A/N: Thanks for your patience, everyone! The Games finally begin.
Despite my nap earlier, my shoulders and eyelids droop as I exit the town that evening. A large paper bag swinging from my side, I stare at the dirt road, dragging my feet northwest. My breakdown in Purnia's arms provided a little emotional relief, but it was short lived. As if the prospect of watching the tribute interviews hadn't already turned my mood abysmal, I just visited the bakery to fulfill a request from Prim. I hadn't considered beforehand the shroud of sadness I'd be entering, my own emotions I'd see reflected in the old man's eyes. Grief. Fear. Helplessness.
Though there's no concrete plan, I suppose after dinner I'll watch the interviews with Katniss's family, hopefully without any more casually derisive comments thrown my way. In any case, watching with the Everdeens is probably better than watching with a bunch of Peacekeepers again and hearing them make offhand remarks about my girlfriend's cleavage or her lack of personality. And after today, I'm definitely not going to the Commune. Undoubtedly a lot of my shiftmates heard me yelling and/or crying in the briefing room after shift, and I have too much pride to show my face so soon.
Resigned to what should be a painful and sleepless night ahead, I continue trudging along the road, past the school. With my eyes all but glued to the path, it's a wonder I even notice the body slumped against the wheel of an abandoned wagon.
Stopping dead in my tracks, I focus my suddenly alert eyes on the form. A young girl, maybe nine years old. Scrawny, unmoving, deathly pale. My dry tongue flits over my lips. I've never had to participate in a body retrieval, but I've heard the stories. Cold bodies found lying in fields, or under trees, or in their own beds. The impoverished mining class are among the most common victims, and her lousy excuse for clothing pegs her as a Seam kid.
Warily I approach the girl, not wanting to spook her if she is indeed alive and conscious. She doesn't stir even as I crouch down beside her, laying the bag on the ground. "Hey, kid," I call quietly to her, waving my hand in front of her face. "Can you hear me?" There's a slight movement behind her eyelids, but that's all. Still, it's no small relief. Gently I shake her shoulder, willing my voice to stay steady as my stomach turns inside of me. "Can you hear me?"
Gray eyes squeak open with a groan, struggling to focus on my face. When they do, they blink hard in confusion. That quickly turns to fear as they settle on my white clothing. "Hey," I offer softly, "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you okay?" The girl drops her gaze with a weak nod that I don't believe for one second. I'm not sure what she thinks I'm going to do to her. "Look, I'm a medic," I inform her. Hoping that will garner some more trust, I follow it up with an earnest, "Let me help."
With a familiar half ass eye roll that causes a resounding pang in my gut, she drops her chin in an even slighter nod than before. Gulping hard, I reach for her hand and have almost grasped it before I remember my training and my manners. "My name's Johanna. Is it okay if I touch you?" I inquire. "Just to see how you're doing."
"Sure," she barely mumbles, eyes falling closed.
"Can you tell me your name?" I ask. She doesn't respond to that, so I take her hand with no further questions. Upon closer inspection, it's evident that the pallor of her skin, only a shade or two darker than mine, is not solely from poor health. She's probably of mixed blood, like a couple other kids I know. Swallowing that thought, I lay two fingers over her wrist in what turns out to be a frustrating search for her pulse. I give up in a matter of moments and reach for her neck, which makes the otherwise lethargic girl flinch, eyes flying open. "I'm just checking your heartbeat," I assure her calmly. God, you'd think I'd pointed a gun at her head. I've only done that to one person in my career.
Clenching my jaw, I will myself to focus through the pain spreading upward into my chest. When I place my fingers on the kid's neck, the coolness of her skin makes my hair stand on end. Her pulse is weak and readily interrupted by the pressure of my fingers. Drawing my hand back, I look her over. She could easily be the next body to retrieve. The official word is that the poorer people are more susceptible to disease, leading to the disproportionate early deaths. No one says it, but I suspect the underlying cause is often starvation. Slowly reaching down into the paper bag, I ask her, "Have you eaten?"
She manages a dry swallow, one eye peeking open. "Today?"
"This week?" I try, wishing I was joking. The girl's pause as she thinks that over is telling enough. "Here," I say, withdrawing one of the dozen croissants I'm carrying for Prim. Gray eyes pop open, jumping from the pastry to me and back again. "It's okay. Go on, take it."
As though I may change my mind at any moment, she swipes it from my grasp and clutches it to her chest. But though she stares at the food like it's life itself and she's all but salivating, she hesitates to put it in her mouth. "I swear, it's not poisoned." The kid rolls her eyes again with a tiny snort, once again all too familiar, and suddenly I get it. "You have others at home."
Eyes now darting up to mine, the girl squints at me curiously. "Tell you what," I begin, lifting the bag, "I'll give you all of these as soon as I see you eat that."
For a brief moment the girl's expression smacks of irritation, until an opportunistic smirk spreads across her face and she shoves one end deep in her mouth. In less than ten seconds, she's devoured the entire thing. Either she doesn't know the strategy of eating slowly to feel fuller or she's too hungry to care. I suspect the latter. "Maybe one more?" I suggest, offering her another. "I won't tell if you don't," I wink. This time, there's no argument. And she's able to pace herself a little, which I take as a good sign.
Once the girl is licking stray flakes off her grubby fingers, I get to my feet and offer her a hand. "Can you stand?" Ignoring my hand, she instead proves that she can, using the rotting spokes of the wheel to pull herself up. I know better than to take this personally by now. The next time I extend my hand, it's gripping the bag. "A promise is a promise," I say, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me that I promised this same package to Prim. Nodding with an inscrutable expression, the new recipient snatches the bag and hustles with surprising vigor to the northeast, in the general direction of the mines.
As she disappears, I turn my head back in the direction of the town. I'm already late for dinner and don't have time to wait around for another order. Perhaps enough time to buy however few croissants are left in the display case, but to be honest I don't want to go back there and be reminded of my grief yet again. Not that where I'm going is much better.
When I walk in the door, into a room smelling of rabbit stew, Prim's eyes light up and she jumps to her feet. It's not until she's withdrawing from crushing me in a hug that her face falls. "You forgot dessert."
"Primrose Everdeen," her mother chides warningly from the stove. "Mind your manners."
"Sorry," mutters the young blonde, ducking her flushing face.
"No, I'm sorry," I deflect. Catching Prim's eye, I explain, "I didn't forget. I just… someone else needed them more."
The disappointed expression melts somewhat as she nods sagely. "Okay," she says. "I understand."
Lifting my guilty eyes to her mother, who I'm more concerned about disappointing, I find her watching me closely. "It's all right," the woman assures me. "We've been there." Nodding at the table, she instructs us, "Dinner's ready. Have a seat."
***o***
"Well… that complicates things."
Mrs. Everdeen's understated words barely reach my ears through the din of commentators gushing in those horrible Capitol accents. My eyes blink hard as they stare at the battered old TV that sits on the table against the wall, trying to digest what we just watched.
"I thought she was about to punch him, " Prim remarks a little too casually. I pretend not to feel her gaze on me. However, she's not wrong. Katniss managed to keep her usual hostility mostly under wraps during her interview, a minor miracle. But by the time her traitorous district partner returned to his place on stage after his interview and stood beside her for the anthem, her fingers were twitching, curling in and out of fists as the blush in her cheeks deepened into a rageful red. The squeaky mice on the TV are chalking her reaction up to shyness and nerves, but they don't know her like we do. So far as I could tell, Katniss was fucking humiliated and on the verge of throttling Peeta in front of the entire nation.
"Maybe he made it up," suggests Mrs. Everdeen. "To win favor with the crowd."
"I don't think so," I mumble. The blondes relax their posture in unison as I finally speak and glance their way. "When I went to order that cake for Prim, he knew who she was and asked me how I knew Katniss. He went white as a sheet when I said I'd arrested her a few times."
"You've arrested her?" questions Prim, blue eyes going wide.
"Not the point," I say, waving her off. "I wanted to get a reaction and I got a huge one. He didn't make that sh-stuff up. He has a thing for her." Returning my attention to the TV, my conflicted thoughts are halfway drowned out by the excited chatter. Peeta's love confession has got them talking, that's for sure. It's a first. My fingers press into and massage my temples as I try to grasp how I feel about all this. What Peeta said was brilliant as a strategy, which I can always admire on an objective level. And it's possible that it will give Katniss an edge too. But I hate him for it, if for no other reason than Katniss's obvious surprise. I should have known that sweet-talking little son of a bitch was not trustworthy. Salesmen rarely are.
"What happens now?" asks Prim in a hushed tone.
Pinching my brow, I sigh heavily as I try to work the scenarios through. After a long moment of thought, I conclude, "She'll have to play along. If she doesn't, she'll be a pariah. People will want the 'nice guy' to win, not the heartbreaker."
"Because it was so very nice of him to spring that on her," deadpans her mother.
I scoff in agreement but nod at the reveling crowds dispersing from the Circle as the commentators continue to blather on about the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve. "They don't see it that way." My eyes roll of their own accord. "It's all very romantic to them." These people are truly fucking stupid. Katniss and Peeta aren't the real star-crossed lovers of District Twelve.
My head is still spinning as I trek home through the fading twilight. Peeta's bombshell aside, I'm puzzled as to what angle Katniss was going for in her interview, what part she intends to play in these Games. I assume Haymitch must have given her some advice on how to present herself, despite him being the least presentable mentor in all the districts. The last thing I ever thought I'd see the typically taciturn hunter do was gush about her dress and start spinning to show it off, and I don't see how that would help her in the arena unless it was part of some kind of bullshit grateful act they came up with. And I can't imagine that will hold up long in the arena. In any case, it's all for naught now. Peeta's portrayal of her has completely overridden anything she said or did. I can only imagine how pissed off Katniss must be now, with whatever narrative she was trying to craft undercut by that opportunistic blond kid.
I've barely sunken down into a slouch on my bed before a knock echoes from my door. Looking up from rubbing my eyes, I sigh and get up to open the door. It's Darius, surprise surprise. Dark eyes sweeping over me warily, he asks, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I shrug, ambling into the room. When I look back, he's still loitering in my doorway. Well, at least now he's well trained. "You can come in, Darius," I say, nodding my head into the room. My blank tone does little to reassure him, but he comes in anyway, closing the door behind him. He sits on the edge of my bed while I prop my pillow up and lean back against the headboard, drawing my knees up to my chest. "What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"Of the 'star-crossed lovers,'" I drawl, an acerbic smirk pushing its way onto my lips.
"I think Peeta's probably getting his ass kicked," comes Darius's flat response.
Chuckling, I nod curtly. "That makes two of us." Fingers toying with the bedspread, I remark, "I hope he dies early so Katniss can give up the act."
"You don't think she's going to go along with it, do you?"
My head tips to the side. "What else is she gonna do? What's gonna win her the most sponsors?"
Eyes falling to the floor, Darius concedes, "True."
"Katniss doesn't need anyone besides herself to worry about in there. If they team up and he drags her down-" I cut myself off with a sharp headshake. "She needs to worry about staying alive, not playing some stupid romance."
"Well like you said, it will get her sponsors," Darius points out. "Maybe this will end up helping her."
"Maybe," I admit. "But only if she acts receptive. It helps him a lot more than her. Gets him sponsors either way, and if she teams up with him, a master archer to guard his sorry ass."
The redhead gives me a droll smile. "I gather you're not his biggest fan."
"He was fine before that," I protest. "He seems like a nice enough kid. But he's a distraction. And if he gets my girlfriend killed, then obviously no, I'm not a fan."
Scratching the back of his neck, Darius asks, "What about Clove?"
I bristle, my tone icing over. "What about her?"
"Do you think she'll be a distraction?" he specifies cautiously.
"She better not," I snap. "I told Katniss to stay the fuck away from her. She's dangerous."
Darius gives his head a little shake. "She didn't seem very dangerous in the interview."
"Well I didn't think she was dangerous either until she sold me down the river," I spit. "That's her strategy, Darius. Use her adorable act to land a few sponsors and position herself as the kid sister of the Career pack. Enjoy their protection and use their resources, then stab them in the back when it suits her. It's what she does." With a snort, I admit, "I almost feel bad for Cato."
"Well if Clove takes Cato out, that can only be good for Katniss," muses Darius.
"Clove fares better than Cato against range fighters," I argue, shaking my head. "But I warned Katniss about that." My heel digs deep into the mattress as I glower down at the bed. "The really dangerous one is Peeta. Apparently he saved Katniss's life or something, so she feels indebted to him."
"It's the Hunger Games," scoffs Darius. "All bets are off."
"Yeah, you don't know Katniss that well," I chuckle derisively. "She can't standing owing anybody anything. Not even me."
A moment of silence passes before he offers, "Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't know," I mumble, gaze on the blankets again. "Watching Clove in there in my place would have been hard enough." Eventually I flick my eyes up to catch his attentive ones. "Just be around, honestly. I don't know what I'll need."
"Okay," he says, shifting his weight to get up. But he pauses halfway through the movement and probes, "Is everything okay with you and Purnia, or…?"
"Don't even ask," I interject. "It's fine. Emotions were running high. You know how it is."
"Yeah," he answers, though his expression still betrays some confusion. "Okay. Goodnight, Jo."
"Doubt it," I mutter as he disappears into the hall.
***o***
Though the Games don't start until noon our time, we have six Peacekeepers patrolling the Square by ten o'clock the next morning. Athena is among the three reinforcements added at that time, and she settles down beside me on the steps of the Justice Building.
"You all right?" she asks, eyes somewhere across the Square.
"Peachy, Vargas," I chirp. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Rolling her eyes, she tips her head drolly. "Johanna."
"You said you know nothing," I remind her.
"As in I don't know you've been committing a crime, sneaking civilians in and out of the barracks," she specifies. "Doesn't mean I don't know who, or haven't noticed how down you've been this week."
"Oh yeah?" I retort. "You and Tory been exchanging theories? Maybe Darius hit me again. Better tell Cray, start another shitstorm."
"Whoa, okay." She lifts her hands innocently, eyebrows flying up. "Did you skip your coffee this morning, or are you on your period?"
"Both," I grouse. Jittery as I am, I figured caffeine would be a poor choice this morning. Athena blinks. "I know, you were joking."
My neighbor furrows her brow, speaks carefully after a long moment. "I can cover for you if you need it."
"Purnia basically said I could leave at noon if I needed to," I tell her. "But I'd rather be here than watching in the Commune." I could always go watch with the Everdeens, as Prim was planning to stay home sick today, but I'm not sure I could stand to be there if Katniss goes down early. Being in a large crowd is numbing, somehow. Being surrounded by all that acute pain could be unbearable. And it's not like I can bring myself to not watch. Purnia was right - I'd go crazy not knowing what was happening. I'm already on the brink just from waiting.
The next two hours drag by painfully slow, but at least the pre-Games coverage projected on the large screen gives me something to do. There's a bit where a panel discussing the tributes has a debate about what Katniss's secret skill may be, the general consensus being a pickaxe. At least that allows me a moment of amusement. I'm unable to eat my field lunch, but my empty stomach gurgles with nerves more than hunger. More than once I have to duck into a shop and request to use their bathroom so I don't shit myself, but I avoid the bakery.
The Square is decently populated and buzzing with tension by the time the countdown clock in the corner of the screen drops below ten minutes. It's a Tuesday, but miners working the late shift can make it, plus the ranks of the unemployed. Many shopkeepers are watching from their doorways, too.
Spotting Greasy Sae in the still-growing crowd, I wander a short way from my post to sidle up to her. "How's your collection coming?"
The old woman looks me up and down. "We're not a wealthy bunch. Maybe enough to send down a half pint of water, or a couple matches." Paltry. Terrific. "Have you considered chipping in?"
"Peacekeepers aren't allowed to sponsor or bet," I inform her. "We're supposed to be impartial, have no vested interests." As usual, I'm a model Peacekeeper. In my defense, I know lots of us bet among ourselves despite being barred from the official proceedings, but I doubt there's ever been a tribute with a Peacekeeper lover before. What are the odds?
"How's the government going to know where our cash came from?" teases Greasy Sae, nudging my side with a bony elbow. While that's true, the main reason why I haven't contributed to the Hob fund is to avoid raising eyebrows by seeming too invested in Katniss's survival. I don't want to make life difficult for her upon her return. Then again, if she does come back, it's not like she'll need buyers to survive. A soiled reputation is still no fun, however.
"Count me in," I acquiesce. "Just don't tell anyone."
The merchant zips her lips. "Nothing to tell, Agent Mason." But the glint in her eye suggests she doesn't really believe that. Narrowing my eyes warningly, I retreat to the edge of the Square, leaning back against a storefront. The clock says we're down to under five minutes. Whatever remains of my breakfast begs to come back up and decorate the cobblestones, but I stubbornly hold it down. I won't be that Peacekeeper who hurls at every major event.
With just over a minute to go, aerial shots overhead catch the first glimpses of the tributes being pushed up out of their vertical tubes onto the pedestals circling the brimming Cornucopia. It's on a barren plain, half surrounded by forest. Also ringing the clearing are a lake and an expansive field of tall grasses. Just as the plates lock into place beneath the tributes' feet, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms overhead. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"
The next sixty seconds are some of the longest in my life, despite each one being counted down for me by the Capitol crowds and a voiceover in the broadcast. The tributes, in contrast, have to count down in their heads, besides using that time to take in their surroundings and form a strategy. When I spot Katniss, she is looking straight into the circle with determination. She's going to go for it. I figure out why when I see the silver bow and sheath of arrows lying atop some blanket rolls near the mouth of the Cornucopia. It's lying right in her path, which tells me that even if she showed off a variety of combat skills to the Gamemakers, her marksmanship is what got their attention. Go figure.
Even if the bow wasn't arguably closer to Katniss than anyone else, she'd still make it first with her legs. So despite the close combat scenario that is the bloodbath, I'm feeling slightly relieved as the last few seconds run off the clock. But when the gong rings out, my girlfriend is standing frozen on her plate, eyes elsewhere. As the others sprint toward or away from the pile of treasure, she shuffles her feet uncertainly, looking completely thrown.
"What are you doing?" I hiss under my breath. "Move!"
Finally, Katniss steps off her pedestal, grabs a sheet of plastic at her feet, and scoops up a loaf of bread. Sprinting into the fray, she goes for a dangerously bright orange backpack about halfway to the horn. But a boy reaches it at the same instant as her, and they briefly scuffle over it. It's only because I've also got an eye on Clove that I notice her turning to the pair of tributes with a handful of knives. Shit. Katniss has dropped the bread and just landed a jarring punch to the boy's jaw when the first knife hits his back and he coughs blood right into her face. She looks somewhat confused and completely repulsed for a second until he falls to the ground and she realizes it was not her blow that did the damage. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in Clove running straight at her, and for a second I'm terrified that Katniss is going to rush her and try to take her down. But either her survival instincts kick in or she remembers my commands, and she turns and sprints for the forest as fast as she can.
Clove is no match for Katniss's speed, but she's deadly accurate when accounting for changing distances. She releases a knife mid step at precisely the right moment, and for an instant I'm reliving my nightmare from the night before the reaping, once again watching helplessly as Clove's knife sticks in the back of Katniss's head. But on the screen, Katniss hikes the pack she's slung over her shoulder up to protect her head and neck. The knife lodges in the bag and she runs away unscathed.
Releasing a woozy sigh, I return my attention to the bloodbath, watching as a now frustrated Clove takes down another girl as consolation. The enigmatic tribute who scored an eleven would have been a more notable kill, and Clove does love her bragging rights. Peeta Mellark, meanwhile, is on the ground, exchanging punches with a boy who blocked his way to a rack of spears. He manages to throw the smaller body away from him and gets to his feet, grabbing a weapon. He appears set to run when something else catches his eye: the girl from Four pinned against the Cornucopia by another kid. She also has a spear, but it's useless in so tight and this boy has a knife.
In yet another befuddling move, Peeta lunges at the knife-wielding boy and attempts to wrestle him off of the dark-haired girl. His arm gets cut in the process, but he pushes the kid a short distance away and then whacks him across the head with the butt end of his spear. He turns to the girl, who's staring dumbfoundedly, and nods at the dazed kid on the ground. Her kill. I'm not sure if this is a gesture of goodwill or if the baker can't stomach the thought of stabbing somebody, but in any case it's no problem for the girl, who promptly pounces on the fallen boy and slashes his throat with his own knife before tucking it in her belt.
My eyes are only pulled away from this surprising development by a shot of Katniss crashing into another tribute just inside the forest. It's the red-headed girl from District 5. They land hard on the ground and eye each other up for a moment before coming to an unspoken agreement and scampering in opposite directions. In another shot, the boy from Eleven cuts down the boy from Four when he attempts to block his escape. He doesn't stick around to finish the kid off, but a nearby girl jumps on the injured boy and takes his life as well as his pack. She doesn't make it more than two steps before another of Clove's knives lodges in her neck.
Peeta and the girl from Four continue to fight side-by-side until their side of the Cornucopia is deserted, then circle around to the mouth, where the action is also mostly over. The split screens consolidate as the Careers converge around the blonde girl out of One, who's putting some finishing slices into a kid pinned beneath her. Cato is lagging behind the others, dragging a tiny boy by the scruff of his neck. Catching Clove's eye, the girl in front of Peeta asks, "Where's Nerites?"
"Dead," answers Clove. "He tried to get in the way of that huge boy from Eleven." Her eyes have narrowed at Peeta, and the girl holds up a hand.
"He's with me," she explains. "He saved me."
"How gallant," remarks the boy I now know as Marvel, who looks a lot less goofy splattered in the blood of his victims. Two so far, according to the kill count running in the corner of the screen. "Something about brunettes?" he mocks Peeta. Turning to Cato, who's just joining the circle, he nods at the kid in his grasp. "What's with the dead weight?"
"He said he'd guard our camp if we let him live," grunts Cato.
"Does he think we're fucking stupid?" snaps Clove. "He'll take our shit the second we clear out to hunt."
"Not if he knows what's good for him," says Cato. Then his eyes settle on Peeta, still standing there behind the brunette. "Why is he still alive?"
"He seems to have endeared himself to Melissa," sneers Clove, rolling her eyes.
"He pulled a guy off me, assisted my first kill," the girl retorts. "We're one down, we might as well keep him."
Standing up beside Cato, the final Career nods her assent. "He did score an eight," concurs Glimmer. "He's strong. He could be of use."
Smirking, Cato shoves the smaller boy into her grasp and stalks toward Peeta, cocking his head. "You wanna come play with the big kids, Lover Boy?" He nods at Melissa. "Is that why you helped her?"
"Yes," Peeta answers matter-of-factly.
Cato chuckles derisively. "Why shouldn't we just kill you?"
"I have something to offer," replies Peeta. At the pack's incredulous looks, he delivers his most shocking words yet. "I can help you take down Katniss."
***o***
No one knows what to make of Peeta's latest aboutface, least of all me. The surprising betrayal dominates the broadcast discourse as the first day rolls on and comes to a close. Some commentators believe he was telling the truth when pressed for an explanation by the Careers, when he shrugged and said they couldn't both go home and he wanted stronger allies. Others remain certain that he is protecting Katniss and intending to mislead the Careers.
There are eleven faces in the sky tonight, all deaths during the bloodbath. On the TV broadcast we get to see the footage of each death as well as the faces, though how quickly they have to move through the fallen tributes doesn't allow much time for each. The anthem is only so long. I'm just about to turn in at this point, satisfied that Katniss is safely up a tree, when the shot switches to Caesar and Claudius at their broadcast desk, the feed playing behind them. "And now," announces Caesar, "we welcome a very special guest commentator to join us in studio. Your victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, Scarlett Caskey!"
Scar isn't mentoring this year and I saw only glimpses of her throughout the week leading up to the Games. Either she's been busy with Capitol functions or trying to keep a low profile. I tell myself it's mere curiosity that roots me to the couch.
The muscular victor steps onto the set, wearing high heels that only accentuate her height. Her dress is beautiful, her gait graceful, but there's a striking hollowness in her heavily made up hazel eyes that makes me lean forward, squinting. "Welcome, dear. You look lovely," Caesar greets her as they shake hands.
"Thank you, Caesar," she replies with a practiced smile, settling in her seat between the two men. "It's great to be back."
They banter a short time, discussing how the latest victor has been since the Victory Tour, before returning to the present. "Now, Scarlett," begins Claudius, "what's your take on all this malarkey?"
Scar gives Claudius an indulgent laugh and pats his hand on the desk while I roll my eyes at the terrible pun. "I believe Peeta meant what he said, about his crush on Katniss. And he hasn't given up any information so far, so I'm starting to think he's bluffing," she reasons. "He might know nothing at all about where she would go or what her strengths are. He said she never noticed him back home, so they can't know each other that well."
"Very astute, Scarlett," remarks Caesar. Her comments do allow me a measure of relief. Though I'm sure Peeta knows what Katniss's signature weapon is, since his father is a frequent buyer, he hasn't told them yet. While he could be withholding information to preserve his own life, he doesn't seem very interested in leading the Careers to her either. Then again, as Scar said, he might not even have known that Katniss would take to the woods and seek high ground. He's such a slippery little weasel that I'm reserving judgment as to his motives, for now.
"As the first day comes to an end, your successor is in the lead in the kill count," says Claudius. "Three, almost four were it not for Katniss Everdeen's quick reflexes. How do you feel about the possibility of a District 2 female winning two years in a row?"
My stomach clenches angrily at the question, and I see Scar's face contort a little as she considers her response. My only consolation is knowing that she's probably thinking their chances were much better with me. That is, after all, what she said to me all those months ago. "I think it would be wonderful for the district," she finally answers. "And for the women of Panem." Turning to the camera, she grins and pumps her fist. "Girl power!"
Caesar laughs in that way he does and pats her arm, calling her attention back. "Clove Kentwell is much smaller than you, a very different style of fighter. Do you think she'll stand a chance against the larger tributes in her alliance when it ultimately needs to break?"
"Absolutely," states Scarlett. "In fact, I would bet on her dissolving the alliance herself, firing the first shots so to speak. I may not be her mentor, but we've met on multiple occasions. Don't underestimate her because of her youth and size. She's not afraid to take down anyone to win."
"Fearless, just like you," remarks Claudius. Scar barely swallows a grimace at that, giving a polite nod instead.
Unable to stomach any more talk about Clove, I retreat to my room. With my luck, I've probably got weeks more of hearing about her ahead.
But when morning rolls around, it's Peeta who's at center stage again when he goes back to finish off a kill for the pack. I'm starting to wonder if he has actually transformed into a cold-blooded killer as well as a traitor when he kneels down beside the fire the victim had stupidly lit. Looking her in the eye, he whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm here to end this for you." Then he takes her hand and buries his knife in the side of her head. Gruesome, but merciful.
In a twist both hilarious and terrifying, the rest of the pack is standing practically right underneath Katniss's tree and discussing whether or not they should kill Peeta while this is going on. She's so quiet I'd think maybe she slept through it, except she almost fell out of the tree at the sound of Peeta's voice.
"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" grumbles Marvel.
"Let him tag along," says Cato, who's clearly established himself as the leader of the group. "What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife. Besides, he's our best chance of finding her."
"Why?" scoffs Glimmer. "You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"
"She might have," argues Clove. "Seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."
"Wish we knew how she got that eleven," mutters Melissa.
"Bet you Lover Boy knows," says Clove.
As Peeta return to the group, Cato calls, "Was she dead?"
"No. But she is now." The cannon fires, and Peeta lifts his eyebrows impatiently. "Ready to move on?" It's almost like he knows Katniss is up there and wants to steer them away. Because after that mercy kill, I'm inclined to believe he has good intentions after all.
When Katniss drops out of the tree, I'm even more confused, because she has this smug look on her face that suggests maybe she's in on Peeta's plan. But it could just be a knowing smirk because she overheard everything. I don't even know. In any case, she sets about her business like she's completely unfazed, checking her snares from yesterday and cooking up a rabbit on the dead girl's fire, camouflaging her bright bag with some charcoal.
She spends that day and the next scouring the woods for signs of water, but consistently coming up empty. By the afternoon of the third day, she's nearing a pond, but I fear she'll keel over from dehydration before she can make it. Haymitch is no help, probably passed out drunk somewhere. If no one else, the Hobsters had enough money to send down a bit of water, but the disgraceful excuse for a mentor appears to be AWOL, allowing no gifts through.
Meanwhile, Peeta and the Careers have also failed in their continued search for prey, and have returned to the lake to top up their own water supplies. Apparently not everyone shares my renewed good faith in Peeta, because the bakery has been remarkably deserted since he joined the alliance. I'm not sure if it's sympathy or the sense of forced camaraderie that leads me back to that sad place.
I buy a cheese bun, not because they're my favorite, but because it's something to cling to. As I'm handing over the money, I remark, "Been a little slow lately, huh?" The baker says nothing but squints as though to ascertain my intentions. "What the hell is your kid doing?"
"Not sure," admits the large man. "Peeta never expected to come back. My guess is he's trying to keep the pack off the girl's trail. Better for the district if she wins."
"He wasn't lying in the interview, was he?"
The baker blinks hard. "I can't be certain. Peeta isn't always so forthcoming." When I fail to respond, he lifts an eyebrow. "Can I get you anything else, Agent?"
"No," I answer, shaking my head. "Thanks."
I'm almost out the door when he speaks again. "You're friends with her family, aren't you?" At my perplexed stare, he asks, "Wasn't it you who bought that cake for the little girl?"
"Yes," I tell him. "That was me."
The man twitches his mouth with what might be a touch of sympathy. "I appreciate your business."
"I appreciate your baking," I crack, flashing a disarming smile.
Later in the day, Katniss quite literally stumbles upon that pond. Freshly hydrated, she's looking much better as night falls in the arena. Safe, relatively speaking. The only tribute in her vicinity is the tiny girl from Eleven, who seems more intent on evading any attackers than going on the offensive. Once again, I can rest easy.
***o***
When I blearily enter the Commune on Friday morning to grab my coffee, I assume Katniss is still peacefully tied up in her latest tree. Instead, as I look up from punching my order into the machine to check out the nearest TV, I see the girl from Eleven crashing through the forest, lit only by the raging inferno biting at her heels. My stomach drops, then seizes with anger. They couldn't even give Katniss one fucking night of peace to recover. Of course, why should I have expected that? It's no fun for the audience.
I've just plunked my plate of breakfast down on one of the crowded tables, glowering at the TV, when the shot switches to another camera and I'm drawn closer to the screen as if by magic. There she is, on her knees under a stone outcropping, a pool of vomit beneath her. Though the wall of fire is bearing down on her, she's not moving, stupidly trying to catch her breath in the heavy smoke. I'm on the verge of screaming at the TV for her to move when a fireball comes flying out of nowhere and strikes the stone close to her head.
My hand claps over my mouth as Katniss springs to her feet and bolts. The fireballs follow, targeting her mercilessly as she attempts to flee the fire zone. I stand there unmoving, barely breathing, for several minutes even as my shiftmates start to clear out. Several pairs of eyes bore into me, but everyone must be too afraid to talk to me. A bad temper has its perks.
"Mason," a voice finally beckons from behind me, accompanying some hurried footsteps. "You're late for the briefing." When I don't move, my comrade repeats, "Mason!" A pair of hands grip my upper arms from behind, giving me a shake. "Let's go, or Captain Stark will have your head," hisses the voice, which I now register to be Athena's. She half guides, half drags me back to the hallway, barely pausing to let me grab my drink. My plate of breakfast still lies on the table, untouched, which is probably good because I doubt I could have kept it down.
When we make it to the briefing room, interrupting Purnia's assignments, she rolls her eyes but refrains from commenting verbally. The meeting is no more than a few minutes long, as per usual, but every second is torture. Being helpless is bad enough. Being in the dark is worse. I gear up in a flash and then pace around beside a hummer while I wait for my partners for the day to join me. When we arrive at the Square, I jump off the side before the vehicle has even stopped rolling. Sprinting toward the large screen, all I can see is Katniss lying on her stomach in the smoky haze, motionless.
"Is she okay?" I demand breathlessly of the closest night shifter, who stares at me like I'm a crazy person.
"She's alive," he says slowly. "Took a hit to the leg." Looking me over, he gathers, "You bet on her?"
"Something like that."
It turns out Katniss is conscious, soaking her hands in a pool because they got burned too. Her leg is a whole other story. The fireball scorched her calf, leaving the skin crimson and blistered. One must have caught her braid too, because it's noticeably shorter than before and looking singed at the end. Eventually she gets the courage to look at her leg, though she can't do much to treat it but soak it in the water as well. If Haymitch would show the fuck up, maybe he could get her some burn medicine or painkillers. But, as usual, he disappoints.
Katniss struggles through the next couple hours, slicing off burned parts of her pants and jacket, coaxing some food and water back into her stomach. She winces and probably curses anytime her leg loses contact with the water, though I can't know for sure because the volume is all but muted at night in consideration for those who live in the Square. There's not much to hear, anyway. Not until the Careers wake up at their camp by the Cornucopia and see the billowing black clouds above what was a large section of the forest.
"They did it to flush people out," insists Clove. "No one died yesterday. We gear up, head to the edge of the fire line. We're bound to find someone nearby."
"How do you know it wasn't some idiot like the girl from Eight who started it?" asks the lanky boy from where he's still sprawled lazily on the ground.
"Just look at it," she scoffs, pointing through the smoke. "You think a natural fire up and died in three straight lines across miles of forest? Don't be a moron, Marvel."
"And there was no cannon last night, so even if it was a tribute, they had to run," points out Cato. "Clove's right." The others agree, and soon the pack is armed and heading toward the rectangle of scorched forest that starts less than half a mile into the forest and stretches all the way to the arena boundary. They leave behind the boy from Three, who's in the middle of his own project - reactivating the pedestal mines and burying them in strategic places around the supplies they've arranged in a neat pile. Cato was right to let him live. He's turned out to be more useful than half the Careers so far.
They start hunting at the near edge of the burned section, pretty close to where the fire spit out Katniss and the other girl. But thankfully, they turn left instead of right and head deeper into the forest on the opposite side of the fire zone from where Katniss lies, in no shape to run or fight. She's only staring blankly at the sky, on the verge of dozing off. By the time the pack decides to circle back and come down the other side, she's fast asleep.
"Move, Katniss," I whisper as they trek through the charred woodland. "Fucking move. Wake up." But Katniss does neither, dead to the world. The pack will take several more hours to work their way back there, but she's directly in their path. Though the still smoky air obscures their vision, they're unlikely to miss her. Even if she is gone by then, the charred pieces of fabric indicate the start of a trail. She needs a head start.
As I'm gearing down after shift, Purnia summons me to meet her in the briefing room. This is becoming a somewhat regular thing. "I'm not the first person to ever show up late, you know," I say as I shut the door behind me. "If that's what this is about."
"No, you're not," she agrees. "You get a warning, same as everybody else."
"A warning?" I repeat, cocking a saucy eyebrow.
"Yes," she answers, hardly amused. "If you're going to be late, don't bother coming at all. I can't have you distracting everyone."
"It was fine, Purnia," I protest. "No one cared but you."
"But everyone noticed," she counters. "Do you want to know what else they're noticing?" When I merely shift my weight, she declares, "If it happens again, I'm suspending you. For your own good."
"For my own good?" I parrot back at her.
"Maybe you need the time off and the privacy more than you need the money," she reasons. "And you're certainly not earning it, moping around the way you are, barely even watching the crowd."
My face morphs into a scowl and I snap, "Why are you being such a dick?"
"Why are you being such a brat?" she retorts. Her narrowed eyes suggest I've succeeded in getting under her skin like she has under mine. "It's my job to ensure you do your job, Agent. If you're too distracted to patrol, you shouldn't be out there." Some unidentifiable emotion flickers in her eyes, and she adds, "And you're not as good an actor as you think, either. You're losing control."
Straightening up, I assert, "I am perfectly in control, Captain Stark. You don't need to worry about me. Why don't you go mother hen someone else for once?"
Her hand gives a dismissive wave. "Get out of here, Mason."
"Gladly," I snark, slamming the door on the way out for good measure. I do, however, avoid the Commune for a while to deflect any growing suspicion. When Darius invites me to go to the Hob that evening, I embrace the opportunity to watch the Games away from prying eyes. The ones at the barracks, anyway. I have to keep up some guise of neutrality at the Hob as well, but at least I haven't lost my shit there during these Games, yet.
As we join the few people gathered around the small projector screen in the corner by Greasy Sae's, the first thing I see is the tall blonde bimbo climbing up a tree. Seems pretty boring until I realize it's in pursuit of Katniss and my stomach consequently sinks into my bowels. During this tense moment, the cameras switch a few times and we get looks at some of the other nearby tributes. The girl from Eleven is hiding in the adjacent tree, unbeknownst to anyone. The Career pack stands at the foot of Katniss's tree, cheering Glimmer on. Except for Cato, who is storming around, rubbing his neck and cursing up a storm.
"What the hell is his problem?" I ask.
"He already fell trying to catch Katniss," explains Greasy Sae. "She invited him up to join her like she was asking him over for tea."
A snicker bursts from my nose. "She would."
Glimmer is probably still a good fifty feet below Katniss when she whips out the bow and tries to shoot her down. She clearly has a dearth of experience shooting a bow, as only one of her three shots lodges in the tree. The others go flying wide by at least a foot.
Katniss, little shit that she is, plucks the one arrow from the trunk near her feet and mockingly waves it above her head, smirking down at Glimmer. She might as well be chanting, "Na na na na boo boo." I'd probably be falling madly in love with this snarky badass by now, if I wasn't already madly in love with her. If nothing else, she has balls of steel.
"Give me that," demands Cato, snatching the bow out of Glimmer's hands when she returns defeated. He wastes another arrow on the fruitless endeavor. Cato's never been much of a shot, and Katniss is at least 80 feet up.
"Maybe you should throw the sword!" she calls down to him. If she was a crowd favorite before, she's got to be a Capitol darling by now. Those people eat up this kind of taunting theatrics and fearless bravado. I mean, I don't doubt Katniss is scared shitless, but I know the girl. Do I ever know her.
"Why don't you try?" Marvel suggests to Clove. "You're small enough."
"Light enough," she corrects him. "Too small. I don't have the reach."
"Don't tell me you're scared, Shrimp," Cato mocks her, making me snort with surprise. So my nickname for her has caught on. She was the only full-grown candidate who was smaller than me, and I had to get my kicks somehow. Either Cato's doing the same, or he's using my particular nickname for her to get under her skin, try to goad her into it. Given his personality and general lack of intellect, I'm betting the former.
"No, but I know my limits," she snaps back. "Pardon me for not wanting to fall out of a tree like some kind of clumsy idiot."
"We're wasting time," Melissa deflects as Cato shoots his district partner a dirty look. "We need a plan. It's getting dark."
"Oh, let her stay up there," interjects Peeta. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."
The others exchange suspicious looks for a long moment before Cato acquiesces, "Okay." Shoving the bow back into Glimmer's grasp, he stalks away and grumbles, "Somebody make a fire." I'm sure glad no one there has thought of setting the tree on fire. That's what I would do.
As the group splits up, fanning out a short distance to gather wood, I notice Cato's not the only one moving gingerly. Marvel has a marked limp and Peeta and Melissa are sporting fresh cuts. I continue to observe quietly while Darius peels off to get some booze, leaving me alone with the elderly merchant. We enjoy a comfortable silence for a while, until Clove winces at a small stumble on her way back to the tree and I query, "What the hell happened to them?"
"Got into it with a pack of wild dogs displaced by the fire," says Greasy Sae. "Slowed them down, lucky for your… Katniss." She averts her eyes to the screen as I turn on her.
"My Katniss?" I repeat, eyebrows at my hairline.
"For Katniss," she clarifies, tongue tucked in her cheek. "Our Katniss."
"Uh huh." Folding my arms, I release an indignant huff and return my eyes to the feed. A long, awkward moment concludes with me asking, "Does everyone know?"
"I know nothing," she claims. "I merely witnessed a variety of theatrics between you two and your would-be suitors. Believe it or not, I remember what it's like to be young."
My mouth twitches gratefully. "Thank you for not starting any rumors."
The old woman shrugs. "None of my business. You're no Cray, but even if you were, people do what they have to to get by."
"You're right," I grumble. "I'm not like Cray. Though Gale seems to think so."
"And young Mr. Hawthorne is a completely objective third party in the matter," she deadpans. My ironic chuckle calls her gaze back, a faint smile on her lips. "You seem like a good enough kid, Agent."
"I try," is all I have time to say, because Darius is returning with two mugs of ale.
"Any movement?" he asks, handing me one.
"Only on the ground," I say, shaking my head. But right then the shot switches back to Katniss, and it's clear she's spotted her neighbor in the other tree despite the dying daylight, from the way she's intently propped herself up on one elbow and is staring into the foliage. After several moments, the cameras catch some movement on the part of the small darker girl, a silent lift of her hand as she points up into Katniss's tree.
Katniss follows the girl's finger and squints at a form higher up in the tree. She doesn't seem to be able to make it out, but with the cameras, we get a good look. It's a huge fucking wasp nest. There's no insects crawling on the outside, but I'd bet my ass it's the mutant Capitol-engineered killer wasps, not the regular kind. That would be boring.
The feed returns to the commentators' booth, where Caesar Flickerman must be having the same thoughts, because he remarks, "Claudius, I think those are tracker jackers. Am I wrong?"
"Ohhhhh," draws out Claudius. "Those things are very lethal."
"Very," concurs Caesar, before launching into an explanation of the creatures for any naive members of the Capitol audience. Most district citizens surely know of them, at least enough to steer clear. But all the nests of these genetically engineered mutts that sat near the Capitol were destroyed after the war, and we don't see them in every Hunger Games.
As Caesar is finishing his spiel, the screen behind him shows movement in Katniss's tree. We switch back to the in-arena cameras and get a better look at her as she gingerly maneuvers her burned leg back inside the sleeping bag through a hole she's slashed in it. After extricating it altogether, she starts to climb higher up the tree. Toward the nest.
"What the fuck is she doing?" I comment, my eyes going wide as fear spreads out in my chest. She should know better than to get that close to a nest. Does she even realize what it is? I'm still puzzling over it as she reaches the branch the nest hangs from and then stops. Moments later, the sky lights up with the Capitol seal and the anthem starts. That's when she positions the serrated edge of her knife on the branch. My breath hitches in my suddenly tight throat. "Oh my god."
"She's not serious!" exclaims Darius, stepping closer with bulging eyes as she begins to saw. But despite the vibrations in the branch, the faint humming in the nest barely swells in volume, and no wasps crawl out to search for the assailant.
"It's the smoke," I think out loud, expelling a sigh of relief. "They're comatose."
"So will they wake up to attack the Careers?" the redhead asks.
"I don't know," I mumble. A new wave of anxiety is afflicting my gut and more notably my head, which I grab as if that can stop it from spinning. "In any case, should scare them off. Give her time to clear out." The cameras break away from Katniss long enough to show a parachute landing on her sleeping bag, and I growl, "'Bout fucking time."
Katniss isn't able to get through the branch before the anthem ends. When the music stops, she has to as well, if she doesn't want the pack to catch on and move their camp. But her disgruntled expression melts when she returns to her sleeping bag and finds the gift. Opening the small pot attached to the parachute, she dips a finger in and releases an immediate sigh of relief. "Oh, Haymitch," she whispers. "Thank you."
"He finally took our money," huffs Greasy Sae. "We chipped in for that medicine. Changed the gift request after she got scorched."
My head shakes with disgust. "He's such a fucking disgrace."
"He's okay," Sae answers noncommittally, though I can feel her wary gaze. "He's doing well, considering the life he's had."
"Yeah," I scoff, "I don't have any sympathy for some rich entitled asshole who almost let my girlfriend die of thirst because he was too drunk to do his job." Almost immediately my eyes dart about in a panic, but the other group nearby doesn't seem to have heard me. Darius's eyebrows have shot up and Greasy Sae's cheeks are crinkling with silent laughter. Shuffling on the spot, I jam my hands in my pockets. "So… how 'bout them Careers?"
***o***
Katniss's knife slips back in the groove in that branch early the next morning. Early for them, anyway. I've been in the Square for a while by that time, squirming under Purnia's watchful eye. Yesterday seems to have erased the last of her confidence in me, as she's been hanging around the Square most of the morning.
The girl on screen goes rigid all of a sudden. The cameras zoom in on a tracker jacker crawling out of the nest, and my own muscles tense at the sight. She'd better hurry and cut that thing down before they all wake up. The wasps, I mean. The Careers show no sign of waking below her, including Glimmer, who was supposed to be on watch but has slumped back against the tree trunk. Even Peeta has finally fallen asleep - he was awake during my breakfast, and apparently had been up all night before dozing off not long ago. If the sawing doesn't wake any of them up, they're likely all as good as dead. That should make me happier than it does.
"Wake up, Clove," I whisper, rocking back and forth on my heels. Just enough time to wake up and get a head start is all she needs. And for the Careers to leave and be pursued by every wasp is all Katniss needs. Not that I care about the rest of them. As much resentment as I hold toward Clove, the thought of her dying in agony at the hands of tracker jackers sends anxiety shooting through my veins. I don't want her to die this way. Truth be told, I don't want her to die at all. Now that the possibility is a very real one, I've been slapped with that fact. And it pisses me off.
Fear for both her and the tribute in the tree is making my legs unsteady, and I have to grip a nearby railing to help me keep my feet and my composure. The ice queen is watching, and I can't blink. Maybe she was right that I would be better suited taking the time off, but my pride is at stake now.
Katniss too is resolved to get a grip on herself, and after patting some sweat off her palms, takes a deep breath and grabs the knife again. She makes quick work of the rest of the branch, gritting her teeth and mostly holding in a yelp when she takes a sting on the knee. As the branch gives way, she pushes it away from herself, but she still gets two more stings from wasps already in the air by the time it twists through the branches below it and hits the ground. That's all we see of her for several minutes. Wouldn't want to miss the chaos on the ground.
The noise of the impact jolts Clove from her sleep, and her eyes shoot wide open at the sight and sound of the angry swarm taking to the air. She's up and running in an instant, which curls the corner of my mouth slightly despite the grimness of the moment. She can thank me for that quick wake-and-respond reflex I drilled into her. The others are a little more disoriented and bear the brunt of the attack. Especially Glimmer. While Clove gets away with only one sting from an especially alert and fast wasp, the wannabe archer only feet from the remnants of the nest is mobbed by the furious insects. Her shrieks and desperate flailing send chills through me, my throat going dry.
Peeta and the other boys bolt without a second thought, but Melissa makes the mistake of grabbing her spear before running. That extra couple of seconds puts her in the crosshairs of more wasps, taking the heat for her sharper allies. They're yelling to each other, Cato urging the others to head for the lake, as they leave their sacrificial lambs in their dust, ignoring their screams. As the adage goes, "I don't need to outrun the bear. I just need to outrun you." Again I'm feeling a little queasy. From the scene before me, sure, but also because I know I'd do the exact same thing. They're all enemies in the end, anyway. Can't afford to care about anyone in the arena. That place really fucks with your humanity.
Glimmer doesn't get far before collapsing, still within view of the tree. Melissa is on her feet, but she's sustained close to ten stings by now and is surely a goner. Sure enough, she doesn't make it out of the woods. The boys meanwhile are diving into the lake, joining Clove and submerging themselves to escape the swarm. The boy from Three, who was sleeping at their camp, catches on a little too late and receives a couple stings of his own before getting underwater.
Finally the cameras break to Katniss, who is woozily clambering down the tree, looking dangerously close to passing out herself. When she hits the ground, she takes off away from the tree, away from the lake. Away from the only bow in the arena.
"The bow!" I hiss. "Look around, you fucking fool!"
The only people looking around are a couple of curious locals near me, who I chase off with a scowl and my venomous evil eye. Katniss doesn't heed my advice and crashes through the underbrush until she finds the pool where she spent yesterday and jumps in. It takes me a mystified moment to realize she's trying to follow Cato's advice to evade the wasps in the water. But none are on her tail; they're buzzing around in the vicinity of the lake and slowly dispersing.
"I'm going to kill that little bitch!" roars Cato between dunks. "She's dead fucking meat!" He can't leave the lake yet, not with some of the colony still tracking them, but he's itching to. On second thought, maybe Katniss should just forget the bow and run as far as she can. It's by far her strongest weapon, but thanks to me she's competent with plenty of others. She'll have other opportunities to scavenge dead tributes' weapons as the Games roll on.
After a few minutes, Katniss drags herself out of the pool and collapses on the rocks surrounding it. I barely have time to pray that she'll get moving before she's on her feet. But she staggers back in the direction she came from, not away, running as fast as she can in her altered state until she reaches Glimmer's body. She heard me, much too late. Most of the wasps have moved on from the lake, and Cato is edging closer to shore, keeping a close eye on the remaining ones circling near them. Peeta and the boy from Three are already in the shallows, probably because they don't know how to swim, but I'm not so scared of them.
Glimmer's canon sounds just as Katniss reaches her and attempts to recover the weapons. The bow is held in a literal death grip, her swollen fingers immobilized around it. Katniss has to break them with a stone just to pry it free, then she attempts to roll the body over, which ends with her on her butt, eyes unfocused. She woozily pushes herself back onto her knees, panting through her mouth like she's holding back a geyser of vomit. Which isn't unlikely, given the grotesque, deformed body before her.
A second cannon sounds as we get our next look at the lake, where Cato is screaming another round of death threats. He finds the lake bed under his feet and struggles toward the shore just as a hovercraft materializes over the forest above Melissa's body.
"She's mine!" snarls Peeta, charging out of the lake ahead of Cato. Clove pushes her way to shore, growling obscenities as Cato takes a moment to choose a particularly sinister-looking new sword from their stockpile, miraculously managing not to trip any bombs. Marvel and Three appear too dazed to go on the attack, languishing in the shallows. Three is tiny and Marvel took more stings than anyone else left alive, so it's not surprising.
"Do this!" Katniss commands herself, then tries again to roll the larger girl over. She succeeds this time and struggles to free the sheath with shaking hands, wild-eyed and hyperventilating. Peeta is almost upon her, brandishing Melissa's spear, by the time she frees it and pulls it into her chest. Cato is a ways behind him, stumbling over his own feet, and we get a look at Clove running smack into a tree and falling on her butt, which would be hilarious and satisfying in less frightening circumstances. She blinks around in confusion for a couple seconds before lying back, holding her head. One attacker down, thank god. Katniss has not even retained the coordination to nock an arrow, let alone shoot anyone. Peeta appears the most alert of anyone right now, so I really hope he was bluffing. The way he drops his throwing arm at the sight of his supposed enemy gives me hope.
"What are you still doing here?" he hisses at Katniss, who is staring dumbfoundedly. "Are you mad?" He pokes her with the butt end of the spear. "Get up! Get up!" Katniss barely manages to do so, and he pushes her toward the forest, away from where Cato is bearing down on them. "Run!" screams Peeta. "Run!" When Cato crashes through the trees into view, Katniss finally gets it. She turns and flees as Peeta faces up to Cato, blocking his pursuit of her.
"Get outta the way, Lover Boy!" roars the monstrous tribute.
"I can't," says Peeta, raising the spear in a defensive position.
Cato growls and a short battle ensues, only lasting more than a few seconds because the aggressor is so unsteady on his feet. Peeta is able to dodge a few blows and block one before Cato takes a second hack at the spear and cracks it halfway down the shaft. The smaller blonde jumps back and bolts, notably in a different direction than Katniss did, and Cato chooses to pursue the boy with a broken weapon rather than the armed girl who scored an eleven. Fucking idiot. He does catch up, however, forcing Peeta to turn around and defend himself. Rapidly Cato attacks, slashing the mostly defenseless boy across the thigh. He's about to strike again when Peeta punches him in the cheekbone, driving the stinger farther into a huge sting under his eye. Cato screams and drops his sword to grab at his eye, allowing Peeta to scamper away, limping and attempting unsuccessfully to staunch the flow of blood on the run.
I'm jolted from the gruesome scene by a hand on my shoulder. Glancing over, I find Purnia at my side, eyes fixed on the screen. "What do you want?" I scowl.
Purnia doesn't glorify that with a response. "You were right about one thing," she tells me. "I am a dick about Katniss." Now she turns her head. "Not that I've treated you unfairly, quite the opposite."
A smirk comes over my lips, despite my best efforts. "Why, Captain? You jealous?"
"Hardly," she huffs, averting her eyes again. "It pains me to watch you put yourself in harm's way."
"Why?" I demand.
"Because you're my friend."
"You're a shitty one," I declare, recapturing her suddenly icy gaze. "You don't get to decide what's good for me, Purnia. These are my choices to make. Fuck, you're worse than Darius sometimes." That visibly stings, sending a pang of regret to my stomach, so I soften the blow with a dirty joke, as I am prone to do. "Well, probably not in the sack."
"Please, Johanna," she chuckles. "We both know that's not true."
My eyes narrow. "How would you know?"
She rolls her eyes. "Gross, never. I hear the girls, the way they talk."
"Is he fucking someone new now?" I ask, suddenly feeling defensive for some reason.
Purnia tips her head. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"No, thank you." Eyeing the broadcast once again, I'm faced with the sight of Marvel taking wild swings and screaming at Three, demanding to know why he's purple. "They don't exaggerate what that shit does to you."
"They sure don't," agrees Purnia as we watch Peeta slump down in a thicket of bushes, clutching his leg while Cato retreats and finds a dizzy Clove gathering their weapons. They are both close to collapsing too, and don't bother trying to track Katniss, heading instead for the Cornucopia. The archer is staggering through the forest, screaming and clawing at her eyes. When she trips and falls into a pit, she doesn't get up, just curls into a whimpering ball of flesh and venom before passing out.
"At least she's safe," observes Purnia. I'm tempted to take a shot and say I'm surprised she's happy about that, but decide to suspend the hostilities. I lack the energy to fight her, or maybe - is it possible - I just don't want to.
"Yeah. For now."
A/N: As I've mentioned before, I use a mix of book and movie canon, mostly sticking to book in terms of plot. There will be more plot changes coming as far as the Games, we just haven't reached that point yet.
Thanks to D7P for her ideas about how to make this chapter flow smoothly, and for the beta read.
Only somewhat related, today is the two-year anniversary of the publication of Lifeblood chapter 1! How time flies. My writing is much better now, largely thanks to my tireless beta. It's been a fun two years. Hopefully one day I will get those last few chapters of Lifeblood pumped out and be able to call it finished.