Chapter 27 : The Herding
The eastern sector was different.
Lush where the rest of the arena had grown sparse, water flowing through a newly-carved channel that definitely hadn't existed a week ago. The Gamemakers had transformed this corner into an oasis, a final stage for their entertainment.
We approached on the second day, after confirmed intelligence from Rue's scouting runs.
"Two people at the river," she reported from her tree-top vantage. "One big, one hiding. Not together. They're on opposite banks, ignoring each other."
"Thresh and Foxface." The most likely candidates. "Anyone else?"
"Movement maybe a mile north. Heavy. Crashing through brush instead of moving quiet."
Cato. Still hunting, still loud, still driven by rage rather than strategy.
"We need to establish position," Katniss said. "Somewhere with water access but defensible. Room to maneuver if things go wrong."
I consulted my mental map of what I'd seen during our approach. "Rocky outcrop on the south bank. Good sightlines, natural cover, close enough to refill water but far enough to see anyone coming."
"Let's go."
The outcrop was perfect.
Three large boulders formed a natural fortress, gaps between them wide enough to shoot through but narrow enough to defend. The river was thirty yards away—far enough that we weren't exposed, close enough that water runs were manageable.
We spent the afternoon preparing.
Katniss established archer positions, testing angles from every gap between the rocks. She had seven arrows remaining after the Feast—enough for seven kills if every shot landed. Probably enough for three or four in reality.
Rue marked escape routes through the nearby trees, identifying which branches would support weight and which would break. If things went wrong, she could vanish into the canopy in seconds.
I placed tripwires.
The cord I'd stored since the Training Center found new purpose here, stretched across likely approach paths at ankle height. Not lethal—just disorienting. Enough to slow an attacker, to create opportunities.
"Trip, stumble, arrow," Katniss summarized. "Not elegant, but effective."
"Elegance is for people who can afford to lose."
She almost smiled. Almost.
Night brought visitors.
I was on watch when my Blind Spot detected the approach—single figure, moving carefully through darkness. Not Cato's heavy crashing, not Thresh's purposeful stride. Something smaller, more cautious.
I signaled Katniss with a hand gesture we'd established. She rose from her sleeping position, arrow nocked before she was fully awake.
The figure resolved in the moonlight: Foxface. The District 5 girl who'd survived by avoiding everyone, slipping through the Games like smoke through fingers.
She saw us at the same moment we saw her.
Freeze. Stillness. The moment stretched.
Katniss's bow was drawn but not released. Foxface carried no visible weapons—just her Feast pack, clutched against her chest. Her eyes were wide, calculating, weighing options.
"I'm not hunting you," she said quietly. "I just want water."
"Take it and go." I kept my voice even, non-threatening. "South of our position. Don't come back."
She nodded once, then melted into the shadows. No sound, no trail. Just gone.
Rue had woken during the encounter. "Why didn't we—"
"She's not a threat." Katniss lowered her bow. "Killing her would be murder, not survival."
"That's not how the Games work."
"Maybe it should be."
I took over watch while they settled back down, but sleep didn't come easily for any of us. Foxface was a reminder that other survivors were out there—hungry, desperate, forced into the same shrinking territory.
The finale was coming. We could all feel it.
Day 18 passed in tense stillness.
We took turns at the river, refilling water containers while others covered. Thresh appeared on the opposite bank once, massive silhouette visible across the water. He saw us, acknowledged with the barest nod, then moved away. Whatever debt he'd honored at the Feast, it didn't extend to alliance.
Cato's crashing continued in the distance—north, then east, then circling back. Hunting pattern, frustration evident in every broken branch. He knew we were here. He just couldn't find our exact position.
"He'll figure it out eventually," Katniss observed during the afternoon. "Or the Gamemakers will show him."
"Probably both."
Rue had found a patch of wildflowers by the river's edge—bright colors that shouldn't exist in an arena designed for death. She picked them carefully, weaving them into something.
"What are you making?"
"A crown." She held it up, examining her work. Yellow and blue petals, twisted stems. "For Katniss. She should look like a queen before the end."
"I'm not a queen."
"You're the girl on fire." Rue set the crown on Katniss's dark hair, adjusted it carefully. "That's better than a queen."
For a moment—just a moment—they weren't tributes in a death game. Just two girls playing by the water, decorating each other with flowers. The scene was so incongruous, so human, that my chest ached.
This was what the Capitol took from us. Not just lives, but moments. Joy stolen, beauty weaponized, childhood ended before it began.
I turned away before either of them could see my face.
Day 19 began wrong.
No announcement. No cannon. Just silence, pressing down on the arena like a physical weight. The kind of quiet that came before storms.
My Blind Spot was restless all morning—observation pressure building, cameras repositioning, something shifting in the Gamemakers' control room. They were preparing something.
I woke Katniss and Rue before dawn fully broke.
"Prep everything. Today feels wrong."
Katniss didn't question it. She'd learned to trust my instincts over the past days, however impossible they seemed. She started gathering our supplies while Rue checked escape routes.
"What do you think it is?" Rue asked.
"I don't know. But the quiet is worse than noise." I retrieved the night-vision glasses, scanned the forest around us. Nothing visible—but that didn't mean nothing was there.
"The finale has to happen eventually," Katniss said. "Seven tributes is too many for their story. They'll force us together."
"Then we're ready." I checked my stored inventory: weapons, medical supplies, food, the precious water that might be our last advantage. "Whatever they send, we face it together."
Rue's hand found mine. Small fingers, tight grip.
Katniss moved to stand beside us, bow ready, flower crown still perched on her hair.
Three against the arena. Three against the Games. Three against whatever hell the Capitol was about to unleash.
The sun crested the horizon, painting the river gold.
And in the distance, something howled.
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