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SHE AWOKE TO THE CHEERING OF AN OLD GAME SHOW. Her eyes opened slowly, vision blurry, her father sat at the foot of the bed whisper-yelling at the television.
She took a moment to look around. The beds around her were filled too, a few of her fellow students still under sedation laying in them, various bandages wrapped around their injuries. Her body ached, but otherwise she felt okay enough to sit up, letting out a small groan that alerted her father.
"Honey, you're awake!" He stood at once, coming to the top of the bed to help her sit up. He began fluffing the pillow behind her for support as he filled her in. "Both the tributes from one were shot trying to escape, the girl from two as well. The boy... Marcus, he escaped. They're trying to locate him before the games tomorrow—"
"They can't seriously still be going forward with that?"
Her father sent her a smile of sympathy, "Unfortunately, the bombing has led to increased interest. They're saying it was a rebel attempt to stop the games, but it only made the citizens here more interested in the punishment."
Araucaria mulled over her father's words. The bombing renewed interest in the games. They happened to go off when the tributes were touring, tearing up the arena. Camera crews happened to be filming.
She shook her head, "No. No, I don't—" her father placed his hand over her mouth.
"Careful, you never know who's listening." She widened her eyes, and he slowly removed his hand.
She glanced about the room, just being able to make out Coriolanus in the bed next to her, still asleep. She saw no tributes, though that didn't guarantee they were all well. She was hurt and she had the protection of Treech. Treech.
"Treech, is he—" She sat completely upright, abandoning the support of her pillows.
"He's fine." Her father pushed her back down. "I've been told only a few of the remaining tributes sustained any notable injuries."
She relaxed a bit, "He saved my life, dad." She recalled his rough hands pulling her away from the sight of the next bomb, shielding her body with his own. "I told him to run, but he didn't."
"He's a good kid." He was silent for a moment, "They all are. Went I went to visit—"
"Yeah, I meant to talk to you about that," grumbled his daughter.
"When I went to visit," he continued as though he didn't hear her, "a few of them were playing hacky-sack with an apple core." He shrugged, "Instead of being at each other's throats they were being friendly."
Araucaria slouched. Come tomorrow, they would be at each other's throats. "Dad... I want to go home."
Her father nodded, "I'll have to check with the nurse but you should be cleared—"
