A/N: Wow, guys! Once again (I know, I sound like a broken record) thank you so much for the reviews! I love you guys! New readers, and those I just wrangled in yesterday (you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into), I can't help but thank you . . . again . . . and again . . . and yet again . . .

I think you get my point. :)

So! This is the beginning of a very stressful, busy week that every college kid dreads: Finals Week.

Yes, pity me.

BUT . . . if I make it through this week I'm done and Christmas Break begins! Woo!

Movie quote of the day comes from Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows.

"I should have brought you a sedative." - Dr. Watson

Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; "You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."


Chapter 29

Denial. Anger. Despair. Horror.

I feel them all at once, such a riotous concoction. Vaguely, I'm aware that I'm shaking Peeta and yelling at him, desperately wishing that he'd answer me. He remains silent. He remains silent because he's dead. There is no breath in his lungs, no rhythm in his heart.

Peeta is dead.

And I don't know what to do. I don't know of anything to do other than cry and scream at Peeta for leaving me. Evil, sharp claws are digging into my heart, twisting painfully. I gasp. The pain I'm feeling now is nothing compared to what I felt last year when I thought he was dead. That pain seems feeble compared to the sheer agony that has me wrapped in its clutches. Last year, I didn't know what I had lost. This year, I know exactly what I've lost. I've lost my best friend, my partner, my husband, the father of my child.

I simply cannot fathom the stark truth slowly suffocating me.

Peeta is dead.

I'll never again see him smile; never again hear his laugh. His blue eyes, now sightless and hollow, will never twinkle with love or kindness or mischief. Strong arms now limp will never again be able to shield me from the cruel world I live in. Has it only been a day since our last night together? Was it only this morning that we lay in bed in each others arms? I stare at Peeta's still form. It can't be true.

Peeta is dead.

I open my mouth to scream at him for leaving me, for leaving us, when I'm suddenly shoved out of the way. Finnick appears in my tear-blurred vision and just as I'm about to lunge at him and push him away from Peeta, he does something that stops me in my tracks. He presses his mouth to Peeta's.

And I watch, almost mesmerized, as Peeta's chest rises in response.

Slowly, very slowly, my brain begins to fight against the hysteria and grief, and I realize what Finnick is doing. It's something that Prim taught me for the Games. Resuscitation. Finnick has pinched Peeta's nostrils closed as he breathes air into Peeta's lungs. He unzips the top of Peeta's jumpsuit and then begins doing compressions using the heels of his hands, forcing Peeta's heart to pump blood. I watch, dazed, as Finnick continues these motions. I note the familiarity with which Finnick is operating, making me think that he has done this more than once. Personally, I've only seen my mother use this technique a handful of times. When someone's heart stops beating in 12, there's no time to take him or her to my mother.

I drop to my knees beside Peeta once more, though I make sure to give Finnick space to work. The next few minutes are agonizing as I watch Finnick try to bring Peeta back to life. For something to do, I take Peeta's hand, so large and strong compared to mine, and clutch it tightly. When I begin to talk to him, I'm not screaming like I was before. My voice is barely above a whisper. I plead with him to come back; I beg him to come back. I remind him how he promised to never leave me. I remind him how I can't survive without him. I remind him about the baby and how he'll never get the chance to know his son or daughter if he doesn't wake up.

"Please, Peeta," I beg, tears sliding down my cheeks. "Please."

And then the most glorious thing happens.

Simultaneously, Peeta squeezes my hand and coughs. "Only because you said please," he says in a raspy voice, and I nearly collapse in relief.

But my relief is soon overwhelmed with joy. I start to laugh, though I'm still crying. Finnick moves out of the way, rocking back on his heels, breathing heavily from the exertion it took to bring Peeta back to me. I'll thank him later. Right now, all that matters is that I'm staring into my favorite pair of blue eyes that are alight with life once more.

"You idiot!" I berate him, choking on my tears as I bury my face into the crook of his neck. Another round of sobs chokes me as I feel his arms wrap around me. "Watch where you're going!"

"Yeah, there's a force field up ahead," Peeta replies tiredly. "I'd recommend you avoid it."

I nod, but I'm still sobbing, though not as hysterically as I was before. "It's okay, Katniss," Peeta begins to console me, which only makes my sobs worse. He was dead and he's the one consoling me. Insanity. "I'm fine. I'm here." I still cry. "Katniss?"

"It's okay," Finnick says to Peeta. "It's just her hormones. From the baby."

Hormones. Damn hormones making me . . . hormonal. Ugh, I can't even think coherently. Damn it, Damn it, Damn it. Focus. No crying. Peeta's alive. Things are okay. Things are going to be fine. Peeta's alive. He's breathing. His heart is beating. He's alive and with me. I'm okay.

My tears begin to abate, and I realize what a mess I must be. My nose is running like crazy and Mags hands me a fistful of moss. It's wonderful, absorbent and soft. I wipe my face and blow my nose and am beginning to feel much better. Finnick is eyeing me warily, as if expecting me to burst into hysterical sobs again.

"I'm done crying," I snap at him. "Stop staring at me like that."

Finnick merely raises his eyebrows, looking oddly amused considering that I'm giving him my best death glare. He looks at Peeta. "How do you deal with those hormones? Her mood swings are crazy."

Peeta grins tiredly. "Patience."

I turn my glare on Peeta, but it falls almost immediately. I can't glare at him. Honestly, I feel the urge to kiss him until I can't possibly go another second without breathing, but I restrain myself because Peeta needs all the breath he can get right now. He's only came back from the dead five minutes ago. I need to make sure his lungs are in working order.

I gently sweep away his damp curls that have fallen into his eyes. "How are you?" I realize that it's a stupid question. He died! But as much as I hate to admit it, we need to keep moving. "Do you think you can move on?"

"We could make camp here," Finnick says, but Peeta shakes his head.

"I don't think that's an option," he argues. "Staying here with no water, no protection. I feel alright, really. If we could just go slowly."

Finnick nods. "Slowly would be better than not at all."

He helps Peeta to his feet, and Peeta sways for a moment before getting his bearings and standing straighter. He's lying through his teeth when he says that he's alright, but I don't call him on it. He'd just deny it anyway.

I've pulled myself together, and to be honest it was the hardest thing I've had to do all day. Since I woke up this morning, I've seen Cinna beaten unconscious, I've been thrown into another arena, and I've seen Peeta die. Even if I didn't have pregnancy hormones to make me overwhelmed, I still think I would have still been rather hysterical. But I have to keep myself from falling apart because all I've done today is been weepy and weak. To sponsors, I doubt it looks as though I'm handling things well. I've got to suck it up. I check over my weapons to make it seem as though I'm in control.

"I'll take the lead," I say. Of course, Peeta immediately begins to object, but Finnick cuts him off.

"No, let her do it," he tells Peeta before looking at me with a frown. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning." He studies me. "How did you know?"

How did I know? I knew because Wiress and Beetee had told me. But can I tell Finnick this? And essentially Panem and the Gamemakers? I immediately realize that I can't. I can't let the Gamemakers know that I know about the chink in their armor, the fuzzy patches in the force field. They could try to cover them up. I'm also very aware of the conclusion that I drew from Beetee's words. A chink in the armor. I have a hunch that these chinks are part of Beetee's plan to break us out of here. Momentarily, I'm frustrated with Haymitch, who refused to give us all the details of the plan. Instead, we only know just enough so as we're not completely clueless. Different bits of information about the plan were spread amongst the rebel victors. Separate we only know a piece of the puzzle. To solve it we must come together. I can't give the Gamemakers any hint of what we plan to do.

So I lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen." We're all quiet. Nothing but the sounds of insects and birds and a breeze rustling the foliage can be heard.

Peeta, of course, knows that I'm lying. I can tell by the look in his eye. But he doesn't say anything other than, "I can't hear anything."

"Yes," I insist. "You can just make it out. It's kind of like the buzzing the fence makes in 12 when it's on, only softer." I pause and pretend to listen intently. "There! Can't you hear it?"

"I don't hear it either," Finnick shakes his head. "But if you do, then by all means, lead the way."

I decide that I need a more solid excuse for why only I can hear the force field, so I say, "Weird. I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta asks, catching on. I'm so glad he's as smart as he is.

I nod. "Yeah. They must have done a real good job, huh?"

After another few minutes, we continue on with me in the lead. Finnick quickly fashions Mags a cane out of a branch, and makes a staff for Peeta. Mags and Peeta walk in the middle of me and Finnick, and I'm glad that Finnick is watching our backs. With Peeta so weak (though he's trying to hide it and failing spectacularly) Finnick is the only one who could fight off an attacker if we were to get jumped from behind.

Since I can't hear the force field in reality, I cut off a branch of nuts that dangle from the limb like grapes. Keeping with the lie, I walk with the force field to my left, while occasionally tossing the nuts into the force field so that I can keep track of where it is. The nuts go up in a puff of smoke and then drop blackened to the ground. After a few minutes, I'm aware of a smacking sound and I turn to see Mags skillfully peeling the nuts and then popping them into her mouth.

"Mags, spit that out!" I tell her. "It could be poisonous."

Mags mumbles something that I don't understand and I look pointedly at Finnick, but he just shrugs and says with a smile, "Well, we'll find out."

Sometimes I wonder about Finnick. He saves Mags, but lets her eat strange nuts. Something about that just strikes me as odd, but I still trust Finnick. Haymitch does, and if someone has managed to earn Haymitch Abernathy's trust then who am I to question them? Besides, I see Finnick as family and I know Peeta does, too. And in a family, you accept each other, despite their quirks . . . and Finnick sure has a few.

We continue walking for another hour, and all the while I keep tossing the nuts, hoping that I'll find a break in the force field and we'll be able to get away from the Cornucopia and find water, but it soon appears hopeless. We seem to be going in a slightly curved path. It's obvious that we'll never be able to break through to the left. I look behind me and see Mag's limping form and Peeta covered in a sheen of sweat. They can't go on much longer.

"Let's rest," I say. "I want to get another view from above."

This time it's Finnick who gives me a boost into the tree. This tree is taller than the one I climbed previously and I climb all the way to the top, dangerously high. My only support is a stretch of trunk that's no larger than a sapling and I gently sway back and forth with the breeze.

My eyes search the arena, for once having a clear view. I now see why we were following a curved path along the force field. The arena is a circle, a perfect circle with a wheel in the middle. Pink skies rim the arena along with the dense jungle. The middle is filled with the blue of the sea. I can make out two chinks in the armor, as Wiress and Beetee have dubbed them. Just to make sure, I string an arrow in my bow and aim over the tree line. When my arrow connects, I see a flash of blue sky before the force field spits out my arrow and flings it back into the arena. So the force field not only circles the arena, but is in the shape of a dome.

I climb back down the tree, dropping into Finnick's waiting arms. He sets me on my feet and I tell them of what I've learned. "The force field has us trapped in a circle, a dome to be more specific. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around the edge. It's very exact and symmetrical, and not very big."

"Did you see any water?" Finnick asks.

I sigh regretfully. "Only the saltwater at the Cornucopia."

"There must be some other source," Peeta says, frowning as he tries to think of a solution. "Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days."

"Well, the foliage is thick," I reply. "Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere." I'm doubtful of this, but I don't want to be too much of a pessimist. The truth is that I'm wondering if Snow has given Plutarch the order to nip these Games in the bud. They're not popular and surely the state of his empire is more important to him than twenty-four victors trying to kill each other. "At any rate, there's no reason to keep trying to see what's on the other side of this hill, because the answer is nothing."

"There has to be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel," Peeta insists, his brows furrowed in thought.

We all realize that we only have one option. Going back to the Cornucopia, toward the Careers, toward the bloodbath. Going into a death trap with Mags hardly able to walk and Peeta far too weak to fight.

"Let's get away from the force field," I say. "Try a few hundred yards down. See if there's any water at that level."

Everyone agrees and we resume our trek. The sun beats down on us and the air is so thick with humidity that it's almost like we're breathing water. Ha. If only that were true. I'm in the lead once again, Finnick bringing up the rear. I search fruitlessly for any sign of water, but it's nowhere in sight. Already, due to the excessive heat in the arena, my tongue has a dry patch and that heavy fatigue is settling in my bones.

By midafternoon, I have to stop. Not only for me but for Mags and Peeta. It's clear that they can't go on, and I've stopped because of the baby. All this exertion without water can't be good and I'm beginning to worry that I might be jeopardizing the baby. I know that it's doubly important for me to stay hydrated, and suddenly I'm filled with fear as a sickening thought strikes me.

What if I lose the baby?

Honestly, the thought actually hasn't ever crossed my mind until now. Whenever I thought of my baby dying, it was always because I died. But what if . . . what if . . . what if I live? What if I live and my baby dies? The thought is so abhorrently painful that I'm nearly overcome with it. As it is, I grip a tree for support. We need water. I need water. My baby needs water. I've got to find water.

Finnick suggests that we make camp near the force field. We can use it as a weapon if we're attacked, tossing our enemies into it. Everyone plops down onto the ground, exhausted. Mags and Finnick begin to pull at five-foot long grasses, intending to weave them together into mats. Going off the fact that Mags hasn't fallen over dead yet, Peeta collects bunches of nuts and tosses them into the force field, toasting them and then peeling them, placing the meats on a leaf. I sit by him, feeling rather useless and worrying over the thought that I might miscarry in this arena. After all, miscarriages occur more often in the early stages of pregnancy, don't they? How have I not thought of this until now?

Peeta, despite being exhausted from coming back from the dead, is still alert enough to see that something is bothering me. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

I don't know what to tell him, but I can't lie to him. That's one thing with me and Peeta. We don't lie to each other. "I'm scared," I admit softly and Peeta takes my hand.

"Hey, it's going to be fine," he assures me. "I'll be okay. Few hours of sleep and I'll be good as new."

I shake my head. "No, it's not you." Peeta frowns in confusion, and I swallow, the dryness in my throat exacerbating my growing desperation to find water. "I'm worried about the baby," I divulge, my voice barely audible, but Peeta hears me. "What if I . . . I mean, what if I lose . . ." I can't finish my sentence. To admit the very real possibility is far too painful.

But Peeta understands what I'm trying to say. For a second his eyes reflect the fear that I'm sure is shining in my own eyes, but then determination takes its place. "You won't," Peeta assures me. "We're both victors. We're both survivors. Our kid is a survivor, too, alright? It's in their blood." His hand comes up to gently brush away the one tear that has escaped me, and he captures my lips in a soft kiss. "You'll both be fine," he assures me when he breaks away. "I promise."

I nod, mildly reassured, but I still feel helpless. I have to do something. I have to protect my child. My eyes find Finnick. "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around some more for water." Everyone begins to object, not at all thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, Peeta most notably, but the threat of dehydration hangs ominously in the air.

"I won't go far," I promise Peeta.

"I'm going with you."

"No," I argue. He needs his rest. "I plan to do some hunting if I can. I won't be long."

Peeta relents with a sigh, and I give him a small smile before disappearing into the dense jungle. I silently tread through the foliage, searching for any sign of water, but all I find is more greenery.

The boom of a cannon blast causes me to pause. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must finally be over. I count the shots with a heavy heart. Nine. Not as many as the initial eleven last year, but the weight of each death still beats me down. Nine people died today, nine people that I got to know over the last three days.

The knowledge of the deaths only lowers my spirits further, and I lean against a tree, my fatigue suddenly seeming more potent. I gently rub my belly, wondering if I can play on the sympathies of the sponsors and then Haymitch can send in some water. No such luck.

I sink to the ground and in my silence I begin to notice the animals. Brightly colored birds with long tail feathers. Strange multicolored lizards with blue tongues. Then I spot the strangest creature yet, looking like something between a rat and a possum. It's just hanging on a branch, still as stone.

So I shoot it.

It falls to the ground with a thud, and I study it a bit closer. It's ugly. Gray, fuzzy fur and two wicked-looking, tusk-like teeth that protrude over it's lower lip. I quickly skin and clean it—and then promptly throw up. Oh, brilliant. The smell of raw meat makes me puke, too. This is just great. I rub my stomach so that everyone watching realizes that it's just the baby making me nauseous and not that I've suddenly gotten a weak stomach. I take a deep breath and hold it, but just as I'm about to walk away, holding the carcass as far away from me as possible, I notice something.

It's muzzle is wet.

I immediately begin searching. Water. It's nearby. The large rat in my hands is proof that there is water in the arena. I search and search for water, every spec of ground within a thirty yard radius. I find nothing. Not a single drop.

Disheartened, I make my way back to camp. The others have not been idle in my absence. Mags and Finnick have been hard at work, creating a hut of sorts. Three walls, a floor, and a low hanging roof. Mags's quick, talented fingers have also woven some bowls that Peeta has filled with the roasted nuts. They all look up at me expectantly, hopeful, but I shake my head. "No water," I say. "But it's out there. He knew where it was." I hold up my kill, as far away from me as a can.

"What's with you?" Finnick asks, noticing my odd behavior.

I crinkle my nose and swallow. "The smell of raw meat makes me sick, so I've discovered."

"Ew."

"Shut up," I snap, trying not to focus on the smell that currently has my stomach roiling. "He'd been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius." I feel another bout of nausea coming on, and add quickly, "Now, someone please get this thing away from me and cook it."

Peeta comes to my rescue, taking the skinned rodent from me. "Can we eat him?" he wonders. "His meat looks like a squirrels . . . and we ought to cook him . . ." Peeta's brow furrows, no doubt thinking what we all are. Starting a fire in this arena is a big flare. The smoke would easily be seen because we're all so close together.

But I see Peeta get this light in his eyes, one that tells me he has an idea. I watch as Peeta cuts a cube of rodent meat and then skewers it on a stick, which he then tosses into the force field. There's a sizzling sound and then the stick is tossed back. The meat is blackened but on the inside it's well cooked. We all give him a round of applause, but stop abruptly when we remember where we are.

As the sun begins to set, bringing us all some mild relief from the excessive heat, we huddle under the hut. Finnick tells me that Mags recognized the nuts we've been gathering from previous Games, and since she hasn't keeled over yet, I try one. It's slightly sweet, kind of like a chestnut, and I eat a few. The rodent, which Finnick decides to call a tree rat, isn't the best meat, but it's juicy. Not a bad meal for the first day of the Games. If only we had some water to wash it all down.

Finnick begins to ask lots of questions about the tree rat. What was it doing? Where did I shoot it? How high was it? I can't tell him much, because the animal wasn't doing much of anything. Just sitting on the limb, pretending to be a statue, and it's not very helpful in trying to deduce how it got its water.

As the night dawns I begin to grow restless and dread coils in my stomach. This arena makes me uneasy. Last year wasn't so bad because I was in the woods, woods that I recognized and was comfortable with. Not the case this year. I have no idea what crawls along the ground at night or the predators that come out to hunt. At least the grass mats will provide some protection from whatever crawls along the ground.

A shimmering, white moon appears in the sky, providing us with some light, but our conversations begin to dwindle. We all know what's coming. Any minute, the anthem will play and we'll see who died today. Everyone positions themselves at the entrance to the hut and Peeta wraps his arm around me. I think that this will be harder for Finnick and Mags, since they've known the other victors much longer than Peeta and I, but I still don't doubt that seeing the faces of the dead in the sky will be difficult for me.

The sky lights up, and the seal of Panem shines as the anthem plays. The first face to appear is Gloss and Peeta's arm tightens around me. I lay a hand on his knee in comfort. The next face is the male tribute from District 5, the one that Finnick killed at the Cornucopia. So Cashmere is alive and knows for sure that her brother is dead. No doubt she's with Brutus and Enobaria. But this also means that Beetee and Wiress are alive, and that makes me smile a little.

The male morphling from 6 is next to appear, followed by Cecelia and Woof from 8. My heart clinches as I remember Cecelia at the reaping, more specifically the three small children clinging to her, not wanting to let her go. My hand finds my stomach.

Both tributes from District 9 appear, followed by the woman from 10 and Seeder from 11. The final notes of the anthem ring in the sky and the seal reappears for a brief moment before the sky is black and we're left with only the dim light of the pale moon. All of us are quiet and still. I lay my head on Peeta's shoulder as I think of everyone that died today. I may not have known them well, but I still grieve for them.

I'm not sure how long we might have stayed motionless, but the blinking light of a silver parachute causes all of us to look up. It lands right in the middle of us and we all stare at it for a moment. Finally, I say, "Whose do you think it is?"

Finnick shrugs. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it? He died today."

No one objects, so Peeta takes the parachute and spreads it out on the ground. Connected to the chute is a small metal object. Peeta holds it up to his face, frowning. "What is it?" he asks, but none of us answer. We all take turns messing with it, turning it over in our hands trying to figure out what the object is.

It's a hollow, metal tube that's tapered slightly at one end. I know that I've seen it before. It looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can't place it. It's such a bland looking object, very miscellaneous. It could be anything. Peeta blows on one end to see if it makes a sound, but it doesn't. Finnick slides it onto is pinkie, but he can't think of a way to use it as a weapon. Mags just studies it with her beady eyes, before finally mumbling something to Finnick, who tells us that she can't think of a way to fish with it.

The strange, frustrating object comes back to my hands and my eyes narrow as I study it. I turn it over and over in my hands, looking at it from various angles. I still can't place where I've seen this before, but I know I have. It must be important. Haymitch wouldn't have sent it otherwise. All his gifts have a purpose, a lifesaving purpose. I've just got to figure it out. I can almost hear him in my head, Use your brain if you have one. What is it?

I slam the thing into the ground and then lay on the mat, glaring at it balefully. Peeta begins to rub a tense spot between my shoulders and I sigh, relaxing a little. "You'll figure it out," he tells me confidently. "Try not to think so hard. It'll come to you."

I take Peeta's advice and try to let my mind drift. Unsurprisingly, my thoughts take me to District 12. Home. I think of my Prim, my mother, and Maya. Gale. Rye. Even Chris. My family that I miss dearly. I hope that they're safe. That they haven't been taken into custody by Thread. I hope that they're not being punished as Cinna is. As Darius is. All because of me.

I want to be in the woods, a decent woods full of trees and greenery that I know and feel safe surrounded by. A woods with streams rushing with cold water. Gentle, cool breezes. No, a cold, fierce wind that blows the intense heat away. The kind of cold that bites, freezing your ears and your nose . . . and suddenly it all clicks. I have a name for the strange piece of metal.

"A spile!" I exclaim as I bolt upright, startling everyone. I quickly dislodge the spile from the dirt and begin to clean it.

"What?" Finnick asks confused.

I don't answer immediately, studying the spile in my hand. I've seen this before, on a cold, windy day in the woods with my father. We'd been collecting sap. I remember my father drilling a hole into the trunk of a maple and then inserting the spile. A thin stream of golden brown, sticky liquid dripped from the end of the spile into a bucket. Maple syrup for our bread was a treat. I don't know where all my father's spiles disappeared to. Probably hidden in the woods somewhere, never to be found.

"It's a spile," I finally explain after my trip down memory lane. "Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out." I stare at the green tree trunks that surround us, and suddenly it all makes sense. I look at Peeta and I know he's followed my train of thought.

He gets to his feet, grabs the awl from Mags, and then drives it into the nearest tree a good two inches. Finnick and Mags have followed us, and Peeta continues to explain as he cuts a hole in the tree trunk for the spile. "Since these obviously aren't the trees for sap . . ." He grunts as he continues to gouge a hole in the tree. "Something else must be inside these trees."

And Finnick and Mags immediately understand. Water.

Finnick begins to help Peeta make the hole big enough for the spile, so Mags and I sit back to wait. When they step back from the tree after another minute, I step forward and carefully wedge the spile into the hole. For a second, nothing happens . . . and then a single drop of water drips from the spile.

Mags catches the drop in her hands and then licks it off before holding her hands out for more. Eventually, a small, but steady stream begins to pour from the spile and we all take turns satiating our thirst. Mags weaves a bowl of grass so tightly that it can hold the water and we fill it before passing it around.

The water, like everything in the arena, is warm, but I'm not picky. All that matters is that I have water, which means that my baby has water. Hopefully we'll be okay, though the thought of miscarriage has been lurking hauntingly in the back of my mind since I first thought of it earlier in the day, and I know it will continue to weigh heavily on me until we manage to get out of here.

Once our thirst is quenched, we can afford to be luxurious. We splash our faces with water, and I have Peeta unzip the top of his jumpsuit so I can clean the cut on his chest that he received during his fight with Gloss. He protests, but one look at the seriousness in my eyes causes him to relent. The last thing that I'm going to let happen is for his cut to get infected. Too many bad memories of last year flit through my mind.

Now that I no longer have my thirst to distract me, I realize how exhausted I am. I can only imagine how Peeta feels, but his eyes are wide open, studying our surroundings. We all begin to make preparations for the night, and I load my bow with an arrow and then lay it next to me. Going off an errant thought, I grab a nearby vine and strip it of its leaves. Then, I use it to tie the spile to my belt. I'm not losing this precious item.

Peeta is still sitting up, trying to keep his eyes open. I gently put a hand on his shoulder and ease him onto his back. "You need to go to sleep," I tell him softly.

He hums in reply, his eyelids already fluttering closed, though he pulls me down to him. "You too," he murmurs, already half-asleep. I can't argue with him so I lay my head on his chest and his arms wrap around me. As odd and ridiculous as it is, a feeling of safety envelops me as I lie in Peeta's arms. Only Peeta could make me feel safe in a place like this.

Finnick, who had been politely ignoring mine and Peeta's exchange, offers to take watch. I let him, because I know that I will be the next to take watch. Finnick and I are the only ones who can. Mags fell asleep ten minutes ago, and she needs all the rest she can get. The same goes for Peeta. So I close my eyes and try to sleep.

Fifteen minutes pass, and though I'm exhausted, I can't find sleep. All I can focus on is the steady beat of Peeta's heart, a sound that I never thought I'd hear again. I'll have nightmares about today for the rest of my life. The one day I put my head on Peeta's chest and was met with silence. No heartbeat. No breath. No life. Peeta was dead.

I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye, but I don't bother to wipe it away. I press myself even closer to Peeta, my arm draped over his waist tightening. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat is keeping me sane and driving me crazy at the same time. I think I'm too afraid to fall asleep. Too afraid that I'll wake up and be met with silence.

I lost Peeta. Briefly. But I still lost him. It's a pain that I never want to know again, but will always haunt me. For a brief moment, I was alone. For a brief moment, I was faced with the reality of being a single parent. That's the most painful thing. The thought of raising my child without Peeta. I can't do this without him. I can't survive without him.

I will forever owe Finnick a debt that I'll never be able to repay.

With this thought, I lift my head from Peeta's chest to look at Finnick. Because my movement means I can no longer hear Peeta's heartbeat, I place my hand on his chest so that I can feel it. I wonder how long it will take me to accept the fact that his heart will continue to beat.

"Finnick?" He turns his head to look at me, and I think I see a flash of pain and longing in his eyes as he looks at the position Peeta and I are in. Does he wish he had someone to hold in his sleep as well?

"What?" he asks.

"Thank you," I say softly, my eyes darting to Peeta's sleeping face. My eyes return to Finnick. "I'll never be able to repay you."

Finnick gives me his signature smile. "I'm sure I can think of a few ways." I scowl, but I'm still fighting a smile. "Now, go to sleep."

I lay my head back on Peeta's chest, getting comfortable once more. Peeta's arms tighten around me subconsciously and just as I'm about to close my eyes, Finnick's voice stops me. "Hey, Katniss." Our eyes meet. "You're welcome."

I smile and close my eyes, drifting off to sleep to the sound of Peeta's beating heart.

Bong! Bong! Bong!

I jerk awake at the tolling sound. It's a testament to Peeta's exhaustion that he doesn't wake the moment I move, let alone the loud tolling. My eyes find Finnick's and I see that he's listening to the tolling bell just as attentively as I am. I've only been asleep for a few hours I can tell, because I hardly feel refreshed. Finnick and I are silent until the tolling stops.

"I counted twelve," he says, and I nod in agreement.

What does it mean? One ring for each district, maybe? No. That can't be it. There has to be a more substantial reason. "What do you think it means?"

"No idea."

Helpful, but I'm at a loss as well. I wait for some sign. Maybe for Claudius Templesmith to announce a feast, some kind of announcement, but the only thing that I notice is in the distance. A dazzling, bright bolt of lightning shatters in the sky, striking a towering tree. A lightning storm begins.

I turn to Finnick. "Go to sleep," I tell him. "I'll take over." Finnick is reluctant, and I remind him, "You can't stay awake forever."

He nods and collapses onto the mat, almost immediately breaking the silence with a soft snore. I can't help but smile a little. However, I quickly sharpen my senses. In the distance, after the lightning storm abates, I hear the telltale sound of rain. An hour passes as I wait for it to reach us, but it never does.

And then a cannon sounds. It startles me, but none of my companions wake. I don't bother waking them up to tell them that someone died. I don't even wonder who it was.

In the next few minutes, the elusive rain stops abruptly, never having reached where we are, even though it couldn't have been more than a few hundred yards away. In the next second I see a white fog rolling in. At first, I think nothing of it. A natural reaction to cold rain on hot ground.

But something in me recoils at the fog. Its wisp-like tendrils clawing their way steadily over the ground toward us. Something is wrong with this. It's not normal. It's not natural. Too uniform. Too even.

Like the fire from last year.

Immediately, I'm shaking everyone awake and yelling for them to move. They all look at me bleary-eyed, but it doesn't take them long to see that I'm serious about this threat. Finnick immediately hops to his feet, his tridents in his hands, already slinging Mags onto his back. I'm hauling Peeta to his feet, and grabbing my bow and arrows.

And in the ten seconds it has taken to get everyone up and ready to flee, a sickeningly sweet odor has invaded my nostrils and my skin has already started to blister.

"Run!"


Ah, evil fog! Seriously, I wonder how Collins came up with that. Maybe she watched LOST. The fog reminds me of that big, black evil cloud thing.

Anyhoo, another chapter down! There's actually only six more chapters left! Ah! The story is dwindling down, but trust me when I say it's action, action, action from here on out! Muahaha!

So, in summary for this chapter: Mags is a tired, ridiculously awesome old woman, Finnick is still sexy and he knows it, Peeta is alive again (thanks Finnick), and Katniss is worried about the baby, insanely hormonal, and fleeing from the evil fog that may or may not be influenced by the creepy black smoke-cloud-thing from LOST.

Yep, I think that covers it.

Quote from Come Rain or Come Shine comes from . . . Katniss!

"You're such a dumbass."

Lots of love,

AC