We walk for hours, just to find what I already knew we would. No water. The pond is just as bone dry as the stream.
"You're right," Katniss says. "They're driving us to the lake." She kneels heavily on the dry floor. "Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water is taped out," she says sounding defeated.
I hate seeing her like this. I don't like to see her so vulnerable. It's scary to think of her as an easy target. "Let's go now while we've had food and rest," I say, trying to sound sure. "Let's just go end this thing."
She nods, and stands up. She squares her shoulders, and straightens up. That's more like it, I think. My brave Katniss. I close the inches between us and wrap my arms protectively and tenderly around her.
"Two against one. Should be a piece of cake," I say, sounding more confident than I intended to.
"Next time we eat, it will be in the capital," she says with that same confident tone.
"You bet it will."
We stand there for a couple of minutes, locked in an embrace that feels too much like a goodbye for my taste. The sun shines above us, but the soft breeze has a chilling touch to it. Without a word we break apart and head for the lake.
The walk there is long, but the time seems to be on the Gamemakers' side, for it passes too quickly. By the time we make it to the lake, the sun is already close to the horizon, hurrying to hide behind the trees before the battle begins.
I look around twice, but there's no sign of Cato anywhere. The cornucopia glows with the last rays of the sun, its inside a possible hideout for our last opponent. We slowly circle the cornucopia, careful not to make noise, just in case Cato was smart enough to take advantage of the massive cornucopia. It's empty.
With nothing better to do, we cross to the lake and fill our canteens.
"We don't want to fight him after dark," says Katniss frowning at the shrinking sun. "There's only the one pair of glasses."
"Maybe that's what he's waiting for," I muse as I carefully squeeze a drop of iodine into the water. "What do you want to do?" I ask her. "Go back to the cave?"
It doesn't sound very encouraging to walk all the way over to the cave, but staying out here in the open doesn't sound very inviting either.
"Either that or find a tree," she says. "But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover."
So we sit by the lake, our eyes alert on our surroundings, full on the open. There's no point in hiding now. Either way we'll still have to face him. There's no other option for neither side.
I can hear the mockingjays rustling the trees' leaves, singing back and forth to each other. Katniss hears them, too. She opens her mouth and sings a four note song. The mockingjays fall silent for a few seconds, but then they're all singing, mimicking Katniss's tune. The melody is ridiculously sweet and, somehow, inspiring. It fills the air, echoing all around us. For a long second I'm taken back in time, and suddenly I'm a little boy again, hypnotized by her voice.
"Just like your father," I muse out loud. And just like his mother I can't escape her, I don't want to.
She touches a golden pin in her shirt, gone unnoticed by me until now. "That's Rue's song," she whispers. "I think they remember it."
She closes her eyes, probably concentrating in the sweet melody. I listen, too. Then, something begins to disrupt the music. The notes start cutting in unexpected places, and then they're not singing anymore, but shrieking cries of alarm.
We get on our feet, tensing for what's coming. I wield my knife while Katniss readies her bow. And then Cato smashes through the trees, running like a charging bull toward us. He has no visible weapon. His hands are empty, but he runs toward us with no hesitance. Katniss fires the first arrow, Cato the target, but instead of penetrating his chest, it falls aside as if it had hit a wall instead of a human being.
Crap!
"He's got some kind of body armor!" Katniss shouts shocked.
Cato is upon us, but instead of stopping to fight us, he charges through us, not even bothering to throw a backward glance. He's panting though, and the look on his face is one I've never seen on him before – fear.
He's been running for a long time, that's immediately obvious, but not toward us. With horror I realize he's isn't the hunter this time. He is the pray. And, now, so are we.
You have got to be freaking kidding me! I think as I turn to make a run for it.
The gamemakers have definitely outdone themselves this time.
No!
