"Fear cuts deeper than swords." George R.R. Martin

"What do we do?" Declan asks, aiming his bow at one of the incoming bugs, a nasty tarantula scurrying towards him. "Run?"

"No!" James replies. "They're everywhere! We have to just...stand and fight!"

"Good thinking!" Declan shouts, and releases the arrow into the tarantula, downing it immediately.

"Stay close!" James shouts, kicking aside a large cockroach and bringing the hatchet down on a beetle. The crunch it makes causes James to shudder, but he quickly lifts one of his hatchets to hack into a spider that's jumped from a tree. The spider makes a sound that resembles a shriek, and James instinctively drops the hatchet, leaving it embedded in the dead spider.

James, armed now with just one hatchet, opts between kicking away bugs and hacking them open. A cockroach manages to hurl itself onto his arm, and James almost lobs off his forearm in the desperate attempt to get it off. He can feel fear building. He was never a fan of spiders in the first place, and huge ones scurrying toward him only heighten his paranoia.

The bugs seem intent on bringing James down to the ground before killing him, and latch onto his legs and arms. Swinging with his one free hand, James swings away, but there's so many. Dozens, all trying to kill the two tributes. He hears a cannon in the distance. One of the tributes, dead. Kaylana, maybe? James can only imagine what horrific things dwell in the swamp.

He feels an ant bite down on his leg, and James is suddenly refocused, shouting as he tears off the horrid insects. Occasionally his hatchet gets stuck in the terrible creatures, and he practically has to rip the insect in half to pull it free. Kicking wildly, James manages to shrug off some of the insects, only for a huge, hairy spider to scamper up his side. James feels it touch his neck, and it's about to chomp down when a sudden arrow pierces it, sending it flying off of him.

James looks over to Declan, who's almost covered in the bugs, except for his arms. In his hands, a bow. His quiver is empty. Instead of using it to help himself, Declan sent his last arrow flying to save James. He nods before drawing his kukri. "Go!" he shouts. "I'll fight 'em off!"

"I'm not leaving you!" James shouts, jumping up against a tree to get rid of a cockroach on his back. "Just keep swinging!"

Only Declan's right hand, grasping the machete, is left alone by the bugs. Otherwise, the boy's covered in beetles, ants, cockroaches, and the occasional spider, all working together in harmony to kill him. Declan swings wildly, his courageous statement made seconds ago dissolved into panicked screams. Occasionally, his kukri manages to send a bug careening off of him. Most times, he misses.

Come on, Warrior Boy, James thinks to himself. Make up for Violet.

James could flee right now, run away; Most of the bugs are focused on Declan. But another cannon sounds, and James pulls his second hatchet from the dead spider and rushes forward, bellowing a war cry. He grabs and hacks off the insect's on Declan's face and chest. The muscular boy from 10 is covered in cuts and bites, and his screams are still full of panic. Crushing an ant approaching them, James clears the rest of the bugs off of Declan.

The boy looks at him, confusion in his eyes. "Why?" he quietly mutters.

"Does it matter?" James shouts. "Let's book it!" Even though the two of them have easily felled a few dozen bugs, dozens more still come crawling at them.

"Good idea!"

The two of them kick away the last bugs and start stampeding towards the general direction of the cave. A cockroach leaps onto James, and he just shoves it off of him and crushes it with his boot. He sees Declan, running to his left, but James keeps running to the right. Running as fast and as hard as he can, even faster than when he scooped up Violet that first day of the Games.

He's running so hard he doesn't notice he's barreled up a hill, and once at the top he quickly loses his balance.

He falls down the hill, hitting rocks and trees and thorns, only emitting quiet grunts as he goes.

Once at the end, James bangs his head on a particularly hard rock, and the last thing he hears before he fades into unconsciousness is the sound of a cannon.

.

I'm

.

So

.

Sorry

.

I

.

Failed

.

You

.

Declan

.

Beware the Ace of Spades...

.

.

.

When James opens his eyes, he's still, lying down at the bottom of the hill. Pain aches all over his body. His stomach growls with hunger. His throat burns from dehydration, and he feels a horrible headache in his brain. How long has he been out? A day? Two?

His clothes are dirty, his hair's matted to his head with sweat, and the slightest of movements causes his exhausted joints to crack and groan with the effort. He's got a nasty cut along his stomach. James is hurting.

But he's alive.

Almost dead yesterday, probably dead tomorrow, but alive, graciously alive, today.

And that alone convinces him to get up with a grunt.

It's only when he stands does he notice the parachutes.

Five parachutes, each of different sizes, lay in bushes near him. Whoever's watching, seems to have paid a lot of money not to let him die after falling down a hill. Rubbing his head, he opens the first to find some sort of antiseptic and a piece of gauze. Before even attempting to check his bearings, remember where he is, James has let his mountaineering pack drop to the forest floor. He digs around in the pack for a moment or two, until he pulls out the pristine bandages, neatly wrapped in plastic.

James pours a bit of the antiseptic onto the gauze and places it where the pain hurts the most. He growls at the sharp pain fighting back, but wraps the wound in the bandages. He does the same for his stomach wound, which is definitely going to need stitches. He'll tend to that later. He wraps the bigger cuts and scrapes, the ones that are at risk of bleeding heavily if provoked, tenderly in bandages. A nasty cut across his wrist. A huge bug bite on his bicep.

"Thanks for the antiseptic," James says aloud. "It, uh...it helps. Can't go running around with a big-ass hole in my head." He says it dryly, but can imagine some people back the Capitol laughing at the comment.

The next parachute contains rabbit. And not just any rabbit, either: His father's rabbit soup, the recipe of which only he knows. This isn't a gift from a pitying soul or a lusting old woman in the Capitol. This is from District 7. His home. The people from his home have given this to him. He can only imagine what the fee of such a gift would be. In the Games, prices go up as time goes on and tributes dwindle, and they're at least eight days into the Games, maybe more. This probably cost an arm and a leg.

He thinks back to everyone in District 7. His athletic friends. Grant, Edsel, and the countless others that he's grown up with. Grant. Otto. His father. Buck. Iris. The bread is a statement. It says, "We still haven't forgotten about you."

James sits and dines in the stew quietly, and when he's done he stands and says, "To the people of District 7: Don't give up on me. Just because I took a tumble and a few bug bites doesn't mean I'm out of it." He quickly adds, "And thanks for the bread."

The rest of the parachutes contain varying items: Woolen socks (Which James quickly switches out with his dirty, torn cotton ones), a chicken dinner (Which hits James with a pang of sadness, remembering what he told Violet he wanted the day that he died), a whetstone. More medical supplies. It takes James ten minutes to organize it.

And then James, battered and bruised, but still the muscular boy from District 7 who has a fire in his heart, shrugs on his pack and says to the crowd, "Thank you, kind sponsors, for your gifts." He flashes a grin. "Your money won't be wasted, I can promise you that." He can hear the Capitol cheer from the arena.

But now it's time to move, and no more time for talking of future accomplishments. Even with the bandages and the hydrogen peroxide, he feels immense pain over his whole body, and is barely in fighting condition. The horrific bugs from however-many-days ago are gone, which soothes him. Still, if any of the remaining tributes stumble across him looking for a fight, then they're probably going to win. His biceps may be intimidating for anyone looking for a fistfight, but they ache terribly. James chugs down some water, and then sets about climbing the hill.

It's a painful process, marked with sharp pain, and James has to sit down for a moment, but then he's back at it. His stomach wound, probably caused by a sharp rock or his knife, starts to bleed through the bandage. His original prediction was right: He'll need stitches if the wound is to heal. Still, bleeding and bruised, he makes it to the top of the hill. He finds his bearings, and starts to walk, slowly but steadily, towards the cave.

Normally the cave's an hour or so away, but in his condition, it takes James three. Blood is oozing out of his stomach wound by the time the cave's in sight, and his knees are starting to buckle under his weight. He's in rough shape. Barely able to walk, James haphazardly pulls aside the bush and stumbles into the cave, collapsing on the ground. He's home.

James rolls over to assess his wound when he finds Declan, sitting on the other end of the cave, sharpening his kukri on a rock. His eyes widen for a moment with surprise, and then he says, "Was beginning to think you left me."

"I'd never leave you," James says dryly. "We're besties, remember?"

His grin widens. "I remember," his friend says. "And as a friend, I have to say you look like complete shit."

"Likewise," James grunts.

"Where the hell have you been?" Declan asks.

"Once we got separated, I fell down a hill," James says. "How long's it been since the bugs?"

"Smooth, and two days," Declan says, sliding over to him. "Damn, that head wound looks painful."

Two days, James thinks. So they're what, on Day Eight now? James has lasted one week and one day in the arena. He replies, "Doesn't hurt nearly as bad as my stomach, though."

Declan looks towards his stomach, and James nods. Declan lifts up his T-shirt (He has no idea where his windbreaker went) to find the blood-soaked bandage. He winces. "Yeah, that's bad. You're gonna need stitches."

James frowns. "I hate stitches."

Declan digs into a first-aid kit hanging around his belt. "Yeah, well, you probably hate an infection more, so boo-hoo."

James snorts as Declan tears away the bloody bandage and dumps water on a rag, cleaning the hole softly with it. James winces, and Declan murmurs, "Sorry."

"It's fine," James grunts as Declan wipes away blood with the rag. "How many of us are left?"

"Five," Declan says gravely. "Five of us are left."

Over three-fourths of them are dead. This takes a minute to settle in. "Damn."

"Damn is right." Declan pulls out a sewing kit, and the sewing of the sutures should hurt more, but the news is sinking in to James, and the pain isn't nearly as bad.

"I only heard two cannons before I fell down the hill," James says. "Who's died?"

"Kaylana and Michaela died when the bugs attacked," Declan says. That explains the two cannons. "Two days ago, I went out looking for you, and found Mick. He was all bloody and had all these nasty gashes all over him. He said Oxford found him, and asked me to make it painless and to, erm, to tell his mom that he loved him." Declan frowns. "It didn't hurt." All of a sudden, Declan's face is hit with a wave of sadness. He sees the frown turn from one of guilt to one of sadness, and tears start to brim in his eyes. "Kristina died yesterday."

Kristina. Tall, beautiful, athletic Kristina, dead. James feels a pang of remorse. "I'm sorry," he says.

Declan sniffs. "Not your fault. Not your fault at all. We've both lost district partners now."

"So who's left?" James asks after a pause that lasts almost a minute. "Me, you, Oxford, and the two Careers?"

"Yep," Declan says. "Two Careers, one crazy boy, and the last two survivors of the Ace of Spades club."

"You think we were gonna be the last ones out of our original group to make it?" James asks as Declan continues to stitch his wound. "I'm sure the sponsors predicted it."

"Maybe," Declan shrugs. "I didn't think I was gonna make it through the first day. Wouldn't have, either, if you hadn't saved me." He looks at James with a smile. "Thanks for that."

James waves his hand. "Ah, it's nothing. You saved my ass at least twice since. The least I could do." He frowns. "I just wish I killed Oxford when we had the chance."

"Me, too," Declan says. "I was so pumped-up with adrenaline from the whole thing that I didn't stop to think. He's killed how many people now? Four? He got Amelia and the girl from 9, and then Mick, and I think he got Kristina."

"Oxford has killed a sixth of the tributes," James says. "Maybe more." He realizes he doesn't even know the name of the girl from District 9, and feels a bit saddened. "We're gonna make him pay."

"Damn straight we're gonna make him pay," Declan says. "And once we're done with him, we're gonna head to the Feast and make sure that Lepus pays for what she did to Violet. Then we're going to kill Pollish and go home."

This sounds nice to James, except the realization that only one of them will be coming home, and he voices this. "Uh, slight problem in your plan."

"I know," Declan says. "Both of us can't go home."

"You probably deserve to," James says. "I've got brothers and friends back in 7, but they'll move on. You should win, go back home to your...bees or whatever. Raise a family."

Declan smiles sadly. "I've got a wife back in 10."

"You do?" James asks, eyebrows raised.

"I do. Her name's Capulet. We got married when we both turned eighteen."

"Starting early," James says. "Respectable, I suppose."

"I was gonna open a bee farm," Declan says. "They're quite common, y'know. District 10 doesn't just raise cattle. They're the main honey supplier of Panem." He laughs dryly. "And the Hunger Games had to come and destroy my whole game plan."

"Cute," James says. He pauses, not sure what to say next. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Declan nods. "This is good. I don't want to kill you."

"I don't want to kill you."

The anthem of Panem suddenly booms. Since they're not required to view it, and since nobody's died, there really exists no reason to stay awake. James insists he stay awake to keep watch, but Declan, riddled in bug bites, firmly tells James he also has a giant wound in his stomach and probably a concussion, too, so James reluctantly settles down to sleep.

"G'night, James."

"Night, Declan."

And then he's out like a light.

.

.

.

When James opens his eyes, the sharp pains experienced the day before has been replaced by a dull wound that aches. Sitting up, he notices Declan, sitting near the cave entrance. He holds a silver parachute in his hand.

"Morning," James says. "Parachute?"

"Morning," Declan replies. "Yeah. Haven't opened it yet."

"Well, open it," James says, and Declan complies with a shrug. He pulls out a sharper kukri, which Declan takes with a wide grin, and then a pen. A ballpoint pen. Simple but fancy, probably came from the Capitol.

"Nice machete," James says.

"Thanks," Declan huffs, inspecting it. "It's good. Better than this old thing." He takes the old kukri out of its back sheath. "Want it?"

"Nah, I'm fine with my hatchets," James says, lightly tapping on the two hatchets tucked into his belt.

"Suit yourself." Declan slides the new machete into its sheath.

"Why the pen?" James asks curiously.

"Journal," Declan replies, digging into his pack and flashing a leather journal. "It's my district token. Lost the other pen yesterday."

"Ah," James responds. After a moment of awkward silence, James asks, "What do we do now?"

"Now?" Declan asks. "We should wait."

"Wait?"

"Till the feast," Declan says. "You're in no position to be moving, and I'm not doing so hot, either. We should wait until they announce the feast, and then we'll go there to fight."

James nods. "Spend a few days relaxing."

"It's like we're at the spa," Declan says. "Wanna go for a steam?"

"Sounds delightful."

James thinks that with this announcement, the Gamemakers will announce the Feast soon, but after several hours, it's clear they're giving the tributes and audience some time to cool down. If James had to guess, the bugs weren't meant to produce two casualties. Were probably just meant to kill one and injure the rest. He shudders. Both Kaylana and Michaela were felled by the bugs. Kaylana ran towards the swamp, so probably some horrendous creature got hold of her. Michaela, well, he forgot about her. If he wins, he'll find out how she died.

"Is that your token?" Declan asks, pointing a figure towards James' necklace, which he'd been fiddling absentmindedly.

"Yeah," James replies. "It's a...necklace with a gold clover on it."

"Lucky," he says. "I remember you saying something about it back in the Training Center." He exhales, glancing outside for a moment. "Who gave it to you? Brother?"

"No, a girl," James says. "Violet's sister. Iris, her name was."

Declan nods. After a moment, he asks, "You like her?" The sentence has no emotion behind it; Declan's just curious.

James hesitates. The whole nation will be listening to him. If Iris doesn't hear it herself, then she'll definitely be told. Still, he tells the truth. "I...I don't know. Maybe? I've spoken to her once. In the Justice Building, right before she gave me the necklace."

"What'd she say?"

"She asked me to keep Violet safe," James says bitterly. "I promised her that I would." He coughs, and feels a sharp pain in his stomach. "Never broken a promise before in my life. Not ever. But I'm still here and Violet's gone, and all I want to do is apologize."

Declan considers this a moment before his face hardens. "James, there's nothing you could've done. I was there. I saw you come barreling out of the bushes. They'd already gotten to her. You...you like to think that in the moment, you could've saved her, but there isn't anything you could've done."

"But..."

"No buts." Declan's eyes are both cold with bitterness and hot with vengeance at the same time. "You couldn't have done anything. When Kristina died, I lost it. Cried for almost two hours before I managed to wipe my eyes. I cared about her, James, the same way you cared about that little girl. I saw her running towards the forest. I could've went with her, stuck with her, but instead I ran into the Cornucopia. She's dead now, James. I could've helped her fend off Oxford or Pollish or whoever killed her, but I didn't. I got greedy. I blamed myself for her death."

Declan coughs, and finishes with, "They're both gone now. Nothing you or me could've done."

And then they don't speak for a long, long time, sitting in the cave. Two wounded tributes, the last of an alliance, hurt by the loss of their friends.

Amelia, Romeo, Violet, Kristina. The names all blend together, and James can't help but feel his heart ache for the deceased.

When the anthem plays, hours later, James takes watch for once. Declan mutters Kristina's name in his sleep, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe James mutters Violet's name in his sleep, too.

If either of them survive, nightmares will plague them for years to come.

But it's better than dying.

They talk politely on their second day back in the cave. Laugh about their respective districts. One time, Declan's sister, a girl named Lucy, tried to brew her own apple cider and almost burned down a barn. James tells of how Grant almost got into a fistfight with the Head Peacekeeper of District 7. Such stories help bring up the otherwise-glum mood in the day, and despite their injuries, the two sleep happily. Nobody dies that day, either.

The crowd will have recovered from the onslaught of dead tributes, and soon they'll want more.

Around midday on their third day in the cave, Declan asks, "So tell me about this Iris girl."

James cocks an eyebrow. "I already did. Those bug bites getting to your head."

Declan throws a piece of jerky at him. "I mean, like, what's she look like?" His eyes have a twinkle to them. "Is she hot?"

James snorts. "Shut up."

"I'm serious! Tell me!"

James sighs loudly. "Ugh, fine, just quit your yapping."

Declan beams. "Tell me, tell me, tell me." When James almost whips a water bottle at him, he finally stops talking.

"She looks like Violet," James says; It's the first time he's brought up Violet and hasn't felt extreme sadness hit him. "She's got skin that's not too bronze but not too pale, unlike Violet." Violet was unusually pale, considering all the time in the daylight Violet must've seen. "She's tall, five nine maybe, and has the same auburn hair as Violet, except she pulls it into a bun, instead of Violet." He can feel a smile creeping its way onto his face for reasons he doesn't know why. "Her eyes are this deep hazel, and it's hard to look into them for more than a few seconds."

"Anything else?"

"Freckles," James responds. "They dot her cheeks and her nose, and even her arms a little bit." He pauses. "That's it."

Declan stares at him a moment before grinning. "You like her, Warrior Boy."

"What? No!" James insists. "Where'd you even get that from?"

"You had this big dumb grin on your face when you were telling me what she was like," Declan smiles. "You've said maybe five sentences to this girl, but you're insane about her. I can tell." He pauses. "Tell me I'm wrong, lumberjack. Do it."

After a full ten seconds of silence, James just crosses his arms, still smiling, and says, "Shut up. Idiot."

Declan bursts into laughter. "I was right! Told you!"

James laughs back, and is about to respond when all of sudden trumpets play. James is filled with dread. Trumpets are played right before an announcement, which typically happens three times: Right before the Games start, when the Feast is announced, and when the victor's announced. It being that nobody's died in three days, that means one thing.

The Feast.

And Claudius Templesmith follows through. "To the remaining tributes in the arena, we invite you to a grand feast at the Cornucopia!" He says this every year, and the results of the "feast" can vary from stale bread to something James has seen at a football banquet. After a pause, Claudius adds, "Oh, one more thing! Some of you may be waving away my offer. Perhaps you have a surplus of food. Some of you have reacquired it, and some of you have hunted it. But be warned, those who do not go the Feast will be encountering something not meant to be hunted. Weigh your options." He quickly finishes with, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds continue to be in your favor!" And then the announcement's over.

"Never a dull moment," Declan grumbles as they strap on their backpacks. The both of them know this is will probably be the final encounter, but they still carry most of their food with them. Just in case. "What do you think he meant with that last part? About the thing not meant be hunted?"

James checks to see if his hatchets are still in his belt. "It means that if we don't go to the Feast, then something nasty's gonna make sure we don't go home."

"Charming," Declan says, and the two step out of the cave.

Perhaps it was the bushes blocking the entrance, but it wasn't until now that James noticed the heavy fog settle over the arena. James can see maybe five feet in front of him, and the rest is covered by a heavy mist.

"Gross," Declan grumbles. "If they want us to go to the Feast so bad, then why don't they let us see?"

"So we can get mauled?" James says with a shrug. "I dunno, let's just go." He holds out his compass. "Cornucopia's a few miles north from here. Let's go." And together the two set off.

After a mile or two of silence, Declan asks, "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," James says. "My stomach doesn't hurt, and I think my concussion's healing. Thanks for the stitches, by the way."

"Anytime," Declan replies. "My ma's a seamstress, so I picked up a few things from her."

"Smart," James says.

They continue to walk in silence, and James feels his chest tighten when he realizes this might be the last day that either of them are alive. Declan's saved his life multiple times now: Shooting the Careers, attracting the bugs, stitching up his wounds. So he decides to voice his gratitude. "Look, Declan, if, uh...if I die by the end of today, I want you to know something."

"A bit of a loser's attitude," Declan says with that endless humor. "What?"

"Thanks," James says. "For saving me. For, uh, taking care of me. For being my friend." He's not used to expressing emotion like this, and it feels weird.

Declan smiles warmly. "You too. Thanks for saving me back at the Cornucopia, and then with the bugs. And, uh, you too, for being my friend."

James feels a warm glow in his chest, but soon James hears a cackle rip across the forest and he freezes with terror. "You hear that?" James asks, his fingers grasping one of his hatchets.

"Yeah, and I can't see shit," Declan frowns, drawing his bow. "What was it? The beast they were talking about?"

"No," James replies. "Beasts don't cackle, right?"

Another cackle, closer this time, and then he hears a haunted voice speak, only twenty feet ahead of them, masked by the heavy fog that blankets them. "Ace of Spaaaaades." It's insane and giggly and white-hot terror fills James' veins.

Oh, you must travel through those woods again and again...

Another giggle, closer this time and to the right. Declan pulls the arrow notched in the bow back. "Who's there?!"

And you must be lucky enough to avoid the wolf every time...

"Jaaaaames...Declan..." the voice trails off, insane to its very core. It's deep. A boy's.

But the wolf...

A twig snaps less than ten feet away from them.

The wolf only needs enough luck to find you once.

Oxford, shrieking like a madman, comes barreling out of the food towards them, his brown eyes wild and laced with lunacy. Declan shoots the arrow, and it hits Oxford, but he doesn't stop moving. In fact, he speeds up, and right before he checks Declan, he punches his throat. Declan tumbles backwards, gasping for air. James has a hatchet out, and swings it at him. It catches Oxford in the hip, and Oxford slashes a knife towards him. It hits his cheek, only an inch under his eye, and James feels blood dribble down his face.

James grabs Oxford's knife and throws it aside, but before he can kill the dark-skinned maniac from District 11, but Oxford does the same and before long the two boys are engaged in a fist fight. Any other day, it'd be a fair fight, but James still has a concussion. Oxford isn't in good shape, either; He has the sting marks of tracker jackers, and his skin is scraped and bloody.

But he doesn't have a hole in his stomach, and soon Oxford punches James to the ground, his knife at his throat.

He has a sickly smile on his face. "Shh shh shh...don't struggle," he says, his voice haggard and crazed. "Don't fight and I won't make it slow. Not like that bitch from 10. She went slow."

"Fuck you," James growls, trying to wrestle Oxford's knife from his throat, but Oxford presses down tighter and James feels a tinge of pain in his throat and blood flows from the small cut he's made.

"Not very polite, not very polite." Oxford snickers. "Where are your manners? At least beg a little bit." Oxford's definitely gone off the deep end.

"You're crazy," James growls. "Go to hell, Oxford. I'm not begging." He spits in his face.

Oxford laughs, and pulls back the knife, instead opting to stab James instead of cutting his throat, but before he can Declan, recovered, rushes forward with his kukri. He hacks into Oxford's leg, and the insane boy screams with pain, dropping the knife and falling back on his knees. James scrambles to his feet, punching Oxford in the nose as he does so. In a flash, he has his hatchet, and the two surviving members of the Ace of Spades are facing Oxford, who's bleeding profusely and helpless.

Oxford just laughs again. "You can't take back what I did. I killed that girl, Kristina. She screamed out your name, 10. Screamed for Declan and James to save her. You can't take that back. She's dead and it wasn't painless."

"Shut up!" Declan roars, raising the machete.

Oxford cackles. "She died, 10! She's all dead and there's nothing you can do!" He leans his head back, and opens his mouth to laugh, but no laugh comes. Instead, Declan brings the kukri down on Oxford's head with a grunt. James looks away as blood splatters onto his pants and the cannon sounds.

Four left.

"Good riddance," Declan spits, pulling the bloody kukri out of the boy's head. "You crazy fucking monster!"

James reaches out and squeezes Declan's shoulder. "Come on, Dec. Let's go."

Declan huffs, wiping away a tear. "Yeah, let's go."

The fog lifts as the hovercraft comes down to collect Oxford's broken, maimed body, and suddenly James knows where he is. "Cornucopia's maybe a mile away. Let's go."

Neither of them have suffered serious injuries, and the duo move on, ready to combat the last two remaining tributes.

James feels relieved as they get closer to the Cornucopia. There will be no more shivering on cold nights. No more trying to survive. No more murder. If he survives this, then James gets to go home to District 7. To the Victor's Village, where he'll never be forced to sleep in a cave or hide from murderers again.

And that motivates him to push on.

When they arrive at the Cornucopia and the field surrounding it, nobody's there.

"How do you wanna play this?" Declan asks quietly. "Do we wait, or do we go in."

James pauses a moment. They could be waiting for hours, and during that time his injuries might worsen. "Screw it," James replies. "Let's go."

Together, the two of them start walking towards the Cornucopia. The feast this year is elegant: He spots chicken and other meats even from a distance, but they've already eaten. No need to dine. A huge backpack, maybe one of the Careers', lays on the ground near the feast itself. The two of them approach cautiously. James tries to hide the pain in his gut. Declan's stitches helped, but it won't be a permanent solution.

They near the Cornucopia, and James leans down to the backpack. "What do you think's in it?"

Before he can hear Declan's response, he hears a loud shout and then someone shoves him facefirst into the grass. Thinking Declan's betrayed him, James rolls over and looks up to see Declan, who James presumes has been lying to him all this time.

Instead he sees Pollish, standing ten feet away, hostility on his face

And Declan, sprawled on the ground next to him, a large spear embedded in his waist.

Chapter 11, super long as promised! I'm not going to speak much of this, but I will say that next chapter will be the final confrontation that's been prepared ever since that first day in the Training Center. That's all for now! Remember to review!

REVIEWS:

Sparky She-Demon: They really have! Thanks for all the reviews, hope you're enjoying the story!