Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 24 - Mutts

By the time we reach the plain, it's already early evening. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the landscape. We scan the area for any sign of Cato, but there is nothing except the Cornucopia in front of us. We cautiously circle it, making sure the Cornucopia is empty. That Cato didn't decide to do what Finch did at the feast.

But as the sunlight fades and the darkness settles in, my worry begins to grow. "We can't fight him in the dark," I say, frowning, "we won't be able to see anything."

"He's probably counting on that. What do you want to do?" he asks me. "Go back to the cave?"

"Or find a tree and wait until morning. But let's give it another half hour or so, just in case," I answer.

We sit by the lake, my hand clasped tightly in Peeta's. I have no desire to hide from Cato; we'll have to confront him eventually. As I gaze up at the trees, I can spot the mockingjays fluttering among the branches, their unique songs echoing through the air. I purse my lips and whistle a tune, not the one Peeta and I used as a signal, but something new. The birds pause in their chatter, seemingly curious about the unfamiliar melody. I repeat the notes in the silence. One by one, the mockingjays join in and trill the tune back to me and I can't help but smile.

"That's incredible," Peeta remarks with a smile.

"I wish we had these back in District Four," I say wistfully, "they're such beautiful little creatures." I close my eyes and let myself be enveloped by the melodic chorus of the mockingjays' voices. But dissonant notes cut through and the birds' cries turn into a frantic shriek of alarm.

I release Peeta's hand and spring to my feet, ready for whatever comes next. Peeta's holding tightly to the knife while I'm gripping my trident in a white-knuckled grip. Cato crashes through the trees towards us,  He has no spear, no knife, probably relying on his sheer strength to kill us. I brace myself, but he rockets right between us, running faster than I've ever seen him move. His face is purplish and drenched in sweat as he runs. He wasn't running towards us. No, he's running away from something.

Instinctively, I turn to follow his gaze and my blood runs cold as I catch sight of the monstrous creatures leaping towards us from the shadows of the trees. They have to be Muttations. Capitol-made creatures. They resemble wolves, but they're no ordinary wolves. They're wolves that can stand and balance effortlessly on their hind legs. Wolves that can beckon the rest of the pack forward with their front paws.

Cato makes a beeline for the Cornucopia and without hesitation, I follow suit. At this point, I trust Cato's instincts, and if he believes the Cornucopia is our best chance against these mutts, then so do I. I might be able to outrun them, to climb up into the trees and escape their grasp, but there's no way Peeta could make it.

Peeta! Amidst the chaos, I had completely forgotten about him. I frantically scan the area and spot him about thirty feet away, limping as he tries to outrun the mutts closing in on him. My mind screams at me to rush back to him and help him, but he waves his hand and urges me to climb the metal structure. "Go, (Y/N)! Go!"

With every muscle in my body screaming in protest, I begin to climb the metal structure. I realize that I'm not all that great at climbing, but the adrenaline and fear of being eaten by mutts drive me up clumsily, my fingers desperately searching for spots to grip. After a full day in the sun, the scalding heat of the metal sears through my palms, making it nearly impossible to hold on.

As I reach the top of the horn, Cato lies gasping for air. This is my opportunity to finish him off and secure our victory. Just as I aim my trident at him, I hear Peeta cry out and everything else seems insignificant. He's just reached the tail end of the Cornucopia, but the mutts are right behind him. I scream at him to climb as I turn to face a mutt that's placed its paws on the metal structure. I thrust my trident into its skull before it could harm Peeta, but its dying thrashes cut open several other mutts that were too close for comfort. That's when I really get a good look at its claws. Their four-inch, razor-sharp claws that could easily rip us to shreds.