第85章

  he asks.
  “soon,” i promise. “i need to look at your leg first.” trying to
  be as gentle as i can, i remove his boots, his socks, and then
  very slowly inch his pants off of him. i can see the tear cato’s
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  sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way pre-
  pares me for what lies underneath. the deep inflamed gash
  oozing both blood and pus. the swelling of the leg. and worst
  of all, the smell of festering flesh.
  i want to run away. disappear into the woods like i did that
  day they brought the burn victim to our house. go and hunt
  while my mother and prim attend to what i have neither the
  skill nor the courage to face. but there’s no one here but me. i
  try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when
  handling particularly bad cases.
  “pretty awful, huh?” says peeta. he’s watching me closely.
  “so-so.” i shrug like it’s no big deal. “you should see some of
  the people they bring my mother from the mines.” i refrain
  from saying how i usually clear out of the house whenever
  she’s treating anything worse than a cold. come to think of it, i
  don’t even much like to be around coughing. “first thing is to
  clean it well.”
  i’ve left on peeta’s undershorts because they’re not in bad
  shape and i don’t want to pull them over the swollen thigh
  and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me
  uncomfortable. that’s another thing about my mother and
  prim. nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause
  for embarrassment. ironically, at this point in the games, my
  little sister would be of far more use to peeta than i am. i scoot
  my square of plastic under him so i can wash down the rest of
  him. with each bottle i pour over him, the worse the wound
  looks. the rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just
  one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that i treat
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  quickly. but the gash on his leg . . . what on earth can i do for
  that?
  “why don’t we give it some air and then . . .” i trail off.
  “and then you’ll patch it up?” says peeta. he looks almost
  sorry for me, as if he knows how lost i am.
  “that’s right,” i say. “in the meantime, you eat these.” i put
  a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream
  to wash the rest of his clothes. when they’re flattened out and
  drying, i examine the contents of the first-aid kit. it’s pretty
  basic stuff. bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs.
  nothing of the caliber i’ll need to treat peeta.
  “we’re going to have to experiment some,” i admit. i know
  the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so i start with
  those. within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up
  green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side
  of his leg. i tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of
  my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a
  reappearance.
  “katniss?” peeta says. i meet his eyes, knowing my face
  must be some shade of green. he mouths the words. “how
  about that kiss?”
  i burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting
  i can’t stand it.
  “something wrong?” he asks a little too innocently.
  “i . . . i’m no good at this. i’m not my mother. i’ve no idea
  what i’m doing and i hate pus,” i say. “euh!” i allow myself to
  let out a groan as i rinse away the first round of leaves and
  apply the second. “euuuh!”
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  “how do you hunt?” he asks.
  “trust me. killing things is much easier than this,” i say. “al-
  though for all i know, i am killing you.”
  “can you speed it up a little?”