This could be it, I think. What chance do I have against

them? All six are there, the five Careers and Peeta, and my only

consolation is they’re pretty beat-up, too. Even so, look at

their weapons. Look at their faces, grinning and snarling at

me, a sure kill above them. It seems pretty hopeless. But then

something else registers. They’re bigger and stronger than I

am, no doubt, but they’re also heavier. There’s a reason it’s me

and not Gale who ventures up to pluck the highest fruit, or rob

the most remote bird nests. I must weigh at least fifty or sixty

pounds less than the smallest Career.

Now I smile. “How’s everything with you?” I call down

cheerfully.

This takes them aback, but I know the crowd will love it.

“Well enough,” says the boy from District 2. “Yourself?”

“It’s been a bit warm for my taste,” I say. I can almost hear

the laughter from the Capitol. “The air’s better up here. Why

don’t you come on up?”

“Think I will,” says the same boy.

“Here, take this, Cato,” says the girl from District 1, and she

offers him the silver bow and sheath of arrows. My bow! My

arrows! Just the sight of them makes me so angry I want to

scream, at myself, at that traitor Peeta for distracting me from

having them. I try to make eye contact with him now, but he

seems to be intentionally avoiding my gaze as he polishes his

knife with the edge of his shirt.

“No,” says Cato, pushing away the bow. “I’ll do better with

my sword.” I can see the weapon, a short, heavy blade at his

belt.

I give Cato time to hoist himself into the tree before I begin

to climb again. Gale always says I remind him of a squirrel the

way I can scurry up even the slenderest limb. Part of it’s my

weight, but part of it’s practice. You have to know where to

place your hands and feet. I’m another thirty feet in the air

when I hear the crack and look down to see Cato flailing as he

and a branch go down. He hits the ground hard and I’m hoping

he possibly broke his neck when he gets back to his feet,

swearing like a fiend.

The girl with the arrows, Glimmer I hear someone call her

— ugh, the names the people in District 1 give their children

are so ridiculous — anyway Glimmer scales the tree until the

branches begin to crack under her feet and then has the good

sense to stop. I’m at least eighty feet high now. She tries to

shoot me and it’s immediately evident that she’s incompetent

with a bow. One of the arrows gets lodged in the tree near me

though and I’m able to seize it. I wave it teasingly above her

head, as if this was the sole purpose of retrieving it, when 

actually I mean to use it if I ever get the chance. I could kill them,

everyone of them, if those silver weapons were in my hands.

The Careers regroup on the ground and I can hear them

growling conspiratorially among themselves, furious I have

made them look foolish. But twilight has arrived and their

window of attack on me is closing. Finally, I hear Peeta say

harshly, “Oh, let her stay up there. It’s not like she’s going 

anywhere. We’ll deal with her in the morning.”

Well, he’s right about one thing. I’m going nowhere. All the

relief from the pool water has gone, leaving me to feel the full

potency of my burns. I scoot down to a fork in the tree and

clumsily prepare for bed. Put on my jacket. Lay out my sleeping

bed. Belt myself in and try to keep from moaning. The heat

of the bag’s too much for my leg. I cut a slash in the fabric and

hang my calf out in the open air. I drizzle water on the wound,

my hands.

All my bravado is gone. I’m weak from pain and hunger but

can’t bring myself to eat. Even if I can last the night, what will

the morning bring? I stare into the foliage trying to will myself

to rest, but the burns forbid it. Birds are settling down for the

night, singing lullabies to their young. Night creatures emerge.

An owl hoots. The faint scent of a skunk cuts through the

smoke. The eyes of some animal peer at me from the neighboring

tree — a possum maybe — catching the firelight from

the Careers’ torches. Suddenly, I’m up on one elbow. Those

are no possum’s eyes, I know their glassy reflection too well.

In fact, those are not animal eyes at all. In the last dim rays of

light, I make her out, watching me silently from between the

branches. Rue.

How long has she been here? The whole time probably. Still

and unobserved as the action unfolded beneath her. Perhaps

she headed up her tree shortly before I did, hearing the pack

was so close.

For a while we hold each other’s gaze. Then, without even

rustling a leaf, her little hand slides into the open and points

to something above my head.

scurry vi. 急赶；急跑

flail vt. 打；用连枷打

conspiratorially adv. conspiratorial的变形 adj. 阴谋的；阴谋者的

skunk  n. 臭鼬；臭鼬毛皮；讨厌鬼；卑鄙的人

possum n. 负鼠