I'm pleased to present the latest chapter, out fairly soon after the previous! Thank you to everyone who continues to read my story, I really love the support and knowing that people are enjoying it. Enjoy the chapter!
-Pneuma
I hit the ground, hard, but not as hard as Cato who is beneath me. I roll off of him as quickly as I can, even as I feel a pair of strong jaws rip into my right calf. I reach back for an arrow, and not bothering with the bow ram it down into the dog. It doesn't even take five seconds before it goes limp and still on the ground. The poisoned arrowhead is more effective than I thought it would be. Good. The dogs haven't started in on Cato yet, but some of them have noticed that I've got company and are shifting their direction towards him. Half and half. I wonder who will go down first.
I roll underneath another dog as it lunges forward at me, and manage to bring an arrow out and dig it into the dog as I move out from under it. Another dog is there to meet me even as my second hits the ground, dead. Its teeth sink deep into my right shoulder, and I wonder if the dog is smart enough to know that this could ruin my ability to grab the arrows. I bring my left arm up, hand still locked around the bow, and jab it in the side of the head with the side of the bow as hard as I can. It gives its head a little shake, ripping into my shoulder, but opens its mouth to yelp in pain. I've hit its eye.
Blood is drenching my side and running fast down my arm now, but I focus. I will not pass out here. If I die, I will die fighting and not because I was easy prey. I reach back yet again, through searing pain that makes my vision blur and grab another arrow. Before this dog can get its teeth back into me somewhere I stab the arrow into its side. Pain nearly blinds me as a new dog takes its place and a new set of teeth sinks into my side. A scream threatens to break out of my mouth but I grit my teeth and go back for another arrow.
And another.
And another.
My flesh is being torn up and mangled worse than the big cat from the forest back in District 12's claws on my face. I reach back again and feel around in the quiver, but find it empty. I'm all out of arrows. I can hear Cato's screams some distance away, gurgling and gasping like Clove's. I know he is fighting the dogs just as I am, but he didn't have any weapons to start. A thought hits me, and I realize that the moment one of us dies, the dogs will leave. I'm an idiot for not killing him at the start, but then I realize something else. That wouldn't be exciting enough for the Capitol. Too quick. Too painless. Too bloodless. Either way I would end up as dog food. At least this way I'm not trying to get rid of all of them. Just half. I have a better chance.
I hear more yelling, but this voice is different from Cato's. It's Peeta. I can barely make out a word he is saying, but I manage to figure it out in time.
"I'm coming down!" he yells.
"You…stay!" I scream back, and then the scream is interrupted by more teeth at the back of my left leg. My mind is racing, terrified that Peeta will come down from the Cornucopia, and I know, because I know Peeta, that if I don't find some way for him to help then he will come down. I reach out with both hands, even though I can't grab the next dog with my left hand, and flip it over onto its back, then stab the end of the bow hard into its stomach. The end is pointed enough to sink in, and I discover that my weapon is multifunctional. The dog writhes in pain and I repeat the motion into its throat, effectively ending its life. As I do this, my mind whirrs through possibilities and I hit on one. "Peeta! Rose perfume! Open it and throw it down near me!"
I don't hear any reply, because another set of teeth narrowly misses my right ear and I take the opportunity to stab it in the throat with the bow. Another one down. I wonder how Cato is faring, and hope, in a way that disgusts myself, that he is doing much worse than I am. Then I see a flash shine as light reflects off the glass of the perfume bottle. It drops by my feet, open and reeking of roses so strongly that even I wrinkle my nose and feel nauseous. The dogs around me howl and back away. I reach down and pick up the bottle that is still half full, and retreat back towards the cornucopia, but to the side opposite Cato.
The dogs follow, but slowly, slowly, and at a distance. A dog's sense of smell naturally is much more powerful than a human's. These mutts, I have a feeling, probably have an even more heightened sense of smell courtesy of the Capitol. Which means that the strong smell of this perfume is excruciating for them. A powerful weapon. I finally reach the side of the Cornucopia and pour a generous amount of the perfume in a half circle around me, creating a barrier of scent. I save some of the perfume in the bottle, just in case. A couple of the dogs push forward another foot, whimpering, but are unable to get close enough to get a bite out of me.
Peeta's hand appears, reaching for me, and I raise my right arm and grasp his hand in my right hand. The burning, ripping, piercing pain I feel as Peeta raises me up, ledge by ledge, to the flat top of the Cornucopia makes my vision swim and become so terribly distorted that I close my eyes to shut it off. At last Peeta hoists me the last time and lays me carefully out onto it. I hear his voice dimly through the rushing in my ears, and try desperately to understand what he is saying, but it hurts my head.
I am dimly, faintly aware of Peeta wiping blood away from wounds again and again and wonder how many bites I've had torn out of me by the horrors below us. I barely feel the needles as they puncture into various parts of my body. It takes multiple applications of the numbing cream to make me sane enough to understand what Peeta is trying to say to me.
"Don't die…please don't die…please stay…you can make it…don't die…I'm right here…please don't die…" he repeats, over and over as he moves from one wound to the next, wrapping them tightly to put as much pressure on them as he can. Cato is still screaming but it's distorted, either by me or by the wounds he is getting from the dogs. The group that was set on me has most likely switched to him. Now that I am away from them, I feel horrible for wishing that he was faring worse than me. My wish has come true.
"Peeta," the word comes out garbled. He turns his head to look at my face, and I see the trails of tears that have streaked down his face, cutting through the dirt. "This…is torture…but…I'll work…to stay…for you." Each word is hard to produce, hard to get out of my mouth. Peeta nods, and I see that he is crying still. I am silent and focus on breathing. Soon after, the dogs drag Cato into the Cornucopia. All day, and then all night, his screams reverberate beneath us, becoming more and more mangled as time passes.
"I might go insane," Peeta whispers quietly, and I understand him. The sound of Cato's suffering is chilling.
"Peeta…knife…get it out…be ready," I choke out as the night continues on. Maybe, if he has the opportunity, he could throw it down and kill Cato to end his pain. Peeta seems to understand what I mean, and pulls out the two knives that are stowed in the backpack. Only minutes later, the sound of something being dragged out of the Cornucopia floats up to us, and Peeta stands and moves to the edge. A slurred gurgling, then a thud, then another thud, then silence.
A cannon fires.
It seems that Peeta hit the target.
"We won," he whispers, walking back to me, gently pushing the leftover long chunks of hair away from my face. They've been plastered down with blood, but unstick from my skin more easily than I expected. I smile weakly back at him.
"Yes," I murmur back. But I know the truth. We haven't won. Yet. The berries seem to almost glow through their pocket in the backpack. The arena is quiet.
"Why aren't they announcing the victors?" Peeta wonders out loud.
"Maybe…the body…we have…to leave," I suggest weakly. How I'm going to get down from the Cornucopia, I don't know.
"Maybe," he responds. He gently lowers me down the tail of the Cornucopia, level by level, until we reach the ground, then he carries me over to the lake and sets me on the ground, propping me up against him. More silence. "What are they waiting for?" he mutters, sounding angry, and I see that his eyes are flicking from one injury to another across me. And then, there it is.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," comes Claudius Templesmith's voice, booming through the arena. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."
"No," Peeta's voice cracks. "I can't lose you…doesn't this just make sense though…of course they would…what a riveting finale." He stands, and I slump over onto the grass, then attempt to prop myself up as I watch him walk to where one of the knives sticks out of the grass. The other is embedded in Cato's chest.
"What…are you doing…" I choke out. He reaches out with the hand to gently stroke my cheek, and I know I'm crying.
"I can't kill you, I won't kill you. I want you to live. So…I'll kill myself instead," he says.
"Idiot," I cough. "I'm nearly dead anyways, why waste yourself?"
"Because I love you and I won't let you die," he responds fiercely. He raises his hand, knife firmly grasped in it, and moves it towards his chest. Using all the strength I can muster, I move my already damaged left hand up and stop the knife before it reaches its intended destination.
"Stop. If you…kill yourself here…I'll just…kill myself…later," I say. It's the truth. There is no way that I'm going to live without Peeta. It's time to bring out the last resort. "Let's…do it…together…use the nightlock." Peeta's eyes widen, then he nods.
"Okay," he murmurs, leaning me back against him. He unzips the backpack and retrieves the little pot with the remaining berries in it, and pours a handful of them into my outstretched palm. Then he pours himself a handful. I turn my head to look at him, and he looks back at me, gazing steadily into my eyes. "On the count of three. One."
"Two," I say.
"Three," he finishes, and together we raise the berries to our mouths. Before they can all make it into my mouth, the voice of Claudius Templesmith crackles back to live.
"Stop! Stop!" Peeta and I both cough out berries, spitting out saliva onto the grass. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present to you the victors of the Seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games! Tamsin and Peeta, the tributes from District Twelve!" Peeta quickly drags me to the lake and helps me rinse my mouth out, then rinses out his own. I'm crying, and he's crying, and the screaming and cheering of the crowd back in the Capitol is ear-splitting.
I look down and realize that the bandages Peeta has wrapped me in are not holding back the amount of blood pouring out of my wounds. I look like a blood soaked mummy. And with my adrenaline starting to dissipate, I feel just as weak as one. The ointment he used to numb me makes it possible to think, and the shots I received keep me from getting infected. But neither can stop the blood. When the hoverjet whirrs down and lowers the ladder, I attempt to stand, but nearly collapse to the ground. Peeta catches me very carefully, scoops me up, and carries me to the ladder. Once he's on, he guides my right hand to part of it to freeze me in place.
The ladder rises faster than I remember it moving last time, and we reach the opening all as the screams continue to blare and echo through the arena. Then there are people in white lab coats, gloved and masked, pulling me away from Peeta. I don't want to let go, and use every ounce of my remaining strength to cling to his hand. He holds on tight too, and other pairs of hands work to pry us apart. Even though we are both weakened severely, and I am dripping blood all over the floor, they can't seem to unlock our fingers.
"Please…let him stay…please…" I plead, my voice sounding strange and far away. "I need him." Several pairs of eyes, some of them from dyed and altered looking faces, stare down at me.
"Let him sit in the corner," one gruff voice says, and I'm guessing that this person is the one in charge. "Are you sure you want to watch this?" the last part is addressed to Peeta. "It could get…difficult for you."
"I'm staying," Peeta responds with ferocity in his voice that I didn't know could be there. This decides the matter.
"Plinius, clean him up and put a coat on him," the same gruff voice instructs, and Peeta is steered to the corner, as we've finally released each other. I keep my eyes on him though, and he keeps his eyes on me. I keep my eyes on him until the world goes black.