he whispers.
the cannon fires in answer.
“then we won, katniss,” he says hollowly.
“hurray for us,” i get out, but there’s no joy of victory in my
voice.
335
a hole opens in the plain and as if on cue, the remaining
mutts bound into it, disappearing as the earth closes above
them.
we wait, for the hovercraft to take cato’s remains, for the
trumpets of victory that should follow, but nothing happens.
“hey!” i shout into air. “what’s going on?” the only re-
sponse is the chatter of waking birds.
“maybe it’s the body. maybe we have to move away from
it,” says peeta.
i try to remember. do you have to distance yourself from
the dead tribute on the final kill? my brain is too muddled to
be sure, but what else could be the reason for the delay?
“okay. think you could make it to the lake?” i ask.
“think i better try,” says peeta. we inch down to the tail of
the horn and fall to the ground. if the stiffness in my limbs is
this bad, how can peeta even move? i rise first, swinging and
bending my arms and legs until i think i can help him up.
somehow, we make it back to the lake. i scoop up a handful of
the cold water for peeta and bring a second to my lips.
a mockingjay gives the long, low whistle, and tears of relief
fill my eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes cato’s body
away. now they will take us. now we can go home.
but again there’s no response.
“what are they waiting for?” says peeta weakly. between
the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the
lake, his wound has opened up again.
“i don’t know,” i say. whatever the holdup is, i can’t watch
him lose any more blood. i get up to find a stick but almost
336
immediately come across the arrow that bounced off cato’s
body armor. it will do as well as the other arrow. as i stoop to
pick it up, claudius templesmith’s voice booms into the arena.
“greetings to the final contestants of the seventy-fourth
hunger games. the earlier revision has been revoked. closer
examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one win-
ner may be allowed,” he says. “good luck and may the odds be
ever in your favor.”
there’s a small burst of static and then nothing more. i
stare at peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. they never in-
tended to let us both live. this has all been devised by the ga-
memakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in his-
tory. and like a fool, i bought into it.
“if you think about it, it’s not that surprising,” he says softly.
i watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. then he’s moving
toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife
from his belt —
before i am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded
with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. peeta raises his
eyebrows and i see the knife has already left his hand on its
way to the lake where it splashes in the water. i drop my wea-
pons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only
be shame.
“no,” he says. “do it.” peeta limps toward me and thrusts
the weapons back in my hands.
“i can’t, i say. “i won’t.”
“do it. before they send those mutts back or something. i
don’t want to die like cato,” he says.
337
“then you shoot me,” i say furiously, shoving the weapons
back at him. “you shoot me and go home and live with it!” and
as i say it, i know death right here, right now would be the
easier of the two.
“you know i can’t,” peeta says, discarding the weapons.
“fine, i’ll go first anyway.” he leans down and rips the ban-
dage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his
blood and the earth.
“no, you can’t kill yourself,” i say. i’m on my knees, despe-
rately plastering the bandage back onto his wound.
“katniss,” he says. “it’s what i want.”
“you’re not leaving me here alone,” i say. because if he dies,
i’ll never go home, not really. i’ll spend the rest of my life in
this arena trying to think my way out.
“listen,” he says pulling me to my feet. “we both know they
have to have a victor. it can only be one of us. please, take it.
for me.” and he goes on about how he loves me, what life
would be without me but i’ve stopped listening because his
previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately
around.
we both know they have to have a victor.
yes, they have to have a victor. without a victor, the whole
thing would blow up in the gamemakers’ faces. they’d have
failed the capitol. might possibly even be executed, slowly and
painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the
country.
if peeta and i were both to die, or they thought we were . . .
338
my fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it.
peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. “no, i won’t let
you.”
“trust me,” i whisper. he holds my gaze for a long moment
then lets me go. i loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few
spoonfuls of berries into his palm. then i fill my own. “on the
count of three?”
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