第62章

  and will the vibration from the sawing raise the swarm? and
  what if the careers figure out what i’m doing and move their
  camp? that would defeat the whole purpose.
  i realize that the best chance i’ll have to do the sawing
  without drawing notice will be during the anthem. that could
  begin any time. i drag myself out of my bag, make sure my
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  knife is secured in my belt, and begin to make my way up the
  tree. this in itself is dangerous since the branches are becom-
  ing precariously thin even for me, but i persevere. when i
  reach the limb that supports the nest, the humming becomes
  more distinctive. but it’s still oddly subdued if these are track-
  er jackers. it’s the smoke, i think. it’s sedated them. this was
  the one defense the rebels found to battle the wasps.
  the seal of the capitol shines above me and the anthem
  blares out. it’s now or never, i think, and begin to saw. blisters
  burst on my right hand as i awkwardly drag the knife back
  and forth. once i’ve got a groove, the work requires less effort
  but is almost more than i can handle. i grit my teeth and saw
  away occasionally glancing at the sky to register that there
  were no deaths today. that’s all right. the audience will be
  sated seeing me injured and treed and the pack below me. but
  the anthem’s running out and i’m only three quarters of the
  way through the wood when the music ends, the sky goes
  dark, and i’m forced to stop.
  now what? i could probably finish off the job by sense of
  feel but that may not be the smartest plan. if the wasps are too
  groggy, if the nest catches on its way down, if i try to escape,
  this could all be a deadly waste of time. better, i think, to
  sneak up here at dawn and send the nest into my enemies.
  in the faint light of the careers’ torches, i inch back down to
  my fork to find the best surprise i’ve ever had. sitting on my
  sleeping bag is a small plastic pot attached to a silver para-
  chute. my first gift from a sponsor! haymitch must have had it
  sent in during the anthem. the pot easily fits in the palm of my
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  hand. what can it be? not food surely. i unscrew the lid and i
  know by the scent that it’s medicine. cautiously, i probe the
  surface of the ointment. the throbbing in my fingertip vanish-
  es.
  “oh, haymitch,” i whisper. “thank you.” he has not aban-
  doned me. not left me to fend entirely for myself. the cost of
  this medicine must be astronomical. probably not one but
  many sponsors have contributed to buy this one tiny pot. to
  me, it is priceless.
  i dip two fingers in the jar and gently spread the balm over
  my calf. the effect is almost magical, erasing the pain on con-
  tact, leaving a pleasant cooling sensation behind. this is no
  herbal concoction that my mother grinds up out of woodland
  plants, it’s high-tech medicine brewed up in the capitol’s labs.
  when my calf is treated, i rub a thin layer into my hands. after
  wrapping the pot in the parachute, i nestle it safely away in
  my pack. now that the pain has eased, it’s all i can do to repo-
  sition myself in my bag before i plunge into sleep.
  a bird perched just a few feet from me alerts me that a new
  day is dawning. in the gray morning light, i examine my hands.
  the medicine has transformed all the angry red patches to a
  soft baby-skin pink. my leg still feels inflamed, but that burn
  was far deeper. i apply another coat of medicine and quietly
  pack up my gear. whatever happens, i’m going to have to
  move and move fast. i also make myself eat a cracker and a
  strip of beef and drink a few cups of water.
  almost nothing stayed in my stomach yesterday, and i’m
  already starting to feel the effects of hunger.
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  below me, i can see the career pack and peeta asleep on
  the ground. by her position, leaning up against the trunk of
  the tree, i’d guess glimmer was supposed to be on guard, but
  fatigue overcame her.
  my eyes squint as they try to penetrate the tree next to me,
  but i can’t make out rue. since she tipped me off, it only seems
  fair to warn her. besides, if i’m going to die today, it’s rue i
  want to win. even if it means a little extra food for my family,
  the idea of peeta being crowned victor is unbearable.
  i call rue’s name in a hushed whisper and the eyes appear,
  wide and alert, at once. she points up to the nest again. i hold
  up my knife and make a sawing motion. she nods and disap-
  pears. there’s a rustling in a nearby tree. then the same noise
  again a bit farther off. i realize she’s leaping from tree to tree.
  it’s all i can do not to laugh out loud. is this what she showed
  the gamemakers?