support crew.
But I told Rue I’d be there. For both of us. And somehow that seems even more important than the vow I gave Prim.
I really think I stand a chance of doing it now. Winning. It’s not just having the arrows or outsmarting the Careers a few times, although those things help. Something happened when I was holding Rue’s hand, watching the life drain out of her. Now I am determined to revenge her, to make her loss unforgettable, and I can only do that by winning and thereby making myself unforgettable.
I overcook the birds hoping someone will show up to shoot, but no one does. Maybe the other tributes are out there beating one another senseless. Which would be fine, Ever since the bloodbath, I’ve been featured on screens most than I care.
Eventually, I wrap up my food and go back to the stream to replenish my water and gather some. But the heaviness from the morning drapes back over me and even though it’s only early evening, I climb a tree and settle in for the night. My brain begins to replay the events from yesterday. I keep seeing Rue speared, my arrow piercing the boy’s neck. I don’t know why I should even care about the boy.
Then I realize… he was my first kill.
Along with other statistics they report to help people place their bets, every tribute has a list of kills. I guess technically I’d get credited for Glimmer and the girl from District 4, too, for dumping that nest on them. But the boy from District 1 was the first person I knew would die because of my actions. Numerous animals have lost their lives at my hands, but only one human. I hear Gale saying, “How different can it be, really?”
Amazingly similar in the execution. A bow pulled, an arrow shot. Entirely different in the aftermath. I killed a boy whose name I don’t even know. Somewhere his family is weeping for him. His friends call for my blood. Maybe he had a girlfriend who really believed he would come back…
But then I think of Rue’s still body and I’m able to banish the boy from my mind. At least, for now.
It’s been an uneventful day according to the sky. No deaths. I wonder how long we’ll get until the next catastrophe drives us back together. If it’s going to be tonight, I want to get some sleep first. I cover my good ear to block out the strains of the anthem, but then I hear the trumpets and sit straight up in anticipation.
For the most part, the only communication the tributes get from outside the arena is the nightly death toll. But occasionally, there will be trumpets followed by an announcement. Usually, this will be a call to a feast. When food is scarce, the Gamemakers will invite the players to a banquet, somewhere known to all like the Cornucopia, as an inducement to gather and fight. Sometimes there is a feast and sometimes there’s nothing but a loaf of stale bread for the tributes to compete for. I wouldn’t go in for the food, but this could be an ideal time to take out a few competitors.
Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms down from overhead, congratulating the six of us who remain. But he is not inviting us to a feast. He’s saying something very confusing. There’s been a rule change in the Games. A rule change! That in itself is mind bending since we don’t really have any rules to speak of except don’t step off your circle for sixty seconds and the unspoken rule about not eating one another. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive. Claudius pauses, as if he knows we’re not getting it, and repeats the change again.
The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they’re from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live.
Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta’s name.
Part III
'The Victor'
19
I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there’s almost no one left.
Peeta, who’s been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I’ve had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other’s life now we’d be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I’d loathe any tribute who didn’t immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case — being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12 — it’s an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors.
The star-crossed lovers… Peeta must have been playing that angle all along. Why else would the Gamemakers have made this unprecedented change in the rules? For two tributes to have a shot at winning, our “romance” must be so popular with the audience that condemning it would jeopardize the success of the Games. No thanks to me. All I’ve done is managed not to kill Peeta. But whatever he’s done in the arena, he must have the audience convinced it was to keep me alive. Shaking his head to keep me from running to the Cornucopia. Fighting Cato to let me escape. Even hooking up with the Careers must have been a move to protect me. Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me.
The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands and hold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras can be sure to catch it.
So, who is there left to be afraid of? Foxface? The boy tribute from her district is dead. She’s operating alone, at night. And her strategy has been to evade, not attack. I don’t really think that, even if she heard my voice, she’d do anything but hope someone else would kill me.
Then there’s Thresh. All right, he’s a distinct threat. But I haven’t seen him, not once, since the Games began. I think about how Foxface grew alarmed when she heard a sound at the site of the explosion. But she didn’t turn to the woods, she turned to whatever lies across from it. To that area of the arena that drops off into I don’t know what. I feel almost certain that the person she ran from was Thresh and that is his domain. He’d never have heard me from there and, even if he did, I’m up too high for someone his size to reach.
So that leaves Cato and the girl from District 2, who are now surely celebrating the new rule. They’re the only ones left who benefit from it besides Peeta and myself. Do I run from them now, on the chance they heard me call Peeta’s name? No, I think. Let them come. Let them come with their night-vision glasses and their heavy, branch-breaking bodies.
Right into the range of my arrows. But I know they won’t. If they didn’t come in daylight to my fire, they won’t risk what could be another trap at night. When they come, it will be on their own terms, not because I’ve let them know my whereabouts.
Stay put and get some sleep, Katniss, I instruct myself, although I wish I could start tracking Peeta now. Tomorrow, you’ll find him.
I do sleep, but in the morning I’m extra-cautious, thinking that while the Careers might hesitate to attack me in a tree, they’re completely capable of setting an ambush for me. I make sure to fully prepare myself for the day — eating a big breakfast, securing my pack, readying my weapons — before I descend. But all seems peaceful and undisturbed on the ground.
Today I’ll have to be scrupulously careful. The Careers will know I’m trying to locate Peeta. They may well want to wait until I do before they move in. If he’s as badly wounded as Cato thinks, I’d be in the position of having to defend us both without any assistance. But if he’s that incapacitated, how has he managed to stay alive? And how on earth will I find him?
I try to think of anything Peeta ever said that might give me an indication as to where he’s hiding out, but nothing rings a bell. So I go back to the last moment I saw him sparkling in the sunlight, yelling at me to run. Then Cato appeared, his sword drawn. And after I was gone, he wounded Peeta. But how did Peeta get away? Maybe he’d held out better against the tracker jacker poison than Cato.
Maybe that was the variable that allowed him to escape. But he’d been stung, too. So how far could he have
