Chapter 21
I feel numb. I become frenzied, stabbing the knife in to the monkeys back over and over again, until it releases its jaw. I never wanted to anyone to die, and now inexplicably this woman has sacrificed herself to save me from the jaws of death. Just like Mags she died because of me. Well no, she died because of the Capitol. The thought of what the people in the Capitol will be doing right now sends fury burning through me. They're betting probably, laughing at those who didn't make it through the bloodbath. Avidly watching the star crossed lovers from District 12.
I kick the mutt aside, bracing myself for more.
"Come on, then! Come on!" I shout, releasing a fraction of my anger.
But something has happened to the monkeys. They are withdrawing, backing up trees, fading into the jungle, as if some unheard voice calls them away. A Gamemaker's voice, telling them this is enough.
"Get her," Katniss says to me. "We'll cover you."
I gently pick the morphling up, her wide eyes darting to and fro with panic. I carry her the last few yards to the beach, and lay her down in the sand. Katniss cuts away the material at her chest revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, making them look far less deadly than they are. The real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I feel certain the beast ruptured something vital, a lung, maybe even her heart.
She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child's dead of starvation. Surely she could afford food, but turned to the morphling just as Haymitch turned to drink, I guess. Everything about her speaks of waste—her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes.
"I'll watch the trees," Finnick says before walking away. Katniss has taken one of the woman's hands, and so I crouch on the other side of her stroking her hair. I try to remember all that I knew of her, how she loved to paint. All I ever saw of her during training was her painting swirling pink flowers with the dye.
"With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water." I say softly.
She stares in to my eyes, hanging on my every word. It's then that I notice what a startlingly deep shade of brown her eyes are. She may once have been beautiful, but a lifetime of nightmares and drugs have taken that away from her.
"One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of colour. One by one," I say.
The morphling's breathing is slowing into shallow catch-breaths. Her free hand dabbles in the blood on her chest, making the tiny swirling motions she so loved to paint with.
"I haven't figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air," I say.
My words have had the desired effect. Entranced, she reaches up and paints something on my cheek.
"Thank you," he whispers. "That looks beautiful."
For a moment, the morphling's face lights up in a grin and she makes a small squeaking sound. Then her blood-dappled hand falls back onto her chest, she gives one last huff of air, and the cannon fires.
I lift her up again, and carry her to the water. The morphling floats out toward the Cornucopia for a while, then the hovercraft appears and a four-pronged claw drops, encases her, carries her into the night sky, and she's gone.
Finnick rejoins us, his fist full of Katniss's arrows still wet with monkey blood. He drops them beside her on the sand. "Thought you might want these."
"Thanks," She says, and she goes to the water to wash off the gore. Finnick and I turn to face the jungle, the floor still littered with monkey carcasses. And then, the vines shift, and there is not a trace of orange fur in sight. Katniss returns a minute later.
"Where did they go?" She asks.
"We don't know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone," says Finnick.
We stare at the jungle, numb and exhausted. In the quiet, I notice that the spots where the fog droplets touched my skin have scabbed over. They've stopped hurting and begun to itch. Intensely. I scratch the damaged skin on my face, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort.
"Don't scratch," Katniss says, "You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try for the water again?"
We make our way back to the tree that I'd been tapping. Katniss and Finnick stand guard while I work the spile it, but no threat appears. I've found a good vein and the water begins to gush from the spile. We slake our thirst, let the warm water pour over our itching bodies. We fill a handful of shells with drinking water and go back to the beach. The sky is still dark, but dawn can't be far away.
"Why don't you two get some rest?" Katniss says. "I'll watch for a while."
"No, Katniss, I'd rather," says Finnick. I glance over at him, at his face, and realize he's barely holding back tears. Mags. The least we can do is give him the privacy to mourn her.
"All right, Finnick, thanks," She says, and we lie down in the sand together.
I fall asleep almost instantly, pulled down in to a land of unconsciousness.
Seconds later, or so it seems to me, someone gives my shoulder a slight shake.
"Peeta. Peeta, wake up," she whispers, and my eyelids flutter open, only for me to jump back in horror.
"Aah!" I yell, recoiling backwards. Katniss and Finnick had pressed there faces inches away from mine, their skin tinged a hideous grey-green colour. The two of them fall back in the sand laughing their heads off, whilst I glare at them disdainfully. Then a parachute lands next to us, containing a loaf of bread.
Finnick turns the bread over in his hands, examining the crust. A bit too possessively. It's not necessary. It's got that green tint from seaweed that the bread from District 4 always has. We all know it's his. Maybe he's just realized how precious it is, and that he may never see another loaf again. Maybe some memory of Mags is associated with the crust. But all he says is, "This will go well with the shellfish."
My skin still itches intensely, but Katniss helps me slather it in some ointment that Haymitch sent whilst I was asleep. The itching subsides immediately, and Finnick deftly cleans the meat from some shellfish that he caught. We gather round and eat the delicious sweet flesh with the salty bread from District 4.
We all look monstrous—the ointment seems to be causing some of the scabs to peel — but I'm glad for the medicine. Not just because it gives relief from the itching, but also because it acts as protection from that blazing white sun in the pink sky. By its position, I estimate it must be going on ten o'clock, that we've been in the arena for about a day. Eleven of us are dead. Thirteen alive. Somewhere in the jungle, ten are concealed. Three or four are the Careers. I don't really feel like trying to remember who the others are.
I have no desire whatsoever to return in to the confines of the jungle, its trees seem to offer danger instead of protection. I'd much prefer to stick to the shore of our little beach, and since the others don't say anything on the subject, I don't either. For a while the jungle seems almost static, humming, shimmering, but not flaunting its dangers. Then, in the distance, comes screaming. Across from us, a wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate. An enormous wave crests high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It hits the existing seawater with such force that, even though we're as far as we can get from it, the surf bubbles up around our knees, setting our few possessions afloat. Among the three of us, we manage to collect everything before it's carried off, except for our chemical-riddled jumpsuits, which are so eaten away no one cares if we lose them.
A cannon fires. We see the hovercraft appear over the area where the wave began and pluck a body from the trees. Twelve, I think.
The circle of water slowly calms down, having absorbed the giant wave. Then Katniss speaks.
"There," she says softly. Finnick and I follow her gaze, and as if by previous agreement, we all fade back into the shadows of the jungle.
The trio's in bad shape—you can see that right off. One is being practically dragged out by a second, and the third wanders in loopy circles, as if deranged. They're a solid brick-red colour, as if they've been dipped in paint and left out to dry.
"Who is that?" I ask. "Or what? Muttations?"
Katniss doesn't say anything, but draws back an arrow, ready for attack. But all that happens is that the one who was being dragged collapses on the beach. The dragger stamps the ground in frustration and, in an apparent fit of temper, turns and shoves the circling, deranged one over.
Finnick's face lights up. "Johanna!" he calls, and runs for the red things.
"Finnick!" I hear Johanna's voice reply.
I exchange a look with Katniss. "What now?" she asks.
"We can't really leave Finnick," I say.
"Guess not. Come on, then," she says grudgingly.
The two of us tromp down the beach to where Finnick and Johanna are just meeting up. As we move in closer, I see her companions, but I don't immediately recognise either of them.
"She's got Wiress and Beetee." Says Katniss confusedly.
"Nuts and Volts?" I say, equally puzzled, if there was ever a more unlikely alliance it was these three. "I've got to hear how this happened."
When we reach them, Johanna's gesturing toward the jungle and talking very fast to Finnick. "We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field."
"I'm sorry, Johanna," says Finnick. It takes a moment to place Blight. I think he was Johanna's male counterpart from District 7, but I hardly remember seeing him. Come to think of it, I don't even think he showed up for training.
"Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home," she says. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudges Beetee, who's barely conscious, with her shoe. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"
We all look over at Wiress, who's circling around, coated in dried blood, and murmuring, "Tick, tock. Tick, tock."
"Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock,"says Johanna. This seems to draw Wiress in her direction and she careens into Johanna, who harshly shoves her to the beach. "Just stay down, will you?"
"Lay off her," Katniss snaps.
Johanna narrows her eyes in anger, "Lay off her," she hisses. Then she steps forward and slaps Katniss hard across the face. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—" Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her out into the water and repeatedly dunks her while she screams a lot of really insulting things at Katniss.
"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss asks me.
"I don't know. You did want them originally," I remind her.
"Yeah, I did. Originally." She says, "But I won't have them long unless we do something."
So I lift Beetee up in my arms, whilst Katniss takes Wiress by the hand, and we go back to our little beach camp. We sit Wiress in the shallows, so that she can get cleaned up, but she just clutches her hands together and occasionally mumbles, "Tick, tock."
Katniss unhooks Beetee's jumpsuit, and finds a heavy metal cylinder attached to the side with vines, which she tosses up on the sand. His clothes are glued to him with blood, so I hold him in the water whilst Katniss loosens them. It takes some time to get the jumpsuit off, and then we find his undergarments are saturated with blood as well. There's no choice but to strip him naked to get him clean.
We put down Finnick's mat and lay Beetee on his stomach so we can examine his back. There's a gash about six inches long running from his shoulder blade to below his ribs. Fortunately it's not too deep. He's lost a lot of blood, though—you can tell by the pallor of his skin — and it's still oozing out of the wound. I have no idea what to do, but I can tell by her expression that Katniss's brain is buzzing away to find a solution. I can't help but think of how the expression on her face is the exact same as her mother, on the night that Gale got whipped.
"Be right back," She says, getting up and pacing towards the jungle. She's back minutes later carrying an armful of moss.
She makes a thick pad out of the moss, place it on Beetee's cut, and secure it by tying vines around his body. We get some water into him and then pull him into the shade at the edge of the jungle.
"I think that's all we can do," She says
"It's good. You're good with this healing stuff," I say. "It's in your blood."
"No," She says, shaking her head. "I got my father's blood. I'm going to see about Wiress."
She helps Wiress, while I stay and watch Beetee. By the time We've rinsed out Beetee's jumpsuit, a shiny clean Johanna and peeling Finnick have joined us. For a while, Johanna gulps water and stuffs herself with shellfish while I try to coax something into Wiress. Finnick tells about the fog and the monkeys in a detached, almost clinical voice, avoiding the most important detail of the story.
Everybody offers to guard while the others rest, but in the end, it's Johanna and Katniss that stay up. I'm still feeling the after effects of hitting the force field, so I lie down without hesitation.
My dream is hazy, as if my eyes have become out of focus. I see the children that occupied my dream on that night back in the Capitol. Only this time, I never catch up with them to see their faces. They run, laughing through a forest, with me behind. Every time I brake in to a run, they get faster, always beyond my reach. Then I reach a clearing, where the little boy and girl are standing smiling. I reach out a hand, to touch the boys face, when I'm shaken awake. The ghosts of my children still lingering before my eyes.