Chapter 21

It takes a while for me to get it, but Katniss patiently explains it all to me. The berries I had picked were not the same as those we had back in the cave. The ones I had laid out for us to eat can cause death before they even reach your stomach. Apparently, Foxface had been getting by in the Games by stealing small amounts of food from others' supply stashes, taking just enough to stay alive, but not enough for most people to notice.

"She wouldn't have questioned the safety of the berries we were preparing to eat ourselves," Katniss says.

"I wonder how she found us," I say. "My fault I guess, if I'm as loud as you say."

"And she is very clever, Peeta," she says kindly. "Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her."

"Not on purpose. Doesn't seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead, too, if she hadn't eaten the berries first." But then I remember the way Katniss was rolling the berries in her fingers, and how she knew instantly that Cato was not the cause of Foxface's death. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognised them didn't you?"

She nods. "We call them nightlock."

"Even the name sounds deadly," I say, feeling stupid for almost having killed us. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered."

"Don't apologise. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" she says.

I should be comforted. But how can I be when I've just found out I've killed a girl. "I'll get rid of the rest," I say gathering up the sheet of plastic.

I'm about to fling them into the forest when Katniss calls for me to stop. She pulls out a small leather pouch and fills it with a handful of berries. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them –"

"Then hello, District Twelve," I finish.

"That's it," she says, securing the pouch to her belt.

My mind turns back to Cato. "He'll know where we are now," I say. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us."

She considers this for a moment but seems to deliberately disregard my warning, "Let's make a fire. Right now." She begins to gather branches and brush.

"Are you ready to face him?" I ask.

"I'm ready to eat. Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?" she asks.

She is very clever. I'm not sure Cato will have thought it through to that degree, but still, she is probably right. "Maybe not," I say.

I make the fire and Katniss roasts the meat from a very successful hunt; two rabbits and a squirrel. We cook the roots in the coals and take turns to gather greens. When it's done, Katniss packs it all up, leaving us with a rabbit leg each to have now.

Katniss suggests that we go a little further and climb a tree to spend the night. But I still can't think of a worse place to sleep. "I can't climb like you, Katniss, especially with my leg. And I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifteen metres above the ground."

"It's not safe to stay in the open, Peeta," she argues.

"Can't we go back to the cave?" I ask. "It's near water and easy to defend."

She sighs deeply, and I can tell she doesn't like the idea. But to my surprise, she doesn't argue. Instead, she reaches up and gives me a light kiss. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

"Well, that was easy," I say, feeling more than a little relieved.

Katniss collects her arrow from the tree and we toss some more wood on the fire for the chance it might throw our assailant off our trail.

When we reach the stream, Katniss suggests that we take our boots off and walk along in the current to cover our tracks. It's such a warm day that the water brings a welcome reprieve. We both stay on alert for signs of Cato, Katniss with her loaded bow in hand and me keeping a careful watch.

Katniss is a few paces ahead as usual and the silence between us gives me unwanted time to reflect on the events of the afternoon. I know that Foxface's death was inevitable, and I know that it was an accident, but the feeling of guilt weighs heavily. Deliberate or not, it was my actions that resulted in her death. It's not right. I had never spoken to her, I didn't even know her name. She was just a kid of no more than about fifteen years old. How clever she was to have survived this long in the arena. It was long enough for her parents, friends, and the rest of the family to allow hope to creep in. To believe that there's a chance she will come home. It seems cruel that this same hope will now be serving to elevate the grief they must be feeling now. To extend the anger and resentment towards the stupid boy who accidentally tricked her into her death. I wish I could say something to them, tell them I'm sorry. But what would be the point? She is gone, and there's nothing I can do to make it okay.

By the time we reach the cave, the sun is beginning to set on the horizon, sending a soft glow of warm orange light through the trees. We are both completely exhausted and my bad leg is aching dreadfully. It is good to be back home though. Our little den feels like a safe haven, providing defence and protecting us from the harshness of the elements. And, having been the location where Katniss and I shared our first kiss and grew in affection for one another, the place brings forth all sorts of warm, indescribable feelings within me.

Katniss sets out a large spread of meat, roots, and greens for our evening meal. But despite feeling ravenous, I only make it about halfway through before I begin to nod off. I don't resist when Katniss instructs me into the sleeping bag and offers to take the first watch.

I don't remember dreaming. Which is a good thing because I don't think I want to recall the ways my mind creatively works through the mounting piles of guilt, grief, and fear. Streaks of grey light are already starting to creep in by the time Katniss shakes me gently awake. "I slept the whole night. That's not fair Katniss, you should have woken me."

"I'll sleep now," she says, ignoring the irritation in my voice and slipping into the sleeping bag. "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

But nothing does, leaving me with a long, awfully drawn out day to sit in silence and ponder about the ways Cato might kill us.

Katniss doesn't stir until about mid-afternoon. "Any sign of our friend?" She asks sleepily as she wakes up.

I shake my head. "No, he is keeping a disturbingly low profile."

"How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" she asks.

"Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored," I say. "I guess it could happen at any moment."

"Yes, I have a feeling today's the day," she says. "I wonder how they'll do it."

I think about the past Games I can remember. They can really do anything they like. They can cause a flood, fill the arena with all kinds of unspeakable muttations, strip the forest of the trees, or even shift the landmasses together. There's no telling what they'll do. One thing is certain, when they're ready, they'll be sure to engineer everything just right to ensure the audience is given a spectacular, brutal, finale.

"Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day," she says. "But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble."

Katniss lays out a meal while I pack up the gear. We eat the remainder of the rabbits, roots, greens, and rolls spread with the last of the cheese. All that's left in reserve is the squirrel and one apple.

As we step out into the open, I give the rocks an appreciative pat goodbye. I have a feeling we won't be spending another night here. The day has a sense of inevitability about it. It might not be the last day of the Games, but I can't imagine we'll be afforded another day of just eating, sleeping and sharing a few intimate moments together. The Hunger Games is not primarily a show about romance after all.

My suspicions about things drawing to a close are reinforced when we arrive at the stream and find it empty of water. The Gamemakers have made their first move.

Katniss reaches down to feel it. "Not even a little damp. They must have drained it while we slept," she says.

Our bottles still have plenty of water in them, but it won't last long in the heat. "The lake," I say. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe the ponds still have some," Katniss says hopefully.

"We can check," I say, but I think we both know what we'll find. The Gamemakers have chosen the location of the finale and they will make sure we get there. When we reach the pool and find nothing but a large bowl of dirt, Katniss concedes, "You're right. They're driving us to the lake. Where there's no cover. Where they're guaranteed a bloody fight to the death with nothing to block their view."

Where we are at quite a disadvantage, I think to myself. It's Cato's territory. You can be sure that he will have staked out the best hiding places and maybe even set traps for us. He'll be there already, waiting to ambush us. Maybe they are trying to level the playing field since it's two against one. But two of us against one Cato was probably still tipping things in his favour.

"Do you want to go straight away or wait until the water's tapped out?" Katniss asks.

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest. Let's just go end this thing," I say.

She nods, and I wrap my arms around her. "Two against one. Should be a piece of cake." I say dryly.

"Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol," she replies.

"You bet it will," I say.

We stand there for a long while, holding each other, feeling each other's touch. It feels frighteningly like a farewell of sorts. Or at least a just-in-case goodbye. Then, without another word, we let go and head towards the lake.

We stop to rest at the tree where Katniss sent the tracker jackers flying down to attack us. The husk of the nest still lies on the ground, beaten out of shape by the storms and dried out by the blazing sun. Katniss touches the tip of the nest with her boot and it dissolves into a cloud of dust.

We've only just gotten down a few bites of meat and a mouthful of water when Katniss suggests we move on. I don't object. Being in this place provokes unwanted venom-induced images of Cato as a terrifying monster standing poised to kill me. It makes my stomach turn and my heartrate quicken. And it's certainly not something I want to think about right before having to face him again.

The trek to the lake is not a long one, but given our late start to the day, evening is already approaching by the time we arrive. The place is eerily quiet. There's no sign of Cato, but he must be nearby. I wonder if he is crouching in the bushes somewhere, watching, waiting. Waiting for what, I do not know.

I glance around at the plain that had once been the Careers' campsite. Everything has been cleared out. The tents, the gathered firewood, the cooking supplies. All gone. The only thing that suggests anything had ever happened here is the blackened outline and shallow crater where the pyramid of supplies had stood. I smile, imagining what it must have been like to see the look on the faces of my former allies when they came back to find everything destroyed.

Katniss and I have a quick look around and check the Cornucopia for signs of Cato. Then, with nothing else left to do, we head down to the lake to replenish our water containers, as if following a script written by the Gamemakers.

The light of the fading sun reflects on the still water, illuminating Katniss's face in a gentle auburn glow. Her brow furrows. "We don't want to fight him after dark. There's only one pair of glasses."

"Maybe that's what he's waiting for," I say. If that's the case, we certainly don't want to give him that advantage. "What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?"

"Either that or find a tree. But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover," she answers.

I agree and we sit ourselves down at the edge of the lake, right out in the open. There's no sense in hiding at this point. We are as ready as we're going to be, and being a long distance from any cover means that Katniss is at an advantage with her bow.

Pretending to ignore the fact that we're waiting for someone who is trying to kill us, we sit looking the horizon, watching how the setting sun transforms the landscape into varying shades of reds, purples, and eventually blues. I wonder if it will be the last sunset I will ever see. If it is, I can at least be thankful that there's no one I'd rather spend it with.

Out of nowhere, Katniss opens her mouth and lets out a beautiful four-note melody. I haven't heard her sing since we were children. It still takes my breath away, just like the first day of school. The mockingjays on the edge of the field pick up the tune immediately, throwing the notes back and forth to one.

"Just like your father," I say.

"That's Rue's song," she says, pointing to the mockingjay pin on her shirt. "I think they remember it."

As more mockingjays join in the song, the melody becomes alive with a rich complexity of notes that overlap with one another in perfect harmony. Katniss even closes her eyes for a time to soak in the sounds. Then abruptly, disruptions in the music can be heard. Distorted shrieks ring out among the melody. The volume lifts, and the song transforms into a distressed cry of alarm.

We are on our feet in an instant, Katniss with her loaded bow, me wielding the knife. We turn to face a commotion in the woods in time to see Cato smashing through the trees. He is running straight toward us. He is not brandishing his sword. In fact, I can see no weapon at all. He appears to be charging us with nothing but his bare hands. Katniss fires an arrow right at his heart but it simply bounces off and he keeps on running.

"He's got some kind of body armour!" she shouts to me.

I face him, preparing myself to fight as he bears down on us. But the fierce boy doesn't seem to be looking at us or even register that we are here. With no attempt to slow down, Cato runs right past us, his sweaty, purple face wearing a terrified grimace. He's been running a long time, not towards us but from something.

I stare anxiously back into the woods in time to see the first horrifying creature leap into the clearing.