One of the guards had just started climbing the tree when the incredible noise reverberated throughout the arena. He turns back to his colleagues, looking for direction. They motion for him to continue, and one of them steps away from the tree to investigate.
"Katniss, what's that sound?" Gale asks again.
"Mutts," I say simply, and I'm taken back to the Games. It's the same high-pitched yipping sound the wolf mutts with tribute eyes made when they were communicating with each other, intent on tearing us apart limb by limb.
"Can they climb?"
"They couldn't climb the cornucopia, but I think that's because it was metal and their paws slipped off. They may be able to climb a tree," I acknowledge, fear slipping into my voice.
I give Gale his bow and begin counting our arrows. We only have nine left between the two of us.
"Use these sparingly," I say, handing him his quiver.
"How many mutts do think there are?"
"More than nine."
He nods, fully understanding the dire situation we're in. We wait, alternating our gaze between the woods where the yipping sounds are increasing in intensity by the second and the guard climbing up the tree, approaching us quicker than we thought possible.
My fear suddenly evaporates and is replaced by guilt. Yet another person I love will die because of me.
"Gale, why did you come here. You should be in the Capitol. This was my battle."
He's on-edge, tense, preparing for the impending combat. He still thinks we might survive.
"You know, most people would say 'Gee, thanks for saving my life, Gale,' but not you. You have to turn everything into a fight." He continues scanning the forest.
"I could have killed her," I say defiantly.
"Probably. But she would have killed you in the process." He shifts his position, possibly eyeing something in the distance.
"So you risked your life to save me, only to leave us both in the hands of merciless mutts that will make our last few moments of life a living hell."
"I don't plan on dying. And it would be nice if you didn't give up so easily," he spits out at me.
His eyes dart to the guard who is not far beneath us now. He raises his bow and aims for the guard's chest.
"No, not his chest!" I scream. "There's been enough death already."
"He's trying to kill us!" Gale yells back with equal fervor.
"He's just following orders. He doesn't know who Coin was. Please Gale, a non-lethal wound."
He grunts, but shifts his aim lower and hits the guard squarely in the thigh, as I had done earlier with the other guard in the clearing. The shot knocks the guard off balance and he stumbles from his perch, but quickly catches himself on an adjacent limb. He pulls the arrow out of his leg and begins tending to the wound.
"Happy?" Gale asks, scowling at me.
I never have time to answer, though. The noises surrounding us become earsplitting; the yipping is now mixed with the thunderous rhythmic resonance of massive legs pounding on the ground in a unified gallop. The guard who ventured into the woods to investigate is sprinting towards us, fear contorting the features of his face. Behind him is the pack of wolf mutts. They cover the distance to us in mere seconds. The other guard on the ground begins screaming and runs back towards the clearing with his partner. Six mutts follow them, leaving four at the base of our tree. One begins climbing towards us, deftly hopping from branch to branch at an unbelievable pace.
I take aim, but its eyes meet mine. Sadness overwhelms me—they look like Rue's eyes. Of course they would use Rue to kill me.
"Shoot it!" Gale yells from behind me.
I release the arrow, but the mutt quickly ducks behind the trunk, easily avoiding injury. It then moves along branches in the other direction, approaching the guard below us.
The guard kneels on his good leg, leaving the other one extended at an awkward angle. Raising his weapon, he shoots at the mutt, hitting it in the shoulder. The hit does nothing to slow it down, though. The mutt lunges for the guard and bites into his arm, causing him to cry out and drop the gun. He pounds on the mutt with his other arm without effect. The mutt turns around and begins descending the tree, dragging the guard with it the entire way.
Just then, we hear more gunshots. We shift our gaze to the other guards who have reached the clearing. They've stopped running and are now pointing their weapons at the mutts. They begin unleashing a firestorm of gunshots. Miraculously, one mutt actually goes down. Even from this distance, we can see the determination on the guards' faces. They think they can win.
I focus back on the four mutts at our tree. The one with the guard has reached the ground. Why is it dragging the guard, rather than killing him? This is not the behavior I expected.
My muscles flex as I anticipate another mutt climbing the tree for us. Gale and I raise our bows, ready to defend ourselves, but then the unexpected happens. The four mutts gallop toward their pack mates in the clearing. Our tree is no longer under siege by either mutts or guards.
We stare at the scene unfolding before us, completely baffled. The four mutts meet the larger group. The guard from our tree is dropped on the ground; he scurries backwards under the protective gunfire of his colleagues. Another mutt falls to the ground. Now it's down to eight mutts against three guards. But the mutts don't attack the guards. They just stand there, keeping the guards in the clearing. It's almost like they're trying to help us…
"Let's go!" I yell at Gale.
We rapidly descend the tree. I lower myself to the ground and quickly draw back an arrow, not quite ready to believe the mutts won't attack us. Gale follows suit. For at least a minute, we stand poised, waiting for the thunderous footfalls to approach, but none do. I'm still contemplating the strange turn of events, when Gales reaches into the backpack and pulls out a compass.
"We need to get out of this arena," he says, making note of our direction. Then he grabs my hand and starts jogging deeper into the woods, the very direction I took the first day of the Games. We keep glancing behind us every few seconds, expecting either guards or mutts, but, unbelievably, we seem to be alone.
About an hour later, Gale finally slows. He stops by a fallen tree and lowers the backpack. Unzipping the bag, he pulls out a water bottle and holds it in my direction.
"Thirsty?"
I nod and greedily take it from his hands, but stop myself before taking a drink. "We should clean your wound first," I say, nodding to the thick cake of blood coating his shirt.
"I'm fine. We'll deal with that when we're out of here."
I purse my lips, but say nothing. I suppose he is fine since he had no problem running for an hour, but I can't help but worry there might be significant damage with all that blood.
I tip the bottle to my lips; the cool water soothes the burning in my throat. I down half the bottle and hand it back to Gale, feeling guilty for drinking so much. He swallows the rest in three long gulps and then pulls out the compass again.
Watching him with the compass and seeing his backpack and all the essentials it contains, I suddenly feel grossly unprepared. I absently rub my now throbbing broken arm, while I think about the meager supplies I brought with me—a few warm clothes and a water bottle—which are still in the clearing. I guess that is just another indication of how I anticipated this would all turn out.
Gale pockets the compass, reaches into the backpack, and pulls out my cast. He must have picked that up while we were at the base of the tree, waiting to see if the mutts would return for us.
He hands me the cast. "Looks like you could use this," he says, eyeing the black and blue marks that have started forming.
I thank him and quickly clip it over my arm.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod. Gale keeps a slightly slower pace this time, so I'm able to actually think about other things as we make our way through the woods. Like how he ended up here. When did he arrive to the arena? How did he know I would be here? And why did he come? Do the Nationalists know he's here? I desperately want to ask him these questions, but not here where they are undoubtedly listening.
Instead I focus on the best thing that has happened today. Actually, the best thing that has happened in the past week. Coin is dead. Even though I'm still incredibly angry with Gale for killing her, at least we finally got our revenge for Prim and Peeta, and the horrific plans she had for our country. Even if we don't make it out of here alive, that was completely worth it. A satisfied smile spreads across my face.
After a few more miles, the setting begins to change. The fresh, clean scent of the forest gives way to a pungent, sulfuric odor. The gentle fluttering of the lively green canopy becomes stagnant black pillars beckoning to clear blue skies above. We've entered the area of the fire. The destruction is impressive—every tree has been completely charred, not a single piece of normal bark remains. The ground is littered with branches from the large trees, occasionally interrupted by a seedling rising no higher than my knees. The only other source of life is small ferns growing in the shadows of the downed limbs. I involuntarily shiver as I remember the fireballs that were hurled at me and the severe burn that I sustained.
Gale glances at me out of the corner of his eye, no doubt remembering this scene play out on television. "You okay?"
"Yes, let's just get out of here," I answer, picking up our pace again. But we only run for a few minutes before I hear the faint electric hum that I became so attuned to in the Quarter Quell.
"Stop!" I yell, grabbing Gale by the back of his shirt.
"What?" he asks, startled.
"We're at the edge. The force field is up."
"How do you know?"
I lift a small rock from the ground and throw it towards the humming sound. It hits an invisible wall, throwing off sparks and bouncing back to us.
"Well, that's unexpected," he says, furrowing his brow.