ENTRAPMENT
Chapter Two: Trepidation
It came as quite the surprise to the two trapped Tributes when the thin, silvery beam of light timidly appeared on Cato's side of the ditch, signalling the start of a new day. Katniss had estimated -a rather tedious task when it involved trying to include her roommate's opinion- that they had been trapped for a total of two-to-three days.
In fact, Katniss had already phlegmatically noted that even if she did die, she'd at least feel accomplished over the fact that she'd managed to stand Cato -the great arrogant arse- for longer than five minutes.
Silence had once again washed over the ditch, and the Tributes found themselves either staring at strangely shaped clusters of dirt which distantly resembled political figures (Cato), or thinking hard about ways of finding food and water (Katniss).
Already Katniss had considered boiling some of the roots that lined the walls of the ditch to make a kind of broth, of course, that option wasn't possible considering they had a half-canister full of water left. She had considered eating the roots raw, but knew from experience that they were nearly impossible to chew through unless they were young, and came from a Pine Tree. She wasn't sure what the identity of the roots were, so she had come to the conclusion that she wouldn't risk eating them unless her state of hunger became dire.
As for finding water, she didn't even know where to begin.
Some more time passed, and soon the beam of light came to rest in between the Tributes. Neither had said a single word; both either too absorbed in their activities or enjoying the peace and quiet too much to bother.
Of course, it was Cato who broke the silence a short moment later.
"Well," He started, placing his hands behind his head and leaning backwards into the dirt as much as he could. "I'm bored."
Katniss cocked a brow at him. "What do you want me to do about it?"
He yawned loudly and ruffled the back of his head where his hair was sticking up from constantly laying on it. "I don't know," He replied. "I just don't want to spend my last days being bored out of my mind."
Katniss rolled her eyes at him, detecting the sarcastic edge that his words inhibited. She knew that he, most likely, thought that he could still win The Games despite having a broken leg; there was no way that he was just sitting there waiting to die. He was certainly cocky enough to presume that he could fight his way out of the Arena despite his disability.
"Deal with it." She stated unsympathetically.
He was quiet for another short time before he started humming under his breath.
Katniss tried to tune him out- she tried counting the roots in the walls, considering hunting techniques, and even re-braided her hair, but no matter what she did, she couldn't drown out the sound of Cato's humming. Eventually, after ten-or-so minutes of the torture, she snapped.
"Will you stop it?" She fumed, even going as far as taking a heap of dirt into the palm of her hand and throwing it at the Career.
The dirt hit his face and he dramatically spat repeatedly onto the ground, taking great care to wipe the remnants of the dirt from his mouth with the back of his hand. He silently glared at the girl, practically spitting fire her way, and retaliated by throwing a palm of dirt at her.
Katniss was quick to block the attack, and swiftly turned herself around so that she was sitting cross legged facing the wall. The dirt hit her back instead of her face, and she smiled, feeling as if she had just gotten another one up on the biggest competitor of The Games.
"Missed me." She stated, turning around again to face him. His ears were turning red with what she rightly assumed was anger. Obviously, he wasn't happy over the fact that she had escaped his assault.
"I noticed." He replied tightly, unable to retaliate the way he obviously wanted to, judging by the harsh set of his eyes and thin line of a mouth, scowling.
Katniss smiled his way to spite him, aware that she was playing with fire, however also knowing that he couldn't exactly move very far with his leg.
'I'd like to see him try.' She thought.
Another pressing silence occurred, broken again by his humming. She gritted her teeth and turned to face the wall again, singing under her breath to drown out the sound. She considered throwing another fist of dirt at him, but didn't act upon her impulse, as that would -more than likely- force him to retaliate, which was something she didn't need at that moment.
Once he realised that she was singing, he hummed louder than before and changed his tune. Katniss imagined his face to be one of gratification, one that would surely match that of a kitten taking home its first kill. Prideful, abhorrent asshole.
She wouldn't dare sing louder. She glanced up toward the ceiling, briefly wondering whether or not it was soundproofed, but immediately trashed the idea and shook her head. She wouldn't dare try.
Unable to sing any louder, and unable to hear her own voice, she was forced to listen to his horrible humming.
It was a tune she recognised.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree,
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three
Her heart galloped and her pulse throbbed in her neck with every beat.
How did he know that song? Where had he heard it? She had always thought that it was her father's song, always imagined that it was the song that only he could sing. Why did Cato, from District two, know the tune? It was baffling.
Whirling around to face him, brows creased, she asked in a small whisper, barely believing that Cato was truly humming the tune of 'The Hanging Tree'.
"How do you know that song?" Why did she care?
Cato stopped mid-hum 'Where a dead man called for his lo-' and stared at her with a confused look.
"What do you mean how do I know that song?" He questioned, unsure.
"I mean exactly what I said," She was being careful. "How do you know that song?"
He considered for a moment before cautiously answering, tilting his head to the side in a way that made you think of a predator, sussing out his prey. She shivered.
"I heard it once." He was giving her a strange stare, his own brows furrowing just a tiny bit.
"But where?" She pressed.
"I... don't know." He clipped, not willing to give her any full answers.
"But just-" She began.
"No. I can't remember." And that was that. He laid his head back on the earthy wall behind him and closed his eyes, almost as if he were prepared to sleep.
But Katniss wasn't going to be silenced. Just who did he think he was? Katniss grinded her teeth and asked again, her patience waning.
"Tell me." She crept closer to him.
"No." He replied, watching her from under his lids.
"Where did you hear that song?" She urged, moving another inch.
"I told you already: I can't remember." He stated, his voice hardening slightly. He slowly moved his head back up to a more read position- his demeanour was no longer as lax.
"Don't lie to me" She stated, already closer to him than she really cared to be. She was pushing her luck and she knew it.
Her words definitely had an effect on him. He glowered at her and didn't reply, his scowl set.
None of her questions had been answered, and she was deeply unsatisfied.
He laid back again, still without the relaxed attitude of the previous few minutes. It was obvious she was annoying him just as much as he was annoying her, and that single fact gave her a small amount of comfort, of achievement.
She dropped the subject, only because she didn't want to argue again. She wasn't a stranger to disagreements; after all, she and Gale had had their fair share back in District twelve. It was just the fact that she would rather not argue with him; because she was trapped with him, in the Hunger Games. If anything, she'd try not to push his limit too far.
But why did he know that song?
She stowed away the question for later, promising herself that she would have it answered before they were found, and crawled back to her position across the room.
The very thought of being found made her uneasy. It was inevitable, and if she wasn't the last tribute, she would die.
She suppressed a shiver, however couldn't suppress the goose-bumps that slithered up her spine.
She could die.
She knew that, yet the fact still managed to make her uneasy. Back in the actual Arena, she didn't think of it. Not because it was too hard to accept, but because she wouldn't accept it as an option. Oh she knew it was something that could happen, yet she didn't choose to believe it was a possibility.
However now that she was temporarily unable to fight, she found herself thinking more and more on the prospect of death. It could happen, and it probably would; but it wasn't something she wanted to dwell on.
Dwelling though, was inevitable.
Later during the day, as the beam of light drifted across the floor, Katniss wondered about Peeta, and whether or not he was alive. When she had wondered out loud, Cato had rolled his eyes and told her that she was being stupid for thinking of her district partner.
She had asked him about Clove, and he hadn't replied. She didn't press the issue further because, frankly, she didn't care.
They didn't talk much in the ditch.
Neither of them really felt the need to communicate with one another; one, because they were enemies and were supposed to be killing each other, and two, because they clashed too much.
Never in her life had she met someone she clashed with so much. Cato was like an annoying splinter lodged in her finger; he was an uncomfortable source of irritation you could mostly ignore- it was only when you thought about it it's presence really became an issue.
The anecdote made her smile.
Sometimes though, Cato would say something (mostly a complaint about where they were or who he was with) and she would reply in clipped tones. Their brief exchanges were never malicious, and they didn't mention the Games.
Initially, she was surprised that Cato didn't mention the Games. It was only when she thought about it that she realised it wasn't really surprising at all; he was trapped with someone he probably hated, and he would more than likely end up dead. He was simply waiting for death to claim him.
Not mentioning the games, Katniss deduced, was a coping mechanism. Denial.
She understood him, which unsettled her; if given the chance, she would want to forget the Games as well. Of course, understanding what made the machine tick, bothered her.
She looked over at him and saw that he was sleeping. He was peaceful when he was asleep; his face wasn't moulded into an ugly scowl, and he appeared so relaxed. He even snored.
When Cato was asleep, it was hard to imagine that he was the one who had killed so many during the games at the Cornucopia. It was hard to imagine that he was the boy who wielded the sword. Because during sleep, when he was at his most vulnerable, it was almost too easy to envision him as an average boy; just another person affected by the Games.
It was something that Katniss tried not to think about, because it made him seem more human; it would make it harder to kill him when the time came. It was easier to imagine killing him when he was awake and insulting her; it was easier to see nothing but the monster inside.
She sighed and pulled her knees up to her chin.
Despite herself, she didn't want to think that Cato was more complex than he seemed; that maybe he actually was just another person affected by the Games and not a heartless, Capitol programmed robot. He would be far harder to kill, if that were the case.
So instead of thinking about Cato, she thought about home, and about how desperately she needed to win the Games for her younger sister.
It was raining outside.
The ditch was blanketed by darkness, however the small 'pit, pit, pit' signalled to the two reluctant occupants that it was most definitely raining outside.
Katniss licked her lips worriedly, an anxious expression crossing her face.
She hoped that the Gamemakers didn't turn the drizzle into a downpour- she certainly hoped that there wouldn't be enough rain to flood the ditch; the possibility was simply terrifying.
Not only that, but as she grudgingly noticed, a small puddle was starting to form on the dirt. If this rain continued, then eventually the whole floor would be covered in water, leaving Katniss a shivering mess on the ground. She had already cut up her jacket for Cato's leg, after all- a move which she admitted wasn't a very smart decision, because she was now left without warmth.
A few minutes passed, by which time the puddle was about the size of a small hoopla hoop, and was almost reaching Katniss who was shivering in the corner. It suddenly seemed as if the small space was colder, with the rain showing no signs of letting up any time soon.
She was worried.
She glanced over at Cato and saw an uneasy look cross his face. He had reached the same conclusion as she. Their eyes met and she looked away, hoping that she appeared fearless. There was no way that she'd act as if she were scared, even though she was very much frightened.
The rain continued to drizzle, and soon the puddle had nearly reached her toes.
She was shivering, cold as ever, and small puffs of fog appeared every time she breathed out. She clasped her arms around her tightly, pulling her knees up to her chin so that she wouldn't get wet. She couldn't risk hypothermia.
Taking another look at Cato, she rolled her eyes.
Apparently, his side had a small incline -something which she hadn't noticed before- and he appeared to be sitting on a small island. Arse.
Closing her eyes, she imagined warm fires. She visualised the fire crawling up her arms, swiftly burning life into her blood stream, spawning warmth throughout her body. Her mother had once told her when she was young -during a cold night in the Seam at a time when her father hadn't been able to get his hands on some firewood- that if you visualised something for long enough, if you truly believed it to be true, then it would eventually become your reality. She remembered that the lady had likened it to phantom pregnancies, something that occurred because a woman wanted to be pregnant so badly that she ended up tricking her body into believing that it was real, however despite the evidence, she had scoffed, believing the 'wife's tale' to be plainly stupid.
She still hadn't changed her opinion, despite the small hope that it would work... because it didn't. In fact, imagining how warm she could be made her feel even colder than before.
She looked at Cato and felt extreme jealousy; he was warm and dry, whereas she was incredibly cold and nearly wet.
Seeming to feel her glare on him, he turned around. As if to spite her, as if to rub in the fact that he was warm, he winked.
Katniss blinked twice and scowled, pulling her arms tighter around her.
After a while, the rain still hadn't let up and she was now sitting in an inch of water. Her hands were as pale as a corpse and she felt like death. Her nose had started to run slightly, and she knew that without a doubt, she would get hypothermia. Judging by the numbness that had recently started to spread through her toes, the onset of the condition had already started.
Cato was still on his side of the room, dry as dry, and grinning. Her discomfort was grossly pleasing to the male Career.
Katniss shivered and breathed out a shaky breath, watching the fog leave her mouth with every shaky exhale. She could die.
The realisation of that likely prospect didn't exactly shock her, however it forced her survival instinct to surface.
She needed to get to higher ground.
Cold, shaking, and nearly completely numb, she slowly moved her way over to Cato who was no longer grinning, and instead was showing signs of mild panic.
Katniss needed to be warm, she needed to get to higher ground. The fact that Cato was sitting there barely registered with her. Somewhere within her, she knew that he wouldn't do anything to her that would endanger her life. After all, he wouldn't endanger his with the chance of dying because of being trapped with a diseased corpse.
Shivering, she splashed through the freezing water and reached the boy; she functioned only on instinct.
He was tense; that she knew. However she sat down beside him anyway on the dry ground and sidled up next to his large body so that she could try and become warm.
Later, she would regret this.
Later, she wouldn't remember the icy fingers of death as they nearly latched onto her, and later, she would question whether or not her need was as desperate as she believed at the time.
Later, she would remember the feel of his warm body, seeping life into her own.