#thgyear

Meg V. Josephine V. Austin

    Meg awoke after a seemingly sleepless night. Her stomach was still uneasy from the close call and ached with hunger. Her throat was raw and dry, making swallowing an uncomfortable task. Not knowing when she’d get another opportunity to eat, she opened the trail mix and forced a handful down. Her eyes watered in discomfort, but her stomach accepted the food, allowing it to stay down. Not waiting to get sick again, she sealed the mix and stuffed it into her pocket.     As Meg sat on the hard ground, a parachute fell from the sky and landed with a soft thump beside her. She hesitated before picking it up, afraid it was a sick trick of the Gamemakers. She opened the container and found six red darts. Each one had a small red cap on its tip, it was then she realized they were tranquilizers. She grinned mischievously and slipped them into her belt. She stood and stretched her sore muscles before she started walking out of the small homes of the community. She could see the larger buildings of the Capitol up ahead.     The ground shook and the sound of collapsing buildings filled the air. Meg paused and turned to see the once partially standing community now crumbled and in flames. Various sizes of rubble and shards of broken glass remained untouched by the raging fire. A gust of hot air and smoke rushed past her smelling toxic and tasting like a lit cigarette. She shook her head and walked on, knowing it was what the Gamemakers wanted. With that in mind her senses were overworking, magnifying every noise and each speck of dust.     Meg looked deep into the shadows ahead. Only bases of buildings and partial walls, hardly tall enough to hide behind, remained of the once elegant structures. Chunks of buildings lay strewn about in messy piles along with shards of broken glass. Her eyes ran over the scene again and again, but she still felt as if she was missing the most important detail to the big picture. Just as she was about to proceed into the rubble, she noticed the silhouettes of Josephine and Austin. Taking another look at her surroundings she noticed that the fire had spread and encircled the three Tributes. Her heart sank, knowing a fight would soon erupt. One that would end in a death or two.     Not able to bare the thought she backed up a few steps, being as quiet as humanly possible, then turned on her heel and ran from the two Tributes. Back home, Meg valued a non-violent lifestyle. Though her life was hard, deep down she felt it was important to treat everyone with kindness. She hated raising her voice at people, now she had to murder them? As she ran, her earpiece clicked on. “Dearest Meg,” Essurio cooned, “run all you’d like. Keep in mind though, only one of you will walk away from this battle.” There was static and then a deafening silence.     Meg stopped to catch her breathe and to think over her survival options. “I could continue to run, but this will exhaust me after while. One of the Tributes will die, but the other will come looking for me. By then, I’ll be useless in a fight and as good as dead. It makes more sense to fight with everything I have, while I can.” With a heavy heart, she made her way back to the Tributes.     “Remember Meg, this is a game. One that must be played, no matter the cost. It’s kill or be killed if you want to make it home,” she told herself sternly. She pushed aside every moral limitation and focused on the main task at hand: to stay alive. She reminded herself of training and of the bloodlust she felt after attacking Steph. Her heart started to race as she remembered how good it felt to be in control, to be the cause of someone else’s pain for a change. The years of bottled anger finally being released. With each thought, her confidence built. Adrenaline raced through her veins as the two Tributes came back into view.     Josephine and Austin were tangled together on the ground. Josephine seemed to have suffered a few blows to the head and was at a slight disadvantage. Meg watched the two wrestle as she took to the shadows and hid behind a crumbling wall about ten feet away. To the left of her there was a decent pile of rubble, perfect size for throwing. Meg watched as knife seemed to materialize in Josephine’s hand and she thrust it into Austin’s forearm.     Austin let out a scream and dropped his pipe in shock. Josephine kicked the pipe, sending it out Austin’s reach as blood began to drip onto her torso. Austin grabbed the knife and tore it from his arm, throwing it in a disarray of thoughts.     Meg knew Josephine would be the bigger challenge, she was agile and quick. It was hard to tell what she would do next. Meg wanted her out of the way first. Austin, in proper circumstances, would be an easy kill. She wanted to take her time on his death, and knew the best way to do so.     Finally ready to fight, she removed the cap from a dart. She sent up a quick prayer and threw the dark as straight as she could at Austin’s arm. She watched as it missed, flying too far to the right. “Damn!” Meg thought. She readied another and threw it with more force. It hit its mark, sinking deep into his left arm and he went limp. Josephine rolled the boy’s body off of her and stood. She looked around, searching for her new adversary.     Meg grabbed a piece of building, one with jagged edges, and threw it hard at Josephine’s back. Josephine yelped and turned to see Meg take off. Angered by Meg’s hit and run she followed, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Gaining on Meg, she threw a shuriken. Meg felt the sting of the metal point in her shoulder. It was just under the skin, not causing too much damage. She pushed herself forward, leaving Josephine behind, running in a zigzag to avoid another shuriken.     Annoyed that she wasted a shuriken and that Meg was getting further ahead, Josephine pushed herself harder. Her legs ached and her lungs were on fire, but she somehow managed to put one foot after another. Each pained stride brought her closer to Meg.     Familiar rubble and empty land flashed past Meg, telling her she was going the right way. She kept her eyes on the fiery horizon and the billowing smoke. She used the time running to form a plan, but knew it was subject to change. She was brought from her thoughts when she heard Josephine’s labored breathing near her.     Momentarily distracted, Meg missed a step and took a tumble on the rocky ground. She picked a rock from her cheek and rubbed the blood into her skin. The palms of her hands stung, but no blood protruded the scrapes. Josephine fought through her exhaustion and pounced upon Meg’s back as she began to rise. Josephine locked her hands around Meg’s throat, cutting off her airway. Meg used her whole body to turn over, placing Josephine under her. She scratched at Josephine’s hands, making her lose her grip on Meg’s throat.     Meg turned over, straddling Josephine, and punched her hard in the nose. She felt the bone crack under her fist and blood started to trickle across Josephine’s lips. Josephine reached up and dug the shurkin deeper into Meg’s shoulder.      Meg screamed, feeling the warm blood run down her back. Not wanting to tear the skin anymore, she left the blade. She stood, stepping hard on Josephine’s stomach, and began to run. Josephine grabbed Meg’s right ankle, almost bringing her down again. Meg kicked hard with her left foot, making contact with Josephine’s bloody face, escaping her grip.     Meg ran hard and heard Josephine following. She knew she had just escaped death, and didn’t want to have another close call. She had to be more alert and much more quicker. Thoughts of how to kill Josephine bounced around her brain as she lead her to the edge of the fire, where the rubble and glass remained untouched.     Meg picked up a large shard of glass, keeping her eye on Josephine. Josephine charged, knife in hand. Fed up Meg lunged at Josephine, taking her by surprise and knocking her to the ground. Meg sliced deep into Josephine’s arm with the glass, watching the blood spill onto the ground. Josephine screamed, her hot breath hitting Meg in the face. She took her knife and stabbed at Meg’s torso making three small, shallow cuts.     Meg winced at the pain and knocked the knife out of Josephine’s hand. Her stomach tightened, making her feel sick again. Angry and in pain, she hit Josephine in the jaw. She felt the fire warm her exposed skin and got an idea. She picked Josephine up by her shoulder and thrust her head onto the broken concrete, the sound was sickening. Josephine’s eyes rolled into the back of her head.     Meg waited for Josephine to come to, then began to drag the dazed Tribute to the fire. Josephine struggled, kicking her legs and clawing at Meg’s arms. Meg lost grip and Josephine started to crawl away. Meg ran and jumped on her back, smashing Josephine’s face into the ground. Meg continued to drag her and placed Josephine’s head inside the flames.     Meg sat on her stomach, holding her in the flames. Screams of torture escaped from Josephine’s blackening face. Her hair caught fire and Meg moved back to keep from getting burnt. Meg covered her mouth and nose in attempts to filter the smell of burning flesh and hair. After a few moments a cannon sounded, signaling her death. Meg raided her pockets, noticing minor burns on the back of her hands. She found Josephine’s last knife, three more shurikens and a sewing kit.     Meg slowly made her way back to Austin, thinking over everything she’d just done. The realization hit that she just fought, burned and killed another person. The screams of Josephine ringed in her ears, twisting her stomach into knots. The passion that she once felt to stay alive was now replaced greif. She arrived to see Austin was still knocked out. This would be the best time to kill him, it would be painless for him, but she’d had enough of killing. She would let Ausin have the honor of walking away.     Meg sat next to Austin, waiting for him to awake. His eyes fluttered, then finally opened completely. He looked confused, still in a daze from the tranquilizer. “Hey. You know what happened to my allies?” Austin asked sleepily.     Meg’s heart dropped even further, he had forgotten his allies were dead. “Dear. They’re dead,” she said bluntly.     “Well, I would sure hope so. They were so boring. That’s why I killed them. The people at home were bored with them, so I killed them. They trusted me. I hit them with pipes and tied them up. I forced them to drink poison. They’re dead now. Because I killed them. It’s their fault. They were boring...” Austin kept rambling on, the tranquilizers making him delirious but Meg had heard enough of his gruesome tale.     The pity Meg once felt turned to hate. He was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer. “It’s one thing to kill for survival,” she thought, “but for your own gain? Because they were ‘boring’?” She couldn’t handle it anymore, Austin was still talking, telling their death over and over. Meg took out a shuriken and threw it at Austin’s throat. He stopped mid-sentence, blood pouring from the wound. “Sorry.” Meg said emotionless. “You were boring me.”     Austin focused on the object in his throat as Meg pulled out a knife. She stabbed him in the chest, right above the heart and dragged the knife down tearing the skin. Blood poured out and formed a pool around the Tribute. Meg waited on the cannon, but one never sounded. Annoyed, she removed the knife and jabbed him in his jugular vein. Blood sprayed Meg in the face but that didn’t stop her. She took the handle of the knife and slammed it into his skull repeatedly. Tears stung her eyes as the cannon sounded. “I should’ve let you wake up more. You were a boring kill.”     Meg wiped her face and cleaned the knife. She checked his pockets for anything useful and found the poison bottles. She collected them and noticed the fire was gone. She got up, and walked on stiffly. All emotions gone.

Veronica, Clara, Ryan, Nesanne, and Donny

Morning came slowly for the trembling girl from District One. Venom still burned in her wounds, inside her body, like hot coals on raw flesh. Though she shook with the effort of standing, she stood; walking was an even more difficult task, since her right knee, where her pants were torn, was nearly paralyzed where the shredded, inflamed flesh showed vibrant pink in stark contrast to her ghostly pallor.

The swelling in her arms was noticeably diminished, but lines cut as if by razor wire criss-crossed every inch of exposed skin.

A deep magenta glow on the horizon told her that the sun was rising. Probably about five thirty in the morning. Her eyes flickered up and down the street for what might have been the thousandth time.

With a slow, controlled breath, Clara stood straight on her own, legs feeling as though they were carved from still-smoldering firewood. She walked, stiff-legged, towards her ally, sleeping in the corner. She made very little noise for a girl with at least one nonfunctioning joint as she stood over Veronica, watching her face as the Seven girl breathed, serene, as if she was in a Capitol bed instead of a pair of jackets on the ground.

As she passed the mutt's corpse, the taller girl glanced contemptuously at the mutilated body. The giant centipede had made her feel weak, and she hated that more than she could express with words. All Clara really wanted from life in general was control, which was why she made her way over to her sleeping ally as the sun rose behind the distant Capitol skyline.

She couldn't quite figure what about Veronica had made her so angry when the girl was threatened. It was dangerous for someone to have that kind of power over her, even if they didn't know it.

Veronica slept soundly, exhausted from the last two days. The heat and physical exertion in combination with Clara's reluctance to open either can of food had thoroughly tired her, emotionally as well as physically. She didn't hear the approaching footsteps, or feel the quiet breath on her face.

"Whisp. Whiiisp."

Clara perched over Veronica's chest, lightly pinning the girl's arms back in anticipation of her surprise.

"Wake up. It's morning. Whisp. Whisp. Wake up."

Veronica jerked awake, startled by the laughter that carried over from her dream to the waking world. Clara's face hovered inches above her own. She nearly screamed. Her ally was still ghostly pale, but lines of vivid red were etched over her features as if someone had taken a knife to her face.

"Good morning, Whisp," Clara said, her voice cheery despite the swelling of her throat that had not yet abated.

"What are you doing?"

"Your manners are impeccable."

"Uh… 'morning. I'm sorry… 'bout your face…"

"No reason to worry. They'll be sexy scars."

"Good. I… wait." Veronica broke off in confusion. "Why are you on top of me? And where are your pants?"

"My pants are still pretty soaked with venom. They burn the cuts. I'm gonna have to make a wrap out of my jacket, or find some new pants."

"You didn't answer the first one…"

"This is how you wake someone up at the academy when you want to remind them that you can and will kill them. And that's what I'm doing. Whisp-y, rest assured, I am entirely capable of killing you. I choose not to because I like you. There are a number of things that could make me dislike you. Please don't do any of them."

"…what?"

"You understand me, Whisp? I like you, and I'm not totally sure why the hell I do. But if you even think of leaving me, I swear to-"

"I… I get it, okay? Can you not be on top of me? This is very awkward. I won't… leave you, though I'm not entirely certain what you mean by that," Veronica said, biting her lip at the oddness of the situation.

Clara nodded, hopping to her feet with a wince as her knee took on half her weight.

"Eight left!" she said cheerfully. "That's including us. Six to kill and it'll be you and me, Whisp-y… together until the end."

With a great deal of effort, Veronica ignored the last part of Clara's thought.

"Eight… then they'll be interviewing our families now. Clara, I've been wondering… what's your family like? I just realized, I don't really know you. I don't know a thing about you."

"That's because I don't give out information for free. Not on myself. Information is power."

Veronica stood up, shaking the rubble from the two jackets and handing one back to Clara, who nodded appreciatively.

"Maybe if you shared a bit, I would trust you more," Veronica suggested.

Clara winced as she tried to pull the jacket over the knee still covered in blazing red marks. She struggled with it for a second, eventually tying it around her waist, the protein blend and water bottles secured in place.

"Well, I don't have anything to share about my family. My parents aren't around much. My little sister's screwed up, but I'll freely admit that's probably my fault. I haven't lived at home since I was accepted to the academy."

"Oh. I don't mean to make you talk about something you don't want to…"

"No, training is something I don't mind telling you about. It makes sense that you would want to know my credentials before trusting me explicitly."

The two girls swept through the building, trying to erase evidence of their stay, though they did nothing about the giant centipede carcass in the middle of the large building. What could they do? It was too big to haul away or cover effectively.

"It's been… six years? I think that's right. Six years since I got in. Before that, I just used the local center like most kids. I learn fast. I did well."

Veronica tucked her two remaining full water bottles into her belt. Some of the oxidized iron had settled at the bottom of the cloudier one, making drinking an unpleasant prospect. Before Veronica could move to leave, Clara gestured her over. She slammed one sai into the small, cylindrical can, creating a puncture less than a centimeter in diameter.

"Here. You can drink some of the pineapple juice. It'll make you feel a bit stronger."

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'll have some protein stuff later."

"You'll eventually crash if you keep it up, this no-sleep-no-food thing."

"Yes, I will. I can manage."

"But you just killed a mutation, and then you didn't sle-"

"I can manage," Clara repeated, more harshly than she had intended. She still didn't feel quite normal; everything seemed sharper than it ought to be. Even more so than her injuries, on their own, should be making her feel.

Veronica seemed to enjoy the pineapple, and that made her smile.

"You were talking about training?" she said, prompting Clara to continue as the two walked from the building to the street, heading slowly towards the east.

"Yes. Ah, I already told you this, but I wasn't really the strongest or the most versatile or anything like that. I just learn very fast. And I read a lot. Information is power. They do a fairly rigorous psychological test before you can even think about volunteering, so I can assure you, I'm not insane in any sort of clinical sense."

"Why would they worry about your psychology?" Veronica raised an eyebrow at her ally's last statement.

"They need to know how we'll deal with killing. I deal well."

"But you… haven't killed anyone."

"Not in the arena, no. You haven't seen me kill a person yet. I assure you, you will. I generally try to keep people around as long as possible. It's a fault, I know, but I really do like people. No reason to kill someone when you might need them later."

Clara shrugged. The truth of the matter was that she had killed quite a few people during training. But everyone did. That wasn't special, and it wasn't really something she wanted to share with Veronica. It was something people in District One had come to accept. If you sent a kid off to the academy, chances were fifty-fifty that they'd come back in a body bag.

The sun had nearly risen, and the streets were beginning to heat up again. The two made a great deal of effort to stay in the shadows, but traveling east while the sun rose was brutal. The two girls were quiet for a long time.

"You keep saying that there's nothing special about you. So why did you get picked? I mean, why did you volunteer?"

"I was chosen because of my attitude towards death."

"And that's all?"

"Well, you know me, I can hold my own in a fight, but so can anyone who survives a few years at the academy. They hit you until you don't feel pain the same way, train you until you're strong enough to fight anyone. But they can't change the way you think. And I think the right way."

"So Ryan, your district partner… who we're heading towards… is like a bigger version of you," Veronica said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Okay, starting to feel less good about this plan."

"No, there's more than one personality type that they accept. I maintain that I am the best one, for the record. Ryan's different than me. Very different. I can fight him. I'd likely win."

Veronica adjusted her axe from one shoulder to the other. "You make my head hurt," she declared.

"It's best not to try to understand me. See, I could have been a charming, pretty girl and married a handsome, rich Capitol man. I could have been one of those success stories, the girl who lifted herself out of the districts and into a fairytale. But this, this is so much more fun…"

The calm mask she has worn while discussing murder with her ally didn't waver, even as her voice grew lower and more serious as she talked. Veronica didn't miss her meaning; it was time to stop talking about her ally's life.

"I wonder where they are," Veronica said, abruptly changing the subject. "The… three left, is it? With Ryan? The ones we're trying to intercept?"

"Ah. Them. Well, based on the pace suggested by their initial departure from the Cornucopia, I would say… we'll be meeting them very, very soon."

"What's the plan when we do?"

"You fall back, let me do the negotiating."

"You don't mean actual negotiating, do you."

"I don't."

They successfully passed through another building, only the steel frame of the construction left behind from whatever had been used to create the arena. Once they were out of the rubble, though, they found themselves on a street lined with fancier houses, the streets liberally covered with colored glass. Clara bent down on one knee, inspecting some particularly crushed shards that were clear, unlike the rainbow of colors glimmering in the road.

"This is a bottle. Was a bottle. They were here, and rather recently, I'd say. Look. Blood."

A large bloodstain on the pavement, obscured by the fallen glass, stared up at Veronica.

"This is probably one of the six cannons we heard last night. Maybe two, judging by the amount of blood. It's nearly fully dried, and has been out in the sun, so I would say… eight hours old. Approximate guess."

Clara drew her finger through the still damp stain.

"Viscosity suggests that this is the result of internal hemorrhaging rather than physical trauma. Someone's got poison, serious stuff."

Veronica stared blankly at the blood on the ground, all that was left of one person, maybe two. Now, just a bloodstain in a field of broken glass. She felt mildly ill.

"Do you ever worry about dying?" she asked suddenly.

"No. I just don't want to be forgotten."

They were silent for a second.

"Who do you think this was?"

"Ah, let me think. This much blood… of the people who went southeast… it would have to be either Ryan or Nick. No one else would survive long enough to keep bleeding after losing so much."

Veronica bowed her head silently, and for a few moments, everything was serene. She tried for remember their faces, and was ashamed when she couldn't. She was surprised to see Clara making a similar gesture.

"Whoever this was… died horribly," the District One girl murmured. "But they don't hurt now."

She turned her head slowly to face Veronica. "We ought to go. The trail will get cold."

Clara stepped around the blood, her ally trailing behind her, stopping for a second to glance back at the place on the pavement where at least one tribute had died. Nick or Ryan. Veronica hoped silently that it was Ryan, then felt a wave of nausea at her thoughts.

The two moved quickly down the street, much more careful now that they knew they were close. Every few seconds, Clara would stop and scan the buildings with a critical eye. She seemed to be searching for some sign of habitation. It was still early, and it was entirely possible that the shrinking band of tributes was still asleep. Occasionally, she would stop unexpectedly and stoop to the ground, inspecting a few pieces of glass that Veronica saw nothing in. She seemed reaffirmed by whatever the crushed glass told her.

"Two small, one big," she announced. "I'd guess we're going to meet Donny soon… I've been looking forward to that."

Again, she stopped, though this time she froze.

"The trail does't go any farther southeast. They're very close."

"Excellent observation!" a boy, likely a young one, chirped.

This was an entirely new voice, and Veronica whirled around to see the source. Clara showed no sign of surprise, almost entirely ignoring the comment. Three indistinct figures silhouetted against the sunrise stood before the two girls.

"Ryan," Clara said calmly. "Lovely to see you. You've made some friends."

Veronica had her axe off of her shoulder before anything could happen, pointing the head from one tribute to the other. She had no idea how to gauge the threat levels of each one. The tall boy in the middle could likely snap her in half- and he was holding a knife. Ryan, almost certainly. Her stomach dropped. Nick. It had been Nick.

"Clara," said Ryan, stepping away from the sun so that Veronica could see him properly. Donny followed him, but the third person, a small girl, took a few steps back, the blowgun pressed again her lips. It was Nesanne, the Six girl.

The three of them seemed focused on Clara, despite Veronica's drawn weapon. She wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or relieved.

"It's been a while, Ryan. How's your alliance working out? Did you really knock Meara off that quickly? I called it. Though I didn't expect you'd get there that fast."

Veronica watched as Ryan's hands turned to fists and a muscle stood out in his jaw. His breathing slowed, and steadily evened. Nesanne glanced back and forth, from Ryan to Clara and back again. The girl from District One was smiling coldly. She finally faced the small alliance head-on, closing her eyes and raising her hand just as Nesanne fired a dart directly at her face.

It skewered her wrist, barely missing the network of blue veins that was displayed prominently beneath her near-translucent skin. With a laugh, she wrenched it from the bone.

"Darts? Really?"

Despite her cavalier attitude, Clara stepped in front of Veronica, shielding her ally with her body.

"Try again," she said with a grin. "Let's see if you can actually hurt me with those little things."

Nesanne unhesitatingly shot again, burying a dart in Clara's cheekbone. The District One girl smiled, though it must have been incredibly painful, and plucked the second dart from her face as though it were a bee sting, Rivulets of blood ran down from the two puncture wounds, and a sluggish trickle of dark blood welled up in one of the larger slash wounds inflicted by the mutt the night before.

"Hey, look, if I was here purely to kill you, you'd be dead."

Ryan snorted at Clara's comment. "I see you haven't changed a bit."

"It's only been two days. Give me time. A little longer in this hellhole and you'll wish this was what insanity looked like." Clara laughed coldly, as if to drive the point home.

"What're you doing with the girl? She's not one of our's, you'll get no leverage out of her."

"You think I'd go to all this trouble for you? Look at me, I'm a mess."

"You certainly are. You're a bit cut up, too."

Donny yawned. "Okay, okay, you're both clever and we're all properly intimidated. Can you get on with it, now?"

Though he rolled his eyes, Ryan took a step back, though his knife stayed firmly in his hand. As they talked, the two had been edging in on each other until they were barely three feet apart. Donny's intervention had barely averted a fight.

"Of course," Clara sighed, easing her sais into a less offensive position. "I'm nothing if not reasonable."

Veronica stifled a laugh. From behind Donny, Nesanne lowered the blowgun slightly. Clara nodded acknowledgement and stepped lightly to the side, allowing Veronica a better view of the proceedings.

"So," Donny said casually, breaking the awkward silence. "What got you?"

"Giant centipede. No big deal," Clara replied. "Who poisoned Nick and Meara?"

The silence swirled abruptly back into place, settling around the tributes like a heavy fog.

"The Gamemakers," Ryan said finally, his voice dark with anger. "It was the Gamemakers. Our alliance got too big. They decided we needed some… I don't know, I don't give a damn. It was them."

"Really," Clara said skeptically.

Seeing that the obvious tensions between the two of them were dangerously close to flaring up again, Veronica stepped forward, finally getting over her nerves as adrenaline rushed into her system.

"Okay, I'm thinking maybe it shouldn't just be you two doing the negotiating," she announced, surprised at how loud her voice sounded.

Ryan's free hand curled into a fist, but he nodded. Clara shot her a sideways glance, but there was no stopping Veronica.

"We're five out of the final eight. At the rate the Gamemakers are killing us off, I'd say that number will be down by tonight. We could use some security. They can't just kill all of us, right?"

Clara turned to face her, one eyebrow raised nearly to her hairline. "Whisp. You're suggesting a late-Games alliance? That's the worst suggestion I've heard all day, and I've been talking to Ryan."

"You know what? Maybe you're right all the time, and maybe I'm an idiot for suggesting it."

The two girl's held each others' stares for a moment. Veronica looked down first, but she didn't stop talking.

"I think we'll be safer as a group!"

"And I think we'd be safer in a pool of molten silver than with these-" she paused, nodding at Ryan, Donny, and Nesanne "-watching our backs! I can keep you safe, Whisp! I can't promise anything of them!"

"Well, I'm good with an alliance," Donny cut in.

"Oh, you're good with an alliance? Maybe I could take off my jacket, too- stabbing me in the back would be a bit easier that way."

"Clara! He's just a kid!" Veronica cried, looking from one person to another. "Look, I trusted you, okay? I trusted you. And god knows, you're a whole damn sight more difficult to trust than a couple of kids!"

"A couple of kids, is that it? A couple of kids who put a dart in my face and would've done it to you? A couple of kids who I've trained with for the last five years? A couple of kids who cut your district partner up like a turkey for slaughter and watched him bleed to death? There's a reason why they're still alive, Whisp!"

"We're alive, too." Veronica shut her eyes for a second. "We're no better than they are."

"I… I'm inclined to agree with her," Nesanne said, her childlike voice coming as a surprise to everyone. "I've done some awful things to get this far, but haven't all of us? Who here doesn't yet have a kill? Donny… got carried away. Ryan's a good guy. And I… well, you have something of a reputation."

"Why am I the only one being sensible?" Clara demanded. "That isn't my job! That was your job, Veronica!"

Her ally flinched a little at Clara's use of her given name. “I don’t know what your definition of sensible is!”

Ryan laughed dryly. "I'm not totally averse to the idea myself. Haven't we all killed tributes? Don't we at least have that as a common bond?"

"No! No, we fucking don't!"

The four other tributes turned to Clara with surprise.

"What are you saying?" Nesanne asked quietly.

"I haven't killed anyone now, have I? Don't look so goddamned surprised! I know how to play without killing, but honest to god I am tired of thinking things through! I am so tired of staying calm and staying rational. I haven't slept for days, I haven't eaten in longer. I am ready to kill every one of you right now- don't look at me like that!"

"I just thought…" the girl from District Six trailed off.

Clara breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a second and digging her nails into her palms so hard that they drew blood.

"Here is the compromise I am offering you," she said, her voice quiet and restrained. "We are not an alliance. We are not a group. But I will tolerate you, and in the event of an attack, I will fight with you. Conditionally. My tolerance officially runs out at the final five. Then, you'd best run. My tolerance ends if one of you so much as looks at either of us wrong. Then, you might want to commit suicide. It will hurt less."

She fixed her stare on each of the three in turn. Ryan nodded curtly, Nesanne offered her a small smile, and Donny met her eyes with a look of his own.

"You forgot my conditions already?" she growled.

He blinked once, then slowly looked away.

"Thank you," Veronica murmured.

They slowly broke apart, Ryan, Donny and Nesanne walking back the way that had come, into a home they seemed to be sheltering in. The two girls watched them go, Ryan turning around twice to glance at Clara.

"Shouldn't we..?" Veronica asked.

"Follow them? I suppose we'll have to. The rest of the houses are boarded up."

Veronica scanned the streets, seeing that her ally was correct.

"Well, with any luck, no mutts, right?"

"I'll guard tonight," Clara said, ignoring her ally.

"…guard? But we're with them, and you… last night…"

"I'm not sleeping with the Eleven boy in the house."

Veronica sighed, but put her arm around Clara, who half winced as her ally touched her still-inflamed arm. "Hold still," Veronica said, and Clara paused momentarily while she looked her up and down, then reached up to wipe the blood off her face.

"…thanks," the District One girl muttered.

"I sort of do trust you. A bit," Veronica told her. "And I'm sure nothing will happen, really. I just want to spend the night somewhere in peace. Before… before we have to fight again."

Clara said nothing as the two walked into the concrete-block home, closing the door slowly after Veronica made her way in. She didn't trust any of the three in the house with them. Though she wasn't thinking in the same terms as Veronica, she understood the appeal of staying close. It's easier to stab someone when they're sitting next to you.

"Hey, Clara," Veronica said, laughing suddenly. "Maybe we could even find you some pants!"