Everyone but you is dead the minute they step into the arena, Talia's voice reminds me.

Sometime in the next few days, I'm going to watch Roy die or kill him myself. I need to separate myself from him, let him become a stranger again, so that when we face each other for the last time, I can kill him without hesitation.

I want to kiss him again.

They are objects in your way and nothing more.

If I kiss him again, I'm a dead man.

I pull away from Roy. "We should split up the supplies," I say.

"We don't have to," he says.

"Doesn't really seem fair if I leave you with nothing," I say.

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath. "Okay," he says. "What have we got?"

We gather everything we have and sort it into piles. Food, water, weapons, first aid kits and other supplies. I pick up the crossbow that killed Bart and turn it over in my hands, examining it in the moonlight.

"He shouldn't have been here," I say.

"None of us should be here," Roy says. His voice is calm, but I see his hands clench into fists. We could say more, so much more, but the Capitol's listening to every word and there are people we love back home.

I stuff the crossbow and bolts into my pack. Roy doesn't need it and I'll have to start doing my own hunting. We divide the stuff we want between us and bury the rest of it under some rocks at the edge of the hillside. When we're packed and ready to move, we turn to face each other.

Roy shifts the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. "Good luck," he says and offers me his hand.

"Good luck," I say, shaking his hand. We hold on just a little longer than necessary, then we drop our hands and walk away from each other. Roy heads upstream, going west. I turn and head downstream.

I hope that we don't meet again.

I follow the stream back to the Cornucopia and the pond. I keep my knife in my hand and my eyes and ears open. There's no one to watch my back anymore. When I reach the pond, I follow the stream that heads north. The kids from Two had a camp by this stream and they may be running back to it. I plan to find them and finish them off. It's not revenge. It's just good strategy.

It's a long way back to the spot where Blake died, and by midday I decide to take a break and try hunting for some food. I take out the crossbow and practice shooting at a tree a few times to get a feel for it. It's a little smaller than the ones I've shot before, but it's got a lot of power. I do some damage to the innocent tree trunk and figure I've got it down.

Rabbits are fast little suckers. My aim's fine, but by the time I pull the trigger, my target's yards away. I try to anticipate where the rabbit's going to run, but I'm still too slow. I shoot through all my bolts without even hitting a whisker. By now, I've frightened all the rabbits away, so I collect my bolts and walk upstream a bit. I load the crossbow, perch on a rock and wait.

I see a tiny nose peek out of a hole, but I hold still. It twitches, sniffs the air and ducks back into the ground. When it sticks its head up again, I'm ready. I fire right at the hole. The rabbit disappears and the bolt flies past the hole and lodges in the dirt. I curse, load the bow again and wait. The nose reappears. This time, I wait until most of its body is out of the hole before firing. I could swear that rabbit smirked at me before slipping back into its hole.

My stomach's rumbling. I've got some beef strips in my pack, but I really, really want roast rabbit. I reload the crossbow. Wait for it to move. Fire. You'd think the rabbit would learn after the first couple of times, but it keeps popping up again. Or maybe there's a whole colony of them down there and they're each taking a turn to look at the idiot who can't shoot a damn rabbit.

I fire my last bolt without hitting anything other than grass. I sigh. Fine, I'll go catch some fish for lunch. The fish are tiny, and not nearly as tasty as rabbit, but there are plenty of them in the stream and I can use my shirt as a net. I turn around, jump down off the rock and freeze, knees still bent from the landing.

Joker's standing there, still as anything, with a huge grin on his face. I have no idea how long he's been standing there. I was so focused on shooting the stupid rabbit that I forgot to watch out for people hunting me.

I drop the empty crossbow and reach for the knife at my waist. Joker takes two strides forward and before I can get my fingers around the hilt, he's thrust a flower in my face. The blossom's familiar. I've seen it blooming around the arena, but I don't know why this guy's threatening me with greenery. I draw my knife and Joker squeezes the plant. It sprays a red juice directly into my eyes. Instant agony. I lash out with my knife, but I only hit air.

My eyes clamp shut on reflex and I force them open, but I still can't see a thing. My eyes are on fire. I feel moisture dripping down my cheeks and I'm sure it's my eyeballs melting away. I slash the air wildly with my knife, hoping to keep Joker at arms' length, while I reach for my canteen with the other hand. If I don't wash this stuff away, I don't know if I'll have any vision left. I thumb the cap off my canteen and dump the contents on my face.

The tepid water offers momentary relief, but it doesn't quench the burning. I try to move forward, feeling the ground with my feet, still slashing at the air. Stay away, I think. Keep away from me and I might have a chance. Maybe Joker's alone. Maybe he's counting on the loss of my sight to completely disable me. I need to stay calm. I need to stop and listen. I hear him, chuckling softly in front of me.

"Always take time to stop and smell the flowers," he says. Yeah, keep laughing, clown. As long as he's laughing, I know where he is and if I know where he is, I can kill him. I practiced fighting blindfolded. I didn't have to deal with searing eye pain in practice, but being in lethal danger helps you overlook the small things.

I step forward, slowly. Feel the movement of air as Joker steps aside. He's stopped laughing, now, maybe because he realizes I can find him that way, but I can hear him breathing and hear the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath his feet. Hear his footsteps… and then another set of footsteps. Someone's behind me.

A solid object crashes into the back of my skull.

I fall forward, dropping the canteen and my knife. My hands and knees slam into the ground and I welcome the impact because otherwise I'm not sure I'd know which way was up. The world's spinning, I can't see a thing and I dig my fingers into the dirt to keep from falling off the planet. I feel myself fading away and I cling tighter, holding onto the ground and consciousness with both hands. A boot slams into my ribs and another stomps on my back, forcing my stomach to the ground. I reach out and try to grab a leg, but only catch empty air.

They kick me again, and again, and grab my arms, twisting them behind my back. I writhe, trying to pull away, trying to get my legs under me so I can have some leverage. They kick my feet away and push me down. They throw themselves on top of me and use their body weight to pin me in place as they wrap wire around my wrists, then they force my knees back and bind my ankles tightly to my hands. I'm still struggling, still trying to pull away and get free. It's not over until my heart stops beating.

One of them - Joker, I think - grabs me by the collar and drags me across the ground. My eyes are still burning but at this point, I'm not as worried about going blind as I am about dying. I twist and struggle and try to force the shirt to tear, but the fabric's too sturdy. Joker deposits me on the dirt and binds my wrists and ankles to something. A tree, I think; I can feel the bark when I stretch out my fingertips. If it's a tree, it's one of the spiky, bare ones because I can't feel any shade.

"I thought we were gonna kill him." Harley's voice, high-pitched and whiney.

"Oh, he'll die," Joker chuckles. "I'm just getting bored of cutting people open." A knife tears into my pants and I tense up, ready for the worst. But he just cuts the legs off my pants and slices my shirt open. "Enjoy the sunshine, honeybunch," he whispers into my ear.

They walk away. I'm confused. Is it a trick? Why leave me alive? I try to pull my hands free, but the wire slices into my wrists. I lick my lips. If I can get free, I'll be alive. I can wash out my eyes and gather my gear and have a chance to survive. I can get a drink of water…

I realize it's not a trick. The desert sun beats down on my bare skin and I know they've left me to die. If no one finds me, I'll die slowly of thirst and heat. If someone does find me, I'll be dead faster, but probably not less painfully.

I try to get my fingers under the wire, find a spot that I can exploit, but the kids from Two knew what they were doing. I scrape my wrists and ankles raw in my struggle, but I don't make any progress.

My eyes water terribly, trying to flush away the flower's pollen and I squeeze them tight, trying to hold in the moisture I can't afford to lose. It doesn't do any good, of course, so I give up after a few minutes and let the tears flow. Maybe I'll be able to regain my vision if I survive.

I force myself to take slow breaths and stay calm. I evaluate my options. My options are "get free" or "die" so that doesn't take long. I go back to working on the wire, trying to find a sharp rock or a rough spot on the tree that will weaken the wire and let me slip free. My shoulders and knees cramp up painfully and I try to shift around, to stretch my joints and relieve the cramps, but I've got no room for adjustment.

I have no idea how long I lay there, fighting hopelessly against the wire. My head throbs horribly and my eyes burn. Is anyone watching me? Will my slow, agonizing death be aired live or am I too boring to stay on the screen? Maybe they'll show me die in a time-lapse video on the evening recaps, where my hours of torment can be trimmed into a sixty-second montage with dramatic musical cues.

I finally stop struggling. It's not doing any good. I need to save my strength and be smart about this. I need to rest up, be ready for action when the opportunity strikes.

I slip into a restless, painful sleep, where rabbits chew my wrists and ankles and Joker hammers iron spikes into my knees and shoulders. I see a lake, a beautiful, cool, blue lake and I crawl towards it, pulling myself forward on my elbows. The beach stretches out as I crawl and no matter how far I go, the lake is just out of reach. I finally stagger to my feet and throw myself at the lake. The water catches and embraces me, cool and soothing on my burning skin. I scoop up a handful of water and try to drink, but when the water touches my lips, it turns to sand. The lake freezes around me, pinning me in place, and the ice closes over my face.

I wake up, gasping for air and shivering in the cold. Night's fallen. I thought I was cold the first night, huddling alone on a rock, but at least I had clothing and a jacket to keep me warm. This is a thousand times worse. I'm badly sunburnt. The heat pours out of my skin and is torn away by the wind and sucked up by the dirt until there's none left for me.

I pass the night in agonizing cold, drifting in and out of nightmares. When the sun finally rises, I welcome its warmth, but soon I'm burning again. My mouth feels like sand and even my tears have dried up.

I hear footsteps. I don't have the strength left to be frightened. Good, I think. It's almost over. I open my eyes and I've regained some of my vision, because I can see a blurry figure standing over me.

"Still alive, hm?" says Joker. He kneels beside me. "Would you like a drink of water?"

I get a last request and it's the thing I want most in this world. What a lucky guy I am. "Please," I whisper.

I hear him unscrew the top of a canteen and I can smell the water. I stretch out my neck, trying to get closer to it.

He empties the canteen into the dirt, a few inches from my nose. "No!" I cry out. I strain against the wire binding me. I'll suck the water from the mud if I can, but I'm still too far away. Joker giggles. I feel a cold knife against my neck and I think this, finally, is the end, but instead he cuts my district token free.

"A bird. Cute," he says, examining the tiny disc.

"A robin," I whisper. Not that it matters now.

He tucks the token into his pocket. "I'll be back, little robin. Unless the hovercraft flies you away." The wind carries me his laughter as he walks away.

I drift back into dreams. I'm in the lake again, but the water's turned red and when I try to drink it, I catch on fire.

I hear the cannon fire and I think it's for me, at last. But death is the same dry, burning place, and I wonder if this is it. This is my afterlife and I'm going to be on fire for eternity.

Fingers touch my chin and I wish I had the moisture left to spit in Joker's face.

"Jason?"

Water dribbles into my mouth.

"Jason!"

Water. Real water. I lick my lips and I'm given a little more. The afterlife has water. Good to know. Maybe I did do a couple of good things in my life.

"Jason, wake up!"

Someone's shaking me and I finally open my eyes. "Roy?" My voice is barely a whisper. "Are you dead, too?"

"Neither of us are dead, idiot," he says, relief in his voice. "Not yet." He draws a knife and saws away at the wire binding me. I can feel blood trickle from my raw wrists, but it's not like I'm going to complain. He stops a couple of times to feed me a few more swallows of water. "I don't want to give you too much at once," he says in apology. I nod, not having the strength to explain that he's giving me a feast.

He finally cuts me free and I thought it'd be a relief, but my cramped limbs scream in agony as I try to move them. I whimper, in too much pain to care about looking tough. Roy tries to help me by massaging my legs, but the touch of his hands on my sunburnt skin makes the blisters burst. He gives up and lets me stretch by myself.

While I try to force motion back into my limbs, Roy searches the area. He finds some of my things where they were dropped and brings them back. My jacket. My backpack. My knife. The crossbow and bolts are gone, along with my canteen and supplies, but Roy finds the pants legs Joker cut off. I'm glad I have my knife because I'm going to slit Joker's throat with it.

Roy drags me to my feet despite my protests. "You have to get out of the sun," he says, and he's right, but it's hard to make my legs work. I stagger to my feet and take a good look at him. He's got a split lip, his face is badly bruised, he's limping and his shirt's torn and bloody. I can't tell if it's his own blood or not.

"You look like hell," I say.

He bursts out laughing. "And you look like someone tried to fry you like an egg," he says.

I snort. "That's pretty accurate." He gives me a bit more water and lets me lean on his arm while I remind my legs of their primary purpose. He hauls me about a hundred yards until we find a shady spot where a couple of rocks intersect. I'm panting from the exertion and my whole body's screaming in pain. He lowers me to the ground and props me against one of the rocks. I hiss as it scrapes my burned skin. Roy feeds me crackers and small sips of water. It's only slightly cooler in the shade, but I'm suddenly shivering terribly. I must have a fever. My head's still pounding and every bit of light that strikes my eyes increases my pain.

I push Roy away when he tries to give me another sip of water. "Roy, what are you doing?"

"Uh, trying to hydrate you?" He brings the canteen to my lips and again I pull away.

"We're not allies," I say. "I could kill you."

"Not right now, you couldn't," Roy says. Okay, true. I doubt I could even draw my knife, let alone gather the strength to push it into someone's body. "I couldn't let you die."

"You'll have to."

"Not yet," Roy says firmly. "Not like that."

"That's not how the game is played," I say.

Roy sits back on his heels. "All right," he says. "You want me to leave you alone? I will. I'll leave you some water and walk away right now. Or we can be allies again and watch each other's backs. Your call."

"It's going to end badly," I warn him.

"There was never a chance it wouldn't," he says wearily.

It doesn't take me long to decide. Our odds are better together. And nothing will make it easy to kill him, not after today. "Allies then," I say.

Roy nods and pushes the canteen into my hand. He digs into the first aid kit and finds some pills to help with the headache and fever.

I see a flash of silver and Roy catches the parachute. It's attached to a small tin filled with some kind of cream. Roy dips two fingers into the tin and brushes some on my thigh.

I hiss at his touch, but it quickly turns to a moan of relief. I look down and see that the blisters have faded away, leaving tender, pink skin. If this is a sample of Capitol medicine, then I must be doing the right thing for my mother. "That's amazing," I breathe. "Give me some more."

Roy chuckles at my reaction and scoops more out of the jar. He applies the lotion to my skin with long, smooth strokes. It feels like a miracle. He finishes applying the lotion to my legs and moves upward. I close my eyes in pleasure as his fingers stroke my chest, bringing blessed relief with each touch. Roy chuckles. "If you wanted my hands all over you, you just had to ask."

I open my eyes and he's grinning at me. I smirk back. His hand moves low on my stomach, rubbing the lotion in slow circles. His face is just inches from mine. I lick my lips and hesitate, because nothing has changed. At least one of us is still going to die.

Is that a reason to hold back or a reason to give in?

Before I can decide, Roy pulls back, taking my hesitation as a lack of interest. I reach out to touch him, maybe pull him closer, but when I put my hand on his waist, he jerks back with a hiss of pain.

"Let me see," I say. He obediently lifts his shirt and I can see the long gash from just under his ribs down to his hip.

"It's not deep," he says.

"Deep enough," I say. The edges of his flesh pull apart as he moves. "I'll stitch it up for you."

He grimaces. "Not the way I want your hands on me."

"Shouldn't have gotten sliced open, then," I say. "Is there anything else?"

He shows me a cut on his thigh, long and shallow, but also in need of stitches. I finish applying the burn lotion to my face and arms and then Roy hands me the first aid kit. I clean my hands as best as I can and proceed to stitch him up, disinfect and bandage him. By the time I'm done, the sun's getting lower in the sky and I know we can't spend the night here.

I tell Roy how Joker came back once already and how he's sure to return. "We need to move before dark," I say.

"All right," he says. "How's your head?"

It's feeling better and my fever's gone down. We drink some more water and eat a bit of roast rabbit that Roy has in his pack. He stands guard while I peel off my pants and shirt and stitch up the tears. They won't pass for new, but they'll give me some protection against the sun and cold. I also clean and re-bandage the cuts on my calf and side.

"Ready to go?" Roy asks, once I'm dressed. He clasps his hand around my forearm and helps me to my feet. My vision's still fuzzy and my head's still pounding, but I'm a thousand times better now than when he found me.

We reach the stream and fill the canteens. I wait the bare minimum time for the water to be purified and then drink heavily. I only realize once I've set it down that I've emptied the whole canteen. "Sorry," I say. I refill the canteen and start the purification again.

Roy laughs. "Drink all you need. It's better inside you…." His smile fades and I know he's thinking of Bart. "Well, you need it," he finishes gruffly.

"Who's died?" I ask. "I didn't see the sky last night."

"The girl from Ten died yesterday and the girl from Nine died this morning." His lips tighten and I know she was the one who gave him those wounds. I put a hand on his arm and he sighs. "I'm still alive. Let's get moving."

We fill the canteens again and walk upstream, looking for a good camping spot. "Why did you volunteer?" he asks.

I tell him about my mother being sick and her only chance being a Capitol doctor.

He lets out a low whistle. "That's a hell of a risk to take for your mom."

"She's all I have," I say quietly.

"No father?"

"He was a thief," I say, aware of the cameras all around me. "He paid for his crimes."

"Mine was a poacher," Roy says.

"Gallows?" I ask.

"Firing squad," he says.

We lapse into painful silence for a bit. Finally, he asks me if I had a job back home. I tell him about the factory where I cut white fabric into pieces that are sewn into Peacekeeper uniforms. He tells me about his job in the sawmill, where he started out sweeping sawdust when he was twelve. He'd have been assigned his own sawing machine this year, after finishing school, if his name hadn't been drawn in the Reaping.

Even if one of us wins, those lives are over. Winning means we'll be so rich we'll never have to work again. I haven't really thought about that. I've been focused on getting my mother healthy again that I hadn't thought about what I'd do with the rest of my life.

Or maybe this is the rest of my life. Me and Roy and the desert.

Roy spots the alcove where we've stayed before and setting up camp provides some distraction from my thoughts. We inspect the area first, for any signs that others have been there, but it looks untouched. Roy rigs a wire around the perimeter and sets it to trigger a fall of small rocks if someone crosses it. The rocks aren't big enough to do much damage, but they'll give us a warning.

Neither of us feel like it's safe to start a fire, so we dine on roots and berries.

We watch the sky as the anthem plays and see the face of the girl from Nine. Roy sits back against the rock, rests his arms on his knees and stares down at the ground.

I reach out and squeeze his knee lightly. He turns to look at me, sorrow and guilt weighing heavily on his face. I want to wipe that misery off his face, but words are dangerous here. Guilt at the death of a fellow tribute won't play well with the sponsors. Besides, are there any words that would comfort him? All I can give him are a few minutes of distraction from his thoughts. I lean in and kiss him.

It's not a light kiss. It's hard and urgent and he returns it in kind. I slide my hand up the back of his neck and grip his hair. His hand finds the bottom of my shirt and slides under my clothing, dry, calloused fingers scratching the newly healed skin on my stomach. I lean into his touch. I take his hand and guide it lower.

"Are you sure?" Roy asks in a low voice. His fingers hesitate at the top button of my pants. "The audience…?"

"Want to give them a show?" I ask grimly. I loathe the audience, the Capitol, and their tiny, prying, night-vision cameras, but when the cameras are gone, this chance will be lost. I'm sunburnt, filthy and underfed - nobody's idea of a pin-up model - but I yank off my shirt with a flourish. I try to grin at him, but it feels like I'm baring my teeth. It's more like a challenge than a seduction, but Roy accepts it, pushing me on my back and tugging my pants down.

I've never been with a guy before. I've never been with anyone before. I fooled around with a couple of people back home, but we never had the time or the opportunity to get very far. Wish I'd had the chance for a dress rehearsal, at least, before going live on screens all over Panem.

Roy seems to know what he's doing, though. We strip off our clothes and lay them on the ground so we've got something between our bare skin and the dirt. My heart's pounding, equal parts aroused and terrified. It's not just performance anxiety. Even with alarms rigged up, it's risky to let ourselves be so distracted. I can't let myself fully give in to what Roy's doing with his hands and mouth. I keep my ears open, keep flicking my eyes up to watch the perimeter. I bite down on my own fist to keep from making any noises that will give us away to hunters.

Roy grins when he notices this and slides up my body to kiss me again.

"Roy," I whisper.

He drags his teeth along my neck, just below my ear. "I'll keep watch, Jay," he says. "Let yourself go." He stuffs the sleeve of my jacket in my mouth to keep me quiet and twists his hand in just the right way. I arch my back and ride the waves of pure physical sensation.

It takes me a moment to come back to myself and I'm still breathing heavily when I open my eyes. Roy's stroking my chest lightly with his fingertips, smirking at me.

"My turn," I tell him. I wrap him in a wrestling grip and flip us over so he's lying on his back and I'm straddling his waist.

"Bring it," he grins. I pin his wrists at his side and lower my mouth. He tastes of sweat and dirt and under that, of something green and woodsy, like he's still got a bit of District Seven under his skin. I'm not as skilled with my tongue and fingers as he is, but I've got an idea of what feels good. Soon he pulls a hand free of my grip so he can keep his own cries silent. I wish I could just bury myself in his scent and his taste and what he looks like when he's losing control, but I have to be watchful now. I'm not even looking at his face when I hear a low groan in the back of his throat and feel him shudder all over.

The chill of the night is setting in, but we clean up and dress slowly. I tell him I need to check his wounds, but mostly I just want to slide my hands over his bare skin again before he's gone. Our bandages are intact though, and we haven't pulled any stitches, so we pull our clothes back on.

A silver parachute drifts down and I don't need to open the basket to know what it is. It's applause. It's a reward for a show well performed. It's a reminder that even our most private moments belong to the world and they won't let us forget it, even for a night. I want to yell back at them and toss it in their faces.

Instead, I stand up and take a bow. "Thank you!" I say to the empty air, knowing there's a dozen cameras trained on me right now. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of Panem. I'm glad you enjoyed the show. Stay tuned tomorrow night! You may get a repeat performance or you may get a bloody massacre! Every day's an adventure in the Hunger Games!"

Roy stuffs a roll of bread in my mouth before I can say anything worse. It's warm and soft and so fresh that I can see steam rolling off it in the cool night air. Our show has earned us six rolls, a bit of goat cheese and two large, fresh apples. We eat four of the rolls, half of the cheese, one of the apples and save the rest for tomorrow.

Roy offers to take the first watch. He leans against the back of the alcove. I sit down between his legs and lean back. He wraps his arms around me. I feel safe in his arms and I shouldn't. I shouldn't feel safe anywhere. I check my knife to make sure it's still buckled at my waist.

"I barely know you," I say sleepily.

He covers my hand with his and links our fingers together. "My favorite color's red," he offers.

"Mine, too," I say, with a smile. It's a tiny connection, but it's something real, something that isn't all about the Games.

Roy's thumb brushes against the bare spot at the hollow of my throat. "What happened to your robin?" he asks.

"Joker took it," I say bitterly. "As a trophy."

"Then you'll have to take it back," Roy says. There's steel in his voice.

"Tomorrow," I decide. "Tomorrow I'm taking it back." I close my eyes.

Roy wakes me in the middle of the night and we change places. I curl around the warmth of his body and try not to let his heartbeat lull me back to sleep. How much of tonight's activities were the people back home watching? We must have been live on all the screens. Being watched by anonymous crowds is bad, but being watched by people I know is stranger and more disturbing. What will it be like to go home and face everyone? I'm not sure why being intimate with a guy feels more dangerous than killing multiple people. Maybe because murder is part of the deal and love -

No. It's not love. It's companionship, shared warmth and physical comfort. Not love. Not friendship. Having an ally will help me win, but caring about another tribute will get me killed. There's no room for genuine feelings in the arena.

I hear the clatter of rocks falling and I shake Roy awake. He grabs his bow before I can say a word. I draw my knife and we emerge from the alcove, ready to take on the enemy.

What we see are rabbits. Dozens of them, running like they ran from the golden fog. Running from the huge sandstorm that's bearing down on us all.