I just wanted to send out a big thank-you to everyone who's reviewed so far! Your words inspire me to keep on writing!

~~0~~

Biting my lip, I bat a tangle of black hair out of my face and squat down further. Parched earth burns beneath my palms. I lean in closer to the mouth of the tunnel, on the alert for any sign of life.

"Find anything in there?" Arkel calls from behind.

"Just a moment." The contrast between the darkness of the burrow and the sunlight outside renders it impossible to see anything. It's not that which troubles me, however.

"I don't think so," I confirm grimly, pushing myself back to my feet. The last burrow on the ledge is as troublingly silent as the others. "Completely empty."

Arkel huffs. "Drat."

We awoke this morning, the fifth day of the Games, to find that none of the tunnel-rodents would leave their burrows when provoked. Suspecting they might simply have learned from the fates of their companions, we set to work investigating every hole for its occupants. However, the search has proved fruitless. Not only is there no sign of any of the creatures, but the usual telltale sounds of scurrying and rustling are absent as well.

I scrunch my mouth to one side, thinking. This is certainly poses a challenge to our plans to remain hidden, but I don't want to make a rash decision, either. "I'd say we should still stay here. At least for the time being. We've got the leaves, and it's more important to have water than food anyway. Who knows if we'll be able to find some anywhere else?"

Of course, the lake by the Careers' camp is the only other water source we know of, but I don't feel it's necessary to point that out. Neither, apparently, does Arkel.

"More to the point, if we leave, we're bound to run into some of the others. I'm sure that if worst comes to worst, Beetee will send us some food. Make sense to you?"

"I guess," Arkel concedes, "but…"

"But what?"

"It's just that-" He casts a glance in the direction of the open plain that makes up most of the arena. "I don't know, it's been a while since there were any cannons. Don't you think – maybe there's a reason those things disappeared?"

He has a point. No one's had their turn in the sky since Orford's district partner died around noon yesterday and we realized we were the final ten. Judging by training and interviews, she was a fierce competitor, too. Which leaves just us two and presumably the boy from Six as the only non-contenders left.

I'm brought back to what Arkel said regarding the deaths of the other tributes. Something more to keep them distracted. Wouldn't want them to get too bored with us, after all.

The words are as brutally honest now as they were then. We've survived this long due to our location and our ability to survive on what little it offers, but a hiding place is worthwhile only as long as the Capitol allows it to be. Now the Careers have purged the forest all but clean. The audience must be itching for more action. And why send your beloved pack out on an arduous trek when you can force two other tributes out of hiding with the touch of a button?

We're the distractions now.

"You're right," I admit quietly. I'm not sure why – it's not as if the Gamemakers would punish us merely for acknowledging their interference. "They're trying to flush us out."

Arkel nods vigorously. "Exactly."

As much as I hate going along with the Capitol's plans, I have to agree it'd be suicide to stay. Still, that doesn't mean we can throw caution to the wind. "Running out of here without thinking isn't going to do us any favors either, though."

He cocks his head. "What're you saying? Should we wait?"

"Just until it gets dark," I explain. "It'll give us some time to figure out where we're going to go and what all we need to bring. Not to mention it'll be easier to travel when it's not so hot out."

Arkel seems lost in thought, so I add, "Only if you're okay with that, though."

"No, no, that's a good idea," he acknowledges. "It'll give us the advantage of not being easily seen."

"And we don't have to worry about running into the Careers, since it takes so long to get here that we'd see them coming from a long way off beforehand."

"Good point."

We hurry back up to the top of the mesa and begin sorting through our supplies. There's not too much for us to carry. Apart from our arena uniforms, all we have are my water-carrying contraption and Arkel's drawstring pouch. Stripping the three shrubs of their leaves occupies a relatively pleasant half hour. It doesn't matter now if we completely bare the branches; in fact, it's probably best that we make our presence obvious, just in case the Careers come along once we're gone. However long they spend investigating this place is time they won't be spending chasing us. With that in mind, I take care to snap off a few branches at precise angles and stack them up neatly to the side, as if left by a tribute interrupted in the process of gathering kindling.

After watching approvingly for a few moments, Arkel straightens up and surveys the surrounding plains.

"Wondering where we should go?"

"Close." He squints, one hand blocking the sunlight. "More like figuring out where we shouldn't."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Come over here, I'll show you."

I rise to my feet and stand beside him, trying to figure out what exactly is captivating his attention. My ally's gaze is fixed resolutely on the expanse of land behind the mesa. He moves as if to position me in the right direction, then seemingly decides against it and extends a finger towards the sky.

"Right there – can you see it?"

My forehead scrunches in concentration, but I can't make out anything, and the sun-glazed blueness soon stings my eyes. I shake my head.

Arkel shuffles closer beside me, still pointing. "Look harder. Maybe, uh, thirty degrees up?"

It takes a while of squinting, but eventually something – is it just the heat? – appears to flicker in the air. Experimentally, I close my eyes, then attempt to locate it again. Yes, it's definitely there – some sort of luminescent square, like a window in an invisible wall, wavering in place.

Arkel must notice my jolt of excitement. "Know what that is?"

I'm about to answer 'no,' but all at once, it comes together. Somewhere Arkel says we mustn't go. Hints of a glass-like barrier. Last year's Hunger Games. "It's a forcefield."

"Exactly!" My district partner's face is aglow; it strikes me that perhaps I'm the first person he's shared this knowledge with. "They're usually invisible, but not if you know where to look. Like a chink in the armor, or something."

"Did you know this from-" I begin without thinking. Arkel doesn't miss a beat.

"My work? Yeah. The Peacekeepers'd put them up around dangerous machinery or really valuable imports, so we'd have to know how to tell if they'd been lifted or not. You can get a nasty burn if you run into one, and then there's, you know-"

I nod swiftly. Neither of us needs to bring up the way Haymitch Abernathy used his arena's forcefield to deflect a Career's weapon back at her and win the second Quarter Quell. There's no sense in either of us heading in the direction of something so potentially dangerous, especially if it blocks us from travelling further.

"So, we won't be going that way…" I conclude rather lamely, looking back at the wide stretch of arena we've already crossed. There doesn't seem to be any place to hide which one of us hasn't already been to. "Do you think there's any point in going back to the forest?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it? If the Careers have already searched it, it'll be the last place they'll expect."

It sounds risky, but I can't deny its brilliance. "You said there was shelter there?"

He tilts a hand back and forth. "Not much, but more than anywhere else. There'll be enough for two people at least."

"Sounds good, then." I nod in affirmation. "After all, what better place to hide than right under their noses?"

~~0~~

The day ambles on like an overloaded wagon, too preoccupied with its own slow crawl to send so much as a breeze our way. It's not long before repeatedly verifying which route we're going to take to the woods, ensuring our campground looks sufficiently lived-in, and making note of all the supplies we have to carry has become mind-numbingly tedious. I return to the burrow, while Arkel says he's going to try one more shot at getting some food and sets off for the ledge.

I lie on my back in the cool dust, eyes on the disc of sky visible through the tunnel entrance. How much longer until we can leave? We seem to have been getting fairly normal amounts of sunlight versus darkness in the past few days; overlooking the abruptness of nightfall itself, it's seemed rather regular. I have no way of knowing if it'll stay like this, though. I'm not even sure how much time has passed since we woke up. It only feels a little past noon or so–

Someone screams.

Heartbeat skyrocketing, I fly out of the burrow and sprint down the path as best I can without my feet sliding over loose gravel. The noise was faint, but there's only one person I know who's close enough for it to have been heard. Relief washes away some – but not all – of the panic as I realize Arkel is at least not under attack, but squatting by one of the burrows, one hand clutched in another.

"What happened? Are you okay?" My words stumble over each other.

He grimaces up at me, tightening his hold on his wrist. The tips of his knuckles whiten. "Y-yeah. I think so. Something in there" – a brief nod at the tunnel – "got me, but it doesn't feel too ba-"

"Oh, Panem." I shoo him out of the way and crouch down to peer inside the hole, careful not to let my own hands stray too close. Predictably, nothing can be seen. Motioning for Arkel to back up, I grab a fist-sized rock and smash it against the soil above. It caves in, sending its occupant scuttling out in a frenzy of shiny black shell and scuttling feet. My weapon slams down instinctively.

A thrill of horror prickles into my throat as I examine the remains of the creature. Wicked pincers. Too many legs. A large stinger, dangling above its head and curved to a sinister point. I don't know its name, but whatever it is, I've certainly never seen anything like it before.

No more distractions, I think again. They really want us gone.

Arkel's groan recaptures my attention. Spinning back towards him, I reach for his tightly-gripped wrist. "Here, let me see it."

"N-no!" He flinches away. Rather sheepishly, "It hurts."

"Which is why you need me to do something about it," I mutter, too concerned to voice any irritation. "Please, just hold still."

Reluctantly, he complies. Maneuvering my fingers as gingerly as if I'm connecting two wires, I slide his right hand away from the other. I'm not quick enough to disguise my sharp intake of breath. What can't be more than a minute-old wound has bloomed into a lump the size of a large pea, worryingly white and topped with a purplish puncture mark.

"Is it bad?" Arkel asks anxiously.

I bite my lip. Although I've dealt with my fair share of minor scrapes and cuts in the factories, and I spent some time at the first-aid station in training, neither of those taught me how to deal with what could very well be poison. There are no venomous animals in District Three. Dad and my schoolteachers often warned us about toxic berries growing on the outskirts of the district, but those were a whole different matter, and I never ventured far enough from home to encounter them anyway.

"I don't know," I admit, attempting to comb the worry from my voice. What have previous tributes done in situations like this? Many have been poisoned, certainly, but I can't recall any surviving … I think the venom has to be sucked out? What if I accidentally swallow some? How could I be sure it wouldn't kill me, too?

"Don't ask why," I say briefly before clamping my lips around the swelling and sucking in.

Arkel jerks in surprise, yanking his hand away before I can even tell if I've made any progress. "Wha – what are you doing?"

A flush of anger darkens my skin. "I don't know, trying to get it out? Isn't that what you're supposed to do? I thought I might have seen some tribute-"

"Well, what if it gets in to you?" Arkel retorts, just as baffled as I am. His eyes drop back to the wound. "I don't think there's much good you could have done, anyway."

"W-why?"

"Just look."

Scrutinizing it more closely, I realize that he's right. What I took for the indentation of a sting is in fact a tiny scab. The opening has already healed itself up. Whether this is natural or some cruel mechanism of a Capitol mutt, I have no idea. Only one thing is clear. With resolution, I make up my mind.

"Forget about leaving. We're not doing any travelling. Not until you're positive you feel okay."

Arkel protests as I haul him to his feet. "But Wiress – the Capitol-"

"Still has eight other tributes to entertain them." My mind reels at the brazen callousness of my own words, but the shock comes from behind a steel wall; there is no place for it now. "What more can they do, anyway? They've already made their point. Come on, we're going back to the bush-burrow."

He doesn't make another sound apart from the occasional whimper as I steer him back up the path. About halfway up I remember he's capable of walking without my assistance, but my hands stay firmly around his back and under his arm. This ends up coming in handy when he has to get into the shelter without putting weight on his injured hand. After an awkward struggle, he tumbles into the corner, with me dropping in a moment afterwards.

"All right," I find myself mumbling repeatedly, rifling through our meagre supplies. No painkillers, no antivenom, nothing even that could act as gauze… "All right. We'll just make do with what we have for now, and Beetee's bound to send us something if we really need it. Right?"

No response. My head swivels in Arkel's direction, even though I'd barely taken my eyes off him for a minute. He's still in the same position, sprawled on his back with a death-grip around his wrist. "Right?"

"Right."

Hurriedly, I rip apart the bottom section of my tank top – fortunately, the fabric is elastic enough to substitute for bandages – and grab a handful of leaves from our bag. Cracking a few in half, I dab some water on the puncture wound. Then I chew up several of the juicy green sacs, spit out the mush, and spread it gently over the infected area.

To be honest, I have no idea whether or not this will do anything, but it makes sense to keep the skin cool and soft, if nothing else. Maybe the leaves will even draw the venom out somehow? Something in the back of my mind nags that it's a false hope – if this plant was some sort of antidote, surely it would have been mentioned in training – but I need to have something to cling to. More than that, Arkel does as well.

"That should keep it from stinging too badly for a while," I explain, trying both to emulate Talee's typical confidence and to forget that the last time I heard it she was telling me I wouldn't be reaped."I'm going to do the bandages now."

"Mm-hmm."

While stretching out the long strip of cloth, it occurs to me that I'll have to put a bit of pressure on the bulbous wound. "This might sting a little bit, Arkel. Do you have anything you can squeeze if it hurts too much? To help you get through it, you know?"

He shakes his head.

"Not even your district token?" Granted, the metal screw isn't exactly what I had in mind, but, as Arkel said himself, it's better than nothing.

"Nah, they confiscated that. Said it was too much like a weapon. As if I'd even be able to get close enough to another tribute to even use it."

Indignation cuts like a knife. The Capitol had to take away even that little bit of home, and in the name of leveling an irreparably unbalanced playing field?

"That's a shame," I say, which doesn't seem enough but will have to do.

"Don't worry about it. I'd say it was just a piece of junk, but you'd probably tell me not to put myself down or something like that."

"Correct." Forcing a half-smile that mirrors Arkel's own, I start wrapping the fabric around his hand. He tenses up when it presses against the swelling, but I let him grab my own hand until the worst of it has passed.

"There," I say when it's all finished, smile perhaps a bit too wide to seem genuine. Arkel's attention is fixed on the burrow's wall, anyway, so him noticing is the least of our worries. "I'm going to get some water now. We can put it on the poultice to keep it fresh. You could use a drink, too."

"Thanks," he intones weakly.

I try to think of something reassuring to say, but can't decide on anything before hoisting myself back out and setting to work beneath the glare of the omnipresent, deridingly parachute-less sky.

~~0~~

"Arkel?" My voice hovers around a whisper as I plop back into the burrow, tin container of water clutched carefully in my hands. For a moment I take the silence to mean he's gone to sleep, but this hope is dashed when he gives a faint, dull reply.

"You're awake?" I settle the water-carrier into my lap and scoot as close to him as the tapering ceiling will allow. "How are you feeling?"

"Lousy." Thirst encrusts his voice. "Do you have the water?"

"Yeah, of course." Trying in vain not to spill any, I mold the bowl's rim into a crude spout and pour some into Arkel's mouth. Droplets rain all over his face. Apologetically, I tip it backwards to lessen its deluge.

"No, no, don't stop," Arkel mutters. "It's all right. It's way too hot in here anyways."

"Really?" I frown. The burrow provides the only real respite from the baking sunlight outside. I'd thought that the dirt and shade would help cool him down. Setting down the water, I lay a hand against his forehead.

"Agh, don't!" My district partner thrashes. "You're burning!"

I could say the same for you. My hand comes away slathered in sweat. Now that I look more closely, his arms and calves are slick with perspiration as well.

"This is probably the coldest place in the arena," I say helplessly. "Would it help if you took off your shirt?"

"I don't think it would do much difference," he responds, tugging at the thin, sleeveless garment with his good hand. "I just want more water – please."

We go through the entire container and Arkel still complains of the heat. I try rubbing the leaf poultice over his forehead, sprinkling cool dust onto his skin, simply drenching him in another bowlful of water; nothing makes any difference. Midway through the third bowl, he suddenly motions for me to stop.

"What's wrong?" Pulling himself into a seated position, he slices a hand frantically through the air in a 'shut up' gesture. Bewildered, I can do nothing but watch as he sinks onto his hands and knees and attempts to crawl towards the opposite end of the den. I realize what's going to happen a moment before he spasms and vomits.

Arkel groans and attempts to shift dirt over the little pile, but I coax him back to where he was lying. Lifting a hand to his lower throat area, he collapses once more onto his side.

"That's enough water for now, then," I say, for lack of a more intelligent comment.

Groaning, Arkel nods agreement.

"You'll dehydrate really quickly, though, with all of that gone – do you want me to go get another-"

"N-no," he wheezes, shaking his head feebly. "Too nauseous. Honestly, it's not even the thirst that's that bad. 'M just boiling. And sore all over. I can hardly swallow, anyway, there's so much spit welling up-" As if to prove his point, he jerks yet again and deposits a fresh spattering of saliva. This one is bright red.

Unable to watch any longer, I thrust myself up into the sunlight. There must be thousands of cameras on me now, each lens another eye in the great blue dome. Beetee is behind one of them. "Sponsors!"

No parachute descends.

"Sponsors! Antidote! Antivenom!" The ensuing silence only spurs me on. I scream until I am hoarse. "Painkillers? Beetee, please!"

Nothing.

Beetee could not possibly misunderstand. If there was any doubt before that Arkel's in danger, it's certainly been dispelled by his vomiting fit. Perhaps Maybell's the one in the control room? I don't find it too hard to believe, given her apathy towards both of our lives, that she could watch all of this unfold without lifting a finger. But – no, Beetee wouldn't allow that. Would he? I don't want to believe it. Not after what he told me about Cherise, about all the other tributes he's mentored…

The only other explanation infects my mind, seeping like toxic fumes past my frail barriers of hope. We must not have enough sponsors.

I don't even realize that I've stumbled back into the burrow until I'm shaking Arkel's drawstring bag upside-down, furiously searching for anything of use. Its contents refuse to spill out. No – wait – they're scattered all over the ground, the matches and purifying tablets and the knife. The wretched knife, infuriating in its uselessness, its stark contrast to what we need the most. And all the while the bag is mocking me, the loose cloth proclaiming that this is all we have, all we have, all we have…!

Tossing it away, I return to Arkel. He doesn't acknowledge my approach. A touch of his unharmed wrist confirms that his pulse is soaring. Saliva bubbles up in the corners of his mouth with each ragged breath. As I reach to daub more water on his forehead, I notice with a sickening jolt that his gaze doesn't even follow my hand, but wanders erratically around the far end of the burrow.

"H-hey! Arkel! Don't-"

I don't even know what I want him to do. Wake up? He's still conscious. Get better? I'm not the Capitol. I can't command the world to stop with my words alone.

"W-Wiress?" Arkel's voice is laced with confusion. "Where did you – how long were you gone?"

"Just a few minutes, getting some fresh air," I hasten to explain. No need to tell him about our lack of funds. "Why; did you fall asleep?"

"I don't even know." Arkel attempts to shift, but his legs can't seem to do much else but twitch sporadically. "I can't really tell. It's like I keep blanking out, and then I don't know whether it's been minutes or hours or … is it even the same day?"

It can't have been more than a few hours since he was stung. "Yes, definitely."

"Huh." Any further pondering is cut off by another bout of violent contractions. Trying to ignore the feel of dirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, I just manage to pull him over onto his side before he moans and vomits blood again.

"I don't suppose it's going to get thrown up, too?" I ask guardedly.

He can't speak for several moments; when he does, his voice is frighteningly weak. "D-don't think so. Didn't drink it, after all."

"Well…" Unwillingly, I cast a glance back at the silver blade in the dust, then to his bandaged hand. The lump has swelled grotesquely, staining the wrappings an ominous maroon. "Do you want me to – to cut it open? Try and suck it out again?"

"Wiress."

"What?" My words tremble, as if struggling to balance atop a knife's edge. "It's the best we have right now! It – it might still work, you never know! There's nothing-"

"Wiress."

Feeble as it is, his tone is strong with something I've never wanted to hear. Finality.

"Wiress, it's okay." He rolls back onto the ground, a pained smile briefly widening his face. "You – you've done enough for me already."

"What?" Time suddenly progresses too quickly; I'm frozen in its wake. This can't be happening. He can't be giving up already. I never wanted this moment to come; I knew deep down that it would, but not so soon, not now, not like this–

"I mean it, Wiress. J-just go. They'll find some other way of making you leave if you're not quick enough." A long, shaky breath; he hacks up more blood. "You d-don't always have to be the hero."

"Me, be the hero? You're the one who's trying to act noble! You can't honestly want me to just – just leave you here. Not really. I know you. You don't want to be alone."

Arkel sighs and averts his gaze. I'm sure I've made my point clear enough. He won't ask me to leave. He knows I can't.

"You're right," he finally says. His voice is barely audible. "I don't want to be here, all alone, in pain, for – for however long it takes. I don't want that. If you – if you r-really want to do something for me, can you – can you-"

He points shakily at the jumble of supplies beneath the bush-burrow hole, then draws a single finger across his own neck. I know what he means almost immediately, but it's a moment before it sinks in.

"N-no way." I try to scramble backwards. "Absolutely not. You – you know what I said! You know I'm not going to – to do that! I wouldn't stoop that low!"

"It's not like that," he insists. "It wouldn't count as a kill; not in the way they think it is. I know it's not because you – you don't care."

"If you know I care, then you wouldn't ask me to do this!"

"Nobody will hold it against you, Wiress. I promise I won't. I just – I don't want it to keep going like this for so long, I don't want my brothers to have to watch f-for so long, I don't want-"

"That's just the poison talking! You're in a panic because you're going to – because you think you're going to – to –"

Composure fails to maintain its foothold; no coherent words will come. The burrow dissolves into a blur of warm wetness. How can he ask this? Has nothing I've said, nothing I've done, for him made any sort of impact? Can he really envision me picking up the knife, holding it steady, tossing him away with a flick of the wrist?

"Please, Wiress." A blood bubble bursts and inches down Arkel's chin towards his collarbone. Slowly, slowly.

"No." I force my gaze away from his throat, with its naked, vulnerable skin. "If you're going to keep pressuring me, I'm not going to listen anymore."

My hands find the entrance hole and I force myself out. It's dark outside. I hadn't even noticed that night had come. Unconsciously, I fumble about for the gentle slope that signals the downwards path and plant my feet there. Not leaving but not staying. I can't do either. I can't even move.

Arkel begs for me to return, but to no avail. With each strangled cry I see myself giving in to his pleas. My own hands curling around the handle of the knife. The blade pressing against his throat, parting the skin effortlessly, drowning amidst the spurt of red. I'm so close I can feel him crumple, the heat fleeing from his body as vividly as if it's leaving my own. On screens throughout the country, accompanied by the cheers of the Capitol and the mourning of my own district, the words 'Arkel Schmidt' fade and reappear beneath 'Wiress Bentell.' My kill list.

The condemning letters sear themselves into my mind. Every minute, every second of the rest of my life, his name would blaze beneath mine, the only lasting tribute to a boy who became so much more than just a jumble of letters before I reduced him to the same.

As the night drags on, his pleading trails off into apologies, then more retching, then silence. Perhaps he's fallen asleep. That would be a relief for both of us. I'm not sure how much longer I could have stood here, listening to his agony without –

A cannon fires.

No – no, it's not him – it could be anyone else, anywhere in the arena – there's no need to assume –

The stench surges to greet me as I stumble into the burrow. Blood and sweat and diarrhoea and I don't want to know what else. Something's splayed out on the ground, limbs at awkward angles, but it's cold and stiff and not human, and it won't move; no matter how much I shake it, no matter how much I scream at it –

What's that, growling and scratching at the tunnel entrance? It's some sort of animal, some ravenous hungry beast that wants him, but I won't give him up. That would make it real, that would deal the final blow in a way I swore not to.

The hovercraft claw rips out the bush, tearing away our ceiling in a shower of dirt and twigs. Nothing more stands between us and the black night sky. I cling to the thing that used to be Arkel, but the greedy metal hand is stronger. It pulls. I can't hold on.

"N-no! You can't take him! Give him back!"

A girl's voice is screaming with inhuman grief. The metal claw ascends.

"Give him back!"

But the hovercraft does not obey, and there's nothing I can do but collapse into the bloody dirt and pray that sleep is merciful enough to take me quickly.