Chapter Twenty Eight: Victors

We wait, for the hovercraft to take Cato's remains, for the trumpets of victory that should follow, but nothing happens.

"Hey!" I shout into air. "What's going on?" The only response is the chatter of waking birds. "Maybe it's the body. Maybe we have to move away from it," says Peeta.

I try to remember. Do you have to distance yourself from the dead tribute on the final kill? My brain is too muddled to be sure, but what else could be the reason for the delay?

"Okay. Think you could make it to the lake?" I ask.

"Think I better try," says Peeta. Somehow, we make it back to the lake.

I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

A mockingjay gives the long, low whistle, and tears of relief fill my eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes Cato's body away. Now they will take us. Now we can go home.

But again there's no response. "What are they waiting for?" says Peeta weakly. Between the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the lake, his wound has opened up again.

"I don't know," I say. Whatever the holdup is, I can't watch him lose any more blood. I get up to find a stick but almost immediately come across the arrow that bounced off Cato's body armor. It will do as well as the other arrow.

As I stoop to pick it up, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms into the arena.

"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 The earlier revision has been revoked.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," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There's a small burst of static and then nothing more. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it.

I know my mouth is hanging open in shock and I can't bring myself to close it.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt. He is going to try and stab me. My knees give out on me and I sink to the ground. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. Ultimately I feel relief, but then my face burns.

Peeta limps his way over to me, pulling me to my feet. He takes my bow and thrusts them into my hands. "Do it."

"I can't," I say. "I won't." I drop my head so my forehead is on his chest and I shake my head. I expected him to put his arms around me to comfort me but he doesn't.

Instead he pushes me back up forcing the weapons up, "Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," he says.

"Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two.

"You know I can't," Peeta says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth.

"No, you can't kill yourself," I say. I'm on my knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto his wound.

"Katniss," he says. "It's what I want."

"You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out.

"Listen," he says pulling me to my feet, putting his hands on either side of my face and holding it so I will look at him. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me. Let me protect my little sister one last time. Go home and live for me."

I'm shaking my head refusing to listen to him. "No," I tell him, "No."

He goes on about how I have to get back to my mother and Prim, and that he loves me, and that he's glad he got to be my brother even only for a few weeks but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around.

We both know they have to have a victor. Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country.

If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were. . .My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it.

Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you."

"I'm not leaving here without you. Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?"

"The count of three," he says.

We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.

"Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says.

I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a goodbye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you the tributes of District Twelve!"