I burst out of the house. Panting with anger. Spike sits by the steps and cocks his head as though he cares about my feelings. I motion to him.
"Let's go hunt."
He trots beside me as we walk through the woods. Spike not even breaking a twig as he steadily creeps in front of me. Sniffing the ground for game. The luxury of Spike searching for game is a double sword. It allows me to think of other things. Like how incredibly wrong I am. How selfish I am. Peeta was showing kindness to Delly. Helping her to move on. She no longer has a family on whom she can depend. Rather she is alone in this hostile world and must survive. I take the fact that Peeta will love me until the sky falls for granted. My own fear, guilt, and grief are all directed at him, just because he's there and he won't leave. I think to myself of what it means to me having Johanna pregnant in the house opening the floodgates to the memories of my mother as she carried my sister, my mother and father so happy to have another little one to share their love with. And Prim was loved from the moment she breathed. Doted upon my our mother.
My thoughts are interrupted by Spike's rigid body. Pointing into a bush I withdraw an arrow from my quiver and arm my bow.
"What is it boy?"
He slowly steps closer to the bush with such purpose and rigidity it looks mechanical. Then he begins to bark. Wild turkeys fly up into the air toward the trees above and my arrow hits a nice fat one. A lovely dinner this will make for us all. One kill plenty for all of us. I walk to the stream where Spike refreshes himself in the cool water and clean the game. Allowing Spike to have his share of the spoils. The liver and gizzards. Silently we walk home. Back to where Peeta is, where Peeta who loves me endlessly is hurting over my obstience. He sits in the meadow twirling a dandelion between his fingers. I set down my game bag and Spike trots off in the direction of the house. I plop beside him.
"Don't say anything…" He says.
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me stunned.
"Delly is alone. You were kind to her. I don't even think I was mad over that. Just grieving. I know you'll always be here and I shouldn't hurt you like that."
He smiles.
"Katniss Everdeen apologizes. Let me get out my calendar." He chuckles.
I push him to the ground and kiss him giving him a playful jab in the rib we roll around in the meadow kissing and laughing. We stop and he hovers above me. He pushes my hair from my forehead and smiles at me lovingly. I pull him in by his shirt collar and kiss him. Our tongues move in symphony as I writhe beneath him. Wrapping my arm around his neck rubbing my other up and down his chest pleading.
"Everyone is here." He whispers.
"I don't care."
"Really quick."
He lowers back down and takes off our clothes. Looking at me, studying me with his eyes. He looks at me as though I were art. He strokes my cunt with one hand and kisses my neck. I let out a sigh of approval. Then he enters me. I arch my back as he does so. I listen to the steady sound of his breath as our hips meet. I hold onto him as though we were my salvation. He grunts and quickens the pace. I release my grip and pull on blades of grass as I come. Then he does his breath being forced out of him by the sensation.
"Make up sex." He whispers.
I giggle and we put our clothing on. As I stand I see Haymitch cresting the hill waving his arms wildly. We run to him. I reach him first as Peeta struggles up the hill on his prosthetic.
"It's Johanna." He says a grave look upon his face.
"She's going into labor."
"Right now?" Peeta asks calmly.
Haymitch nods.
"It's too soon." Peeta says.
I push past them and rush to the house and into the guest room. Where Johanna sits up Beetee beside her face stark white her hair is plastered to her forehead by sweat and she is hyperventilating. Memories flood in. My mother laboring with Prim. Prim was breech coming feet first my mother had to dictate how to turn her in the womb to Hazelle. Sweating, panting eyes full of pain as she did so.
"What are we going to do?" I ask.
I feel all eyes turn to me as my mother was a healer.
"I don't know how to deliver a baby! Someone call the hospital in Four!"
Effie rushes to the phone. I take Johanna's hand and look her in the eyes. Eyes which look delirious. I take a thermometer and check her temperature. 104.
"My fucking head!" She screams. "Mommy my head hurts and I can't see!"
Blindness, headache, fever delirium. Preeclampsia.
"Shit."
Peeta places his head on my shoulders.
"The baby has to be cut out or they'll both die."
"I have a doctor on the phone!" Effie shouts.
"Tell them she has preeclampsia and send a hovercraft quick!"
Memories of my mother performing cesarean sections flood my mind which turn to images of cleaning game. It will take almost four hours for a hovercraft to get here. Johanna and the baby don't have time.
"It's not that much different." I say aloud.
"Katniss." Peeta says. "Tell me what to do."
"Get me towels, morphling, my hunting knife when you get it put it over a flame and then bring some liquor to sterilize it. In my mothers old bedroom is a sewing awl kit. Get them quick!"
Peeta fetches the supplies. I inject Johanna with morphling, which calms her a little. My mind wanders to Prim's birth. Think! One thing at a time!
"Sterilize the knife!"
I pour white liquor in a glass and then swirl the knife in it. Haymitch then grabs the bottle and takes a swig.
"Get a turkey baster!" I yell at him.
I take back the liquor and drink some myself. To steady my nerves. To lives depend on mine. The room around me becomes the arena. I am Johanna and Johanna is me, cutting the tracker from my arm. Fitting. The feeling of being on the fringe of life and death returns. My mind sharpens knowing each move directly affects that. I sit between her legs and make an incision between her hips.
"Towels!" I yell.
I wipe the blood and umbilical fluid which flows out of the wound I just made. I take my hands and put them into her uterus and feel the childs head.
"Get the turkey baster." I bark.
I free the child from it's mother, covered in blood and fluid. Whimpering. Peeta hands me the turkey baster and I suction the mucus plugs from his nose and mouth. I cut the cord and hand the baby to Peeta to clean up his first cries emerging from his lips. I then return my hands into Johanna, removing the afterbirth. I then clean the wound with the white liquor and sew her up as I would leather. It's crude but the medical staff will do a better job when they get here. Johanna groans and stirs. Beetee looking down at her with concerned eyes. Good she's alive. I rise and turn to the kitchen where Effie is holding a tiny little boy. Too tiny, wrinkled, olive, black hair standing straight up. But he wiggles around. I take him from Effie and bring him into Beetee. His face fills with wonder and his eyes swell with tears. The baby wriggles and cries in the blankets he is wrapped in. Blankets that once belonged to Prim.
"A fighter. Just like his mom."
Now we wait. Vigilance still in the arena. No time for celebration. We must keep them alive until help gets here.