Johanna takes the lead, an axe hanging over each shoulder, as we depart from the Cornucopia.

We have chosen a tunnel that's wide since we intend to spend the night here. We agree to trek a decent mile or two before we stop, ensuring that the Careers will not happen upon us and that we are not too close so that they cannot hear the echo of our voices from the Cornucopia.

Peeta has taken over babysitting the blind Beetee for Finnick. Beetee and Peeta walk behind Johanna, Peeta's hand resting against one of Beetee's shoulder blades in order to guide him forward. Finnick and I make up the rear.

Finnick has his trident held casually at his side, but I know that it could be ready to strike at a moment's notice. I have my bow loaded, but unlike our last trek from the Cornucopia, I have no current intentions to turn in on my alliance members.

Finnick's mood seems vastly improved since that last trek as well.

The tunnel ahead of us shows no sign of changing, and there are no alternative passageways verging from it. There is a slight upward slope, and while my mouth is still wet from the stream, the threat of dehydration haunts me from my first Hunger Games. Secondly, my stomach is aching. We must all be extremely hungry, but with our new sense of hope founded in this 'trap the Careers' plot everyone appears to be heartier.

Still, there is tomorrow to make it through, and the day after that. In the Hunger Games that seems like both an eternity and not enough time at all. If it succeeds, we will remember these next two days as if they had lasted a lifetime. If the plan fails, these might be our last two days. Two days is not enough.

Thinking of what little time we may have left causes my eyes to unavoidably fall on Peeta.

There's no obvious sign of injury, which compared to our last Hunger Games, is an improvement in Peeta's performance. He seems tired and weary, but that is probably due to all of the running and the lack of food. I am sure he is much less used to the hunger pains than I am…

The trek upwards feels robotic, and I keep my eyes trained on Peeta, allowing my thoughts of him to distract me from the hunger and the fatigue.

Then I notice Finnick giving me a quizzical look.

He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it.

"What?" I ask.

"It's just.. it must be sad," he says. "Because of the baby and all."

He does not actually believe that fictional story, though. All of the victors have probably seen straight through mine and Peeta's star-crossed lover ploy.

Except, in the arena, I have no choice but to play along.

So, I place a hand over my lower abdomen and say, "I would rather him live, still."

There is no need to fake the wistfulness in my voice.

"Seems like you're the better half of the deal, though. A two for one special." Finnick shrugs, giving me a sharp look. "You..." he pauses significantly, ".. and the baby. Both living, thriving."

"What are you saying? That you're rooting for me?"

"No," he says. "I guess I just mean to say that I can see it from his point of view, too."

Except, he's not talking about Peeta's point of view. He's referring to the rebel's point of view. For the people of the Districts, and to those who are attempting to rescue me. The two for one deal that implies the surviving of me, the Mockingjay, and a rebellion. Perhaps the baby was the metaphorical rebellion, and without me, it would not survive, and that is what these people attempting to break us out believe.

I recall vividly the conversation Peeta and I had in the woods.

"No one really needs me."

"I do. I need you."

Even to this rebellion Peeta is disposable, and that angers me. The implication that any of this would have – could have – happened if he had not been a part of it. As if I could have done this, caused this upheaval, all myself. The thought is laughable. No one could do this by themselves, or it would have already happened in one of the seventy-three other Hunger Games. I did not stand in the clearing, holding those poisonous berries by myself. I did not stand there in defiance alone; Peeta took that same risk.

Eventually we find a suitable place to make camp. Making camp is pretty simple in this cave system.

We simply sit on the hard rocks and set down our weapons.

Finnick weaves together some vines that he pulled from the walls. This passage has an abundance of the vines and moss, compared to some of the other tunnels. He keeps trying to break the vines, attempting to snap them in half, but as we had proven earlier, the vines are quite strong. Strong enough to use as rope and lower my bodyweight over the cliff. I have little hope he will succeed in his attempts.

Peeta joins me sitting against the cave wall. He places a hand on my knee.

Finnick starts a soft conversation with Beetee and is holding out a length of vine for Beetee to examine.

Johanna scuffs, but Beetee seems interested in whatever it is Finnick's saying.

"What are you thinking?" Peeta asks me.

"Worried," I say. "That Finnick's planning on eating that vine. You?"

"Thinking of all the jealous men in Panem, seeing as I've the most beautiful wife in the world," he says.

I roll my eyes. I have a hard time figuring out if he's trying to give some fan service to our sponsors or if he's feeling particularly hopeful and sappy as a result of the escape plan.

I almost let slip a scathing remark, but at the last second, I hold back, and turn my face, kissing him. I close my eyes. I tell myself I am doing this for the cameras. The sponsors will be wanting more of us, and if kissing is enough excitement for them, the Gamemakers will be even more likely to hold off on their own means.

Except, I begin to feel that fire again, the burn. Less than three days ago I remember the feel of him intertwined with me. Remembering that warmth, that pleasure, spreads a different sort of aching through my abdomen.

"Hey, love birds," Finnick calls out. "Are you so hungry you're going to eat each other's faces or do you want some real food?"

We break apart.

It turns out Finnick has recognized the vines from an arena of one of his past tributes that he mentored.

"You have to peel them first," he explains, using a knife to scrape off the thick outer layer of the vine. Inside is a pulpy, sticky substance that reminds me of cactus. Except people don't usually eat cactus. Not raw and plain. Finnick swears that the tribute ate it in that arena no problem, but I feel dubious.

Beetee reassures us, though, that the vine is certainly a close cousin of cactus, or a cross breed. He relents that it probably would be better to crisp it over a fire, and since we have no means to start a fire, between starvation and this, raw vine is our best alternative.

I take a couple bites of the stuff.

It's chewy and foul, but not inedible.

Johanna is the most resisting. I might have been as cautious as her, but I know now that Finnick nor Beetee would try to kill me. Not on purpose anyway. Eventually she eats it but stops after two pieces.

Beetee praises Finnick on his discovery.

Finnick takes first watch, giving everyone a chance to sleep before the projection of the dead tributes. I agree to take over watch when that happens.

Peeta rests against the mossy cave wall, and I lay my head against Peeta's chest. He assures me that it is comfortable for him. I hardly believe that, but I do not complain, since laying against him provides both warmth and comfort, and the cave floor does not.

I sleep surprisingly easy for being in the arena.

I wake, wrapped up in Peeta's arm, to the Capitol anthem.

I try to keep my eyes closed, to ignore the faces of the dead tributes, but I cannot actually stop myself. I look up at the ceiling where the images are being projected. Seeder's tribute photo looks nothing like how she looked in death.

I sit up and take watch. Finnick gratefully curls up on the ground and falls asleep.

Peeta stays up with me for a while, but he nods himself back to sleep after a few hours.

Once he's sleeping, I stand and pace the tunnel. I do not anticipate an attack or Gamemaker intervention, but I am too anxious for coming plans to sit still after sleeping.

I pull out my bow and test the string. My right hand is not as steady as it normally is. Not just from the punch I delivered to Brutus' face, but the claw marks from the mutts are still fresh. I take a few practice shots, trying to warm my hands back up. I shoot straight down the tunnel, aiming at nothing, and then I take the long walk down the passage to retrieve the arrows.

By the time I walk back, everyone is already up and watching the descent of a parachute.

I join them for another delivery of bread. The batch is identical to the one we received before. Twenty-four rolls from District 4. I try to decipher it's meaning. Assuming District 4 indicates the fourth day as rescue day, then the twenty-four must signify midnight as the time. It is only day three. We just have to survive this day, and then make it to midnight. I keep holding onto this hope, which feels even more possible when I taste the salty bread and it settles in my stomach. It is hard to be hopeless with bread in your belly.

Each of us gets four pieces, leaving five for later today. Finnick packs the remaining bread rolls in the silk cloth they were delivered in and loops the cloth poach around the strap of his fanny pack.

We take a quick inventory of our weapons, and then our wounds. Finnick and I both have superficial scuffs, and Johanna's thigh has healed miraculously well. Peeta helps Beetee remove his shirt to examine the knife wound down his back. Thankfully it has not festered, but it is still bleeding sometimes when he moves too quickly, and it is no where near healed over. Peeta carefully helps Beetee wrap it with a strip of undershirt and the moss, and we all simply hope it remains uninfected until we can escape this hell hole.

"Alright, now that's over with," Beetee says. "I think I have an idea for our plan."

"Well?" says Johanna.

"We retrace our steps back to the cornucopia. But we'll be louder than usual. Let them know we are coming. They'll likely hide and try to attack us by surprise. We'll have to act as though we do not see them and stall the attack. In the Cornucopia we try to find the tunnel that led us to the cliff which leads to the river. We make it obvious which one we go into. If the Careers are smart, they'll follow us."

"How do we know for sure they will follow us?" asks Johanna, clearly not convinced.

"We'll act more injured than we really are. Except Katniss. She will need to appear strong and ready to shoot her bow. They will not try to jump us in the open of the Cornucopia if they know she has her bow. They're smart enough to know that she would win that fight. But if they think they can corner us in the cramped tunnels, where shooting a bow is much less practical, then they will follow. Especially if they believe the majority of us are injured."

"Once we get to the cliff?" says Finnick.

"Most of us will jump first, but two should remain behind and push the Careers down. Those who jumped first can prepare for the Careers' arrival to the reservoir and take a stance on the rocks there. While they are stuck treading water, they will be easy to pick off."

"Sounds simple enough," I say. "But once they are dead, we're still stuck in the reservoir."

"We follow the river down," says Peeta. "To get out… of the reservoir."

Assuming there is an end to the river… or an out that does not drown us.

Once we push the Careers over the cliff, I know that we will abandon the subterfuge of our 'plot'. With everyone in the water and the speed in which the water travels, it will be hard for the Gamemakers to figure out what is going on. There is no real intention to kill Enorbaria or Brutus once they have expended their usefulness. All they need to do is follow us so we can push them. And, really, even if they do not follow us, we could still jump and attempt to escape. That will just lead to the Gamemakers being a little more suspicious and quicker to wise up to our plans. It is best that the Careers fall for it.

"Well, what do you all say?" asks Beetee. "Are we all in?"

"Why not? If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them," I say.

"I say we try it," says Peeta. "Katniss is right."

Finnick looks to Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward without her.

"All right," Johanna says finally. "It's better than hunting them down, anyway."

It's better than submitting under the will of the Capitol and killing each other.

We stall moving out for as long as we dare. We know it is not the right day yet. The Gamemakers will be anxious to see how our Career killing plot plays out, but not so much that they'll let a whole day, plus some hours, pass without an event. Eventually we agree to trace our way back to the Cornucopia, not to enact our plan, but to look and see if the Careers have even returned yet to their base of operation.

The walk to retrace our steps to the Cornucopia turns out to be not as simple as I had thought.

The trek is not going downhill, as one would expect. The trek on our way there had been uphill. This path is level. Peeta insists we are heading in the correct direction. Even so, the further we go, we begin to see tunnels converging from the one we walk. Those had not been there the last time we went this way.

"I don't understand," says Peeta. "We are definitely going down the same way we came up. There were only two directions to choose from, and I know this was the right way when we left camp. But…"

But it is not the same.

I stumble to a stop when Peeta and Beetee abruptly halt.

Johanna in the front has stopped unexpectedly.

I am about to complain and ask why, but then I see it.

The tunnel ends. Just ends. There is nothing in front of us but solid rock.

Johanna turns around to give us a look of confusion. "What now?" she asks.

"We're going to have to go back," says Finnick.

"Why?" asks Beetee.

"The tunnel ends," Finnick explains.

"How…" says Beetee, but he must know that is what we are all thinking.

It had not occurred to me that the Gamemakers could actively manipulate the paths of the caves. Perhaps us running into Seeder had been an orchestrated matter. Or us finding the Cornucopia right afterwards. None of what we do is our own choice. They're herding us at their will. Every turn, every bend, every opening is planned. We are like rats in a maze, being kept from the cheese.

But why keep us from the Cornucopia?

Unless the Careers are not there. Perhaps the Gamemakers are herding us towards the Careers, or the Careers to us, and are forcing our hands, ruining our plot. Could they have suspected our ulterior motives?

Beetee shakes his head. "We must turn around and find another way to the Cornucopia."

What he really means is that we need to find an alternative route to the river. If we cannot find the underground river again, we will surely be doomed, with no options left but to kill each other.

We turn around and attempt to find our bearings. The prospect of wandering through the tunnels, trying to find the path we need, against the Gamemakers' own motives, is not a pleasant one. There is really not much we can do but continue to follow the path they have laid out for us.

The group walks much more slowly as we turn right and follow a different passageway.

I find myself in the rear with Peeta.

"Do you really think it'll work?" Peeta asks after a long while of walking.

The others are too far ahead to overhear us. I shift a little, concerned he is being too open by asking this, but I suppose they would just assume he's talking about the Career killing plot and not the escape attempt.

"It can work," I say. My eyes slide over to him. He has his hand wrapped around his locket again.

It occurs to me that I have never seen what he keeps in that locket.

I ask him.

Peeta gives a sheepish smile. "I made it for you, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought it might come in handy when the time came to… well to say goodbye. A reminder to you of sorts. That I am not the only person that needs you."

Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the air so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch and the disk pops open. Within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. On the left, Gale, who is actually smiling.

The locket this entire time has been a tool, no… a weapon, that Peeta has been waiting to use against me. And it's a good one – a perfect one. Nothing would break me more; nothing would stall me from dying quite like seeing those faces. It is easy to pretend my family is part of a different life, a different timeline, when I am in the arena, but seeing them there in front of me brings them painfully to the present.

"Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says, and for a moment I am back in the woods with him. We are wrapped up around each other, and our pain, and we are arguing, trying with everything we have to pry apart our destined demise.

Peeta touches the mockingjay pinned onto my shirt.

The country needs you, too, I can almost hear him telling me.

Somehow, this weapon has succeeded in motivating me to live, but not in the way he may have originally intended. Even now, as he looks down into my face, I can see that he, himself, has changed his mind on what the locket is meant to achieve. He does not want to die. None of us.

I touch the picture of Prim with a finger. "I know that they need me," I tell him. I lift my face and look back into his. The depths I find in his eyes is astounding; an ocean, a deep unknowing I could get lost in. "But I need you, too."

Peeta closes the locket, letting it rest against his chest again. "You have never needed me," he says. "You could have done all of this by yourself."

I resent that. Even Peeta undermines the role he has played in this rebellion, of defying the Capitol and igniting hope in the Districts. He does not understand the impact he has made – not on some crowd, not on an audience – on me.

Except, I cannot articulate that. I have no way to express this feeling. I never have, even when he made that same profound impact on me as a child, when we were starving and he gave me a hope that is not so different from the hope the idea of the mockingjay has given to the rebels.

If anything, I have only passed on what he gave me all those years ago.

Our group is stopped three more times by dead ends.

We are circling back on the third one when Johanna suddenly asks, "Did you hear that?"

Her knuckles go white as bone around the handle of her axes.

"Hear what?" says Peeta.

"There's –" A glint of silver flashes across Johanna's face and she cries out. Her head whips to the side and she drops one of her axes to clutch at her bleeding cheek. The knife responsible clatters to the ground at Peeta's feet.

"Careers!" Finnick shouts.

Sure enough, Gloss comes lumbering out of a side passageway. Finnick throws a net at him, bringing Gloss down, but Enorbaria cuts him free in seconds.

I pull up my bow, but since I am behind the group, all my alliance members are in the way. The tunnel we stand in is too narrow to conceivably shoot without endangering them. Further, we need the Careers alive. At least by tomorrow night.

"Run!" says Peeta. He grabs my hand and takes off down a random tunnel.

The others follow.

Every bend Peeta and I walk around, I worry there will be a dead end.

I look back, and I can see that our alliance members are keeping up, but I can also see the Careers giving chase. It must confuse them that we are running instead of fighting. Or that Finnick used his net instead of his trident.

Behind us, Beetee falls over. Peeta stops us. I can no longer see Finnick or Johanna in the distance, even though they had been there moments ago. Peeta walks those few feet back to try and help Beetee up.

But where did Finnick and Johanna go? Down a different way? Why? They would have seen us in front of them. They would not abandon us... not with the escape plan in place. They would not leave Beetee, blind, to run after us alone.

Confused, I turn away from Beetee and Peeta to try and discern where they may have disappeared to, and when I turn back, my entire alliance is gone.

Peeta is gone.

There is nothing but a rock wall where they were standing only a second ago.