Chapter Ten
Katniss
Clove gapes at Cato for a moment before reluctantly following him. She shoots Katniss a pointed glare that clearly says, "I'm not done with you." Katniss shrugs; she has more pressing matters than a fifteen-year-old with a fixation with knives.
She motions for the Capitol lapdogs to keep quiet and carefully raises herself, balancing her weight on the heels of her bare feet. The dirt feels crumbly underneath her, the dry soil crunching softly underneath her toes. She grips the mossy boulder with her fingertips and peers over its top.
Judging by how fast their pursuers were going (they were quite slow), they should be arriving any second now. Katniss is dimly aware of Cato's shoulder brushing her left one as he looks over the boulder.
"Why are we here?" Katniss stiffens, bending down slightly as she watches the leaves at the end of the path rustle. The voice is high and feminine, the vowels dropping off quickly in a Capitol accent. Are they in the Capitol? How did the explosion transport them?
A caramel hand brushes aside the rest of the damp leaves, revealing a dark sleeve and then a full head of slightly wavy black hair. It's a young man; Katniss estimates that he's around twenty. He holds the branches back for his partner, a slender woman with delicate features. Katniss furrows her brow, taking in her clothes; she wears a full-bustled skirt, the shining fabric catching on the various bushes that line the forest. Why is she wearing a dress in the forest?
Capitol idiots.
It's not like any dress she's seen before, but it still looks vaguely familiar. Katniss frowns as she struggles to place it – maybe she's seen it at school…?
She's distracted from her thoughts when the man speaks.
"You didn't have to come, Isabella. You know my walks are always through the forest," he says. The voice is honeyed, a bit too smooth for her liking. It's the voice of a politician, someone who is used to getting his way. Katniss tightens her grip on her bow. Out of the corner of her eye she sees that Cato is tightly holding his sword, his arm muscles bunched up as if he's debating whether or not to leap out and attack them. She rests a hand on his elbow, and Cato shoots her an annoyed look before loosening his hold. It won't do to attack them now; they should find out who they are first.
The man gazes intently at the ground, pausing at the area where they veered off to the right.
"Odd," he murmurs. The girl huffs with annoyance, tapping her gloved hands against her cream colored bodice impatiently.
"What?" she asks.
"I thought for sure there would be people ahead of us," he says almost to himself. He straightens, his eyes trailing to the side. Katniss catches her breath; he can't possibly know where they are. She made sure to cover their tracks with leaves.
"No one comes to the forest. You're the only one foolish enough to risk the muttations," the girl says wearily. She's really beginning to get to Katniss's nerves. She's too whiny, and she obviously hasn't had a hard day in her life. By the looks of those pristine white lace gloves, she's never had to volunteer for a game to the death or worried about shooting the next squirrel to survive.
The last bit of her words catches Katniss's attention. She thinks back to the long snake muttation from before and shivers; is it possible that there are more muttations left in this forest? Where are they? By the sounds of their accents, they're probably near the Capitol. The girl tosses her gleaming auburn hair over her shoulder, accentuating the creamy paleness of her skin.
"Jasper. Let's get home. You have your game making stuff to attend to, and I really must get back to my embroidery," she complains. Embroidery? Something's nagging at Katniss's brain, but she can't place it. She wishes she'd paid closer attention to her school lessons…
And what's this about game making? He looks far too young to be a game maker, although she supposes with all the Capitol technology he could really be much older in reality. She's sure there are some treatments to make people look younger. After a moment Katniss dismisses the notion; he's too fluid in his motions. Even the cosmetic surgery cannot alter the strength of youthful bones.
The boy – Jasper – ignores her, taking a step closer towards the boulder. Katniss catches her breath, her body freezing. What does she do? Should she run while she still has the advantage of surprise? Or wait and hope he leaves?
She doesn't need to decide, for Cato explodes over the boulder and swings his sword down in a gleaming arc that is surprisingly elegant for such a brutal move.
She curses the Capitol lapdog's rashness and leaps over the boulder to support him, an arrow notched and ready in her silver bow. The girl is shrieking, the sound shrill and dissonant in the sudden quiet of the forest. Katniss points the arrow at her, narrowing her eyes as the girl turns to flee.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she calls out, her voice low and dangerous. The girl lets out an "eep" and stills, her chest heaving in fright. Katniss spots a gleam of silver out of the corner of her eye and flings her body to the side. She knew Clove would take advantage of this and try to kill her!
To her surprise, the knife whistles past her at a distance a good three feet from her body. Katniss glances backwards, her mouth opening in shock. Clove rolls her eyes at Katniss's movement before turning back to the girl, a determined glint coming to her dark eyes. The shock of the Capitol lapdog's actions wears off as Katniss focuses on the matter at hand. She turns back, her mouth dropping open even further when she sees that the knife has managed to pin the girl's dress to the trunk, efficiently trapping the girl. Katniss pushes down a spurt of fear; if Clove is this accurate and deadly, who's to say she won't kill Katniss the next time she annoys her?
She can't die. Not with Prim waiting for her. Not when she's already sacrificed this much. She readies an arrow and points it calmly at the girl's heart. Behind her she hears Clove readying another knife, and she says, "Don't kill her!"
Clove huffs, an annoyed breath spurting from her mouth.
"Why not?"
"Maybe she knows something about this…why we're here," Katniss explains before narrowing her eyes at the now-trembling girl. Clove mutters some insult about District Twelve under her breath but sheaths her knife.
Katniss chances a quick glance over her shoulder at Cato and the boy. Although Cato is stronger, the boy is almost slippery in his ability to dodge and escape Cato's grasp. With each successful escape, Cato becomes visibly angrier. Katniss watches with a sinking heart as Cato begins to make mistakes he would never have made while calm. It's odd; she's always counted on his temper as a good thing, a weakness she can exploit when the time came. But now? Now she hopes he can calm down enough to subdue the boy.
"Clove." Clove looks up at Katniss's voice, turning to look at the fight behind them. She rolls her eyes and nimbly draws out her knife, shifting her feet down into a fighting stance.
"Wait!"
"What, Twelve?"
"They're too close. What if you hit Cato?" Katniss doesn't know why she's stopped her. Shouldn't she be happy if she hits Cato? One less person to worry about. One less person standing in between her and Prim. But it's too late to take back her words, and Clove is already straightening out of her stance.
"You go then," she says. Katniss almost drops her bow; did the Capitol lapdog really just willingly give up the allure of the fight? Aren't they all about getting into every scuffle? Clove seems to sense Katniss's disbelief, and she scoffs before sliding her attention back onto the girl.
She doesn't have time to puzzle over Clove's sudden…well, it's not exactly friendliness, but it's definitely a tad better than the blatant animosity just twenty minutes ago. Katniss watches the fight for a few tense seconds, unsure of how to break it up. It's a mess of limbs and hair, the two bodies scuffling around on the floor.
Boom. Cato is on top.
Slam. The boy is now on top, slamming Cato's head against a tree.
Flash. Cato is struggling to choke the boy.
And so on until Katniss gets fed up with the fuss and narrows her eyes, aiming carefully at a tree just three inches above the bulk of the fight.
She tells herself she doesn't care if she hits either one of them, but she finds herself concentrating on her aim nevertheless.
In. Out. Release.
Zing!
The arrow flies straight and true, the metal tip burrowing deep into the bark of the tree. The sound startles the two boys into pausing. It's a brief pause, but it's all Katniss needs to fling herself into their midst. She ducks under their arms and uses her stomach muscles to yank them apart, her feet thrusting into Cato's stomach while her arms push at the boy's coat.
Clove is there in a second to stand protectively behind Cato, leaving Katniss to deal with the boy. He eyes her coolly, his eyes gleaming unnaturally as sickly yellow-blue bruises begin to stain his cheekbone and temple. She realizes with a painful start that his eyes are the exact same shade as Cinna's eyeliner. Katniss shoves this reminder away; she can't afford to linger on her past. Not now.
"Who are you?" she asks harshly, holding her serrated knife against his throat. She resists the urge to shiver when he continues to stare coldly at her, his eyes revealing no emotion.
He straightens, managing to look dignified even while under threat of knife.
"Jasper Snow."
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Cato
What? Jasper Snow? He frowns; does President Snow have a son? Almost immediately Cato dismisses the notion; he's studied Snow's family all his life and there has never been a mention of any family at all. And yet…Cato can see traces of Snow's cold demeanor in this boy. Although Snow is old and withered and this boy is young, they share the same proud stance. He doesn't like this – who is this strange boy?
He snarls, clenching his hands into tight fists. He's vaguely aware of something warm and slippery dripping down his arms, and when he looks down he realizes that his shoulder wound has reopened, Katniss's crude stitches haven torn during the fight.
He looks back up after confirming that he isn't in immediate danger, pushing the annoying twinges of pain to the recesses of his mind. He can worry about that later. Now he just wants to know where the fuck they are.
"So, Snow," he sneers, making sure the boy knows what he thinks of his supposed lineage. "What has the Capitol done with the Games? Why are we here?" To his horror his voice almost breaks at the last sentence; he can't help it. All of the frustrations and confusion of the past few days have built up to this moment. Life was supposed to be simple. He grew up with one purpose – becoming a Victor. Now that has been torn away from him – not because of death, but because of some unknown explosion? Is the Capitol toying with him? Do they think this is funny? The red haze seeps through his vision until all he can see is blood.
He flings himself at the boy, not stopping to wait for a response. All he can think about is revenge. Forward. Punch. Kick. Drop to the ground.
Wham!
A small body slams into his side, knocking him down into a nearby bush. He roars, flinging around and preparing to snap the person's neck. How dare they interrupt his revenge? He slams his arms forward. Cato catches a glimpse of gray and freezes, his hands just stopping short of Twelve's neck. He shakes his head quickly, dispelling the red haze. He isn't angry at Twelve. He's angry at…he doesn't even know at this point. Cato laughs bitterly, stepping back from the others.
His feet carry him back to the boulder and he leans against the slippery surface, his eyes still narrowed menacingly at the boy. A faint sniff sounds from his right, and his eyes snap towards the person. It's a girl around his age. She's whiping tears from her eyes with a delicate lace lined handkerchief, her full and completely unpractical dress billowing out and spilling onto the forest ground. She catches him watching her and a calculating glint comes to her eyes, swallowed quickly by a demure expression. Cato snorts in disgust and transfers his attention back to the boy.
Still…he can't help but think about the dress. Years of studying past games and Capitol history well up as he struggles to place the dress in his memory.
That's it! It looks exactly like the dresses people wore at the start of the first Hunger Games and the years prior. But why would she be wearing it? Is the Capitol in some historical kick right now? Cato hasn't bothered studying Capitol fashions…
And the boy. Cato knows Snow doesn't have any descendants. The man is too cold to even consider the notion. He watches with barely concealed rage as Jasper brushes dust from his elegant overcoat. He thinks of his own clothes – they're tattered with burn marks and crusted blood, strips of the once-smooth material clinging to his body with sweat. Twelve and Clove aren't any better, and Cato observes the relatively pristine clothes of the Capitol duo with incensed anger.
He's never really gotten angry at the Capitol before. Sure, he's ridiculed them. But he's never outwardly felt…bitterness. But now? Now he's faced through horrors and killed so many…and he can't even win the Games. Cato's hands form tight fists as he thinks about how lightly the Capitol thinks of the Games. To them, the Games aren't the only way to prove your worth, the only way to show that your existence isn't useless. To them, the Games are…well, a game. Cato twists, ignoring the shooting pains that spark up his side as his stitches rip, and punches the boulder. Slippery blood begins to slide down the mossy green surface, staining the spongy material with scarlet rivulets.
He can't take this anymore.
"What did you people do with the Games?" He looks up at Twelve's voice, a twinge of satisfaction zipping through him when he sees that she has the boy at knifepoint. For once, he doesn't feel any guilt at having let her live. Because at this point? They have a bigger problem to deal with. He can see that Clove has realized the same thing, for her attention is solely fixated on the boy and not Twelve.
The boy looks utterly shocked by Twelve's fierce words, and Cato pushes down the urge to laugh. It's nice to see someone else on the receiving end of Twelve's temper for once.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice genuinely confused. Twelve shoots Cato a bewildered look before stepping forward, pinning the boy to a tree.
"Look. We've been through enough. We've jumped through your damn hoops. Just tell us where we are," she hisses, her arm tensing as she holds the stained blade to his skin. The girl screams, her voice high and reedy as she tries to wrench Clove's knife from the tree. Cato sneers at her; honestly, she could escape if she was just willing to rip her dress. He transfers his attention away from the redhead back to Twelve and the boy.
"A mile from the Capitol," he says. Cato frowns; why are they here? How did they get here? Twelve seems to be thinking along the same lines, for she demands, "What about the explosion? Why did you destroy the Arena?"
The boy blinks, puzzlement settling on his features as he registers Twelve's words.
"The Arena?" he repeats slowly. A suspicious look slips onto his face, and he says, "What do you know about the Arena? Who told you?" His voice is fierce, and by the sounds of it no one would think he was the one currently under threat of knife. Twelve falters a bit at that, her scowl deepening as she struggles to maintain control of the situation.
"You're not really at a position to ask questions," she snarls. The boy shrugs before fluidly slipping underneath her grasp, twisting Twelve so that now she is the one pinned against the tree. She freezes, the knife dropping from her fingers as she struggles to free herself.
Cato lunges forward, his arms stretching outward as he grasps the boy's jacket. He's a bit surprised at the vehemence of his reaction, but all he can think of are the boy's hands pinning Twelve. No one can cage Twelve. No one. He slams the boy against the ground, noting with grim satisfaction that blood is welling up from the gash on his forehead. His surroundings fade out as he grapples with the boy, silently jabbing at the areas he's memorized as the weak points. He moves quickly, his arm darting forward and back in a motion almost too fast to follow. Enobaria's silky voice weaves through his mind, commanding him silently as he fights. In. Out. Duck. Jump to the left. Dart back in. Slam your hands to his chin. Duck again. Punch.
The boy might have some experience, but Cato's been training his whole life. This is what he's been made to do.
There's no way he's losing to some Capitol puppet.
Author Note: Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/etc! :D