The Mentor - A Hunger Games Story

6 - BEFORE

The train was eerily quiet as the three others took their seats. Haymitch remained standing, knowing full well he'd shake if seated. Each one of these people in here could be the reason he dies. He couldn't let them learn anything about him.

A few peacemakers were in and out of the car to give them water and snacks. Haymitch's male counterpart scarfed down every item placed in front of him. He was fourteen, but looked nine. He no doubt belonged to one of the poorer families in District Twelve. This was probably the first decent meal he'd had in a while.

"You'll want to slow down with the richer foods." Haymitch lazily pointed out, making his way over to the small windows. The boy gulped down a poached egg and shook his head, grabbing a handful of peanuts from a dish.

The strong brunette whose name was Rydell was watching him like a hawk. She hadn't touched the food, but her left hand constantly picked at the skin on her right arm. Repetitive behavior disorder. Symptoms of high anxiety. She looked strong, but Haymitch doubted she'd be able to mentally handle the Games. He didn't need to be as worried about her as he initially thought.

The small boy ran by him quickly, covering his mouth and gagging. He threw himself into the bathroom and began blowing chunks.

Maislee, the last of four tributes, decided her pastry wasn't worth finishing.

The blonde girl stumped Haymitch. She was a twig, but her eyes were sharp and alert. She sat with her legs crossed, not twitching or shaking in the slightest. Her clothes suggested she didn't have money, but her hair was well kept and her skin was free of blemishes.

"Do you have a problem?" She retorted in Haymitch's direction. He hadn't realized he was staring at her.

"Nope." He responded sincerely. "Just trying to figure you out."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

Rydell scowled, but said nothing.

The boy was still throwing up.

Haymitch looked out the small window, trying to get his bearings. His head was all jumbled from talking with his family and Aimee, that he barely knew what time it was. In fact, he had no clue where the Capital was in reference to District 12, so he couldn't tell the approximate time from the sun.

"Is District 12 north or south of the capital?" He mumbled to himself.

The two girls in the room looked at him with blank stares.

"East or west?" He followed up. "Do you guys know?"

"I'm going to be completely honest, you freak me out." Rydell said while playing with her hair.

"Why don't we know that information?" He wasn't really asking them, more thinking aloud.

"They probably don't want us to know." Maislee responded.

"So if ever do get out, we can't find the bastards to tear them apart." Haymitch added, looking out the window again. In a few minutes he'd decided that the reaping was approximately at ten, putting the current time at about two in the afternoon. The sun was high above, but positioned slightly behind the train. He made a mental note to follow the sun as the ride went on. He guessed that they were heading east, and would know more specifics later in the day.

Haymitch stayed at the window for a long time, tuning out whatever was happening with the other tributes. He watched the sun, getting a more accurate picture of where they were headed with each minute.

His feet began to ache. He was still in his fancy shoes, and when he insisted that he be able to go home and get his sturdier work shoes, he was told that a new pair would be provided for the games. Haymitch then sarcastically got quite excited about all the clothes they may obtain.

He sat down, away from the three tributes. They were barely talking, but they sat in a triangle, almost knee to knee. He tried not to make fun of them in his head. There was absolutely no point in forming an alliance with the tributes from your district. There were plenty other tributes that would serve much more useful.

Haymitch conceded to his mind that Maiselee, though small, seemed well-reasoned and quick-witted. However, those were his strengths. If he was going to align himself with someone, they needed to have the things Haymitch didn't. Preferably, body mass, height, and some sort of weaponry skill.

The train began to slow approximately eight hours later. He had nibbled on a piece of bread and drank many glasses of water. His shaking had stopped, and felt uncharacteristically serene.

The peacemakers pushed them off the train not-so gently and ushered them into a large building. It was nighttime, so Haymitch could barely get a feel of his surroundings. The building they entered didn't have lights, nor did anything around them. He felt his throat lock up as he ascended into an unknown environment.