By the time we arrive at the river, we are both pretty dehydrated. It is already dark, so when we are done drinking, we have to hurry to find something to eat. I try to catch some fish in the water, but they are too fast.
Cato's plan to hunt some small animals in the woods doesn't show much success, either. We keep searching until it is too dark to see anything at all. Before we end up in the middle of the woods in complete blackness, Cato discovers a group of bushes carrying tiny red berries. He's sure they aren't nightlock, so we both gather a handful and pitch our camp next to the bushes.
I'm so hungry I gulp all of my berries right away. Cato does the same. It isn't much, but at least my stomach feels a bit less empty.
Somehow, it seems awkward to sit in the darkness with Cato, probably because we haven't spoken a word since our argument. After a couple of minutes, he tells me he'd take the first shift and I cuddle up on the ground without answering him.
I dream about the dinner at the mayor's house in District Two my family and I once attended. The table was filled with every sort of meal I could imagine, and I ate until I was almost bursting. In my dream, I swear myself to have a dinner as big as that to celebrate my victory.
When Cato wakes me, I don't feel hungry anymore. There's just some strange rumbling in my stomach that I can't explain. I decide to ignore it and spend my time thinking.
I still don't understand Cato's behavior. First he's furious, then he's comforting.
However, I know that I'm not as important to Cato as he is to me. I have the impression that he spared my life just because it is no longer necessary to kill me. I know Cato would do anything to win, but that doesn't mean he needs to take an unnecessary evil. Why kill me if he doesn't need to? He'll win either way, if I'm dead or alive. He probably just wanted to save himself the trouble of killing me.
It's the same with his comforting behavior: I guess he did it because my crying meant shame for our whole District. The only way he could keep me from crying was by comforting me, so he did what was necessary. He didn't care for me or anything; it would be pure fatuity to believe that.
As if Cato had ever cared for anybody except himself! And Glimmer, of course.
I'm really glad when the first hints of sunlight appear at the horizon. I consider gathering some more berries in case Cato is hungry when he wakes up, but then I remember our argument and quickly drop that idea.
Would he ever prepare breakfast for you, Clove?
No, he wouldn't. So why make an effort?
Suddenly, Cato begins to stir. I look at his figure on the ground and what I see makes my heart skip a beat: His face is all swollen as if covered with fresh tracker-jacker stitches.
I crawl over to him in panic. What's going on here?
Cato's eyelids are fluttering; his whole body's shaking. When I cautiously touch his cheek, he startles and lets out a painful moan.
"Cato", I whisper. "Cato, can you hear me?"
He opens his eyes and looks at me. I think he wants to say something, but before he gets the chance, a wave of nausea overwhelms him and he shoves me out of the way and throws up all over the forest floor.
I avert my gaze.
When Cato is done, he wipes his mouth and gasps for air. "What's happening?" I hear him say.
His eyes meet mine. I can see anger, confusion; even a trace of reproach.
"I didn't do anything", I stammer. "I swear, I have no clue what's going on! Let me take a look, okay?"
Cato doesn't answer, so I approach him and reach out for his face. As soon as my fingertip meets his swollen skin, he flinches.
"Sorry", I say under my breath.
I try it another time, but Cato turns away before my fingers can touch his face.
I think he's ashamed. I just wonder why.
He looks different, of course; distorted even. Some people would certainly call him ugly in this condition. But he's still the same person. Under those thick layers of swollen skin, there is the same Cato who's been here with me all along. Between those pus-filled bulges, the same gray eyes are glinting in the morning light.
"Hey, that's no big deal", I whisper and – whatever it is that comes over me in this moment – take his hand.
His hand that is still red from the berries… And that's when I understand.
I turn around and stare at the bushes.
"The berries", I say.
Cato looks up at me, frowning. "You think the berries did that? No way."
"Why?"
"You ate them, too. And you look perfectly normal."
Yeah, he's right. All I felt last night was a rumbling in my stomach. Intuitively, I reach for my face, but my skin is as smooth as ever. No bulges that came up overnight.
"It must've been the berries", I say. "How else are you going to explain it?"
I don't wait for Cato's reaction.
My mind is already searching feverishly for a way to help him, but unfortunately, I've never paid much attention to plants. I don't recognize those berries; neither do I know how to treat Cato's skin.
"We'll go back to the river", I suggest after a while. "Maybe the water will alleviate the swelling."
It's all I can think of, and I hope with all my will power that the water's going to help.
"If you think so." That's all Cato says. He's sounding little convinced, but I try for once to ignore his ingratitude and jump to my feet.
"It's better than doing nothing at all!" I say, my voice as determined as possible. "Come on, I'll take the backpack."
The sun has already reached its highest position when we arrive at the river.
Cato kneels down at its bank and scoops some water in his hand. I stay close to him, observing each of his moves with excitement. I watch how Cato splashes the cold water right into his face; how he shakes his head and grits his teeth and tries to suppress a curse.
"Does it hurt?" I ask cautiously, but Cato doesn't answer. He just gives me a look that says: You bet! It hurts like hell.
"But the cold must be good for the swelling", I insist. "Maybe we have to wait a while, you know, for the effect to come –"
Cato doesn't seem to listen. While he's scooping more water, I silently curse the Gamemakers for the merciless heat. The sun is burning down at us so torridly that I feel like one of the roasted squirrels we ate on our first night in the arena. Taking a closer look at Cato, I can tell he must feel the same way. Big drops of sweat are forming on his forehead, and I'm already wondering if it's just the heat or if he's having a fever…
Stop worrying about him. His face is a bit swollen, so what? He's not going to die from a simple swelling.
It must be my sanity that keeps talking to me every time I'm beginning to feel panicked.
The thing is, I can't tell if those berries are just causing an allergic reaction or if they're actually poisonous, maybe even deadly. They're not nightlock – if they were, we would've been dead right after we had eaten them – but nevertheless, they might be dangerous.
So I can't be sure if Cato will be fine again. I can't expect that everything will be okay if we just sit by and wait until the swelling is gone. And I seriously don't think that I'm going to see a normal-looking Cato when I open my eyes the next day.
Did the Gamemakers lead us to the berries on purpose? I'd like to tell them that this is far from funny. Or better, I'd like to stab them one by one for being so perfidious. The image of a headless Seneca Crane satisfies me for a moment, but then I turn my head to look at Cato, and the satisfaction is gone.
Cato is rubbing his face with his damp hands and I can tell it still hurts. It doesn't do any good, either. I see how the water is mixing up with his sweat and how Cato is fighting hard to control himself.
After a while, he lets his hands sink to the ground and looks at me, resignation written all over his face.
The water's had one single effect: Cato's skin is clean now. The traces of pus and blood that leaked from the bulges are gone. But the swelling is still there and still red.
"You don't feel any better, do you?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Do I look any better?" Cato counters.
I shake my head. "Sorry."
I want to add that we have to be patient, that the healing process can't happen in the blink of an eye, but somehow that's superfluous. Cato and I both know that this is not going to be a usual healing process. We both know that the cold of the water will have no effects on his swollen skin.
The Gamemakers are building up tension, and they're successful. As always, I should say.
I think this is the first time I really, consciously feel like a marionette. It makes me angry. So angry I'd love to throw a knife at somebody, if Cato weren't the only one around…
When I glance at him inconspicuously, I find the same anger in his eyes. Then he turns his head in my direction.
"Stop staring!" he hisses. "I know I'm looking ugly, but you should rather find a way to undo this!"
I cross my arms over my chest. "It wasn't my fault we ate those berries!" I say to protect myself, but it comes out much harder than I intended.
"So it is my own fault that I look like this now?" Cato replies, clenching his fists. "You agreed on eating the berries!"
I feel that the situation is about the get out of hand, so I force myself to remain silent. The last thing we need is another argument. Or one of us ending up crying.
"What if it weren't the berries in the first place?" Cato goes on.
"What else should it have been?" I ask.
"I don't know!" he yells. "I don't understand a thing of this shit!"
I let out a deep breath and try to think of a way to calm him down. I guess Cato's condition is worse than he admits, because there's not only anger in his voice. There's also desperation, and quite a lot of it.
"Okay, there are only four ones left to kill", I remind Cato. "I can take care of that, if this is kind of… a handicap for you."
I honestly expect him to protest, but much to my surprise, he doesn't. Another sign that his condition must be serious; otherwise he would never have admitted something's handicapping him.
"What if I get an infection?" Cato asks, obviously ashamed of his own weakness. "It's bleeding from time to time, and maybe it'll even get worse –"
"Do you think it might get any worse?" I ask.
"That's hardly possible, but…" His voice trails off, and he shrugs.
But we're in the Hunger Games, I want to finish his sentence.
For the Gamemakers, everything's possible. They have the money and the means to hurt whoever they like, whenever they like.
They're playing a remorseless game, and we are the pawns.
I don't know what to say anymore. When the rule change was announced, I felt pure happiness like I've never felt before, and I thought it was enough to fill me out for the rest of my life, but now there's already nothing left of it. Every hint of happiness is gone.
It all seemed so easy back then: Only four more tributes to kill and we'd be the victors of these Games.
But of course, it was just another move of the Gamemakers to test our strength, to soften us. To make the Games more exciting and more amusing to the Capitol citizens.
I wish this shit was over already.
I imagine Cato and me going home, Cato looking absolutely perfect with that bright grin of his. The winner's smile; the contagious one that I remember quite well from the reaping. In my imagination, Cato's face is as pure and pristine as ever. It makes me happy to see him like this; unbelievably happy. The thought of his face without the swelling seems almost better than the thought of victory itself.
"We're so close to the aim, I certainly won't give up now", Cato suddenly says. "Forget about my face. We'll go kill the others."
I look at him doubtfully. "Are you sure? Maybe that's not the best idea if it really hurts that much…"
"It would hurt more to lose my pride", Cato replies. "And I'm going to lose it if I don't kill those weaklings because of a stupid swell!"
"We could wait another night", I say, "just to see if it gets better with the time."
Cato throws a warning glance at me. "I told you what would happen if we wait too long! Maybe this is already the beginning, Clove! We'd better kill them quickly and then they'll fix me up in the Capitol."
"I don't know, Cato. Isn't this going to be a disadvantage for you? You don't even have a clear vision!"
"I can see enough", Cato claims.
"What if you get hurt?" I object. "I say it's too risky!"
"So you've got a better idea, besides hanging around and wasting time?" Cato pulls the sword out of its sheath as if to underline his point. The sharp blade is flashing in the sunlight when Cato jumps to his feet, a look of strong determination on his face.
"I'll kill them." He literally spits the words out.
In no time at all, I see Cato's body shaking in the heat. His hands begin to tremble so hard that he has to let go of the sword; it hits the ground with a loud clangor. Cato staggers forward and, before I have a chance to reach him, falls down on his knees.
I jump to my feet and run over to him. He's vomiting again, one hand clenched tightly over his stomach.
Desperation rises inside of me. I don't know what I can do to make the Gamemakers stop this insanity, but there has to be a way. I can't stand by and watch Cato suffer. I would do anything to help him, if I only knew how.
My hand rests on Cato's shoulder until he's done vomiting. Then he pushes me away with all the strength he has left.
His face turns pale, his eyelids begin to flatter and all I can do is watch him collapse.
"Cato!" I call him again and again, louder and more desperate with every time. "Cato, look at me! Cato!"
But it's futile; he's already passing out. I just manage to keep his head from hitting a rock and then he's gone, unconscious for who knows how long.
I lay him down as softly as possible. "Cato, can you hear me?" I whisper in a last attempt to help him, but I have to admit that it's ridiculous, that he won't answer me.
Nevertheless, I go on talking. I don't even know why; probably because it's the only thing I can do in this situation.
"I'll figure something out, okay?" I tell the motionless Cato. "I won't move an inch until you wake up, and in the meantime I'll think of something. Anything. You can count on me, I promise!"
No reaction, of course. I reach out for Cato's face and touch it softly, but this time he doesn't flinch in pain. He doesn't even seem to notice my presence.
I don't know how long I sit there next to Cato's body in the blazing heat, telling him he can count on me, until it occurs to me that I should better get him into the shadows.
It's not easy to move all those muscles with my slender arms, but I don't care about the effort it takes. I pull Cato away from the river and cautiously bed him in a mossy spot under cover of the trees.
I try not to look at him too often, because I have to keep an eye on the area around us and because of the fear that overwhelms me when I see his face. For the next couple of hours, I tell myself that Cato's going to wake up; that he's just taking a rest and that maybe he'll be better afterwards. Still, I can't fight the urge to bend over him from time to time and make sure he's alive. In these moments, I'll close my eyes and focus only on the sound of his breathing to drive away the fear of losing him.