21
I wake with a start sometime during the evening.
The first thing I notice is that I feel much, much better. Almost like myself again. The pain in my leg is still there, but the fever is gone and I can think clearly. The second thing I notice is the needle stuck uncomfortably in my arm. When I reach down to pull it out, I notice the pool of blood.
Every other thought flies from my head. Katniss is lying next to me, out stone cold. She's pale, so, so pale, covered in blood. And that pool of blood is too big. Much too big. It's terrifying.
Katniss has left the medical kit lying near me. I grab it, opening it with fumbling fingers. I rip the needle out of my arm impatiently. It starts to bleed, but I ignore it. I have to take care of Katniss first.
Stop the bleeding. That's the first thing I have to do.
But stopping the bleeding turns out to be more difficult than I originally thought. No matter how many bandages I place on the cut over her eyebrow, it almost immediately soaks through. It's such a thin cut but is bleeding so badly. I put as much pressure on it as possible. It keeps bleeding, bleeding . . . and I know if I don't stop it soon Katniss will have lost too much blood, and I'll have lost her.
I can't let that happen.
After I go through about four or five of the white cotton bandages (which are now stained red) the bleeding finally slows and starts congealing. Encouraged by this, I take a real look at the cut. It's nasty-looking, thin but deep. It's not the only cut on her face. There's a tiny thin cut on the edge of her lip. It's not half so bad as the one on her forehead and doesn't really require attending to. I wrap a bandage around her head.
I sit back, looking at Katniss lying there in the pool of her own blood, so pale. Almost dead. Because of me. Because of my stupidity. I know this will haunt my nightmares, for years if I'm lucky enough to live that long. For a night or two if that's all I have left. If that's how long the Gamemakers will let us stay in this cave. If they will let us live that long. If they let us both live.
A nagging thread of doubt works its way into my brain at this thought. If they let us both live . . .
Then I realize that Claudius Templesmith might not have been entirely truthful about that rule change.
But I push this terrible idea to the back of my brain for now. I can worry about that later.
For now I'm hungry for the first time in days. In fact, I'm starving.
I remember that groosling that Katniss offered me and I dig it out of her backpack. I all but inhale three pieces of it before I realize it might be a while before Katniss can hunt, given the shape she's in. I'm still hungry, but I leave the food alone for now. I know I'll have to make it last.
I return my attention to Katniss. A spot of blood has already soaked its way through the cotton bandage. I sigh, worried. I have no idea what to do about this. I said before my knowledge of healing extends to stick a band-aid on it. And I think this will require a little more than a band-aid.
A rumble of thunder rolls through the cave. I look towards the entrance. Katniss has built a wall of rocks with a small hole to go in or out of. I peer out of it, and am immediately hit with one raindrop. Two. And then, almost immediately, it starts to come down in sheets.
I know from watching the Hunger Games my entire life that this is no natural storm. It is engineered and designed by the Gamemakers, just like that wall of fire was. All to make the game more interesting. Part of this must be for us. The audience most likely wants the romance thing to continue, and the best chance for that to happen is for us to stay in our cave.
At first I'm grateful, because this rain means that it will be next to impossible for Cato, Clove, Thresh and Foxface to find and hunt us. It means the Gamemakers have decided to give us some peace and focus their attention elsewhere. Perhaps this is meant to flush out one of the other tributes, force them to confront one another. With some luck, they'll kill each other off.
We're reasonably well-hidden in this cave, and there's no way I could move Katniss anyway, so there's not really much point in relocating. If there are any other tributes nearby, then our last defense is hiding. Frosting. The final defense of the dying. I let out a snort of humorless laughter.
I change Katniss's bandage again, and a drop of water hits my hand. I look up. The rain has leaked through the rocks. If it gets any worse it will start to be a steady stream of water. I still don't have the strength to move Katniss, so instead I wedge the square of plastic over the leaks to divert most of the water from falling on top of her.
The floor of the cave is a mess. I realize I should probably try to clean up as much of the blood as I can. I place the pot underneath one of the largest streams of rain water to fill it up, and toss the bloodiest bandages and the pair of bloody socks lying next to Katniss into the pot to wash them off. Then I take the rest of the bandages, not the clean, unused ones, those I save for Katniss's wound, but the ones that are not too badly soaked are up for grabs. I start to dab up the majority of the blood on the ground. It takes several wringing-outs of the cloths in the water before I've got it to where it's livable.
Then I look over the rest of Katniss, make sure that nothing else is injured. Her boots and socks are soaked. I take them off. Her feet are like ice. She must have ran through the stream on her way back from the feast to cover her tracks. I tuck them into the sleeping bag, and hope that will be enough to warm them up. She's also wearing my jacket. It, too, has blood on it. I unzip it after dabbing up the blood, unzip hers underneath as well, and am relieved to find she is uninjured. But her skin is so cold. I tuck the jackets close around her, and wrap her up in the sleeping bag. She's still so pale. I'm afraid to do anything else to her. I'd most likely just make it worse. The best I can do is keep her warm and change the bandage.
I brush the hair out of her face, guilt swallowing me. I did this. Through my stupidity in trusting her to keep her word. My fault. My fault this happened. I guess I'm just lucky she's not dead. The cut on her forehead was no accident. She got in a fight. From the clean line of the cut, I'd say it was most likely a knife that did it. And the current Hunger Games knife specialist? Clove.
I was right. Clove was gunning for her. After her because of me. I have cost Katniss a whole lot of trouble. Too much trouble. I hate that she risked her neck to save mine. Not because I owe her my life, but because I know she'd risk her life for me. This should cause some sort of thrill that she cares about me that much, but it doesn't. Honestly, it scares me. I don't want her to risk her life for me. My most important goal is for her to survive, and her willing to die for me threatens that.
I hear the beginning notes of the anthem. I go to the hole in the rocks and peer outside towards the sky.
The screen is distorted somewhat by the rain, but the face of the day's dead tribute is very obvious. It's Clove.
Anthem. Seal. Gone. Just like that. I draw away from the rocks, and sit down besides Katniss. I place a hand on her hair and start absently running my fingers over it.
So. Clove is dead. It's a relief to know she won't be hunting us anymore. That she's gone for good. I wonder if Katniss killed her. That would make the most sense, given the cut over her eyebrow. But if, indeed, Katniss killed her, then we have another problem to deal with.
Cato will be hunting us. Hunting us, I know, because he will want revenge. Similar to the way I wanted revenge when I thought Katniss was dead. Not exactly the same, though. He will want payback, because due Clove's death he is now alone.
But hopefully he'll be too busy with Thresh to bother with us. That's the only thing I can do about it, is hope he'll leave us alone. And keep a watchful eye outside.
I look down at Katniss. I'll have to keep a watchful eye on her, too. She lost so much blood . . .
The feast was at dawn, and when I woke up it was evening. I can assume Katniss has been out that whole time. Based on the fact that the syringe wasn't even out of my arm, she barely got back here in time to give it to me before she passed out. So the question is, why hasn't she woken up yet?
I can understand while she was still losing blood, but it's slowed considerably. Perhaps it will just take some time. Blood takes time to regenerate, right?
I look to the medical kit for help. The only thing in there is leftover fever pills, bandages, the burn medicine, and some of those leaves Katniss used on the tracker jacker stings. The fever pills will probably do more harm than good. She's so cold already. I'll need all the bandages I can get. The leaves and burn medicine won't do me much good either. And Katniss isn't likely to wake up and tell me what to do anytime soon.
I run my finger along the edge of her bandage. Her face is so still and pale that she might be dead. My chest tightens.
Don't think like that, I tell myself. Katniss is not going to die.
By keeping my fingers over the pulse in her neck I'm able to reassure myself of this. Though it's weak, it's there, and even. Her skin is still so cold, like the warmth has been taken right out of her. I wonder if this is because of the chilly temperature or the amount of blood she lost.
Lightning flashes in the mouth of the cave followed shortly by the thunder. The storm is getting worse.
I spend a while watching Katniss for any signs of movement. When her bandage starts to get bloody again, I replace it. I open the sleeping bag, and check her feet again. There's still ice-cold. I rub them until I see some pink. Her socks are still soaked, even though I have laid them out to dry. So I take my jacket off her, careful not to jostle her too much, and wrap her feet carefully in it. Then I tuck them back into the sleeping bag, wrapping her up tightly. I rub her arms to keep her blood flowing, but it doesn't feel like I'm doing enough.
"Katniss," I whisper, leaning in and brushing her hair back. She doesn't stir. I frown, worried. I give her a soft kiss, mostly for myself, but also because I know the audience will want it. "Katniss, wake up. Please."
I knew she wouldn't, but nonetheless I'm disappointed. I leave it alone for now.
Most of the night passes like this, changing Katniss' bandage, keeping her warm, keeping watch outside. Mostly I worry a lot and spend the night fretting, waiting for Katniss to wake up. Gradually, her skin becomes warmer and some color returns to her pale skin. But her feet are still like ice.
The swelling in my leg goes down, and the more time goes by the better and stronger I feel. The pain has almost completely disappeared. Whatever Katniss shot up my arm seems to have cured me. And I realize she's going to be impossible when she wakes up, because she'll think she was right in going to the feast.
The storm doesn't let up all night. It's not so difficult to stay awake tonight as it has been before because I'm able to stay busy, but the night still seems to drag. At long last, the darkness outside turns grey.
I peer outside, and hear the birds calling to one another through the rain.
Somewhere, a mockingjay sings a four-note tune.
A/n: I know, this chapter isn't very interesting. I was going to skip it entirely because Katniss is at the feast and Peeta's on the frigging moon in the book, but I'm waaaay to much of a perfectionist to skip over a chapter, so I did this instead. The most interesting part (I think) is the mockingjay thing, and I suppose I should explain it. I thought it would be cool if there was a mockingjay that remembered Rue's whistle and sang it when Cato killed Thresh. Kinda cool, right? Yeah, I know, I'm awesome, hehe :P anyway, please leave a review!~gfg