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The tremor of the explosions of our base being destroyed still ring inside my head as we pummel through the forest. My blood still burns hot as it pumps through my veins. I slash at brush and vines and anything in my way with my sword clenched so hard in my fist that even the soft leather of the grip gives way to the hard wood underneath.
Clove and Marvel trail behind me a few paces, giving me space to flail my blade into the darkness ahead.
“Take it easy, Cato,” I hear Clove say behind me. “We’ll get ‘em. They won’t get away with it.” I turn sharply on my heel to glare at her, my chest still heaving. She meets my scowl with a cool look. “You think we’ll catch em any faster with you crashing through the forest like that?”
I feel my face flush hot behind my night vision googles, the lenses fogging up around my nose.
“Let’s think about this for a second,” Clove muses. The toe of her boot taps the dry earth. “There were two fires.” She looks up into the treetops, the flickering light from Marvel’s torch lighting up the underside of her face, accenting her pretty upper lip and her sharp jaw. She takes a long look left, and another to the right. “One this way,” she says, gesturing with her thumb over her right shoulder, “and one over there,” punctuated with a nod to the left. “We need to see if there’s a rendezvous happening near either of ‘em.”
“She’s right,” Marvel says, with an intense nod at Clove. “We should split up, we’ll have better odds getting to both spots. If we take ‘em one by one we’re giving them too much time to get away,” he says.
“Who did this?” I ask through gritted teeth.
We consider the options. The fires were an obvious misdirection, unlikely that Thresh, the brute from Eleven was agile enough to bound through the trees quick enough to light both and get back to our base in time. The red headed girl from Five hadn’t materialized at all since the bloodbath at the cornucopia. Lover Boy is probably bleeding out in a pit. The girl from Eleven doesn’t even register, and that leaves…
“Twelve,” says Clove, her eyes narrowing in vitriol. “She’s the only one who could have done this.” Marvel and I nod in agreement.
“Well, we’ve got to get her then,” I say, driving the tip of my sword into the dirt next to my boot.
“I set a trap up that way,” Marvel says, gesturing toward the location of the second fire. “I should go see if I’ve caught anything.”
Clove and I share a look. I don’t love the idea of splitting up just yet, there are still major threats in the arena that I know we’ll fare better against as a united force. But Marvel seems insistent. I’m tempted to let him go— even though he might want the glory of taking the girl from Twelve out himself. Or she’ll take him out for us instead. Either way, one less rival between myself and victory.
“Fine. Go on then,” I say, pressing my lips together. “Make her pay for it.” Marvel nods and takes off toward the second fire, the light of his torch fading as it splinters through the trees.
“Come on,” Clove says, her little hand touching lightly at my elbow, steering me toward the first fire. “We don’t want her to slip away, now do we?”
We walk through the night. We find the site of the first fire and comb through the surrounding forest, looking up trunks for the girl from Twelve, finding nothing but partially burnt greenwood and disturbed soil. If I ever find Twelve up a tree again, I’ll hack the damn thing down with my sword if I have to. I won’t let her slip through my fingers for a second time. Clove and I split up as we search, to cover more ground, but I never quite let her get out of sight.
Once the light begins to crest through the trees, I finally feel the tug of sleep. I blink blearily trying to clear the haze from my eyes and finally notice that I’m hungry and don’t remember the last time I slept.
“Cato,” Clove says quietly. I know she can see the energy evaporating from me. “Let’s take a second.” She slips her little hand in mine and guides me to a fallen trunk. I register that her long, thin fingers are cold against my own. I sit down heavily, propping my sword up against my knee. Clove stands beside me, placing her backpack on the log. She slips her glasses off first, then takes mine as well. She rifles through her bag, grimacing as she pulls out her meagre provisions. A packet of dried beef and a small loaf of bread are all she has left. I have some food in my bag, too, I think, but the mere thought of taking my bag off now seems like too much effort. She rips the loaf in half and hands one to me. I don’t even notice her rationing me out slabs of dried beef, and tucking the rest back into her bag. She steps over the log and sits down next to me, facing away and into the forest.
We eat quietly as the woods around us come to life, birds chirping, little animals scurrying up trees and across the moss. It’s almost peaceful. When she finishes her beef, she pulls out her water bottle and takes a long draw. I give a small jolt in surprise as she touches the cool bottle against my arm. “Here,” she says softly. I take it from her with a small grunt and gulp thirstily until the bottle is nearly drained.
“Thanks,” I say, passing the bottle back, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. From the corner of my eye, I see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She shifts and her entire side is pressed against mine. I close my eyes briefly and consider how warm she feels, when she leans her head onto my shoulder. This time, I’m the one who smiles.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the buzz of insects and feeling the heat from the sun begin to warm up the damp air of dawn.
”You should sleep,” Clove says, her quiet voice jarring me. “I’ll take first watch.” I can’t argue. I’m exhausted. I slide off the log, laying my tired and aching body at her feet and propping my head up on my pack.
When I wake, it’s around mid-day and the sun pounds through the canopy of the trees. It’s hot and the ground beneath me is hard. I groan as I stretch and pull myself upright.
“How’d you sleep?” Clove asks me. It seems like she hadn’t moved from her perch on the log from the night before.
“Okay,” I say, wrenching my neck from side to side, loosening up the stiff muscles. “You should rest now, too,” I say, pulling myself up beside her on the tree trunk. She looks tired, blinking wearily from below her long, dark eyelashes. She nods and slides down to take my place on the ground, curling up with her knees pressed up against her small, but shapely chest, the sun catching a glint of metal as the manipulates a knife in her hands below her chin.
I take my sword across my lap, my hands finding the familiar comfort of the grip. I watch her pretty face as she sleeps, her mean expression fading to softness. I study the fine spray of freckles across her button nose, her eyelashes curled up from the tops of her cheeks. It’ll be a shame to have to kill her, I think.
A few hours later, a cannon fires and Clove scrambles to her feet. We exchange a look.
“Did he get her?” Clove says, her sharp canines poking out over her full lower lip. I shrug. Her guess is as good as mine. We make our way to higher ground to try and spot the hovercraft coming to collect the fallen. And then— the cannon fires a second time, the sound reverberates around the arena. Clove’s eyes lock with mine, her pupils blown. “What…?” she breathes, her voice trailing off.
“Maybe they got each other,” I grunt, grabbing her hand and pulling her further up a hill. We peer out over the valley, eyes squinting against the sun. “There,” I say, pointing into the sky in the distance. The hovercraft stalls and lowers down the claw. We watch as the craft pulls up one limp body. It’s hard to tell in the distance, but it looks like a boy—
“Marvel,” Clove gasps, her little had shooting up to cover her mouth. “She got Marvel, Cato,” she says with poison in her voice. I clench my jaw as I nod. We stand shoulder to shoulder in silent salute. Marvel wasn’t District 2, but he was a Career. We know the work and sacrifice he made to be here. We know better than anybody.
When the hovercraft pulls up the second body, I’m confused. It’s small. I hold my fingers over my eyes trying to block out the sun. “Can you see?” I ask.
“It’s Eleven,” Clove says. “I think it’s her. It’s too small to be Twelve.” I nod in agreement.
“What happened?” I wonder aloud. The girl from Eleven surprises me. There’s no way she killed Marvel, it just doesn’t make sense. She was too small, too weak, to be any sort of threat to him. Clove hums at my side.
“Maybe Marvel caught the girl and the boy from Eleven, what’s his name, Thresh, maybe he was trying to protect her. And maybe he got Marvel.”
“Or Twelve,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m still bitter that she evaded me once already.
“Or Twelve,” Clove considers.
We’re too far from the hovercraft to get there with any reasonable expectation that Marvel’s killer will still be lingering once we arrive. So we decide to take the afternoon easy. Clove catches two lizards with her expert knife throwing skills. Neither of us are skilled butchers so I feed each of them by the mouth onto long sticks and we roast them over a small fire, turning them until the skin starts to sizzle and blacken. We drain Clove’s water bottle and put a dent in mine as well. This time I’m more concerned about rationing it.
“So what’s the plan, then?” Clove asks once we’ve eaten. We’ve found yet another fallen tree to rest on, assuming our familiar position, shoulder to shoulder, watching one another’s back.
“No splitting up,” I say. I feel her nod beside me. “We find them. Eleven. Twelve. We take them both down. Tomorrow.”
“I want Twelve,” Clove says with a wickedness in her voice. “I want her to beg me to spare her.” I laugh softly in response.
“If I let you have her,” I say, tentatively but with a smile, “You better make it a good show.”
I decide to build a little shelter. Nothing fancy, but it beats spending another night on the cold, hard ground. Under a low pine tree, I cut the branches to make some padding for a bed, and cover them in fresh leaves to guard against the sharp needles. More pine branches make up the walls. It’s not much, but at night it should camouflage us well enough.
As our fire dies down to coals, a trumpet blares. I catch Clove’s eye as we listen intently. Claudius Templesmith’s voice echoes over the arena. “Congratulations to the final six tributes who remain!” he says. “There’s been a rule change in the games.” Clove and I both leap to our feet. I grasp my sword in hand and I can see Clove has picked a knife out from her jacket, artfully spinning the blade between her fingers. “Under the new rule,” Claudius continues, “both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive.” We stare at each other in disbelief, I see her eyebrows knit together in confusion as my jaw goes slack. “Again, two tributes can win this year, as long as they are from the same district.”
It’s silent for a moment. I look hard at Clove and she shakes her head subtly no from left to right. It’s impossible. Two victors? To my understanding this is totally unprecedented. Suddenly I feel the rush of excitement well up inside me, I laugh loudly in surprise and joy and Clove does the same.
“Cato!” she yelps. “Cato, we can win this!” She drops her knife and leaps right at me, her hands both coming to my shoulders as she wraps her legs around my back, laughing all the while. I let my sword clatter to the ground as I stagger to retain my balance and my arm wraps underneath her backside to support her. I gaze up at her. Her dark eyes are wild and shining in the evening light, and she cups my cheeks in both hands and kisses me, hard. “We can win this,” she whispers hungrily against my lips. “Together.”
I lift my chin to meet her mouth, as she crushes hers against mine fiercely. I feel a fire ignite low in my stomach. I’d never considered this. I’ve trained with Clove since we were kids. I remember the first day she picked up a knife. I’ll never forget the dangerous look on her face as she whipped it against a wall and the sharp blade embedded itself an inch deep. I always knew that one day I might have to kill her to get my glory. Or she’d have to kill me. But this— this changes everything. Maybe I can get my glory and so can she.
My free hand gropes at Clove’s waist, her thighs, her ass. She’s small and light and lean and she feels hot against my chest. Her tongue parts my lips and I growl as I plunge my tongue in her mouth, greedily navigating around the warm, wet cavern.
She slowly unwraps her legs from behind me and my hands find her waist as I slowly lower her feet to the ground, my lips never leaving hers. “Cato,” she whispers urgently, her little hands tugging at the zipper of my jacket. “We can win this,” she says again, but her voice is wanton, her breath fast and shallow. “We can both live.”
“We can,” I echo, feeling her slip my jacket from my shoulders. I suddenly know where this is going. I curl my fingers underneath the hem of her top, lifting it, and her jacket, up and over her head in one fell swoop, exposing her smooth stomach and simple, white bra. Her dark hair is mussed and untamed, cascading around her face and onto her shoulders. She looks beautiful.
Suddenly she looks uncharacteristically shy, her hands clasping in front of her chest and eyes darting around above us. The cameras, I think, suddenly wishing for the first time ever that we had a bit of privacy. Naked bodies are normal in the arena, but naked bodies in the throes of passion are a somewhat different story. I look at the lean-to I’d constructed earlier in the evening, the pine shelter never looking so inviting.
We kick off our boots as we scramble to get inside, she climbs in first, pulling her pants off urgently as I follow behind her, my shirt and pants falling in heaps behind me. For the first time in my life, I look at her. I really look at her. She’s a compact killing machine, her arms and thighs are muscular but not bulky. Her stomach is flat and her waist is narrow, hipbones sharp and jutting out. Legs smooth and shapely. I can see a damp spot building on her white cotton panties. She’s unbelievably sexy, leaning back on her hands and her legs splayed out, shyness evaporated. I’m throbbing and hard as a rock.
She pulls me in again and her lips crash into mine. I reach out and grasp at her chest, shoving my hand underneath her bra as I thumb her nipple. I hear her gasp and I smile against her mouth. She slips her hand down the front of my boxers and it’s my turn to growl, feeling her little hand wrap around my cock. I break our kiss and pull back to watch, as her fist tightens around my shaft and gives a tentative twist of the wrist. I nod encouragingly as she brings her hand up to the head and smooths it down again, sending chills straight up my dick. I grab her wrist, pulling her hand away and she looks confused and hurt. I give my head a quick shake no, and bring her hand up to my mouth. I spit into her hand, bringing it back down to my cock and shudder as the friction disappears and she gets to work again, jerking her hand up and down, with a twist on the downstroke. My jaw goes slack.
Once she establishes a rhythm, she reaches out and takes my other hand and guides it to her core. My trance is broken as I cup her, my dick jolting as I hear her needy mewls. I curl my fingers against the damp spot in her underwear and feel how slick she must be underneath. I shove her panties down and finally get a good look. She’s got a dark patch of neat curls and just peeking out from below are her bright pink folds. My fingers dive in and she keens against my neck, her free hand coming up to my shoulder and fingernails biting in, hard enough to break the skin. She’s dripping wet and hot, I rub my fingers through her folds and grin as she bucks her hips up into my hand. I take my middle finger and slide it up inside her, groaning myself at how tight and wet and hot she is inside. I move to shove her down, but I catch her glinting eyes and suddenly I find myself on my back.
She’s fast. Her knees pin my shoulders down and I find myself looking up over the curls at her core, up the plane of her stomach and the ridge of her bra, her face looking down on me through a curtain of dark, disheveled hair. She’s smiling at me wickedly. She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, exposing her dark nipples and tossing the garment away unceremoniously. I can’t lift my shoulders, but with a bend at my elbows I’m grabbing at her thighs, her ass, anywhere I can touch. And then I realize I can smell her. I extend my neck up, and nose at the curls presented to me. I hear her take in a deep breath as my tongue slips out and touches her pussy, musky and tangy and sweet. I lathe my tongue around, moving in circles, back and forth, until she’s moving her hips against my mouth, deliciously thrusting closer so I can tongue her deeper, harder.
She moans my name fervently, her voice hitching as my tongue finds places she likes. Until suddenly, the weight shifts off my shoulders and she’s straddled around my hips. I lift my arms back and fold them under my head, propping myself up to get a good look. She bites her lip nervously as she wraps her fist around my cock again. I watch in quiet awe as her thighs strain as she hoists herself up, positions me, and lowers herself down on my cock.
We both breathe heavily for a moment. I unfurl my arms from behind my head as I reach toward her, her hands meeting mine as she slumps forward and her lips find my mouth again. She’s so wet and hot and tight wrapped around my cock that I see stars, my hands snaking down her sides and coming to rest on the curve of her ass. I experimentally thrust my hips up and she gasps, pushing herself up off my chest with her mouth opened in a wide O and her eyebrows knit together tightly. I thrust up again, and watch her take a shaky breath and press her pretty, dark eyes closed. And then slowly, she begins to move. At first she adjusts the angle of her hips, her pussy clenching and unclenching around me. I throw my head back at the sensation. And the pained look on her face begins to drain and that wicked smile comes back.
Soon her knees pin either side of my hips and her hands rest on both sides of my head, and we’re meeting each other’s thrusts with pained urgency. My fingers dig into her ass as I pull her hips down to meet mine on each upstroke and it’s hard and fast and fuck it feels so good. When we establish a punishing pace she raises her torso up, her breasts bouncing along with our rhythm. She reaches down between our bodies and begins to rub at her centre, two fingers sliding in her slick juices. I see her urgency mounting as her hips begin to falter, so I take my hands and wrap them around her waist, keeping the pounding cadence, thrusting into her, deep and hard. I feel her start to shake as a strangled cry slips out from between her lips, her eyebrows knit together again and her breath uneven. Her walls begin to spasm around me and a gush of warm liquid splashes down.
She takes a hand to my chest, stilling me. I give her a panicked look, I’m so close, I’m not finished, we can’t be done, I need more. She slides off my cock, exposing it to the cold night air as I hiss. But Clove is a clever girl and knows not to leave me in an unfinished state. She shifts down, between my legs, and takes my cock in her hand, and leans in to press a kiss to the tip. Her dark eyes shine up at me. She runs her tongue down from the base to the tip before wrapping her silken lips around me. I groan as the heat builds back up so quickly I’m nearly on the edge again, as she sucks and licks and pumps her fist at the base.
“Clove, I’m close, I’m gonna—“ I start weakly but it’s too late. My orgasm rips through me and I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life, like my soul is shooting straight out through my cock.
She collapses next to me, her head falling into the crook of my arm as I bury my nose into her dark hair. We sleep straight through the night without stirring.
“That was stupid,” she says in the morning, ineffectually covering herself as she stoops down to pick up her discarded clothing. My head shoots back in unpleasant surprise. I’m pretty sure last night wasn’t stupid. By my recollection, it was very good. Better than that, even, excellent. “We slept all night without anyone on watch duty,” she says clarifying as she sees my disgruntled face.
“Two tributes can win as long as they’re from the same district,” she quotes. “Doesn’t that mean that Lover Boy is still out there? They wouldn’t make it a rule if he didn’t still stand a chance, Cato,” she says, seething.
“He’s as good as dead,” I yawn. “I got him good,” I say, miming a gash to the thigh as I stretch.
“You think she isn’t gonna try to fix him up, Cato?” she asks me, accusatively. “You think the star-crossed lovers from District 12 won’t get some sponsors that could help him? Why isn’t he dead yet?”
I prop myself up on an elbow, my eyebrows knotted together in thought. “I guess it’s possible,” I admit.
“It’s more than possible,” Clove says, throwing a pile of my clothes onto my naked body, covering up my indecency. “We need to get moving,” she says. “We’ve been here too long already.”
We spend the day cutting through the forest, pausing occasionally to listen for our prey. When we hear nothing, we continue on. I let Clove lead today, staying a pace behind her, watching her round ass flex as she traverses the terrain. Thinking about the next time I’ll be able to get those tight pants off and get those legs wrapped around my head again.
We cover a lot of ground, but somehow get no closer to any of our fellow tributes. Clove is frustrated, I can feel the tension radiating off her body. I’m angry too— angry I’ve been made a fool of by Lover Boy and the girl from Twelve with her still miraculous score of eleven. We’re out of water now too, and all our iodine to purify it was vaporized in the explosion of our base. We eat the dried fruit in my bag, but it does little to help quell the thirst that is quickly building.
When evening falls and the trumpets blare again, we perk up to listen. The voice of Claudius Templesmith greets us again, inviting us to a feast. “Now hold on, some of you may already be declining my invitation,” he says, but this can’t be directed toward us. We’re both very eager. “But this is no ordinary feast,” he continues. “Each of you needs something desperately.” My eyes lock on Clove’s. “Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your district number at the cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance.”
“Water,” Clove chokes out, and I can see the cracks forming on her pretty lips. I nod. But what I’m most desperate for, more than water, or a good meal, or a hot shower, is the death of our competitors. To take Clove with me to glory. The more we can slaughter at the feast, the fewer we’ll have to track down through the forest.
We devise a plan. Clove will take the offensive, hiding out in the edge of the forest until the girl from Twelve shows herself. She’ll take her down by any means necessary. Clove is beside herself at the thought, her devilish smile pulling at her freckled cheeks and the fire igniting behind her dark eyes. She skillfully flicks a knife from hand to hand, the blade narrowly avoiding her pale, thin skin. I’ll hide out just inside the tall grasses over the ridge. No doubt Thresh will be at the feast too, and I want to cut him off and ambush him before he can escape into the abyss again. Once we take down our two strongest opponents, the other two should be a breeze.
We sleep in short shifts, with the other keeping guard. Just long enough to make sure we’ve got our mental faculties together for a big fight. I wake her just as the sky shows just the faintest hint of light, and we don our night vision goggles and make our way toward the cornucopia. When we make it to the edge of the clearing, it’s our cue to part ways. Clove looks up at me and I lean down, cupping one sharp cheek in my palm. I kiss her again and she wraps her hands around the back of my neck. She opens easily for me, straining on the tips of her toes to bring us closer together. Her lips are dry, but they’re still warm. I pull away before it can get too heated, but not before bringing my hand down to the curve of her ass and giving it one last squeeze. She gives me another dangerous smile, pointed canines piercing her lower lip, before I slink my way around the edge of the forest and wade into the tall grass.
I sit on my heels, listening closely as the sun breaks over the horizon. I tuck my sword into my belt and take a spear into my hands instead, hoping I’ll be able to pick Eleven off with some distance between us. It’s quiet at first, then some commotion. I hear the girl from Twelve yell “Peeta!” which surprises me, but I’m doubtful he’d be any help in this fight, surely by now he’s riddled with infection with barely enough blood to make it back to his heart. But I don’t hear any more shouting, so I smile to myself thinking that Clove must be making a mess of Twelve’s face.
My ears perk up as I hear a low voice yelling— Thresh. So he’s finally made it to the feast. I’m too far away to pick out his words, but I don’t hear him again, so I peer attentively out of the grass, waiting for him to appear over the ridge to make his escape.
“Cato!” I hear Clove scream. “Cato!” she shrieks again, panicked and urgent. I leap to my feet and take off in a sprint.
“Clove!” I yell back. My legs pump furiously beneath me and I curse as I stumble over a stone. I run so hard that my veins pump battery acid and I breathe smoke. When I crest the hill, I see Twelve on the ground, looking up at Eleven who holds a stone in his hand. And that’s when I see— “Clove!" crumpled in a heap on the ground, unmoving. My feet pound the ground below me as horror drops into my stomach as I get closer. “Clove, no!”
Twelve makes a break for it and Eleven turns toward the table of the feast, but I barrel toward Clove and skid on my knees beside her, the tip of my spear plunging into the ground. “No, Clove,” I whisper frantically, surveying the damage. “No, no, no, stay with me,” I say. Her arm has been punctured and there’s blood, but worst of all, most sickening of all, I think, is the unnatural curve to the left side of her head. “Clove,” I whisper, begging. Pleading. I cup her face and feel the rapid puffs of air escaping her lips. Tears sting at my eyes. “Stay with me Clove,” I choke out, and the tears fall down my cheeks as she lets out a deep, quiet moan. “We can win this,” I say desperately, leaning in to kiss her lips. “We can win this together.”
But she doesn’t reply, and her dark eyes stay fixed on the sky when her chest stills and the cannon rings out.