Chapter Five – Lessons in Addition

"Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they're the Capitol's lapdogs. Universally, solidly hated by all but those from their own districts."

Katniss, Chapter 12, The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

I step back from the bloodstain. The stained area of concrete is considerable and so too is the sand covering on top of it, much of which has formed into dull brown red clumps. I look to Ian for an explanation but can see on his face that he too is looking for answers.

"Thought your tribute was one of the Career pack," says Vic. "Shouldn't you have been here when this happened?"

"This must have to do with those gunshots," says Ian still poking at the sand. "The ones fired right after the start. Our tribute had run off from the area of the Cornucopia and we had followed him." He points away, almost in the opposite direction from where our tribute had run. He continues, "There were several others just ahead of him, the boy tributes from Districts 10 and 11. They continued into the woods and were transferred to Artemisin and then later to Demeteron. But our tribute barely made it to the tree line, turned around, and came back once the fighting was over. That's when we came back."

"And by then there was nothing to see?"

"We didn't even know about this. Orcusin was here with the Peacekeepers. She was cussing at the tracker teams, the ones whose tributes had died in the bloodbath, to go back to the Green Room. The Career trackers where milling about but most of the others seemed frightened. They must have been reacting to whatever this was. But Todd and I didn't know anything had happened."

"But you heard the gunshots!" insists Vic as we start to walk back to Todd and the large television screen.

"Sure did! But if somebody was shot, Todd and I don't know who."

Rejoining Todd, the four of us stand before the television screen. It shows their tribute, M3, walking back from the woods. His pace is unhurried, and as he walks he briefly lights and waves an electric torch about, using it to peer off into the night. The only other light is from a small fire set up near the supplies. In a minute or two he's going to be back at the Cornucopia where my tribute is poking around in a collection of crates and canvas bags.

We wait for Arieson to move us to P1, since an encounter with my tribute must be about to happen. But no such announcement arrives. Instead, as M3 approaches we see my tribute realize somebody is arriving and crouch down, very low to the ground, behind some packs. And when he comes to within a few paces, she scoots out into his light and they end up in a hug. The four of us look on, astounded by what is a reunion. Then she breaks down, first while holding onto this shoulder and then slowly sinking to the packed turf. He crouches next to her and holds her tight again. They stay that way for a long while.

"So, this is planned," says Ian.

"Our tribute is a double-crosser!" says Todd. "He's one of the Career pack, right? But he's got things planned with F5!"

"The Careers don't know," says Ian. "There's no way they could know. If they did, there's no way they would have left him here alone."

"They'd have done him in first thing," says Vic, slicing his finger across his chest.

"Right. But this wasn't a complete secret was it?" says Ian.

I'm right with him. "Truth," I say. "The Gamemakers knew. They didn't raise us to P1. So they knew."

"Well, how could they have known?" asks Vic.

"Easy enough if you're watching everything," says Ian. "They watch everything. They've had days to watch the tributes at the Training Center, the dining hall, at the Interviews and in their rooms."

"In their rooms?" says Vic. "That's gross."

"So they know," continues Ian. "I wonder what else they know."

By this time our two tributes have settled near the Cornucopia. I had expected them to head to the fire but after a bit I realize this would make their silhouettes visible to any returning Career tribute. The cameras remain tightly trained on them.

"Maybe they're lovers," says Todd.

"I don't think so," I say. "Look at their body language. They're not even been holding hands. I think this is an alliance but not a romantic one."

I notice the word 'romantic' causes a stir with the boys. Okay, poor word choice. "Well, what do you think would be the case?" I continue. "Think about it. Maybe they met on the first or second day of the training. They'd be scared. How could they not be scared? This is Hunger Games and they're here to represent their Districts."

"And they aren't likely to be going home."

"They know they're going to die."

"So this is an alliance made to give themselves a chance."

"But still," pipes in Vic, "he's gotten himself into the Career alliance!"

"I think that shows which alliance came first," I say.

"That could be," says Ian. "First, our two tributes decide to be allies. Secretly. But then he finds a way to get into an alliance with the Careers."

"But a false one," says Vic. "Maybe he's going to kill them all when they get back."

"No way," says Ian. "You saw the size of them. Guys-" he says turning to Vic and me, "the Careers are huge. The two boys are immense. The girls are strong and know what they're doing. You'd not believe the intensity of the one, F2." He stops and moves his hands as if to suggest he's bracing for an impact out of the air. "Our tribute is like a twig compared to them. Even the other guy they have with them, M12, looks strong. There's just no way…"

"So what could they want with your tribute?" I ask. "Why would they bother adding him to their pack?"

"No idea. None," they both say. "The Careers already have the muscle they need. Whatever it is that he knows or can do, it's apparently worth having him around."

"Could it be as simple as having a need for a camp guard?" asks Vic.

"Could be. But he's not much of a deterrent," says Ian. "I mean, I want my tribute to survive but … he's not built like a fighting machine. If a couple tributes come back to the launch plane while the Careers are gone, he's not going to drive them away. It's more likely that he'd get killed and they'd clear out with the supplies."

"But he might be good for raising an alarm to the Careers that their camp is being raided," says Ian. We like this idea but it doesn't seem to be enough of a reason for them to have enlisted him.

"So, why then did he keep his alliance with F5 once he was in with the Careers?" I ask.

"He could have dropped it easy," says Vic. "Let her suffer like the rest."

"But he didn't. Or he hasn't yet," says Todd. "Maybe it's a trap."

"Right," I consider. "He uses his alliance with her to lure her in. But where does that get him in the end?"

"He ends up dead in the end," confirms Ian.

I glance warily at the Peackeeper. I'd forgotten about him, but Ian's "He ends up dead in the end" brings up an uneasiness about the unsolved bloodstain. Guns. I've had enough guns and death for one day.

The Peacekeeper remains where he was. Undoubtedly he's watching us. I am relieved to see his gun is holstered.

Taking advantage of the lull, I duck off through the short tunnel that connects the main chamber to the Green Room. The bathroom in the girls' locker room is my goal. I enter the Green Room expecting to find the six replacement trackers sitting about. But to my surprise the room is empty. The lights are on but all is quiet. Cautiously I enter the locker room and find it is likewise empty.

Having access to the Green Room and the lockers and bathrooms is a nicety that non-Career trackers enviously wish for during most of the Games. The catacombs that extend outside the Downtown area are supplied with smaller bathroom stops – glowing blue toilets that sit in tunnel alcoves – but they are hard to find and are rarely as clean as the ones behind the Green Room.

"He's got to be planning to ditch the Careers," Todd is saying to Vic when I return. "Together, our tributes steal enough of the supplies. They make a break for it and survive out at the fringes of the arena." To me this sounds plausible.

Little by little, we come to agree that it's most likely that M3 and F5 plan on deceiving the Careers. What they plan to do once that plan is realized, we can't decide. But at that point we find our tributes are moving away from camp. They've got a selection of supplies in their arms and in their backpacks. We follow, the four of us, and find they move off to the same point where Ian and Todd say M3 has been coming to repeatedly. This time, though, M3 doesn't return to the Cornucopia. Instead, he and F5 settle down. We send Todd running back to the main chamber to see what's going on. Eventually he returns to say they're sitting across from each other with an electric stove between them. Sounds good, sounds really good, to us here in the chilly dark.

By this point it's well after midnight. The rest of Arieson's area remains quiet. Wherever the Career pack has gone, they remain off in the woods. And even though our two tributes have moved into the tree line that surrounds much of the launch plain, we've not been assigned over to Artemisin.

"TF5, P4." announces Arieson after a bit over my intercom. "TM3, P4," he then announces over Ian's. We acknowledge back to Arieson.

"Dinnertime," concludes Ian. It's been a long, long day. At the mere suggestion of food we all dive into our rations.

~o~ ~oOo~ ~o~

"I call Tribute Truth," announces Todd, interrupting the lapse in conversation we had fallen into during our make-shift campsite dinner.

We're sitting as a group on the floor in as much of a circle as four can sit in the narrow width of the tunnels. An electric lantern sits on the floor in the middle. Our backpacks rest nearby in the shadows. It feels great to have the weight off of my shoulders.

Ian is minding the task of watching our tributes, neither of which has moved for the last hour.

Tribute Truth. It's a game trackers and valets play during quiet moments of Hunger Games. But it's only played during the actual Games, never during practice rounds. Talk of Tribute Truth goes on year round and is usually accompanied by giggles and wild stories, surely conjured up entirely, of Tribute Truth sessions that have come to engrossing or horrible revelations. I wince. I don't want to play. Not tonight. I'm tired.

"No, no, no," says Ian back to Todd. "Don't say another word."

I begin to sense a danger in this. There are several rules and strategies to Tribute Truth, and clearly Ian is aware of them. This is his second year as a tracker and so he's played this before. See, one of the 'truths' you learn during the Games, if your tribute is lucky to survive for a while, is that – well – it can a dreadfully boring assignment. There can be endless hours, days even, where your tribute does little to nothing. Whiling away the time can be painful, so playing games becomes a way to escape the tedium.

The main rule of Tribute Truth is that when you are asked a question, you have to tell the truth. But if you answer with a mere Yes or a No then you're still open to be asked another question. And if you answer with more than that, you're off the hook for being asked any more questions for a day. Savvy players learn that the game is best played by planning what to ask and asking carefully. Asking a weak question lets him or her out of the game too easily.

Ian's gaze travels from Todd to Vic. "I know you're excited to play your first round of Tribute Truth. But I'm saying you keep your mouths shut for now. Got it?" Their silence he takes as a confirmation. "We need to get some things straight first. Then if you want to play, then we play." They both nod while I simply look on.

"We don't have much time," he continues. "We really don't. And things are going on that shouldn't be."

He starts to draw something in the dirt next where he's sitting but then stops.

"I'm just going to say this," he resumes, "Don't get mad. But we've got problems and need to be able to talk." He ponders again and we wait. I lean back against the tunnel wall and close my eyes.

"It starts with you," he says and I open my eyes to find he's pointing at me.

"Me?"

"Look at you. You have a broken arm, Jackie. No sling. No medicine to speak of."

I want to growl at him. There is no way that I am being taken off my role of being a tracker.

"Fine," he says, reading my face. "Last year, how long did the Games go on for?"

"A little over two weeks," I recall.

"I agree. It was something like seventeen days or so. How about the year before that?"

"It was longer," I reply. "I think the Games lasted almost four weeks."

"And so there were trackers active for four weeks solid. You understand that, right? We're here. This is it. And it's day one of this round."

I don't reply. Vic and Todd are not saying anything either.

"So, what are you going to do? This could go on for two, three or four weeks. Yet you need help right now, right now as we sit here."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say.

"Right then. I'll call my first witness to the stand," he says with a wink. I appreciate the attempt at humor but I intend to hold fast on what I just said.

"Vic, that'd be you," he says. Vic looks startled. "Today in the main room, that first Peacekeeper fired into the ceiling. What happened next?"

"It knocked several of us over. The noise of it."

"Yeh, I was there. You fell over. Who did you land on?"

"Jackie."

"Jackie," Ian says turning to me, "you remember this?"

"No." I think back. "I remember Chris and Vic standing me back up."

"Thought so."

"What does that mean?" I demand.

"You were out. Cold."

"I was not."

"You were," concedes Vic. I throw Vic a glare.

"Then later," says Ian without stopping for a moment, "when Todd and I first came over to you and Vic. Remember that? I sat down next to you. Remember what happened then?"

"We talked. You put water on my face and we put bandages on my elbow."

Ian blows a long breath through pursed lips before continuing. "I put the water on your face because you had passed out. I was holding your face by chance and saw you were out."

"He's right," says Todd.

I don't say anything and look away. This is not the Games I was expecting, and I don't want it to end this way.

"Leave her alone," says Vic. He's up on one knee and heading at Ian.

"Guys, wait," says Ian and puts up his hands to say he's not interested in a fight. "I asked that you don't get mad. Please, don't get mad. I say things. I don't like to hide things. I might be blunt but I believe what I'm saying is right." Again he holds up his hands.

I'm looking down at my lap. I've got one arm I can barely use. But I am not giving up. I have to keep them from turning me in.

"Here's the rest of what I am going to say. And nobody take a swing at me until I'm done.

"When I first came here, I was in bad shape. I had taken- There, was a lot going on, or had gone on, and I ended up here because it was a way out." Ian stops for a moment. I remember back to when he arrived, back at arena #73, and recall an Ian who was emaciated and badly bruised. "In my first weeks here I was largely put off by myself. Some of the other trackers, none of whom are still around this year, finally got me talking. But it was you, Jackie, who was really the first person I met. You didn't get after me with questions and didn't land expectations on me. I found I could just hang out near you. That was different. I might not have known but, well- Look, what I'm going to say is you turned me around. You've always been decent like that. Not only with me but with everyone. So, here's the thing: whatever it takes, we're doing it. I don't care if we have to get a wheelbarrow passed Ocrusin and we roll you around in it, you're staying down here until you say you want to go."

I look at him, a bit surprised, and manage a smile. The tension drops away from the boys and I find I'm ready for some sleep.

"Thanks," I manage a couple minutes later.

"There's more. Lots more that we need to talk about," he says. "The bloodstain in the main chamber is our next discussion point. I've been thinking, guys, been adding it up." But he doesn't say anything more.

We end up not playing Tribute Truth. Everyone is exhausted and we agree to give the game a try tomorrow night. Ian, meanwhile, tosses in one more time that we have bigger issues to worry about but knows we're out of energy.

I get my sleeping mat out of my backpack and tell them goodnight. I think I'm asleep by the time I lie down – but, really, I don't remember.

~o~ ~oOo~ ~o~

A boom thunders through the cold tunnel air. The cannon. It startles us from sleep. I jerk my sweatshirt away from my monitors and check on my tribute. She's fine. We wait, anxious to know what's happened. Seconds tick by. Athenin's voice jumps simultaneously from our radio sets: "TF8, retire." We each remain quiet for a minute. Somewhere out in the night above us, probably far off in the woods, the female tribute from District 8 has died. Another tracking team is done.

"TM3, P3," announces Arieson over Ian's radio.

"TM3, P3," replies Ian. He and Todd are on their feet immediately and watching Ian's tracking monitor. "He's moving," says Ian.

Hastily they gather their few things from the floor about us. Vic helps roll up a bed mat they had been sitting on. Ian checks his orange monitor and gives me a careful look. "Heading back to the Cornucopia," he says. The two wave farewell and disappear down the tunnel that leads to the main chamber.

"Something tells me they'll be back," says Vic.

"Yes," I agree, "but likely not tonight. M3 can't be caught away from camp if he's going to play the role of being in with the Careers. Stumbling out of the woods too late and having them see him might lead them to finding the supplies he's been moving. Or even F5. Either discovery by the Careers would be –"

"bad news for him," finishes Vic.

Oddly, our tribute does not move. She remains with the supplies they've absconded. Vic had been preparing to make a departure as well. But once we realized she is not going anywhere we reshuffle things and fall back on our sleeping mats.

Nothing we can do but wait.

~o~ ~oOo~ ~o~

"Vic," I whisper.

I've been lying in the dark for a long while on my mat, trying to get to sleep. Our tracking monitors are tucked under our sweatshirts, allowing us a chance to sleep in the dark. My orange monitor is set to vibrate and ring if F5 starts moving about. So far she's been quiet.

"Yeh," he answers after a couple of seconds. I can't see him, but I gain a sense from his voice on where he is.

"Put your hand near your face." I wait a couple of seconds and then reach out to where I heard his voice. I find his hand with my fingers and gently pull it down to the floor between us.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

"Huh?"

"You saw her today, right? Our tribute." I'm whispering, but really, there's no reason to. The shame I've put on hold since this morning wells back up. "What are we doing?" He doesn't answer so after a pause I add, "We can't just let her die."

"What are you saying?" he asks hesitantly.

"This isn't right."

"What can we do about it?"

I search my mind for a while but am so tired I can't put enough thoughts together. I twine my fingers around and through his.

"We have to get her out," I say. To suggest this is against all we've been trained for.

"How are we going to do that?"

I think of the many monkey hatches that lead up from the catacombs to the arena. We used them constantly during the arena's construction, but they've been shut and presumably locked.

"We can let her out," I venture.

"They'll know."

"We have to figure that out."

Silence.

"We can do it," I continue.

"I'm scared," he whispers after a while.

~o~ ~oOo~ ~o~

The tunnels are never entirely quiet. Long after Vic falls to sleep, I lie on my mat with my eyes open and stare into the dark. At some point I unlock our fingers and return his hand over towards his sleeping form. But then after a bit I miss the connection and take back his hand. And so I lie on the floor, hold Vic's hand, and listen to the occasional drip or other distant tunnel noise.

My mind drifts eventually to today's final moment with Tara. She holds her hand out at me like a gun and blows away the pretend smoke. Then this morning's beatings come to mind. I revisit how Orcusin and the Peacekeepers decide that Chris, Vic and I have broken protocol. And then comes that first horrible gunshot. The massive pistol swings up, passed my face, and fires into the main chamber's ceiling.

It all clicks into place. I know who died. I realize Ian does as well but left me to figure it out. Chis. Chris disobeyed. Josh's whispered word to me as he was forced away: "Chris." I recall Orcusin's overbearing strictness, her hostility and threats to replace any of us, with particular emphasis on me.

If Chris was shot, then the same will befall me. And Vic. Disobeyed. We are sentenced to death. "Yeh, good one," Jack had said in agreement to Tara's gun joke. So, he knows as well. Yet oddly, for now Vic and I are allowed to live. Peacekeepers haven't arrived out of the darkness to haul us away. There are six replacement trackers on hand; I am easily replaced. If this is true, then why is either of us still alive?

I don't know where Pluteron has gone. During the Games, he's the one in charge of all activities below the arena. The catacombs. Yet we've only seen Ocrusin, his first-hand assistant, today. Pluteron's words "return to sunlight" play in my ears, but if he's not here there is little chance of that. No, the way I'm adding things up, I won't be seeing daylight ever again.

For the first time I see these catacombs in a new light: a cage. There is no way out. Orcusin can take her time because we have nowhere to run.

In my mind my tribute, F5, rises up her launch tube again. Up she is propelled into the arena. "Return to sunlight," I whisper into the darkness. Vic and I stare at her through the launch tube portal windows. I am so ashamed of what I'm doing. Tonight she's several hundred feet away from me, fearing for her life. Probably awake, like me. An hour ago I was telling Vic I wanted to rescue her. Now I don't think I can save even as much as either him or me.

# # #

[2014-March-04] Initial posting.

[2014-April-03] Grammatical corrections.