Peeta Mellark's POV (Catching Fire & Mockingjay)

Part 4

I awake in a white room drenched in a bright white light. After a few blinks, my eyes adjust and I realize I'm strapped to a metal chair. The gold tie around my collar is loose, the beige shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the burns on my chest and the sleeves are rolled up to my elbows. Thick spiked chains tightly secure my forearms and torso. But my wrists, still sore and bloodshot from the handcuffs, are free. Wiggling in my seat, the spikes poke my abs. My legs are also bound by chains at the knees. And with the slightest move I could feel the spikes digging into my muscles. Snow has gone through drastic lengths to imprison me, I think glancing around.

The room is hollow with no doors or windows, nor Peacekeepers or cameras. Just a simple metal table to my right. Relaxing in my torture chair, I half expect Snow to emerge from a camouflaged door, with the stench of blood on his lips. But as the minutes pass in silence, the odds of a quick death were not in my favour.

A faint noise startles me. My eyes dart back and forth as Beetee's had in the jungle. But the room was still, silent. Disturbed only by the sound of my heavy breathing. Strangely, I hear a beep and the faint clicking of mechanics. Curiously, I watch the metal table and right before my eyes, the circular centre descends. After a minute, a glass jar emerges, containing a single bee.

I squint, eager for a closer look. It resembles a wasp. Not a bee, not a wasp?! A tracker-jacker! A deadly stinging muttation engineered by the Gamemakers. Without warning, it all became clear. I am to be poisoned. With another beep, the jar opens releasing the bug. As it buzzes around the room, my body tenses and suddenly it lands on my wrist. If I scream it will sting me. If I move it will sting me. Every which way the next moments were spun, I was going to hallucinate.

At least they don't have anything to use against me, I think. And as if the thought itself triggered a mechanism, the lights dim and an image is projected before me. Not an image, a video, I think as it begins to play. My mind bombards with memories of the woods, the scorching heat, the sweet singing of mockingjays... Feeling the tracker-jacker's sting, I scream out and suddenly I am back in the arena.

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The earth is hard under my feet. Falling to my knees, I clutch my chest, feeling adrenaline pump rapidly through my veins. I'm dizzy, my head spinning. Breathing deeply, I blink and gaze up at the bright yellow sun. Stupefied, I stand and notice a machete, the blade hooked to a nearby tree. Snatching the weapon, my heart races as if foreseeing an imminent attack. Moments pass, except for the sway of the leaves in the breeze and the chirps of birds, all is silent.

"I am alone." I say to myself, relaxing. Sighing, I turn over the machete in my hands. It's heavy yet light, thick and sharp with the familiarity of a sword. Wiping my sweaty forehead, I begin to jog. Sprinting in and out of the trees, my eyes dart back and forth. My senses on full alert. I am under no illusion. This is a hallucination induced by the tracker-jacker venom.

Hiking up a hill, I lean against a tree and peer into the dense green valley. With no sign of life, I call out her name, my voice echoing through the trees. "Katniss!" I call again. She is a hunter. Am I the hunted? I ask myself. Hunter, hunted? It's irrelevant because Katniss is both smart and stealthy. Water! I suddenly remember. Dying to extinguish my thirst, I run through the woods, picking up a faint dirt trail.

As time dwindles by, I scour the woods, trying to retrace the trail I'd followed once to the stream. Under the blazing heat, I sweat and dehydrate. Water can't be far. That's when I hear it. Water! Sprinting through the trees, I break into a clearing and without warning my ankles are submerged. The water's cool, refreshing in the baking sun. Jumping around, I splash my face and hands and drink mouthful after mouthful until my thirst dies down. Tying the machete to my belt, I trudge downstream in my boots. Katniss will be nearby, looking for me.

The stream curves to the left and strangely, I remember the muddy banks sprouted in tangled plants and huge boulders. Perching on a rock, I breathe deeply, pacing myself in the dry heat. Peeling off the black shirt soaked in sweat, I rinse it in the stream. Desperate to hear her voice, I'm tempted to call her name, but who knows what or who is lurking nearby. Sighing, I wring out the shirt. Pulling it over my head, I freeze.

Katniss sits on the bank, tying her shoelaces. My mouth opens and closes several times, unable to muster her name. Instead I watch her. She moves with ease, collecting water from the stream into canteens. All the while, whistling to herself. The sound is soothing and familiar, with four notes. A mockingjay flies over and sits on the rock beside me. The bird mocks her tune. Katniss peers up at me and a smile emerges on her face.

My heart melts, my body aches, hungry for her touch. I want her in my arms. Her head against my chest. Her body pressed against mine. I want to inhale the scent of her hair, to feel her breath on my neck, to kiss her forehead, to hold her tight and never let go. Eagerly Katniss drops her bottle, pulls off her boots and trudges barefoot through the rocky stream. Bubbling with pure ecstasy, I fiddle with the knot on my belt loop.

Katniss' scream pierces my ears. My body jerks, jumping into fight mode, armed with the machete. Across the stream, Katniss is on her hands and knees, howling in pain. Her back arches, breaks and she's writhing around. My body is paralysed with fear, my mind screaming for me to run. Something is wrong. Right before my eyes, Katniss mutates. Despite the distance, I hear her bones breaking and I cringe at the sound. Her clothes are torn from her body with sharp claws sprouting from her fingertips. And suddenly there was no trace of Katniss at all. But a huge black wolf. A mutt.

The warmth that oozed through me mere moments ago drains from my body. Adrenaline kicks in suddenly and I'm running with the machete in my hand. The wolf follows snarling viscously. My heart races, bolting through the woods again. Breathing heavy, I'm dying to climb a tree but those claws will catch me before I'm a metre off the ground. The sun blares down in a glossy hue. The trees look strange suddenly. As I crash through bushes, orange bubbles erupt and I'm caught off balance.

Without warning I'm falling, tumbling through the thrush. My head spins and the world around me tilts. The tree trunks spout blood, the leaves sprout into giant pink butterflies. Plummeting down the hill, I grip my weapon with dear life when suddenly the ground levels out. For a moment, the earth is still. Breathing a sigh of relief, I grasp the machete to my chest. Glancing around, I rise into sitting position but before I can move the wolf leaps through the trees and pounces on me with its teeth bared.