Phew! The end of the bloodbath in this chapter! I'll admit, it took me a LOT longer to write than I thought it would. I have a list of everyone who dies in the bloodbath that I'll post after this chapter to help you (well, mostly me) keep which tributes are alive and which are dead. Now, read on!

More confused than ever, I open my eyes to find Snipes smiling, his head turned somewhat away from me. "Open your eyes and get your butt off the ground!" he calls, still grinning that wild grin of his. "We have work to do, and honestly, I can't defend you by myself for much longer. Your fan club is regrouping," he nods his head towards the right, and I glance in that direction.

A group of four, most likely the group who was trying to kill me on top of the crates, is standing about forty yards to the right, near a large gathering of pine trees. Snipes grabs my arm and yanks me roughly to my feet. Black spots start to appear in front of my eyes, and my head suddenly feels too heavy to hold up.

"A knife got my shoulder and another got my foot. I think I've lost some blood," I inform Snipes, who's currently watching a fight taking place a short distance away from us between Dawn, Glade, and a hulking boy from District 6 named Olverson.

He sighs, and tears his gaze away from the fight for a moment. "Take this," he says gruffly, shoving the spear, that until now I hadn't realized he was holding, into my empty hands, "I need you to be my eyes and ears for a minute, okay?"

The question is rhetorical, but I find my mouth moving to form the words 'no, not okay' anyway. I can barely keep myself from falling over, so how am I supposed to defend the both of us? A sharp pain in my shoulder makes me forget my worries momentarily. "What are you doing?" I hiss furiously at him. In response, he rips a large portion of fabric off of his jacket, and then an equally large portion off the back of my T-shirt. "What are you doing?!" I repeat more frantically; the jolt of pain seems to have restored my senses back to (somewhat) full working capacity.

"Eyes on the field!" Snipes snaps, but I can hear the ever-present smile in his voice. My shoulder is stinging and throbbing at the same time, and it's starting to cloud my thoughts. I glance around the field to see if anyone's coming near us, but most people seem to have forgotten about us and the crates and are focussing on their separate fights. I glance over to the trees where my 'fan club' had been watching us, only to find that they've mysteriously disappeared.

Pushing past the pain and whatever Snipes is doing to my poor arm, I scan the field diligently for them. My eyes fly over tributes locked in combat and tributes dying on the ground, but none of them are the ones I'm looking for. The group of four included the girl from District 12, Kaydee, and she's not one of the ones I see.

"I think my fan club's split," I tell Snipes, trying to sound amused. Unfortunately, he chooses that moment to squeeze my shoulder and my voice cracks on fan. "Mmmm. Hold still," is all he says in reply, and the pressure increases.

"Ow!" I yelp, but Snipes ignores me and holds something up to the wound. "Take off your jacket," he sounds so authoritative that I do it without asking why. He then takes the strip of his jacket that he ripped off and ties it all the way around my shoulder, almost like a strap on a backpack. My shoulder is skinny enough that he can wrap it around twice before he ties it tightly, the knot resting directly above the puncture. I let out a low hiss, but actually the pain's not too bad. It's still throbbing, yes, but now I can at least think around it and the stinging is mostly gone.

Next, Snipes bends to check out my foot. The knife must have fallen out at some point, but it still stings. Snipes prods at it a bit and decides to leave it as is.

"Come on, give me back my spear and we'll get you a weapon," Snipes says, sounding satisfied. I turn to him, feeling an immense amount of gratitude for him. He could have just let me die, even though we were supposed to be allies. If it had been me in his place, and Glade in mine, I would have thrown the alliance out the door and let the other tributes kill him.

"Thanks, Snipes, for fixing me up and all," I say softly as I follow him to the open crates. Snipes smiles, "No problem, Annie. Now, hurry up and choose your weapon,"

I see the weapons I want almost immediately; two long, silver swords that are at least two feet long. I figure that they're as close as I'm ever going to get to a trident.

Snatching them up, I try to shoot Snipes a smile. "Okay, let's go," He looks over at me and runs towards the nearest fight, which happens to be the one involving Glade and Dawn. Meanwhile, I search the field for Kellan, hoping against hope that he isn't one of the tributes lying on the ground, soaked in blood.

Luckily, I don't have to search for long, and I spot his flaming-red hair about fifty yards away, fighting two tributes, a boy from 9, Mercer, and a girl from 5, Hyacinth. It seems to be two-on-one. I think I'll go even out the odds. Sprinting as fast as I can, I'm upon them before they realize what's hit them. Mercer seems to be doing the most damage to Kellan, with his giant wooden bat-club thing, so I charge him with one of my swords, tucking the other sheath onto my belt.

Unfortunately, he sees me coming. His bat is up to block my sword before I'm even sure where I'm going to swing it, and my sword almost bounces off it.

Okayyyy.

Maybe it's not a wooden bat-club thing, but a metal one?

I don't have any time to wonder which, though, because the next thing I know the bat is being swung towards me. I drop to my knees and jab at his legs. My sword barely punctures his shin, and he leaps back, swinging the bat harder. I stay low and half-crawl, half-stumble out of the way. Mercer isn't going to let me get away that easily, though, and he advances, a smirk on his face. Suddenly, a plan begins to form in my head. A slow one and a stupid one, but a plan, nonetheless.

I pretend to fumble with my second sword as Mercer swings his bat straight at my ribs. Moving back slowly, I allow the bat to collide with my right leg. The pain is instantaneous, and I whimper. However, no crack has followed the original thump of the bat hitting my leg, and I prove nothing is broken by gingerly putting all my weight on it. It aches, yes, but more of a deep-bruise ache than a broken-bone ache. Just as I thought, Mercer, though strong, has never handled a weapon before in his life.

This should be easy enough.

Now that he thinks he's fast enough to hit me, Mercer's gaining confidence. He swings the bat with more intensity and speed then before, but his aim gets steadily worse as we go on. I'm as close as I've been to having fun since I've entered the arena, as I dance around him. However, we can't dace forever, and Mercer seems to be connecting the dots as I pull out my second sword and prepare to swing at him.

It turns out that while his aiming is abysmal, Mercer's not half-bad at deflecting with that bat of his, and it takes me five swings with my right sword (my shoulder injury is making it hard to swing with my left) to land a hit on him. My sword sinks into his side and Mercer lets out a bellow. Quickly, I retract the sword and make use of his distracted state to swing at his neck.

I feel a thump as my sword connects with his neck. A strangled gurgling sound comes out of his mouth as his body slumps over. My sword cut almost all the way through his neck.

Mercer is dead.

Another rush of adrenaline flows through me, but this time it's accompanied by a rush of nausea. Mercer's blood is pooling out from underneath his body, and I leap back before it can touch my foot.

"Eugh," I close my eyes for a second before I realize where I am. My eyes snap open and I look around the field. Kellan is standing over Hyacinth's lifeless body, shaking his hands. Glade, Dawn, and Snipes are going through the rest of the crates. Kitson, on the other hand, is still locked in a seemingly deadly knife fight with the girl from District 7, Aley, that tried to kill me when I was on top of the crates.

Huh.

I thought she'd run away with the other members of my fan club. Kitson must've caught her and initiated the fight before she could escape with the others.

Anger flares up inside me as I remember Aley leering up at me at the start of this, and before I know it, I'm sprinting at her. My swords are still sheathed, so when I reach her, the only thing I can do is jump at her. Luckily this is the last thing she's expecting, and despite the fifty-or-so pounds she has on me I manage to knock her over. Unfortunately, once I've done this I realize that I have no backup plan, and Aley rolls on top of me. The leer has returned to her face as she slams her hand down over my throat.

"Say goodbye, fishy!" she giggles, and insane glint in her eye. I try to push her off, but she's too heavy. The black spots are just starting to cloud my vision when Aley lets out an "oomph!" sound. Without warning, her grip on my throat loosens, and she collapses on top of me.

I suck in a giant breath and manage to roll her off of me with what little strength I have left. Panting, I kneel on the ground until I look up to see Kitson standing next to me. She nets her fingers into my hair and yanks me to my feet. The knife in her hands is covered in blood, and I make the connection that she must've just killed Aley. No sooner have I thought of this, and Kitson has her knife to my throat.

"Wha-huh?" I manage to sputter. Aren't we supposed to be allies? Kitson looks furious, "Next time I'm in the middle of a fight, let it be!" she spits out, her voice shaking with rage. "I can handle myself! Clear?"

My body is seized with terror, and I barely manage to shake my head yes. Kitson releases my hair and pushes me away from her a bit. "That was a nice tackle," she admits, grudgingly. I stand there awkwardly for a minute before saying, "Thanks. And thanks for taking her out,"

"Don't mention it," she smiles happily, probably remembering the kill, "But next time, don't run at someone who's 6 foot 1, 180 pounds, and armed when you're 5'7'', and maybe pushing 120,"

I laugh half-heartedly. Kitson went from trying to kill me to joking around with me in about five seconds, flat. It was a bit unnerving.

"Hey! Get over here!" Glade's voice interrupts our chatter, and we glance over at him. He's waving at us from the crates, and he looks pissed.

But then again, Glade always looks pissed, so I don't worry about it.