Hiya!

Oh man, never again will I write stories via iPhone notes... Never ever ever... I was almost done with the chapter a while back, and it all got deleted with a few accidental strokes of my keyboard. I am still in shock... I guess I'm just that much smarter, and hopefully the story is that much better because I got to practice twice...? I'm trying to be positive here!
Anyways, thanks for the support and patience! Keep up the reviews and follows! ;)

Also, I just started a blog for my fics! Check it out! newsongfanfics dot tumblr dot com (no spaces). Feel free to ask questions, browse the content, ask questions, leave feedback, etc. J

Blessings!

Disclaimer: HG=Not Mineeeeee!

Gasping for air, Peeta and I both sprint towards the woods, toward the tree where we originally planned to breach the electrified fence. We keep in pace with each other. Without the exercise provided by regular hunting outings, both of us are a bit out of shape, barely making it to the other side of town before our bodies are screaming in protest. Not a good sign. Scenes of houses and people living their ordinary lives flash past me as I force my feet to keep moving forward. Unless they were just inside watching what happened live, none of these people we are sprinting past have a clue why we are zooming through the District. Life goes on I guess, even when crap happens; it's such a strange thought to have as I flee for my life. Everything I have ever known, everyone I have ever loved, is slipping farther and farther away. It's like water passing between my fingertips. No matter how hard I attempt to hold onto some aspect of my old life, it just keeps slipping farther and farther out of reach with every step I take. The only piece I can hold onto is Peeta. He remains constant. With him at my side, I know we will find a way through this.

As we make it through the Seam, the familiar sight of blackened shacks and the smells smoke and dirt assault my senses. Before I realize what I am doing, my body begins to veer off track down roads and paths memorized and permanently imprinted by my own two feet.

"Katniss, what –?" Peeta begins, but he stops short as soon as he notices my destination: my home.

I sprint to the front door, throw it open, and am immediately overwhelmed by the normalcy of everything around me. Dishes are still out from breakfast; the sheets are crinkled and wadded on the bed, as if the morning routine was suddenly interrupted. Did they know the intentions of the Peacekeepers, did they follow blindly, obediently to their deaths, or did they fight? Once again, I am shocked by how much can change in such a short time. This morning they were here, and now they're not.

Because of me.

They are gone because of me, and I'll never be able to live with the guilt.

Tears well in the corners of my eyes, but I compress all of my emotions deep down inside of me. Like a coiled wire, it's only a matter of time before the tension becomes too much and my grief makes itself known, but I have to get away from Twelve before that happens.

I focus on what I came here for: supplies. I made sure to have three escape bags packed for our little family just in case, but since they are gone, I grab two, one for me and Peeta. As I turn to hand Peeta his pack, the tears threaten to spill out once more, but I begin searching for some keepsakes to distract me. I grab my parents' wedding photo, the family plant book, and my father's hunting jacket to pack in my game bag, but I don't let myself dwell on thoughts of any of these items… not yet.

Since I'm still wearing my dress from the Reaping, I tell Peeta to turn around, a command that he doesn't question, and quickly change into a pair of pants, a shirt, and my boots. Then, I dig into the stash of clothes we saved from my father, and hand Peeta a change of clothes as well. This time I turn around while he changes. Somehow, giving Peeta my father's old clothes finalizes everything for me. We aren't coming back. They are gone. Just memories.

At that, I nod to Peeta, we grab our bags, and we turn to leave, but a familiar whine catches my attention. I sigh.

Meow. I hear it again.

"I don't have time to deal with you right now, Buttercup!"

Meow. This whine is a different kind that I haven't heard from him before. He is pleading, grieving, helpless, like he knows what has happened to her.

I don't know how to handle this situation. I want to curl up with him and sob, but I also want to kick him across the room in frustration. Neither one will do, so I pick him up, and stuff him into my bag, which he hates. He hisses and fights against the bag, but I ignore it for now. He can get out once we are in the woods.

We rush out the door and sprint to the tree in the Meadow. The rope is camouflaged into the tree bark but easy enough to spot since I know what to look for. I grab it and begin to climb up into the branches that hang over the electrified fence. I wait at the top to help Peeta. He tosses me his pack and begins his ascent. Although climbing has never been his forte, he does relatively well. His upper body strength is a definite advantage when it comes to climbing trees. Once we are both up, we carefully maneuver ourselves through the branches until we are hanging above the other side of the fence, the side that is not District Twelve. I toss Peeta's pack on the ground and break off a sturdy stick from the tree to carefully lower my game bag, which contains a feisty, hissing Buttercup. Finally, I lower myself until I'm dangling from the limb of the tree that is closest to the ground, which is still several feet. We can't afford any mishaps or broken bones, so this has to be done correctly the first time. I let my fingers slide from the bark until I am flying. Almost as soon as I register my flight, I feel the ground come up to meet me. Sharp jabs of pain shoot through both of my legs when my feet hit the ground, but the pain leaves after a few seconds. Nothing else is hurting or bleeding, so I assume that all is well and focus my attention on Peeta. He does the same thing I did. He's flying too, and then -

"Ugh!" he yells in pain.

Oh no, I think to myself as I rush over to where he fell. His landing wasn't exactly on his feet. At first, his feet did take some of the initial impact, but he lost his footing and the rest of the force from his fall propelled him forward and knocked him to his knees, one of which he is cradling at the present.

"What is it!? What happened?!" I ask with urgency. We don't have time. Within the next ten or fifteen minutes or so, Peacekeepers will be alerted to our escape, if they haven't already, and when that happens, they will begin searching the woods.

"I landed on something sharp! Just give me a second, and I'll be okay," he explains, making a hissing sound as he inhales sharply.

"Let me see it, Peeta," I command, prying his arms away from his knee.

His pant leg ripped at the knee and blood is slowly pooling on the fabric. I look around and spot a relatively sharp, bloodied rock that must've punctured his leg when he flew forward. Hastily, I grab a piece of gauze from the nearest pack and secure it around his leg. I don't have time to see how deep the wound is and disinfecting will have to wait.

"We have to go. Can you run?" I ask.

"Yeah, I think so," he says, so I help him to his feet.

"Okay, we need to confuse anyone who tries to track us. Do you remember the stream that runs through the woods near the lake?"

"Yeah."

"We need to get there as fast as we can, and then we can follow the stream for a while, so they can't track us. We will run till night falls with short breaks to gather our strength. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," he concurs. I can tell he is still hurting. Part of me feels bad for him. If time wasn't a problem, I would doctor him up and comfort him with my arms, but time is a problem, so none of that is going to happen. Instead, we have to keep moving.

"Stay here for just a minute. I'll be right back," I say.

I turn and run the perimeter of the electric fence until I reach the place where I use to climb through it. It has been nicely reinforced and is now without gaps in between the wire or a ditch in the earth from my constant use. Two bows and several arrows are still concealed within the hollowed out log. I drape them all across my back and sprint back to Peeta.

"Here," I say as I help him to his feet and hand him his weapon.

He takes it from me reverently, analyzing the once-so-familiar curves and feel of his bow. My stomach flutters just a bit at the sight of him with a bow. I forgot how much seeing him in the woods hunting and snaring affected me. A smile pulls at the corners of my lips, but I refuse to indulge it. Too much has happened since then. So many people are gone. I'm not the same girl anymore. Besides, even if I was in the mood for romance, we don't have any time.

"Ready?" I ask. He responds with a nod, and we begin our trek.

For some time, Peeta and I run through familiar sights and hunting grounds, not talking or stopping to do anything but catch our breath, drink water, and eat food. Peeta is much slower than normal, struggling with a slight limp as he runs, but we seem to be holding a decent pace. Since we have to get far enough away from District Twelve that no one will run into us and we don't have time to hunt and gather food and water, we use the pre-packed food and water in our packs. I let Buttercup out at our first rest stop and told him that he either has to keep up with us or he's on his own. So far, he wanders off and shows up right when I begin to wonder if he is gone for good. I guess he is a good tracker.

After we pass the lake and approach the stream, the terrain is no longer familiar. We navigate using the position of the sun and the approximate direction of the river, which seems to be traveling north, towards Thirteen. To avoid soggy feet or any of the unpleasant inconveniences they may bring as well as heavy, conspicuous boot prints, Peeta and I take off our shoes and walk the majority of the stream barefoot. We seem to be doing a good job because, so far, there have not been any signs of Peacekeepers or Capitol hovercrafts tracking us.

After we make it several miles from Twelve, I check Peeta's knee during one of our rest stops. It's a pretty decent gash, relatively deep, but not horrible. Most of the bleeding has slowed, which is a good sign. I'm sure there will be some intense bruising, but all we can do is pray that he hasn't fractured anything or that the wound doesn't get infected. In any other situation, I would need to stitch him up pretty good, but since we are running so much, the stitches would probably just pop right out. Instead, I disinfect the wound, a process which Peeta isn't a huge fan of, and wrap it in clean gauze, hoping that will be enough. Once we get far enough away, maybe we can rest for a day or so and let him heal up, but until then, my job is to keep it clean and infection-free.

"How are you feeling?" I ask after I finish wrapping his knee.

"I've seen better days," he replies.

"You're doing so well. The bleeding has almost stopped, and now you are all de-germ-ified. How 'bout some bread?" I encourage.

"You are asking me if I want some bread? Me? The baker's son?" he teases, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't really work, though. The grief of today's events is still too close for comfort; it is hard for us to figure out how to act without either sinking into despair or entering a superficial world muddled with denial and pretending. Instead of laughing or smiling like I usually would, I simply roll my eyes and toss him a piece of bread and a canteen of water. As I eat my own piece of bread, I notice the sun has passed its peak, meaning the day is closing fast. We only have a few more hours before night falls. A few more minutes pass, and I am overwhelmed with a need to move, to get somewhere safe before our world is enveloped in darkness.

"Ready?" I ask Peeta as I finish stuffing supplies back in my game bag.

"Ready as ever, I guess," he responds tiredly. He is exhausted, and I can't blame him. I can't imagine running this terrain with a gaping hole in my leg. His strength is inspiring, and it is one of the many reasons that I love him. He will keep going until he has nothing left to give because he loves me, and he would never do anything that might put me in danger.

"When the sun begins to set in a few hours, we'll find somewhere to hide out for the night. You need to rest your leg. But until then, we have to keep moving," I say apologetically. It kills me to watch him in pain. I bury the hurt, throw my bag across my shoulders, pick up my bow, and turn to Peeta one last time before we take off once again. I gently push back some of the sweaty blond curls from his forehead and push myself up on my toes so I can plant a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Peeta. So much." That's all I can manage to say before tears threaten to overtake me, so I turn and begin running, running from my own grief and pain, running from my home, my family, my life.