第51章
i鈥檒l know in a few hours. when they project the dead鈥檚 images
into the sky for the rest of us to see.
all of a sudden, i鈥檓 overwhelmed by the thought that peeta
may be already lost, bled white, collected, and in the process
of being transported back to the capitol to be cleaned up, re-
dressed, and shipped in a simple wooden box back to district
12. no longer here. heading home. i try hard to remember if i
saw him once the action started. but the last image i can con-
jure up is peeta shaking his head as the gong rang out.
maybe it鈥檚 better, if he鈥檚 gone already. he had no confidence
he could win. and i will not end up with the unpleasant task of
killing him. maybe it鈥檚 better if he鈥檚 out of this for good.
i slump down next to my pack, exhausted. i need to go
through it anyway before night falls. see what i have to work
with. as i unhook the straps, i can feel it鈥檚 sturdily made al-
though a rather unfortunate color. this orange will practically
glow in the dark. i make a mental note to camouflage it first
thing tomorrow.
i flip open the flap. what i want most, right at this moment,
is water. haymitch鈥檚 directive to immediately find water was
not arbitrary. i won鈥檛 last long without it. for a few days, i鈥檒l be
able to function with unpleasant symptoms of dehydration,
but after that i'll deteriorate into helplessness and be dead in
a week, tops. i carefully lay out the provisions. one thin black
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sleeping bag that reflects body heal. a pack of crackers. a pack
of dried beef strips. a bottle of iodine. a box of wooden
matches. a small coil of wire. a pair of sunglasses. and a half-
gallon plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water that's bone
dry.
no water. how hard would it have been for them to fill up
the bottle? i become aware of the dryness in my throat and
mouth, the cracks in my lips. i've been moving all day long. it's
been hot and i've sweat a lot. i do this at home, but there are
always streams to drink from, or snow to melt if it should
come to it.
as i refill my pack i have an awful thought. the lake. the one
i saw while i was waiting for the gong to sound. what if that's
the only water source in the arena? that way they'll guarantee
drawing us in to fight. the lake is a full day's journey from
where i sit now, a much harder journey with nothing to drink.
and then, even if i reach it, it's sure to be heavily guarded by
some of the career tributes. i'm about to panic when i re-
member the rabbit i startled earlier today. it has to drink, too.
i just have to find out where.
twilight is closing in and i am ill at ease. the trees are too
thin to offer much concealment. the layer of pine needles that
muffles my footsteps also makes tracking animals harder
when i need their trails to find water. and i'm still heading
downhill, deeper and deeper into a valley that seems endless.
i鈥檓 hungry, too, but i don鈥檛 dare break into my precious
store of crackers and beef yet. instead, i take my knife and go
to work on a pine tree, cutting away the outer bark and scrap-
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ing off a large handful of the softer inner bark. i slowly chew
the stuff as i walk along. after a week of the finest food in the
world, it鈥檚 a little hard to choke down. but i鈥檝e eaten plenty of
pine in my life. i鈥檒l adjust quickly.
in another hour, it鈥檚 clear i鈥檝e got to find a place to camp.
night creatures are coming out. i can hear the occasional hoot
or howl, my first clue that i鈥檒l be competing with natural pre-
dators for the rabbits. as to whether i鈥檒l be viewed as a source
of food, it鈥檚 too soon to tell. there could be any number of an-
imals stalking me at this moment.
but right now, i decide to make my fellow tributes a priori-
ty. i鈥檓 sure many will continue hunting through the night.
those who fought it out at the cornucopia will have food, an
abundance of water from the lake, torches or flashlights, and
weapons they鈥檙e itching to use. i can only hope i鈥檝e traveled
far and fast enough to be out of range.
before settling down, i take my wire and set two twitch-up
snares in the brush. i know it鈥檚 risky to be setting traps, but
food will go so fast out here. and i can鈥檛 set snares on the run.
still, i walk another five minutes before making camp.
i pick my tree carefully. a willow, not terribly tall but set in
a clump of other willows, offering concealment in those long,
flowing tresses. i climb up, sticking to the stronger branches
close to the trunk, and find a sturdy fork for my bed. it takes
some doing, but i arrange the sleeping bag in a relatively com-
fortable manner. i place my backpack in the foot of the bag,
then slide in after it. as a precaution, i remove my belt, loop it
all the way around the branch and my sleeping bag, and refas-
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ten it at my waist. now if i roll over in my sleep, i won鈥檛 go
crashing to the ground. i鈥檓 small enough to tuck the top of the
bag over my head, but i put on my hood as well. as night falls,
the air is cooling quickly. despite the risk i took in getting the
backpack, i know now it was the right choice. this sleeping
bag, radiating back and preserving my body heat, will be inva-
luable. i鈥檓 sure there are several other tributes whose biggest
concern right now is how to stay warm whereas i may actual-
ly be able to get a few hours of sleep. if only i wasn鈥檛 so thirsty
...
night has just come when i hear the anthem that proceeds
the death recap. through the branches i can see the seal of the
capitol, which appears to be floating in the sky. i鈥檓 actually
viewing another screen, an enormous one that鈥檚 transported
by of one of their disappearing hovercraft. the anthem fades
out and the sky goes dark for a moment. at home, we would
be watching full coverage of each and every killing, but that鈥檚
thought to give an unfair advantage to the living tributes. for
instance, if i got my hands on the bow and shot someone, my
secret would be revealed to all. no, here in the arena, all we
see are the same photographs they showed when they tele-
vised our training scores. simple head shots. but now instead
of scores they post only district numbers. i take a deep breath
as the face of the eleven dead tributes begin and tick them off
one by one on my fingers.
the first to appear is the girl from district 3. that means
that the career tributes from 1 and 2 have all survived. no
surprise there. then the boy from 4. i didn鈥檛 expect that one,
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usually all the careers make it through the first day. the boy
from district 5 . . . i guess the fox-faced girl made it. both tri-
butes from 6 and 7. the boy from 8. both from 9. yes, there鈥檚
the boy who i fought for the backpack. i鈥檝e run through my
fingers, only one more dead tribute to go. is it peeta?