The Arena of the 74th Hunger Games [Thursday, Fandom time]
The woods always looked different at night. Even with the special night-vision glasses Katniss had managed to secure at the beginning of the Games, everything had an unfamiliar slant to it. As if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places.
Katniss didn't try anything tricky, like taking a new route. She made her way back up the stream and followed the same path back to Rue’s hiding place near the lake. She tried not to think of Rue -- the little twelve year-old tribute from District 11 who had been her ally until she'd been killed by the Career tributes of Districts 1, 2 and 4. Along the way, Katniss saw no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of a branch. Either she was the first to arrive, or the others positioned themselves last night. There was still more than an hour, maybe two, when she wriggled into the underbrush to wait for the blood to begin to flow.
The sky turned a misty morning gray and still there was no sign of the other tributes. It wasn't surprising really. Everyone had distinguished themselves either by strength or deadliness or cunning at this stage in the Games. There was a reason they had all survived this long. She wondered if they supposed she had Peeta with her. Since the Gamemakers had changed the rules mid-game, and allowed for two tributes to win -- provided they were from the same district -- she and Peeta had been allied, as had Cato and Clove of District 2. The remaining tributes -- the foxfaced girl from District 5, and Thresh, the male tribute from District 11, probably didn't even know Peeta was wounded. All the better if they thought he was covering Katniss when she went in for the backpack.
Just as the first ray of sun glinted off the gold Cornucopia in the center of the arena, there was a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the mouth of the horn split in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rose into the arena. On the table sat four backpacks -- two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a medium-size green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange one - really, Katniss could carry it around her wrist - that must have been marked with a 12.
The table had just clicked into place when a figure darted out of the Cornucopia, snagged the green backpack, and sped off. Foxface! Leave it to her to come up with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of of the tributes were still poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she had already gotten hers. She had them trapped, too, because no one wanted to chase her down, not while their own pack sat so vulnerable on the table. Foxface must have purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer.
By the time Katniss had worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, she was watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range. Foxface had cost Katniss time, too, because by then it was clear that she needed to get to the table next. Anyone who beat her to it would easily scoop up her pack and be gone. Without hesitation, she sprinted for the table. She could sense the emergence of danger before she saw it. She turned, drawing back the bowstring, and sent an arrow straight at Clove’s heart. She turned just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the point punctured her upper left arm. It was enough to slow her down a few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in the severity of the wound.
Katniss kept moving, positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for years could do. She was at the table now, her fingers closing over the tiny orange backpack. Her hand slipped between the straps and she yanked it up on her arm. She was turning to fire again when the knife caught her in the forehead. It sliced above her right eyebrow, opening a gash that sent a gush running down her face, blinding her eye, filling her mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of her own blood. She staggered backward but still managed to send her readied arrow in the general direction of her assailant.
She knew as it left her hands that it would miss. And then Clove slammed into her, knocking her flat on her back, pinning her shoulders to the ground with her knees.
This is it, Katniss thought, and hoped for Prim’s sake it would be fast. But Clove meant to savor the moment. Even felt she had time. No doubt Cato was somewhere nearby, guarding her, waiting for Thresh and possibly Peeta.
“Where’s your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?” she asked.
Well, as long as they were talking, Katniss was alive. “He’s out there now. Hunting Cato,” she snarled at Clove. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Peeta!”
Clove jammed her fist into Katniss's windpipe, very effectively cutting off her voice. But her head whipped from side to side, and Katniss knew for a moment that she was at least considering the possibility. Since no Peeta appeared to save Katniss, though, she turned back.
“Liar,” she said with a grin. “He’s nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You’ve probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What’s in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he’ll never get it.”
Clove opened her jacket. It was lined with an impressive array of knives. She carefully selected an almost dainty-looking number with a cruel, curved blade. “I promised Cato if he let me have you, I’d give the audience a good show.”
Katniss was struggling now in an effort to unseat her, but it was no use. She was too heavy and her lock too tight.
“Forget it, District Twelve. We’re going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally...what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we’ll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?” Clove asked. “Now, where to start?”
She carelessly wiped away the blood from Katniss's wound with her jacket sleeve. For a moment, she surveyed her face, tilting it from side to side as if it was a block of wood, and she was deciding exactly what pattern to carve on it. Katniss attempted to bite her hand, but Clove grabbed the hair on the top of her head, forcing Katniss back to the ground.
“I think....” she almost purred. “I think we’ll start with your mouth.” Katniss clamped her teeth together as Clove teasingly traced the outline of her lips with the tip of the blade.
Katniss wouldn't close her eyes. The comment about Rue had filled her with fury, enough fury to probably die with some dignity. As her last act of defiance, Katniss would stare Clove down as long as she could see, which would probably not be an extended period of time, but she would stare her down and she would not cry out. Katniss would die, in her own small way, undefeated.
“Yes, I don’t think you’ll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?” she asked. Katniss worked up a mouthful of blood and saliva, and spit it in her face. Clove flushed with rage. “All right then. Let’s get started.”
Katniss braced herself for the agony that was sure to follow. But as she felt the tip open the first cut at her lip, some great form yanked Clove from her body. And then she was screaming. Katniss was too stunned at first, too unable to process what had happened. Had Peeta somehow come to her rescue? Had the Gamemakers sent in some wild animal to add to the fun? Had a hovercraft inexplicably plucked Clove into the air?
But when Katniss pushed herself up on her numb arms, she saw it was none of the above. Clove was dangling a foot off the ground, imprisoned in Thresh’s arms. Katniss let out a gasp at seeing him like that, towering over her, holding Clove like a rag doll. She remembered him as big, but he seemed more massive, more powerful than she even recalled. If anything, he seemed to have gained weight in the arena. He flipped Clove around and flung her onto the ground.
When he shouted, Katniss jumped, never having heard him speak above a mutter. “What’d you do to that little girl? You kill her?”
Clove scrambled backward on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to even call for Cato. “No! No, it wasn’t me!”
“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Another thought brought a fresh wave of rage to his features. “You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?”
“No! No, I -” Clove saw the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread, in Thresh’s hand and lost it. “Cato!” she screeched. “Cato!”
“Clove!” Katniss heard Cato’s answer, but he was too far away to do Clove any good. She could tell that much. What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and just badly misjudged his location? Thresh brought the rock down hard against Clove’s temple. It was not bleeding, but Katniss could see the dent in her skull and she knew Clove was a goner. There was still life in her though, in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the low moan escaping her lips.
When Thresh whirled around on Katniss, the rock raised, she knew it was no good to run. And her bow was empty, the last loaded arrow having gone in Clove’s direction. She was trapped in the glare of his strange golden brown eyes. “What’d she mean? About Rue being your ally?”
“I - I - we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got there first. District One,” Katniss said. Maybe if he knew she helped Rue, he wouldn’t choose some slow, sadistic end for her.
“And you killed him?” he demanded.
“Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers,” she said. “And I sang her to sleep.”
Tears sprang in her eyes. The tension, the fight went out of her at the memory. And she was overwhelmed by Rue, and the pain in her head, and her fear of Thresh, and the moaning of the dying girl a few feet away.
“To sleep?” Thresh said gruffly.
“To death. I sang until she died,” Katniss said. “Your district...they sent me bread.” Her hand reached up but not for an arrow that she knew she would never reach. Just to wipe her nose. “Do it fast, okay, Thresh?”
Conflicting emotions crossed Thresh’s face. He lowered the rock and pointed at her, almost accusingly. “Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we’re even then. No more owed. You understand?”
Katniss nodded because she did understand. About owing. About hating it. She understood that if Thresh won, he’d have to go back and face a district that had already broken all the rules to thank her, and he broke the rules to thank her, too. And she understood that, for the moment, Thresh was not going to smash in her skull.
“Clove!” Cato’s voice was much nearer now. She could tell by the pain in it that he could see his fallen ally on the ground.
“You better run now, Fire Girl,” said Thresh.
She didn't need to be told twice. Katniss flipped over and her feet dipped into the hard-packed earth as she ran away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato’s voice. Only when she reached the woods did she turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large backpacks were vanishing over the edge of the plain into the woods. Cato kneeled beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he would realize it’s futile, that she couldn’t be saved. Katniss crashed into the trees, repeatedly swiping away the blood that was pouring into her eye, fleeing like the wild, wounded creature she was. After a few minutes, she heard the cannon and she knew that Clove had died, and that Cato would be on one of their trails. Either Thresh’s or hers. She was seized with terror, weak from her head wound, shaking. She loaded an arrow, but Cato could throw that spear almost as far as she could shoot.
Only one thing calmed her down. Thresh had Cato’s backpack containing the thing he needed desperately. If she had to bet, Cato had headed out after Thresh, not Katniss. Still, she didn’t slow down when she reached the water. She plunged right in, boots still on, and floundered downstream. She pulled off Rue’s socks that she had been using for gloves and pressed them into her forehead, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but they were soaked in minutes.
Somehow she made it back to the cave. She squeezed through the rocks. In the dappled light, she pulled the little orange backpack from her arm, cut open the clasp, and dumped the contents on the ground. One slim box containing one hypodermic needle. Without hesitating, she jammed the needle into Peeta’s arm and slowly pressed down on the plunger. Katniss's hands went to her head and then dropped to her lap, slick with blood.
The last thing she remembered was an exquisitely beautiful green and silver moth landing on the curve of her wrist.
[once again, stolen from The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins! To be continued! Warning for spoilers, violence, gore, and death in this one. Comments, as always, are love.]
Katniss didn't try anything tricky, like taking a new route. She made her way back up the stream and followed the same path back to Rue’s hiding place near the lake. She tried not to think of Rue -- the little twelve year-old tribute from District 11 who had been her ally until she'd been killed by the Career tributes of Districts 1, 2 and 4. Along the way, Katniss saw no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of a branch. Either she was the first to arrive, or the others positioned themselves last night. There was still more than an hour, maybe two, when she wriggled into the underbrush to wait for the blood to begin to flow.
The sky turned a misty morning gray and still there was no sign of the other tributes. It wasn't surprising really. Everyone had distinguished themselves either by strength or deadliness or cunning at this stage in the Games. There was a reason they had all survived this long. She wondered if they supposed she had Peeta with her. Since the Gamemakers had changed the rules mid-game, and allowed for two tributes to win -- provided they were from the same district -- she and Peeta had been allied, as had Cato and Clove of District 2. The remaining tributes -- the foxfaced girl from District 5, and Thresh, the male tribute from District 11, probably didn't even know Peeta was wounded. All the better if they thought he was covering Katniss when she went in for the backpack.
Just as the first ray of sun glinted off the gold Cornucopia in the center of the arena, there was a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the mouth of the horn split in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rose into the arena. On the table sat four backpacks -- two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a medium-size green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange one - really, Katniss could carry it around her wrist - that must have been marked with a 12.
The table had just clicked into place when a figure darted out of the Cornucopia, snagged the green backpack, and sped off. Foxface! Leave it to her to come up with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of of the tributes were still poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she had already gotten hers. She had them trapped, too, because no one wanted to chase her down, not while their own pack sat so vulnerable on the table. Foxface must have purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer.
By the time Katniss had worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, she was watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range. Foxface had cost Katniss time, too, because by then it was clear that she needed to get to the table next. Anyone who beat her to it would easily scoop up her pack and be gone. Without hesitation, she sprinted for the table. She could sense the emergence of danger before she saw it. She turned, drawing back the bowstring, and sent an arrow straight at Clove’s heart. She turned just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the point punctured her upper left arm. It was enough to slow her down a few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in the severity of the wound.
Katniss kept moving, positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for years could do. She was at the table now, her fingers closing over the tiny orange backpack. Her hand slipped between the straps and she yanked it up on her arm. She was turning to fire again when the knife caught her in the forehead. It sliced above her right eyebrow, opening a gash that sent a gush running down her face, blinding her eye, filling her mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of her own blood. She staggered backward but still managed to send her readied arrow in the general direction of her assailant.
She knew as it left her hands that it would miss. And then Clove slammed into her, knocking her flat on her back, pinning her shoulders to the ground with her knees.
This is it, Katniss thought, and hoped for Prim’s sake it would be fast. But Clove meant to savor the moment. Even felt she had time. No doubt Cato was somewhere nearby, guarding her, waiting for Thresh and possibly Peeta.
“Where’s your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?” she asked.
Well, as long as they were talking, Katniss was alive. “He’s out there now. Hunting Cato,” she snarled at Clove. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Peeta!”
Clove jammed her fist into Katniss's windpipe, very effectively cutting off her voice. But her head whipped from side to side, and Katniss knew for a moment that she was at least considering the possibility. Since no Peeta appeared to save Katniss, though, she turned back.
“Liar,” she said with a grin. “He’s nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You’ve probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What’s in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he’ll never get it.”
Clove opened her jacket. It was lined with an impressive array of knives. She carefully selected an almost dainty-looking number with a cruel, curved blade. “I promised Cato if he let me have you, I’d give the audience a good show.”
Katniss was struggling now in an effort to unseat her, but it was no use. She was too heavy and her lock too tight.
“Forget it, District Twelve. We’re going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally...what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we’ll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?” Clove asked. “Now, where to start?”
She carelessly wiped away the blood from Katniss's wound with her jacket sleeve. For a moment, she surveyed her face, tilting it from side to side as if it was a block of wood, and she was deciding exactly what pattern to carve on it. Katniss attempted to bite her hand, but Clove grabbed the hair on the top of her head, forcing Katniss back to the ground.
“I think....” she almost purred. “I think we’ll start with your mouth.” Katniss clamped her teeth together as Clove teasingly traced the outline of her lips with the tip of the blade.
Katniss wouldn't close her eyes. The comment about Rue had filled her with fury, enough fury to probably die with some dignity. As her last act of defiance, Katniss would stare Clove down as long as she could see, which would probably not be an extended period of time, but she would stare her down and she would not cry out. Katniss would die, in her own small way, undefeated.
“Yes, I don’t think you’ll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?” she asked. Katniss worked up a mouthful of blood and saliva, and spit it in her face. Clove flushed with rage. “All right then. Let’s get started.”
Katniss braced herself for the agony that was sure to follow. But as she felt the tip open the first cut at her lip, some great form yanked Clove from her body. And then she was screaming. Katniss was too stunned at first, too unable to process what had happened. Had Peeta somehow come to her rescue? Had the Gamemakers sent in some wild animal to add to the fun? Had a hovercraft inexplicably plucked Clove into the air?
But when Katniss pushed herself up on her numb arms, she saw it was none of the above. Clove was dangling a foot off the ground, imprisoned in Thresh’s arms. Katniss let out a gasp at seeing him like that, towering over her, holding Clove like a rag doll. She remembered him as big, but he seemed more massive, more powerful than she even recalled. If anything, he seemed to have gained weight in the arena. He flipped Clove around and flung her onto the ground.
When he shouted, Katniss jumped, never having heard him speak above a mutter. “What’d you do to that little girl? You kill her?”
Clove scrambled backward on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to even call for Cato. “No! No, it wasn’t me!”
“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Another thought brought a fresh wave of rage to his features. “You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?”
“No! No, I -” Clove saw the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread, in Thresh’s hand and lost it. “Cato!” she screeched. “Cato!”
“Clove!” Katniss heard Cato’s answer, but he was too far away to do Clove any good. She could tell that much. What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and just badly misjudged his location? Thresh brought the rock down hard against Clove’s temple. It was not bleeding, but Katniss could see the dent in her skull and she knew Clove was a goner. There was still life in her though, in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the low moan escaping her lips.
When Thresh whirled around on Katniss, the rock raised, she knew it was no good to run. And her bow was empty, the last loaded arrow having gone in Clove’s direction. She was trapped in the glare of his strange golden brown eyes. “What’d she mean? About Rue being your ally?”
“I - I - we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got there first. District One,” Katniss said. Maybe if he knew she helped Rue, he wouldn’t choose some slow, sadistic end for her.
“And you killed him?” he demanded.
“Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers,” she said. “And I sang her to sleep.”
Tears sprang in her eyes. The tension, the fight went out of her at the memory. And she was overwhelmed by Rue, and the pain in her head, and her fear of Thresh, and the moaning of the dying girl a few feet away.
“To sleep?” Thresh said gruffly.
“To death. I sang until she died,” Katniss said. “Your district...they sent me bread.” Her hand reached up but not for an arrow that she knew she would never reach. Just to wipe her nose. “Do it fast, okay, Thresh?”
Conflicting emotions crossed Thresh’s face. He lowered the rock and pointed at her, almost accusingly. “Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we’re even then. No more owed. You understand?”
Katniss nodded because she did understand. About owing. About hating it. She understood that if Thresh won, he’d have to go back and face a district that had already broken all the rules to thank her, and he broke the rules to thank her, too. And she understood that, for the moment, Thresh was not going to smash in her skull.
“Clove!” Cato’s voice was much nearer now. She could tell by the pain in it that he could see his fallen ally on the ground.
“You better run now, Fire Girl,” said Thresh.
She didn't need to be told twice. Katniss flipped over and her feet dipped into the hard-packed earth as she ran away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato’s voice. Only when she reached the woods did she turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large backpacks were vanishing over the edge of the plain into the woods. Cato kneeled beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he would realize it’s futile, that she couldn’t be saved. Katniss crashed into the trees, repeatedly swiping away the blood that was pouring into her eye, fleeing like the wild, wounded creature she was. After a few minutes, she heard the cannon and she knew that Clove had died, and that Cato would be on one of their trails. Either Thresh’s or hers. She was seized with terror, weak from her head wound, shaking. She loaded an arrow, but Cato could throw that spear almost as far as she could shoot.
Only one thing calmed her down. Thresh had Cato’s backpack containing the thing he needed desperately. If she had to bet, Cato had headed out after Thresh, not Katniss. Still, she didn’t slow down when she reached the water. She plunged right in, boots still on, and floundered downstream. She pulled off Rue’s socks that she had been using for gloves and pressed them into her forehead, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but they were soaked in minutes.
Somehow she made it back to the cave. She squeezed through the rocks. In the dappled light, she pulled the little orange backpack from her arm, cut open the clasp, and dumped the contents on the ground. One slim box containing one hypodermic needle. Without hesitating, she jammed the needle into Peeta’s arm and slowly pressed down on the plunger. Katniss's hands went to her head and then dropped to her lap, slick with blood.
The last thing she remembered was an exquisitely beautiful green and silver moth landing on the curve of her wrist.
[once again, stolen from The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins! To be continued! Warning for spoilers, violence, gore, and death in this one. Comments, as always, are love.]