I eat half the rabbit as I go, then wrap up the leftovers in my

plastic for later. The meat stops the grumbling in my stomach

but does little to quench my thirst. Water is my top priority now.

As I hike along, I feel certain I’m still holding the screen in

the Capitol, so I’m careful to continue to hide my emotions.

But what a good time Claudius Templesmith must be having

with his guest commentators, dissecting Peeta’s behavior, my

reaction. What to make of it all? Has Peeta revealed his true

colors? How does this affect the betting odds? Will we lose

sponsors? Do we even have sponsors? Yes, I feel certain we

do, or at least did.

Certainly Peeta has thrown a wrench into our star-crossed

lover dynamic. Or has he? Maybe, since he hasn’t spoken much

about me, we can still get some mileage out of it. Maybe

people will think it’s something we plotted together if I seem

like it amuses me now.

The sun rises in the sky and even through the canopy it

seems overly bright. I coat my lips in some grease from the

rabbit and try to keep from panting, but it’s no use. It’s only

been a day and I’m dehydrating fast. I try and think of everything

I know about finding water. It runs downhill, so, in fact,

continuing down into this valley isn’t a bad thing. If I could

just locate a game trail or spot a particularly green patch of

vegetation, these might help me along, but nothing seems to

change. There’s just the slight gradual slope, the birds, the

sameness to the trees.

As the day wears on, I know I’m headed for trouble. What

little urine I’ve been able to pass is a dark brown, my head is

aching, and there’s a dry patch on my tongue that refuses to

moisten. The sun hurts my eyes so I dig out my sunglasses, but

when I put them on they do something funny to my vision, so I

just stuff them back in my pack.

It’s late afternoon when I think I’ve found help. I spot a

cluster of berry bushes and hurry to strip the fruit, to suck the

sweet juices from the skins. But just as I’m holding them to my

lips, I get a hard look at them. What I thought were blueberries

have a slightly different shape, and when I break one open

the insides are bloodred. I don’t recognize these berries, perhaps

they are edible, but I’m guessing this is some evil trick on

the part of the Gamemakers. Even the plant instructor in the

Training Center made a point of telling us to avoid berries unless

you were 100 percent sure they weren’t toxic. Something

I already knew, but I’m so thirsty it takes her reminder to give

me the strength to fling them away.

Fatigue is beginning to settle on me, but it’s not the usual

tiredness that follows a long hike. I have to stop and rest frequently,

although I know the only cure for what ails me requires

continued searching. I try a new tactic — climbing a

tree as high as I dare in my shaky state — to look for any signs

of water. But as far as I can see in any direction, there’s the

same unrelenting stretch of forest.

Determined to go on until nightfall, I walk until I’m stumbling

over my own feet.

Exhausted, I haul myself up into a tree and belt myself in.

I’ve no appetite, but I suck on a rabbit bone just to give my

mouth something to do. Night falls, the anthem plays, and high

in the sky I see the picture of the girl, who was apparently

from District 8. The one Peeta went back to finish off.

My fear of the Career pack is minor compared to my burning

thirst. Besides, they were heading away from me and by

now they, too, will have to rest. With the scarcity of water,

they may even have had to return to the lake for refills.

Maybe, that is the only course for me as well.

Morning brings distress. My heads throbs with every beat

of my heart. Simple movements send stabs of pain through my

joints. I fall, rather than jump from the tree. It takes several

minutes for me to assemble my gear. Somewhere inside me, I

know this is wrong. I should be acting with more caution,

moving with more urgency. But my mind seems foggy and

forming a plan is hard. I lean back against the trunk of my

tree, one finger gingerly stroking the sandpaper surface of my

tongue, as I assess my options. How can I get water?

Return to the lake. No good. I’d never make it.

Hope for rain. There’s not a cloud in the sky.

Keep looking. Yes, this is my only chance. But then, another

thought hits me, and the surge of anger that follows brings me

to me senses.

Haymitch! He could send me water! Press a button and

have it delivered to me in a silver parachute in minutes. I

know I must have sponsors, at least one or two who could afford

a pint of liquid for me. Yes, it’s pricey, but these people,

they’re made of money. And they’ll be betting on me as well.

Perhaps Haymitch doesn’t realize how deep my need is.

I say in a voice as loud as I dare. “Water.” I wait, hopefully,

for a parachute to descend from the sky. But nothing is forthcoming.

Something is wrong. Am I deluded about having sponsors?

Or has Peeta’s behavior made them all hang back? No, I don’t

believe it. There’s someone out there who wants to buy me

water only Haymitch is refusing to let it go through. As my

mentor, he gets to control the flow of gifts from the sponsors. I

know he hates me. He’s made that clear enough. But enough to

let me die? From this? He can’t do that, can he? 

dehydrating 脱水.