Chapter 29 : The Finale Begins
He moved like a storm.
Two hundred pounds of trained killer, sword singing through air that still tasted of smoke. Not toward Katniss—toward me. The obstacle between him and his real target.
My knife intercepted his blade a half-second before it would have opened my throat.
The impact jarred my arm to the shoulder. Cato was stronger, faster, better trained. His sword work was flawless, honed through years of Career preparation. Against him, my stolen skills and supernatural healing meant nothing if I couldn't survive the next three seconds.
Katniss's arrow flew. Cato twisted, let it graze his shoulder rather than take it full. Blood sprayed, but he didn't slow.
"RUE! MOVE!"
She was already running, ducking behind the Cornucopia's golden curve. Smart girl. Brave girl. I couldn't protect her and fight Cato simultaneously.
Another exchange—thrust, parry, riposte. His blade caught my forearm, laid it open to the bone. Pain flared, blood flowed, and my healing factor screamed its hunger even as tissue began knitting.
"What ARE you?" Cato had seen. His eyes tracked the closing wound with something between disgust and fascination. "The Gamemakers—did they—"
I used his distraction. My knee found his groin, my elbow found his temple, and for one second he staggered.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
His sword came around in an arc I couldn't dodge, couldn't parry, couldn't—
Thresh's rock caught Cato in the ribs.
The District 11 tribute hadn't joined our alliance. He was simply eliminating threats.
Cato stumbled, ribs cracked, sword arm faltering. Thresh was already turning, rock descending toward Foxface who'd tried to slip past during the chaos.
She was too slow. Too focused on escape. The stone caught her skull with a sound I'd never forget.
Cannon.
The unknown tribute—a girl from District 9 who'd hidden for the entire Games—emerged from behind the Cornucopia, running for the flame wall. Desperate. Panicked.
Thresh intercepted her in three strides.
Cannon.
Two deaths in thirty seconds. Thresh was cleaning up the weak, eliminating anyone who wasn't a direct threat. Cold mathematics of survival.
Five tributes remained.
Cato recovered faster than he should have.
Broken ribs meant nothing to someone raised for combat. He was on his feet while I was still processing Thresh's brutality, sword leveled at my chest.
"The big one first," he growled. "Then you. Then your partner."
He charged Thresh.
The fight was savage—two warriors who'd trained their whole lives for this moment. Cato's sword against Thresh's rocks and fists. They crashed together at the Cornucopia's base, trading blows that would have killed lesser men.
Katniss aimed but couldn't shoot. Too close, too fast, too likely to hit the wrong target.
"Help him?" Rue had rejoined us, voice barely audible.
"No." Watching Thresh fight was like watching an avalanche—beautiful and terrible and not something you interrupted. "We wait."
The ground shook.
Not from the combatants—from something deeper. The arena itself trembling as the Gamemakers deployed their finale.
The mutts emerged from the forest edge.
Wolf-like creatures, massive as ponies, with claws that gleamed like metal and teeth that promised agony. But their eyes—their eyes were the horror.
Human eyes. Familiar eyes.
The tribute parade during training had shown us every face. Now those faces stared from monster bodies—the dead, returned to hunt the living. I recognized the District 8 girl. The boy from 6. Glimmer, Marvel, Clove. All of them, transformed into weapons.
"CORNUCOPIA!" Katniss screamed.
The golden horn was the only high ground. The only safety from creatures designed to ensure a bloody finale.
We scrambled upward.
Climbing the Cornucopia's smooth surface should have been impossible.
The metal was slick with condensation, angled too steep for easy purchase. But terror is a remarkable motivator. Katniss found handholds that shouldn't exist, hauling herself upward with hunter's agility.
Rue couldn't follow.
Her small hands slipped, feet scrabbling for purchase. She was too light, too weak, too young for this kind of climb.
I grabbed her.
My chest still ached from Cato's earlier cuts, healing factor working overtime to close wounds I couldn't afford. But I lifted Rue bodily, threw her toward Katniss's reaching hands, watched her scramble to safety atop the horn.
The effort cost me.
My grip slipped. The mutt-creature below—wearing Marvel's eyes—lunged upward, jaws closing on empty air where my leg had been a moment before.
I climbed. Clawed. Pulled myself up through pain and exhaustion and the absolute certainty that falling meant death by tribute-faced monsters.
The Cornucopia's top was maybe twenty feet across. Flat enough to stand on. High enough that the mutts couldn't reach.
Katniss pulled me up the final few feet. Her hands on my arms, her eyes scanning my body for wounds.
"You're bleeding."
"Always bleeding." I managed something like a smile. "Part of my charm."
Below, Cato and Thresh had broken apart, both recognizing the greater threat. Both climbing.
Five tributes. One platform. An arena full of monsters waiting for someone to fall.
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