Suzanne Collins is acknowledged as the creator of the Hunger Games characters and story.
This series of 6 or 7 part stories is a sequel to Katniss and Cato: Love in Dangerous Waters s/10188003/1/ but can also be read as a standalone series.
Episode 1: Adversity
1.1: Keep her safe.
It is mid-winter. Fuel for heating is scarce and everyone here in District Eight is struggling to keep warm. The new peacekeepers mercilessly punish anyone caught foraging for firewood. Even so, many risk it. Cato among them. He refuses to let me share the risk "in my condition". That doesn't stop me worrying about his safety every time he goes foraging immediately after we finish work at the factory where we work. Besides, being pregnant isn't a disease; I can still function perfectly normally.
Six months have elapsed since Cato, Clove, Rue, Finch and I escaped from the 74th Hunger Games arena. We had help, of course. Sarah and her colleagues from Le Chat Noir made our escape possible and convinced the Gamemakers the five of us had died. That left my fellow tribute from District Twelve, Peeta Mellark, to be crowned the victor. We went our separate ways once Sarah got us away from the arena. Clove went to District Thirteen, while Finch and Rue joined the free settlers living in the frozen lands to the north of Panem's borders. Cato and I decided to remain in Panem. We have made a new life together here in District Eight using the false identities provided by one of Sarah's colleagues. Sarah presumably returned to creating virtual reality worlds for wealthy clients to play out their fantasies without leaving the comforts of the Capitol. It was her expertise in creating and operating these imaginary worlds that enabled her to make the virtual Hunger Games arena where Cato and I supposedly died.
Sarah was helping us for her own interests as much as ours. President Snow wants her to secretly build virtual arenas for future Hunger Games to avoid the huge cost of building real arenas. Unknown to all but a handful of people, the final stages of the 74th Hunger Games were played out in a hastily constructed virtual arena which proved the concept could work. Our survival is only due to Sarah disobeying the Gamemakers orders to have defeated tributes executed in the chamber where our real selves were placed. I don't know if the 75th Hunger Games will be played out in a virtual arena or not. Cato and I are probably the only people outside the Capitol who know such a possibility exists.
I haven't heard from Sarah since our escape, particularly after I turned down her offer to work at Le Chat Noir. Which makes the note pushed under our front door all the more surprising. The note is on the back of a business card from Le Chat Noir. A plain piece of card with a motif of a seated black cat on one side. No name; no address; no contact details. The note isn't addressed to anyone and it isn't signed, but the black cat motif and reference to the numbers, the significance of which only Sarah, Clove and I know, leaves me in no doubt it comes from Sarah. As usual her message is cryptic … another clue about the source and that the message is genuine. 'Expect Nadia. Keep her safe. 28-75-16.' I don't know anybody called Nadia and I haven't heard Sarah talk about anyone with that name.
Unfortunately I have more immediate concerns. The growing insurgency in the districts has not gone unnoticed by those in power. Ruthless purges have followed. Almost the entire peacekeeper force in District Eight has been replaced by what can only be described as a band of legalised thugs. Over the last month, several people prominent in the underground movement have been arrested. None have been seen since. Cato and I have scaled back our involvement in the movement until the peacekeepers ease off their hunt for suspects. Some of those fearing arrest have gone into hiding. Information about people's movements is only shared on a need-to-know basis to minimise the damage should someone be arrested. Rumours say the torture and truth drugs applied to an arrested suspect are beyond the means of any normal person to resist.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Cato finally returns with enough wood to last for a few days. It is nearly nine o'clock when he arrives home. Despite his best efforts, his normal calm and confident manner has clearly been shaken. I suspect he has had a close call and only narrowly escaped arrest. I know better than to push him for an explanation until he is ready.
"The peacekeepers are out in force tonight," he volunteers by way of excuse for his later than expected return.
"Do you think we should leave here and hide in the woods until things quieten down?" I ask Cato later, when we are together in bed.
"No. It will attract the peacekeepers attention. I don't think things are that bad just yet. Besides, living in the woods in the depths of winter is just as dangerous. From the information I can gather the peacekeepers are simply doing what they do every year. They are clearing out any potential troublemakers ahead of the Hunger Games Victor's Tour. Peeta will begin his tour in a few weeks. … Now, enough conversation about all the troubles. This is our private time."
Cato is a stickler for rules about our time together. Not talking about worldly problems while we are in bed is one of them. My feelings towards his rules have evolved over the last six months from mild amusement to slight irritation to general acceptance. Not that I necessarily obey his rules, nor does he expect it of me. My obedience or disobedience to his rules merely determines what games we play while we are alone. Sometimes I think he creates new rules just to make up new games to play.
By any girl's definition Cato is strong, muscular and extremely desirable. Outwardly he is arrogant and only too happy to display his charms to any passing female his age … and a few who aren't. At first I worried our relationship wouldn't last. More than once I caught his roving eyes watching some well endowed young woman encouraging his attention. I felt inadequate in the feminine attributes department. But Cato has only strayed with his eyes and over the months I've come to know him better. I gradually realised his outward display is simply for show. The real Cato is a lot more caring and thoughtful … and incredibly hot!
The fact we are still together has nothing to do with the two obvious reasons we should be together. You may think our union is essential to ensure we each keep the secret about our real identities. That Catlin and Katherine are who our false identity papers say we are, and any similarity in appearance to two deceased tributes from the 74th Hunger Games is purely coincidental. But we don't need to be together to keep our secret. I trust Cato, and Cato trusts me, without reservation.
Nor do we stay together because of the second obvious reason … because our baby is growing inside me. On the contrary, Cato has more than once tried to persuade me to contact Sarah in the Capitol and belatedly accept her offer to work with her at Le Chat Noir. He has this notion that I would be safer and better looked after in the Capitol, even though Cato couldn't be with me. I've refused point blank to consider such a course of action and reminded him of the vows we privately exchanged.
So why do we stay together? We aren't married … at least not in the legal sense. Our false identification papers may not stand up to the rigorous examination they will receive before the legal authorities approve a wedding. Nor do we stay together for mutual protection. We have each proved ourselves capable of looking after ourself on numerous occasions. Indeed, being together increases the risk of our true identities being discovered. The potential fallout from that discovery would be widespread and deadly.
The answer is simple. We need each other at a more primal level. Cato and I have what can only be described as a very physical relationship. Cato satisfies a hunger inside me I didn't know I previously had, and he seems more than satisfied with my efforts to reciprocate the pleasure. Before I met Cato I would often think about being intimate with a boy … so often I began to wonder if I was normal. My journey of discovery with Cato has taken both of us to new levels of ecstasy. I can no longer bear waking up in the morning without Cato's warmth beside me. Nor do I feel ready to get out of bed until our morning ritual of 'waking the beast' is complete. And once woken, the beast needs to find a warm and welcoming cave in which to burrow. I suppose you could say we love each other, but my feelings towards Cato aren't what I imagined being in love would feel like. It's as though Cato and I are a single being.
Today is Sunday. It's the one day in the week we don't need to go to work at the nearby factory. I'm busy reviving the beast for a third time when we are disturbed by a light knocking at our front door. We could easily ignore it, but some sixth sense tells me I should see who it is. Cato clearly doesn't agree but nevertheless allows me to untangle myself from his body and put on my rarely used nightdress. I open the front door to find a tall blond haired girl about my age standing on the step.
"Hi. I'm Nadia. I believe you are expecting me."
