I was listening to an iTunes podcast (Rebellion Radio) when they suggested that someone write a fan fiction about Cato dying because of Nightlock. So, I wrote one and here it is:
I sit, watching, waiting. “Come here, Cato,” I whisper. “I know you’re out there.” I have been sitting in the same tree for two hours. It is the same tree where I cut down the tracker jacker nest; where I first met Rue.
“Rue,” I say aloud. The word sounds foreign on my tongue. I swallow hare, pushing back the tears. I will not cry. Not here. Not now.
I turn my attention back to the ground. It is pitch black tonight, so I use the night goggles I found when the games began. When the games began . . . That day, when I said good bye to the world, seems to long ago.
A twig cracks to my left. My eyes dart to the spot. The spot where the rabbit sits. I let out my breath and relax. It was nothing. Just a little rabbit. But I don’t calm down. My nerves, the ones that are jittery when I’m hunting, when prey is near—are fully alive. Cato is near, they say. Don’t relax Katniss. He’s coming.
Not even a second later, Cato comes thrashing through the trees and bushes with a wild look in his eyes. He’s being chased. But by what? My answer comes chasing after Cato. Wild dog-like creatures run after the boy from district 2. Mutts. They run toward the creek that passes the cave where Peeta is. Peeta! My heart jumps. I left him alone in the cave. He doesn’t even know I’m gone.
I jump down from my perch and run after Cato and the mutts and towards Peeta.
In minutes, I’ve made it back to the cave. Cato has come through the area. It’s obvious. But he didn’t see the cave.
I breathe a sigh of relief and climb into the cave and into the sleeping bag with Peeta. Hopefully the mutts will get Cato and by sunrise, Peeta and I can go home.
I settle in and close my eyes. In seconds, I’m asleep and dreaming I’m hunting in the woods with Gale and trading in the Hob.
When I wake, I am disappointed. Cato has not been killed by the mutts. He sits on the edge of the stream outside picking berries of a bush. One by one he plucks them into his mouth, chewing slowly then swallowing hard.
Cato gets up to leave and starts walking downstream. Five steps later, he stops, clutches his arms to his stomach, doubles over and collapses, crying out in agony. He flails out sending the fish in opposite directions. He screams Clove’s name while tears stream down his face.
*****
I am sitting on the edge of a clearing, watching the feast go down. Clove is sitting on top of Katniss, smiling wickedly. She sets the tip of her knife on Katniss’s lips. Thresh lumbers over, but I don’t pay him much attention. This is going to be good. That’s when everything goes wrong.
Thresh picks up Clove. “Cato! Cato!” she screams. But I’m frozen. This isn’t suppose to be happening. I watch as Thresh dents her skull, grabs his bag, and walks away. Katniss is picking up her bag when I am able to move again.
“Clove!” I scream. “Clove!” Katniss is gone now, but I don’t care. Clove is dying. She’s probably already dead.
I reach her and start sobbing. “Clove! No, Clove. Don’t leave me. Please. No!”
*****
Cato gives one last piercing scream before going limp. His cannon fires and a hovercraft takes his body away.
I move back to Peeta who is awake and has been watching me. I slump don’t next to him speechless. Nightlock. The berries he ate where nightlock.
I feel like crying when Seneca Crane’s voice announces that upon closer examination of the rules, there may only be on tribute after all.
What?