Catching Fire (Katniss loves Peeta)

Chapter 21

Peeta and I agree that we need to get Finnick more in the water, so we each grab a leg and pull him into the water. We continue to detoxify him and bit by bit I feel my muscles improve. Finnick slowly begins to revive. His eyes open, focus on us and register awareness that he's being helped. I rest his head on my lap, and we let him soak about ten minutes with everything immersed from the neck down. Peeta and I exchange a smile as Finnick lifts his arms above the seawater.

"There's just your head left, Finnick. That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it," Peeta says. We help him to sit up and let him grip our hands as he purges his eyes and nose and mouth. His throat is still too raw to speak.

"I'm going to try to tap a tree," I say. My fingers fumble at my belt and find the spile still hanging from its vine.

"Let me make the hole first," says Peeta. "You stay with him. You're the healer." I glare at him, and he smirks, then kisses my lips lightly before going into the forest. That is a joke, but I don't say so for Finnick's sake. I try to put myself back together. I rescue my Mockingjay pin from my ruined jumpsuit and pin it to the strap of my undershirt. The flotation belt must be acid resistant since it looks as good as new. I can swim, so the flotation belt's not really necessary, but Brutus blocked my arrow with him, so I buckle it back on, thinking it might offer some protection. I undo my hair and comb it with my fingers, thinning it out considerably since the fog droplets damaged it. Then I braid back what's left of it.

Peeta has found a suitable tree about ten yards from the narrow strip of beach. We can hardly see him, but the sound of his knife against the wooden trunk is crystal clear. Finnick stays under the water for a long time, and I start to worry he has drowned. Then all of a sudden he pops up right next to me. 

"Don't do that," I command him.

"What? Stay under or come up?" He asks.

"Either. Neither. Whatever. If you're feeling this good, let's help Peeta. As we walk into the jungle, maybe it's years of hunting, but I feel warm bodies positioned above us. I touch Finnick's arm, and he follows my gaze upward. I don't know how they arrived so silently. Perhaps they didn't. We've all been absorbed in restoring our bodies.

During that time they've assembled. Not five or ten, but scores of monkeys weigh down the limbs of the jungle trees. The pair we spotted when we first escaped the fog felt like a welcoming committee. This crew feels ominous.

I arm my bow with two arrows, and Finnick adjusts the trident in his hand. "Peeta," I say as calmly as possible. "I need your help with something."

"Okay, just a minute. I think I've just about got it," Peeta says, still occupied with the tree. "Yes, there. Have you got the spile?"

"I do. But we've found something you'd better take a look at," I continue in a measured voice. "Only move toward us quietly, so you don't startle it." For some reason, I don't want him to notice the monkeys, or even glance their way. They are creatures that interpret even slight eye contact as aggression.

Peeta turns to us, panting from his work on the tree. The tone of my request is so odd that it's alerted him to some irregularity. "Okay," he says casually. He begins to move through the jungle, and although I know he's trying hard to be quiet, this has never been his strong suit, even when he had two sound legs. But it's all right; he's moving, the monkeys are holding their positions. His eyes only dart up for a second, but it's as if he's triggered a bomb. The monkeys explode into a shrieking mass of orange fur and converge on him.

I've never seen any animal move so fast. The animals slide down the vines as if the things were greased. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades. I may be unfamiliar with monkeys, but animals in nature don't act like this. 

"Mutts!" I spit out as Finnick, and I crash into the greenery.

I know every arrow must count, and they do. In the eerie light, I bring down monkey after monkey, targeting eyes and hearts and throats, so that each hit means a death. But still, it wouldn't be enough without Finnick spearing the beasts like fish and flinging them aside, Peeta slashing away with his knife. My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he's not shooting; he's hacking away with that knife. My knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker.

"Peeta!" I shout. "Your arrows!"

Peeta turns to see my predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrow, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick's trident finding another mark and know his weapon is occupied. Peeta's knife arm is disabled as he tries to remove the sheath. No.. No! I throw my knife at the mutt, but the creature somersaults dodging the blade. This can not be happening, I run to step in front of Peeta, but I know it's a hopeless case. I won't make it to him in time.

She does, though. Materializing, it seems, from thin air. One moment nowhere, the next reeling in front of Peeta. Already bloody, mouth open in a high-pitched scream, pupils enlarged, so her eyes seem like black holes.

The insane morphling from District 6 throws up her skeletal arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks its fangs into her chest.

Peeta drops the sheath and buries his knife into the monkey's back, stabbing it again and again until it releases its jaw. He kicks the mutt away, bracing for more. I have his arrows now, a loaded bow, and Finnick at my back, breathing hard but not actively engaged. The monkeys are withdrawing, backing up trees, fading into the jungle as if some unheard voice calls them away. A Gamemaker's voice, telling them this is enough.

Peeta moves the morphine to the beach. When I'm sure the monkeys are gone, I go over to Peeta and the morphine. I cut away the material over her chest, revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, making them look far less deadly than they are. The real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I feel confident the beast ruptured something vital, a lung, maybe even her heart.
She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child's dying of starvation. I hold one of her twitching hands. There is nothing we can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies.

Thanks for reading! I love that this is getting positive reviews seeing as I originally wrote it for myself, but I don't mind sharing. Expect my food that is mine. I hope you like this chapter, I'm sorry there isn't that much romance in it, but with all the fighting going on I didn't think it'd fit. I'm also sorry it's shorter than usual, which is why I'm adding the 22nd chapter in a minute or so. Please correct me on grammar and spelling; lord knows I can't find it. Happy late Valentine's Day by the way.

~XOXO KD Howell