Chapter Twenty Six: Hunting
Once we're packed up and standing outside our cave, our mood shifts to serious. It's as though for the last few days, sheltered by the rocks and the rain and Cato's preoccupation with Thresh, we were given a respite, a holiday of sorts. Now, although the day is sunny and warm, we both sense we're really back in the Games. I hand Peeta my knife, since whatever weapons he once had are long gone, and he slips it into his belt. My last seven arrows rattle a bit too loosely in the quiver. I can't afford to lose any more.
"He'll be hunting us by now," says Peeta. "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."
"If he's wounded -" I begin.
"It won't matter," Peeta breaks in. "If he can move, he's coming." With all the rain, the stream has overrun its banks by several feet on either side. We stop there to replenish our water. I check the snares I set days ago and come up empty. Not surprising with the weather.
"If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds," I say.
"Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do," Peeta says.
"Keep an eye out," I say. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. And listen for both of us." It's clear, at this point, that the explosion destroyed the hearing in my left ear for good.
For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg - well, you're naturally going to make some noise. But even on the smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. And I mean loud loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him.
"What?" he asks.
"You've got to move more quietly," I say. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius."
"Really?" he says. "Sorry, I didn't know."
So, we start up again and he's a tiny bit better, but even with only one working ear, he's making me stop to rest and drink water, I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt, but then he'd be left with only a knife to defend himself against Cato's spears and superior strength. So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion.
"Katniss," he says. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game."
"Only because your leg's hurt," I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem.
"I know," he says. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful."
"Not if Cato comes and kills you." I tried to say it in a nice way, but it still sounds like I think he's a weakling.
Surprisingly, he just laughs. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?"
Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That's what I want to say, but I can't. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" I say, trying to make it sound like very important work.
"Katniss, stop trying to protect me, I can handle myself. Your treating me like I am Prim. I thought we decided that I'm in charge. What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help."
"I never decided that." I say joking now.
"Well I decided it, and if you can't accept it I'll just have to... throw you in the river." He tries to keep his face serious but ends up laughing.
Eventually I give in and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Cato is a long way off.
Leaving him with the pack, I head off. I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. I realize that I am treating him like I would Prim. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta's roots, this will be enough for now.
Suddenly I feel anxious, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it. But where is he? I see some of the food has been eaten. He ate without me. I look a little closer at the berries. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, searching for Peeta.
He must have eaten the berries. "Peeta!" I call out in a panic. "Peeta!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!"
"I found some berries down by the stream," he says, clearly confused by my outburst.
"I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?" I snap at him.
He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That's when I feel that I'm trembling. "I thought these killed you!" I almost shout.
"No, I'm fine." Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Katniss?"
The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. I should have known the moment I saw the missing food.
Peeta has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above."
I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's."
"What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?"
In answer, I hold out the berries. How she wouldn't question the safety of berries we were preparing to eat ourselves.
"I wonder how she found us," says Peeta. "My fault, I guess, if I'm as loud as you say."
"And she's very clever, Peeta. 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." He checks himself. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"
I give a nod. "We call them nightlock."
"Even the name sounds deadly," he says. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered."
"Don't apologize. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" I ask.
"I'll get rid of the rest," Peeta says. He gathers up the sheet of blue plastic, careful to trap the berries inside, and goes to toss them into the woods.
"Wait!" I cry. I find the leather pouch that belonged to the boy from District 1 and fill it with a few handfuls of berries from the plastic. "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," says Peeta.
"That's it," I say, securing the pouch to my belt.
"He'll know where we are now," says Peeta. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us." Peeta's right. This could be just the opportunity Cato's been waiting for. But even if we run now, there's the meat to cook and our fire will be another sign of our whereabouts. "Let's make a fire. Right now." I begin to gather branches and brush.
"Are you ready to face him?" Peeta asks.
"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 Fox-face. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?" I ask.
"Maybe not," he says and smirks.
Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance.
We cook the food. Eat some, and then head back to the cave per Peeta's request.