(Boston's POV)

I'm a wreck. Burned, scarred, hopeless. If I were to have an encounter with any of the other tributes, weak or strong, I would undoubtedly lose.

The past few days have been silent for me, but there has definitely been action in the other parts of the arena. Both from Twelve seemed to die over night and the girl from Thirteen must have had a run in with the remaining, dispersed careers because I heard screams off in the distant during the random, yet glorious, rain storm.
An unsettling feeling creeps over me as I rest my back against a rock. Agony from my blood blisters shoots up my spine, but I ignore it, not caring. The feeling of discomfort crawls up my shoulders like spiders, and I know it's not just my pain. A voice in the back of my mind screams at me to run, but I don't, and instant regret tells me I should have as the hand clasps over my mouth and I let out a little squeak! My entire life flashes before my eyes as the tribute's hand squeezes my lips.

"Shhh." I hold in any other noises, but don't give up on trying to wiggle free. The hand loosens, and I let out a gasp, trying to collect air. I turn around to see the tribute, unarmed and just as helpless as I am. Burns trailing her arm. A bloody gash on her forehead. She's not trying to kill me.

"I won't hurt you," she says, putting her hands up as if she's surrendering. It's the girl from District 2, and I can tell she's not lying. She really has no intention of damaging me any further.

I stand up, no longer trembling, no longer worrying I don't have another moment. "What do you want, then?" I say.

"I want an alliance," she says.

"What about the rest of careers?" I ask. "How do I know you're not setting me up and they'll corner me in my sleep?"

"I may be from District 2, but I'm human, you know. Not every aching bone of mine wants to kill. I'm not a bloodthirsty monster."

"But don't you want to survive? I thought once you're in the arena, friends is just another word." I can see by the pain in her eyes that she's right. She does want to survive. And she knows she can't do it on her own.
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"I have some ointment for your blisters," she says as she removes a metal canister from her pack. I glance at her skeptically, but as she screws off the lid and begins to coat my arm with the icky, vile colored and vulgar smelling cream, I can feel the pain leave my body. The most satisfying feeling. I find myself begging for more as she covers my blisters. After my skin, or what's left of it, has been turned a sickly green, we trade and I coat her arm in the stuff. She didn't get it too bad.

"Thank you," I say, relieved. "Sponsor?"

"Yeah. I've gotten a few since the blood wave split me up from the rest of the careers.

"How many careers are left?" I ask, hoping she can give some range on my chances.

"Honestly, I'm not sure." The night was quiet, at least where I am. Two cannons woke us both up in the middle of the night, and the faces of the boys from Nine and Six, unwilling and forced, screamed at me as if I should have helped them.
From what I can tell so far, I can trust Tara. Possibly. I'm actually not sure. But I'm still alive.

"What about your brother?" I ask.

"He's our there. Somewhere," she says as she looks down, passing me another beef stick from her pack, which I graciously accept. "All I really know is that the boy from four is dead, and the girl from one is undoubtedly still alive. I haven't been paying attention to the faces in the sky." I nod, trying to recount what I know.
Nine in the bloodbath. The boy from Four. Both from Twelve. The girl from Thirteen. The boy from Three. The boys from Six and Nine.

"Wait." I more so saying it for myself, but I grabbed Tara's attention too. "The night of the bloodbath, right before the anthem started, a cannon went off. One of the female tributes died. I think. But I know it happened. They didn't show her face in the sky that night, though." I look at her for an answer, but she doesn't seem to be following. "You would know," I say. "You're a career." A flash of recognition crosses her face.

"I don't remember who that was. I think it was the girl from Eleven?" She seems embarrassed. Like she's killed all the dead tributes. Well, she's probably killed a good chunk.

"Why didn't they show her face that night, then?" I ask.

"I think it's because they only show the Fallen from the bloodbath on the first night. Maybe you missed it?"

"No," I say, certain. "There were only nine tributes in the sky that night."

"Oh, well then they must have just done the bloodbath victims." Makes sense. I accept the response. I add the girl from Eleven to my list. The Capitol isn't wasting any time with these games. We're barely three days in and the majority of the tributes are dead.

"That makes seventeen out of twenty-six tributes. Dead," I add.

"What?" Asks Tara.

"There's only nine of us left," I confirm.

"Oh," she says, and goes back to her food.

"Don't eat that all tonight," I say. She's been plowing through it all night. It's like she's never had too little to eat. Wait. She's always had enough. Never mind.

"Sorry," she says. "I didn't even realize I had eaten that much." She stuffs the almost empty bag of jerky into her bag and pulls out two bloody, long machetes. "You get some sleep." No way. No matter how tired I am, I will not admit defeat this quick.

"I'm fine," I lie, and she shoots an insincere growl my way. But she doesn't object. Clinging tightly to the blades in her hand, she slowly dozed off and immediately I'm reminded of Jonas. Just like anyone else in this arena, Tara did nothing to deserve the position she's in right now. I can only imagine her parents back home, looking at me, begging me to let her come home. But I can't. As much as I want to. Only one person can go home.

A breeze quickly kicks in and as she sleeps, Tara becomes a terrified, innocent teenager. Shaking, she begins to moan. Over what I don't know. Before I know what I'm doing, I take the blanket off my legs and tuck it over her exposed arms, and slowly she stops shaking. Even though the blanket is thin, it seems to help.

I'm about to nod off when a subtle shaking throws me on my feet. The roar from the ground gets louder as cracks begin to form on the desert floor. "Get up, Tara. Come on," I say as I violently shake her awake. She doesn't seem to have a grasp on the situation until she sees the cracks slithering our way like a nest of snakes poised to kill.

Before I can say anything else, she's grabbed our bags, filled them up with our strayed supplies, and slung them over her shoulders. She doesn't waste anytime. And I don't blame her because the cracks are getting wider and longer and I know if we don't run now they'll suck us into the game makers void of darkness.

After running for what seems like forever, my side is burning and Tara us short of breathe, leaving us no chance but to stop. I rest my back up against a wall and as I lean into it, my mind finally processes. We both glance over at the wall as a series of other walls grow around us, turning the arena into some sort of maze. And we're trapped in the middle of it.
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"What. In. The. World," Tara says in intervals.

"They're speeding us up. They're ready for the games to be over," I say. This is where I die.

"How does a maze get the games over with faster?" She asks. "If it does anything, it separates the tributes."

"Actually it brings us all closer together," I say, remembering something like this from games a couple years ago. "We don't know where we're going. We'll be wandering the maze and once we come in contact with another tribute, we'll have no chance but to fight." Reality sinks into as soon as I let it out. I shake my head and sink into the wall of green vines.

"No. No no no," Tara says, over and over. "I was supposed to go home. I just want to go home!" Her knees buckle as she falls to the ground, tears falling down her cheeks.

"It's okay, we'll get out of here."

"Don't make any promises," she says sarcastically. "Any ideas you have will be completely changed. There's no point in trying. This is the Hunger Games we're talking about." Sadly she makes a point.

"Come on," I say, lifting her off the ground. "This is a promise I can make."