Just a quick reminder: this content belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me! Also, I'm going to be skipping around a bit during the actual Games, because it would be tedious for me to rewrite the entire Games when much of it is going to be the same. It's safe to assume, then, if I leave any of the Games out, it happened exactly like it did in the book. I love you all! Leave me some reviews if you have any questions or suggestions.
The Peacekeepers leave Cinna's limp body, bloody and beaten, on the floor of my launch room. After several blows to the temple, he's completely motionless on the ground. They don't take him with, though, and maybe that's a good sign. But it doesn't stop the screams coming from my mouth, doesn't stop me getting sick all over the glass cylinder that surrounds me, doesn't stop me pounding on the glass trying to get to him. Terrified, the plate finally begins to rise, and I realize that Snow has only done this to unhinge me—certainly he knows the significance of my fiery transformation, but it seems he doesn't care enough about Cinna to take him into custody—and it has. I'm still hyperventilating as the plate rises, and I force myself to straighten up just as the breeze in the arena begins to ruffle my hair.
Something seems to be wrong with my vision, though; the ground is much too bright and is rippling. I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that lap up over my boots. Slowly, I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction. I can only form one clear thought.
This is no place for a girl on fire.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith reverberates in my head, and I have less than a minute to get my bearings. After that, the tributes will be able to move off their plates. But to where?
Cinna's limp, bloody body is the only thing I can think about, which is really unfortunate because I'm now locked in arena with people who will try to kill me. All I want to do is collapse on my metal plate, but I must be wrong. For Peeta, and for Rue. I owe it to Cinna, at the very least, who risked everything by undermining the president. After that many hits to the head, is he even alive? What if they come back for him?
Where are you? I can still make no sense of my surroundings. I force myself to look around again. Where are you?! Slowly, the world begins to come into focus. There's blue water all around me, and the sky is a sickening pink color. The sun is white hot as it bears down us, and the Cornucopia is only about forty yards away. The problem with this is that it's sitting on a small island, and thin strips of land radiate from the island like spokes on a wheel. There have to be twelve, one for every two tributes. Between the spokes is all water. The tribute in my wedge is the deaf old man from 8, Woof.
I look around the circle of tributes, searching desperately for Peeta, but I can't find him. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. Finnick, however, I do find. He meets my eyes and nods at me, slowly, like he thinks I might not get it. But I do. When the water washes in on my plate, I catch some and touch the tip of my wet finger to my tongue. Salt water. Of course, the Gamemakers wouldn't give us a readily available source of water. At least it seems clean.
Because there are no boats, ropes, or even debris to cling to, there's only one way to get to the Corncucopia. When the gong sounds, I don't even hesitate before I dive to my life. It's a longer distance than I'm used to, and navigating the waves takes a little more skill than swimming across my quiet lake at home, but my body seems oddly light and I cut through the water effortlessly. Maybe because of the salt. I thank my father over and over again in my mind for teaching me to swim. When I pull myself up on the sandy strip of land, dripping, I can see no one else converging on the Cornucopia from my side of the horn. So I sprint to the Cornucopia without thinking of my enemies, determined to get my hands on the silver bow laying at the mouth of the horn. It's different than last year; last year there were supplies spread out quite a distance from the Cornucopia. This year, however, they're all piled high in the mouth of the born. Finally reaching the Cornucopia, I yank the silver bow free just in time to spin around and point it at someone who snuck up on me.
I lower it immediately. "Finnick," I say, grinning at him. "You must love the arena."
"I do," he says, pulling a long golden trident from the pile of weapons. "Where did you learn that in District 12?"
"We have a big bathtub," I answer. He grins at me before I yell at him to duck and I shoot an arrow directly into the heart of the man from District 5, the guy who puked on the sword-fighting floor of the Training Center. He straightens up after a moment, and I say, "They must've built the arena just for you."
It was true. Either you came in here a swimmer, or you'd better be a really fast learner. Even participation in the initial bloodbath depends on being able to cover twenty yards of water. That gives District 4 an enormous advantage.
We each take a side and see that some of the Careers are just reaching the strips of sand, so Finnick and I quickly go over the pile of weapons in the Cornucopia. I realize that there are no packs, no food, no water—just weapons. So Finnick and I grab what we need—him taking three tridents, an axe for Johanna, Beetee's spool of wire, me two bows and two quivers of arrows, a few long knives, and an awl—and get ready to clear out to find the rest of our allies. I get an arrow into Gloss's thigh, and almost kill Brutus, but he uses his purple belt to block the arrow.
"Peeta," I gasp, as Brutus rolls into the water. "I need to get Peeta."
"Right," Finnick agrees brusquely. "And we need to find everyone else, too."
But when we look around, we can't find Johanna or District Three. Only Mags, who's bobbing along in the water, and Peeta, who's stranded on his plate. I breathe a sigh of relief I hadn't even realized I was holding in when I see him. Back in the arena, in the place of nightmares, where I will never stop being afraid for his life.
"I'll get him," says Finnick, after scooping Mags up from the water.
"No, I can," I say.
"Better not exert yourself," he says, patting my abdomen. I grimace. "Not in your condition." I roll my eyes at him, because I'm pregnant, not disabled. But he disappears into the water with a flawless dive, and I raise my bow, looking around for adversaries. No one seems interested in pursuing us, so we run into the jungle in search of our allies.
PB
"I hope Johanna got them out," I say absentmindedly, laying on the jungle floor trying to catch my breath. "I really wanted them as allies."
"I guess," Finnick says, disinterested. He's picking at his fingernails, so I look over at Peeta. Sweat is running down his face, and I can tell he's exhausted. When he catches me studying him, he smiles.
"We need to find fresh water," he says. "The baby is probably dying of thirst." A panicked look must come on my face, because Peeta holds his hands up like he's trying to calm me down. "Katniss, I was exaggerating, she's fine. I'm sure she's fine. Haymitch wouldn't let either of you die of thirst."
After a moment, I calm down, but it's still so unfair, I realize, that I have to subject my child to the arena. She probably is thirsty. I rub my belly, hoping some sympathetic woman will send us water. Nothing happens though, so I stand up and tell the others I'm going to climb a tree. As soon as I do, I wish that I hadn't. Around the Cornucopia, the ground appears to be bleeding; the water has purple stains. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the sea, but at this distance, with everyone dressed exactly the same, I can't tell who lives or dies. All I can tell is that some of the tiny blue figures still battle. Well, what did I think? That the victors' chain of locked hands last night would result in some sort of universal truce in the arena? No, I never believed that. Maybe I just hoped that people would show some restraint. A little reluctance, even. Before they jumped right into massacre mode. And you all knew each other, I think. You were all friends.
As soon as I get down, I avoid everyone's eyes, not wanting to let them know how much this upsets me. "Katniss," Finnick begins. "No one in this arena was a victor by chance. You have to remember that."
I know then that Finnick knows that Peeta is truly, deep-down better than the rest of us. I killed that tribute from 5 without even thinking about it. Finnick killed, like, twelve people in his own Games. Peeta, at least, would've tried to negotiate a wider alliance. Finnick is right. None of us were crowned for our compassion. Only Peeta.
"Let's just go," I sigh. "We need water."
Everyone else agrees, and Peeta takes the lead. For a while, we walk in silence, Peeta slashing through vines with his long knife. Eventually though, Finnick speaks up and asks, "So you're really going to have a kid."
"If I make it out of here," I say carefully, moving my eyes to his sweaty, beautiful face to let him know not to broach the topic. "I don't want children without Peeta, though. If he dies, I don't want to come out of here." It's probably true, though. I never wanted children, and the only reason I've come around to it because he wants her so badly. He's convinced me that we'll be good parents, that it's nothing to be afraid of. I don't want to be a parent without him there.
"And it's a girl?" he asks, adjusting Mags over his shoulder. I flash my eyes up to where Peeta is still cutting down vines.
"Peeta thinks so. So do my mom and Haymitch," I answer, a small smile managing to appear on my face. Even though I don't know Finnick that well, but inexplicably, I trust him. He's a member of our rebel plan, and he's proven himself in the last few days. And in case Peeta and I die, I want someone to be able to remember our daughter's name. So I tell him, "We're going to name her Rue."
He doesn't answer right away. Just keeps walking. Eventually, he flashes a smile back to me and says, "She would've really loved that, Katniss."
It's my turn not to say anything, just because I don't want to talk about Rue. Not here, not with everyone watching. Rue, who was too young and too gentle for the Games. Rue, who died in my arms. Rue, whose spirit is going to live on in my child.
But I also don't speak because something catches my eye. We're walking up a hill of some sort, and I can see the end of the tree line. Before I can even start wondering what's on the other side, I see a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first, I think it's the glare from the sun or maybe the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it's fixed in space, not shifting when I move. And that's when I connect the square with Wiress and Beetee in the Training Center and realize what lies before us. My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines.
There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gonad n I see open space over a short stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground.
I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. "Peeta?" There's a fain smell of singed hair. I call him name again, giving him a little shake, but he's unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips where there's no warm breath, although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart.
Instead, I find silence.
"He's not breathing!" I scream, slapping his face, shaking him, but it's no use. "Peeta! Peeta!" I don't care that we're in an arena and my screams could bring enemies to us, because I want to lie down and die next to him. "Peeta, Peeta, no," I sob.
Finnick props Mags against a trees and pushes me out of the way. "Let me." His fingers probe points at Peeta's neck, then he pinches Peeta's nostrils shut.
"No!" I scream, because Finnick is supposed to be my ally, he's supposed to be my friend. But instead, he's making absolute certain that Peeta's dead. My sobs are so loud now, someone could hear them from miles away. I don't care. I don't care about any of this. I'll kill Finnick and I'll kill anyone I see, because I will not leave this arena without Peeta. Plutarch and Haymitch and District Thirteen be damned. I don't want to be anyone's Mockingjay without Peeta. So I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. It's so strange, even for Finnick, that I don't shoot.
Eventually, the pieces come together in my mind. He's trying to restart Peeta's heart. So I crawl over to his side, touching Peeta's face, sobbing, "Peeta, Peeta, please. Don't leave me here, don't leave me." Finnick continues to pump over where his heart is and I'm sobbing and choking and desperately, I pull his limp hand and set it against my abdomen. "Peeta, don't leave us, don't leave me. I need you," I'm sobbing. "Please wake up." Agonizing seconds drift by slowly, so slowly, and I'm sure he's dead, sure he's moved on, stolen from me forever, when he gives a small cough.
"Peeta!" I gasp, moving in closer to him to touch his face. "Peeta, you were dead," I sob. "Your heart stopped, you were dead."
His eyelashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. "Careful," he says weakly. "There's a force field up ahead." I manage a small, strangled sounding laugh, but tears are running down my cheeks. I kiss him then, tears and sweat mingling with my saliva, so glad that he's still alive, so grateful that he's still with me.
"You were dead! Your heart stopped!" I burst out, still hysterical.
"It's working now," he says, and he pulls me down to him.
"Do you want to stand up?" I choke out. He nods and I pull him to his feet, and hug him so fiercely that I can barely breathe, but I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, because I don't need to breathe if he stays with me. My relief that he's still alive is so overwhelming that it brings on a new round of ugly, choking sobs.
When he finally releases me, he weakly touches my lips with his thumb. "You can't," I cry, "You can't die, you can't leave me." He stays silent, still looking at my face like he's thanking God that I'm here in front of him. I look at Finnick—who isn't looking at us sarcastically, but with a quizzical expression on his face, like he's trying to figure something out—because I have no one to thank but him. Finnick kept him alive when I couldn't, and now I'll never stop owing him for that. Never. I think I startle both him and Peeta when I run over to Finnick and hug him. "Thank you," I say quietly. "Thank you for saving him."
Finnick hugs me back lightly then pats me awkwardly on the head. "It's fine, Katniss. He's fine."
"Thanks to you," I say, stepping away from him. Mags hands me some soft moss to blow my nose on, and I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I want to say something else, but I've exhausted my ability to communicate. Since I woke up this morning, I've watched Cinna beaten to a pulp, landed in another arena, and seen Peeta die. I try to pull myself together.
"I don't think we can make camp here," Peeta says. "We have no water, no protection. If we go slowly, I think I'll be alright."
So we move carefully through the jungle, and I throw nuts at the force field so no one else runs into it and dies. I cringe, and look at Peeta. He's sweating a lot, even if Finnick made him a walking stick to help him along, and I think despite his protestations, all he really wants to do is lie down. When we lie down and eventually make camp, I take the first watch because Finnick is exhausted from carrying Mags all day, and Peeta's exhausted from dying.
He lies down next to me, and I position myself so I can look at his face while he sleeps. My eyes constantly move from him to the jungle back to him. As he sleeps, I brush his sweaty hair back from his face and kiss his temple occasionally. I almost lost him today. The only person I've ever loved—with the obvious exception of my family—was almost taken from me. My hand still on Peeta's face, I look over at Finnick, and whisper, "Thank you." Of course he's still asleep, but it makes my blood run cold to think of what would've happened today if Finnick wasn't here. I owe him everything.
I look back down at Peeta and murmur, "I love you," because I, too, owe him everything.