Chapter 5: Artemis and Apollo

I am hyperventilating, my breath coming in rough gasps. Not thirty seconds ago, I just witnessed Cinna, my stylist, my friend, get beaten within an inch of his life by Peacekeepers before being dragged away. I had already been sealed inside my launch tube, powerless to do anything to stop it except beat on the glass with my fists and scream.

The timing had to have been intentional, meant to psych me out in the final moments before I am in the Hunger Games, fighting for my life, once more, now alongside the man I call my husband… and against 22 other Victors. Middle-aged Careers still in their prime. Geriatric legends. And any one of them, aside from the man I took as my spouse in sickness and in health, until death do us part, could and will be gunning to kill me.

The dapple patterns of sunlight are now playing tricks on me, though the harsh glare has at least faded from my eyes. I now find myself adrift in a watery wedge, and still breathing in rough gasps, I scan my horizons within seconds, knowing that every single one of the sixty we will receive before the gong sounds is precious. I can't waste time gathering my bearings once we are free to move off of our pedestals.

"Gale…. Gale…" I breathe, my eyes making a wide sweep. If I could just find his wavy dark hair, I could pick my lover out in seconds, even at a distance.

There is one pedestal to my right, with Cashmere Delacroix perched atop it. To my left, there is a rocky spoke separating me from Brutus, who is also scanning his surroundings, his rock-solid muscles primed with tension. On the pedestal just beyond him, the drunken man from Five whose name I think might be Matthias is drifting up to the lip of his plate and peering down into the water tepidly. Another rocky spoke is in the short distance beyond him.

That's it then. There's a pattern here: two pedestals to a watery wedge, with rocky spokes jutting out to form the wedges. So, there must be twelve wedges in all, and thus twelve spokes. And all these rocky pathways lead to a craggy island in the center of this miniature sea – an island that houses the Cornucopia.

I try to squint to pick out my husband in the far distance, but eventually, the pedestals ring around the horn and my sightline is blocked without finding him. He must have been launched near the horn's tail, so therefore almost directly opposite me.

I'd sure like to know where he is, though. Where are you….. Where are you?!

The seconds are ticking away; Claudius Templesmith is close to the end of his countdown. My gaze zeroes in on a bow, lying just in front of the mouth of the horn. Swim of twenty yards to get there, maybe. Brushing my bangs back, tucking them behind my ear, I finally get my breathing to even as I grow steely and will myself to be a player.

"5….. 4….. 3…. 2…. 1…."

The gong hasn't completely faded away on the air before I am swan diving with a ladylike gracefulness into the waves.

Thank goodness Mother and Daddy taught their daughters how to swim – all part of an education meant to make Primrose and me well rounded district ladies. The skill serves me well now, as I am probably only one of the few people from my homeland who has it. The lake well beyond Twelve's borders had done the job of teaching Gale how to navigate, tread water, but how many other Victors – other than the Fours – will be able to even reach the island? It's the only way to get to the Cornucopia. And there was no pool in the Training Center, no last minute chance to practice. So either you came here a swimmer, or you'd better be a really fast learner. Because if you aren't, these Games filled with champions could end anticlimactically, very quickly and too, too cleanly.

I slap a palm onto the rocky spoke closest to me, and my ears rise up out of the water just in time to hear the retort of the cannon. BOOM. Someone has already died, the first kill of the Quell. I sure hope it isn't the man I was sleeping with last night.

I hear a splash; Cashmere's right behind me, and closing fast. She's coming for me. Snapping my head to the side, I can see Brutus's shaved, bald head crowning over the lip of this same spoke from the wedge adjacent, and I scramble up onto land, leap to my feet and take off running. The forty-something Career is slower to haul himself out of the water, and he pulls back, choosing not to pursue me as, lengthening my strides into a dead sprint, I begin to make The Run.

I keep my head on a periscopic swivel as I push my lithe, svelte body to the limits of its endurance. Months of training with Peeta – an odd pang shoots through me to think of him now – and the boys have kept me fit, yet I still feel winded. I grit my teeth. Probably shouldn't have gone so hard in bed last night, even if it was totally worth it.

In defiance of my original theory, more Victors seem to have either moved or fallen off their plates than I would have guessed. Someone – I can't tell whom – has already hit the sand and is fleeing for the tropical trees at my back. The word comes to mind: jungle.

On the spoke next to mine, the one that would border the far side of Cashmere's and my wedge, I spot her twin brother, Gloss, also making a sprint for it, and he's matching me lunge for lunge. We make a competition out of it, racing each other for the supplies – I luckily win, but only by default when Gloss's foot snags on a rock and he falls to the earth with a grunt.

Great. Just great. Four and possibly more Careers, and I have to get launched near three of them. Snow must really want me dead.

I am the first to make landfall and reach the horn, seizing the bow and stringing it.

I sense something, a shift in the air currents perhaps, and I spin, an arrow already in the notch.

I get a hair's-breadth and a split second away from making myself a widow, and my eyes have barely registered that he is here with me before Gale is slapping my arrow's tip aside, taking me by my waist and pulling me flush into him so he can kiss me soundly on the lips.

"Mmmm…..Mmmm! Hmmmmm!" I whimper into his plundering mouth and wriggle free, though reluctantly. "Bloodbath now. Make out later."

My husband just smirks. "Ah, together again, huh? What's a honeymoon without a little déjà vu?"

"Here," I state flatly, rifling through the first layer of supplies and getting my hands on a second bow which I toss to him. Gale loads up. "So, who'd you get launched with?"

"Oh, that Roan Tully fucker."

"The guy from 10?" I blanche. He's built about as well as any Career.

My husband must read my mind. "Yup. But don't worry. He's dead."

"You got him?!" So that was the cannon I heard. I must say, I'm impressed and also overwhelmed with relief.

"Delacroix, inbound and coming in hot at 5 o'clock!"

"Which one?" I bark as we stand back-to-back, me spinning towards the threat.

"The one with the dick!"

I smirk. "Got him in my sights. MINE!"

"Fire!" Gale snaps.

I shoot. I get Gloss right in the calf, just as he is skidding to a halt steps away from the island proper, and he topples over into a watery wedge with a cry of pain.

"Catnip!"

But I already feel another shift in the air currents and as if speaking with one mind, Gale and I leap apart with just enough space so that Finnick Odair doesn't drop down right on top of us, seemingly from out of the clear blue sky. The smug bastard lands right between us, in fact; he must have scaled the Cornucopia and then leapt off.

Except he now has two arrows pointed directly in his face on either side. We have the guy pinned, dead to rights.

So why in Snow's name is he smirking like that?

"Good thing we're allies, right?"

He's subtly kicking up a trident into his palm using nothing but his toe while lifting his other arm, perhaps to distract me.

He distracts me, all right, because when his wrist catches the sunlight, I see it: the glittering of a golden bangle.

I recognize that bangle.

"Where did you get that?" I demand.

"Where do you think, Mrs. Hawthorne?" The sound of my married name dripping off Finnick Odair's tongue like it's poison makes me falter, but not enough that I don't obey the pretty boy's command when he now quite abruptly yells:

"DUCK!"

I do, and the trident goes whizzing over my head in the time it takes Gale to yell out my name in warning. There's a THUNK and a groan, followed by a cannon.

BOOM.

Lifting my head, I now see the poor drunk from Five was six inches away from tackling me from behind. Finnick strolls over to him and jerks the spear from Matthias's chest as though he has just finished filleting a fish.

"Don't trust One and Two, you crazy kids! The three of us each take one side, and we can hold them off. And I'll go find Mags!"

He's gone before I can overthink that last plan of action, Gale leaping in front of me and firing off a round. Glancing over his shoulder, I catch Enobaria swan diving off one spoke and into the waves to avoid my husband's arrow.

"Hey, lovebirds! While you're at it, be good dears and do something about that, would you?" Finnick pokes his head around the lip of the horn. Glancing up, Gale and I can see Brutus is barreling towards us with the speed of a freight train and a bellow to match one. Took the brute long enough. Gale and I take deadly aim and fire in rapid succession.

Brutus ducks Gale's shot, all while unfurling his belt and now snapping it taut in front of his face as a kind of shield, just in time to block my shot – and all without breaking stride. Some kind of purple liquid coats his face. We quickly reload. Brutus wisely drops to the sand, rolls a few feet to the water's edge and submerges.

"See anything useful?" Gale hollers as we retreat back into the shadow of the horn and thus a more fortified position. Gloss will be back to make another assault, and undoubtedly, Cashmere is somewhere nearby too.

I scan the pile, and notice something interesting. No backpacks. Which would indicate…

"Weapons! Nothing but weapons!"

"Excellent observation by the missus!" Finnick quips, rounding the horn with Mags slung over his shoulders and looking like a half-drowned puppy. There's some kind of pointy chisel gripped between her gums. "Grab what you want and let's get the fuck out of…."

"Careful, Odair – we're on television!" Gale smirks, shaking his head. I think his amusement is mostly performative: if we did have a shortlist of allies, Finnick Odair for damn sure wasn't on it. Except now we have Haymitch going around and making friends for us.

I inwardly sigh. Too late now. At least Mags was on my shortlist. If Gale has feelings on the matter of picking up a little old lady as a Hunger Games hitchhiker, he doesn't let on. Together, our quartet, District 4 and District 12, runs away from the Cornucopia before the Careers can mount another offensive and take the beach.

Finnick takes the lead, Mags bouncing piggyback behind him. Gale and I bring up the rear, keeping on a swivel, our arrows pointed and at the ready to ward off any pursuers.

We crash through the underbrush, heading deeper into the jungle and going at a heavy jog. Sweat is already pouring into my eyes and it hasn't even been thirty minutes. I jerk sharply as the sound of more cannon fire reaches our ears, but I'm exerting myself too much to keep count.

Finnick finally allows us to slow up in a clearing. Gale sags against the nearest trunk.

"Snow alive, it's hot! We have to think about getting freshwater!"

BOOM. Yet another cannon goes off and we all jump. Finnick has a bizarre grin on his face.

"You think that's funny or something?" I quip, frowning.

He actually chuckles, the sicko! "Every time that cannon goes off? It's music to my ears!"

My scowl deepens and I start to flutter my fingers back towards my quiver. Finnick notices. His expression doesn't change.

"Wanna face the Career pack alone? What would Haymitch say?"

"Haymitch isn't here," I deadpan coldly.

Gale moves between us, and it's quite the move out of his comfort zone to be the one making the best peace. "Let's all just be careful where we step. Catnip? Do you think you're strong enough to do a little scouting ahead?" My husband's eyes shift just the slightest bit up towards the canopy, and I know what he's really asking me, and why.

Right. I'm supposed to be pregnant, and therefore play it up for the cameras accordingly. Except how are pregnant women even supposed to act? I only have vague memories of when Mother was carrying Primrose.

I set aside that question for now by focusing on the easier task at hand: getting a view from above. Nodding to Gale reassuringly and even chastely giving his lips a light peck, I swing up onto the closest branch, ascending into the trees. Finnick says something I can't hear, but I'm irritated to think that it includes the word 'ass.'

Poking my head out of the leaves, I scan the horizon. There's the Cornucopia in the distance, with little figures still running around the rocks. The Victors look like ants from here. Bloodbath's not over. Snow's Roses, how many are dead?

On a hunch, I launch an arrow into the sky. There's a zap and I see the arrow plummet to earth and out of sight.

I drop to the jungle floor, only to find myself landing in the middle of a heated argument between Finnick and Gale. Mags is futilely trying to break it up.

"Come on, ya pretty, pretty peacock! If all you know how to do is twirl a trident, let's see if you can at least make it look good!"

"Little boy – if I had wanted you and your baby mama dead, I would have done it by now," Finnick jeers.

"Oh, is that some smart-ass crack about my wife, Odair?! Or is that your pathetic excuse for a threat?" Gale is going for an arrow, loading it in the notch and suddenly I am scared to death.

"Stop it! Both of you just stop it!" Finnick has his trident arm dropped back, poised to throw and I leap between them, suddenly near tears. Sniffling, breathing hard, I string my bow and also take aim. There's a blink in those sea-green eyes as Finnick hesitates, though from his body language, he is still awfully confident he can take us both. Maybe he can, but can he do that and protect Mags? Doubtful.

"The arena's a dome. Forcefield is around and above us, sealing us in. It can't be very big or wide around."

Finnick doesn't move, though his face relaxes. His eyes make a sweep of my chest and then down. "Speaking of big or wide around…."

"So help me, Odair, if you're making a pregnancy joke…!" Gale tries to muscle around me, but I hold him back.

"Well, hell, Mrs. Hawthorne – if I could see with my own two eyes how little personal space we have in this arena, I think I'd cry too!"

"What?" And Gale rounds on me, searching my face, cupping my cheeks. "Catnip, are you crying?"

"Awww, it's just her hormones. From the baby."

I sniff, nodding weakly, playing along. Good one, Odair. Nice save.

Finnick has now dropped back into a relaxed posture, though his trident remains within arm's reach. "And what are they doing at the Cornucopia, Katniss? Have they thrown their weapons into the sea? Made a pact of nonviolence? Sworn defiance to the Capitol?"

I duck my head. "No," I state quietly.

"No. Whatever détente there may have been is gone, once the gong sounds. Because none of us was a Victor by chance…" He glances between Gale and me, and there is a slight confusion in his face as if he is trying to figure something out. "Not even you two."

Finnick's right, of course. Even with the dual win that allowed Gale and I to live together, none of us was a Victor by chance. There is a reason we all survived the arena once and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of the nation.

Whatever tension was left is diffused – for now – and the men start to use the large leaves around us to make tents while Mags gathers nuts. Protein like that, while beneficial, will nevertheless dry out our mouths, so I set off a few paces away in search of freshwater.

I find none, though I do find a tree rat, sniffing for bugs in the dirt and I shoot it dead. Brushing its muzzle, I am elated to find that it's wet.

I dump the tree rat at Finnick and Gale's feet. "No water. But there has to be some close by because our friend here found it first."

We cook the tree rat for dinner as the sun sets, then the anthem is blaring as the faces of the first day's dead appear in the sky.

The first to appear is Matthias, the man from 5. That means Districts 1 through 4 have all survived. Next is District 6's male Morphling. Woof. Cecelia. Both from 9. The man from 10, who Gale apparently drowned. And Seeder from 11.

"I was expecting higher," Finnick muses.

"Really? I was expecting less," Gale quibbles and he shoots the other man a glare with subtext that rings like a thunderclap: Don't speak so cavalierly of the dead.

We prepare for bed. Finnick and I agree to take first watch, even though I don't trust him to guard my six. When I reassure Gale I'm fine, he kisses me goodnight, ghosting his hand over my flat stomach. I refrain from jerking in surprise, even though my husband has touched me there before, in bed.

Gale smiles. "You're going to be a great mother, you know," he murmurs.

Instead of feeling touched, I am gripped with terror. Why do I have the feeling there is some deeper meaning to his otherwise innocuous compliment? I am still turning it over in my mind as I unintentionally drift off to sleep.