Chapter 18 : Dry Ground
The stream was gone.
I stared at the empty channel where water had run yesterday—mossy stones now dry, mud cracking in the morning heat. Gamemaker manipulation. The arena was a controlled environment, and they'd just cut off our supply line.
"Forcing us to move," Katniss said, reaching the same conclusion. "Pushing tributes toward each other."
"Entertainment was getting dull, probably." I checked my internal inventory. Water reserves were decent—a few days if I rationed, less if the healing factor demanded payment. "I have enough for short term. You?"
"One bottle. Maybe two days." Her jaw set hard. "We need another source."
The largest body of water was the lake near the Cornucopia—Career territory, protected by whatever traps District 3 had built. Suicide to approach without a plan.
"Secondary streams," I said. "The arena's big. This can't be the only one."
"You sure about that?"
"No. But I'm sure about what happens if we try the lake unprepared."
We packed our camp and moved.
Katniss found the signs around midday.
Broken twigs at low height. Small footprints in soft soil. Fruit cores wedged into branch joints, placed deliberately high.
"Someone's been through here." She knelt, examining a print. "Light. Maybe ninety pounds. Moving through trees as much as ground."
"Rue."
The name escaped before I could stop it. Katniss looked up sharply.
"The girl from 11. You know her?"
"We talked during training." Partial truth. "She's clever. A survivor."
"And small enough to leave these marks." Katniss studied the trail, hunter's instincts at work. "She's alive, then. Moving through this sector."
"Want to find her?"
The question hung between us. Another alliance meant sharing resources, spreading attention thinner. It also meant more eyes, more skills, better odds against the Career pack.
"She's not a threat," Katniss said finally. "But three is harder to hide than two."
"Three is harder to kill than two, also."
She considered this, then nodded once. "We'll see if she finds us."
The hidden stream appeared like a gift.
Water flowing from rock, partially underground, feeding a small pool before disappearing again. Gamemakers either didn't know about it or hadn't bothered to close it off.
We filled every container, drank until our stomachs ached, and marked the location mentally. I stored extra water while Katniss focused on filtering—my reserves growing without her direct observation.
Movement above us.
My Blind Spot had sensed her approach, but I'd said nothing. Some meetings were better discovered naturally.
Rue crouched in a tree maybe thirty feet overhead, barely visible among the leaves. Dark skin, dark eyes, watching us with the wariness of a prey animal that had survived predators before.
I raised a hand slowly. Not threatening. Not beckoning. Just acknowledging.
She didn't flee.
Katniss noticed the motion, looked up. Her hand moved toward her bow, then stopped. "You've been following us."
"Watching." Rue's voice was small but steady. "You found water."
"Enough to share." I retrieved dried meat from my pack, held it up where she could see. "You're hungry."
"Everyone's hungry."
"Not everyone has food." I set the meat on a rock, stepped back. "Take it. No strings."
She dropped from the tree with barely a sound—lighter than seemed possible, gravity a suggestion rather than a rule. Up close, she looked younger than I remembered from training. Twelve years old, maybe. The same age Prim would be.
She took the meat, ate half of it in quick bites, stored the rest in a pocket. Her eyes never left my face.
"You gave me bread during training," she said. "Near the camouflage station."
"I remember."
"Why?"
The question Thresh had asked, in different words. Why help? Why care? Why risk anything for someone who might become an enemy?
"Because you're smart," I said. "And smart people deserve a chance."
Rue studied me for a long moment. Then she looked at Katniss, some calculation happening behind those dark eyes.
"The Careers have the Cornucopia protected," she said. "District 3 boy reset the mines from the launch platforms. All the supplies are in a pile, surrounded by explosives. Step wrong, and everything goes up."
Katniss and I exchanged looks. Valuable intelligence, delivered freely.
"How do you know?" Katniss asked.
"I've been watching them. From trees, mostly. They don't look up." A flicker of something like pride crossed Rue's face. "They think they're hunting everyone. They don't know everyone is hunting them."
"What else do you know?"
"Their patterns. Their weaknesses. Where they sleep, where they store things." Rue sat cross-legged on a rock, ancient eyes in a child's face. "I know how to hurt them. If someone was willing to try."
The offer was clear. Alliance, in exchange for a chance to strike back at the pack that hunted her.
Katniss looked at me. I looked at Rue. The mathematics of survival shifted around us.
"Tell us about the mines," I said. "Everything you've seen."
Rue smiled—the first genuine expression I'd seen on her face since the Reaping broadcasts.
"Sit down," she said. "This might take a while."
The sun set while we talked.
Rue had been watching the Careers for days, invisible in trees while they passed below. She described their camp layout, their supply arrangement, the way District 3's boy had connected detonators in a pattern around the food pyramid.
"Pressure triggers," she explained. "Step on the wrong spot, boom. They have a path—step here, then here, then here—but it changes. The boy moves things."
"Can the mines be triggered remotely?" I asked.
"Maybe. I saw him with wires once. But he's always nearby when they leave and come back."
"What about ranged?" Katniss leaned forward. "An arrow, hitting the supplies?"
"The bags and boxes might absorb it. You'd need to hit something hard." Rue's eyes lit up. "The apples. They have a whole bag of apples sitting on top. Loose, not packed."
Apples. Hard enough to transfer impact, positioned to fall onto pressure-sensitive ground.
"One good shot," Katniss murmured. "Scatter the apples. Let them set off the mines."
"And take out their entire supply cache." I ran scenarios in my head. "They'd have nothing. No food, no equipment, no advantages except their weapons."
"They'd be furious," Rue said. "Dangerous."
"They're already dangerous. This would make them desperate." I looked at Katniss. "Desperate enemies make mistakes."
She didn't respond immediately. I could see her working through it—the risk, the reward, the possibility of turning the entire game on its head.
"We'd need a distraction," she said finally. "Something to draw them away from camp while I take the shot."
"I can do that," Rue said quickly. "Fires. I know how to set them without getting caught. Light one, move to the next, keep them running."
"It's dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous." Rue's voice was steady, certain. "But I'm tired of running. I want to fight back."
Katniss looked at me. The question was silent: Is this worth the risk?
I thought about the Career pack, confident and cruel. About Rue dying in the original timeline, Marvel's spear taking her before anyone could stop it. About the chance to change that outcome, to give her something better than a slow hunt to inevitable death.
"We do this together," I said. "All three of us. Or not at all."
Rue nodded. Katniss hesitated, then extended her hand.
"Partners," she said. "All of us."
Rue took her hand. I put mine on top of both.
"Partners."
The alliance was sealed. Tomorrow, we'd plan the attack that would shake the Hunger Games to its foundation.
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