The Hunger Games ~ Peeta's POV

Chapter 15

Ch. 15

I awaken to a sharp stab of pain on my neck and I look around, blinking. This pain is unlike anything I've ever felt, and that's saying something considering how many times I got burned back at home. Have I been stabbed? Have the Careers ratted out my plan and turned on me? No, how could they? They're too clueless to be in on my little secret. Besides, this doesn't feel like any kind of knife at all. I blink the spots from my eyes and see little wasplike things swarming all around us angrily. Oh no, those are...

Tracker Jackers.

They are genetically engineered to hurt like nothing else, and to trigger the nerve in your brain that causes fear. And I have a lot of fears, although very few of them concerning myself being harmed or injured. Sadly, I have quite an imagination.

I suddenly become aware of my fellow tributes around me, and notice them groggily seeing the swarming insects around us. It occurs to my muddled mind to run, to get away from these terrible things. They suddenly morph into purple smiling caterpillars, and I know that this isn't right. They don't do that. Or... Do they? I'm not quite sure what's real and what isn't as I hear someone barking orders at the others to run to the lake. Is it me? Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. I think I still have sometime before I go completely deranged, so I do my best to focus and save myself.

I'm not sure I heard the voice at all or not as I drop the spear I had been clutching so tightly and make a mad dash after the others, who are already streaking their way, dazed, towards what I hope the lake is, a blue blur wobbling around unsteadily. The voice, real or imaginative, makes sense, I guess, if nothing else does, so I decide to listen to it. I see Glimmer and Karma going completely crazy as they try to fend off the Jackers with knives. They seem so... What's the word? Unnatural, so I know that they have probably lost it.

Another sharp stab. It's my leg this time, and I grasp at it, even though I know it probably won't stop the mind shattering pain slashing through my leg right now. As the lake draws nearer, I see the others ducking under the water to escape the furious Jackers that repeatedly attack them, some even trying to slap them away with their weapons. After I'm stung in the shoulder, my thirty eleventh sting or something along those lines, that idea doesn't seem so ridiculous. Too bad I left everything behind. I hope Katniss makes to good use of my belongings, if she's coherent enough. Or even alive. Even in my condition of madness at this point, I still shudder at the thought.

After an eternity of drunken running, I finally make it to the lake. I make a nose dive into the crystal water, plunging my head into the cool, refreshing liquid. It feels so good on my stings as I submerge my entire body into the water. Gasping for breath, my head pops up only to find more of the stupid bugs just waiting for us to come up. I take a deep breath and go under again, my lungs about to collapse. After doing this several times, my head is about to explode, and I feel unnervingly dizzy. The only good news is that the merciless Tracker Jackers have moved on somewhere else, or got tired of us.

Good. I'm safe. Wait a minute... What does me being safe have to do with anything? I'm going to die, I know it, and so my goal was to save Katniss. And because of my stupid survival instincts, I know I just might have failed. All of my consciousness comes rushing back to me and I'm suddenly, temporarily sober. Must... Save... Katniss... I don't care if she was the one who sent down that nest of furious insects. She had every right to want to kill me. Maybe the Jackers will come back out once I try and get out of this lake, but it doesn't matter. I will die for her in the end, and this is just the simple truth. Now is the time to turn on the Careers before they get a hold of her. All's fair in love and war, and in this case I suppose it's both.

Using every last ounce of strength, I pull myself from the water and bring myself to a dazed jog over to Katniss, and the hopefully empty nest. The quick, quarter mile run feels like an eternity of running in slow motion, and I'm frustrated with my slow body. Once I'm about a hundred yards from the lake, I can hear the hurried footsteps of someone else crunching through the leaves, following me, and I bring myself to a full-blown sprint. I don't even have to look back to see that it's Cato. He will not get to her first, she will live.