The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Thirteen

I find myself being congratulated as we walk along- strange, as I didn't kill the tribute.

      "Well," says Cato, "you're a strong one, aren't you?"

      "Yeah, you certainly showed him not to mess with us!"

      "But why didn't we kill him?" I ask.

      "Because," replies Cato, a sadistic look on his face, "he'll be weakened for next time. We'll find him soon. And weak opponents are easier to torment." I have no answer for this.

      "You put on a good show! Good enough to entertain us, anyway." Tara enthuses.

     "Yeah, congrats, Peeta."

     But not entertaining enough. The howl I heard earlier sounds again- and nearer.

      "The Gamemakers!" Tara hisses. I spy a ripple of brown through the trees. Not all animals are placed in the arena by the Gamemakers; some do live here naturally. But there's no way these creatures came across us by accident. The dogs seem to be large- too large for normal wild dogs... They resemble wolves in some aspects, such as the muscular legs and the strong jaws. Mutts.

      Muttations- or Mutts- are creatures specially created by the Capitol. They're often used for violence and torture, although jabberjays- exclusively male- were bred to discover information in the Uprising. jabberjays could memorize and repeat whole conversations, so could eavesdrop on the rebels effectively. But the rebels realised they were being spied on, and used the mutts to feed lies back to the Capitol. Therefore, the Capitol left the jabberjays to die off in the wild. But they mated with female mockingbirds to create mockingjays.

      These muttations, however, are definitely created to kill.

      We band together in a tight circle.

      "Why? We're Careers?" Tara says bitterly. "We kill, get sponsors. Amuse the people. Why would they want to wipe us out?" Huh. Imagine if they slaughtered us... So much irony...

      Flashes of brown, grey and black appear through the trees. I grasp my knife ever-tighter.

      "Unless..." mutters Glimmer, "unless they're not for us."

      Sure enough, the mutts disappear in the direction of the fleeing tribute. The relief is palpable.

     "That tribute'll bet he never ran!" Clove crows.

      "The only downside is we don't get to finish him off." Marvel complains bitterly.

      We hear more howls and growls, meaning the mutts have reached their target. At first the tribute must have resisted; dull thumps of wood on flesh sound as loud as the cannons. But soon we hear agonized screams. Then, silence. The shot of the cannon slices through the noiselessness.

      "Should we go?" asks Clove.

      "Maybe we'll find some goodies among his corpse," remarks Tara.

      "Let's hope the mutts have gone," I add, praying so fervently that they have. How entertaining that would be.

      "Whatever; we'll kill them!" Marvel says nonchalantly, but his voice is bloodthirsty.

     The body is lying in a pool of blood and strips of flesh spread about like ribbons. His club has been strewn by the base of a tree with splinters of it missing. Clumps of fur are dotted about the scene too, just proving the tribute didn't perish without a fight.

      "Futile resistance," spits Cato as he strides over to the body. Instantly he crouches down to search it. Rooting through the dead's belongings he says, "someone had better go back for the fox."