第95章

  for a second, i’m panicked that i’m at the wrong loca-
  tion. but no, i’m certain i remember claudius templesmith
  specifying the cornucopia. and there it is. and here i am. so
  where’s my feast?
  just as the first ray of sun glints off the gold cornucopia,
  there’s a disturbance on the plain. the ground before the
  mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a
  snowy white cloth rises into the arena. on the table sit four
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  backpacks, two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a
  medium-size green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange
  one — really i could carry it around my wrist — that must be
  marked with a 12.
  the table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out
  of the cornucopia, snags the green backpack, and speeds off.
  foxface! leave it to her to come up with such a clever and
  risky idea! the rest of us are still poised around the plain, siz-
  ing up the situation, and she’s got hers. she’s got us trapped,
  too, because no one wants to chase her down, not while their
  own pack sits so vulnerable on the table. foxface must have
  purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal
  one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer.
  that should have been my strategy! by the lime i’ve worked
  through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy,
  and frustration, i’m watching that reddish mane of hair disap-
  pear into the trees well out of shooting range. huh. i’m always
  dreading the others, but maybe foxface is the real opponent
  here.
  she’s cost me time, too, because by now it’s clear that i
  must get to the table next. anyone who beats me to it will
  easily scoop up my pack and be gone. without hesitation, i
  sprint for the table. i can sense the emergence of danger be-
  fore i see it. fortunately, the first knife comes whizzing in on
  my right side so i can hear it and i’m able to deflect it with my
  bow. i turn, drawing back the bowstring and send an arrow
  straight at clove’s heart. she turns just enough to avoid a fatal
  hit, but the point punctures her upper left arm. unfortunately,
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  she throws with her right, but it’s enough to slow her down a
  few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in
  the severity of the wound. i keep moving, positioning the next
  arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for
  years can do.
  i’m at the table now, my fingers closing over the tiny
  orange backpack. my hand slips between the straps and i yank
  it up on my arm, it’s really too small to fit on any other part of
  my anatomy, and i’m turning to fire again when the second
  knife catches me in the forehead. it slices above my right eye-
  brow, opening a gash that sends a gush running down my face,
  blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp, metallic
  taste of my own blood. i stagger backward but still manage to
  send my readied arrow in the general direction of my assai-
  lant. i know as it leaves my hands it will miss. and then clove
  slams into me, knocking me flat on my back, pinning my
  shoulders to the ground, with her knees.
  this is it, i think, and hope for prim’s sake it will be fast. but
  clove means to savor the moment. even feels she has time. no
  doubt cato is somewhere nearby, guarding her, waiting for
  thresh and possibly peeta.
  “where’s your boyfriend, district twelve? still hanging
  on?” she asks.
  well, as long as we’re talking i’m alive. “he’s out there now.
  hunting cato,” i snarl at her. then i scream at the top of my
  lungs. “peeta!”