The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 25

Coughing and gagging, I choke the berries out, scrubbing a sleeve across my tongue. I yank Katniss toward the lake and we scoop handfuls of water into our mouths, spitting frantically before crumpling onto the bank. Katniss pulls herself close and wraps her arms around me, scanning my face. "You didn't swallow any?"

I shake my head weakly. "You?"

Her answer is lost in the blast of cheering that sweeps through the previously silent arena. The speakers are playing the audio of the studio crowd. "Go to hell," I growl.

I see two hovercraft appear overhead and they vibrate brightly before merging into one and dropping ladders down to us. I can't lift myself to my feet, but Katniss doesn't even let me try. She hauls me to the ladder and as soon as I place a foot on the rung the current grabs and holds me. We rise into the air and I feel the blood drain from my leg like water leaving a bath. My eyes are frozen to Katniss' braid and the world of the arena in the background closes like a drawstring until only the gleam of sunlight on her hair at the end of a dark tunnel is left of my vision. And then that is gone too and I am lost to the darkness.

I open my eyes and she isn't there. "Katniss!" I scream, leaping up against the wide band restraining my chest. My veins flood instantly with an icy heaviness and I sink back into the dark.

The dull yellow glow resolves itself around my slitted eyelids. A ceiling? A torrent of pain and confusion, and it takes all my strength to tip my head to the side. She isn't there. "Katniss!" The creeping cold in my veins is immediate but this time I fight it, or try to. "Kat....niss...." and the blackness pulls me back under.

A familiar voice is calling me softly, but I don't think I've ever heard it use my actual name. "Peeta," he urges. "Peeta? Katniss is ok, can you hear me?"

At her name, my eyes fly open. "Katniss is fine," Haymitch says hurriedly. "Katniss is ok, she's here, she's safe. Katniss is safe."

I'm able to meet his eyes, gray like hers, and since I'm not panicking the sedative holds off. "Where is she, Haymitch?" I ask desperately.

"She's fine. She's resting. She's safe. You kept her safe." He runs an uncertain hand over my head, much like my father, and the gesture helps me relax. But as I become aware of my surroundings, a small cot in an antiseptic smelling room, empty except for banks of machines, wires and tubes running from them to me, I feel the panic start to rise again. "It's fine, Peeta," Haymitch reassures me in his familiar gruff voice, but with an unfamiliar edge of warmth. "You're both back in the Capitol," he tells me, "but you guys were pretty banged up." As he talks, I start to become aware of the pain, my whole body throbs. I remember the time Jasper and I were challenging each other to scale the outside of buildings back home and I dropped onto my back from a second-story ledge.

"What happened to Katniss?" I ask.

"Just roughed up, hungry, thirsty. Nothing you didn't already know," he soothes. "The doctors here are really good, Peeta." He's looking at me kind of sideways, like he doesn't want to meet my eyes. "They're taking really good care of her. Of both of you."

He must be right. I ache all over and feel scraped raw, but my leg barely hurts anymore. My eyes fall on the bed and it looks funny, somehow. The shape under the covers strikes me as odd. Haymitch follows my gaze and reaches a hand to cover my wrist.

"Peeta," he begins, but I already know. I shake my head and tears fill my eyes. I clench my fists on the bedclothes and squeeze my eyes shut, grimacing as I try and shut out the realization. My whole body begins to tremble and I turn my head away. Letting Haymitch see me cry is more than I can bear.

"They tried everything they could," he whispers. "It was just too damaged from the mutt." The memory of the beast clamped onto my leg, of what happened to my leg happening to Cato's entire body, of the whole terrible experience is too much. A sob wells up from deep in my chest and tears itself loose. My body shakes with the escape of the grief, and Haymitch sits with me as the storm ravages me. He strokes my arm and whispers words of comfort, and they are only comforting because he is one of only two people who understand. Finally, exhaustion and numbness quell the wracking sobs and I cover my eyes with my free arm, but don't let go of my grip on his hand.