i lean back on my
pack, overcome by drowsiness. if the careers want me, let
them find me, i think before drifting into a stupor. let them
find me.
and find me, they do. it’s lucky i’m ready to move on be-
cause when i hear the feet, i have less than a minute head
start. evening has begun to fall. the moment i awake, i’m up
and running, splashing across the pool, flying into the under-
brush. my leg slows me down, but i sense my pursuers are not
as speedy as they were before the fire, either. i hear their
coughs, their raspy voices calling to one another.
still, they are closing in, just like a pack of wild dogs, and so
i do what i have done my whole life in such circumstances. i
pick a high tree and begin to climb. if running hurt, climbing is
agonizing because it requires not only exertion but direct con-
tact of my hands on the tree bark. i’m fast, though, and by the
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time they’ve reached the base of my trunk, i’m twenty feet up.
for a moment, we stop and survey one another. i hope they
can’t hear the pounding of my heart.
this could be it, i think. what chance do i have against
them? all six are there, the five careers and peeta, and my on-
ly consolation is they’re pretty beat-up, too. even so, look at
their weapons. look at their faces, grinning and snarling at
me, a sure kill above them. it seems pretty hopeless. but then
something else registers. they’re bigger and stronger than i
am, no doubt, but they’re also heavier. there’s a reason it’s me
and not gale who ventures up to pluck the highest fruit, or rob
the most remote bird nests. i must weigh at least fifty or sixty
pounds less than the smallest career.
now i smile. “how’s everything with you?” i call down
cheerfully.
this takes them aback, but i know the crowd will love it.
“well enough,” says the boy from district 2. “yourself?”
“it’s been a bit warm for my taste,” i say. i can almost hear
the laughter from the capitol. “the air’s better up here. why
don’t you come on up?”
“think i will,” says the same boy.
“here, take this, cato,” says the girl from district 1, and she
offers him the silver bow and sheath of arrows. my bow! my
arrows! just the sight of them makes me so angry i want to
scream, at myself, at that traitor peeta for distracting me from
having them. i try to make eye contact with him now, but he
seems to be intentionally avoiding my gaze as he polishes his
knife with the edge of his shirt.
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“no,” says cato, pushing away the bow. “i’ll do better with
my sword.” i can see the weapon, a short, heavy blade at his
belt.
i give cato time to hoist himself into the tree before i begin
to climb again. gale always says i remind him of a squirrel the
way i can scurry up even the slenderest limb. part of it’s my
weight, but part of it’s practice. you have to know where to
place your hands and feet. i’m another thirty feet in the air
when i hear the crack and look down to see cato flailing as he
and a branch go down. he hits the ground hard and i’m hoping
he possibly broke his neck when he gets back to his feet,
swearing like a fiend.
the girl with the arrows, glimmer i hear someone call her
— ugh, the names the people in district 1 give their children
are so ridiculous — anyway glimmer scales the tree until the
branches begin to crack under her feet and then has the good
sense to stop. i’m at least eighty feet high now. she tries to
shoot me and it’s immediately evident that she’s incompetent
with a bow. one of the arrows gets lodged in the tree near me
though and i’m able to seize it. i wave it teasingly above her
head, as if this was the sole purpose of retrieving it, when ac-
tually i mean to use it if i ever get the chance. i could kill them,
everyone of them, if those silver weapons were in my hands.
the careers regroup on the ground and i can hear them
growling conspiratorially among themselves, furious i have
made them look foolish. but twilight has arrived and their
window of attack on me is closing. finally, i hear peeta say
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harshly, “oh, let her stay up there. it’s not like she’s going an-
ywhere. we’ll deal with her in the morning.”
well, he’s right about one thing. i’m going nowhere. all the
relief from the pool water has gone, leaving me to feel the full
potency of my burns. i scoot down to a fork in the tree and
clumsily prepare for bed. put on my jacket. lay out my sleep-
ing bed. belt myself in and try to keep from moaning. the heat
of the bag’s too much for my leg. i cut a slash in the fabric and
hang my calf out in the open air. i drizzle water on the wound,
my hands.
all my bravado is gone. i’m weak from pain and hunger but
can’t bring myself to eat. even if i can last the night, what will
the morning bring?
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