第111章

  for a while, i just close my eyes and listen, mesmerized by
  the beauty of the song. then something begins to disrupt the
  music. runs cut off in jagged, imperfect lines. dissonant notes
  intersperse with the melody. the mockingjays’ voices rise up
  in a shrieking cry of alarm.
  we’re on our feet, peeta wielding his knife, me poised to
  shoot, when cato smashes through the trees and bears down
  on us. he has no spear. in fact, his hands are empty, yet he
  runs straight for us. my first arrow hits his chest and inexplic-
  ably falls aside.
  “he’s got some kind of body armor!” i shout to peeta.
  just in time, too, because cato is upon us. i brace myself,
  but he rockets right between us with no attempt to check his
  speed. i can tell from his panting, the sweat pouring off his
  purplish face, that he’s been running hard a long time. not to-
  ward us. from something. but what?
  my eyes scan the woods just in time to see the first creature
  leap onto the plain. as i’m turning away, i see another half
  dozen join it. then i am stumbling blindly after cato with no
  thought of anything but to save myself.
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  muttations. no question about it. i’ve never seen these
  mutts, but they’re no natural-born animals. they resemble
  huge wolves, but what wolf lands and then balances easily on
  its hind legs? what wolf waves the rest of the pack forward
  with its front paw as though it had a wrist? these things i can
  see at a distance. up close, i’m sure their more menacing
  attributes will be revealed.
  cato has made a beeline for the cornucopia, and without
  question i follow him. if he thinks it’s the safest place, who am
  i to argue? besides, even if i could make it to the trees, it
  would be impossible for peeta to outrun them on that leg —
  peeta! my hands have just landed on the metal at the pointed
  tail of the cornucopia when i remember i’m part of a team.
  he’s about fifteen yards behind me, hobbling as fast as he can,
  but the mutts are closing in on him fast. i send an arrow into
  the pack and one goes down, but there are plenty to take its
  place.
  peeta’s waving me up the horn, “go, katniss! go!”
  he’s right. i can’t protect either of us on the ground. i start
  climbing, scaling the cornucopia on my hands and feet. the
  pure gold surface has been designed to resemble the woven
  horn that we fill at harvest, so there are little ridges and seams
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  to get a decent hold on. but after a day in the arena sun, the
  metal feels hot enough to blister my hands.
  cato lies on his side at the very top of the horn, twenty feet
  above the ground, gasping to catch his breath as he gags over
  the edge. now’s my chance to finish him off. i stop midway up
  the horn and load another arrow, but just as i’m about to let it
  fly, i hear peeta cry out. i twist around and see he’s just
  reached the tail, and the mutts are right on his heels.
  “climb!” i yell. peeta starts up hampered by not only the leg
  but the knife in his hand. i shoot my arrow down the throat of
  the first mutt that places its paws on the metal. as it dies the
  creature lashes out, inadvertently opening gashes on a few of
  its companions. that’s when i get a look at the claws. four
  inches and clearly razor-sharp.
  peeta reaches my feet and i grab his arm and pull him
  along. then i remember cato waiting at the top and whip
  around, but he’s doubled over with cramps and apparently
  more preoccupied with the mutts than us. he coughs out
  something unintelligible. the snuffling, growling sound com-
  ing from the mutts isn’t helping.
  “what?”