TWENTY FOUR -
For the next couple of days we plot up somewhere until sunset, then continue to hunt through the night. A spot of pure luck has us wandering into a flock of strange wild birds one afternoon, and I manage to skewer one with a knife before it can disappear into the trees. Cato and I light a fire and cook a meagre supper, mixing the strange meat with some roots I dug up from the forest floor. I don't trust any of the berries or fruits enough to chance eating them – plants in the Games are often deadly poisonous and designed to throw tributes off with their similarity to edible varieties, so it's better not to risk it. Our stomachs are rumbling well into the night as we trek through the woods, but we distract ourselves with memories of life back home.
Cato tells me about the time his sister nearly took his eye out with a practice sword when they were kids, fighting in their backyard. He doesn't mention Saren very often, so I'm pleasantly surprised to hear her name mentioned alongside a funny memory, rather than the image of her body plummeting from the tree with the District 4 boy's arrow sticking out of her chest. He tells me how strong and wonderful she was, if a little bit too big for her boots sometimes. I never knew her in life, but I feel like I've got to see more of who Saren Hadley was after our chat, even though she's been gone for almost seven years.
It's hard to even imagine what kind of childhoods the kids of that family must have had. Growing up with the weight of the Hadley reputation on their shoulders, nothing less than perfection was acceptable in Darius' eyes. Forced to act and live a certain way, in order to keep up appearances. After an upbringing like that, Cato's anger issues aren't just expected, they're completely justified.
In turn I recount tales of Loren and I. Painting our night and day bedroom with mom, losing grandma in the Market Square on a Saturday and hiding under the dress skirts at the tailor's shop, giggling hysterically until she tracked us down. She dragged us home by the scruff of our necks that day, scolding us for worrying her so. Told our father she refused to take us out ever again in case we gave her a real heart attack. But however much she claimed to hate us, it didn't stop her from leaving her favourite pendant to Loren on her deathbed. The one clasped around my neck.
I'm rolling the diamond charm between my fingers, perched up in the lowest branches of a tree whilst Cato kicks at the embers of the day's fire with the toe of his boot, when the anthem begins. It's not even close to nightfall, so the sudden noise has me instantly alert. A grin slowly spreads across my face as Claudius Templesmith announces the feast.
He's inviting us back to the cornucopia at dawn, for something each of us desperately need. A pack marked with each District number will be waiting for us. I realise that this pretty much confirms that 12 must have tracked each other down, meaning they are likely to be slow and easy to catch. Peeta can't be very mobile on that damaged leg of his, so this could be the perfect chance for us to take him out. On top of that, Cato is convinced Thresh disappeared into the void on the other side of the lake during the first day, and considering we would be at a disadvantage attempting to hunt him down through unfamiliar territory, this will be our best shot at killing him too. Anybody else we manage to hit will be a bonus.
With an opportunity to deplete the playing field even further a mere twelve hours away, Cato and I are imbued with a new kind of determination. Until we take that crown for 2, the lovestruck teenagers can take a backseat to the ruthless Careers we were trained to be.
At some point on the trek back towards the cornucopia, I begin to whistle the tune of one of the quarry workers songs. Most of them are ancient, passed through generations of District 2 citizens until nobody knows their true origin anymore. The more recent ones spin tales of glory and victory in battle, stemmed from our strength and success in the arena, but the one that pops into my head is much older, and speaks only of the mountains.
Carry me home to the mountaintop,
Carry me home to the clouds.
Mark our bones with a stone, my love,
So we can always be found.
There are multiple interpretations of it, and a lot of them are morbid and bloody, so the workers rarely sing it anymore. Some think of it as almost like a bad luck charm, as it is often sung at funerals too. But all of us know the words, even the children. I don't think any of us ever really remember learning it, we just know. It strikes me that it's the same song Loren was humming in the shower, on the morning of the Reaping.
The strange black and white birds I noticed the other day seem to have picked up the tune, because I can hear them twittering an almost perfect rendition of the notes leaving my lips. A sudden wave of panic floods through me at the thought that somebody could use my song to track us down, but then I realise that it wouldn't mean anything more than a simple animalistic melody to anybody from another District.
It's freezing tonight, the air chilling me to the bone. The added layer of my knife vest helps to warm my chest, but goose bumps are popping up along my arms by the time Cato and I are close enough to the cornucopia to settle until dawn. I take first watch, allowing Cato to conceal himself beneath a clump of bushes and take a nap. I pull myself up into a nearby tree and set to work sharpening each of my knives in turn with a rock. The rhythmic motion helps to calm my ever climbing heartrate.
According to the plan we have devised, I will be the one to go in for the pack. We have no idea what it could hold, but it's sure to be important if Claudius Templesmith was adamant that we require it in order to survive. Cato didn't like the idea of me taking all the risk, but I managed to convince him that my knives are more useful to this endeavour than the sword. The close proximity required for it to be effective could prove disastrous if Katniss Everdeen is indeed a talented archer – there's no way for us to get near enough to her for an attack if she's firing arrows at us the whole time. With my knives, I'll be able to strike from a similar distance to her. Cato will hang back to ambush anybody who attempts to make a run for it with our pack, or who happens to accidentally cross his path.
It suddenly dawns on me that we could be leaving the arena today. If this feast goes to plan, and Cato and I manage to kill all of our opponents during their quest to reach their packs, we could be on our way back to 2 in a matter of days. We can go home. The thought makes me lightheaded, although I can't be sure whether it's that or just that I haven't had a proper meal in a while.
Whoever blew up the supplies knew exactly what they were doing. They knew us Careers would struggle to find food once the pyramid was gone. The desire for revenge sparks a fire in my chest, and by the time Cato and I are due to swap posts I find that I'm too restless to sleep anyway, itching for a tribute to target. Still, I manage to at least rest enough to gather the energy I'll need to retrieve the pack and fight off any others attempting to steal it.
When Cato summons me out from my spot, we make our way towards the edge of the clearing, consolidating every detail of the plan as we go. We've approached the grassy plain in such a way that the cornucopia is facing away from us. It isn't ideal, but attempting to battle our way through the trees quickly and in such plain view would give away our position and scupper our plan entirely. We stay put, shivering in the chilly morning air, watching the black sky above our heads slowly give way to misty morning grey.
Out of nowhere, Cato's voice makes me jump. "Just remember, whatever happens I've got your back."
A rebuke is already forming on my tongue, but the moment he clamps a hand down on my shoulder, swivelling me to face him, I'm stunned into silence. He's been saying the same thing since way before we realised we could both go home. We have always been a team, in his eyes. There was never any indication of him dealing with the idea of having to kill me. And when I saved him from Zafira, he told me I should have left him, that "I would die before I let this blade come anywhere near you." An awful theory springs to mind and knocks the air out of my lungs.
Did Cato ever really plan on making it back to 2, at all?
But any hope of asking him the question dies on my lips as a clunky mechanical sound alerts me to movement up in the mouth of the cornucopia. The ground slides open and a table rises into view, the first rays of sun glinting off it's stark white surface. On the table, four packs are laid out. I presume each of them are numbered but irritatingly from the position we're standing I can't tell which one is for who.
And then Finch darts out of the darkness of the cornucopia, grabs the medium sized pack in the middle and sprints across the plain into the trees. I curse under my breath. Sidonia was right, the redhead from District 5 is far cleverer than any of us realised – not only has she got her own pack but by leaving all the others alone she's made sure that nobody will be going after her for fear of theirs being stolen. My head darts around to Cato, who nods in the direction of the cornucopia.
"Go, I'll cover you. Be careful."
"Okay." I say, collecting three knives in my hand. Then I'm leaping through the tree line and sprinting across the grass to the cornucopia. I reach the rear of the golden horn, my body hugging the gleaming metal sides as I wait for my opponent to come into view. The sound of heavy breathing to my right signals a tribute, and I'm rounding the corner as she grabs her pack from the table. Katniss Everdeen. I don't hesitate, but she's ready too, arrow notched and flying to deflect my first knife.
My second catches her across the forehead, spewing blood across her face and into her eyes. The attack cuts off her vision, and she's too slow to load another arrow into her bow. Bristling with fury, the desire for revenge singing in my veins, I launch myself at her. We go down in a heap, tumbling across the grass as I stab blindly. She puts up a fight, attempting to pin my body beneath hers multiple times. But years in the rings of the Academy, constantly threatened with termination of study on grounds of weakness, have trained me in a thousand different ways to overcome an opponent larger than myself. I would never have survived back then if I wasn't capable. And I won't now either, not if I don't fight back.
She finally stops thrashing when I dig my knees into her shoulders, pressing the heels of my boots into her wrists. I'm breathing hard and aching from the struggle, but I have her.
"Where's Loverboy?"
She strains against my grip, but it's no use. "He's out there now, hunting Cato." She pants, pausing to gulp air into her lungs before she screams. "Peeta!"
I lash out, jabbing my knuckles into her throat before she can alert anybody else to our position, but my eyes dart around the plain for any sign of movement. Satisfied in the fact that nobody is coming to save her, a dark laugh escapes my throat. "I sincerely doubt that. Cato knows where he cut him and I saw the blood on that sword, it's a miracle he's even still kicking! What's in the backpack, huh 12? Is that medicine for him? Too bad he's never gonna get it!"
When I pull my smallest knife from vest, I'm planning on dragging this out. I refuse to let Katniss get away with a quick death. After dropping the nest and blowing up our supplies, this is the least she deserves. Right now, Katniss Everdeen is the only thing standing between me and going back home with Cato. I will not let her take that future away from me. This is my year. No.
This is our year.
The thought of Cato, out there in the trees hacking down the rest of those who stand in our way has me tightening my grip on the girl pinned beneath me. She struggles against my hold, but there's no way I'm giving up, even though the muscles in my legs are screaming in protest. "Forget it 12!" I spit, raising the knife. "We're gonna kill you, just like we did that little girl. First her, then you, and well I think that cut will take care of your boyfriend eventually, won't it." I bring the knife to her cheek with a grin, dragging the sharpened edge of the blade across her skin. Blood wells from the thin line, and she grits her teeth against the pain.
I laugh, spinning the blade in my fingers. "Any last words, 12? Want to blow Peeta one last kiss?"
This is it. This is the moment I take the life of the girl who has thwarted us at every turn. Who took away our spotlight at the opening ceremony, who beat us in training and who stunned the crowd at the interviews. Who pulled all our sponsors, blew up our food and tried to bury us.
The girl who tried to steal our glory. The only thing we train for, fight for, live for.
This is our year.
And then a pair of strong arms wrap around my chest and wrench me into the air. At first I think it's Cato, come to take the kill away from me at the last moment, but then their grip tightens. As if they mean to crush the life from my lungs.
My spine slams into the golden metal of the cornucopia, driven backwards by the force of two giant dark hands on my shoulders, and fear floods my body. Thresh. I drag gulps of air into my chest, willing myself to breathe as his huge form towers over me. And all of a sudden I am eight years old again, and one of the bigger kids is coming towards me in the fighting ring at the Academy. Only this time I can't yield, can't run. This time, there is no leaving the ring.
This is what it feels like, to know you're about to die.
"What did you say! You kill her Career?" He roars into my ear, spraying my cheek with spittle.
"N-no, it wasn't, it wasn't m-" I choke out, coughing with the might of pulling enough air into my lungs to breathe.
"You kill that little girl? I heard you! You said her name!"
"No n-no, n-not m-" I'm still trying to get out, when I notice the rock gripped in his hand. My eyes fly open and I scream.
"CATO! CATO!"
"CLOVE! NO!" I can hear him, calling out to me, but Thresh doesn't seem bothered. He raises the rock in his hand. I close my eyes, reaching up to grab the pendant clasped around my throat.
Goodbye Loren.
And something sharp and metallic clanks against the knife in the slot across my chest.
A flash of pain rips across my forehead, and when I open my eyes there is blood pooling along the socket of one of them. My vision is blurred, everything sparkling around the edges, but I'm coherent enough to see it - Thresh's body, crumpled at my feet, spear pierced through his chest.
The last thing I hear is the faint sound of a cannon, and Cato only just manages to catch me as I tip forwards and blackout.
AUTHOR'S NOTE -
IT HAPPENED! Yes, I did that. I'm pretty happy with this chapter so I hope you enjoyed it! We are now heading into the realm of major canon diverts (obviously I mean Thresh just died), but this is where it allllll gets interesting :P Also I just want to thank you guys we've hit 3.5K today and that's crazy considering I started this book at the beginning of the month! You guys are keeping my passion for writing alive by encouraging me with all your kind words and comments! I love you guys so much and thank you to everyone reading this so far! Much love - Vee xx