I'm trying not to copy too much from the book, hence why I've changed some parts, but I've had to in some places. This goes for past, present and future chapters!

Thanks for reading!

I'd been right; when we finally managed to get the spile into the trunk of a tree, water began to trickle out of it.

Now that everyone was re-hydrated, exhaustion began to take over. I send Peeta to bed, telling him that I was well rested enough to keep watch. He tries to argue but he loses and ducks into the hut; he's asleep within minutes. "You should really stop lying to him" Finnick says.

"I needed him to get some rest" I state "but I knew that he wouldn't go if he thought that he was putting his needs before mine."

Finnick nods "I'll take first watch, Katniss, you should rest up too." I consider this for a moment before nodding and lie down beside Peeta, telling Finnick to wake me if he gets tired. Instead I find myself jarred from sleep a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell. Bong! Bong! It's not exactly like the one they ring in the Justice Building on New Year's but close enough for me to recognize it. Peeta and Mags sleep through it, but Finnick has the same look of attentiveness I feel. The tolling stops.

"I counted twelve," he says.

I nod. Twelve. What does that signify? One ring for each district? Maybe. But why? "Mean anything, do you think?"

"No idea," he says.

We wait for further instructions, maybe a message from Claudius Templesmith. An invitation to a feast. The only thing of note appears in the distance. A dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and then a lightning storm begins. I guess it's an indication of rain, of a water source for those who don't have mentors as smart as Haymitch.

"Go to sleep, Finnick. It's my turn to watch, anyway," I say.

He ducks into the hut without question and is asleep before his head even hits the ground.

I sit, listening to the three sleeping tributes behind me. My bow is poised and ready but I'm not thinking about defence. The baby seems to be making up for his lack of movement as is not dancing within me again. I don't resent the feeling but I can't say that it's the most comfortable thing I've ever experienced and I'm about to wake Finnick, so that I could relieve myself, when something catches my eye.

I see the fog sliding softly in from the direction of the recent downpour. Just a reaction. Cool rain on the steaming ground, I think. It continues to approach at a steady pace. Tendrils reach forward and then curl like fingers, as if they are pulling the rest behind them. As I watch, I feel the hairs on my neck begin to rise. Something's wrong with this fog. The progression of the front line is too uniform to be natural. And if it's not natural ...

A sickeningly sweet odour begins to invade my nostrils and I reach for the others, shouting for them to wake up.

In the few seconds it takes to rouse them, I begin to blister.

I don't need to explain before Finnick has Mags on his back and is running away from it; Peeta, in his sleepy state, is a little slower and keeps tripping over vines. "Try putting your feet where I put mine" I suggest, staying as calm as I can with the fog steadily approaching.

This works but he's still slow and clumsy; it's not his fault, I know that it's not. It's his prosthetic leg; because he's not in full control over it, it's harder to run.

"Come on, Peeta" I plead desperately.

We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels. Droplets spring free of the body of vapour. They burn, but not like fire. Less a sense of heat and more of intense pain as the chemicals find our flesh, cling to it, and burrow down through the layers of skin. Our jumpsuits are no help at all. We may as well be dressed in tissue paper, for all the protection they give.

Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes we're having problems. But this is not a thing you can fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more.

Peeta's artificial leg catches in a knot of creepers and he sprawls forward before I can catch him. As I help him up, I become aware of something scarier than the blisters, more debilitating than the burns. The left side of his face has sagged, as if every muscle in it has died. The lid droops, almost concealing his eye. His mouth twists in an odd angle toward the ground. "Peeta - " I begin. And that's when I feel the spasms run up my arm.

Whatever chemical laces the fog does more than burn - it targets our nerves. A whole new kind of fear shoots through me and I yank Peeta forward, which only causes him to stumble again. By the time I get him to his feet, both of my arms are twitching uncontrollably. The fog has moved in on us, the body of it less than a yard away. Something is wrong with Peeta's legs; he's trying to walk but they move in a spastic, puppetlike fashion.

I feel him lurch forward and realize Finnick has come back for us and is hauling Peeta along. I wedge my shoulder, which still seems under my control, under Peeta's arm and do my best to keep up with Finnick's rapid pace. We put about ten yards between us and the fog when Finnick stops.

"It's no good. I'll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?" he asks me.

I agree but am doubtful. Mags isn't heavy but, with my arms in spasm, I don't know if I can hold her for long and, as it turns out, I can't. It's not her fault that I fall and stumble my way through the trees but I can tell by her face that she knows that I can't hold her.

"Finnick!" I pant "I can't carry her, can you take them both?"

He shakes his head; his arms are betraying him too. "No, I can't take them both."

At his words, Mags shuffles over to him, plants a kiss on his lips, before turning back around and walking straight into the fog. The canon sounds a moment later and we all know that she's gone.

My face seems frozen in shock. Why did she do that? But there's no time to ask because the fog is still coming at us and I follow Finnick, who'd turned away as soon as the canon had sounded; we were moving at a diagonal, away from the fog but toward the beach.

I follow Finnick until he collapses on the ground, Peeta still on top of him. I seem to have no ability to stop my own forward motion and simply propel myself onward until I trip over their prone bodies, just one more on the heap. This is where and how and when we all die, I think. But the thought is abstract and far less alarming than the current agonies of my body. I hear Finnick groan and manage to drag myself off the others. Now I can see the wall of fog, which has taken on a pearly white quality. Maybe it's my eyes playing tricks, or the moonlight, but the fog seems to be transforming. Yes, it's becoming thicker, as if it has pressed up against a glass window and is being forced to condense. I squint harder and realize the fingers no longer protrude from it. In fact, it has stopped moving forward entirely. Like other horrors I have witnessed in the arena, it has reached the end of its territory. Either that or the Gamemakers have decided not to kill us just yet.

"It's stopped," I try to say, but only an awful croaking sound comes from my swollen mouth. "It's stopped," I say again, and this time I must be clearer, because both Peeta and Finnick turn their heads to the fog. It begins to rise upward now, as if being slowly vacuumed into the sky. We watch until it has all been sucked away and not the slightest wisp remains.

Peeta rolls off Finnick, who turns over onto his back. We lie there gasping, twitching, our minds and bodies invaded by the poison. After a few minutes pass, Peeta vaguely gestures upward. "Mon-hees." I look up and spot a pair of what I guess are monkeys. I have never seen a live monkey - there's nothing like that in our woods at home. But I must have seen a picture, or one in the Games, because when I see the creatures, the same word comes to my mind. I think these have orange fur, although it's hard to tell, and are about half the size of a full-grown human. I take the monkeys for a good sign. Surely they would not hang around if the air was deadly. For a while, we quietly observe one another, humans and monkeys. Then Peeta struggles to his knees and crawls down the slope. We all crawl, since walking now seems as remarkable a feat as flying; we crawl until the vines turn to a narrow strip of sandy beach and the warm water that surrounds the Cornucopia laps our faces. I jerk back as if I've touched an open flame.

The salt water, despite how painful it was, helped and, after immersing and purging myself, the pain receded and my body was within my control again. Peeta does the same and, when he's done, we help each other out of our jumpsuits; they were ruined beyond repair and now completely useless.

"What's this?" He asks, gesturing at the top Cinna had made for me.

I stare down at it to find that it was still like new and smiled. Of course Cinna's clothes would be of far more use to me than what the Gamemakers provide. "Cinna made it for me to help protect the baby."

"That was nice of him" Peeta comments "at least you know it works."

"I had no doubt that it would" I say before turning to glance over at Finnick who was still on the sand. "I think we'd better help him."

I explain everything I'm doing to Finnick as I do it, I tell him that it'll hurt but it will be better after he's purged. I do this because I don't want him to think that we're trying to kill him and fight back, drowning one of us or something.

"Just need to do your face now" Peeta tells him gently "it's the worst part but I promise it feels better afterwards."

The water seems to revive Finnick in a way it couldn't for Peeta or myself and I watch him as he swims gracefully around, continuing to purge himself.

"I'm going to tap for water" Peeta tells me "I'll bring you some."

"Don't do that," I say. Finnick seems to have the lung capacity of a sea creature because he can stay under there for a lot longer than I can.

"What? Come up or stay under?" he says.

"Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave," I say. "Or if you feel this good, let's go help Peeta."

In just the short time it takes to cross to the edge of the jungle, I become aware of the change. Put it down to years of hunting, or maybe my reconstructed ear does work a little better than anyone intended. But I sense the mass of warm bodies poised above us. They don't need to chatter or scream. The mere breathing of so many is enough.

I look up and see that we're surrounded by monkeys and my mind instantly goes to Peeta who's within the trees, unprotected and unaware of the threat.

We get to him before the monkeys do but then we're running again as the creatures attack us.

"What the hell are they trying to do?!" Finnick pants as he swipes as the animals with his trident.

"I thought it was obvious" I reply "they're trying to kill us."

Things change, however, when one of the mutts lunge at Peeta but it doesn't hit him. Instead, the female morphling seems to appear out of nowhere, throwing herself in front of Peeta. The monkey bites her neck, delivering a fatal wound, before Peeta could stab it with his knife.

Then it stops as quickly as it started and the monkeys disappear back from where they came, leaving the dead ones as a reminder to us that the attack actually happened.