting. So I've got allies sorted. Maybe I can't trust them with my life, maybe I've rushed into it and there's better people out there, but I've got allies and there's safety in numbers to start with and that'll do. But now I need to do something, and what better to have a look at what my allies are capable of than a quick run at the Gauntlet? And I'll have another go myself, of course. This time I've got to get across.
I lean back on the Gauntlet, shooting an angry glare at the woman with the yellow eyes. She looks delighted at the prospect of new victims. My two new allies look at me, trying to work out what I'm going to say next. Well, Massey does.
"I'll race you," I suggest, topping it off with my favourite grin.
Battered and bruised and triumphant, every single muscle aching, I collapse onto the floor and lean my back against the cold wall. Massey flops next to me and wipes his forehead with a laugh. Cleo hurls herself into the floor.
“I won,” I insist.
“No way.”
“I finished before you did.” I finally made it over the Gauntlet. Hopefully the Careers weren’t watching when I did it. The girl from Three is attempting it now, balancing precariously on the top beam with her narrow features pursed. She must be pretty sharp in the mind because she’s managed to find the one spot where the instructors can’t reach her.
“The instructors were targeting me!”
“They so weren’t!”
Both of us laugh, and even Cleo chuckles. This room might not look like anything back home. It’s too clean and filled with too many weapons and too many shouts of pain – though admittedly most of that was me, falling to the floor yet again – and the air feels too stale. But for a moment, if I forget all of that, in this little bubble I could be at home, making friends with two colleagues, having a bit of a laugh in our break.
“Who’re you bringing?” Cleo asks her feet, effectively popping the bubble. Massey’s mouth snaps closed and he frowns slightly. Again, he has that look that says he knows something I don’t.
“Tyra,” he says. “My girlfriend.”
“Hat girl?” Cleo asks disinterestedly. I guess she knows her, albeit apparently by a hat. There’s got to be something about this hat, and I’m tempted to ask but it might break the mood. District Six is similar to Five, according to what I’ve heard, and the odds of two tributes knowing each other have got to be fairly small. Is it better that way? I don’t know or care.
It’s hard to tell what Cleo thinks about this move; I think it’s risky, bringing somebody you love, literally tying their life to yours. Unless this is just a very elaborate break-up. The thought makes me laugh slightly.
“Yes,” Massey says with a small smile. “Hat girl. What about you?”
“Ginger.”
I watch curiously as Massey darts to his feet and sits down again just as quickly, going slightly pale. Ginger must be a friend of his. And who names their child Ginger anyway? Cleo speaks before Massey can say anything, “If anybody can keep us alive, it’s him.”
“Yes, but…oh, never mind. What about you, Volt?”
“Cyrus,” I tell them. “A colleague of mine. He’s a good laugh and I could do with some cheering up.”
Massey raises his eyebrows, concentrating on me though he keeps glancing back at Cleo, who is studying the hem of her training kit. He can’t work out if I’m being serious or not. I like that. Keep people guessing. I just shrug. Well, who else was I going to bring? Al would have wanted to come but he’s too old and I wouldn’t risk my family losing both children anyway. And none of my friends; they shouldn’t suffer from my bad luck. And rumour said that Cyrus was planning on volunteering next year anyway. He might even be pleased.
Solarelle is on the plant screen thing, and judging by the amount of red on it, she’s failing badly.