'The devil's on your back but I hope you can shake him off,' – Foster The People, Waste.

'Morning,' Finnegan's voice meets my ears.

I'm lying on my back in the forest, still. Nothing's changed, aside from the new blanket which is spread over me. It's only thin, but it's something.

'Another parachute arrived this morning,' Finnegan tells me.

I'm surprised, but this makes me feel happier. We must have quite a few sponsors; this far into the Games gifts will cost a fortune.

'Great,' I smile for the first time in a while. It almost feels like a strange sensation, it does. 'Anything else?'

'More food, a couple of blankets and a box of matches.' Quite a lot.

I wonder how we managed to get the sponsors to get all this...

And then it dawns on me how. I'd forgotten... How could I ever forget? I'd taken someone's life to be able to gain the sponsors that sent us this. I'd proven I could take another life to the Capitol audience, which meant even more sponsors for me. Better for me and Finnegan.

But that doesn't change the cold truth, does it?

I killed someone. I murdered someone.

'Absidee, please don't beat yourself up about what happened last night.' I notice Finnegan gazing at me with concern. 'You did what you had to do... It was either him or me. You know that.'

'That doesn't change that I still did it. Alternative realities run through my head every second now, Finn.' It's true. I think of what I could've done instead all the time ever since.

'What would have happened then? Jacob would kill him, or something else. No doubt whatever happened to him, it'd be nowhere near as quick as his death by you was.'

'No matter how true your words are I'll still blame myself. It was me who killed him,' I expect my voice to break, but it doesn't.

'I give up.'

A scream comes from not too far away. Another tribute's.

Another tribute closer to the finale, I shake from the realisation. His cannon.

3's tribute boy's face illuminates the sky. The Gamemakers must've already broadcast Brawn's death.

'Jacob will be hunting us down any moment now,' says Finnegan.

'What?' I breathe. Not yet, surely? This can't be the end.

'It's only us and him left.'

'Oh god.'

'Exactly what I was thinking,' says Finnegan and casts me a sad smile. 'Let's get moving. Drop everything needed for the long term, this is going to be short term. I can feel it.'

We decide to leave behind the sleeping bags, they were a lot to carry, and only carry our weapons, food, and blankets. And then we trek north.

We don't dare head underground, that'd be a death trap if Jacob were to ever catch us at a dead end.

But as we head deeper into the forest different horrors appear. In the forms of the dead.

They don't attack, of course. They just lie there.

Dummies which possess the characteristics of our dead former competitors.

At first I don't get it. It was just dummies with varying hair colours. Nothing horrifying at all.

But then I looked closer; looked at their faces.

One with a sly smile carved into its face. Short, slick dark hair. This dummy is meant to be 3's tribute.

I flip it onto it's front, looking for means to be certain this is meant to be him. The number 3 painted onto its back.

Yes. This dummy is meant to resemble District 3's boy tribute.

As I walk further along I recognise more of the fallen. The District 7 girl had strikingly blonde hair; it was almost white. And her dummy captures that shade to a T.

I see Zamuel, and most hauntingly, Brawn.

They both haunt me.

But at the very end, rather than on the floor in a neat arrangement of limbs, but upright against a tree, is something I didn't expect. My dummy. Finnegan's dummy. And Jacob's.

They are meant to resemble us.

I can see ourselves in them, and it scares me.

But what is the point in having these dummies here?

I don't see one right now.

I try to get into a Gamemaker's mind.

What would scare a tribute?

They explain through actions.

A bloodcurdling scream.

It must be manufactured.

Oh, no. It's multiple screams compiled into one.

Somehow I recognise a scream amongst many.

They've compiled all the dead tribute's last screams into one.

Wow. Really.

'What the hell is going on?' says Finnegan.

'I wish I could tell you.'

I put on a brave face. One of the best ways to protect the ones you love is to show no weakness, right?

Well, I've been a bit crap at doing that until now, so I'm going to start.

Until now I've been a weepy mess. I need to stop. For my family. For Finnegan.

'Absidee... Look at the dummies.'

I whirl around. Just seconds ago the dummies were clean, in a uniformly row. But now it's the opposite.

All of their limbs sprawled in many directions, blood, fake blood, I can only hope, splashed everywhere around them.

But what gets to me the most is the crosses that are now marked on each body–I mean, dummy.

A saying rings throughout my head. 'X marks the spot.'

And I realise what these crosses really signify, what they represent. It's how each and every tribute died.

I step back, filled with hatred and alarm. Hatred towards the Capitol for lacking so much respect towards dead tribute's families. Alarm because I finally get to see what killed each and every one of my competitors.

District 1's girl, Ruby, well, I already knew her end. A slit throat. A horizontal red line across her throat and a neat black cross in the middle of the line demonstrate that.

Then I see Thamilia. Her dummy's head has been completely detached from its body.

So that's why her death plagued Ruby so much that it drove her to insanity. She had to witness Thamilia being beheaded.

I convulse at the thought that I could've been so close to insanity less than a day ago.

The promise I just made to myself to stay strong stays embedded within me.

I can't let my friends and family down. I can't let Finnegan down. It isn't an option.

Zamuel's dummy is simple, no blood splatters it, no wounds are carved into it. Only a simple cross over his representation's lips.

I see everyone.

The girl from 12's dummy is in tiny pieces now, accurately. I'm surprised the Gamemakers didn't see her death as an act of defiance. Or maybe they did, and they're determined to illustrate it as an accident on her account.

Most likely the second option. Not much gets past the Capitol.

The boy from 3 has a pair of floating hands clasped around his neck. Strangled by Jacob, was his death.

I blink. Jacob doesn't care anymore. He'll do anything now he's already made it so is what the Games do to people.

I said I see everyone's deaths, didn't I?

Well, nearly everyone's.

I manage to avert my eyes from Brawn's dummy. Another act of cowardice.

I should be able to accept what I did, rather than trying to avoid it, in a way.

Rather than dwelling on what I could've done.

Footsteps.

Heavy footsteps.

This person doesn't care for being discovered.

There's no one left to discover him, though, is there? It's Jacob.

It's the finale.