I bathe the blood and ash from my face. I try to recall all I

know about burns. They are common injuries in the Seam

where we cook and heat our homes with coal. Then there are

the mine accidents. . . . A family once brought in an unconscious

young man pleading with my mother to help him. The

district doctor who’s responsible for treating the miners had

written him off, told the family to take him home to die. But

they wouldn’t accept this. He lay on our kitchen table, senseless

to the world. I got a glimpse of the wound on his thigh,

gaping, charred flesh, burned clear down to the bone, before I

ran from the house. I went to the woods and hunted the entire

day, haunted by the gruesome leg, memories of my father’s

death. What’s funny was, Prim, who’s scared of her own shadow,

stayed and helped. My mother says healers are born, not

made. They did their best, but the man died, just like the doctor

said he would.

My leg is in need of attention, but I still can’t look at it.

What if it’s as bad as the man’s and I can see my bone? Then I

remember my mother saying that if a burn’s severe, the victim

might not even feel pain because the nerves would be destroyed.

Encouraged by this, I sit up and swing my leg in front of me.

I almost faint at the sight of my calf. The flesh is a brilliant

red covered with blisters. I force myself to take deep, slow

breaths, feeling quite certain the cameras are on my face. I

can’t show weakness at this injury. Not if I want help. Pity

does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in

does. I cut the remains of the pant leg off at the knee and 

examine the injury more closely. The burned area is about the

size of my hand. None of the skin is blackened. I think it’s not

too bad to soak. Gingerly I stretch out my leg into the pool,

propping the heel of my boot on a rock so the leather doesn’t

get too sodden, and sigh, because this does offer some relief. I

know there are herbs, if I could find them, that would speed

the healing, but I can’t quite call them to mind. Water and time

will probably be all I have to work with.

Should I be moving on? The smoke is slowly clearing but

still too heavy to be healthy. If I do continue away from the

fire, won’t I be walking straight into the weapons of the Careers?

Besides, every time I lift my leg from the water, the

pain rebounds so intensely I have to slide it back in. My hands

are slightly less demanding. They can handle small breaks

from the pool. So I slowly put my gear back in order. First I fill

my bottle with the pool water, treat it, and when enough time

has passed, begin to rehydrate my body. After a time, I force

myself to nibble on a cracker, which helps settle my stomach. I

roll up my sleeping bag. Except for a few black marks, it’s 

relatively unscathed. My jacket’s another matter. Stinking and

scorched, at least a foot of the back beyond repair. I cut off the

damaged area leaving me with a garment that comes just to

the bottom of my ribs. But the hood’s intact and it’s far better

than nothing.

Despite the pain, drowsiness begins to take over. I’d take to

a tree and try to rest, except I’d be too easy to spot. Besides,

abandoning my pool seems impossible. I neatly arrange my

supplies, even settle my pack on my shoulders, but I can’t

seem to leave. I spot some water plants with edible roots and

make a small meal with my last piece of rabbit. Sip water.

Watch the sun make its slow arc across the sky. Where would

I go anyway that is any safer than here? I lean back on my

pack, overcome by drowsiness. If the Careers want me, let

them find me, I think before drifting into a stupor. Let them

find me.

And find me, they do. It’s lucky I’m ready to move on because

when I hear the feet, I have less than a minute head

start. Evening has begun to fall. The moment I awake, I’m up

and running, splashing across the pool, flying into the underbrush.

My leg slows me down, but I sense my pursuers are not

as speedy as they were before the fire, either. I hear their

coughs, their raspy voices calling to one another.

Still, they are closing in, just like a pack of wild dogs, and so

I do what I have done my whole life in such circumstances. I

pick a high tree and begin to climb. If running hurt, climbing is

agonizing because it requires not only exertion but direct contact

of my hands on the tree bark. I’m fast, though, and by the

time they’ve reached the base of my trunk, I’m twenty feet up.

For a moment, we stop and survey one another. I hope they

can’t hear the pounding of my heart.

gruesome adj. 可怕的；阴森的

rehydrate vt. 补充水份 

unscathed adj. 未受伤的