Kombat Games

by KingKhrystopher

Oh yes. But so much more different. Takeda and Kylin.

3. Chapter 3

PART III

"THE VICTOR"

Chapter Nineteen

A sound! Just in front of us! Erron hears it too, and looks at me. We both run in that direction, sensing that the person is running too. I wonder who it is. Reiko, D'Vorah, the Careers? Whoever, we would make quick work of them.

We run quickly, and stop as we see both of the Careers with their backs turned to us. They turn around, and look at us both.

"Well. The Boy on Fire, and the Cowboy," Jade says. "Hear the new rule? This'll be fun, taking you two."

Tempest lunges for me, but before he can get there, I jump out of the way, stuffing his attack with a kick. He falls, dropping to the ground. Jade throws her glaive, but Erron moves out of the way. Jade watches and smiles as the glaive comes back, slucing him in the leg. She then drop kicks him off the cliff we'd been standing on.

He falls, clutching his leg. Blood seeps out of the wound. I throw my whip out at Jade, catching her off guard. It sticks in her stomach, and I throw her into Tempest.

She gets up. "You think you got me?" she asks. "I'll have you begging for mercy in five minutes."

"You will be dead by then," I say.

...

I stand before her as Kotal Kahn speaks. "Finish Her!"

I take my whip, and slice both of her arms off by turning on the blades. Then I stick the last in her mouth, and grin as I activate the blades. They grab her throat, and I pull out, ripping it out. She coughs up chunks of body parts, and falls, choking on her own blood.

"Fatality!" the voice screams. Tempest is nowhere to be found, and I must find Erron. I look at the cliff, seeing that there are trails of blood where he moved. He's still alive. I climb down and start moving towards the ground. I get down, and go on.

Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Erron! Erron!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down.

My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice.

"You here to finish me off, kid?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak.

Still, it must have been Erron. Who else in the arena would call me kid? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks.

"Erron?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it?

No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Erron?"

"I'm right here, kid," he says. I turn around, and he's on the ground, his leg propped up. I rush over to him, and look at the cut. It's bloody, really bloody. He tried to put some water on it, because there's not as much as there should be. "Wanted me to enjoy my final moments?"

"You're not going to die," I tell him firmly.

"Says who?" His voice is so ragged. His eyes stare into mine, and he seems tired.

"Says me. We're on the same team, you know," I tell him.

His eyes open. "So I see. Nice of you to find what's left of me."

I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "How bad did she cut you?" I ask.

"No doctor, but I can feel its pretty bad.," he answers.

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say.

When I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Its hard when I realize he's barely able to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. "Look, Erron, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say.

"Excellent, kid," he says.

I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say."One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway.

"Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out?

"No more rolling?" he asks.

"That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. I've got two water bottles. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour my hand water over Erron's body.

I gently remove his red over shirts and bandoleers, cut into his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife too and drench him again to work it loose. The only thing bad is the cut on his leg and the knot in his other one. His hand was scratched. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Jade did to his leg.

Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy clothes and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the cream to his hand. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from him and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail.

"Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine.

"Thanks. Can I sleep now, kid?" he asks.

"Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Jade's glaive made in the fabric over his thigh. It's disgusting, its bleeding, and there's mud over it, but I have to clean it.

"Pretty awful, huh?" says Erron. He's watching me closely.

"So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well."

I've left on Erron's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Khal. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Erron than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the better the wound looks.

The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well. But the gash on his leg ... what on earth can I do for that?

"Why don't we give it some air and then ..." I trail off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" says Erron. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.

"That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes.

When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff.

Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs.

Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Erron.

"We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance.

"Takeda?" Erron says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?"

I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it. "I don't roll that way, Erron."

"Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently.

"I ... I'm not very good at this. I'm not my mother," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!"

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" he asks.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say.

After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Jade's glaive cut. Right down to the bone.

"What next, kid?" he asks.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?"

I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care. I'm sort of a nudist," says Erron. I just know he's grinning.

"You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw.

"You're kind of sad for such a lethal person," says Erron as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks.

I let Erron doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Erron, we've got to go now."

"Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. We get up, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this."

But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards down the stream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream.

When Erron's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is bloodshot, paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it.

I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit.

Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration.

"Takeda," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back —" he begins.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say.

"I know. But just in case I don't —" he tries to continue.

"No, Erron, I don't even want to discuss it," I say.

"But I —" he insists.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss his forehead, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his head are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him."You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," he whispers.

I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Erron's leg.

Instead I find a pot of hot broth.

Kano couldn't be sending me a clearer message.

One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love with Kylin, but since that can't happen, romance it up with him, eh? The man's dying. Give me somethin' I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Erron alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance.

Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.

"Erron!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

I hold up the pot. "Erron, look what Kano has sent you."

Chapter Twenty

Getting the broth into Erron takes an while of coaxing, begging, and threatening, but finally, I just pulled the bottom of his mask up, and sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. One casualty, that's it. Still, Erron and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day.

Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

I automatically look around for a good tree to nest in before I realize that's over. At least for a while. I can't very well leave Erron unguarded on the ground. I left the scene of his last hiding place on the bank of the stream untouched — how could I conceal it? — and we're a scant fifty yards stream. I put on my glasses, place my weapons in readiness, and settle down to keep watch.

The temperature drops rapidly and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Erron. It's toasty warm and I snuggle down gratefully until I realize it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic.

I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Erron, refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on the fact that by teaming up with him, I've made myself far more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered to the ground, on guard, with a very injured person to take care of. But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I'm just going to have to trust that whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one.

When the sky turns rosy, I notice the sheen of sweat on Erron's lip and discover the fever has broken. He's not back to normal, but it's come down a few degrees.

Last night, when I was gathering vines, I came upon a bush of Rue's berries. I strip off the fruit and mash it up in the broth pot with cold water.

Erron's struggling to get up when I reach the cave. "I woke up and you were gone," he says. "I was worried about you."

I have to laugh as I ease him back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

"I thought Tempest or Reiko might have found you. They like to hunt at night," he says, still serious.

"Yes, there's just them and us and D'Vorah and Scar," I say.

"Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," he says. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag ... and you." Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his cheek. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Erron picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch.

"No more kisses for you until you've eaten," I say. "Hand, cheek, anywhere."

We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though.

"You didn't sleep," Erron says.

"I'm all right," I say. But the truth is, I'm exhausted.

"Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens," he says. I hesitate. "You can't stay up forever, kid."

He's got a point there. I'll have to sleep eventually.

And probably better to do it now when he seems relatively alert and we have daylight on our side. "All right," I say. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me."

It's too warm for the sleeping bag now. I smooth it out on the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notice. Erron sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. "Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Erron's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive but better rested than I've been in days.

"Erron, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," I say.

"Why, kid? Nothing's going on here," he says. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot."

This, of course, brings on a scowl that I'm sure makes him grin. I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap the leg.

My heart drops into my stomach. It's worse, much worse. There's no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see the red streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked, it will kill him for sure. My chewed-up leaves and ointment won't make a dent in it. We'll need strong anti-infection drugs from the Capitol. I can't imagine the cost of such potent medicine. If Kano pooled every donation from every sponsor, would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go up in price the longer the Games continue. What buys a full meal on day one buys a cracker on day twelve. And the kind of medicine Erron needs would have been at a premium from the beginning.

"Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," I say in an unsteady voice.

"I know what blood poisoning is, Takeda," says Erron. "Even if my mother isn't a healer."

"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Erron. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win," I say.

"Yes, that's a good plan, kid." he says. But I feel this is mostly for my benefit.

"You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," I say.

"Don't light a fire," he says. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see," I say. As I take the pot down to the stream, I'm struck by how brutally hot it is. I swear the Gamemakers are progressively ratcheting up the temperature in the daytime and sending it plummeting at night. The heat of the sun-baked stones by the stream gives me an idea though. Maybe I won't need to light a fire.

I settle down on a big flat rock halfway between the stream and the cave. After purifying half a pot of water, I place it in direct sunlight and add several egg-size hot stones to the water. I'm the first to admit I'm not much of a cook. But since soup mainly involves tossing everything in a pot and waiting, it's one of my better dishes. I mince groosling until it's practically mush and mash some of Rue's roots.

Fortunately, they've both been roasted already so they mostly need to be heated up. Already, between the sunlight and the rocks, the water's warm. I put in the meat and roots, swap in fresh rocks, and go find something green to spice it up a little. Before long, I discover a tuft of chives growing at the base of some rocks. Perfect. I chop them very fine and add them to the pot, switch out the rocks again, put on the lid, and let the whole thing stew.

I've seen very few signs of game around, but I don't feel comfortable leaving Erron alone while I hunt, so I rig half a dozen snares and hope I get lucky. I wonder about the other tributes, how they're managing now that their main source of food has been blown up. At least three of them, Tempest, Jade, and Skarlet, had been relying on it, but Jade's dead. Probably not Reiko though. Are they fighting each other? Looking for us? Maybe one of them has located us and is just waiting for the right moment to attack. The idea sends me back to the cave.

Erron's stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it's clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

"Do you want anything?" I ask.

"No," he says. "Thank you. Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

"No," I say. "I'm not a good one, and there's nothing to tell." I feel his fever.

The fever's going nowhere but up. "You're a little cooler though."

The sound of the trumpets startles me. I'm on my feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash, not wanting to miss a syllable. It's my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected, he's inviting us to a feast. Well, we're not that hungry and I actually wave his offer away in indifference when he says, "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

I do need something desperately. Something to heal Erron's leg.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," says Claudius.

There's nothing else, just his words hanging in the air. I jump as Erron grips my shoulder from behind.

"No," he says."You're not risking your life for me."

"Who said I was?" I say.

"So, you're not going?" he asks.

"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Tempest and Skarlet and Reiko? Don't be stupid," I say, helping him back to bed."I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

"You're such a bad liar, Takeda. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me."You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going. He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says.

Anger flushes my face. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!"

"I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," he says.

"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," I say.

"Then I'll drag myself," says Erron. "You go and I'm going, too, kid."

He's just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods.

Even if a tribute doesn't find him, something else might. He can't defend himself. I'd probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion will do to him?

"What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" I say. He must know that's not an option. That the audience would hate me. And frankly, I would hate myself, too, if I didn't even try.

"I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go," he says.

We're at something of a stalemate. I know I can't argue him out of this one, so I don't try. I pretend, reluctantly, to go along. "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!" I snap at him.

"Agreed. Is it ready?" he asks.

"Wait here," I say. The air's gone cold even though the sun's still up. I'm right about the Gamemakers messing with the temperature. I wonder if the thing someone needs desperately is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. And actually doesn't taste too bad.

Erron eats without complaint, lifting up his mask, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don't know what fever does to people. He's like listening to Kano before the alcohol has soaked him into incoherence. I give him another dose of fever medicine before he goes off his head completely.

As I go down to the stream to wash up, all I can think is that he's going to die if I don't get to that feast. I'll keep him going for a day or two, and then the infection will reach his heart or his brain or his lungs and he'll be gone. And I'll be here all alone. Again.

Waiting for the others.

I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parachute, even though it floats right by me. Then I spring after it, yanking it from the water, tearing off the silver fabric to retrieve the vial. Kano has done it! He's gotten the medicine — I don't know how, persuaded some gaggle of romantic fools to sell their jewels —and I can save Erron! It's such a tiny vial though. It must be very strong to cure someone as ill as Erron. A ripple of doubt runs through me. I uncork the vial and take a deep sniff. My spirits fall at the sickly sweet scent. Just to be sure, I place a drop on the tip of my tongue. There's no question, it's sleep syrup. It's a common medicine in District 12, everyone can export it and make quick cash from parents with nagging kids. Cheap, as medicine goes, but very addictive. Almost everyone's had a dose at one time or another. We have some in a bottle at home. My mother gives it to hysterical patients to knock them out to stitch up a bad wound or quiet their minds or just to help someone in pain get through the night. It only takes a little. A vial this size could knock Erron out for a full day, but what good is that? I'm so furious I'm about to throw Kano's last offering into the stream when it hits me. A full day? That's more than I need.

I mash up a handful of berries so the taste won't be as noticeable and add some mint leaves for good measure. Then I head back up to the cave. "I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther stream."

Erron opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet."

"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth.

"No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down.

Just one more to go.

"They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgivable.

I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Erron?" I say, even though he can't hear me.

It doesn't matter. The rest of Panem can.

Chapter Twenty-one

In the remaining hours before nightfall, I gather rocks and do my best to camouflage the opening of the cave.

It's a slow and arduous process, but after a lot of sweating and shifting things around, I'm pretty pleased with my work, The cave now appears to be part of a larger pile of rocks, like so many in the vicinity. I can still crawl in to Erron through a small opening, but it's undetectable from the outside.

That's good, because I'll need to share that sleeping bag again tonight. Also, if I don't make it back from the feast, Erron will be hidden but not entirely imprisoned. Although I doubt he can hang on much longer without medicine. If I die at the feast, District 2 isn't likely to have a victor.

I make a meal out of the smaller, bonier fish that inhabit the stream down here, fill every water container and purify it, and clean my weapons. I've nine arrows left in all. I debate leaving the knife with Erron so he'll have some protection while I'm gone, but there's really no point. He was right about camouflage being his final defense. But I still might have use for the knife. Who knows what I'll encounter?

Here are some things I'm fairly certain of. That at least Skarlet, Tempest, and Reiko will be on hand when the feast starts. My ability to kill at a distance is my greatest asset, but I know I'll have to go right into the thick of things to get that backpack, the one with the number 2 on it that Claudius Templesmith mentioned.

I watch the sky, hoping for one less opponent at dawn, but nobody appears tonight. Tomorrow there will be faces up there. Feasts always result in fatalities.

I crawl into the cave, secure my glasses, and curl up next to Erron. Luckily I had that good long sleep today. I have to stay awake. I don't really think anyone will attack our cave tonight, but I can't risk missing the dawn.

So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of frozen air across the arena, which may be exactly what they've done. I lay next to Erron in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Erron might as well be back in the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he'd be no harder to reach.

I've never felt lonelier since the Games began.

Just accept it will be a bad night, I tell myself. I try not to, but I can't help thinking of my mother and Khal, wondering if they'll sleep a wink tonight. At this late stage in the Games, with an important event like the feast, school will probably be canceled. My family can either watch on that static-filled old clunker of a television at home or join the crowds in the square to watch on the big, clear screens, They'll have privacy at home but support in the square. People will give them a kind word, a bit of food if they can spare it. I wonder if the baker has sought them out, especially now that Erron and I are a team, and made good on his promise to keep my sister's belly full.

Spirits must be running high in District 2. We so rarely have anyone to root for at this point in the Games. Surely, people are excited about Erron and me, especially now that we're together. If I close my eyes, I can imagine their shouts at the screens, urging us on. I see their faces — Greasy Sac and even the Peacekeepers who buy my meat cheering for us.

And Jin. I know him. He won't be shouting and cheering. But he'll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he's hoping that Erron makes it as well.

Jin's not my boyfriend, nor do I really think I like men, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together.

Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more?

I wonder what he makes of all this kissing.

Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I'm careful to leave Erron with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don't return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. I fill my small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I'm about to leave when I remember that I may well never see Erron Black again. I lean over and give Erron a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

My breath makes small white clouds as it hits the air.

It's as cold as a November night at home. One where I've slipped into the woods, lantern in hand, to join Jin at some prearranged place where we'll sit bundled together, sipping herb tea from metal flasks wrapped in quilting, hoping game will pass our way as the morning comes on. Oh, Jin, I think. If only you had my back now ...

I move as fast as I dare. The glasses are quite remarkable, but I still sorely miss having the use of my left ear. I don't know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep and irreparable. Never mind. If I get home, I'll be so stinking rich, I'll be able to pay someone to do my hearing.

The woods always look different at night. Even with the glasses, everything has an unfamiliar slant to it.

As if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places. I don't try anything tricky, like taking a new route. I make my way back up the stream and follow the same path back to Rue's hiding place near the lake. Along the way, I see no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of a branch. Either I'm the first to arrive or the others positioned themselves last night. There's still more than an hour, maybe two, when I wriggle into the underbrush and wait for the blood to begin to flow.

I chew a few mint leaves, my stomach isn't up for much more. The sky turns a misty morning gray and still there's no sign of the other tributes. It's not surprising really. Everyone has distinguished themselves either by strength or deadliness or cunning. Do they suppose, I wonder, that I have Erron with me? I doubt Skarlet and Reiko even know he was wounded. All the better if they think he's covering me when I go in for the backpack.

But where is it? The arena has lightened enough for me to remove my glasses. I can hear the morning birds singing. Isn't it time? For a second, I'm panicked that I'm at the wrong location. But no, I'm certain I remember Claudius Templesmith specifying the Cornucopia. And there it is. And here I am. So where's my feast?

Just as the first ray of sun glints off the gold Cornucopia, there's a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rises into the arena. On the table sit four backpacks, two large black ones with the numbers 5 and 7, a medium-size green one and a large green each with the number 3, and a tiny orange one — really I could carry it around my wrist — that must be marked with a 2.

The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia, looks at and snags the medium backpack, and speeds off. Skarlet! Leave it to her to come up with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of us are still poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she's got hers. She's got us trapped, too, because no one wants to chase her down, not while their own pack sits so vulnerable on the table.

Scar must have purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer. That should have been my strategy! By the lime I've worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, I'm watching that dish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range.

Huh. I'm always dreading the others, but maybe Scar is the real opponent here.

She's cost me time, too, because by now it's clear that I must get to the table next. Anyone who beats me to it will easily scoop up my pack and be gone. Without hesitation, I sprint for the table. I can sense the emergence of danger before I see it. I turn, drawing back the bowstring and send an arrow straight at D'Vorah's heart. She turns just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the point punctures her upper left arm. It's enough to slow her down a few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in the severity of the wound. I keep moving, positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for years can do.

I'm at the table now, my fingers closing over the tiny orange backpack. My hand slips between the straps and I yank it up on my arm, it's really too small to fit on any other part of my anatomy, and I'm turning to fire again when the knife catches me in the forehead. It slices above my right eyebrow, opening a gash that sends a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood. I stagger backward but still manage to send my readied arrow in the general direction of my assailant. I know as it leaves my hands it will miss. And then D'Vorah slams into me, knocking me flat on my back, pinning my shoulders to the ground, with her knees.

This is it, I think, and hope for Khal's sake it will be fast. But D'Vorah means to savor the moment. Even feels she has time.

"Where's your partner, Takahashi?" she asks.

Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Tempest," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Erron!"

D'Vorah jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Erron appears to save me, she turns back to me.

"Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Jade knows where she has cut him. You have him strapped up in a tree while you try to keep his heart going. But that doesn't matter. I will unleash my bugs on him. As I shall soon be doing to you."

I'm struggling now in an effort to unseat her, but it's no use. She's too heavy and her lock on me too tight.

"No worries. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally ... what was his name? Ky? Well, first Ky, then you, and then I think we'll just let my bugs take care of Erron. How does that sound?" D'Vorah asks. "Now, where to start?"

She carelessly wipes away the blood from my wound with her hand. For a moment, she surveys my face, tilting it from side to side as if it's a block of wood and she's deciding exactly what pattern to carve on it. I attempt to bite her hand, but she grabs the hair on the top of my head, forcing me back to the ground. "I think ..." she almost purrs. "I think we'll start with your mouth." I clamp my teeth together as she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of one of her back pincers.

I won't close my eyes. The comment about Kylin has filled me with fury, enough fury I think to die with some dignity. As my last act of defiance, I will stare her down as long as I can see, which will probably not be an extended period of time, but I will stare her down, I will not cry out. I will die, in my own small way, undefeated.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Black one last kiss?" she asks, I work up a mouthful of blood and saliva and spit it in her face. She flushes with rage. "All right then. Let's get started."

I brace myself for the agony that's sure to follow. But as I feel her breath start to spit, some great form yanks D'Vorah from my body and then she's screaming. I'm too stunned at first, too unable to process what has happened. Has Erron somehow come to my rescue? Have the Gamemakers sent in some wild animal to add to the fun? Has a hovercraft inexplicably plucked her into the air?

But when I push myself up on my numb arms, I see it's none of the above. D'Vorah is dangling a foot off the ground, imprisoned in Reiko's arms. I let out a gasp, seeing him like that, towering over me, holding D'Vorah like a rag doll. I remember him as big, but he seems more massive, more powerful than I even recall. If anything, he seems to have gained weight in the arena. He flips D'Vorah around and flings her onto the ground.

When he shouts, I jump, never having heard him speak above a mutter. "What'd you do to that little boy? You kill him?"

D'Vorah is scrambling backward on all fours, like the frantic insect she was, too shocked to even call for Tempest. "No! No, it wasn't me!"

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I —" D'Vorah sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Reiko's hand and loses it.

"Tempest!" she screeches. "Tempest!"

"D'Vorah!" I hear Tempest's answer, but he's too far away, I can tell that much, to do her any good. What was he doing? Trying to get Skarlet or Erron? Or had he been lying in wait for Reiko and just badly misjudged his location?

Reiko brings the rock down hard against D'Vorah's temple. It's not bleeding, but I can see the dent in her skull and I know that she's a goner. There's still life in her now though, in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the scream escaping her lips.

"D'Vorah!" Tempest's voice is much nearer now. I can tell by the pain in it that he sees her on the ground.

"You better run now, Fire Boy," says Reiko.

I don't need to be told twice. I overlook the table, seeing that D'Vorah's pack is still intact. I flip over and my feet dip into the hard-packed earth as I run away from Reiko and D'Vorah and the sound of Tempest's voice. I grab her pack, as well as the mysterious 5, which must be for Erron. Then I only run away. Only when I reach the woods do I turn back for an instant. Reiko and the large backpacks are vanishing over the edge of the plain into the area I've never seen. Tempest kneels beside D'Vorah, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it's futile, she can't be saved. I crash into the trees, repeatedly swiping away the blood that's pouring into my eye, fleeing like the wild, wounded creature I am. After a few minutes, I hear the cannon and I know that D'Vorah has died, that Tempest will be on one of our trails. Either Reiko's or mine. I'm seized with terror, weak from my head wound, shaking. I load an arrow, but Tempest can throw that spear almost as far as I can shoot.

Only one thing calms me down. Reiko has Tempest's backpack containing the thing he needs desperately.

If I had to bet, Tempest headed out after Reiko, not me.

Still I don't slow down when I reach the water. I plunge right in, boots still on, and flounder stream.

Somehow I make it back to the cave. I squeeze through the rocks. In the dappled light, I pull the little orange backpack from my arm, cut open the clasp, and dump the contents on the ground. One slim box containing one hypodermic needle. Without hesitating, I jam the needle into Erron's arm and slowly press down on the plunger.

My hands go to my head and then drop to my lap, slick with blood.

The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful green-and-silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist.

Chapter Twenty-two

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house gently pulls me toward consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware that my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother's, and I'm scared.

"Takeda," it says. "Takeda, can you hear me?" My eyes open and the sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mother. I'm in a dim, chilly cave, my bare feet freezing despite the cover, the air tainted with the unmistakable smell of blood. The haggard, pale face of a boy slides into view, and after an initial jolt of alarm, I feel better."Erron."

"Hey," he says. "Good to see your eyes again."

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood," he says. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything."

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Erron holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

"You're better," I say.

"Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick," he says. "By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone."

He doesn't seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I'm just too beat-up and I'll hear about it later when I'm stronger. But for the moment, he's all gentleness.

"Did you eat?" I ask.

"I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet," he says.

"No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon,"I say.

"Not too soon, all right?" he says. "You just let me take care of you for a while."

I don't really seem to have much choice. Erron feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

"Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," he says. There's a clap of thunder, and I see lightning electrify the sky through an opening in the rocks. Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Erron has built a sort of canopy over my head an upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rock above me.

"I wonder what brought on this storm? I mean, who's the target?" says Erron.

"Tempest and Reiko," I say without thinking. "Scar will be in her den somewhere, and D'Vorah ... she cut me and then ..."My voice trails off.

"I know D'Vorah's dead. I saw it in the sky last night," he says. "Did you kill her?"

"No. Reiko broke her skull with a rock," I say.

"Lucky he didn't catch you, too," says Erron.

The memory of the feast returns full-force and I feel sick. "He did. But he let me go."

Erron says. "So, Tempest and Reiko, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?"

But the thought only upsets me. "I think we would like Reiko. I think he'd be our friend back in District Two," I say.

"Then let's hope Tempest kills him, so we don't have to,"says Erron grimly.

I don't want Tempest to kill Reiko at all. I don't want anyone else to die. But this is absolutely not the kind of thing that victors go around saying in the arena.

Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears starting to pool in my eyes.

Erron looks at me in concern. "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?"

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Erron," I say plaintively, like a small child.

"You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

"I want to go home now," I say.

"Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it," Erron says. "Okay?"

"Okay," I whisper. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Kano. Besides, who knows how long this will last?" he says.

What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite it brings us? The Games themselves? I don't know, but I'm I'm too sad and tired to ask.

It's evening when Erron wakes me again. The rain has turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Erron has placed the broth pot under the worst one and repositioned the plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to sit up without getting too dizzy, and I'm absolutely famished. So is Erron. It's clear he's been waiting for me to wake up to eat and is eager to get started.

There's not much left. Two pieces of groosling, a small mishmash of roots, and a handful of dried fruit.

"Should we try and ration it?" Erron asks.

"No, let's just finish it. The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick offspoilt food," I say, dividing the food into two equal piles. We try and eat slowly, but we're both so hungry were done in a couple of minutes. My stomach is in no way satisfied. "Tomorrow's a hunting day," I say.

"I won't be much help with that, kid," Erron says. "My legs sucks ass."

"I'll kill and you cook," I say. "And you can always gather."

"I wish there was some sort of bread out there," says Erron.

"The bread they sent me from District Eleven was still warm," I say with a sigh. "Here, chew these." I hand him a couple of mint leaves and pop a few in my own mouth.

It's hard to even see the projection in the sky, but it's clear enough to know there were no more deaths today. So Tempest and Reiko haven't had it out yet.

"Where did Reiko go? I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?" I ask Erron.

"A field. As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders. I don't know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colors. But there are no paths," says Erron.

"I bet some of them are grain. I bet Reiko knows which ones, too," I say. "Did you go in there?"

"No. Nobody really wanted to track Reiko down in that grass. It has a sinister feeling to it. Every time I look at that field, all I can think of are hidden things. Snakes, and rabid animals, and quicksand," Erron says. "There could be anything in there." I don't say so but Erron's words remind me of the warnings they give us about not going beyond the fence in District 12. I can't help, for a moment, comparing him with Jin, who would see that field as a potential source of food as well as a threat. Reiko certainly did. It's not that Erron's soft exactly, and he's proved he's not a coward. But there are things you don't question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Jin questions everything. What would Erron think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Jin's tirades against the Capitol?

"Maybe there is a bread bush in that field," I say."Maybe that's why Reiko looks better fed now than when we started the Games."

"Either that or he's got very generous sponsors," says Erron. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Kano to send us some bread."

I raise my eyebrows before I remember he doesn't know about the message Kano sent us a couple of nights ago. One kiss equals one pot of broth. It's not the sort of thing I can blurt out, either. To say my thoughts aloud would be tipping off the audience that the romance has been fabricated to play on their sympathies and that would result in no food at all.

Somehow, believably, I've got to get things back on track. Something simple to start with. I reach out and take his hand.

"Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," I say mischievously.

"Yeah, about that," says Erron, entwining his fingers in mine. "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" I ask.

"Or ... or ..." He can't think of anything good."Just give me a minute, kid."

"What's the problem?" I say with a grin.

"The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing,"says Erron.

"I did do the right thing," I say.

"No! Just don't, Takeda!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up.

"Maybe I did it for myself, Erron, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who ... who worries about ... what it would be like if..." I fumble. I'm not as smooth with words as Erron. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Erron hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.

"If what, Takeda?" he says softly.

I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one's business but mine.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Kano told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Kano never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Erron somehow catches it.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me.

This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of.

Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

But I don't get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it's just a light one on the tip of my nose because Erron's been distracted. "I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," he says.

My socks are dry enough to wear now. I make Erron put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it's likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won't agree unless I'm in the bag, too, and I'm shivering so hard that it's pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Erron was a million miles away, I'm struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else's arms have made me feel this safe.

With the aid of the glasses, I lie watching the drips of water splatter on the cave floor. Rhythmic and lulling.

Several times, I drift off briefly and then snap awake, guilty and angry with myself. After three or four hours, I can't help it, I have to rouse Erron because I can't keep my eyes open. He doesn't seem to mind.

"Tomorrow, when it's dry, I'll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace," I promise as I drift off.

But tomorrow is no better in terms of weather. The deluge continues as if the Gamemakers are intent on washing us all away. The thunder's so powerful it seems to shake the ground. Erron's considering heading out anyway to scavenge for food, but I tell him in this storm it would be pointless. He won't be able to see three feet in front of his face and he'll only end up getting soaked to the skin for his troubles. He knows I'm right, but the gnawing in our stomachs is becoming painful.

The day drags on turning into evening and there's no break in the weather. Kano is our only hope, but nothing is forthcoming, either from lack of money — everything will cost an exorbitant amount — or because he's dissatisfied with our performance.

Probably the latter. I'd be the first to admit we're not exactly riveting today. Starving, weak from injuries, trying not to reopen wounds. We're sitting huddled together wrapped in the sleeping bag, yes, but mostly to keep warm. The most exciting thing either of us does is nap.

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Kano isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Erron's not. I love him, but... he makes me rather nervous. So, without speaking, I lean in.

Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Erron peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, he's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast — fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Johnny Cage was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

Erron wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun.

"I guess Kano finally got tired of watching us starve."

"I guess so," I answer.

But in my head I can hear Kano's smug, if slightly exasperated, words, "Yes, that's what I'm liking a lot, love."

Chapter Twenty-three

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Erron's voice stops me. "We better take it slow on that stew, kid."

"You're right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!" I say regretfully. But I don't. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls — they even sent us silverware and plates — savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. "I want more."

"Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving," Erron says.

"Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour."

"Maybe not that long," says Erron. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me ... no competition ... best thing that ever happened to you ..."

"I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush.

"Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing."

I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel him press up against me, and it embarrases me in a way, the way his hands touched me, the nakedness of him, that I had to ask a question.

"Erron?" I ask him.

He shifts so that he can push up himself and look at me. "What, kid?"

I'm glad he can't see me blush. "Have you... ever had sex?"

For what seems like an eternity, he stares at me. Doesn't speak, just stares. Then he opens his mouth again. "Yeah, kid." He sits up. "Why?"

I blush even harder, thankful for the darkness. "I... Erron... Umm..."

"You want me to fuck you, kid?" he asks. Why did he have to jump straight to the point?

"Well, see... that's the problem. It doesn't make sense. My friends... they said only a man and woman can have sex." I know my mother probably wants to kill me right now.

"Well, kid, they lied," he says. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. "When you truly are ready for that we might venture down that path. But not now, kid."

I come down to lay with him again, realizing that he is now pressing his friend up against me. I chuckle, and drift off to sleep as he presses closer to me.

I waleup, and once again, Erron has gone. His clothes are still inside, as are mine, so did he... go out wearing only his undershorts? Wow. Then I see that those are my clothes bunched up, however his over shirt... and shirt in general are still there. So only his pants and bandoleers were taken. Cool. He'll look nice for everyone that's not me.

About half an hour has passed before I decide I have to eat again. I'm dishing up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, when I hear the anthem begin to play. I press my eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky.

There won't be anything to see tonight, I think, far more interested in the stew than the sky. But something I see makes me afraid, more scared than ever.

"Reiko is dead," the sky says.

He can't be. He got away, I saw him get away! Did Tempest kill him? They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it.

I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand. Reiko dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Reiko letting me go.

As I look, I hear screaming. It's Tempest.

I peek out again, seeing Erron and Tempest fighting. Tempest. He's spinning his spear around, but Erron, Erron is fighting back. He has his guns at the ready, slapping him at any time. They fighting gets heated, when Tempest blows him on the ground. The rain falls on him, and Tempest is about to finish him, when an arrow pierces his arm.

He looks at me, who has his bow locked and ready. I shoot another arrow, but he lifts up and flies away. I look at Erron, who has gotten to his feet and come running at me, squeezing in.

I almost start crying, feeling his wet body pressed up against mine, knowing I almost lost him. He holds me, telling me he is okay. Then he lets go, but I lower his head to mine, remove his mask, and kiss him. As we kiss, I feel over his body, the hard, shaped muscles of his arms, the washboard stomach he possesses, and the legs covered by the pants. He presses me up against the wall, and I moan into his mouth, "I am ready."

"Then let us not delay." He grabs the chest of my armor, fumbling for what removes it, the three straps, and undoes them. The straps and chest come off, leaving my chest exposed. He feels all around me, and while my chest isn't as chiseled as his, it has its share of strength.

He makes quick work of removing the bandoleers that adorn his chest, lifting them over his head for a second, then returns to my lips. He lifts me up, placing me on the pile of clothes. He then gets to work on the rest of my armor, removing everything that would stop him from seeing me. Then, he pulls down his pants, leaving only his undershorts. "Would you do the honors, kid?"

My hands move slowly towards his waist, removing his undershorts, pulling them down, and I can see that he was ready. I was too.

He kicks them off, once again kissing me, pushing me onto the bed, laying on top of me, kissing me senseless. I can feel him nibble on my lip, and I push his head closer to me, forcing his body to fuse with mine, pressing him deeper on me.

He brings his hand down between my legs, grabbing me, rubbing me. I'm confused; his hand is wet, but unles he peed on me, it couldn't have gotten wet.

Erron slides down, and rubs my chest, while engulfing me in his mouth. It feels strange, like an itch I want to scratch, but feels really good too. I cannot stop the loud, deep moans that come out of my mouth. I feel ecstatic that he is doing this to me, and I feel something deep inside myself, explode, then I'm peeing inside Erron's mouth.

Erron slurps deliciously on my pee, then removes himself from me. He them comes back up to me, kissing me, and I can taste it on his tongue. Salty.

With the pleasure he has given me, I want to give it back to him. I slide down to him, and grab him by the base.

Boy was he big! He was really long, two of my fists couldn't reach the end. And he was thick too, my hand barely fit around. I tentatively took my first lick. I tasted nothing, so that must be a good sign. I try to fit in in my mouth, and moans from Erron tell me I am doing it right. I lick that spot that he kept licking that made me feel really good, and Erron moaned even more, responding to my touch. I wet him as much as possible, licking all over it, and I feel him tense up, and I let go, and I watch him start peeing. A white liquid comes out of the end, which I watch with interest. I crawl back up to Erron. He pushes me down, spreading my legs. I lie on my stomach, wondering what to do next.

He spits on my opening, and suddenly, I feel the head pressed against me. I have come so far, done so much, but at this point, I feel so frail. I want him. I want him now.

"I am ready," I say again.

I must stifle my cries as he presses his massiveness into me. Its painful, as it spreads my opening wider than it ever has been, even wider than the feces I passed at home.

"Erron," I cry, and he stops and starts to kiss my neck.

"I'm so sorry Takeda..." Erron says. "I should have told you..."

I can feel the head start to pull away, but I stop him. "No, I want this," I say. "I want you inside me, to fill me up to the brim, to show me everything."

I flip over, his head falling out. Erron is now facing me, and I move back under him. "Kiss me," I ask. He bends down to kiss me. I capture his lips, and feel him shift over me. I lift my feet up, wrapping them around his back. He takes this as his gesture to move. He presses it in me again, and I feel the pain, but his lips on mine stifle the moans and grunts we both make.

It makes its way farther down into me, sliding deep into my slippery cavern, when he stops. His kisses go all over my neck, forehead, making me feel better. He rests his hand on my cheek. "Everything will be fine, Takeda. No one will ever hurt you, so long as I'm around."

I placed my hand on top of his cheek, and say, "I know, Erron. I love you."

And I mean it. I love this man with every bit of my heart, every fiber of my being loves Erron Black. I feel him move again, and the pain has subsided, and it almost feels good. As he pushes farther inside me, he presses this spot deep inside me, sending ripples of pleasure through my body. I want more.

"Faster, Erron." I say, telling him to go faster.

He slides out of me, only to push it deeper in my core. He kisses me, bringing me back to the present. He presses faster, pushing deeper, touching that spot in me faster and faster.

I moan deeply, Erron pressing inside me so fast I don't know how many times he's moved. I grab onto his huge biceps, running my hands up and down them, feeling Erron's lips.

Then, he hits that spot he's been pressing up against, and I moan in pure ecstacy. Erron looks at me. "You enjoy that one?"

I nod, and he presses against it again, forcing me to moan once again. He increases his pressure, going deeper against me, starting to move like a jackhammer in and out of me. I'm rocking back and forward as he drives faster than a bull. He kisses me ferociously, asserting his dominance over me.

Then he gets up, taking me off the cock. I whimper as he stand up, leaving me alone. He stares at me, saying, "You wanna finish or what?"

I stand up, and he kisses me again, pressing me up against the wall, making me hold on as he pushes into me again, and magically, it feels like he's going deeper! I moan again, and feel his tongue run up my back, licking the rain from his sleek body on me. He gives my ass a smack, and through the heat of the moment, it actually feels nice.

I turn around, and he kisses me, sucking and licking my lips. He wraps his hand around my cock, jerking it hard and fast, the spit on his hands drying up, but some liquid cane out of me that let him keep going. I felt it. I was going to release again.

"Erron..." I say, and he understands. He jerks even faster, and moves his hips faster, pulling mine back with his free hand. I cannot hold it in anymore, and explode.

His hand starts slowing down, but his hips move even faster. He starts panting, and, just like when I was licking it, it tenses up, and he starts moaning and grunting even louder, almost yelling, trying to keep it down so no one will hear. I can feel some liquid splash on the inside of my ass, squirting and splashing. There's so much, I can't believe it. He pulls out while he's still squirting, and it goes all over my back and ass. He's jerking himself, then sticks it back in me, riding it out.

I can feel it shrinking inside me, so he pulls out and falls on his back. I feel exhausted, so I come and lay on top of him. He grabs my legs and pulls me all the way up, so that I'm sitting on his face. Then, he licks his juices from my ass and back, which I squirm around during. It feels weird and different. But I enjoy it.

Finally, he sets me down beside him, both of us moaning, but at this point we just cuddle. I run my finger down in between each of his abs, and the runs his finger over my face, coming to rest at my mouth. He lightly presses, and I let my tongue out to play, and it swallows his finger up and brings him into its house. He feels around, and the little light I can see with, he is smiling. His finger leaves my mouth, for it tastes salty, and travels down to my ass, massassging it, fingering it. My hand comes to his back, and from what I can feel, his back is very sexy. I just love toned backs.

"You enjoy that one?" he asks. I look at him.

"What do you think?" Before he can respond, another clunk appears. I go outside, seeing it is a box, about as big as the backpack for Districts 5 and 7. Ironically, there is a 5 on it, so it's from Erron's sponsors. I bring it inside, open it, and find a wadded up...

"A blow-up bed?" Erron asks. "Couldn't have sent that sooner? These rocks were kinda hard..."

"Oh shut up and help me," I say, and we start to blow up the bed, and somehow, it's big, big enough that Erron and I could sleep on it together. And it was weird, because it had two sheets on it, but on the mattress, you needed to unzip the sheets, then zip them back up, kinda like a campng bag. I let him in, then get in myself.

"Ooh, feels nice," I say. "Feels better than your arms, even," I say.

He smiles, turning me around. "Hilarious. Where were we again? Oh. Yes. I think we both enjoyed that one." He brushed my hair with his fingers. "You agree?"

I laugh. "You're so funny. I hate sex and never wanna do it again. Not even on this bed."

Erron wrapped his powerful arms around me pulling me close to him, making me feel his long long John press against me. "Then next time, I'll have to use force." His hands go down to cup my asscheeks. "You have an exquisite ass."

"I've been told that quite a bit, Erron," I say, reaching back to pull his arms back around me, turning around so that I can do the same. I push my leg in between his, loving the security I feel in his arms. "I still worry about the others." I speak. "What if one of us-"

"Shut up," Erron says. "Don't even speak about it. Anyways, maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," says Erron.

I nod at him, giving him one final kiss. then dozing off to sleep.

...

When Erron wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad, kid," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half."

"Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Khal makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm."

Before I even finish, he's pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring.

Huh. Someone isn't over that orgasmic pleasure...

He suddenly gets up, looking at me. "I'm gonna go... do stuff." I can see his wood sticking up, and I know what that, "stuff," is.

"Have fun," I say, grinning. "Make sure to call my name out loud and good."

He throws on his pants, grabs his guns, and walks out. "I'll see if I can't shoot anything."

Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. Erron comes back, and while the bulge in his pants has gone down, it is still noticable. He blames me for doing this to him.

A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Jin and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours.

How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted.

Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To me. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Khal would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then ... what? What would my life be like on a daily basis?

Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Kano, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Khal. Well, for the time being. And then ... I don't want to think about then, when Khal has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Erron's masked face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? Will we marry and... be gay?

Discomfort uses me to move. I scoot over and shake Erron's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

"Not us," I say. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," Erron says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate to him. "All this?"

"We'll earn it back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my finger. "I can feel Mileena shuddering at my manners."

"Mileena... she your chooser? And manners person, kid?" I nod, and he says, "Well, fuck you Mileena, watch this." He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making the loud, slurping noises he made on me. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss ya."

"Stop! Tempest could be right outside our cave." He grabs my hand away.

"What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Erron, pulling me to him.

"Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

Once we're packed up and standing outside our cave, our mood shifts to serious. It's as though for the last few days, sheltered by the rocks and the rain and Tempest's preoccupation with Reiko, we were given a respite, a holiday of sorts. Now, although the day is sunny and warm, we both sense we're really back in the Games. My last seven arrows— of the twelve I sacrificed three in the explosion, two at the feast — rattle a bit too loosely in the quiver. I can't afford to lose any more.

"He'll be hunting us by now," says Erron. "Tempest isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."

"If he's wounded —" I begin.

"It won't matter," Erron breaks in. "If he can move, he's coming."

With all the rain, the stream has run its banks by several feet on either side. We stop there to replenish our water. I check the snares I set days ago and come up empty. Not surprising with the weather. Besides, I haven't seen many animals or signs of them in this area.

"If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds," I say.

"Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do," Erron says.

"Keep an eye out," I say. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow." While my hearing is coming back, I don't know how much stronger it can get.

My forehead hurts along the knife cut, but after three days the bleeding has stopped. I wear my headband around my head though, just in case physical exertion should bring it back.

The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor.

Needless to say, although it takes several hours to reach my old camp with Rue, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. Eventually, we come to a rest.

"What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone.

"Just don't go far, in case you need help." I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Tempest is a long way off.

I teach him a bird whistle — not a melody like Rue's but a simple two-note whistle — which we can use to communicate that we're all right. Fortunately, he's good at this. Leaving him with the pack, I head off.

I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Erron, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds.

Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Erron's roots, this will be enough for now.

As I travel the short distance back, I realize we haven't exchanged signals in a while. When my whistle receives no response, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it.

But where is he?

"Erron!" I call out in a panic. "Erron!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. Fortunately, I pull my bow at the last second and it sticks in an oak trunk to his left. He jumps back, flinging a handful of berries into the foliage.

My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing?"

"I found some berries down by the stream, kid," he says. "What's with you?"

"I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?"

"I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," he says.

He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders.

That's when I feel that I'm trembling.

"I thought Tempest killed you!" I almost shout.

"No, I'm fine." Erron wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Takeda?"

I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. We trek back... and the food is gone. "You ate it?"

"What? No, I didn't," Erron says.

"Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," I say.

"I don't know what ate the cheese, kid. You're just on a rampage," Erron says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, "but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"

I would actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them.

Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers.

My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Takeda. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach."

Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Erron to collapse to the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Scar's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight.

I should have known the moment I saw the missing cheese... .

Erron has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree."Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above."

I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Erron, she's your kill, not Tempest's."

"What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?" In answer, I hold out the berries.

Chapter Twenty-four

It takes a while to explain the situation to Erron. How face stole the food from the supply pile before I blew it up, how she tried to take enough to stay alive but not enough that anyone would notice it, how she wouldn't question the safety of berries we were preparing to eat ourselves.

"I wonder how she found us," says Erron.

"We would have both been dead, too, if she hadn't eaten the berries first." He checks himself. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"

I give a nod. "We call them nightlock."

"Even the name sounds deadly," he says. "I'm sorry, Takeda. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered."

"Don't apologize. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" I ask.

"I'll get rid of the rest," Erron says. He gathers up the sheet of blue plastic, careful to trap the berries inside, and goes to toss them into the woods.

"Wait!" I cry. I find the leather pouch and fill it with a few handfuls of berries from the plastic. "If they fooled face, maybe they can fool Tempest as well. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them—"

"Then hello District Two," says Erron.

"That's it," I say, securing the pouch to my belt. "Wait, District Two?"

He nods. "I love ya, kid. I'm gonna move in with you, in the Victors Village. My kids can have my farm. They'll have millions. But I'll have you."

I kiss his cheek, and we keep walking.

"He'll know where we are now," says Erron. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us."

Erron's right. This could be just the opportunity Tempest's been waiting for. But even if we run now, there's the meat to cook and our fire will be another sign of our whereabouts. "Let's make a fire. Right now." I begin to gather branches and brush.

"Are you ready to face him?" Erron asks.

"I'm ready to eat. Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Scar. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?" I ask.

"Maybe not," he says.

Erron's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Tempest, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance.

When the food's cooked, I pack most of it up, leaving us each a rabbit's leg to eat as we walk.

I want to move higher into the woods, climb a good tree, and make camp for the night, but Erron resists.

"I can't climb like you, Takeda, especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground."

"It's not safe to stay in the open, Erron," I say.

"Can't we go back to the cave?" he asks. "It's near water and easy to defend."

I reach up and give him a kiss. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

He looks pleased and relieved. "Well, that was easy." I work my arrow out of the oak, careful not to damage the shaft. These arrows are food, safety, and life itself now.

We toss a bunch more wood on the fire. It should be sending off smoke for a few more hours, although I doubt Tempest assumes anything at this point. When we reach the stream, I see the water has dropped considerably and moves at its old leisurely pace, so I suggest we walk back in it. Erron's happy to oblige. It's a long walk back to the cave though, even going downward, even with the rabbit to give us a boost. We're both exhausted by our hike today and still way too underfed. I keep my bow loaded, both for Tempest and any fish I might see, but the stream seems strangely empty of creatures.

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It's not much, but out here in the wilderness, it's the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Erron begins to nod off. After days of inactivity besides sex, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him onto the bed and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sheet up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's still here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought.

So glad that I don't have to face Tempest alone.

Brutal, bloody Tempest who can snap a neck with a twist of his arm, who had the power to manipulate air, with the power to kill Kung Lao and Reiko. He probably has had a special hatred for me ever since I outscored him in training. A boy like Erron would simply shrug that off. But I have a feeling it drove Tempest to distraction. Which is not that hard. I think of Kung Lao, and his ridiculous reaction to finding the supplies blown up. The others were upset, of course, but he was completely unhinged. Even with all his anger, Tempest killed him.

The sky lights up with the seal, and I watch Scar shine in the sky and then disappear from the world forever. He hasn't said it, but I don't think Erron felt good about killing her, even if it was essential. I can't pretend I'll miss her, but I have to admire her. My guess is if they had given us some sort of test, she would have been the smartest of all the tributes. If, in fact, we had been setting a trap for her, I bet she'd have sensed it and avoided the berries. It was Erron's own ignorance that brought her down. I've spent so much time making sure I don't underestimate my opponents that I've forgotten it's just as dangerous to overestimate them as well.

That brings me back to Tempest. But while I think I had a sense of Scar, who she was and how she operated, he's a little more slippery. Powerful, well trained, but smart? I don't know. Not like she was.

And utterly lacking in the control Skarlet demonstrated. I believe Tempest could easily lose his judgment in a fit of temper. Not that I can feel superior on that point. I think of the moment I sent the arrow flying into the apple in the pig's mouth when I was so enraged. Maybe I do understand Tempest better than I think.

Despite the fatigue in my body, my mind's alert, so I let Erron sleep long past our usual switch. In fact, a soft gray day has begun when I shake his shoulder.

He looks out, almost in alarm. "I slept the whole night. That's not fair, Takeda, you should have woken me."

I stretch and burrow down into the bag. "I'll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens." Apparently nothing does, because when I open my eyes, bright hot afternoon light gleams through the rocks. "Any sign of our friend?" I ask.

Erron shakes his head. "No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile."

"How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" I ask.

"Well, face died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment," says Erron.

"Yeah, I have a feeling today's the day," I say. I sit up and look out at the peaceful terrain. "I wonder how they'll do it."

Erron remains silent. There's not really any good answer.

"Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble," I say.

Erron packs up our gear while I lay out a big meal.

The rest of the rabbits, roots, greens, the rolls spread with the last bit of cheese. The only thing I leave in reserve is the squirrel and the apple.

By the time we're done, all that's left is a pile of rabbit bones. My hands are greasy, which only adds to my growing feeling of grubbiness. Maybe we don't bathe daily in the Seam, but we keep cleaner than I have of late. Except for my feet, which have walked in the stream, and have gotten clean.

Leaving the cave has a sense of finality about it. I don't think there will be another night in the arena somehow. One way or the other, dead or alive, I have the feeling I'll escape it today. I give the rocks a pat good-bye and we head down to the stream to wash up. I can feel my skin, itching for the cool water. I'm wondering if we might even be able to give our clothes a quick scrub when we reach the stream. Or what used to be the stream. Now there's only a bone-dry bed. I put my hand down to feel it.

"Not even a little damp. They must have drained it while we slept," I say. A fear of the cracked tongue, aching body and fuzzy mind brought on by my previous dehydration creeps into my consciousness.

Our bottles and skin are fairly full, but with two drinking and this hot sun it won't take long to deplete them.

"The lake," says Erron. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe the ponds still have some," I say hopefully.

"We can check," he says, but he's just humoring me.

I'm humoring myself because I know what I'll find when we return to the pond where I soaked my leg. A dusty, gaping mouth of a hole. But we make the trip anyway just to confirm what we already know.

"You're right. They're driving us to the lake," I say.

Where there's no cover. Where they're guaranteed a bloody fight to the death with nothing to block their view. "Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water's tapped out?"

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest. Let's just go end this thing," he says.

I nod. It's funny. I feel almost as if it's the first day of the Games again. That I'm in the same position.

Twenty-one tributes are dead, but I still have yet to kill Tempest. And really, wasn't he always the one to kill?

Now it seems the other tributes were just minor obstacles, distractions, keeping us from the real battle of the Games. Tempest and me.

But no, there's the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me.

"Two against one. Should be a piece of cake," he says.

"Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol," I answer.

"You bet it will," he says.

We stand there a while, locked in an embrace, feeling each other, the sunlight, the rustle of the leaves at our feet. Then without a word, we break apart and head for the lake.

We stop to rest for a few moments under the tree where the Careers trapped me. The husk of the tracker jacker nest, beaten to a pulp by the heavy rains and dried in the burning sun, confirms the location. I touch it with the tip of my boot, and it dissolves into dust that is quickly carried off by the breeze. I can't help looking up in the tree where D'Vorah secretly perched, waiting to save my life. Tracker jackers. Glimmer's bloated body. The terrifying hallucinations ...

"Let's move on," I say, wanting to escape the darkness that surrounds this place. Erron doesn't object.

Given our late start to the day, when we reach the plain it's already early evening. There's no sign of Tempest. No sign of anything except the gold Cornucopia glowing in the slanting sun rays. Just in case Tempest decided to pull a Skarlet on us, we circle the Cornucopia to make sure it's empty. Then obediently, as if following instructions, we cross to the lake and fill our water containers.

I frown at the shrinking sun. "We don't want to fight him after dark. There's only the one pair of glasses." Erron carefully squeezes drops of iodine into the water."Maybe that's what he's waiting for. What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?"

"Either that or find a tree. But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover," I answer.

We sit by the lake, in full sight. There's no point in hiding now. In the trees at the edge of the plain, I can see the mockingjays flitting about. Bouncing melodies back and forth between them like brightly colored balls. As the notes overlap, they compliment one another, forming a lovely, unearthly harmony.

For a while, I just close my eyes and listen, mesmerized by the beauty of the song. Then something begins to disrupt the music. Runs cut off in jagged, imperfect lines. Dissonant notes intersperse with the melody. The mockingjays' voices rise up in a shrieking cry of alarm.

We're on our feet, Erron wielding his knife, me poised to shoot, when Tempest smashes through the trees and bears down on us. He has no spear. In fact, his hands are empty, yet he runs straight for us. My first arrow hits his chest and inexplicably falls aside.

"He's got some kind of body armor!" I shout to Erron.

Just in time, too, because Tempest is upon us. I brace myself, but he rockets right between us with no attempt to check his speed. I can tell from his panting, the sweat pouring off his purplish face, that he's been running hard a long time. Not toward us.

From something. But what?

My eyes scan the woods just in time to see the first creature leap onto the plain. As I'm turning away, I see another half dozen join it. Then I am stumbling blindly after Tempest with no thought of anything but to save myself.

Chapter Twenty-five

Muttations. No question about it. I've never seen these mutts, but they're no natural-born animals.

They resemble huge wolves, but what wolf lands and then balances easily on its hind legs? What wolf waves the rest of the pack forward with its front paw as though it had a wrist? These things I can see at a distance. Up close, I'm sure their more menacing attributes will be revealed.

Tempest has made a beeline for the Cornucopia, and without question I follow him. If he thinks it's the safest place, who am I to argue? Besides, even if I could make it to the trees, it would be impossible for Erron to outrun them on that leg — Erron! My hands have just landed on the metal at the pointed tail of the Cornucopia when Erron stumbles out of the woods.

He's about fifteen yards behind me, running faster than I was, but the mutts are closing in on him fast. I send an arrow into the pack and one goes down, but there are plenty to take its place.

Erron's waving me up the horn, "Go, Takeda! Go!" He's right. I can't protect either of us on the ground. I start climbing, scaling the Cornucopia on my hands and feet. The pure gold surface has been designed to resemble the woven horn that we fill at harvest, so there are little ridges and seams to get a decent hold on. But after a day in the arena sun, the metal feels hot enough to blister my hands.

Tempest lies on his side at the very top of the horn, twenty feet above the ground, gasping to catch his breath as he gags over the edge. Now's my chance to finish him off. I stop midway up the horn and load another arrow, but just as I'm about to let it fly, I hear Erron cry out. I twist around and see he's just reached the tail, and the mutts are right on his heels.

"Climb!" I yell. Erron starts up hampered by not only the leg but the knife in his hand. I shoot my arrow down the throat of the first mutt that places its paws on the metal. As it dies the creature lashes out, inadvertently opening gashes on a few of its companions. That's when I get a look at the claws.

Four inches and clearly razor-sharp.

Erron reaches my feet and I grab his arm and pull him along. Then I remember Tempest waiting at the top and whip around, but he's doubled over with cramps and apparently more preoccupied with the mutts than us. He coughs out something unintelligible. The snuffling, growling sound coming from the mutts isn't helping.

"What?" I shout at him.

"He said, 'Can they climb it?'" answers Erron, who has climbed up to the top. I give him a frightened hug.

The mutts are beginning to assemble. As they join together, they raise up again to stand easily on their back legs giving them an eerily human quality. Each has a thick coat, some with fur that is straight and sleek, others curly, and the colors vary from jet black to what I can only describe as blond. There's something else about them, something that makes the hair rise up on the back of my neck, but I can't put my finger on it.

They put their snouts on the horn, sniffing and tasting the metal, scraping paws over the surface and then making high-pitched yipping sounds to one another. This must be how they communicate because the pack backs up as if to make room. Then one of them, a good-size mutt with silky waves of dark-blond fur takes a running start and leaps onto the horn. Its back legs must be incredibly powerful because it lands a mere ten feet below us, its pink lips pulled back in a snarl. For a moment it hangs there, and in that moment I realize what else unsettled me about the mutts. The green eyes glowering at me are unlike any dog or wolf, any canine I've ever seen. They are unmistakably human.

And that revelation has barely registered when I notice the collar with the number 2 inlaid with jewels and the whole horrible thing hits me. The hair, the eyes, the number ... it's Kylin.

A shriek escapes my lips and I'm having trouble holding the arrow in place. I have been waiting to fire, only too aware of my dwindling supply of arrows.

Waiting to see if the creatures can, in fact, climb. But now, even though the mutt has begun to slide backward, unable to find any purchase on the metal, even though I can hear the slow screeching of the claws like nails on a blackboard, I fire into its throat.

Its body twitches and flops onto the ground with a thud.

"Takeda?" I can feel Erron's grip on my arm.

"It's him!" I get out.

"Who?" asks Erron.

My head snaps from side to side as I examine the pack, taking in the various sizes and colors. The small one with the red coat and amber eyes ...

Skarlet! And there, the ashen hair and hazel eyes of the boy from District 9 who died as we struggled for the backpack! And worst of all, the largest mutt, with dark glossy fur, huge eyes and a collar that reads 1 in woven straw. Teeth bared in hatred.

Jade...

"What is it, Takeda?" Erron shakes my shoulder.

"It's them. It's all of them. The others. D'Vorag and Scar and ... all of the other tributes," I choke out.

I hear Erron's gasp of recognition. "What did they do to them? You don't think ... those could be their real eyes?"

Their eyes are the least of my worries. What about their brains? Have they been given any of the real tributes memories? Have they been programmed to hate our faces particularly because we have survived and they were so callously murdered? And the ones we actually killed ... do they believe they're avenging their own deaths?

Before I can get this out, the mutts begin a new assault on the horn. They've split into two groups at the sides of the horn and are using those powerful hindquarters to launch themselves at us. A pair of teeth ring together just inches from my hand and then I hear Erron cry out, feel the yank on his body, the heavy weight of man and mutt pulling me over the side. If not for the grip on my arm, he'd be on the ground, but as it is, it takes all my strength to keep us both on the curved back of the horn. And more tributes are coming.

"Kill it, Erron! Kill it!" I'm shouting, and although I can't quite see what's happening, I know he must have stabbed the thing because the pull lessens. I'm able to haul him back onto the horn where we drag ourselves toward the top where the lesser of two evils awaits.

Tempest has still not regained his feet, but his breathing is slowing and I know soon he'll be recovered enough to come for us, to hurl us over the side to our deaths.

I arm my bow, but the arrow ends up taking out a mutt that can only be Tanya. Who else could jump so high? I feel a moment's relief because we must finally be up above the mutt line and I'm just turning back to face Tempest when Erron's jerked from my side.

I'm sure the pack has got him until his blood splatters my face.

Tempest stands before me, almost at the lip of the horn, holding Erron in some kind of headlock, cutting off his air. Erron's clawing at Tempest's arm, but weakly.

I aim one of my last two arrows at Tempest's head, knowing it'll have no effect on his trunk or limbs, which I can now see are clothed in a skintight, flesh-colored mesh. Some high-grade body armor from the Capitol. Was that what was in his pack at the feast? Body armor to defend against my arrows? Well, they neglected to send a face guard.

Tempest just laughs. "Shoot me and he goes down with me."

He's right. If I take him out and he falls to the mutts, Erron is sure to die with him. We've reached a stalemate. I can't shoot Tempest without killing Erron, too. He can't kill Erron without guaranteeing an arrow in his brain. We stand like statues, both of us seeking an out.

My muscles are strained so tightly, they feel they might snap at any moment. My teeth clenched to the breaking point. The mutts go silent and the only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my good ear.

Erron's lips are turning blue. If I don't do something quickly, he'll die of asphyxiation and then I'll have lost him and Tempest will probably use his body as a weapon against me. In fact, I'm sure this is Tempest's plan because while he's stopped laughing, his lips are set in a triumphant smile.

As if in a last-ditch effort, Erron raises his fingers up to Tempest's arm. I drop my bow, as if I'm surrendering. I look at Erron.

Instead of trying to wrestle his way free, his forefinger veers off and makes a deliberate X on the back of Tempest's hand. Tempest realizes what it means exactly one second after I do. I can tell by the way the smile drops from his lips. But it's one second too late because, by that time, my whiphead is piercing his hand. He cries out and reflexively releases Erron who slams back against him. For a horrible moment, I think they're both going over. I force my whip to come, bringing Erron to fall on the floor, and I swing Tempest off the side.

We hear him hit, the air leaving his body on impact, and then the mutts attack him. Erron and I hold on to each other, waiting for the cannon, waiting for the competition to finish, waiting to be released. But it doesn't happen. Not yet. Because this is the climax of the Hunger Games, and the audience expects a show.

I don't watch, but I can hear the snarls, the growls, the howls of pain from both human and beast as Tempest takes on the mutt pack. I can't understand how he can be surviving until I remember the body armor protecting him from ankle to neck and I realize what a long night this could be. Tempest must have a knife or sword or something, too, something he had hidden in his clothes, because on occasion there's the death scream of a mutt or the sound of metal on metal as the blade collides with the golden horn. The combat moves around the side of the Cornucopia, and I know Tempest must be attempting the one maneuver that could save his life — to make his way back around to the tail of the horn and rejoin us. But in the end, despite his remarkable strength and skill, he is simply overpowered.

I don't know how long it has been, maybe an hour or so, when Tempest hits the ground and we hear the mutts dragging him, dragging him back into the Cornucopia. Now they'll finish him off, I think. But there's still no cannon.

Night falls and the anthem plays and there's no picture of Tempest in the sky, only the faint moans coming through the metal beneath us. The icy air blowing across the plain reminds me that the Games are not over and may not be for who knows how long, and there is still no guarantee of victory.

The next hours are the worst in my life, which if you think about it, is saying something. The cold would be torture enough, but the real nightmare is listening to Tempest, moaning, begging, and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him. After a very short time, I don't care who he is or what he's done, all I want is for his suffering to end.

"Why don't they just kill him?" I ask Erron.

"You know why," he says, and pulls me closer to him.

And I do. No viewer could turn away from the show now. From the Gamemakers' point of view, this is the final word in entertainment.

It goes on and on and on and eventually completely consumes my mind, blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow, erasing everything but the present, which I begin to believe will never change.

There will never be anything but cold and fear and the agonized sounds of the boy dying in the horn.

Erron begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I'll go completely insane. He's fighting it, probably more for me than for him, and it's hard because unconsciousness would be its own form of escape.

But the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can't let him go. I just can't.

The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Erron begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.

Finally, I hear him whisper that the sun is rising. I open my eyes and find the stars fading in the pale light of dawn. I can see, too, how bloodless Erron's face has become. How little time he has left. And I know I have to get him back to the Capitol.

Still, no cannon has fired. I press my good ear against the horn and can just make out Tempest's voice.

"I think he's closer now. Takeda, can you shoot him?"Erron asks.

If he's near the mouth, I may be able to take him out.

It would be an act of mercy at this point.

So I free the arrow, rub my hands together, trying to regain circulation. When I crawl to the lip of the horn and hang over the edge, I feel Erron's hands grip me for support.

It takes a few moments to find Tempest in the dim light, in the blood. Then the raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where his mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is please.

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into his skull. Erron pulls me back up, bow in hand, quiver empty.

"Did you get him?" he whispers.

The cannon fires in answer.

"Then we won, Takeda," he says hollowly.

"Hurray for us," I get out, but there's no joy of victory in my voice.

A hole opens in the plain and as if on cue, the remaining mutts bound into it, disappearing as the earth closes above them.

We wait, for the hovercraft to take Tempest's remains, for the trumpets of victory that should follow, but nothing happens.

"Hey!" I shout into air. "What's going on?" The only response is the chatter of waking birds.

"Maybe it's the body. Maybe we have to move away from it," says Erron.

I try to remember. Do you have to distance yourself from the dead tribute on the final kill? My brain is too muddled to be sure, but what else could be the reason for the delay?

"Okay. Think you could make it to the lake?" I ask.

"Think I better try," says Erron. We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Erron even move? I rise first, swinging and bending my arms and legs until I think I can help him up. Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Erron and bring a second to my lips.

A mockingjay gives the long, low whistle, and tears of relief fill my eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes Tempest's body away. Now they will take us. Now we can go home.

But again there's no response.

"What are they waiting for?" says Erron weakly.

Between the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the lake, his wound has opened up again.

"I don't know," I say. Whatever the holdup is, I can't watch him lose any more blood. I get up to find a stick but almost immediately come across the arrow that bounced off Tempest's body armor. It will do as well as the other arrow. As I stoop to pick it up, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms into the arena.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed, now that the number has shrunken down farther than 4," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There's a small burst of static and then nothing more.

I stare at Erron in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. There is no 4 victors. No 2 victors. Just one.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt —

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart.

Erron raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame.

"No," he says. "Do it." Erron limps toward me and thrusts the weapons back in my hands.

"I can't, I say. "I won't."

"Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Tempest," he says.

"Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it! Go back to your farm, to those kids..." And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two.

"You know I can't," Erron says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth.

"No, you can't kill yourself," I say. I'm on my knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto his wound.

"Takeda," he says. "It's what I want."

"You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out.

"Listen," he says pulling me to my feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around.

We both know they have to have a victor.

Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces.

They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country.

If Erron and I were both to die, or they thought we were ...

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Erron sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist.

"No, I won't let you."

"Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm.

Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Erron leans down and kisses me once, very gently.

"The count of three," he says.

We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.

I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Erron's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Takeda Takahashi and Erron Black! I give you — the tributes of District Two!"

Chapter Twenty-six

I spew the berries from my mouth, wiping my tongue with the end of my shirt to make sure no juice remains. Erron pulls me to the lake where we both flush our mouths with water and then collapse into each other's arms. "Didn't swallow any. You?"

"Guess I'd be dead by now if I did," I say. I can see his lips moving in reply, but I can't hear him over the roar of the crowd in the Capitol that they're playing live over the speakers.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Erron. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Erron can hang on for the whole ride.

My fingers are still gripping the back of his overshirt so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of red fabric. He rubs my forehead, leaving me. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Erron's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him.

Some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage.

I stare at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, and I sip it, thanking him for the drink.

Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Erron, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes, watch a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stops twice.

It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Khal, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin. But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave?

Why do they stay to watch?

And now I know. It's because you have no choice.

The next thing I know we've landed back on the roof of the Training Center and they're taking Erron but leaving me behind the door. I think I just catch a glimpse of pink fabric — it must be Mileena, it has to be Mileena coming to my rescue — when the needle jabs me from behind.

When I wake, I'm afraid to move at first. The entire ceiling glows with a soft yellow light allowing me to see that I'm in a room containing just my bed. No doors, no windows are visible. The air smells of something sharp and antiseptic. My right arm has several tubes that extend into the wall behind me. I'm naked, but the bedclothes arc soothing against my skin. I tentatively lift my left hand above the cover.

Not only has it been scrubbed clean, the nails are filed in perfect ovals, the scars from the burns are less prominent. I touch my cheek, my lips, the puckered scar above my eyebrow, and am just running my fingers through my silken hair when I freeze. Apprehensively I ruffle the hair by my left ear.

No, it wasn't an illusion. I can hear completely again.

I try and sit up, but some sort of wide restraining band around my waist keeps me from rising more than a few inches. The physical confinement makes me panic and I'm trying to pull myself up and wriggle my hips through the band when a portion of the wall slides open and in steps the redheaded Avox girl carrying a tray. The sight of her calms me and I stop trying to escape. I want to ask her a million questions, but I'm afraid any familiarity would cause her harm. Obviously I am being closely monitored.

She sets the tray across my thighs and presses something that raises me to a sitting position. While she adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. "Did Erron make it?" She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship.

I guess she did not wish me dead after all. And Erron has made it. Of course, he did. With all their expensive equipment here. Still, I hadn't been sure until now.

As the Avox leaves, the door closes noiselessly after her and I turn hungrily to the tray. A bowl of clear broth, a small serving of applesauce, and a glass of water. This is it? I think grouchily. Shouldn't my homecoming dinner be a little more spectacular? But I find it's an effort to finish the spare meal before me.

My stomach seems to have shrunk to the size of a chestnut, and I have to wonder how long I've been out because I had no trouble eating a fairly sizable breakfast that last morning in the arena. There's usually a lag of a few days between the end of the competition and the presentation of the victor so that they can put the starving, wounded, mess of a person back together again. Somewhere, Cinna and Portia will be creating our wardrobes for the public appearances. Kano and Mileena will be arranging the banquet for our sponsors, reviewing the questions for our final interviews. Back home, District 2 is probably in chaos as they try and organize the homecoming celebrations for Erron and me, given that the last one was close to thirty years ago.

Home! Khal and my mother! Jin! Even the thought of Khal's scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home!

I want to get out of this bed. To see Erron and Cinna, to find out more about what's been going on. And why shouldn't I? I feel fine. But as I start to work my way out of the band, I feel a cold liquid seeping into my vein from one of the tubes and almost immediately lose consciousness.

This happens on and off for an indeterminate amount of time. My waking, eating, and, even though I resist the impulse to try and escape the bed, being knocked out again. I seem to be in a strange, continual twilight. Only a few things register. The redheaded Avox girl has not returned since the feeding, my scars are disappearing, and do I imagine it? Or do I hear a man's voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can't help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me.

Then finally, the time arrives when I come to and there's nothing plugged into my right arm. The restraint around my middle has been removed and I am free to move about. I start to sit up but am arrested by the sight of my hands. The skin's perfection, smooth and glowing. Not only are the scars from the arena gone, but those accumulated over years of hunting have vanished without a trace.

My forehead feels like satin, and when I try to find the burn on my calf, there's nothing.

I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight and find them strong and steady.

Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch. It's what I wore in the arena. I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear to greet my team.

I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Erron. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him. He must be all right or the Avox girl wouldn't have said so. But I need to see him for myself.

"Erron!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness.

Mileena.

I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall — Mileena, Kano, and Cinna. I straighten myself and walk towards them, seeing them all smiling at me.

I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Kano's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, love," it doesn't sound sarcastic. Mileena's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were good. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice Portia is absent and get a bad feeling.

"Where's Portia? Is she with Erron? He is all right, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out.

"He's fine. Only they want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony," says Kano.

"Oh. That's all," I say. The awful moment of thinking Erron's dead again passes. "I guess I'd want to see that myself."

"Go on with Cinna. He has to get you ready," says Kano.

It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. The hospital then is far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened, and a handful of guards stand on duty.

No one else is there to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind and there's a heavy, tight place in my chest.

When the elevator doors open, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them, too, although not like I was to see Cinna. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affectionate trio of pets at the end of a particularly difficult day.

They sweep me into the dining room and I get a real meal— roast beef and peas and soft rolls — although my portions are still being strictly controlled. Because when I ask for seconds, I'm refused.

"No, no, no. They don't want it all coming back up on the stage," says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she's on my side.

We go back to my room and Cinna disappears for a while as the prep team gets me ready.

"Oh, they did a full body polish on you," says Flavius enviously. "Not a flaw left on your skin." But when I look at my naked body in the mirror, all I can see is how skinny I am. I mean, I'm sure I was worse when I came out of the arena, but I can easily count my ribs.

They take care of the shower settings for me, and they go to work on my hair, nails, and up when I'm done. They chatter so continuously that I barely have to reply, which is good, since I don't feel very talkative. It's funny, because even though they're rattling on about the Games, it's all about where they were or what they were doing or how they felt when a specific event occurred. "I was still in bed!" "I had just had my eyebrows dyed!" "I swear I nearly fainted!" Everything is about them, not the dying boys and girls in the arena.

We don't wallow around in the Games this way in District 2. We grit our teeth and watch because we must and try to get back to business as soon as possible when they're over. To keep from hating the prep team, I effectively tune out most of what they're saying.

Cinna comes in with what appears to be an unassuming red suit across his arms.

"Have you given up the whole 'man on fire' thing?" I ask.

"You tell me," he says, and slips it over my head. I immediately notice the padding over my arms, biceps, legs, and ass, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body.

My hands go to my chest and I frown.

"I know," says Cinna before I can object. "But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Kano had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise." He stops me before I can look at my reflection. "Wait, don't forget the shoes."Venia helps me into a pair of flat leather sandals and I turn to the mirror.

I am still the "man on fire." The sheer fabric softly glows. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish, the interview suit too contrived. In this suit, I give the illusion of wearing candlelight.

"What do you think?" asks Cinna.

"I think it's the best yet," I say. When I manage to pull my eyes away from the flickering fabric, I'm in for something of a shock. My hair's loose, held back by a simple hairband. The up rounds and fills out the sharp angles of my face. A clear polish coats my nails.

I look, very simply, like a girl. A young one. Eighteen at the most. Innocent. Harmless. Yes, it is shocking that Cinna has pulled this off when you remember I've just won the Games.

This is a very calculated look. Nothing Cinna designs is arbitrary. I bite my lip trying to figure out his motivation.

"I thought it'd be something more ... sophisticated-looking," I say.

"I thought Erron would like this better," he answers carefully.

Erron? No, it's not about Erron. It's about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna's design, it's a reminder the Games are not quite finished. And beneath his benign reply, I sense a warning. Of something he can't even mention in front of his own team.

We take the elevator to the level where we trained. It's customary for the victor and his or her support team to rise from beneath the stage. First the prep team, followed by the escort, the stylist, the mentor, and finally the victor. Only this year, with two victors who have both an escort and a mentor, the whole thing has had to be rethought. I find myself in a poorly lit area under the stage. A brand-new metal plate has been installed to transport me upward. You can still see small piles of sawdust, smell fresh paint. Cinna and the prep team peel off to change into their own costumes and take their positions, leaving me alone.

In the gloom, I see a makeshift wall about ten yards away and assume Erron's behind it.

The rumbling of the crowd is loud, so I don't notice Kano until he touches my shoulder. I spring away, startled, still half in the arena, I guess.

"Easy, love, just me. Let's have a look at you," Kano says. I hold out my arms and turn once. "Good enough."

It's not much of a compliment. "But what?" I say.

Kano's eyes shift around my musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. "But nothing. How about a hug for luck?"

Okay, that's an odd request from Kano but, after all, we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order.

Only, when I put my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing his lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's... unhappy, at the maximum, about you showing them up in the arena." says Kano.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Kano is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. "So, what?"

"Your only defense can be you love this man and want to be with him forever." Kano pulls back and adjusts my hairband. "Shouldn't be too hard, although I don't know." He flattens my hair. "Got it, love?" He could be talking about anything now.

"Got it," I say. "Did you tell Erron this?"

"Don't have to," says Kano. "He's already there."

"But you think I'm not?" I say, taking the opportunity to straighten a bright red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into.

"Since when does it matter what I think?" says Kano."Better take our places." He leads me to the metal circle. "This is your night, love. Enjoy it." He kisses me on the forehead and disappears into the gloom.

Hopefully, it will be put down to excitement. After all, it's my night.

The damp, moldy smell beneath the stage threatens to choke me. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out on my skin and I can't rid myself of the feeling that the boards above my head are about to collapse, to bury me alive under the rubble. When I left the arena, when the trumpets played, I was supposed to be safe.

From then on. For the rest of my life. But if what Kano says is true, and he's got no reason to lie, I've never been in such a dangerous place in my life.

It's so much worse than being hunted in the arena.

There, I could only die. End of story. But out here Khal, my mother, Jin, the people of District 12, everyone I care about back home could be punished if I can't pull off the driven-crazy-by-love scenario Kano has suggested.

So I still have a chance, though. Funny, in the arena, when I poured out those berries, I was only thinking of outsmarting the Gamemakers, not how my actions would reflect on the Capitol. But the Hunger Games are their weapon and you are not supposed to be able to defeat it. So now the Capitol will act as if they've been in control the whole time. As if they orchestrated the whole event, right down to the double suicide. But that will only work if I play along with them.

And Erron ... Erron will suffer, too, if this goes wrong.

But what was it Kano said when I asked if he had told Erron the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love?

"Don't have to. He's already there."

Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we're in? Or ... already desperately in love? I don't know. I haven't even begun to separate out my feelings about Erron. It's too complicated. What I did as part of the Games. Sure I love him, but I... don't know. Am I gonna marry him? I gave my innocence and virginity to him... on camera! I think back towards that. As opposed to what I did out of anger at the Capitol. Or because of how it would be viewed back in District 2.

Or simply because it was the only decent thing to do.

Or what I did because I cared about him.

These are questions to be unraveled back home, in the peace and quiet of the woods, when no one is watching. Not here with every eye upon me. But I won't have that luxury for who knows how long. And right now, the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games is about to begin.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Johnny Cage greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Mileena's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Mileena can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as innocent as possible. Kano's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time?

Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage.

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Erron just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. And maybe that's because he's wearing a mask, and not wearing his hat. I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms.

We just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's caressing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about five minutes of this, Johnny taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Erron just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Erron is playing the crowd exactly right.

Finally, Kano interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Erron that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Kano tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my boots, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Erron's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His suit is made of the same material as mine, but Portia's put him in long black pants. He wears a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage.

Johnny Cage makes a few more jokes, and then it's time for the show. This will last exactly three hours and is required viewing for all of Panem. As the lights dim and the seal appears on the screen, I realize I'm unprepared for this. I do not want to watch my twenty-two fellow tributes die. I saw enough of them die the first time. My heart starts pounding and I have a strong impulse to run. How have the other victors faced this alone? During the highlights, they periodically show the winner's reaction up on a box in the corner of the screen. I think back to earlier years ... some are triumphant, pumping their fists in the air, beating their chests. Most just seem stunned. All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Erron — his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them.

Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell.

This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Erron and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths.

The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews.

There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead.

Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Erron really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison — dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies — until I go hunting for Rue.

They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers.

Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.

Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Erron's name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met.

And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Erron's name as they try to revive him.

In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night.

The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown.

There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion — whose head will he place it on? — until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Erron's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's.

That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished.

Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Johnny Cage finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice.

Erron and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Kano, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Erron's hand.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Erron, but Kano sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door.

"Why can't I talk to him?" I ask.

"Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Kano. "Go to bed, you're on air at two."

Despite Kano's running interference, I'm determined to see Erron privately. After I toss and turn for a few hours, I slip into the hall. My first thought is to check the roof, but it's empty. Even the city streets far below are deserted after the celebration last night. I go back to bed for a while and then decide to go directly to his room, but when I try to turn the knob, I find my own bedroom door has been locked from the outside. I suspect Kano initially, but then there's a more insidious fear that the Capitol may by monitoring and confining me. I've been unable to escape since the Hunger Games began, but this feels different, much more personal.

This feels like I've been imprisoned for a crime and I'm awaiting sentencing. I quickly get back in bed and pretend to sleep until Mileena Trinket comes to alert me to the start of another "big, big, big day!" I have about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and stew before the prep team descends. All I have to say is, "The crowd loved you!" and it's unnecessary to speak for the next couple of hours. When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my up until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. We make idle chitchat, but I'm afraid to ask him anything of real importance because after the incident with the door, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched constantly.

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least.

Johnny Cage gives me a warm hug when I come in.

"Congratulations, Takeda. How are you faring?"

"Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say.

"Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat.

"I'm not good at talking about myself," I say.

"Nothing you say will be wrong," he says.

And I think, Oh, Johnny, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of"accident" for me as we speak.

Then Erron's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Kano seems bent on keeping us apart." Kano is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately."

"Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Erron.

I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Johnny says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Erron pulls me in close to him.

Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Johnny Cage is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Erron already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Erron.

Eventually though, Johnny begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Erron, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Johnny says.

"From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Erron.

"But, Takeda, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Johnny.

"Oh, that's a hard one ..." I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help.

"Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Johnny.

Thank you, Johnny! I think, and then go with his idea.

"Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually red about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say.

"Why do you think that was?" urges Johnny.

"Maybe ... because for the first time ... there was a chance I could keep him," I say.

Behind a cameraman, I see Kano give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing.

Johnny pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Erron press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

For Johnny, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Johnny asks Erron how his "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Erron's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"No one told you?" asks Johnny gently. I shake my head.

"I haven't had the chance," says Erron with a slight shrug.

"It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Erron.

"He's right," says Johnny. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it."

I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Erron's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Johnny backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

"Takeda, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries.

What was going on in your mind ... hm?" he says.

I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Erron that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just ... couldn't bear the thought of ... being without him."

"Erron? Anything to add?" asks Johnny.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," he says.

Johnny signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Kano."Okay?" I whisper.

"Perfect," he answers.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us.

The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Mileena is accompanying us back and Kano, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the up from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Takeda Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Erron's arm around my shoulders feels alien.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There's no longer any need to guard us. Erron and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can't find anything to say now that we're alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can't know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I've spent gathering them with Gale.

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.

"What's wrong?" Erron asks.

"Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Kano startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Erron's eyes.

"What's he mean?" Erron asks me.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out.

"What? What are you talking about?" he says.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Kano has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse,"I say.

"Coaching you? But not me," says Erron.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Erron. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess ... back in the arena ... that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?"says Erron. I bite my lip. "Takeda?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

"It was all for the Games," Erron says. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Erron has disappeared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12.

He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.

I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through?

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him.

But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Erron extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

END OF BOOK ONE