Author's Note: Well. Here it is. The next chapter. And, whoa! That was a lot of reviews, and fast. And that has inspired me to write more. (See how this works? REVIEW!) Thank you for all the new additions, Firestar93, xxgabigailxx, and Pita-BreaD-RoCkS, Katy-chan, and Team Peeta36 especially for your essay. I've decided to make Gale more macho-like on behalf of your review. And I already have something planned for Haymitch. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own the works of Suzanne Collins.


"We're not going hunting, are we?" asks Gale, shifting his pack over his shoulder. He knows me too well.

"Not food," I say. I'm scanning the lake. It's bigger than I remember, and all of a sudden my plan doesn't seem so flawless anymore. If Finnick were here, that'd be different. He could cut across the water with agility and stealth. I'd be lucky if I didn't attract every person on the other side of the lake before I'd made it half-way through, and it'd be a miracle if Gale managed to dog-paddle a couple yards without drowning.

I sighed. Here I was again, running straight into some insane plot. Let's hope this isn't when my luck starts running out.

"Here's the plan. We make it across the lake somehow. Then one of us sends out an alarm—"

"That's not going to work, Katniss," says Gale, fiddling with his bulging pack again.

I look up, surprised. "I know it's a long shot," I say.

"It's impossible."

"Gale! Stop being selfish! We have to get them out of there somehow!"

"Yeah. We do. So how about we follow my plan?"

Intrigued, I decide to play along for a few minutes. "And that would be…?"

"We don't have enough time. Let's just go,"

"It's dawn, Gale."

Maybe he can't hear me, because he runs off, bow slung over his back. I have no choice but to follow him, because I know once I lose sight of him, he's gone.

We zigzag through the trees in a complicated pattern, and if I didn't know him better, I'd think he was purposely trying to confuse me. Trees flash past us, but the woods are eerily silent, almost holding its breath. Almost as if they can sense the oncoming storm. I shake my head and scold myself for letting trees frighten me, and keep my eyes on Gale, who's picking up the pace.

We stay like that for a while, and just as I think my lungs are going to burst open, he comes to an abrupt stop. I don't see this coming, and I lurch forward, subconsciously drawing in my breath to let out a surprised squeal. Fortunately, Gale grabs me by the collar of my jacket, jerks me around, and puts his hand over my lips.

I'm fully aware that we're both breathing really hard, and I can feel his blood pulsing all around me. I tug on his arm, signaling that I'm okay, and he lets go, still not looking at me. I turn around. We appear to be at the edge of the forest. I recognize a pile of rocks Gale and I had assembled that served as our resting-place. It sends a wave of nostalgia over me, and I almost forget we're on an extremely important mission to save almost everyone I've known the past seventeen years.

Gale waves a hand in front of my face, the universal sign for "Are you still there?"

I blink, and nod. We start to creep forward, and soon enough, I can notice the trees thinning. What was dead silent a couple minutes ago has risen to a low hum that sounds somewhat familiar. As we reach the last few straggling trees, we catch sight of something familiar—the electric fence. It's humming and the wires are vibrating. It's never been at this voltage before. A guard holding a cigarette and a rifle leans nonchalantly against a tree. How are we supposed to get past?

Gale has apparently thought this through already. He squats down, and carefully pulls something out of his pack. Slowly, delicately, he pulls out a length of thick rope about ten meters long. I stare at him, puzzled. He looks up, puts his fists together, and points them in the direction of the guard. Slowly, he pulls his right hand back, and opens his fingers. I understand. He's telling me to shoot the guard.

I don't move. Somehow, I've managed to convince myself that I can get there and back, save everyone, do everything without harming everyone. How many times had I made that mistake already? Resolutely, I swing my bow over and notch it. It's aimed directly at his neck, and I know that if I let go, he'll die. Just like that. No lies, no tricks. In a way, death is so much simpler than life. So much easier, so much more dependable. I remember the last time I killed, back in the second games.

The winners of the Hunger Games are supposed to be invincible. The survivors among the survivors. The best, the ones who live it up after it's all over. The best aren't supposed to kill the best. I knew that. But that wasn't the point of the Quarter Quell. It was supposed to show that even the best could fall. And they did. They fell hard. And in that revelation, I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the man.

I looked at Gale, and simply shook my head. He didn't look at me as he pulled his bow from his shoulder with one hand and notched it with another. I blinked, and the guard was on the ground, cigarette still smoking, one hand still on his gun. I stared, fascinated, at the corpse as Gale swung the rope over a high, sturdy, branch. From the angle I was standing, I couldn't see the arrow sticking out of his neck, the pool of blood probably forming beneath him. It was strange, standing there, watching the color drain out of his eyes, his face. I snapped out of it as something hit me across the face.

"Ow—" I gasped.

"What the hell are you doing?" whispered Gale fiercely. "This is kind of EXTREMELY important!"

"Yeah, I know. I just…" I looked back at the man. "N-Never mind. Let's just go."

We quickly scale the tree, and Gale motions for me to go first. I reach for the knot, take a deep breath, and swing. Gale's calculated correctly and I land softly on the ground. I swing the rope back and he catches it and jumps in one smooth motion. He lands on his palms and feet, and runs off.

I follow, wishing he'd at least give me a signal or something the next time he takes off.

We're at the main square now, right beside the candy shop. It smells like ashes. The windows are dusty and broken, and the inside of the shop is littered by broken glass and broken tables. The shop owner must have put up quite a fight, since blood splatters covered part of the wall.

I don't want to see the destruction, so I turn around to look at the square. Big mistake.

It's suffered by far the most damage. Wisps of smoke swirl out of dark, indented craters in the earth. The shops closest to the center look like the embers at the heart of the fire—black, smoldering, and unrecognizable. Worst of all, however, is not the appearance, but the use.

People I recognize are all standing together, huddled in the middle of the square. Even from this distance I can see burn scars, whiplash injuries, even missing limbs. Armed soldiers surround them on all sides. Their crisp uniforms do not belong in this world of extreme poverty and broken souls. I try to see who I recognize, and I note with a sinking heart that barely half of the former district 12 is still alive. I catch sight of Saroline Adams, a sweet little girl barely five holding on to the hand of Merille Donner, Madge's mother.

The sound of electronic fanfare sounds, and Saroline winces and buries her head in Merille's skirt, and as she does so, I catch sight of her horribly mutilated face. It's completely scorched and blisters are oozing pus. Even Gale has to gasp at the sight of this.

"Who will be today's tribute?" booms a voice that surrounds the arena. "Peeta Mellark—" Gale stiffens at this, "is here with us. Say, Peeta, who do you think will win this one?"

Peeta's face goes up on the screens. It focuses on him for a couple seconds, waiting for him to says something, but he doesn't.

My hands go up to my ears and I close my eyes, a futile attempt to block out what's about to be said. Gale's standing ramrod straight, staring at the giant screen in the front of the square.

"Today's rules are a little different, though. As a celebration for the 25th match, we've decided to do our own Quarter Quell, an homage to our time-honored event in the actual Games. Today, we are pitting the youngest citizen of the district with the oldest citizen of the district. Saroline Adams and Jeremio Hunt, please come up."

We watch in horror as guards come up and lead Saroline away. She doesn't say anything; she just gives a sad little wave. Moans break out over the crowd, and a woman starts sobbing uncontrollably. Abruptly, quickly, the cries stop, and we see a pair of guards run over to the center of the square. The crowd parts for them, and they drag away the body of a woman, tears still glistening on her cheeks, a hole in her forehead, mouth still open in half a wail.

Gale turns away from me and falls to his knees, heaving out his breakfast. His hand is on his throat to silence his cries, but tears run down his throat. I kneel down beside him and pat him on the back. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, but his eyes are shut. There's something he doesn't want to see. I wrap my arms around him and look back at the square. I see why. The body they are carrying is of Gale's mother.

I watch, horror-stricken as they carry her, stiff as wood, into the former tavern.

"Wait," says a voice. It's old, and cracks like old paper, but it carries across the square. Jeremio, at the hands of two guards, is looking in the direction of Gale's mother. "Can I say good-bye to my daughter? Before…" his voice trails off.

I see the guards exchange glances, then lead the old man towards the body. He walks with a limp, and his torso bends severely forward with each step. Every eye is on this man.

When he finally makes it, he looks down at her. He stands like this for maybe a minute, and the guards start fidgeting. Then, slowly, painfully, he lifts his shaking, arthritis-ridden hand, and puts his middle three fingers to his lips. He pushes them outward. Saluting his dead daughter.

Gale is looking now, everyone is. And, as Jeremio turns around and slowly makes his way to the arena, even the voice over the speakers has nothing to say. Someone coughs, loudly, and I look over. A guard is coughing, pounding his chest. He looks away from the crowd and directly at us. We lock eyes, and I'm so surprised by what just happened I don't even have time to draw my bow. I'm ready to be taken away by a flock of guards, but that doesn't happen.

Because tears are running down his face. He offers me a small smile, and does the last thing I expect. He nods, puts three fingers to his lips, and pushes them out toward me.


Author's Note: Wow, that was long. Sorry, I gave myself a headache reading that. I also made myself cry… :'( If you want me to split it into two chapters, I will. Sorry for the absence of romance, but I thought this was pretty important.