第75章
the idea frigh-
tens me. i rely as much on my ears as my eyes as a hunter,
maybe more at times. but i can’t let my fear show. absolutely,
positively, i am live on every screen in panem.
no blood trails, i tell myself, and manage to pull my hood up
over my head, tie the cord under my chin with uncooperative
fingers. that should help soak up the blood. i can’t walk, but
can i crawl? i move forward tentatively. yes, if i go very slow-
ly, i can crawl. most of the woods will offer insufficient cover.
my only hope is to make it back to rue’s copse and conceal
myself in greenery. i can’t get caught out here on my hands
and knees in the open. not only will i face death, it’s sure to be
a long and painful one at cato’s hand. the thought of prim
having to watch that keeps me doggedly inching my way to-
ward the hideout.
another blast knocks me flat on my face. a stray mine, set
off by some collapsing crate. this happens twice more. i’m
reminded of those last few kernels that burst when prim and i
pop corn over the fire at home.
to say i make it in the nick of time is an understatement. i
have literally just dragged myself into the tangle of hushes at
the base of the trees when there’s cato, barreling onto the
plain, soon followed by his companions. his rage is so extreme
it might be comical — so people really do tear out their hair
and beat the ground with their fists — if i didn’t know that it
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was aimed at me, at what i have done to him. add to that my
proximity, my inability to run or defend myself, and in fact,
the whole thing has me terrified. i’m glad my hiding place
makes it impossible for the cameras to get a close shot of me
because i’m biting my nails like there’s no tomorrow. gnawing
off the last bits of nail polish, trying to keep my teeth from
chattering.
the boy from district 3 throws stones into the ruins and
must have declared all the mines activated because the ca-
reers are approaching the wreckage.
cato has finished the first phase of his tantrum and takes
out his anger on the smoking remains by kicking open various
containers. the other tributes are poking around in the mess,
looking for anything to salvage, but there’s nothing. the boy
from district 3 has done his job too well. this idea must occur
to cato, too, because he turns on the boy and appears to be
shouting at him. the boy from district 3 only has time to turn
and run before cato catches him in a headlock from behind. i
can see the muscles ripple in cato’s arms as he sharply jerks
the boy’s head to the side.
it’s that quick. the death of the boy from district 3.
the other two careers seem to be trying to calm cato
down. i can tell he wants to return to the woods, but they keep
pointing at the sky, which puzzles me until i realize, of course.
they think whoever set off the explosions is dead.
they don’t know about the arrows and the apples. they as-
sume the booby trap was faulty, but that the tribute who blew
up the supplies was killed doing it. if there was a cannon shot,
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it could have been easily lost in the subsequent explosions.
the shattered remains of the thief removed by hovercraft.
they retire to the far side of the lake to allow the gamemakers
to retrieve the body of the boy from district 3. and they wait.
i suppose a cannon goes off. a hovercraft appears and takes
the dead boy. the sun dips below the horizon. night falls. up
in the sky, i see the seal and know the anthem must have be-
gun. a moment of darkness. they show the boy from district
3. they show the boy from district 10, who must have died
this morning. then the seal reappears. so, now they know.
the bomber survived. in the seal’s light, i can see cato and the
girl from district 2 put on their night-vision glasses. the boy
from district 1 ignites a tree branch for a torch, illuminating
the grim determination on all their faces. the careers stride
back into the woods to hunt.
the dizziness has subsided and while my left ear is still
deafened, i can hear a ringing in my right, which seems a good
sign. there’s no point in leaving my hiding place, though. i’m
about as safe as i can be, here at the crime scene. they proba-
bly think the bomber has a two- or three-hour lead on them.
still it’s a long time before i risk moving.
the first thing i do is dig out my own glasses and put them
on, which relaxes me a little, to have at least one of my hunt-
er’s senses working. i drink some water and wash the blood
from my ear. fearing the smell of meat will draw unwanted
predators — fresh blood is bad enough — i make a good meal
out of the greens and roots and berries rue and i gathered to-
day.
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where is my little ally?