【饥饿游戏】48

Eleven dead, but none from District 12. I try to work out
who is left. Five Career Tributes. Foxface. Thresh and Rue 1. Rue
. . . so she made it through the first day after all. I can’t help
feeling glad. That makes ten of us. The other three I’ll figure
out tomorrow. Now when it is dark, and I have traveled far,
and I am nestled high in this tree, now I must try and rest.
I haven’t really slept in two days, and then there’s been the
long day’s journey into the arena 2. Slowly, I allow my muscles
to relax. My eyes to close. The last thing I think is it’s lucky I
don’t snore. . . .
Snap! The sound of a breaking branch wakes me. How long
have I been asleep? Four hours? Five? The tip of my nose is icy
cold. Snap! Snap! What’s going on? This is not the sound of a
branch under someone’s foot, but the sharp crack of one coming
from a tree. Snap! Snap! I judge it to be several hundred
yards to my right. Slowly, noiselessly, I turn myself in that 
direction. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but blackness and
some scuffling. Then I see a spark and a small fire begins to
bloom. A pair of hands warms over flames, but I can’t make
out more than that.
I have to bite my lip not to scream every foul 3 name I know
at the fire starter. What are they thinking? A fire I’ll just at
nightfall would have been one thing. Those who battled at the
Cornucopia 4, with their superior strength and surplus of 
supplies, they couldn’t possibly have been near enough to spot
the flames then. But now, when they’ve probably been combing
the woods for hours looking for victims. You might as well be 
waving a flag and shouting, “Come and get me!”
And here I am a stone’s throw from the biggest idiot in
the Games. Strapped 5 in a tree. Not daring to flee since my
general location has just been broadcast to any killer 6 who
cares. I mean, I know it’s cold out here and not everybody
has a sleeping bag. But then you grit 7 your teeth and stick it
out until dawn!
I lay smoldering 8 in my bag for the next couple of hours really
thinking that if I can get out of this tree, I won’t have the least 
problem taking out my new neighbor. My instinct has been to 
flee, not fight. But obviously this person’s a hazard. Stupid 
people are dangerous. And this one probably doesn’t have 
much in the way of weapons while I’ve got this excellent knife.
The sky is still dark, but I can feel the first signs of dawn
approaching. I’m beginning to think we — meaning the person
whose death I’m now devising and me — we might actually
have gone unnoticed. Then I hear it. Several pairs of feet
breaking into a run. The fire starter must have dozed 9 off.
They’re on her before she can escape. I know it’s a girl now, I
can tell by the pleading, the agonized 10 scream that follows.
Then there’s laughter and congratulations from several voices.
Someone cries out, “Twelve down and eleven to go!” which
gets a round of appreciative 11 hoots 12.
So they’re fighting in a pack. I’m not really surprised. Often
alliances are formed in the early stages of the Games. The
strong band together to hunt down the weak then, when the
tension becomes too great, begin to turn on one another. I
don’t have to wonder too hard who has made this alliance. It’ll
be the remaining Career Tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4.
Two boys and three girls. The ones who lunched together.
For a moment, I hear them checking the girl for supplies. I
can tell by their comments they’ve found nothing good. I 
wonder if the victim is Rue but quickly dismiss the thought. 
She’s much too bright to be building a fire like that.
“Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts
stinking 13.” I’m almost certain that’s the brutish boy from District
2. There are murmurs 14 of assent 15 and then, to my horror, I
hear the pack heading toward me. They do not know I’m here.
How could they? And I’m well concealed 16 in the clump 17 of trees.
At least while the sun stays down. Then my black sleeping bag
will turn from camouflage 18 to trouble. If they just keep moving,
they will pass me and be gone in a minute.
But the Careers stop in the clearing about ten yards from
my tree. They have flashlights, torches. I can see an arm here,
a boot there, through the breaks in the branches. I turn to
stone, not even daring to breathe. Have they spotted 19 me? No,
not yet. I can tell from their words their minds are elsewhere.
“Shouldn’t we have heard a cannon 20 by now?”
“I’d say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately.”
“Unless she isn’t dead.”
“She’s dead. I stuck her myself.”
“Then where’s the cannon?”
“Someone should go back. Make sure the job’s done.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to have to track her down twice.”
“I said she’s dead!”
An argument breaks out until one tribute silences the others.
“We’re wasting time! I’ll go finish her and let’s move on!”
I almost fall out of the tree. The voice belongs to Peeta.
a stone’s throw 一箭之遥
Chapter 12
Thank goodness, I had the foresight 21 to belt myself in. I’ve
rolled sideways off the fork and I’m facing the ground, held in
place by the belt, one hand, and my feet straddling the pack
inside my sleeping bag, braced 22 against the trunk. There must
have been some rustling 23 when I tipped sideways, but the 
Careers have been too caught up in their own argument to catch 
it. “Go on, then, Lover Boy,” says the boy from District 2. “See
for yourself.”
I just get a glimpse of Peeta, lit by a torch, heading back to
the girl by the fire. His face is swollen 24 with bruises 25, there’s a
bloody 26 bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait
he’s limping somewhat. I remember him shaking him his head,
telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all
along, all along he’d planned to throw himself into the thick 
of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had mid 27 him to 
do. Okay, I can stomach that. Seeing all those supplies was
tempting 28. But this . . . this other thing. This teaming up with
the Career wolf pack to hunt down the rest of us. No one from
District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes
are overly vicious, arrogant 29, better fed, but only because
they’re the Capitol’s lapdogs.
Universally, solidly hated by all but those from their own
districts. I can imagine the things they’re saying about him
back home now. And Peeta had the gall 30 to talk to me about
disgrace?
Obviously, the noble boy on the rooftop was playing just
one more game with me. But this will be his last. I will eagerly
watch the night skies for signs of his death, if I don’t kill him
first myself.
The Career tributes are silent until he gets out of ear shot,
then use hushed voices.
“Why don’t we just kill him now and get it over with?”
“Let him tag along. What’s the harm? And he’s handy with
that knife.”
Is he? That’s news. What a lot of interesting things I’m
learning about my friend Peeta today.
“Besides, he’s our best chance of finding her.”
It takes me a moment to register that the “her” they’re 
referring to is me.
“Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance
stuff?”
“She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every
time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to
puke.”
“Wish we knew how she got that eleven.”
“Bet you Lover Boy knows.”
The sound of Peeta returning silences them.
“Was she dead?” asks the boy from District 2.
“No. But she is now,” says Peeta. Just then, the cannon fires.
“Ready to move on?”
The Career pack sets off at a run just as dawn begins to break, 
and birdsong fills the air. I remain in my awkward position,
muscles trembling with exertion 31 for a while longer, then
hoist 32 myself back onto my branch. I need to get down, to get
going, but for a moment I lie there, digesting what I’ve heard.
Not only is Peeta with the Careers, he’s helping 33 them find me.
The simpleminded girl who has to be taken seriously because
of her eleven. Because she can use a bow and arrow. Which
Peeta knows better than anyone.
But he hasn’t told them yet. Is he saving that information
because he knows it’s all that keeps him alive? Is he still 
pretending to love me for the audience? What is going on in 
his head?
Suddenly, the birds fall silent. Then one gives a highpitched
warning call. A single note. Just like the one Gale 34 and I
heard when the redheaded Avox girl was caught. High above
the dying campfire a hovercraft materializes. A set of huge
metal teeth drops down. Slowly, gently, the dead tribute girl is
lifted into the hovercraft. Then it vanishes. The birds resume
their song.
“Move,” I whisper to myself. I wriggle 35 out of my sleeping
bag, roll it up, and place it in the pack. I take a deep breath.
While I’ve been concealed by darkness and the sleeping bag
and the willow 36 branches, it has probably been difficult for the
cameras to get a good shot of me. I know they must be tracking 
me now though. The minute I hit the ground, I’m guaranteed
a close-up.
The audience will have been beside themselves, knowing I
was in the tree, that I overheard the Careers talking, that I 
discovered Peeta was with them. Until I work out exactly how 
I want to play that, I’d better at least act on top of things. Not
perplexed 37. Certainly not confused or frightened.
No, I need to look one step ahead of the game.
So as I slide out of the foliage 38 and into the dawn light, I
pause a second, giving the cameras time to lock on me. Then I
cock my head slightly to the side and give a knowing smile.
There! Let them figure out what that means!
I’m about to take off when I think of my snares 39. Maybe it’s
imprudent to check them with the others so close. But have to.
Too many years of hunting, I guess. And the lure 40 of possible
meat. I’m rewarded with one fine rabbit. In no time, I’ve
cleaned and gutted 41 the animal, leaving the head, feet, tail, skin,
and innards, under a pile of leaves. I’m wishing for a fire —
eating raw rabbit can give you rabbit fever, a lesson I learned
the hard way — when I think of the dead tribute. I hurry back
to her camp. Sure enough, the coals of her dying fire are still
hot. I cut up the rabbit, fashion a spit out of branches, and set
it over the coals.
I’m glad for the cameras now. I want sponsors to see I can
hunt, that I’m a good bet because I won’t be lured 42 into traps as
easily as the others will by hunger. While the rabbit cooks, I
grind up part of a charred 43 branch and set about camouflaging 44
my orange pack. The black tones it down, but I feel a layer of
mud would definitely help. Of course, to have mud, I’d need
water . . .
I pull on my gear, grab my spit, kick some dirt over the
coals, and take off in the opposite direction the Careers went.