i imagine her flying around the training
equipment never touching the floor. she should have gotten at
least a ten.
rosy streaks are breaking through in the east. i can’t afford
to wait any longer. compared to the agony of last night’s
climb, this one is a cinch. at the tree limb that holds the nest, i
position the knife in the groove and i’m about to draw the
teeth across the wood when i see something moving. there,
on the nest. the bright gold gleam of a tracker jacker lazily
making its way across the papery gray surface. no question,
it’s acting a little subdued, but the wasp is up and moving and
that means the others will be out soon as well. sweat breaks
out on the palms of my hands, beading up through the oint-
188
ment, and i do my best to pat them dry on my shirt. if i don’t
get through this branch in a matter of seconds, the entire
swarm could emerge and attack me.
there’s no sense in putting it off. i take a deep breath, grip
the knife handle and bear down as hard as i can. back, forth,
back, forth! the tracker jackers begin to buzz and i hear them
coming out. back, forth, back, forth! a stabbing pain shoots
through my knee and i know one has found me and the others
will be honing in. back, forth, back, forth. and just as the knife
cuts through, i shove the end of the branch as far away from
me as i can. it crashes down through the lower branches,
snagging temporarily on a few but then twisting free until it
smashes with a thud on the ground. the nest bursts open like
an egg, and a furious swarm of tracker jackers takes to the air.
i feel a second sting on the cheek, a third on my neck, and
their venom almost immediately makes me woozy. i cling to
the tree with one arm while i rip the barbed stingers out of my
flesh. fortunately, only these three tracker jackers had identi-
fied me before the nest went down. the rest of the insects
have targeted their enemies on the ground.
it’s mayhem. the careers have woken to a full-scale tracker
jacker attack. peeta and a few others have the sense to drop
everything and bolt. i can hear cries of “to the lake! to the
lake!” and know they hope to evade the wasps by taking to the
water. it must be close if they think they can outdistance the
furious insects. glimmer and another girl, the one from dis-
trict 4, are not so lucky. they receive multiple stings before
they’re even out of my view. glimmer appears to go complete-
189
ly mad, shrieking and trying to bat the wasps off with her bow,
which is pointless. she calls to the others for help but, of
course, no one returns. the girl from district 4 staggers out of
sight, although i wouldn’t bet on her making it to the lake. i
watch glimmer fall, twitch hysterically around on the ground
for a few minutes, and then go still.
the nest is nothing but an empty shell. the wasps have va-
nished in pursuit of the others. i don’t think they’ll return, but
i don’t want to risk it. i scamper down the tree and hit the
ground running in the opposite direction of the lake. the poi-
son from the stingers makes me wobbly, but i find my way
back to my own little pool and submerge myself in the water,
just in case any wasps are still on my trail. after about five
minutes, i drag myself onto the rocks. people have not exagge-
rated the effects of the tracker jacker stings. actually, the one
on my knee is closer to an orange than a plum in size. a foul-
smelling green liquid oozes from the places where i pulled out
the stingers.
the swelling. the pain. the ooze. watching glimmer
twitching to death on the ground. it’s a lot to handle before
the sun has even cleared the horizon. i don’t want to think
about what glimmer must look like now. her body disfigured.
her swollen fingers stiffening around the bow . . .
the bow!
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