This chapter is randomly super short but I kinda just needed a page break between this one and the next. I had way too much fun writing this- I just wish more than anything I could reread my first draft of it from 2014 because I'm pretty sure my original take on it was SO FUNNY.
But in, like, a quirky, disturbing way. 14-year-old me should NOT have been allowed to write death. (Is that a spoiler? I don't think so. It's the flippin' Hunger Games.)
It ends the next day.
It's early afternoon; I'm trading at the Hob when Peacekeepers surge in. I have several heart attacks in a matter of seconds before they reveal it's not a raid. My shoulders sag in relief even though the news isn't good. This is not Dalton's work, another act of vengeance.
"Everyone, return to your homes!" thunders one of the Peacekeepers. "Mandatory viewing of the Hunger Games!"
A lot of thoughts rush through my mind, but one in particular stands out: Gale. I abandon my trade and sprint home, paying no attention to those I crash into on my way.
Everyone else (Mother, Prim, Peeta) is already home. I take my usual spot on the loveseat and Prim catches me up. "Thresh killed the girl from Four, and then the arena started on fire! They're pushing all the tributes to the center."
I swallow hard. This is what I was afraid of: natural-but-not-natural intervention. "Gale and Madge…?"
"They're fine. The woods isn't burning up as quickly," Peeta assures me. I can't reply, just nod.
The camera is on Thresh right now. He looks more like a machine than a man, with eerie rhythm and speed that shouldn't belong to a human, especially one that could be described as 'husky'. His ragged breaths give away his mortality, but he's doing it; he's outrunning the wall of fire that has already claimed most of the prairie.
By outrunning the fire, he runs into something else. Something bad. The Careers are running for the safety of the lake too, but the promise of violence is enough to catch their attention.
"We've been looking for you," Clove says slyly, reaching for her knives. She slings one at Thresh before he can say anything back- although he seems to be a man of few words anyway.
The knife lodges itself in Thresh's shoulder, and he lets out a bellow of rage. He grabs his ax from his belt- it's stained red from his recent kill- and the fight begins, forgetting the fire, forgetting everything else in the world. Why save yourself when you can kill somebody else?
Two against one, it should be easy, but Thresh gives as good as he gets. Seconds slow into hours as they slash, swing, and stab at each other, all while the fire threatens to consume them all. They dance away from it almost carelessly, much more focused on the damage they can do to each other. Cato's sword proves deadly, slicing off chunks of flesh and pants, while Clove's throwing knives are treated as more of an annoyance. He's six and a half feet tall; he can stand to lose a lot of blood.
That said, he is losing the fight, and he knows it. He's desperate to flee; I can tell by the way he keeps glancing around like a wounded animal backed into a corner.
My father always told me, an animal is most dangerous when it's wounded.
Thresh ducks out of the sword/ax fight and lunges at the girl who has been peppering him with mini knives this whole time. Clove tries to dodge, but Thresh has a lot of surface area and he headlocks her easily.
"CATO!" she screams, but her district partner is too slow.
Instead of just snapping her neck like I'm sure he easily could, Thresh yanks the knife out of his shoulder- the first one she threw at him- and slices her neck open sloppily. Blood spurts out of his wound- there's a reason you're not supposed to pull knives out- and he drops Clove's limp body to the ground before staggering away.
Cato doesn't chase after him. He collapses to his knees next to Clove, a strangled cry of anguish escaping his lips. "CLOVE! Just hang on, okay? You're gonna be okay!"
There hasn't been a cannon, but that's the only sign her heart is still beating. Her head lolls freely as Cato scoops her up, ignoring the blood that smears onto his jacket, and sprints towards the safe zone.
I feel almost numb with shock, not just because the favorite to win is taking fifth place. It's much more shocking to see the second-favorite to win, notoriously aggressive Cato, miss the chance to finish Thresh off because he'd rather save Clove. It's a stark contrast to their dismissal of Glimmer's death or their "oath of revenge" for Marvel that was really just an excuse to add vengeance to their hunts.
Everyone is sprinting to the center, to the lake. Cato, with Clove in his arms, making shockingly good time. Thresh, who doesn't make it very far; the Careers get him in the end. He collapses from blood loss, and the wall of flames consumes him. Cannon. I get the smallest glimpse of Gale and Madge sprinting through the burning forest, before the camera turns to Cato again, gently setting Clove down by the lakeshore, all the time begging her to stay with him.
"Just hang on, Clove; Brutus sent us help!" he pleads, gesturing to the veritable storm of parachutes drifting down to them.
Clove manages a weak cough, but her eyes stay closed, and I- along with everyone else in the world- know she is too far gone for anything they can fit in a parachute. The only person who hasn't accepted it is Cato, who is tearing the lids off the capsules as fast as he can grab them.
"Cato…" Her voice is soft and barely there, but I think that's what she says.
"Clove." He discards the parachute and grabs her hand, squeezing it as tightly as Prim as squeezing mine, like a lifeline. He stays like that, babbling to her, comforting her, until the life drains out of her.
His howl almost blocks out the cannon.
The screen switches back to Gale and Madge, before anyone has time to process. More burning forest, more running. Gale is counting on his fingers as he leaps over a burning log. "Six, five- shit. Madge, there's only one left!"
"Well, we can't split up now!" she shrieks. As much as I want them to quit the teamwork, she's right; they can't really go their separate ways when there's only one way out of the fire they're barely outrunning.
This is not going to be good.
§
"This is not going to be good," Haymitch growls, staring down the screen. He hasn't moved an inch since the arena first went up in flames.
"What are you talking about?" Effie asks indignantly. "It's two against one, and neither of our tributes are as battle-worn as Cato! The odds are in their favor!"
"The odds are in one of them's favor," Haymitch corrects. "Which one are you rooting for, Trinket?"
The escort's face falls. "…oh. I've just gotten so used to thinking of them as, you know, a team."
"You and the rest of the world," Haymitch grumbles. "It's all going to hell now."
§
Gale and Madge burst into the clearing, alternately panting and coughing. They are dirty and disheveled, the ends of their hair scorched, but overall fine. The wildfire stops at neatly at the edge of the trees, allowing them safety but no escape. The 'safety' part is relative, anyway. They are not alone.
Compared to Gale and Madge, Cato looks worse for wear. His breathing is ragged, his limbs trembling. Sweat is dripping down his forehead and his pupils have dilated to glistening black marbles, choking out every scrap of blue. Oh, and also, he's covered in blood.
He stares the new arrivals down, but doesn't approach or say anything. Gale looks side to side and takes in the scene, pausing when he notices Clove's body, still lying among the scattered parachutes. He smirks. Only Gale would smirk in a time like this. "…so you finally turned on her, huh."
Cato's already-twisted face contorts into rage. He grips his sword with white-knuckled hands and lunges…and misses. Gale and Madge are a hundred feet away and he's moved about six.
Something is wrong with him.
"Nice moves!" Gale calls while Cato continues to seethe.
"I didn't kill her," Cato snarls through gritted teeth. Except, he's not even looking at Gale anymore. He appears to be talking to the Cornucopia. "I didn't kill her. I never would've touched her. DO YOU HEAR ME?"
Okay, like, really wrong.
Gale continues to antagonize Cato while Madge glances around the clearing. Her gaze hovers over the scattered parachutes, while I suddenly realize are all open. Open…and empty.
Oh.
Madge squeezes Gale's arm, and that's all it takes for him to stop talking. Cato, rabid as he is, doesn't seem to notice no one else is participating in his verbal battle. He continues completely on his own, mumbling, mostly, but finishing it off with, "YOU KILLED HER, DIDN'T YOU?"
"No! No, we didn't!" Madge cries right away. She lunges forward as if she wishes to run to him, and only Gale's grip on her arm stops her. I've known it from the beginning, that her kind nature would put her in danger. There's no place for kindness in the Games. "Cato, listen, we-"
"I know you killed her." His eyes find the camera, giving his whole tortured face to the screen. Quite frankly he looks like shit, but behind the glassy eyes and really sweaty face is genuine pain that makes me feel almost sorry for him. Whether it's from Clove's demise or the overall pressure of being primed to kill in adolescence, he is broken, mentally and physically. "I protected her. I did everything for her. And…I loved her."
I will not be taking anything that comes out of his mouth too seriously, but Prim whispers, "Called it."
Madge doesn't react either, keeping her cupid's-bow lips in a perfectly flat line. She is thinking, and hard. "…what was in those parachutes, Cato?"
"Madge," Gale hisses. She ignores him.
Cato stares at her blankly, then points his sword at her, as if this might explain everything. I don't know why she's asking. Not only is he incapable of making sense right now, but the picture should be clear even to someone who just got there. Clove gets hurt, Capitol is sad, Capitol wastes money on gifts she's too far gone for, she dies, Cato is sad, Cato eats every painkiller available to him. Doesn't take a genius.
As if proving my point, Cato says something about hedgehogs, and Gale has had enough. He draws his bow. "I'll put him out of his misery."
"Gale!" Madge cries, latching onto his arm. "He can be reasoned with; I'm sure of it!"
"What does it matter?" Gale asks.
It's a perfectly logical question, but it never gets answered. The Gamemakers have grown bored again, and their latest creation flies out of the forest. Mutts. Great, hulking, mutts. Like a dog, but worse, and a close-up shot reveals the twist: every beast is meant to symbolize a fallen tribute.
Sharp green eyes that must have belonged to Finch. Glimmer's golden blondness, immortalized in fur. A chocolate-colored Thresh-mutt that stands taller than the rest. Each one is different, but all of them are hungry, snapping and lunging at the three remaining tributes.
Forget 'reasoning with him'. Forget Cato entirely. And definitely forget splitting up. Gale and Madge bolt in unison and Cato has a rare moment of clarity where he decides to run too. There's only one high point that's not on fire: the Cornucopia. It's made of slick metal and not particularly climbable, but Gale gives Madge a boost (practically throws her) and she reaches a hand to pull him up too.
Cato manages on his own, but the effort leaves him collapsed at the tail of the Cornucopia. The other two stand over the mouth, with Gale lurking protectively in front of Madge. The twenty-one mutts leap at the Cornucopia from all sides, but they fall just short every time, keening and whining like dogs begging for scraps. In a relative sense, the tributes are safe. For now.
Gale draws his bow. I'm sure he still wants to shoot Cato, but Madge seems to have forgotten this is the Hunger Games, because she keeps a pointed death grip on his arm. Instead, he starts picking off the mutts as best he can, but even if he nails every shot, there's more dogs than he has arrows. Unless he can get ahold of Cato's sword and also get really lucky, there's no way he can take them all out.
"I volunteered, you know." For a moment, Cato sounds oddly clear, although he's leaning heavily on the tail of the Cornucopia. He's not just high. He's fucked up. I think back to the ointment he got before, that cured a serious infection within a day. If the sponsors sent Clove anything half as strong…if he consumed all of it…
"I know you volunteered," Madge tells him, so soft and sincere I feel the need to listen closer.
Cato lets out a strangled cry that makes no sense to me. He pounds the Cornucopia with his fist, hollow and metallic and surely painful for him, if he can even feel it. "I volunteered. I asked for this. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED, RIGHT?"
"How's that working out for you now?" Gale asks under his breath. Madge socks him in the ribs, and luckily Cato doesn't notice.
"I volunteered to kill. I know I can kill. I didn't know I volunteered to die. I didn't know what would happen. To her. To everyone. To me."
"You're not dead yet, Cato," Madge tells him. "You're not thinking clearly. Just…take a minute, sit back down…"
"We'll all be dead soon," Cato intones. "Just wait."
He does not sit down. He stands up straighter, legs shaking under his full weight.
And he jumps.
The remaining mutts yowl with joy (as much joy as a lab-grown murder dog can feel) and tear into him instantly. Cato's screams drown out everything except Prim sobbing into my shoulder. I hold her tightly, insisting she doesn't see the horrible things she has to hear.
It's not fast, either. The mutts seem to enjoy playing with him, tearing and shredding viciously but leaving just enough flesh to keep him alive. His howls fade to groans and later, wheezes and coughs.
It's some comfort to me that, with all the painkillers pumping through his system, Cato might not even feel it.
Finally, the cannon goes off. The mutts scatter into the burning woods; apparently they are impervious to flames. Gale and Madge are alone.
Somewhere, halfway across the country, a blonde-haired alcoholic swears.
I happen to be extremely sick rn so I might fuck around and upload the rest of TS today. The last few chapters are all short anyway so? Why not, right?
