第105章
what would my life be like on a
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daily basis? most of it has been consumed with the acquisition
of food. take that away and i’m not really sure who i am, what
my identity is. the idea scares me some. i think of haymitch,
with all his money. what did his life become? he lives alone,
no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. i don’t
want to end up like that.
“but you won’t be alone,” i whisper to myself. i have my
mother and prim. well, for the time being. and then . . . i don’t
want to think about then, when prim has grown up, my moth-
er passed away. i know i’ll never marry, never risk bringing a
child into the world. because if there’s one thing being a victor
doesn’t guarantee, it’s your children’s safety. my kids’ names
would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else’s. and
i swear i’ll never let that happen.
the sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the
cracks and illuminating peeta’s face. who will he transform in-
to if we make it home? this perplexing, good-natured boy who
can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of panem believes
him to be hopelessly in love with me, and i’ll admit it, there
are moments when he makes me believe it myself? at least,
we’ll be friends, i think. nothing will change the fact that we’ve
saved each other’s lives in here. and beyond that, he will al-
ways be the boy with the bread. good friends. anything
beyond that though . . . and i feel gale’s gray eyes watching me
watching peeta, all the way from district 12.
discomfort causes me to move. i scoot over and shake pee-
ta’s shoulder. his eyes open sleepily and when they focus on
me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.
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“we’re wasting hunting time,” i say when i finally break
away.
“i wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as
he sits up. “so do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an
edge?”
“not us,” i say. “we stuff ourselves to give us staying pow-
er.”
“count me in,” peeta says. but i can see he’s surprised when
i divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate
to him. “all this?”
“we’ll earn it back today,” i say, and we both plow into our
plates. even cold, it’s one of the best things i’ve ever tasted. i
abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my
finger. “i can feel effie trinket shuddering at my manners.”
“hey, effie, watch this!” says peeta. he tosses his fork over
his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue
making loud, satisfied sounds. then he blows a kiss out to her
in general and calls, “we miss you, effie!”
i cover his mouth with my hand, but i’m laughing. “stop!
cato could be right outside our cave.”
he grabs my hand away. “what do i care? i’ve got you to
protect me now,” says peeta, pulling me to him.
“come on,” i say in exasperation, extricating myself from
his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.
once we’re packed up and standing outside our cave, our
mood shifts to serious. it’s as though for the last few days,
sheltered by the rocks and the rain and cato’s preoccupation
with thresh, we were given a respite, a holiday of sorts. now,
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although the day is sunny and warm, we both sense we’re re-
ally back in the games. i hand peeta my knife, since whatever
weapons he once had are long gone, and he slips it into his
belt. my last seven arrows — of the twelve i sacrificed three in
the explosion, two at the feast — rattle a bit too loosely in the
quiver. i can’t afford to lose any more.
“he’ll be hunting us by now,” says peeta. “cato isn’t one to
wait for his prey to wander by.”
“if he’s wounded —” i begin.
“it won’t matter,” peeta breaks in. “if he can move, he’s
coming.”
with all the rain, the stream has overrun its banks by sev-
eral feet on either side. we stop there to replenish our water. i
check the snares i set days ago and come up empty. not sur-
prising with the weather. besides, i haven’t seen many ani-
mals or signs of them in this area.
“if we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting
grounds,” i say.
“your call. just tell me what you need me to do,” peeta says.
“keep an eye out,” i say. “stay on the rocks as much as poss-
ible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. and listen for
both of us.” it’s clear, at this point, that the explosion de-
stroyed the hearing in my left ear for good.
i’d walk in the water to cover our tracks completely, but i’m
not sure peeta’s leg could take the current. although the drugs
have erased the infection, he’s still pretty weak. my forehead
hurts along the knife cut, but after three days the bleeding has
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stopped. i wear a bandage around my head though, just in
case physical exertion should bring it back.
as we head up alongside the stream, we pass the place
where i found peeta camouflaged in the weeds and mud. one
good thing, between the downpour and the flooded banks, all
signs of his hiding place have been wiped out. that means
that, if need be, we can come back to our cave. otherwise, i
wouldn’t risk it with cato after us.
the boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to peb-
bles, and then, to my relief, we’re back on pine needles and the
gentle incline of the forest floor. for the first time, i realize we
have a problem. navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg —
well, you’re naturally going to make some noise. but even on
the smooth bed of needles, peeta is loud. and i mean loud
loud, as if he’s stomping his feet or something. i turn and look
at him.
“what?”