The Story Of Cato And Clove

Chapter 12: Cato

The journey back to camp is excruciatingly slow- not to mention painful. We're all quite banged up from the fire, having to stop every few paces to hurl out the contents of our stomachs or heave out giant rasping coughs.

There's a lot of time to dwell on thoughts as we inch through the ashen remnants of the forest, so dwell on them I do.

Clove looked annoyed when Glimmer hugged me.... Almost angry.... 

But why should she be? Glimmer just grateful I saved her freaking life- she just wanted to thank me. As would anybody.

And there's no more to it than that. Is there?

I'm shaken from my thoughts by a sharp stray branch to the face. I hiss in surprise, my hand flies to my left cheek where it whipped me. The sudden movement inspires yet another coughing fit and I bend over, rasping, holding a nearby tree for support. Clove nudges past me. 'Come on, Cleaver. After an entire fire, a branch is enough to take you down?'
I almost grin before I notice her words lack the usual teasing demeanour she often carries when she speaks to me. I frown as she continues past me, slashing at branches with her knife.
How is she managing to keep it together? She's the only one who hasn't needed to stop yet, and though her skin has morphed to a paler, greener hue and I can see the slightest tremor in her legs, so far she's still pushed on.

And more importantly, why the fuck is she angry? I didn't do anything!
Marvel, noticing my expression, flashes me a sympathetic grin and veers off toward me.

"I'll never understand gir-" he starts before trailing off into a fit of coughs.
I nod at him, sparing him the trouble of continuing.

"Neither, mate." I say as my eyes veer back to the path ahead.

Just then, Marina stops in her tracks, shouldering Glimmer.

"What?" Glimmer hisses, gearing up to shove her- one thing I've learnt is that Glimmer is not known for her good temper- when Marina's finger flies to her lips, shushing us. She beckons towards the clearing ahead.

And that's when I see it. Through the trees.

She's far away- with our hopeless stealthiness she'll hear us coming and run, but even from this distance I can tell she's pretty banged up. And even better- she's sleeping with half her body slipped into a murky pond.

Smiles break through the group. Marvel whoops as we start to sprint- yes, it disintegrates into a rasping cough but still.

We're gaining....

And... we're blown. She wakes, stumbles backward and breaks into a run. Though she's not very fast- I was right. She's badly hurt.

It morphs onto a full-on chase scene, Katniss stumbling through the wood with us in hot pursuit. Neither the hunters or the prey are in their top form, however, so athletic ability and all-round coolness of the chase is severely compromised. But I'm sure the Capitol will still app it up.

Insults and threats are hurled at Katniss from behind. Suddenly she rounds a bend and, soon when we reach the bend, she is no longer in our sights.

The strings of curses are so loud and colourful that birds explode away from the trees, and I'm sure Capitol mother's are out there blocking their children's ears. (Funny that they're happy to expose them to cold-blooded murder but not the word 'fuck'.)

Then there's a rustle from above, and forest-green leaves drift down, swirl around us. I pluck on off my head- that better not have ruined my hair- and looked up to  where it came from.

Triumphant shouts sound from all around me. There she is. Climbing a tree. I scoff audibly, along with several others in the pack. She thinks a few pieces of bark and leaves will save her from us, the most deadly tributes in the Arena?

It's almost pitiful how mistaken she is.

She casts a glance down at us as she continues to scale the tree. She's remarkably fast even with her leg, which I can now see is an angry, blistering red.

I shake away any trace of admiration, begrudgingly as it may be. We came for a kill.

And it is a kill we will get.

                                  ~*~

One injured girl stuck in a tree.

6 slightly less injured predators on the ground.

She's doomed----at this point everyone can see it. What I don't understand is why she's not just giving in and coming down.... Why torture yourself, stretch out the moments leading to your certain demise instead of finishing it all quickly?

I chase away the sting of sympathy I feel when I think of her family---or what pitiful amount is left of it----standing in the town square, tears pouring down their faces as they anticipate what will surely happen next. Or perhaps her sister is at school right now, where they only do updates of what's going on in the Games every now and then----perhaps by the time she watches this, her sister will be dead. Perhaps by the time she knows what's going on, it will be too late.

I grind my teeth, imagine a shadowy fist inside me winding it's dark, cold fingers around my heart and squeezing, squeezing, hollowing my heart of all human feelings, until all that is left is the need to play the good little career for the cameras.

I look up with a smirk. She calls out to us, her voice strained and throaty, clearly a result of the fire.

"How's everything with you?" She questions.

I'm taken aback, but I know the crowd back home with love it, especially if we play along.

"Well enough," I shrug. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. I raise my eyebrows, almost amused, and I know outside the Arena, the Capitol will be lapping it up. Fan edits and hashags would be spread about within only a few hours.

"The air's better up here," the Girl On Fire continues. "Why don't you come on up?"

Scoffs from every career. The words that just came out of her mouth we're basically 'hey, Death! Come kill me, why don't you?"

"Think I will," I reply.

I'm rolling up my sleeves when there's a tap in my shoulder. "Take this, Cato," Glimmer says eagerly, offering me her bow and arrow. I see a spark of recognition---- or anger? Both?----- in Katniss' eyes, and wonder if she's seen the weapon before.

I refuse her offering, insiting I'll do better with my sword. My fingers brush the leather-covered hilt, intricately designed with elegant patterns and swirls. Why the Gamemakers put so much effort decorating something when all it's going to be oding is going in and out of people's stomachs, I'm not entirely sure.

I have just hoisted myself into the tree when she begins to squirrel her way up the tree again. She must have had years of practise, and it's not like her weight's gonna slow her down either.

No matter. Once I'm finished with her, The Girl On Fire will be well and truly extinguished.