第112章

  i shout at him.
  “he said, ‘can they climb it?’” answers peeta, drawing my
  focus back to the base of the horn.
  the mutts are beginning to assemble. as they join together,
  they raise up again to stand easily on their back legs giving
  them an eerily human quality. each has a thick coat, some
  with fur that is straight and sleek, others curly, and the colors
  vary from jet black to what i can only describe as blond.
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  there’s something else about them, something that makes the
  hair rise up on the back of my neck, but i can’t put my finger
  on it.
  they put their snouts on the horn, sniffing and tasting the
  metal, scraping paws over the surface and then making high-
  pitched yipping sounds to one another. this must be how they
  communicate because the pack backs up as if to make room.
  then one of them, a good-size mutt with silky waves of blond
  fur takes a running start and leaps onto the horn. its back legs
  must be incredibly powerful because it lands a mere ten feet
  below us, its pink lips pulled back in a snarl. for a moment it
  hangs there, and in that moment i realize what else unsettled
  me about the mutts. the green eyes glowering at me are un-
  like any dog or wolf, any canine i’ve ever seen. they are un-
  mistakably human. and that revelation has barely registered
  when i notice the collar with the number 1 inlaid with jewels
  and the whole horrible thing hits me. the blonde hair, the
  green eyes, the number . . . it’s glimmer.
  a shriek escapes my lips and i’m having trouble holding the
  arrow in place. i have been waiting to fire, only too aware of
  my dwindling supply of arrows. waiting to see if the creatures
  can, in fact, climb. but now, even though the mutt has begun to
  slide backward, unable to find any purchase on the metal,
  even though i can hear the slow screeching of the claws like
  nails on a blackboard, i fire into its throat. its body twitches
  and flops onto the ground with a thud.
  “katniss?” i can feel peeta’s grip on my arm.
  “it’s her!” i get out.
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  “who?” asks peeta.
  my head snaps from side to side as i examine the pack, tak-
  ing in the various sizes and colors. the small one with the red
  coat and amber eyes . . . foxface! and there, the ashen hair and
  hazel eyes of the boy from district 9 who died as we struggled
  for the backpack! and worst of all, the smallest mutt, with
  dark glossy fur, huge brown eyes and a collar that reads 11 in
  woven straw. teeth bared in hatred. rue . . .
  “what is it, katniss?” peeta shakes my shoulder.
  “it’s them. it’s all of them. the others. rue and foxface and .
  . . all of the other tributes,” i choke out.
  i hear peeta’s gasp of recognition. “what did they do to
  them? you don’t think . . . those could be their real eyes?”
  their eyes are the least of my worries. what about their
  brains? have they been given any of the real tributes memo-
  ries? have they been programmed to hate our faces particu-
  larly because we have survived and they were so callously
  murdered? and the ones we actually killed . . . do they believe
  they’re avenging their own deaths?
  before i can get this out, the mutts begin a new assault on
  the horn. they’ve split into two groups at the sides of the horn
  and are using those powerful hindquarters to launch them-
  selves at us. a pair of teeth ring together just inches from my
  hand and then i hear peeta cry out, feel the yank on his body,
  the heavy weight of boy and mutt pulling me over the side. if
  not for the grip on my arm, he’d be on the ground, but as it is,
  it takes all my strength to keep us both on the curved back of
  the horn. and more tributes are coming.
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  “kill it, peeta!