Ahh Games are starting. Short chapter. But wanted to keep it on a cliffy, kind of :P anyway lots of people reviewed last time which was awesome. If you wanna find out what happens next, you know what to do...

Chapter 7

Games

It's the morning of the Quell. I have barely slept. Sleep seems like an impossible concept. Sleep is where the mutts ravage my body, where Rue dies in my arms – where Snow's eyes find me, no matter where I am.

Peeta has been awake with me for most of the night but he finally dozed off, albeit unwillingly, a few minutes ago. It's very difficult to watch him sleep at night. His face contorts, like he's in pain, and he whimpers. He says my name, like it's a prayer, over and over again. I have to wake him after a while, because although I know he needs his rest, I cannot bear to see him in such anguish.

When I look across my pillow at him now, he's face is unusually calm. Maybe his mind is simply too weary and fatigued to conjure up an image that would have him begging me to save him.

"Katniss." The name spills out of his mouth, just like any other time. He rolls over and eclipses me with his arms and I lie there rigid. In Peeta's arms, I feel a lull. I cannot fall asleep. I do not want to fall asleep.

When Effie comes barging in, ripping open the curtains and telling the two of us to get off each other, I realise that I fell asleep.

"Up, up," she shrieks in her high toned voice. Behind her is Cinna and Portia, come to take Peeta and I away. I untangle myself from him but I find that I don't want to let go of Peeta. I know that I will see him soon, that I will have more moments with him before I die but my throat is dry, and my heart is hammering. It takes a light kiss from Peeta and his gentle touch to get me to pry my fingers off of him.

Cinna takes me to the Launch room, fitting me into this year's outfit – a thin blue jumpsuit and bright purple plastic belt. He slips them over my simple undergarments and together we try to work out where I could be going. The jumpsuit won't protect against the rain or wind, maybe not even the sun. It seems they really are determined to get rid of me quickly.

After a while, Cinna senses I do not want to keep talking. Cinna holds my hands in his and occasionally tries to force some food into me. But I can't bring myself to choke down anything. I feel sick enough on an empty stomach, and it's hard enough trying to keep no food down.

The clock ticks down and I am standing up. I am moving. I am stepping onto the plate. I am watching Cinna disappear behind the glass tube. I am ascending into the arena.

All I see is blue.

I look around, and see Peeta a few plates away. I try to catch his eye but he's staring nervously at the water. When the countdown finishes, I launch off the plate into the water at my feet. I allow my natural instincts to take over. My father taught me how to swim when I was younger. There is a pond in the woods, where we could stay for hours at. It was our special place.

I push the image of my father out of my mind as I swim for the Cornucopia. Unlike last year, I plan to have my hands on my weapon from the first day. No more running and hiding. I pull myself onto the sand, and luckily, there seems to be no emerging threats. But as I clasp a golden bow in my hand, I see out of the corner of my eye a body, tall and bronze.

Finnick is leaning casually against the Cornucopia, his trident hoisted on his shoulder. He seems relaxed but I can tell by the tight grip on his weapon, he's sizing me up. "You sure you're not from District 4?" he asks with a small smile. "Never met anyone who isn't from my district that can swim like that."

"I have a big bathtub," I say carefully. My bow is hanging in my hands, locked and loaded. I wonder if I am quicker than Finnick. If I could send my arrow through his brain before he spears me with his trident. Just as I am anticipating my next move, Finnick holds out his hand.

"You may have a big bathtub but you need me 12." I don't need Finnick Odair at all. But I can see Peeta in the distance, standing on his plate hesitantly and I know he is struggling. I can't waste time with Finnick.

"Fine, fine," I yell. We hear footsteps coming and we both go on guard. Cashmere and Gloss make for the Cornucopia, Brutus and Enobaria behind them. Brutus barrels towards me and Finnick, obviously to keep us distracted while the rest grab supplies. I let an arrow fly and he uses his belt to dodge it. Gloss comes at me from the side and Finnick throws his trident. Gloss ducks but it still catches the side of his leg. Cashmere takes him by the arm and they flee. Finnick and I stay where we are. We can't get caught up in a chase.

I look across the way to Peeta. His plate is slowly sinking down into the water and I can see he's panicking. I have to get him. Finnick seems to read my mind, throwing his arms out to stop me. "I can do it," he says. His eyes lower to my stomach. "You shouldn't exert yourself too much."

Oh right. Because of the supposed pregnancy. I nod and Finnick takes off, diving into the water. Now that he mentions it, my body is feeling a lot more tired than usual. My muscles are aching, and I can't believe the swim took that much out of me.

I raid the weapons at the Cornucopia and take what I need. I know no one is near. The Careers have already split off and formed their own pack as expected. The rest are either trying to find their way to land or battling on the other side. Mags is swimming towards me right now and I can see she will be joining our pack too, something I have no problem with. Though I'm not too fond of the idea of allies, I wouldn't mind extending the invitation to District 3's tributes Wiress and Beetee. I met them only briefly during training but they were softly spoken and smart. I could handle them in more than small doses unlike most of the pigheaded victors. When Finnick returns with Peeta, I almost ask him to retrieve them as well. But they are too far away; I can't even see Beetee.

"Hey," Peeta says with a smile, taking me in his arms. "Seems we've picked up some allies."

"Seems so," I say wryly. But as far as allies go, Mags isn't too bad. Finnick, I'm still unsure about. There's no doubt having him on our side is a benefit but I'm already dreading the moment when I will ultimately have to kill him to make sure Peeta wins.

"We've got to get away from here," Finnick says, looking over our shoulders. I lean out of Peeta's embrace and grab my bow. I hand a knife to Peeta and a spare pouch of arrows and bow. Mags insists on taking an awl from the weapons I found at the Cornucopia.

We walk until the sand finishes and woods begin. But they're a different kind of woods to what I know. The earth beneath our feet is black and soft with moisture, making it harder to move as quickly as we would like. The trees are unfamiliar to sight and the air is thick with heat; I've sweated through my jumpsuit already.

Peeta leads the way and I insist on taking up the rear, because even though Finnick is the strongest, he is carrying Mags with one hand and his trident in the other. My bow is at the ready and I could easily shoot down anyone who tried to come at us.

When we have walked a mile, Finnick requests a rest, though I feel it is for Mags's benefit than his. Still, I don't fight him. I'm just as exhausted and my stomach has begun to ache with hunger and dehydration. My legs have dissolved into jelly. The sun beats down on us and I find myself slowing down very quickly when we start moving again. Even Finnick notices. "Are you okay Katniss?" he asks, pausing. Up ahead, Peeta and Mags keep walking.

I lick my dry, cracked lips. Dehydration is already getting to me but something else is wrong too. Maybe I caught an illness in the Capitol. Or maybe the lack of food combined with no water is slowly killing me.

"Fine," I pant. "Maybe you should take up the rear." He does so without another question, waiting for me to walk ahead slowly before he starts moving again.

Painstaking minutes pass. I am close to collapsing when Peeta's knife swings out and slashes at some vines. Everything then happens much too quickly.

There is a short, sharp zapping sound – the most horrible sound ever – and Peeta is flying backwards, the scent of crisp flesh filling our nostrils. He lands with a heavy thud and I'm by his side within seconds. I run my fingers over his mouth and I can feel no warm oxygen being expelled. "Peeta, Peeta, are you okay?"

Peeta's eyes are closed. I bring my hand down his chest and there is none of the steady rise and fall that I have come to know. I press my ear against where his heart should be. I should hear the stable rhythm of his heart beating. But I hear nothing. There is nothing but silence underneath my ear.

"Peeta!" I scream, ripping it from my throat, not caring how loud I am. Peeta cannot be dead. The words 'Peeta' and 'dead' are simply not synonymous with each other. I shake him, hoping I can stir him but he is limp in my arms. "Wake up Peeta! Please."

Finnick is beside me in a flash, Mags resting against a tree not too far away. "Let me," he says, pulling me off Peeta's body. I watch as he studies Peeta for a second, then pinches his nose shut.

At first I think Finnick is trying to kill Peeta, finish him off. I lurch toward him, ready to hit every inch of him I can reach but Finnick seems to sense this and shoves a hand out, pushing me back. I fall back heavily and I cannot bring myself to get back up. Then Finnick lowers his mouth to Peeta, like he's kissing him, and I frown.

But he's not kissing him. He's breathing oxygen into Peeta's lungs. I've seen my mother do this before, when a patient's heart temporarily stops beating. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I just hope Finnick knows what he's doing. He seems to know. His hands move to Peeta's chest and he begins to pump, hoping to restart his heart with the force of his hands.

I watch as Finnick continues his ministrations, pumping Peeta's chest with a very set rhythm, alternating to breathe into his mouth. Minutes pass and my chest shakes with the sobs building up within my body. He's dead. He's not coming back. I have lost him. I have failed. Salty tears spill down my face until I can barely see. Everything is distorted into blurs of colour.

I cannot lose Peeta. I cannot lose Peeta. I cannot…..

There is a sharp, excruciating sensation in my lower abdomen. Is this just the pain of dealing with Peeta dying? Or I have I been shot by another tribute?

I don't want to look away from Peeta, and his lifeless, unmoving body. But I have to because out of the corner of my eye, I can see a flicker of red. I look down.

Blood is trickling down my thighs.