² MANIA ─ catching fire

[ 011 ] through the looking glass

AFTER EVANDER'S TOAST, they retired to their rooms after dinner, for the last full night of proper sleep in a soft bed and comfortable clothes and the insurance of four sturdy, solid walls forming a fortress of security around them.

The gravity of their situation slammed into Atlas when he finally emerged from the shower, having scrubbed all of the make-up off his face and dressed for bed, staring into his bedroom from the corner angle at which the ensuite bathroom was connected. It was a spacious room, the big, king-sized bed shoved up into the corner, lights that dimmed and brightened at the turn of a dial, a wardrobe that held more clothes than he needed in a lifetime. Since the beginning of his stay, he'd used the middle of the floor for short circuit exercises to keep his daily conditioning going. At least, that's what he told himself. Some nights Atlas missed his house back in District Two, missed the basement he'd turned into a small training facility for himself, missed the punching bag that swayed on its metal chain from the ceiling and rattled violently with each hit, drowning out the noise in his head. Each night when the nightmares hammered away at his centre until the foundation of his being was filled with cracks, one tap away from crumbling to pieces, he found himself in that basement, striking at an invisible opponent, his knuckles burning and his hands raw and bleeding. Already, as he stood still, looking over the room thats spaciousness only reminded him of its emptiness—all this space and nowhere to go—he could feel the water rising to his ankles. To stop moving was to drown. To stop moving was to fall apart.

Clenching his jaw, Atlas flicked the lights off and crawled into bed, shutting his eyes the moment his head hit the pillow. Even though he was exhausted, his body so loose he couldn't have mustered the strength to do a single push-up, sleep didn't come easy.

There was a heartbeat in the darkness. Lying on his side, with his back pressed against the wall—always to the wall—Atlas could hear it, could feel its skin on his own, and when he opened his eyes, the oppressive darkness of the room struck him with such intensity his heart kicked in his chest. In a blink, he was back in the arena, the starless night smothering the snowy forest. That night, the Gamemakers had decided to pull one final trick out of the bag. At night, the Career pack took advantage of the limited visibility and the cover that the darkness gave them to hunt down the unlucky stragglers. Usually, there was always something reflecting some sort of low-level light—the moon, the stars, the illuminated snow. But that night, there had been nothing. No moon, no stars. They'd locked them inside and cut the lights. In the blinding darkness, the snow kept falling and the wind kept howling and, all around them, the wolves had begun to close in.

"You hear that?" Beckett, the District Four boy, hissed, somewhere to Atlas' left. Around them, the wind howled through the bare trees, shaking snow from the branches.

Flecks of cold snow pelted Atlas' face as he stood stock still, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to let his eyes adjust. Still, the darkness surrounding them was persistent. Tentatively, Atlas put a hand out in front of him. Nothing. Panic surged through his veins, turning his blood to slush. They were running blind out here, miles from their base camp. Even the best trackers wouldn't have a chance against these conditions. Right now, they were an alliance five strong. In the day, they were formidable killing machines, but now, in the dark, they were sitting ducks. Considering it was midway through the Games, it was about time the pack was culled and the survivors disbanded.

"Hear what? I don't hear shit!" The gruff, disconcerted growl of the District One girl, Ruby, was somewhere to his right, just a few paces forward, and from the way her set of footsteps kept shuffling around, frantic, frustrated, digging a groove in the snow. "I can't see three fucking feet in front of me!"

"Ruby, shut the fuck up," Jet, her district partner, snapped, "you're drawing attention to us."

"Guys, what's the plan?" Aella, Atlas' district partner, whispered, the wind howling in their ears. Maybe it was the darkness playing tricks on him, maybe it was his own mind conjuring its own horrors, but even though the darkness was a blindfold pulled over his eyes, Atlas could swear he saw shadows moving between the trees. Could swear he heard the voracious panting of wolves circling their prey.