【饥饿游戏】45

I continue running until the woods have hidden me from the 
other tributes then slow into a steady jog that I think I can 
maintain for a while. For the next few hours, I alternate between 
jogging and walking, putting as much distance as I can between 
myself and my competitors. I lost my bread during the struggle 
with the boy from District 9 but managed to stuff my plastic in 
my sleeve so as I walk I fold it neatly 1 and tuck it into a pocket. 
I also free the knife — it’s a fine one with a long sharp blade, 
serrated near the handle, which will make it handy for sawing 
through things — and slide it into my belt. I don’t dare stop to 
examine the contents of the pack yet. I just keep moving, 
pausing only to check for pursuers.
I can go a long time. I know that from my days in the
woods. But I will need water. That was Haymitch’s second 
instruction, and since I sort of botched the first, I keep a sharp
eye out for any sign of it. No luck. The woods begin to evolve, 
and the pines are intermixed with a variety of trees, some I 
recognize, some completely foreign to me. At one point, I hear 
a noise and pull my knife, thinking I may have to defend myself, 
but I’ve only startled a rabbit. “Good to see you,” I whisper. If 
there’s one rabbit, there could be hundreds just waiting to be 
snared 2. The ground slopes down. I don’t particularly like this. 
Valleys make me feel trapped. I want to be high, like in the hills
around District 12, where I can see my enemies approaching.
But I have no choice but to keep going.
Funny though, I don’t feel too bad. The days of gorging 3 myself
have paid off. I’ve got staying power even though I’m
short on sleep. Being in the woods is rejuvenating 4. I’m glad for
the solitude 5, even though it’s an illusion, because I’m probably
on-screen right now. Not consistently but off and on. There
are so many deaths to show the first day that a tribute trekking 6
through the woods isn’t much to look at. But they’ll show
me enough to let people know I’m alive, uninjured and on the
move. One of the heaviest days of betting is the opening, when
the initial casualties come in. But that can’t compare to what
happens as the field shrinks to a handful of players.
It’s late afternoon when I begin to hear the cannons 7. Each
shot represents a dead tribute. The fighting must have finally
stopped at the Cornucopia 8. They never collect the bloodbath
bodies until the killers 9 have dispersed 10. On the opening day,
they don’t even fire the cannons until the initial fighting’s over
because it’s too hard to keep track of the fatalities 11. I allow myself
to pause, panting, as I count the shots. One . . . two . . .
three . . . on and on until they reach eleven. Eleven dead in all.
Thirteen left to play. My fingernails scrape at the dried blood
the boy from District 9 coughed into my face. He’s gone, certainly.
I wonder about Peeta. Has he lasted through the day?
I’ll know in a few hours. When they project the dead’s images
into the sky for the rest of us to see.
All of a sudden, I’m overwhelmed by the thought that Peeta
may be already lost, bled white, collected, and in the process
of being transported back to the Capitol to be cleaned up, redressed 12,
and shipped in a simple wooden box back to District 12. No longer 
here. Heading home. I try hard to remember if I saw him once the 
action started. But the last image I can conjure 13 up is Peeta shaking 
his head as the gong rang out. Maybe it’s better, if he’s gone already. 
He had no confidence he could win. And I will not end up with the 
unpleasant task of killing 14 him. Maybe it’s better if he’s out of this for 
good. I slump 15 down next to my pack, exhausted 16. I need to go
through it anyway before night falls. See what I have to work
with. As I unhook the straps 17, I can feel it’s sturdily made 
although a rather unfortunate color. This orange will practically
glow in the dark. I make a mental note to camouflage 18 it first
thing tomorrow.
I flip 19 open the flap. What I want most, right at this moment,
is water. Haymitch’s directive to immediately find water was
not arbitrary. I won’t last long without it. For a few days, I’ll be
able to function with unpleasant symptoms of dehydration 20,
but after that I'll deteriorate 21 into helplessness and be dead in
a week, tops. I carefully lay out the provisions. One thin black
sleeping bag that reflects body heal. A pack of crackers 22. A pack
of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine 23. A box of wooden matches. 
A small coil of wire. A pair of sunglasses. And a halfgallon
plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water that's bone dry.
No water. How hard would it have been for them to fill up
the bottle? I become aware of the dryness in my throat and
mouth, the cracks in my lips. I've been moving all day long. 
It's been hot and I've sweat a lot. I do this at home, but there 
are always streams to drink from, or snow to melt if it should
come to it. 
serrate adj. [生物] 锯齿状的
botched n. 办砸了（电影名）
rejuvenating 复壮
trekking n. 艰苦跋涉，徒步旅行；艰难旅程
casualties n. 伤亡；人员伤亡（casualty的复数）
fatalities n. 灾祸；命运；意外的的死亡事故（fatality的复数）
dehydration n. 脱水
deteriorate vi. 恶化，变坏