The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins [78]
The first thing I do is dig out my own glasses and put them on, which relaxes me a little, to have at least one of my hunter’s senses working. I drink some water and wash the blood from my ear. Fearing the smell of meat will draw unwanted predators—fresh blood is bad enough—I make a good meal out of the greens and roots and berries Rue and I gathered today. Where is my little ally? Did she make it back to the rendezvous point? Is she worried about me? At least, the sky has shown we’re both alive.
I run through the surviving tributes on my fingers. The boy from 1, both from 2, Foxface, both from 11 and 12. Just eight of us. The betting must be getting really hot in the Capitol. They’ll be doing special features on each of us now. Probably interviewing our friends and families. It’s been a long time since a tribute from District 12 made it into the top eight. And now there are two of us. Although from what Cato said, Peeta’s on his way out. Not that Cato is the final word on anything. Didn’t he just lose his entire stash of supplies?
Let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.
A cold breeze has sprung up. I reach for my sleeping bag before I remember I left it with Rue. I was supposed to pick up another one, but what with the mines and all, I forgot. I begin to shiver. Since roosting overnight in a tree isn’t sensible anyway, I scoop out a hollow under the bushes and cover myself with leaves and pine needles. I’m still freezing. I lay my sheet of plastic over my upper body and position my backpack to block the wind. It’s a little better. I begin to have more sympathy for the girl from District 8 that lit the fire that first night. But now it’s me who needs to grit my teeth and tough it out until morning. More leaves, more pine needles. I pull my arms inside my jacket and tuck my knees up to my chest. Somehow, I drift off to sleep.
When I open my eyes, the world looks slightly fractured, and it takes a minute to realize that the sun must be well up and the glasses fragmenting my vision. As I sit up and remove them, I hear a laugh somewhere near the lake and freeze. The laugh’s distorted, but the fact that it registered at all means I must be regaining my hearing. Yes, my right ear can hear again, although it’s still ringing. As for my left ear, well, at least the bleeding has stopped.
I peer through the bushes, afraid the Careers have returned, trapping me here for an indefinite time. No, it’s Foxface, standing in the rubble of the pyramid and laughing. She’s smarter than the Careers, actually finding a few useful items in the ashes. A metal pot. A knife blade. I’m perplexed by her amusement until I realize that with the Careers’ stores eliminated, she might actually stand a chance. Just like the rest of us. It crosses my mind to reveal myself and enlist her as a second ally against that pack. But I rule it out. There’s something about that sly grin that makes me sure that befriending Foxface would ultimately get me a knife in the back. With that in mind, this might be an excellent time to shoot her. But she’s heard something, not me, because her head turns away, toward the drop-off, and she sprints for the woods. I wait. No one, nothing shows up. Still, if Foxface thought it was dangerous, maybe it’s time for me to get out of here, too. Besides, I’m eager to tell Rue about the pyramid.
Since I’ve no idea where the Careers are, the route back by the stream seems as good as any. I hurry, loaded bow in one hand, a hunk of cold groosling in the other, because I’m famished now, and not just for leaves and berries but for the fat and protein in the meat. The trip to the stream is uneventful. Once there, I refill my water and wash, taking particular care with my injured ear. Then I travel uphill using the stream as a guide. At one