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e ground； but as it is； it takes all my strength to keep us both on the curved back of the horn。 And more tributes are ing。
¨Kill it； Peeta！ Kill it！〃 Iˇm shouting； and although I canˇt quite see whatˇs happening； I know he must have stabbed the thing because the pull lessens。 Iˇm able to haul him back onto the horn where we drag ourselves toward the top where the lesser of two evils awaits。
Cato has still not regained his feet； but his breathing is slowing and I know soon heˇll be recovered enough to e for us； to hurl us over the side to our deaths。 I arm my bow； but the arrow ends up taking out a mutt that can only be Thresh。 Who else could jump so high？ I feel a momentˇs relief because we must finally be up above the mutt line and Iˇm just turning back to face Cato when Peetaˇs jerked from my side。 Iˇm sure the pack has got him until his blood splatters my face。
Cato stands before me； almost at the lip of the horn； holding Peeta in some kind of headlock； cutting off his air。 Peetaˇs clawing at Catoˇs arm； but weakly； as if confused over whether itˇs more important to breathe or try and stem the gush of blood from the gaping hole a mutt left in his calf。
I aim one of my last two arrows at Catoˇs head； knowing itˇll have no effect on his trunk or limbs； which I can now see are clothed in a skintight； flesh…colored mesh。 Some high…grade body armor from the Capitol。 Was that what was in his pack at the feast？ Body armor to defend against my arrows？ Well； they neglected to send a face guard。
Cato just laughs。 ¨Shoot me and he goes down with me。〃
Heˇs right。 If I take him out and he falls to the mutts； Peeta is sure to die with him。 Weˇve reached a stalemate。 I canˇt shoot Cato without killing Peeta； too。 He canˇt kill Peeta without guaranteeing an arrow in his brain。 We stand like statues； both of us seeking an out。
My muscles are strained so tightly； they feel they might snap at any moment。 My teeth clenched to the breaking point。 The mutts go silent and the only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my good ear。
Peetaˇs lips are turning blue。 If I donˇt do something quickly； heˇll die of asphyxiation and then Iˇll have lost him and Cato will probably use his body as a weapon against me。 In fact； Iˇm sure this is Catoˇs plan because while heˇs stopped laughing； his lips are set in a triumphant smile。
As if in a last…ditch effort； Peeta raises his fingers； dripping with blood from his leg； up to Catoˇs arm。 Instead of trying to wrestle his way free； his forefinger veers off and makes a deliberate X on the back of Catoˇs hand。 Cato realizes what it means exactly one second after I do。 I can tell by the way the smile drops from his lips。 But itˇs one second too late because； by that time； my arrow is piercing his hand。 He cries out and reflexively releases Peeta who slams back against him。 For a horrible moment； I think theyˇre both going over。 I dive forward just catching hold of Peeta as Cato loses his footing on the blood…slick horn and plummets to the ground。
We hear him hit； the air leaving his body on impact； and then the mutts attack him。 Peeta and I hold on to each other； waiting for the cannon； waiting for the petition to finish； waiting to be released。 But it doesnˇt happen。 Not yet。 Because this is the climax of the Hunger Games； and the audience expects a show。
I donˇt watch； but I can hear the snarls； the growls； the howls of pain from both human and beast as Cato takes on the mutt pack。 I canˇt understand how he can be surviving until I remember the body armor protecting him from ankle to neck and I realize what a long night this could be。 Cato must have a knife or sword or something； too； something he had hidden in his clothes； because on occasion thereˇs the death scream of a mutt or the sound of metal on metal as the blade collides with the golden horn。 The bat moves around the side of the Cornucopia； and I know Cato must be attempting the one maneuver that could save his life to make his way back around to the tail of the horn and rejoin us。 But in the end； despite his remarkable strength and skill； he is simply overpowered。
I donˇt know how long it has been； maybe an hour or so； when Cato hits the ground and we hear the mutts dragging him； dragging him back into the Cornucopia。 Now theyˇll finish him off； I think。 But thereˇs still no cannon。
Night falls and the anthem plays and thereˇs no picture of Cato in the sky； only the faint moans ing through the metal beneath us。 The icy air blowing across the plain reminds me that the Games are not over and may not be for who knows how long； and there is still no guarantee of victory。
I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding as badly as ever。 All our supplies； our packs； remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts。 I have no bandage； nothing to staunch the flow of blood from his calf。 Although Iˇm shaking in the biting wind； I rip off my jacket； remove my shirt； and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible。 That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control。
Peetaˇs face is gray in the pale moonlight。 I make him lie down before I probe his wound。 Warm； slippery blood runs over my fingers。 A bandage will not be enough。 Iˇve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it。 I cut free a sleeve from my shirt； wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee； and tie a half knot。 I donˇt have a stick； so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot； twisting it as tightly as I dare。 Itˇs risky business Peeta may end up losing his leg but when I weigh this against him losing his life； what alternative do I have？ I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lay down with him。
¨Donˇt go to sleep；〃 I tell him。 Iˇm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol； but Iˇm terrified that if he drifts off heˇll never wake again。
¨Are you cold？〃 he asks。 He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me。 Itˇs a bit warmer； sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets； but the night is young。 The temperature will continue to drop。
Even now I can feel the Cornucopia； which burned so when I first climbed it； slowly turning to ice。
¨Cato may win this thing yet；〃 I whisper to Peeta。
¨Donˇt you believe it；〃 he says； pulling up my hood； but heˇs shaking harder than I am。
The next hours are the worst in my life； which if you think about it； is saying something。 The cold would be torture enough； but the real nightmare is listening to Cato； moaning； begging； and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him。 After a very short time； I donˇt care who he is or what heˇs done； all I want is for his suffering to end。
¨Why donˇt they just kill him？〃 I ask Peeta。
¨You know why；〃 he says； and pulls me closer to him。
And I do。 No viewer could turn away from the show now。 From the Gamemakersˇ point of view； this is the final word in entertainment。
It goes on and on and on and eventually pletely consumes my mind； blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow； erasing everything but the present； which I begin to believe will never change。 There will never be anyt