Careers.”
“He’s not with them now,” she says. “I’ve spied on their base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers. But he’s not there. Maybe he did save you and had to run.”
I don’t answer. If, in fact, Peeta did save me, I’m in his debt again. And this can’t be paid back. “If he did, it was all probably just part of his act. You know, to make people think he’s in love with me.”
“Oh,” says Rue thoughtfully. “I didn’t think that was an act.”
“Course it is,” I say. “He worked it out with our mentor.” The anthem ends and the sky goes dark. “Let’s try out these glasses.” I pull out the glasses and slip them on. Rue wasn’t kidding. I can see everything from the leaves on the trees to a skunk strolling through the bushes a good fifty feet away. I could kill it from here if I had a mind to. I could kill anyone.
“I wonder who else got a pair of these,” I say.
“The Careers have two pairs. But they’ve got everything down by the lake,” Rue says. “And they’re so strong.”
“We’re strong, too,” I say. “Just in a different way.”
“You are. You can shoot,” she says. “What can I do?”
“You can feed yourself. Can they?” I ask.
“They don’t need to. They have all those supplies,” Rue says.
“Say they didn’t. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?” I say. “I mean, it’s the Hunger Games, right?”
“But, Katniss, they’re not hungry,” says Rue.
“No, they’re not. That’s the problem,” I agree. And for the first time, I have a plan. A plan that isn’t motivated by the need for flight and evasion. An offensive plan. “I think we’re going to have to fix that, Rue.”
16
Rue has decided to trust me wholeheartedly. I know this because as soon as the anthem finishes she snuggles up against me and falls asleep. Nor do I have any misgivings about her, as I take no particular precautions. If she’d wanted me dead, all she would have had to do was disappear from that tree without pointing out the tracker jacker nest. Needling me, at the very back of my mind, is the obvious. Both of us can’t win these Games. But since the odds are still against either of us surviving, I manage to ignore the thought.
Besides, I’m distracted by my latest idea about the Careers and their supplies. Somehow Rue and I must find a way to destroy their food. I’m pretty sure feeding themselves will be a tremendous struggle. Traditionally, the Career tributes’ strategy is to get hold of all the food early on and work from there. The years when they have not protected it well — one year a pack of hideous reptiles destroyed it, another a Gamemakers’ flood washed it away — those are usually the years that tributes from other districts have won. That the Careers have been better red growing up is actually to their disadvantage, because they don’t know how to be hungry. Not the way Rue and I do.
But I’m too exhausted to begin any detailed plan tonight. My wounds recovering, my mind still a bit foggy from the venom, and the warmth of Rue at my side, her head cradled on my shoulder, have given me a sense of security. I realize, for the first time, how very lonely I’ve been in the arena. How comforting the presence of another human being can be. I give in to my drowsiness, resolving that tomorrow the tables will turn. Tomorrow, it’s the Careers who will have to watch their backs.
The boom of the cannon jolts me awake. The sky’s streaked with light, the birds already chattering. Rue perches in a branch across from me, her hands cupping something. We wait, listening for more shots, but there aren’t any.
“Who do you think that was?” I can’t help thinking of Peeta.
“I don’t know. It could have been any of the others,” says Rue. “I guess we’ll know tonight.”
“Who’s left again?” I ask.
“The boy from District One. Both tributes from Two. The boy from Three. Thresh and me. And you and Peeta,” says Rue. “That’s eight. Wait, and the boy from Ten, the one with the bad leg. He makes nine.”
There’s someone else, but neither of us can remember who it is.
“I wonder how that last one died,” says Rue.
“No telling. But it’s good for us. A death should hold the crowd for a bit. Maybe we’ll have time to do something before the Gamemakers decide things have been moving too slowly,” I say. “What’s in your hands?”
“Breakfast,” says Rue. She holds them out revealing two big eggs.
“What kind are those?” I ask.
“Not sure. There’s a marshy area over that way. Some kind of waterbird,” she says.
It’d be nice to cook them, but neither of us wants to risk a fire. My guess is the tribute who died today was a victim of the Careers, which means they’ve recovered enough to be back in the Games. We each suck out the insides of an egg, eat a rabbit leg and some berries. It’s a good breakfast anywhere.
“Ready to do it?” I say, pulling on my pack.
“Do what?” says Rue, but by the way she bounces up, you can tell she’s up for whatever I propose.
“Today we take out the Careers’ food,” I say.
“Really? How?” You can see the glint of excitement in her eyes. In this way, she’s exactly the opposite of Prim for whom adventures are an ordeal.
“No idea. Come on, we’ll figure out a plan while we hunt,” I say.
We don’t get much hunting done though because I’m too busy getting every scrap of information I can out of Rue about the Careers’ base. She’s only been in to spy on them briefly, but she’s observant. They have set up their camp beside the lake. Their supply stash is about thirty yards away. During the day, they’ve been leaving another tribute, the boy from District 3, to watch over the supplies.
“The boy from District Three?” I ask. “He’s working with them?”
“Yes, he stays at the camp full-time. He got stung, too, when they drew the tracker jackers in by the lake,” says Rue. “I guess they agreed to let him live if he 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 able to hold a few of us off with that, but Thresh could kill him easily,” says Rue.
“And the food’s just out in the open?” I say. She nods. “Something’s not quite right about that whole setup.”
“I know. But I couldn’t tell what exactly,” says Rue. “Katniss, even if you could get to the food, how would you get rid of it?”
“Burn it. Dump it in the lake. Soak it in fuel.” I poke Rue in the belly, just like I would Prim. “Eat it!” She giggles. “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 and greens, we devise a strategy in hushed voices. And I come to know Rue, the oldest of six kids, fiercely protective of her siblings, who gives her rations to the younger ones, who forages in the meadows in a district where the Peacekeepers are far less obliging than ours. Rue, who when you ask her what she loves most in the world, replies, of all things, “Music.”
“Music?” I say. In our world, I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons and rainbows in terms of usefulness. At least a rainbow gives you a tip about the weather. “You have a lot of time for that?”
“We sing at home. At work, too. That’s why I love your pin,” she says, pointing to the mockingjay that I’ve again forgotten about.
“You have mockingjays?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. I have a few that are my special friends. We can sing back and forth for hours. They carry messages for me,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“I’m usually up highest, so I’m the first to see the flag that signals quitting time. There’s a special little song I do,” says Rue. She opens her mouth and sings a little four-note run in a sweet, clear voice. “And the mockingjays spread it around the orchard. That’s how everyone knows to knock off,” she continues. “They can be dangerous
