第97章

  no, it wasn’t me!”
  “you said her name. i heard you. you kill her?” another
  thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. “you cut
  her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?”
  “no! no, i —” clove sees the stone, about the size of a small
  loaf of bread in thresh’s hand and loses it. “cato!” she
  screeches. “cato!”
  “clove!” i hear cato’s answer, but he’s too far away, i can
  tell that much, to do her any good. what was he doing? trying
  to get foxface or peeta? or had he been lying in wait for
  thresh and just badly misjudged his location?
  thresh brings the rock down hard against clove’s temple.
  it’s not bleeding, but i can see the dent in her skull and i know
  that she’s a goner. there’s still life in her now though, in the
  rapid rise and fall of her chest, the low moan escaping her lips.
  when thresh whirls around on me, the rock raised, i know
  it’s no good to run. and my bow is empty, the last loaded ar-
  row having gone in clove’s direction. i’m trapped in the glare
  of his strange golden brown eyes. “what’d she mean? about
  rue being your ally?”
  “i — i — we teamed up. blew up the supplies. i tried to
  save her, i did. but he got there first. district one,” i say. may-
  be if he knows i helped rue, he won’t choose some slow, sa-
  distic end for me.
  “and you killed him?” he demands.
  “yes. i killed him. and buried her in flowers,” i say. “and i
  sang her to sleep.”
  283
  tears spring in my eyes. the tension, the fight goes out of
  me at the memory. and i’m overwhelmed by rue, and the pain
  in my head, and my fear of thresh, and the moaning of the dy-
  ing girl a few feet away.
  “to sleep?” thresh says gruffly.
  “to death. i sang until she died,” i say. “your district. . . they
  sent me bread.” my hand reaches up but not for an arrow that
  i know i’ll never reach. just to wipe my nose. “do it fast, okay,
  thresh?”
  conflicting emotions cross thresh’s face. he lowers the
  rock and points at me, almost accusingly. “just this one time, i
  let you go. for the little girl. you and me, we’re even then. no
  more owed. you understand?”
  i nod because i do understand. about owing. about hating
  it. i understand that if thresh wins, he’ll have to go back and
  face a district that has already broken all the rules to thank
  me, and he is breaking the rules to thank me, too. and i under-
  stand that, for the moment, thresh is not going to smash in
  my skull.
  “clove!” cato’s voice is much nearer now. i can tell by the
  pain in it that he sees her on the ground.
  “you better run now, fire girl,” says thresh.
  i don’t need to be told twice. i flip over and my feet dip into
  the hard-packed earth as i run away from thresh and clove
  and the sound of cato’s voice. only when i reach the woods do
  i turn back for an instant. thresh and both large backpacks
  are vanishing over the edge of the plain into the area i’ve nev-
  er seen. cato kneels beside clove, spear in hand, begging her
  284
  to stay with him. in a moment, he will realize it’s futile, she
  can’t be saved. i crash into the trees, repeatedly swiping away
  the blood that’s pouring into my eye, fleeing like the wild,
  wounded creature i am. after a few minutes, i hear the cannon
  and i know that clove has died, that cato will be on one of our
  trails. either thresh’s or mine. i’m seized with terror, weak
  from my head wound, shaking. i load an arrow, but cato can
  throw that spear almost as far as i can shoot.
  only one thing calms me down. thresh has cato’s backpack
  containing the thing he needs desperately. if i had to bet, cato
  headed out after thresh, not me. still i don’t slow down when
  i reach the water. i plunge right in, boots still on, and flounder
  downstream. i pull off rue’s socks that i’ve been using for
  gloves and press them into my forehead, trying to staunch the
  flow of blood, but they’re soaked in minutes.
  somehow i make it back to the cave. i squeeze through the
  rocks. in the dappled light, i pull the little orange backpack
  from my arm, cut open the clasp, and dump the contents on
  the ground. one slim box containing one hypodermic needle.
  without hesitating, i jam the needle into peeta’s arm and
  slowly press down on the plunger.
  my hands go to my head and then drop to my lap, slick with
  blood.
  the last thing i remember is an exquisitely beautiful green-
  and-silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist.
  285
  the sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house gent-
  ly pulls me toward consciousness. i fight to return to sleep
  though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home.
  i’m vaguely aware that my head aches. possibly i have the flu
  and this is why i’m allowed to stay in bed, even though i can
  tell i’ve been asleep a long time. my mother’s hand strokes my
  cheek and i don’t push it away as i would in wakefulness, nev-
  er wanting her to know how much i crave that gentle touch.
  how much i miss her even though i still don’t trust her. then
  there’s a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother’s, and i’m
  scared.
  “katniss,” it says. “katniss, can you hear me?”