The End [Day Nine]

The final three.

From the moment I spot the faces of Anastasia, Zinnia, and Ailia in the sky, I realize that I've made it farther than I've ever, ever expected I would. No matter what happens from here on, Panem can't forget me now. Whether I die or live, I will make an impact on this nation, somehow, some way. They'll remember Jared Strahan. I don't want to be just another unlucky boy who died in the Games. If I must go, I have to go out with a bang.

Of course, I'd much rather win than go out at all. That would be nice.

For the first time, I allow myself to think of the possibility: I can win this. It's in my reach now. Who's left? The blind kid from twelve. Search me how he made it this far. I'm actually really curious about him. And then Blue, Blue Killio, the one who, unintentionally, I found myself aiming to kill, just because Jestina asked me to. Why had I wanted her dead so badly, anyway? She'd never done anything to me. Suddenly I'm not looking forward to the prospect of having to kill her...or having her kill me. Why can't we just call it a truce? A three way tie, so Arbor, Blue and I can just go home and mourn the loss of people just like us, kids. Why can't it just end that way, instead of with all this misery and murder?

Why? I find the little voice in my head repeating the word. I'll tell you why. Because this is the Hunger Games. The very epitome of misery and murder. And it's all for the Capitol's entertainment. Well no, actually, not all of it. Part of it is revenge. Isn't that why the Games started in the first place? The president wanted revenge on the naughty little districts, who rebelled against his shining, shimmering city. So he obliterated the last in our line, District Thirteen, and on top of that he created the Hunger Games. So now tributes like me and the other two who are somewhere in this arena with me are forced to face the wrath of that first president. We have to feel his fury in every slash of a sword against our flesh, every drop of blood that spills from our innocent veins, every injury from too-perfect-to-be-natural disasters, every arrowhead that finds itself buried in our chests. And in a way, the rest of Panem feels it, too. Our suffering is a reminder of the total control the Capitol has over us, and to top it all off, it's broadcast on television for all to see.

The unfairness of it all washes over me.

But what can I do about it? Only little things, things that will slowly break down the barrier of fear that has formed between the districts and our so called 'protector'. Sort of like taking my icepick, which has become an extension of my arms this past week and a half, and chipping away at the bark on a cedar tree, leaving only the bare trunk left. Or peeling an orange, bit by bit until only the insides remain in your hands. After each of these things, what's left is something more vulnerable, something much easier to conquer. And, whether I win or not, I feel like I'm obligated to do my part in chipping that barrier. Even if it's just taking the icepick and breaking away little more than a few shards. Like I said to Zinnia just before she died, I have to make them pay for the hundreds of deaths they've caused.

My thoughts become muddled in my head until I realize I desperately need some sleep. Not even just for my exhaustion, but for my injuries. I need to be in fighting condition. I won't have more than a day before the Gamemakers shake things up and bring us to that final, bloody battle.

But, it turns out, the shaking-up comes much sooner than that.

It's long before dawn when I'm awoken to a deafening series of explosions from somewhere to the south of the arena. I've never been in that area, but from what I saw from the Cornucopia that first day and at the Feast, it's not hard to hazard a guess at what happened. I'd seen a volcanic-looking area. There must be some kind of craters there, and they've just erupted.

It doesn't take long for me to spot the cloud of ash rising into the air, slowly seeping along the sky. I realize that the sun should have risen by now, but the ash is blocking it from view. I'm looking up into a dark sky, even in what should be mid-morning. I've never seen anything like this before. It's unsettling.

I try to salvage what little sleep I had remaining, as there's no sun to keep me awake now, but it's no use. I can't shake the feeling that something is up, So I resort to lying curled up in a ball on the ground, eyes closed and trying to forget the dark arena around me.

And then I feel the water oozing through my clothes.

It's cold, ice cold, and I reflexively jump into a standing position, only to realize that the snowdrifts around me are rapidly receding. The snow is melting. That must mean the temperature is rising, rising fast, which it hasn't done since we entered this arena. And it's then I realize that even though I'm not wearing my spare jacket, I'm not shivering. In fact, I'm quite comfortable. Not cold at all. Comfort is an alien feeling in this arena, especially where temperature is concerned.

The water from the melting snow is rising, and the blanket of white that had covered the forest floor only an hour before was disappearing fast. Far too fast to be normal. Of course, it is the Gamemakers doing this. But why? To flood us all out? Are they going to melt every bit of snow in this place, even the piles and piles on the mountain, and then just see who can stay afloat the longest? Somehow that doesn't seem very climactic. The end practically always includes a fight.

Whatever the Gamemakers have planned, though, one thing's for sure. I can't stay here, waiting to see what happens, waiting to see if the water continues to rise and the arena is flooded for real. I have to run, run to higher leveled ground. The mountain is no longer a possibility; the earthquake and avalanche has made it inaccessable. The only other place I can think of is the Cornucopia, which lies on a slightly raised hill. Perhaps the water will not have reached there.

I slosh through the meltwater, which is nearing my ankles, for who knows how long. I've left the forest and am now traveling through the vast field that surrounds the cornucopia. Normally it is covered with snow, but most of that is already gone and I can actually see the grass through the rising layer of water. I keep running. I'm moving so noisily, my boots splashing with every step, and anyone around would hear me easily. But there's only three of us left. It's highly unlikely that the other two are anywhere near me at this moment.

But then I realize exactly why the Gamemakers have caused this flood: to drive us together.

It's not that I wasn't expecting to be forced to fight the other tributes sometime soon. I just really hadn't thought eruptions, a temprature rise, and a flood would be how they'd do it. There's no precedent for this. But I remind myself once again that this is the Hunger Games. Things don't have to have a precedent. And even though I know I'm doing exactly what the Gamemakers want my to do, by trying to escape the flooding, I haven't got any other choice. I'm not a good swimmer, not at all, and what if they completely drown out this place? Honestly, I stand a better chance fighting.

I don't know how long I'm running before the magnificent golden horn comes into view, but suddenly it's right there on the dark horizon. This is my third time coming here since the Games began. I've spent much more time in the forest, but strangely this place feels the most familiar to me. Probably because this is where it all started. This is where my transformation really began. I changed from Jared Strahan, factory worker from Eight, to Jared Strahan, a murderer who kills first, thinks after. That first day seems so long ago, though it was less than nine days. Twenty one innocent people have died since then. And two more are still to go.

I cautiously near the Cornucopa, and the water beneath me suddenly disappears. It's as if a circle with around a hundred meter radius has been dried up around the horn, leaving a space clear...perfect for a fight.

This is it, I think. This is the final battle. This is where I either live...or die. I am sure that the Gamemakers want to end it with this one last fight. Only one of us will be living when this is through. And it should be a good fight, too, especially with the change of scenery. The sky is dark and smokey, and the few rays of sunlight visible behind the ash cloud give the sky a reddish tint. It's as if we're trapped inside a movie, and I half expect to see a pack of dragons flying across the sky and medieval knights on horseback cantering through the dark, shin deep water, ready to destroy an enemy kingdom. It's eerie, so eerie. Visibility is tough, too, because of the darkness and the wisps of smoke that still lie in the air, but I know the high tech cameras will be sure to make this battle perfectly clear for the viewers. Because, after all, isn't their entertainment the most important thing?

Yeah. Right.

Halt, Arbor C.

For much of his time in the Arena, Arbor had been far too out of his head to feel much of anything, aside from the cold. He had always been something of a callous person. It took a lot to inspire emotion in the blind boy--though that was something Shaw had always been good at.

Yet as the cold and the snow receded, leaving a chilly, muddy, slushy soup in its stead, Arbor reflected on the past ten days or so--if he'd gotten the count wrong, it was because the days had no numbers here. They couldn't--how he'd drawn a line from A to B. He had been the reckless yet cowardly, ready to die blind alliance member first, then the fighting machine--the killer. From there it was a blur: Arbor the Traitor was the last thing he remembered clearly before the fight yesterday.

Before he became human again. He'd been given a task and, for whatever reason, he had decided to fulfill it. Charged to take down the Capitol, Arbor had no choice but to win. For everyone, he had to do it. He didn't trust anyone else to carry out his mission--he never liked to.

There couldn't be that many tributes left. During the foggy period, any number could have died. Last thing he remembered--at the alliance split--there were six. He'd since killed Anastasia--no, he put her to rest, really--so that left five. Arbor counted as one, so there were no more than four tributes standing in his way. Had he been able to see, Arbor could have checked the sky the previous night. However, that was not the case, so the tribute from District 12 was left to guess.

After eating the very last bit of his food--Arbor had the sneaking suspicion that this would be his last day in the Arena--the blind tribute headed toward the source of the explosion. That had to be where the Capitol wanted him to go. They probably wanted a big, dramatic fight at the end, and when some tribute couldn't navigate to get there, they would navigate for him, right?

He was right. Knife in hand, Arbor heard a shout as he approached the Cornucopia. "You!" shouted the voice, though it wasn't directed at him. It was something familiar, that voice... perhaps it belonged to the girl tribute from his district, Blue, was it? Certainly it wasn't Ailia or Zinnia. It seemed as though his allies had not made it to the grand finale.

Though a part of Arbor was sad for the loss of them, it was for the best that he didn't have to be the one to do it. The three hadn't done much talking together, but they fought together, side-by-side, and to the Arena version of Arbor that had taken over, somehow that was the stronger bond. Two others left, then. Who was the third?

It didn't matter. They had to fall. He had been so prepared to die for the Games, Arbor would have to remember to fight to live. At this point, living was a reasonable goal, wasn't it?

He tightened his grip on his knife handle. If he were to go down, Arbor Halt would go down fighting.

Halt, Arbor C.

Yes, what the other girl said was true, to an extent. But it was no good to say it out loud! That was not how you could go about taking them down! It had to be subtle--they couldn't be on to you at all. And her saying such things damaged his future possibilities--assuming he lived past this last battle--of attaining the goal that Anastasia had set before him.

Though he could not actually see, Arbor did his best to give Blue a dark, warning look. "Oh, spare us," he groaned. If he were to die today, he didn't want the last thing he heard to be her counterproductive tangent, and, though they'd never spoken, the blind tribute felt fairly certain that this sentiment was echoed by his most temporary of allies.

His newly injured ankle groaned in protest as he propelled himself forward, lunging at this nuisance, this fly in his ear. Arbor's knife bared, he dearly hoped that he could silence her quickly, before any hope of rebellion was utterly destroyed for any victor.


(attacks Blue)
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I felt the stinging pain as Blue's weapon slashed across my face, leaving a decent sized gash there. It stung like hell, but at this point I'd learned to ignore the pain, as I'd received many gashes on numerous parts of my body before. I'm still fighting.

I can see that Blue is close to death herself, and then Arbor's next attack does it. A deep gash opens on the back of her head, leaving blood dripping down her dark hair. She will be gone in seconds, I know it. "I did it, Jestina," I whisper. "We did it, I mean. Arbor and I. We did what you asked me to do." Of course, it had mainly been Arbor, and it was Arbor who had dealt the killing blow. He is a strong fighter.

He is going to win this, not me. He's not as hurt as me right now, and it would take a couple of miracle hits for me to beat him. He will win, the blind tribute from twelve. But still...top two...I can't ask for better than that. And even though death is inevitable, I will go down fighting.

I hate that I have to be the one to break off the little alliance we had. But I hope he can see in my eyes that I'm sorry as I lunge at him.

(attacks Arbor)
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