The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 18

"Peeta!" The exasperated hiss is nearby. "Peeta!"

My wheeling thoughts try to break free of the mist of fever and dreams. I've already lived through this scenario in every possible outcome. She searches for me, but can't find me. She doesn't even try to find me, disgusted by my alliance with the Careers. She finds me, but I'm dead. I wonder what my fading mind is conjuring for me this time.

The groan of frustration and hand that slaps against the rock sound so real. Moments later a bare foot slides into the stream inches from my leg and I want to scream with joy and wrap my arms around her, holding her so tight I never have to let go. But I can't even rise from the mud. My wasted voice can only barely croak out, "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

My chest constricts as I try uselessly to laugh at her reaction. She jumps and whirls, scanning for the source of the voice. My disguise must be better than I'd hoped.

Her gaze sweeps right over me a few times while she whispers, "Peeta? Where are you?" She's feeling her way along the bank, searching, but my dry throat and weak lungs can't force anything out to help her find me. I concentrate, breathing slowly to gather strength while she whispers urgently, "Peeta?"

"Well, don't step on me," I manage. I look up at her and she practically leaps into the air. I wheeze a helpless laugh as my heart swells with elation. I close my eyes again when she orders me to and she gasps at what she sees.

"I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

I smile weakly. If it gave me the chance to talk to her one last time, it certainly did. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die." She sounds so sure I almost laugh again.

"Says who?" I groan, and my heavy eyes droop closed, even though I want nothing more than to drink in her face, so close and determined.

"Says me," she tells me with confidence. "We're on the same team now, you know."

My eyes open at this. "So I heard." The last thing I will do is be a liability to her. She must know how bad my situation is. "Nice of you to find what's left of me."

She asks about my leg and I croak out an answer as she holds a water bottle to my lips. The cold water is the sweetest I have ever tasted. It burns down my parched throat and I almost faint with relief. The water and her presence revive me so much I feel giddy, and when she suggests cleaning me off in the stream I tell her to lean down closer first. She crouches with her ear to my lips and I whisper, "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

Her transforming laugh is my reward and I close my eyes contentedly, certain I can endure whatever is to come. This certainty disappears almost immediately when she tries to drag me free of the streambed. My bones are sand and my muscles are rubber. The best I can do is try not to work against her and all the resolve I have is focused on not screaming with agony as she pulls on me, and even that isn't totally successful. Finally, she yanks me out from the grasses and I lie on the streambed, clenching my teeth to stifle sobs but unable to control the tears running down my face.

Her voice is worried and exhausted as she suggests, "Look, Peeta. I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

I can't catch my breath and my entire body is a shrieking column of flame. "Excellent," I agree.

The world explodes around me and I almost lose consciousness as she flips me toward the water. Jagged fragments of glass and metal plunge through my skin and eyes and my leg feels like it's being peeled away when she says, "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in."