Flicker of Hope|HUNGER GAMES

MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN OUR FAVOR

"Any final words of advice?" asks Foss.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. Neither of you are up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water," Bolt says. "Got it?"

"And after that?" I ask

"Stay alive."

We nod. What else can we do? By the end of the day we both could be dead. I can't stop trying to imagine exactly what terrain I'll be thrown into. Desert? Swamp? A frigid wasteland? Abandoned building? What will the climate be like? What traps have the Gamemakers hidden to liven up the slower moments? And then there are my fellow tributes...

I still don't know if Foss is my ally or enemy. Based on last night he seems to want some sort of alliance. I think that would work best for his angle. But then again...we've never openly talked alliance. And I never buddyed up with anyone during training.

As we walk to the plane I'm suddenly wondering what Foss will be like in the arena. Will he turn into one of those raging beast tributes, the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them. There was a guy like that a few years ago from District 6 called Titus. He went completely savage and the Gamemakers had to have him stunned with electric guns to collect the bodies of the players he'd killed before he ate them. There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience, so they tried to head it off. There was some speculation that the avalanche that finally took Titus out was specifically engineered to ensure the victor was not a lunatic.

I'm so distracted by the thought I don't realize I'm already boarding the plane. I take my place next to Foss.

"Arm," A woman said in an impatient tone as soon as I down, holding out her hand.

I try not to wince as I feel the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on the inside of my forearm. Now the Gamemakers will always be able to trace my whereabouts in the arena. Wouldn't want to lose a tribute.

"To track to see if you're still alive." Foss whispers to me. I nod because I don't have the energy to tell him I wasn't stupid and that I knew that. Foss looks at me confused. "What's wrong with you?"

I nearly scoff. What did he mean what's wrong with me? I'm heading to my death! That's what's wrong!

"You mean besides the fact I'm living out my final hour of living?"

Foss rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic. You can at least last two."

The ride lasts about half an hour before the windows black out, suggesting that we're nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands, only this time it leads down into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. In the districts, it's referred to as the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.

Everything is brand-new, I will be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments. They say the food is excellent.

"I think I'm going to be sick." I tell Maximus as he does my hair.

Then the clothes arrive, the same for every tribute. Maximus has had no say in my outfit, does not even know what will be in the package, but he helps me dress in the undergarments, simple tawny pants, a blouse, sturdy brown belt, and thin, hooded black jacket that falls to my thighs.