The platforms lifted us into an arena that looked as if it had been made for Finnick. They were in the middle of a lake that had the Cornucopia at the center. There were thin land bridges pointing to the supplies, with two tributes on their islands between each. Jack shared my section. I heard two splashes, almost certainly the two tributes from District Four. My father had taught me how to swim in the lake back home, so I soon followed the fishing district tributes into the water. The other twenty-one would be sitting on their platforms wondering what to do.

Finnick was already waiting at the Cornucopia when I pulled myself up on land. "Didn't know District Twelve was by the sea too," he said while handing me a bow and quiver. As I hoisted the quiver over my shoulder, it seemed to be same model as I had used last year. "Nothing but weapons," he added, gesturing towards the Cornucopia and then pointing to his trident as another example.

Some other tributes were bobbing in the water. Our purple belts served as flotation devices, though a poor substitute for being able to swim. They also made good swimsuits, a refreshing change from waterlogged shirts and pants. I had been wrenched away from Gale, let alone able to frolic naked in the lake with him. The first of many bitter homesick feelings after the Games started.

The Careers were able to float over to the nearest land bridge and then begin the usual run to the Cornucopia. However, we had long since realized there wouldn't be much usual about this year's Games.

Pearl had already grabbed a spear and went off looking to use it. Emerald, Enobaria and Brutus, the other Careers, made it to the Cornucopia while we were off trying to find them.

Enobaria knifed Jack while he was still on his platform. I suppose it was an act of defiance for the District Five drunk to not participate in the show. Thresh had done something similar last year with his surly attitude before the Games and hiding out during them. I suppose that for once it was a good thing Woof was a confused old man so he didn't know what hit him, but I knew it all too well – Emerald floated up to his platform and hacked him apart with a machete, and then kicked the corpse into the water, the blue turning red.

Finnick seemed to resent having to draw blood as he ran his trident through old man Harvest. Pearl seemed to positively enjoy it, jamming her spear in the belly of the District Ten Annie until it came out the back. I felt compelled to take my first shot. Perhaps the poetic justice of an arrowhead in her gut would be the last thing Pearl understood.

Finnick searched the Cornucopia for anything but weapons while I stood guard at its mouth. It turned out there was nothing in the immediate vicinity for me to guard against while Finnick did his work. "The odds are not in our favor," Finnick whispered to me upon his return.

Enobaria had found something to eat and drink, as it were, in the most disgusting way imaginable. She chased down Seeder, and Enobaria bared her teeth, using them to rip Seeder's throat open. However, unlike Pearl, this time my retaliatory arrow fell harmlessly in the water. Last year, that would have been one twelfth of my ammunition gone, but the Gamemakers had assured weaponry wouldn't be a problem this year.

That accounted for the ninth and final cannon of the bloodbath. Two different alliances split off from the Cornucopia; all my allies except for Seeder had survived. I couldn't put Seeder's brutal death out of my mind, even after all the things I'd been through. "Sweetheart," Haymitch started, "that's how she killed in her original Games, and she wanted to treat the audience to her signature move." The Careers undoubtedly relished reliving their glory days, even though one of them already lived no longer. Just as surely as the drug-addled old-timers, it highlighted the Games as a hollow victory, lives reduced to a few weeks in a past summer as well as lives ended.

"Even I can't drink salt water," Finnick muttered, announcing our first problem related to the lack of anything besides weapons in the Cornucopia.

The beach was ringed by a forest of trees unlike any I'd ever seen before. Away from the lake breeze, the arena became stifling hot. That would only magnify the problem of the lack of fresh water, and we couldn't drink the humidity, as thick as it felt. Finnick turned back toward the beach to use a trident for its intended purpose as a fishing spear.

I tracked some ratlike creatures through the trees. They must be drinking form somewhere, but I was unable to find it. "It's the Hunger Games, not the Thirst Games!" I shouted after losing a trail yet again. Peeta took this as a cue to drop a silver parachute bearing a bottle of water. Even with the sponsor appeal of the star-crossed lover new mother, he could only afford this for so long.

Chaff described the contents as a "clear" sniff sniff "nonalcoholic liquid", and he was one of the few allies I shared the bottle with.

It seemed the contents barely moistened our throats, but it would stave off the kind of trouble I encountered early in last year's Games. Peeta would remember that, and Haymitch's strategy of sending coded messages with sponsor gifts. I took this to mean that there was no water nearby.

As part of the act, the 'devoted husband' would do anything to get 'his wife' back, but I felt Peeta would be doing all he could anyway. He was too nice to spite me over choosing Gale; as much as I loved the boy with the snares, I wondered if his temper would have run counter to that in an opposite situation.

Chrome had a parent and two children with victor money, not to mention his own savings, so water for him was not far behind. He shared his with Finnick and the pair from Three. Finnick reciprocated with some of his catch from fishing in the lake.

The steep hill as we spread out from the Cornucopia further amplified the dehydration. However, we reached the border force field relatively quickly, so this arena must be particularly small. Appropriately, Haymitch was the first one to cook a piece of fish by throwing it against the energy barrier. We couldn't much eat it raw, which would have been done out of delirium and perhaps causing illness driving us to further madness. In this dampness, we couldn't much get a fire started. In this heat, we couldn't bear it.

The late-night list of the lives ended was another all-too-familiar part of this ritual. District Four, Pearl "Frankly, she deserved that," Finnick announced. As with Marvel last year, I had found myself instinctively and brutally avenging someone a Career slaughtered.

District Five, Jack. "And now his drink is finished. Last call, buddy, last call!" Haymitch chimed in, remembering that he was supposed to act like Panem's favorite sloppy drunk. Chaff concurred by pumping his one remaining fist. Haymitch took credit for District Six, Jet. "I am sober enough to use a knife, thankyouverymuch".

District Seven, Pine. "He wasn't much, but he was from home," Johanna sarcastically offered about her district partner.

District Eight, Woof. District Nine, Harvest. District Ten, Annie Hickok. District Ten, Bill. District Eleven, Seeder.

The infernal anthem was soon replaced by a much louder sound, a crack of thunder, followed by lightning. But without rain. Of course. Besides the obvious practical concern, the lack of precipitation highlighted the fakery of the Games. That was off in the distance, so we pushed the concern from our minds, not being the ones to worry about getting zapped.

Finnick leaned in to whisper to me, something that had to be said in hushed tones. "Even thought that wasn't my Annie, Ms. Hickok's brutal death was still meant for me," Finnick suggested. "Pearl was one of many women jealous that I'd rather have 'crazy Cresta', he began to explain, saying those last two words as sarcastically as the low volume allowed. "Sure, my Annie's different, but she's the sweetest gal in the world. People like Pearl are the ones who are really out of their minds."

Resting fitfully, I was roused about three hours later, by the boom of a cannon. I looked around our makeshift camp to make sure it was none of ours, and then took watch for the rest of the night. That night ended with explosions at dawn, reminding my ears of the detonation of Career supplies last year. The bombs kept on going off for an hour. Haymitch and Chaff took the brunt of the shrapnel, positioning themselves so I didn't have to. They were bleeding, but were able to stagger out of camp with us.

A couple hours after noon, we ran into a corrosive fog. That was too much for the wounded Chaff. A cannon boomed, the first I recalled since the one that woke me up, I suppose that meant we were down to thirteen. The survivors ran for the lake to wash off the residue. It stung like hell, but that was better than following Chaff into a tribute cemetery. On the beach, Finnick observed by the smoothed sand and shells stranded on the shore that a big wave must've hit recently. "Maybe that was the splashing we heard a few hours ago," I suggested, and Finnick agreed.

The Careers must've seen us on the beach, and came charging out of the odd forest like the vicious warriors they were. Enobaria began by throwing knives as I loosed arrows, but the worst that came of it were some scratches. As they closed the distance, Johanna conserved her axes and Chrome his spears.

Wiress, Beetee and Cecelia weren't fighters, having won their Games in other ways, so they stood at the back of our group. Haymitch happened to be in front and intended to stab Brutus as he came down the hill but before he drew his sword. However, he lost his balance, for real and not a fake drunken stumble. Brutus was able to catch the wrist of his would-be attacker, grabbing the top of the big knife handle, the scrapes from the bottom of the blade likely meaning little to nothing to him. Haymitch found his own weapon turned on him, leaving a nasty gash up his arm that I knew there was no recovering from.

He turned to me with enough strength to mouth a few words. "You still live, and I died sober," I believe I saw.

There was no time to mourn, even as simple as the District Twelve respect sign or a comment about his last drink (actually taken months ago). Brutus was coming for me, ducking my arrows. This quiver was empty, with no time to retrieve arrows or go grab another full one from the Cornucopia. He was low to the ground, about to come up and stab me with the same knife, when I heard a far heavier piece of steel come down. One of Johanna's axes had bloodily pinned his hand.

"That was bravely done," I told her.

"You don't gotta thank me for killing Careers. I do that my own damn self," she answered. We couldn't do that to the other two, though. Enobaria, fighting from a distance, found it easiest to retreat. I don't know how Emerald had escaped after closing in to draw her blade.

It was Stephanie, the pretty District Five woman, who had evidently died the first of today's four deaths. That left fellow beauty Winnow McCormick of District Nine and the morphling-ravaged Megan Hayes of District Six as the only remaining unaligned tributes.

The recap was followed by another burst of lightning. This was a pattern, and Wiress noticed it. "Tick tock, this is a clock."