hungergames

lake,” says Rue. “I guess they agreed to let him live ifhe acted as their guard. But he’s not very big.”“What weapons does he have?” I ask.“Not much that I could see. A spear. He might be ableto hold a few of us off with that, but Thresh could killhim easily,”says Rue.“And the food’s just out in the open?” I say. Shenods.“Something’s not quite right about that wholesetup.”“I know. But I couldn’t tell what exactly,” saysRue.“Katniss, even if you could get to the food, howwould you get rid of it?”“Burn it. Dump it in the lake. Soak it in fuel.” I pokeRue in the belly, just like I would Prim. “Eat it!” Shegiggles.“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.Destroying things is much easier than making them.”For a while, we dig roots, we gather berries andgreens, we devise a strategy in hushed voices. And Icome to know Rue, the oldest of six kids, fiercelyprotective of her siblings, who gives her rations to theyounger ones, who forages in the meadows in adistrict where the Peacekeepers are far less obligingthan ours. Rue, who when you ask her what she lovesmost in the world, replies, of all things, “Music.”“Music?” I say. In our world, I rank music somewherebetween hair ribbons and rainbows in terms ofusefulness. At least a rainbow gives you a tip aboutthe weather. “You have a lot of time for that?”“We sing at home. At work, too. That’s why I love yourpin,” she says, pointing to the mockingjay that I’veagain forgotten about.201 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“You have mockingjays?” I ask.“Oh, yes. I have a few that are my special friends. Wecan sing back and forth for hours. They carrymessages for me,” she says.“What do you mean?” I say.“I’m usually up highest, so I’m the first to see the flagthat signals quitting time. There’s a special little songI do,” says Rue. She opens her mouth and sings alittle four-note run in a sweet, clear voice. “And themockingjays spread it around the orchard. That’s howeveryone knows to knock off,” she continues.“Theycan be dangerous though, if you get too near theirnests. But you can’t blame them for that.”I unclasp the pin and hold it out to her. “Here, youtake it. It has more meaning for you than me.”“Oh, no,” says Rue, closing my fingers back over thepin. “I like to see it on you. That’s how I decided Icould trust you. Besides, I have this.” She pulls anecklace woven out of some kind of grass from hershirt. On it, hangs a roughly carved wooden star. Ormaybe it’s a flower. “It’s a good luck charm.”“Well, it’s worked so far,” I say, pinning themockingjay back on my shirt. “Maybe you should juststick with that.”By lunch, we have a plan. By early afternoon, we arepoised to carry it out. I help Rue collect and place thewood for the first two campfires, the third she’ll havetime for on her own. We decide to meet afterward atthe site where we ate our first meal together. Thestream should help guide me back to it. Before Ileave, I make sure Rue’s well stocked with food and202 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

matches. I even insist she take my sleeping bag, incase it’s not possible to rendezvous by nightfall.“What about you? Won’t you be cold?” she asks.“Not if I pick up another bag down by the lake,” Isay.“You know, stealing isn’t illegal here,” I say with agrin.At the last minute, Rue decides to teach me hermockingjay signal, the one she gives to indicate theday’s work is done. “It might not work. But if you hearthe mockingjays singing it, you’ll know I’m okay, onlyI can’t get back right away.”“Are there many mockingjays here?” I ask.“Haven’t you seen them? They’ve got nestseverywhere,”she says. I have to admit I haven’tnoticed.“Okay, then. If all goes according to plan, I’ll see youfor dinner,” I say.Unexpectedly, Rue throws her arms around me. I onlyhesitate a moment before I hug her back.“You be careful,” she says to me.“You, too,” I say. I turn and head back to the stream,feeling somehow worried. About Rue being killed,about Rue not being killed and the two of us being leftfor last, about leaving Rue alone, about leaving Primalone back home. No, Prim has my mother and Galeand a baker who has promised she won’t go hungry.Rue has only me.Once I reach the stream, I have only to follow itdownhill to the place I initially picked it up after the203 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

tracker jacker attack. I have to be cautious as I movealong the water though, because I find my thoughtspreoccupied with unanswered questions, most ofwhich concern Peeta. The cannon that fired early thismorning, did that signify his death? If so, how did hedie? At the hand of a Career? And was that in revengefor letting me live? I struggle again to remember thatmoment over Glimmer’s body, when he burst throughthe trees. But just the fact that he was sparklingleads me to doubt everything that happened.I must have been moving very slowly yesterdaybecause I reach the shallow stretch where I took mybath in just a few hours. I stop to replenish my waterand add a layer of mud to my backpack. It seemsbent on reverting to orange no matter how manytimes I cover it.My proximity to the Careers’ camp sharpens mysenses, and the closer I get to them, the moreguarded I am, pausing frequently to listen forunnatural sounds, an arrow already fitted into thestring of my bow. I don’t see any other tributes, but Ido notice some of the things Rue has mentioned.Patches of the sweet berries. A bush with the leavesthat healed my stings. Clusters of tracker jacker nestsin the vicinity of the tree I was trapped in. And hereand there, the black-and-white flash of a mockingjaywing in the branches high over my head.When I reach the tree with the abandoned nest at thefoot, I pause a moment, to gather my courage. Ruehas given specific instructions on how to reach thebest spying place near the lake from this point.Remember,I tell myself. You’re the hunter now, notthem.I get a firmer grasp on my bow and go on. Imake it to the copse Rue has told me about and againhave to admire her cleverness. It’s right at the edge ofthe wood, but the bushy foliage is so thick down low I204 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

can easily observe the Career camp without beingspotted. Between us lies the flat expanse where theGames began.There are four tributes. The boy from District 1, Catoand the girl from District 2, and a scrawny, ashen-skinned boy who must be from District 3. He madealmost no impression on me at all during our time inthe Capitol. I can remember almost nothing abouthim, not his costume, not his training score, not hisinterview. Even now, as he sits there fiddling withsome kind of plastic box, he’s easily ignored in thepresence of his large and domineering companions.But he must be of some value or they wouldn’t havebothered to let him live. Still, seeing him only adds tomy sense of unease over why the Careers wouldpossibly leave him as a guard, why they have allowedhim to live at all.All four tributes seem to still be recovering from thetracker jacker attack. Even from here, I can see thelarge swollen lumps on their bodies. They must nothave had the sense to remove the stingers, or if theydid, not known about the leaves that healed them.Apparently, whatever medicines they found in theCornucopia have been ineffective.The Cornucopia sits in its original position, but itsinsides have been picked clean. Most of the supplies,held in crates, burlap sacks, and plastic bins, arepiled neatly in a pyramid in what seems aquestionable distance from the camp. Others aresprinkled around the perimeter of the pyramid,almost mimicking the layout of supplies around theCornucopia at the onset of the Games. A canopy ofnetting that, aside from discouraging birds, seems tobe useless shelters the pyramid itself.205 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

The whole setup is completely perplexing. Thedistance, the netting, and the presence of the boyfrom District 3. One thing’s for sure, destroying thosesupplies is not going to be as simple as it looks. Someother factor is at play here, and I’d better stay putuntil I figure out what it is. My guess is the pyramidis booby-trapped in some manner. I think ofconcealed pits, descending nets, a thread that whenbroken sends a poisonous dart into your heart.Really, the possibilities are endless.While I am mulling over my options, I hear Cato shoutout. He’s pointing up to the woods, far beyond me,and without turning I know that Rue must have setthe first campfire. We’d made sure to gather enoughgreen wood to make the smoke noticeable. TheCareers begin to arm themselves at once.An argument breaks out. It’s loud enough for me tohear that it concerns whether or not the boy fromDistrict 3 should stay or accompany them.“He’s coming. We need him in the woods, and hisjob’s done here anyway. No one can touch thosesupplies,” says Cato.“What about Lover Boy?” says the boy from District 1.“I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where Icut him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t bled to death yet. Atany rate, he’s in no shape to raid us,” says Cato.So Peeta is out there in the woods, wounded badly.But I am still in the dark on what motivated him tobetray the Careers.“Come on,” says Cato. He thrusts a spear into thehands of the boy from District 3, and they head off inthe direction of the fire. The last thing I hear as they206 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

enter the woods is Cato saying, “When we find her, Ikill her in my own way, and no one interferes.”Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about Rue. Shedidn’t drop a nest of tracker jackers on him.I stay put for a half an hour or so, trying to figure outwhat to do about the supplies. The one advantage Ihave with the bow and arrow is distance. I could senda flaming arrow into the pyramid easily enough — I’ma good enough shot to get it through those openingsin the net — but there’s no guarantee it would catch.More likely it’d just burn itself out and then what? I’dhave achieved nothing and given them far too muchinformation about myself. That I was here, that I havean accomplice, that I can use the bow and arrow withaccuracy.There’s no alternative. I’m going to have to get incloser and see if I can’t discover what exactly protectsthe supplies. In fact, I’m just about to reveal myselfwhen a movement catches my eye. Several hundredyards to my right, I see someone emerge from thewoods. For a second, I think it’s Rue, but then Irecognize Foxface — she’s the one we couldn’tremember this morning— creeping out onto the plain.When she decides it’s safe, she runs for the pyramid,with quick, small steps. Just before she reaches thecircle of supplies that have been littered around thepyramid, she stops, searches the ground, andcarefully places her feet on a spot. Then she begins toapproach the pyramid with strange little hops,sometimes landing on one foot, teetering slightly,sometimes risking a few steps. At one point, shelaunches up in the air, over a small barrel and landspoised on her tiptoes. But she overshot slightly, andher momentum throws her forward. I hear her give asharp squeal as her hands hit the ground, butnothing happens. In a moment, she’s regained her207 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

feet and continues until she has reached the bulk ofthe supplies.So, I’m right about the booby trap, but it’s clearlymore complex than I had imagined. I was right aboutthe girl, too. How wily is she to have discovered thispath into the food and to be able to replicate it soneatly? She fills her pack, taking a few items from avariety of containers, crackers from a crate, a handfulof apples from a burlap sack that hangs suspendedfrom a rope off the side of a bin. But only a handfulfrom each, not enough to tip off that the food ismissing. Not enough to cause suspicion. And thenshe’s doing her odd little dance back out of the circleand scampering into the woods again, safe andsound.I realize I’m grinding my teeth in frustration. Foxfacehas confirmed what I’d already guessed. But whatsort of trap have they laid that requires suchdexterity? Has so many trigger points? Why did shesqueal so as her hands made contact with the earth?You’d have thought ... and slowly it begins to dawn onme ... you’d have thought the very ground was goingto explode.“It’s mined,” I whisper. That explains everything. TheCareers’ willingness to leave their supplies, Foxface’sreaction, the involvement of the boy from District 3,where they have the factories, where they maketelevisions and automobiles and explosives. Butwhere did he get them? In the supplies? That’s notthe sort of weapon the Gamemakers usually provide,given that they like to see the tributes draw bloodpersonally. I slip out of the bushes and cross to one ofthe round metal plates that lifted the tributes into thearena. The ground around it has been dug up andpatted back down. The land mines were disabled afterthe sixty seconds we stood on the plates, but the boy208 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

from District 3 must have managed to reactivatethem. I’ve never seen anyone in the Games do that. Ibet it came as a shock even to the Gamemakers.Well, hurray for the boy from District 3 for puttingone over on them, but what am I supposed to donow? Obviously, I can’t go strolling into that messwithout blowing myself sky-high. As for sending in aburning arrow, that’s more laughable than ever. Themines are set off by pressure. It doesn’t have to be alot, either. One year, a girl dropped her token, a smallwooden ball, while she was at her plate, and theyliterally had to scrape bits of her off the ground.My arm’s pretty good, I might be able to chuck somerocks in there and set off what? Maybe one mine?That could start a chain reaction. Or could it? Wouldthe boy from District 3 have placed the mines in sucha way that a single mine would not disturb theothers? Thereby protecting the supplies but ensuringthe death of the invader. Even if I only blew up onemine, I’d draw the Careers back down on me for sure.And anyway, what am I thinking? There’s that net,clearly strung to deflect any such attack. Besides,what I’d really need is to throw about thirty rocks inthere at once, setting off a big chain reaction,demolishing the whole lot.I glance back up at the woods. The smoke from Rue’ssecond fire is wafting toward the sky. By now, theCareers have probably begun to suspect some sort oftrick. Time is running out.There is a solution to this, I know there is, if I canonly focus hard enough. I stare at the pyramid, thebins, the crates, too heavy to topple over with anarrow. Maybe one contains cooking oil, and theburning arrow idea is reviving when I realize I couldend up losing all twelve of my arrows and not get a209 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

direct hit on an oil bin, since I’d just be guessing. I’mgenuinely thinking of trying to re-create Foxface’s tripup to the pyramid in hopes of finding a new means ofdestruction when my eyes light on the burlap bag ofapples. I could sever the rope in one shot, didn’t I doas much in the Training Center? It’s a big bag, but itstill might only be good for one explosion. If only Icould free the apples themselves ...I know what to do. I move into range and give myselfthree arrows to get the job done. I place my feetcarefully, block out the rest of the world as I takemeticulous aim, The first arrow tears through the sideof the bag near the top, leaving a split in the burlap.The second widens it to a gaping hole. I can see thefirst apple teetering when I let the third arrow go,catching the torn flap of burlap and ripping it fromthe bag.For a moment, everything seems frozen in time. Thenthe apples spill to the ground and I’m blownbackward into the air.210 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

The impact with the hard-packed earth of the plainknocks the wind out of me. My backpack does little tosoften the blow. Fortunately my quiver has caught inthe crook of my elbow, sparing both itself and myshoulder, and my bow is locked in my grasp. Theground still shakes with explosions. I can’t hear them.I can’t hear anything at the moment. But the applesmust have set off enough mines, causing debris toactivate the others. I manage to shield my face withmy arms as shattered bits of matter, some of itburning, rain down around me. An acrid smoke fillsthe air, which is not the best remedy for someonetrying to regain the ability to breathe.After about a minute, the ground stops vibrating. Iroll on my side and allow myself a moment ofsatisfaction the sight of the smoldering wreckage thatwas recently the pyramid. The Careers aren’t likely tosalvage anything out of that.I’d better get out of here, I think.They’ll be making abeeline for the place. But once I’m on my feet, I realizeescape may not be so simple. I’m dizzy. Not theslightly wobbly kind, but the kind that sends thetrees swooping around you and causes the earth tomove in waves under your feet.I take a few steps and somehow wind up on my handsand knees. I wait a few minutes to let it pass, but itdoesn’t.Panic begins to set in. I can’t stay here. Flight isessential. But I can neither walk nor hear. I place ahand to my left ear, the one that was turned towardthe blast, and it comes away bloody. Have I gone deaf211 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

from the explosion? The idea frightens me. I rely asmuch on my ears as my eyes as a hunter, maybemore at times. But I can’t let my fear show.Absolutely, positively, I am live on every screen inPanem.No blood trails, I tell myself, and manage to pull myhood up over my head, tie the cord under my chinwith uncooperative fingers. That should help soak upthe blood. I can’t walk, but can I crawl? I moveforward tentatively. Yes, if I go very slowly, I cancrawl. Most of the woods will offer insufficient cover.My only hope is to make it back to Rue’s copse andconceal myself in greenery. I can’t get caught out hereon my hands and knees in the open. Not only will Iface death, it’s sure to be a long and painful one atCato’s hand. The thought of Prim having to watchthat keeps me doggedly inching my way toward thehideout.Another blast knocks me flat on my face. A straymine, set off by some collapsing crate. This happenstwice more. I’m reminded of those last few kernelsthat burst when Prim and I pop corn over the fire athome.To say I make it in the nick of time is anunderstatement. I have literally just dragged myselfinto the tangle of hushes at the base of the treeswhen there’s Cato, barreling onto the plain, soonfollowed by his companions. His rage is so extreme itmight be comical — so people really do tear out theirhair and beat the ground with their fists — if I didn’tknow that it was aimed at me, at what I have done tohim. Add to that my proximity, my inability to run ordefend myself, and in fact, the whole thing has meterrified. I’m glad my hiding place makes it impossiblefor the cameras to get a close shot of me because I’mbiting my nails like there’s no tomorrow. Gnawing off212 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

the last bits of nail polish, trying to keep my teethfrom chattering.The boy from District 3 throws stones into the ruinsand must have declared all the mines activatedbecause the Careers are approaching the wreckage.Cato has finished the first phase of his tantrum andtakes out his anger on the smoking remains bykicking open various containers. The other tributesare poking around in the mess, looking for anythingto salvage, but there’s nothing. The boy from District3 has done his job too well. This idea must occur toCato, too, because he turns on the boy and appearsto be shouting at him. The boy from District 3 onlyhas time to turn and run before Cato catches him in aheadlock from behind. I can see the muscles ripple inCato’s arms as he sharply jerks the boy’s head to theside.It’s that quick. The death of the boy from District 3.The other two Careers seem to be trying to calm Catodown. I can tell he wants to return to the woods, butthey keep pointing at the sky, which puzzles me untilI realize, Of course. They think whoever set off theexplosions is dead.They don’t know about the arrows and the apples.They assume the booby trap was faulty, but that thetribute who blew up the supplies was killed doing it. Ifthere was a cannon shot, it could have been easilylost in the subsequent explosions. The shatteredremains of the thief removed by hovercraft. Theyretire to the far side of the lake to allow theGamemakers to retrieve the body of the boy fromDistrict 3. And they wait.213 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I suppose a cannon goes off. A hovercraft appears andtakes the dead boy. The sun dips below the horizon.Night falls. Up in the sky, I see the seal and know theanthem must have begun. A moment of darkness.They show the boy from District 3. They show the boyfrom District 10, who must have died this morning.Then the seal reappears. So, now they know. Thebomber survived. In the seal’s light, I can see Catoand the girl from District 2 put on their night-visionglasses. The boy from District 1 ignites a tree branchfor a torch, illuminating the grim determination on alltheir faces. The Careers stride back into the woods tohunt.The dizziness has subsided and while my left ear isstill deafened, I can hear a ringing in my right, whichseems a good sign. There’s no point in leaving myhiding place, though. I’m about as safe as I can be,here at the crime scene. They probably think thebomber has a two- or three-hour lead on them. Stillit’s a long time before I risk moving.The first thing I do is dig out my own glasses and putthem on, which relaxes me a little, to have at leastone of my hunter’s senses working. I drink somewater and wash the blood from my ear. Fearing thesmell of meat will draw unwanted predators —freshblood is bad enough — I make a good meal out of thegreens and roots and berries Rue and I gatheredtoday.Where is my little ally? Did she make it back to therendezvous point? Is she worried about me? At least,the sky has shown we’re both alive.I run through the surviving tributes on my fingers.The boy from 1, both from 2, Foxface, both from 11and 12. Just eight of us. The betting must be gettingreally hot in the Capitol. They’ll be doing special214 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

features on each of us now. Probably interviewing ourfriends and families. It’s been a long time since atribute from District 12 made it into the top eight.And now there are two of us. Although from whatCato said, Peeta’s on his way out. Not that Cato is thefinal word on anything. Didn’t he just lose his entirestash of supplies?Let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin, Cato, Ithink. Let them begin for real.A cold breeze has sprung up. I reach for my sleepingbag before I remember I left it with Rue. I wassupposed to pick up another one, but what with themines and all, I forgot. I begin to shiver. Sinceroosting overnight in a tree isn’t sensible anyway, Iscoop out a hollow under the bushes and covermyself with leaves and pine needles. I’m still freezing.I lay my sheet of plastic over my upper body andposition my backpack to block the wind. It’s a littlebetter. I begin to have more sympathy for the girl fromDistrict 8 that lit the fire that first night. But now it’sme who needs to grit my teeth and tough it out untilmorning. More leaves, more pine needles. I pull myarms inside my jacket and tuck my knees up to mychest. Somehow, I drift off to sleep.When I open my eyes, the world looks slightlyfractured, and it takes a minute to realize that thesun must be well up and the glasses fragmenting myvision. As I sit up and remove them, I hear a laughsomewhere near the lake and freeze. The laugh’sdistorted, but the fact that it registered at all means Imust be regaining my hearing. Yes, my right ear canhear again, although it’s still ringing. As for my leftear, well, at least the bleeding has stopped.I peer through the bushes, afraid the Careers havereturned, trapping me here for an indefinite time. No,215 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

it’s Foxface, standing in the rubble of the pyramidand laughing. She’s smarter than the Careers,actually finding a few useful items in the ashes. Ametal pot. A knife blade. I’m perplexed by heramusement until I realize that with the Careers’stores eliminated, she might actually stand a chance.Just like the rest of us. It crosses my mind to revealmyself and enlist her as a second ally against thatpack. But I rule it out. There’s something about thatsly grin that makes me sure that befriending Foxfacewould ultimately get me a knife in the back. With thatin mind, this might be an excellent time to shoot her.But she’s heard something, not me, because her headturns away, toward the drop-off, and she sprints forthe woods. I wait. No one, nothing shows up. Still, ifFoxface thought it was dangerous, maybe it’s time forme to get out of here, too. Besides, I’m eager to tellRue about the pyramid.Since I’ve no idea where the Careers are, the routeback by the stream seems as good as any. I hurry,loaded bow in one hand, a hunk of cold groosling inthe other, because I’m famished now, and not just forleaves and berries but for the fat and protein in themeat. The trip to the stream is uneventful. Oncethere, I refill my water and wash, taking particularcare with my injured ear. Then I travel uphill usingthe stream as a guide. At one point, I find boot printsin the mud along the bank. The Careers have beenhere, but not for a while. The prints are deep becausethey were made in soft mud, but now they’re nearlydry in the hot sun. I haven’t been careful enoughabout my own tracks, counting on a light tread andthe pine needles to conceal my prints. Now I strip offmy boots and socks and go barefoot up the bed of thestream.The cool water has an invigorating effect on my body,my spirits. I shoot two fish, easy pickings in this slow-216 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

moving stream, and go ahead and eat one raw eventhough I’ve just had the groosling. The second I’ll savefor Rue.Gradually, subtly, the ringing in my right eardiminishes until it’s gone entirely. I find myselfpawing at my left ear periodically, trying to cleanaway whatever deadens its ability to collect sounds. Ifthere’s improvement, it’s undetectable. I can’t adjustto deafness in the ear. It makes me feel off-balancedand defenseless to my left. Blind even. My head keepsturning to the injured side, as my right ear tries tocompensate for the wall of nothingness whereyesterday there was a constant flow of information.The more time that passes, the less hopeful I am thatthis is an injury that will heal.When I reach the site of our first meeting, I feelcertain it’s been undisturbed. There’s no sign of Rue,not on the ground or in the trees. This is odd. By nowshe should have returned, as it’s midday.Undoubtedly, she spent the night in a treesomewhere. What else could she do with no light andthe Careers with their night-vision glasses trampingaround the woods. And the third fire she wassupposed to set — although I forgot to check for itlast night — was the farthest from our site of all.She’s probably just being cautious about making herway back. I wish she’d hurry, because I don’t want tohang around here too long. I want to spend theafternoon traveling to higher ground, hunting as wego. But there’s nothing really for me to do but wait.I wash the blood out of my jacket and hair and cleanmy ever-growing list of wounds. The burns are muchbetter but I use a bit of medicine on them anyway.The main thing to worry about now is keeping outinfection. I go ahead and eat the second fish. It isn’tgoing to last long in this hot sun, but it should be217 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

easy enough to spear a few more for Rue. If she wouldjust show up.Feeling too vulnerable on the ground with mylopsided hearing, I scale a tree to wait. If the Careersshow up, this will be a fine place to shoot them from.The sun moves slowly. I do things to pass the time.Chew leaves and apply them to my stings that aredeflated but still tender. Comb through my damp hairwith my fingers and braid it. Lace my boots back up.Check over my bow and remaining nine arrows. Testmy left ear repeatedly for signs of life by rustling a leafnear it, but without good results.Despite the groosling and the fish, my stomach’sgrowling, and I know I’m going to have what we call ahollow day back in District 12. That’s a day where nomatter what you put in your belly, it’s never enough.Having nothing to do but sit in a tree makes it worse,so I decide to give into it. After all, I’ve lost a lot ofweight in the arena, I need some extra calories. Andhaving the bow and arrows makes me far moreconfident about my future prospects.I slowly peel and eat a handful of nuts. My lastcracker. The groosling neck. That’s good because ittakes time to pick clean. Finally, a groosling wing andthe bird is history. But it’s a hollow day, and evenwith all that I start daydreaming about food.Particularly the decadent dishes served in the Capitol.The chicken in creamy orange sauce. The cakes andpudding. Bread with butter. Noodles in green sauce.The lamb and dried plum stew. I suck on a few mintleaves and tell myself to get over it. Mint is goodbecause we drink mint tea after supper often, so ittricks my stomach into thinking eating time is over.Sort of.218 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Dangling up in the tree, with the sun warming me, amouthful of mint, my bow and arrows at hand ... thisis the most relaxed I’ve been since I’ve entered thearena. If only Rue would show up, and we could clearout. As the shadows grow, so does my restlessness.By late afternoon, I’ve resolved to go looking for her. Ican at least visit the spot where she set the third fireand see if there are any clues to her whereabouts.Before I go, I scatter a few mint leaves around our oldcampfire. Since we gathered these some distanceaway, Rue will understand I’ve been here, while they’llmean nothing to the Careers.In less than an hour, I’m at the place where we agreedto have the third fire and I know something has goneamiss. The wood has been neatly arranged, expertlyinterspersed with tinder, but it has never been lit.Rue set up the fire but never made it back here.Somewhere between the second column of smoke Ispied before I blew up the supplies and this point, sheran into trouble.I have to remind myself she’s still alive. Or is she?Could the cannon shot announcing her death havecome in the wee hours of the morning when even mygood ear was too broken to pick it up? Will sheappear in the sky tonight? No, I refuse to believe it.There could be a hundred other explanations. Shecould have lost her way. Run into a pack of predatorsor another tribute, like Thresh, and had to hide.Whatever happened, I’m almost certain she’s stuckout there, somewhere between the second fire and theunlit one at my feet. Something is keeping her up atree.I think I’ll go hunt it down.219 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

It’s a relief to be doing something after sitting aroundall afternoon. I creep silently through the shadows,letting them conceal me. But nothing seemssuspicious. There’s no sign of any kind of struggle, nodisruption of the needles on the ground. I’ve stoppedfor just a moment when I hear it. I have to cock myhead around to the side to be sure, but there it isagain. Rue’s four-note tune coming out of amockingjay’s mouth. The one that means she’s allright.I grin and move in the direction of the bird. Anotherjust a short distance ahead, picks up on the handfulof notes. Rue has been singing to them, and recently.Otherwise they’d have taken up some other song. Myeyes lift up into the trees, searching for a sign of her. Iswallow and sing softly back, hoping she’ll know it’ssafe to join me. A mockingjay repeats the melody tome. And that’s when I hear the scream.It’s a child’s scream, a young girl’s scream, there’s noone in the arena capable of making that sound exceptRue. And now I’m running, knowing this may be atrap, knowing the three Careers may be poised toattack me, but I can’t help myself. There’s anotherhigh-pitched cry, this time my name. “Katniss!Katniss!”“Rue!” I shout back, so she knows I’m near. So, theyknow I’m near, and hopefully the girl who hasattacked them with tracker jackers and gotten aneleven they still can’t explain will be enough to pulltheir attention away from her. “Rue! I’m coming!”When I break into the clearing, she’s on the ground,hopelessly entangled in a net. She just has time toreach her hand through the mesh and say my namebefore the spear enters her body.220 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

The boy from District 1 dies before he can pull out thespear. My arrow drives deeply into the center of hisneck. He falls to his knees and halves the briefremainder of his life by yanking out the arrow anddrowning in his own blood. I’m reloaded, shifting myaim from side to side, while I shout at Rue, “Are theremore? Are there more?”She has to say no several times before I hear it. Ruehas rolled to her side, her body curved in and aroundthe spear. I shove the boy away from her and pull outmy knife, freeing her from the net. One look at thewound and I know it’s far beyond my capacity to heal,beyond anyone’s probably. The spearhead is buriedup to the shaft in her stomach. I crouch before her,staring helplessly at the embedded weapon. There’sno point in comforting words, in telling her she’ll beall right. She’s no fool. Her hand reaches out and Iclutch it like a lifeline. As if it’s me who’s dyinginstead of Rue.“You blew up the food?” she whispers.“Every last bit,” I say.“You have to win,” she says.“I’m going to. Going to win for both of us now,” Ipromise. I hear a cannon and look up. It must be forthe boy from District 1.“Don’t go.” Rue tightens her grip on my hand.221 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“Course not. Staying right here,” I say. I move incloser to her, pulling her head onto my lap. I gentlybrush the dark, thick hair back behind her ear.“Sing,” she says, but I barely catch the word.Sing? I think. Sing what?I do know a few songs.Believe it or not, there was once music in my house,too. Music I helped make. My father pulled me in withthat remarkable voice — but I haven’t sung muchsince he died. Except when Prim is very sick. Then Ising her the same songs she liked as a baby.Sing. My throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smokeand fatigue. But if this is Prim’s, I mean, Rue’s lastrequest, I have to at least try. The song that comes tome is a simple lullaby, one we sing fretful, hungrybabies to sleep with, It’s old, very old I think. Made uplong ago in our hills. What my music teacher calls amountain air. But the words are easy and soothing,promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than thisawful piece of time we call today.I give a small cough, swallow hard, and begin:Deep in the meadow, under the willowA bed of grass, a soft green pillowLay down your head, and close your sleepy eyesAnd when again they open, the sun will rise.Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow bringsthem true222 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Here is the place where I love you.Rue’s eyes have fluttered shut. Her chest moves butonly slightly. My throat releases the tears and theyslide down my cheeks. But I have to finish the songfor her.Deep in the meadow, hidden far awayA cloak of leaves, a moonbeam rayForget your woes and let your troubles layAnd when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away.Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmThe final lines are barely audible.Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow bringsthem trueHere is the place where I love you.Everything’s still and quiet. Then, almost eerily, themockingjays take up my song.For a moment, I sit there, watching my tears dripdown on her face. Rue’s cannon fires. I lean forwardand press my lips against her temple. Slowly, as if notto wake her, I lay her head back on the ground andrelease her hand.They’ll want me to clear out now. So they can collectthe bodies. And there’s nothing to stay for. I roll theboy from District 1 onto his face and take his pack,retrieve the arrow that ended his life. I cut Rue’s pack223 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

from her back as well, knowing she’d want me to haveit but leave the spear in her stomach. Weapons inbodies will be transported to the hovercraft. I’ve nouse for a spear, so the sooner it’s gone from the arenathe better.I can’t stop looking at Rue, smaller than ever, a babyanimal curled up in a nest of netting. I can’t bringmyself to leave her like this. Past harm, but seemingutterly defenseless. To hate the boy from District 1,who also appears so vulnerable in death, seemsinadequate. It’s the Capitol I hate, for doing this to allof us.Gale’s voice is in my head. His ravings against theCapitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored.Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own furyagainst the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us.But here, even more strongly than at home, I feel myimpotence. There’s no way to take revenge on theCapitol. Is there?Then I remember Peeta’s words on the roof.“Only Ikeep wishing I could think of a way to ... to show theCapital they don’t own me. That I’m more than just apiece in their Games.” And for the first time, Iunderstand what he means.I want to do something, right here, right now, toshame them, to make them accountable, to show theCapitol that whatever they do or force us to do thereis a part of every tribute they can’t own. That Rue wasmore than a piece in their Games. And so am I.A few steps into the woods grows a bank ofwildflowers. Perhaps they are really weeds of somesort, but they have blossoms in beautiful shades ofviolet and yellow and white. I gather up an armfuland come back to Rue’s side. Slowly, one stem at a224 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

time, I decorate her body in the flowers. Covering theugly wound. Wreathing her face. Weaving her hairwith bright colors.They’ll have to show it. Or, even if they choose to turnthe cameras elsewhere at this moment, they’ll have tobring them back when they collect the bodies andeveryone will see her then and know I did it. I stepback and take a last look at Rue. She could really beasleep in that meadow after all.“Bye, Rue,” I whisper. I press the three middle fingersof my left hand against my lips and hold them out inher direction. Then I walk away without looking back.The birds fall silent. Somewhere, a mockingjay givesthe warning whistle that precedes the hovercraft. Idon’t know how it knows. It must hear things thathumans can’t. I pause, my eyes focused on what’sahead, not what’s happening behind me. It doesn’ttake long, then the general birdsong begins again andI know she’s gone.Another mockingjay, a young one by the look of it,lands on a branch before me and bursts out Rue’smelody.My song, the hovercraft, were too unfamiliar for thisnovice to pick up, but it has mastered her handful ofnotes. The ones that mean she’s safe.“Good and safe,” I say as I pass under its branch. “Wedon’t have to worry about her now.” Good and safe.I’ve no idea where to go. The brief sense of home I hadthat one night with Rue has vanished. My feet wanderthis way and that until sunset. I’m not afraid, noteven watchful. Which makes me an easy target.Except I’d kill anyone I met on sight. Without emotion225 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

or the slightest tremor in my hands. My hatred of theCapitol has not lessened my hatred of my competitorsin the least. Especially the Careers. They, at least,can be made to pay for Rue’s death.No one materializes though. There aren’t many of usleft and it’s a big arena. Soon they’ll be pulling outsome other device to force us together. But there’sbeen enough gore today. Perhaps we’ll even get tosleep.I’m about to haul my packs into a tree to make campwhen a silver parachute floats down and lands infront of me. A gift from a sponsor. But why now? I’vebeen in fairly good shape with supplies. MaybeHaymitch’s noticed my despondency and is trying tocheer me up a bit. Or could it be something to helpmy ear?I open the parachute and find a small loaf of breadIt’s not the fine white Capitol stuff. It’s made of darkration grain and shaped in a crescent. Sprinkled withseeds. I flash back to Peeta’s lesson on the variousdistrict breads in the Training Center. This breadcame from District 11. I cautiously lift the still warmloaf. What must it have cost the people of District 11who can’t even feed themselves? How many would’vehad to do without to scrape up a coin to put in thecollection for this one loaf? It had been meant forRue, surely. But instead of pulling the gift when shedied, they’d authorized Haymitch to give it to me. As athank-you? Or because, like me, they don’t like to letdebts go unpaid? For whatever reason, this is a first.A district gift to a tribute who’s not your own.I lift my face and step into the last falling rays ofsunlight. “My thanks to the people of District Eleven,”I say. I want them to know I know where it came226 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

from. That the full value of their gift has beenrecognized.I climb dangerously high into a tree, not for safety butto get as far away from today as I can. My sleepingbag is rolled neatly in Rue’s pack. Tomorrow I’ll sortthrough the supplies. Tomorrow I’ll make a new plan.But tonight, all I can do is strap myself in and taketiny bites of the bread. It’s good. It tastes of home.Soon the seal’s in the sky, the anthem plays in myright ear. I see the boy from District 1, Rue. That’s allfor tonight. Six of us left, I think.Only six. With thebread still locked in my hands, I fall asleep at once.Sometimes when things are particularly bad, mybrain will give me a happy dream. A visit with myfather in the woods. An hour of sunlight and cakewith Prim. Tonight it sends me Rue, still decked inher flowers, perched in a high sea of trees, trying toteach me to talk to the mockingjays. I see no sign ofher wounds, no blood, just a bright, laughing girl. Shesings songs I’ve never heard in a clear, melodic voice.On and on. Through the night. There’s a drowsy in-between period when I can hear the last few strains ofher music although she’s lost in the leaves. When Ifully awaken, I’m momentarily comforted. I try to holdon to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quicklyslips away, leaving me sadder and lonelier than ever.Heaviness infuses my whole body, as if there’s liquidlead in my veins. I’ve lost the will to do the simplesttasks, to do anything but lie here, staringunblinkingly through the canopy of leaves. Forseveral hours, I remain motionless. As usual, it’s thethought of Prim’s anxious face as she watches me onthe screens back home that breaks me from mylethargy.227 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I give myself a series of simple commands to follow,like “Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you haveto drink water, Katniss.” I act on the orders with slow,robotic motions. “Now you have to sort the packs,Katniss.”Rue’s pack holds my sleeping bag, her nearly emptywater skin, a handful of nuts and roots, a bit ofrabbit, her extra socks, and her slingshot. The boyfrom District 1 has several knives, two sparespearheads, a flashlight, a small leather pouch, afirst-aid kit, a full bottle of water, and a pack of driedfruit. A pack of dried fruit! Out of all he might havechosen from. To me, this is a sign of extremearrogance. Why bother to carry food when you havesuch a bounty back at camp? When you will kill yourenemies so quickly you’ll be home before you’rehungry? I can only hope the other Careers traveled solightly when it came to food and now find themselveswith nothing.Speaking of which, my own supply is running low. Ifinish off the loaf from District 11 and the last of therabbit. How quickly the food disappears. All I have leftare Rue’s roots and nuts, the boy’s dried fruit, andone strip of beef. Now you have to hunt, Katniss,I tellmyself.I obediently consolidate the supplies I want into mypack. After I climb down the tree, I conceal the boy’sknives and spearheads in a pile of rocks so that noone else can use them. I’ve lost my bearings whatwith all the wandering around I did yesterdayevening, but I try and head back in the generaldirection of the stream. I know I’m on course when Icome across Rue’s third, unlit fire. Shortly thereafter,I discover a flock of grooslings perched in the treesand take out three before they know what hit them. Ireturn to Rue’s signal fire and start it up, not caring228 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

about the excessive smoke. Where are you, Cato? Ithink as I roast the birds and Rue’s roots. I’m waitingright here.Who knows where the Careers are now? Either too farto reach me or too sure this is a trick or ... is itpossible? Too scared of me? They know I have thebow and arrows, of course, Cato saw me take themfrom Glimmer’s body, but have they put two and twotogether yet? Figured out I blew up the supplies andkilled their fellow Career? Possibly they think Threshdid this. Wouldn’t he be more likely to revenge Rue’sdeath than I would? Being from the same district? Notthat he ever took any interest in her.And what about Foxface? Did she hang around towatch me blow up the supplies? No. When I caughther laughing in the ashes the next morning, it was asif someone had given her a lovely surprise.I doubt they think Peeta has lit this signal fire. Cato’ssure he’s as good as dead. I find myself wishing Icould tell Peeta about the flowers I put on Rue. That Inow understand what he was trying to say on theroof. Perhaps if he wins the Games, he’ll see me onvictor’s night, when they replay the highlights of theGames on a screen over the stage where we did ourinterviews. The winner sits in a place of honor on theplatform, surrounded by their support crew.But I told Rue I’d be there. For both of us. Andsomehow that seems even more important than thevow I gave Prim.I really think I stand a chance of doing it now.Winning. It’s not just having the arrows oroutsmarting the Careers a few times, although thosethings help. Something happened when I was holdingRue’s hand, watching the life drain out of her. Now I229 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

am determined to revenge her, to make her lossunforgettable, and I can only do that by winning andthereby making myself unforgettable.I overcook the birds hoping someone will show up toshoot, but no one does. Maybe the other tributes areout there beating one another senseless. Which wouldbe fine, Ever since the bloodbath, I’ve been featuredon screens most than I care.Eventually, I wrap up my food and go back to thestream to replenish my water and gather some. Butthe heaviness from the morning drapes back over meand even though it’s only early evening, I climb a treeand settle in for the night. My brain begins to replaythe events from yesterday. I keep seeing Rue speared,my arrow piercing the boy’s neck. I don’t know why Ishould even care about the boy.Then I realize ... he was my first kill.Along with other statistics they report to help peopleplace their bets, every tribute has a list of kills. Iguess technically I’d get credited for Glimmer and thegirl from District 4, too, for dumping that nest onthem. But the boy from District 1 was the first personI knew would die because of my actions. Numerousanimals have lost their lives at my hands, but onlyone human. I hear Gale saying, “How different can itbe, really?”Amazingly similar in the execution. A bow pulled, anarrow shot. Entirely different in the aftermath. I killeda boy whose name I don’t even know. Somewhere hisfamily is weeping for him. His friends call for myblood. Maybe he had a girlfriend who really believedhe would come back ...230 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

But then I think of Rue’s still body and I’m able tobanish the boy from my mind. At least, for now.It’s been an uneventful day according to the sky. Nodeaths. I wonder how long we’ll get until the nextcatastrophe drives us back together. If it’s going to betonight, I want to get some sleep first. I cover my goodear to block out the strains of the anthem, but then Ihear the trumpets and sit straight up in anticipation.For the most part, the only communication thetributes get from outside the arena is the nightlydeath toll. But occasionally, there will be trumpetsfollowed by an announcement. Usually, this will be acall to a feast. When food is scarce, the Gamemakerswill invite the players to a banquet, somewhereknown to all like the Cornucopia, as an inducementto gather and fight. Sometimes there is a feast andsometimes there’s nothing but a loaf of stale bread forthe tributes to compete for. I wouldn’t go in for thefood, but this could be an ideal time to take out a fewcompetitors.Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms down fromoverhead, congratulating the six of us who remain.But he is not inviting us to a feast. He’s sayingsomething very confusing. There’s been a rule changein the Games. A rule change! That in itself is mindbending since we don’t really have any rules to speakof except don’t step off your circle for sixty secondsand the unspoken rule about not eating one another.Under the new rule, both tributes from the samedistrict will be declared winners if they are the lasttwo alive. Claudius pauses, as if he knows we’re notgetting it, and repeats the change again.The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. Ifthey’re from the same district. Both can live. Both ofus can live.231 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta’s name.232 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

PART III “THE VICTOR”233 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound hasalready escaped. The sky goes black and I hear achorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tellmyself.What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, forthe woods to come alive with assailants. Then Iremember there’s almost no one left.Peeta, who’s been wounded, is now my ally. Whateverdoubts I’ve had about him dissipate because if eitherof us took the other’s life now we’d be pariahs whenwe returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I waswatching I’d loathe any tribute who didn’timmediately ally with their district partner. Besides, itjust makes sense to protect each other. And in mycase — being one of the star-crossed lovers fromDistrict 12 — it’s an absolute requirement if I wantany more help from sympathetic sponsors.The star-crossed lovers ... Peeta must have beenplaying that angle all along. Why else would theGamemakers have made this unprecedented changein the rules? For two tributes to have a shot atwinning, our “romance” must be so popular with theaudience that condemning it would jeopardize thesuccess of the Games. No thanks to me. All I’ve doneis managed not to kill Peeta. But whatever he’s donein the arena, he must have the audience convinced itwas to keep me alive. Shaking his head to keep mefrom running to the Cornucopia. Fighting Cato to letme escape. Even hooking up with the Careers musthave been a move to protect me. Peeta, it turns out,has never been a danger to me.234 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands andhold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras canbe sure to catch it.So, who is there left to be afraid of? Foxface? The boytribute from her district is dead. She’s operatingalone, at night. And her strategy has been to evade,not attack. I don’t really think that, even if she heardmy voice, she’d do anything but hope someone elsewould kill me.Then there’s Thresh. All right, he’s a distinct threat.But I haven’t seen him, not once, since the Gamesbegan. I think about how Foxface grew alarmed whenshe heard a sound at the site of the explosion. Butshe didn’t turn to the Woods, she turned to whateverlies across from it. To that area of the arena thatdrops off into I don’t know what. I feel almost certainthat the person she ran from was Thresh and that ishis domain. He’d never have heard me from thereand, even if he did, I’m up too high for someone hissize to reach.So that leaves Cato and the girl from District 2, whoare now surely celebrating the new rule. They’re theonly ones left who benefit from it besides Peeta andmyself. Do I run from them now, on the chance theyheard me call Peeta’s name?No,I think. Let themcome. Let them come with their night-vision glassesand their heavy, branch-breaking bodies.Right into the range of my arrows. But I know theywon’t. If they didn’t come in daylight to my fire, theywon’t risk what could be another trap at night. Whenthey come, it will be on their own terms, not becauseI’ve let them know my whereabouts.235 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Stay put and get some sleep, Katniss,I instructmyself, although I wish I could start tracking Peetanow.Tomorrow, you’ll find him.I do sleep, but in the morning I’m extra-cautious,thinking that while the Careers might hesitate toattack me in a tree, they’re completely capable ofsetting an ambush for me. I make sure to fullyprepare myself for the day — eating a big breakfast,securing my pack, readying my weapons — before Idescend. But all seems peaceful and undisturbed onthe ground.Today I’ll have to be scrupulously careful. TheCareers will know I’m trying to locate Peeta. They maywell want to wait until I do before they move in. If he’sas badly wounded as Cato thinks, I’d be in theposition of having to defend us both without anyassistance. But if he’s that incapacitated, how has hemanaged to stay alive? And how on earth will I findhim?I try to think of anything Peeta ever said that mightgive me an indication as to where he’s hiding out, butnothing rings a bell. So I go back to the last moment Isaw him sparkling in the sunlight, yelling at me torun. Then Cato appeared, his sword drawn. And afterI was gone, he wounded Peeta. But how did Peeta getaway? Maybe he’d held out better against the trackerjacker poison than Cato.Maybe that was the variable that allowed him toescape. But he’d been stung, too. So how far could hehave gotten, stabbed and filled with venom? And howhas he stayed alive all these days since? If the woundand the stingers haven’t killed him, surely thirstwould have taken him by now.236 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

And that’s when I get my first clue to hiswhereabouts. He couldn’t have survived withoutwater. I know that from my first few days here. Hemust be hidden somewhere near a source. There’s thelake, but I find that an unlikely option since it’s soclose to the Careers’ base camp. A few spring-fedpools. But you’d really be a sitting duck at one ofthose. And the stream. The one that leads from thecamp Rue and I made all the way down near the lakeand beyond. If he stuck to the stream, he couldchange his location and always be near water. Hecould walk in the current and erase any tracks. Hemight even be able to get a fish or two.Well, it’s a place to start, anyway.To confuse my enemies’ minds, I start a fire withplenty of green wood. Even if they think it’s a ruse, Ihope they’ll decide I’m hidden somewhere near it.While in reality, I’ll be tracking Peeta.The sun burns off the morning haze almostimmediately and I can tell the day will be hotter thanusual. The waters cool and pleasant on my bare feetas I head downstream. I’m tempted to call out Peeta’sname as I go but decide against it. I will have to findhim with my eyes and one good ear or he will have tofind me. But he’ll know I’ll be looking, right? He won’thave so low of an opinion of me as to think I’d ignorethe new rule and keep to myself. Would he? He’s veryhard to predict, which might be interesting underdifferent circumstances, but at the moment onlyprovides an extra obstacle.It doesn’t take long to reach the spot where I peeledoff to go the Careers’ camp. There’s been no sign ofPeeta, but this doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been up anddown this stretch three times since the tracker jackerincident. If he were nearby, surely I’d have had some237 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

suspicion of it. The stream begins to curve to the leftinto a part of the woods that’s new to me. Muddybanks covered in tangled water plants lead to largerocks that increase in size until I begin to feelsomewhat trapped. It would be no small matter toescape the stream now. Fighting off Cato or Thresh asI climbed over this rocky terrain. In fact, I’ve justabout decided I’m on the wrong track entirely, that awounded boy would be unable to navigate getting toand from this water source, when I see the bloodystreak going down the curve of a boulder. It’s longdried now, but the smeary lines running side to sidesuggest someone — who perhaps was not fully incontrol of his mental faculties — tried to wipe it away.Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction ofthe blood, searching for him. I find a few morebloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued toit, but no sign of life. I break down and say his namein a hushed voice. “Peeta! Peeta!” Then a mockingjaylands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tonesso I stop. I give up and climb back down to the streamthinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere fartherdown.My foot has just broken the surface of the water whenI hear a voice.“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”I whip around. It’s come from the left, so I can’t pickit up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak.Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arenawould call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank,but there’s nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base ofthe rocks.“Peeta?” I whisper. “Where are you?” There’s noanswer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I’m certain238 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

it was real and very close at hand, too. “Peeta?” Icreep along the bank.“Well, don’t step on me.”I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Stillthere’s nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakablyblue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp andam rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs.It’s the final word in camouflage. Forget chuckingweights around. Peeta should have gone into hisprivate session with the Gamemakers and paintedhimself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bankfull of weeds.“Close your eyes again,” I order. He does, and hismouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of whatI judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mudand plants. His face and arms are so artfullydisguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. “Iguess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.”Peeta smiles. “Yes, frosting. The final defense of thedying.”“You’re not going to die,” I tell him firmly. “Says who?”His voice is so ragged. “Says me. We’re on the sameteam now, you know,” I tell him.His eyes open. “So, I heard. Nice of you to find what’sleft of me.”I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. “DidCato cut you?” I ask.“Left leg. Up high,” he answers.239 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“Let’s get you in the stream, wash you off so I can seewhat kind of wounds you’ve got,” I say.“Lean down a minute first,” he says. “Need to tell yousomething.” I lean over and put my good ear to hislips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’remadly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime youfeel like it.”I jerk my head back but end up laughing. “Thanks, I’llkeep it in mind.” At least, he’s still able to jokearound. But when I start to help him to the stream,all the levity disappears. It’s only two feet away, howhard can it be? Very hard when I realize he’s unableto move an inch on his own. He’s so weak that thebest he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, butdespite the fact that I know he’s doing all he can tokeep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mudand plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finallyhave to give a gigantic tug to break him from theirclutches. He’s still two feet from the water, lyingthere, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt onhis face.“Look, Peeta, I’m going to roll you into the stream. It’svery shallow here, okay?” I say.“Excellent,” he says.I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, Itell myself, don’t stop until he’s in the water. “Onthree,” I say.“One, two, three!” I can only manage onefull roll before I have to stop because of the horriblesound he’s making. Now he’s on the edge of thestream. Maybe this is better anyway.“Okay, change of plans. I’m not going to put you allthe way in,” I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, whoknows if I’d ever be able to get him out?240 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“No more rolling?” he asks.“That’s all done. Let’s get you cleaned up. Keep an eyeon the woods for me, okay?” I say. It’s hard to knowwhere to start. He so caked with mud and mattedleaves, I can’t even see his clothes. If he’s wearingclothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment,but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal inthe arena, right?I’ve got two water bottles and Rue’s water skin. I propthem against rocks in the stream so that two arealways filling while I pour the third over Peeta’s body.It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud tofind his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbuttonhis shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is soplastered into his wounds I have to cut it away withmy knife and drench him again to work it loose. He’sbadly bruised with a long burn across his chest andfour tracker jacker stings, if you count the one underhis ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. Idecide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviatesome pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato didto his leg.Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he’slying in what’s become a mud puddle, I manage toprop him up against a boulder. He sits there,uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces ofdirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale inthe sunlight and he no longer looks strong andstocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his trackerjacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but theminute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While hedries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket andspread them over boulders. Then I apply the burncream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot hisskin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles ofwater have disguised the fact that he’s burning with241 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boyfrom District 1 and find pills that reduce yourtemperature. My mother actually breaks down andbuys these on occasion when her home remedies fail.“Swallow these,” I tell him, and he obediently takesthe medicine. “You must be hungry.”“Not really. It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry fordays,” says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling,he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That’swhen I know how sick he is.“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” I insist.“It’ll just come right back up,” he says. The best I cando is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple.“Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now,Katniss?” he asks.“Soon,” I promise. “I need to look at your legfirst.”Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove hisboots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pantsoff of him. I can see the tear Cato’s sword made in thefabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me forwhat lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozingboth blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worstof all, the smell of festering flesh.I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like Idid that day they brought the burn victim to ourhouse. Go and hunt while my mother and Primattend to what I have neither the skill nor the courageto face. But there’s no one here but me. I try tocapture the calm demeanor my mother assumeswhen handling particularly bad cases.“Pretty awful, huh?” says Peeta. He’s watching meclosely.242 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“So-so.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “You should seesome of the people they bring my mother from themines.” I refrain from saying how I usually clear outof the house whenever she’s treating anything worsethan a cold. Come to think of it, I don’t even muchlike to be around coughing. “First thing is to clean itwell.”I’ve left on Peeta’s undershorts because they’re not inbad shape and I don’t want to pull them over theswollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of himbeing naked makes me uncomfortable. That’s anotherthing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has noeffect on them, gives them no cause forembarrassment. Ironically, at this point in theGames, my little sister would be of far more use toPeeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic underhim so I can wash down the rest of him. With eachbottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks.The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, justone tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that Itreat quickly. But the gash on his leg ... what on earthcan I do for that?“Why don’t we give it some air and then ...” I trail off.“And then you’ll patch it up?” says Peeta. He looksalmost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.“That’s right,” I say. “In the meantime, you eatthese.”I put a few dried pear halves in his hand andgo back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes.When they’re flattened out and drying, I examine thecontents of the first-aid kit. It’s pretty basic stuff.Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs.Nothing of the caliber I’ll need to treat Peeta.“We’re going to have to experiment some,” I admit. Iknow the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I243 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

start with those. Within minutes of pressing thehandful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pusbegins running down the side of his leg. I tell myselfthis is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheekhard because my breakfast is threatening to make areappearance.“Katniss?” Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing myface must be some shade of green. He mouths thewords. “How about that kiss?”I burst out laughing because the whole thing is sorevolting I can’t stand it.“Something wrong?” he asks a little too innocently.“I ... I’m no good at this. I’m not my mother. I’ve noidea what I’m doing and I hate pus,” I say. “Euh!” Iallow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the firstround of leaves and apply the second. “Euuuh!”“How do you hunt?” he asks.“Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this,” Isay. “Although for all I know, I am killing you.”“Can you speed it up a little?” he asks.“No. Shut up and eat your pears,” I say.After three applications and what seems like a bucketof pus, the wound does look better. Now that theswelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato’ssword cut. Right down to the bone.“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” he asks.“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. Ithink it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?”244 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot moremanageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although,against the sterile bandage, the hem of hisundershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. Ipull out Rue’s backpack. “Here, cover yourself withthis and I’ll wash your shorts.”“Oh, I don’t care if you see me,” says Peeta.“You’re just like the rest of my family,” I say. “I care,all right?” I turn my back and look at the stream untilthe undershorts splash into the current. He must befeeling a bit better if he can throw.“You know, you’re kind of squeamish for such a lethalperson,” says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean betweentwo rocks.“I wish I’d let you give Haymitch a showerafter all.”I wrinkle my nose at the memory. “What’s he sent youso far?”“Not a thing,” says Peeta. Then there’s a pause as ithits him. “Why, did you get something?”“Burn medicine,” I say almost sheepishly. “Oh, andsome bread.”“I always knew you were his favorite,” says Peeta.“Please, he can’t stand being in the same room withme,”I say.“Because you’re just alike,” mutters Peeta. I ignore itthough because this really isn’t the time for me to beinsulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse.245 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but bylate afternoon, I don’t dare wait any longer. I gentlyshake his shoulder. “Peeta, we’ve got to go now.”“Go?” He seems confused. “Go where?”“Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere wecan hide you until you’re stronger,” I say. I help himdress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in thewater, and pull him upright. His face drains of colorthe moment he puts weight on his leg. “Come on. Youcan do this.”But he can’t. Not for long anyway. We make it aboutfifty yards downstream, with him propped up by myshoulder, and I can tell he’s going to black out. I sithim on the bank, push his head between his knees,and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Ofcourse, I’d love to get him up in a tree, but that’s notgoing to happen. It could be worse though. Some ofthe rocks form small cavelike structures. I set mysights on one about twenty yards above the stream.When Peeta’s able to stand, I half-guide, half-carryhim up to the cave. Really, I’d like to look around fora better place, but this one will have to do becausemy ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, eventhough it’s only just cooling off, he’s shivering.I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pineneedles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it.I get a couple of pills and some water into him whenhe’s not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit.Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face asI build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal themouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. Ananimal might not question it, but a human would seehands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear itdown in frustration.246 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

“Katniss,” he says. I go over to him and brush thehair back from his eyes. “Thanks for finding me.”“You would have found me if you could,” I say. Hisforehead’s burning up. Like the medicine’s having noeffect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m scared he’sgoing to die.“Yes. Look, if I don’t make it back —” he begins.“Don’t talk like that. I didn’t drain all that pus fornothing,” I say.“I know. But just in case I don’t —” he tries tocontinue.“No, Peeta, I don’t even want to discuss it,” I say,placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him.“But I —” he insists.Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping hiswords. This is probably overdue anyway since he’sright, we are supposed to be madly in love. It’s thefirst time I’ve ever kissed a boy, which should makesome sort of impression I guess, but all I can registeris how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. Ibreak away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag uparound him.“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. Allright?”“All right,” he whispers.I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachutefloats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo thetie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta’s leg.Instead I find a pot of hot broth.247 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Haymitch couldn’t be sending me a clearer message.One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hearhis snarl. “You’re supposed to be in love, sweetheart.The boy’s dying. Give me something I can work with!”And he’s right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I’ve got togive the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Twohearts beating as one. Romance.Never having been in love, this is going to be a realtrick. I think of my parents. The way my father neverfailed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way mymother’s face would light up at the sound of his bootsat the door. The way she almost stopped living whenhe died.“Peeta!” I say, trying for the special tone that mymother used only with my father. He’s dozed offagain, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startlehim. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie theregazing at me forever. He’s great at this stuff.I hold up the pot. “Peeta, look what Haymitch hassent you.”248 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing,begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sipby sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleepthen and attend to my own needs, wolfing down asupper of groosling and roots while I watch the dailyreport in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and Ihave given the audience a fairly interesting day.Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peacefulnight.I automatically look around for a good tree to nest inbefore I realize that’s over. At least for a while. I can’tvery well leave Peeta unguarded on the ground. I leftthe scene of his last hiding place on the bank of thestream untouched — how could I conceal it? — andwe’re a scant fifty yards downstream. I put on myglasses, place my weapons in readiness, and settledown to keep watch.The temperature drops rapidly and soon I’m chilled tothe bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into thesleeping bag with Peeta. It’s toasty warm and Isnuggle down gratefully until I realize it’s more thanwarm, it’s overly hot because the bag is reflectingback his fever. I check his forehead and find itburning and dry. I don’t know what to do. Leave himin the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks thefever? Take him out and hope the night air cools himoff? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage andplacing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I’mafraid to do anything too drastic.I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta,refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on thefact that by teaming up with him, I’ve made myself far249 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered tothe ground, on guard, with a very sick person to takecare of. But I knew he was injured. And still I cameafter him. I’m just going to have to trust thatwhatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one.When the sky turns rosy, I notice the sheen of sweaton Peeta’s lip and discover the fever has broken. He’snot back to normal, but it’s come down a few degrees.Last night, when I was gathering vines, I came upon abush of Rue’s berries. I strip off the fruit and mash itup in the broth pot with cold water.Peeta’s struggling to get up when I reach the cave. “Iwoke up and you were gone,” he says. “I was worriedabout you.”I have to laugh as I ease him back down. “You wereworried about me? Have you taken a look at yourselflately?”“I thought Cato and Clove might have found you.They like to hunt at night,” he says, still serious.“Clove? Which one is that?” I ask.“The girl from District Two. She’s still alive, right?”hesays.“Yes, there’s just them and us and Thresh andFoxface,”I say. “That’s what I nicknamed the girl fromFive. How do you feel?”“Better than yesterday. This is an enormousimprovement over the mud,” he says. “Clean clothesand medicine and a sleeping bag ... and you.”Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out totouch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses250 | P a g e The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins