TWENTY -
It is said that the venom of a Tracker Jacker is designed to target the place where fear lives in your brain, so naturally my nightmares are filled with death.
Mother, father, Loren. I watch my sister beaten to a pulp, tortured and ripped apart only to be put back together and killed again each time I fall back into my hellish sleep. Unable to stop it happening and unable to look away.
Cato, too. The Gamemakers' firebombs ripping a gaping hole in his chest, Zafira's spear sinking into his back as he topples forward into my arms. Scenes straight from the history books, a gladiator torn limb from limb by wild animals.
When I finally come to, I'm curled up on my side beneath the shelter back at camp. My mind is still hazy, eyes squinted half shut in the hope that whatever I see when I open them will bear no resemblance to the demise of everyone I love, over and over. Every inch of my body screams in protest when I try to move. Muscles spasm and bones crack and I'm wondering all of a sudden how long I've been out. Minutes, hours, days even? Once I'm certain that lifting my eyelids won't result in the torture of my loved ones, I'm instantly struck down by the midday sun blazing overhead.
How many days have we been in the arena now? How many of us survived the Tracker Jacker attack?
I can't really be sure, so instead I try to focus on the things I do know. Katniss Everdeen, the girl from 12. We had her cornered up a tree somewhere in the forest. We made a camp, set a fire and fell asleep. And the next thing I remember is the swarm. The cloud of insects engulfing us, running through the woods with only one aim – to stay alive. I was one of the first to make it back to the camp, along with Marvel. I received more stings than him, I think he was the one who lead the way. But I returned to the woods.
Cato. I went back for Cato. Suddenly the memory of the bloodcurdling screams echoing at my back, one of our number stumbling to the ground. Who was it? It wasn't Cato, I know. He materialised with a bloody sword, telling me that Peeta was dead. Peeta! Perhaps that was who the cannon was for. Who else was with us? Cato, Marvel, Zafira...I killed her. Put a knife through her heart when she tried to take down Cato back at the camp. Her cannon fired just as I began to lose grip on consciousness. Which leaves only one tribute.
Glimmer. The realisation knocks the breath from my lungs and a choked noise escapes my throat. The dying wails, the thud against the dirt as I ran. I tried to go back for her, but the Tracker Jackers were already on me and I had no choice but to push on after Marvel. Glimmer is gone.
A tiny thread of relief runs through my brain at the thought that I will never have to face killing her. She was nice. She teased me about Cato. We'd even formulated a couple of inside jokes, together. I come to the aching conclusion that my short time spent with Glimmer is probably the closest I have ever felt to a teenage girl other than my own sister.
A fresh bout of grief rolls over me, coupled with a blinding thirst. My mouth is dry as a desert, and I reach out to grab the first canteen of water I can see under the shelter. It takes a supreme amount of effort just to drink, and half of it seems to slosh out of the bottle, rolling down the hollow of my throat in rivulets until the front of my shirt is drenched.
I notice the lumps under my skin have shrunk down, to the size of a normal sting, but the angry redness and dull throbbing seems to be here to stay. Cursing, I hoist myself up on a crate of supplies to survey the camp. It looks much the same as the last time we left it – Trig standing guard close by the pyramid, spear in hand. Marvel and Cato are filling canteens at the lake, and though the former looks as though he's recovered pretty well from the attack, my District partner doesn't seem to be in quite as good shape. Scrapes and bruises cover his bare arms, coupled with similar small red lumps to the ones on my own skin. A particularly nasty one has sprung up on his cheek. It was two times the size when I last saw him though, so it must be getting better.
It takes a lot of stationary stretching to work my limbs back into order, stiff from my being curled into a ball for god knows how long. Perhaps days really have passed since the attack. I struggle across the grassy plain, calling out to them. My voice is uneven and raspy, like I haven't used it in months, but Cato's head snaps up at the first word. He drops the canteen back into the lake immediately, splashing Marvel in the process as he jogs over to meet me.
"Clove, you're awake!" He sighs in relief, enveloping me in a hug. I don't hesitate to fall into his arms, resting my head against his chest. The slow beat of his heart in my ears is instantly calming, but we're forced apart again as Marvel's footsteps rustle the grass.
The gangly boy grins at me as he approaches. "Honestly, I wasn't sure you were gonna make it. You kept thrashing around in your sleep and yelling things." He casts a barely noticeable glance at Cato, raising one eyebrow quizzically, but doesn't mention anything further. I wonder whether he knows something. Is it possible that I've been calling out for Cato in my sleep? A pit of dread opens up in my stomach at the thought, and I clear my throat to change the subject.
"So how long has it been, since...you know?" I ask them.
"12 dropped the nest yesterday. Everyone else managed to stay somewhat stable, but I think you got hit the worst." Says Marvel.
Cato adds. "We lost Glimmer." So I was right, it was her that fell.
"And Zafira." Marvel eyes me accusingly, but it's clear he's just joking as soon as his face splits into a beaming smile. "She didn't even know what hit her! I can't believe you managed to even throw the knife to be honest, let alone throw it straight."
"I-I was just defending the pack, I never trusted her anyway." I mumble. It's proving incredibly difficult not to look at Cato, even though I know his eyes are locked on me. He knows why I did it. That it wasn't just protecting the alliance. That I killed Zafira to save him.
"Sure, I believe you." Marvel rattles off, indicating quite clearly that he doesn't believe a thing I just told him. "But I'm going to sort out the rest of these canteens and leave you two to it. Seems like you've got some talking to do and I'm not entirely sure I'm welcome to the conversation."
He disappears back towards the lake, leaving Cato and I alone. Now there is no fight left in me to stop myself from looking at him, and when I do his expression is almost pained, mouth set into a hard line. "Why didn't you just let her kill me? It would've made it easier for everyone if you had." He's not meeting my gaze, staring off into the woods.
"I couldn't." I whisper, almost inaudibly over the breeze across the plain.
His hands clench into fists at his sides. "You should've, you know? Because the playing field is shrinking by the day, and pretty soon there's only gonna be a few of us left. Do you think you could kill me?" He fixes me with his icy gaze, and I can feel my heart cracking to piece inside my chest. The golden boy of District 2 no longer needs glass vases and picture frames to break. Not when he has me to tear apart instead.
"No." I breathe.
"Well then we've got ourselves a problem. Because I would die before this blade got anywhere near you. And we can't both go home." He mutters darkly before starting off towards the shelter, leaving me fractured and shaking in the centre of the grass, tears welling in my eyes.
° ° ° ° °
The atmosphere at the Career camp is tense that night, though Marvel thankfully keeps the conversation rolling. We pay our condolences to Glimmer and a couple of loaves of bread arrive via parachute, as a gift from District 1. Hearty and filling, they compliment the food packages from the supplies well. As we gather around the fire, staring wistfully into the flames the harsh reality of Cato's earlier words finally sink in.
If we are the last two left in the arena, there is no way that either of us could kill each other. But the Gamemakers will do everything in their power to drive one of us to our end, and the one who wins will be forever shunned by our District. Whoever takes the crown will be forced to live in solitude, like Sidonia. And now her decision to mentor the two of us makes perfect sense. That morning, at the Reaping, I have no doubt that Enobaria's encouraging smile was directed at me because she thought she was going to be accompanying us to the Capitol. But the moment Cato and I both took to the stage, Sidonia Reyes must have jumped into her spot.
She hasn't just volunteered to mentor us for the Games, she has put herself forward to guide the one of us who wins through life as a recluse in District 2. Just like her.
After she returned from the Games instead of Cato's brother, 2 slowly began to turn their back on her for abandoning the favourite in the arena. Sidonia may not have been the one to strike the blow which killed Knox Hadley, but she didn't try to stop it either. Since then, she has barely made any appearances in the public eye back home. I'm pretty sure the people of the Capitol have seen her more than her own District in the six years since she was crowned victor.
Whatever the outcome of this years Games, neither Cato or I can truly win.
The thought keeps me awake until the early hours, when the horizon begins to turn pink, and without Cato's comforting presence beside me the dreams which follow are similar bloody horrors to my Tracker Jacker-induced visions. I wake with a start under the shelter to the sound of crackling meat over the fire. Cato is jabbing the cooking flesh with a stick, looking grim as he chats with Marvel and Trig.
As soon as I join them at the fire, the three boys instantly fill me in on the situation. It seems Peeta Mellark did not show up in the sky last night. I was too exhausted to stay awake for the anthem and the tribute display, but apparently the only faces to appear were Glimmer and Zafira's. Which means the baker's son is still out there somewhere, despite Cato's claims of injuring him well enough for him to have bled out by now. I can't doubt him, I saw the sword myself, drenched with red as he crashed out of the trees. If he is by some miracle still alive, then I doubt he will be for much longer. But then there is the matter of Peeta's defection from the alliance. According to Cato, the boy seemed to be going back for Katniss when he was tracked down and cut. Which begs the question, was there some truth in the whole production at the interviews after all?
That would be a real miracle. Two pairs of star-crossed lovers in the arena at once. The people of the Capitol couldn't dream of anything more tragically romantic. The thought of it makes me sick.
The sun is already high in the sky – it seems I slept in for longer than I originally intended – and we share out the meat along with the remainder of the bread from 1 for lunch, though my stomach is still rolling and I can barely manage to keep it down.
Then Trig talks us through the mines, showing us the path through the carefully constructed field to our supplies. We refill our individual packs and settle back at the shelter. Nobody feels up to a tribute hunt tonight, especially after the events of the last few days, but it gives me time to reconcile with Cato over last night.
We both agree that it will be easier not to mention the prospect of having to kill each other until that time actually comes. After all, we may not even be the last tributes in the arena. It's extremely unlikely that another tribute will be able to take either of us out – we're too well armed and skilled for that, plus we've already proved to be fiercely protective of each other in battle. Perhaps too much, even. But that doesn't mean the Gamemakers won't target us again. It's been a couple of days since the Tracker Jacker attack now, and with the number of tributes still in the arena beginning to shrink, we may be faced with another adversary like the firebombs long before another tribute reaches our clutches.
I am able to relax much easier that night, with Cato on watch beside me. As soon as Marvel and Trig doze off he scoots up closer to graze the skin of my wrist with his fingertips.
"Thank you Clove, for saving my life." He whispers. He says something else too, inaudible over the rustle of the trees. But by that time I have already drifted off to sleep, a ghost of a smile on my lips.
AUTHOR'S NOTE -
Second chapter of the day because the earlier one was super shorttttt! More sad Clato so I hope you guys like it, we're about to hit all the death and destruction so good luck guys!!!! Also how we feeling that Glimmer is gone! Ngl I was super sad about writing it this time, I think I've really given Glimmer the redemption that she needed from all our silly circa-2012 hatred because of the movie :') Hope you enjoyed this one! Much love - Vee xx