The Hunger Games

crawl? I move forward tentatively. Yes, if I go very slowly, I can crawl. Most of the woods will offer insufficient cover. My only hope is to make it back to Rue’s copse and conceal myself in greenery. I can’t get caught out here on my hands and knees in the open. Not only will I face death, it’s sure to be a long and painful one at Cato’s hand. The thought of Prim having to watch that keeps me doggedly inching my way toward the hideout.
    Another blast knocks me flat on my face. A stray mine, set off by some collapsing crate. This happens twice more. I’m reminded of those last few kernels that burst when Prim and I pop corn over the fire at home.
    To say I make it in the nick of time is an understatement. I have literally just dragged myself into the tangle of bushes at the base of the trees when there’s Cato, barreling onto the plain, soon followed by his companions. His rage is so extreme it might be comical — so people really do tear out their hair and beat the ground with their fists — if I didn’t know that it was aimed at me, at what I have done to him. Add to that my proximity, my inability to run or defend myself, and in fact, the whole thing has me terrified. I’m glad my hiding place makes it impossible for the cameras to get a close shot of me because I’m biting my nails like there’s no tomorrow. Gnawing off the last bits of nail polish, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
    The boy from District 3 throws stones into the ruins and must have declared all the mines activated because the Careers are approaching the wreckage.
    Cato has finished the first phase of his tantrum and takes out his anger on the smoking remains by kicking open various containers. The other tributes are poking around in the mess, looking for anything to salvage, but there’s nothing. The boy from District 3 has done his job too well. This idea must occur to Cato, too, because he turns on the boy and appears to be shouting at him. The boy from District 3 only has time to turn and run before Cato catches him in a headlock from behind. I can see the muscles ripple in Cato’s arms as he sharply jerks the boy’s head to the side.
    It’s that quick. The death of the boy from District 3.
    The other two Careers seem to be trying to calm Cato down. I can tell he wants to return to the woods, but they keep pointing at the sky, which puzzles me until I realize, Of course. They think whoever set off the explosions is dead . They don’t know about the arrows and the apples. They assume the booby trap was faulty, but that the tribute who blew up the supplies was killed doing it. If there was a cannon shot, it could have been easily lost in the subsequent explosions. The shattered remains of the thief removed by hovercraft. They retire to the far side of the lake to allow the Gamemakers to retrieve the body of the boy from District 3. And they wait.
    I suppose a cannon goes off. A hovercraft appears and takes the dead boy. The sun dips below the horizon. Night falls. Up in the sky, I see the seal and know the anthem must have begun. A moment of darkness. They show the boy from District 3. They show the boy from District 10, who must have died this morning. Then the seal reappears. So, now they know. The bomber survived. In the seal’s light, I can see Cato and the girl from District 2 put on their night-vision glasses. The boy from District 1 ignites a tree branch for a torch, illuminating the grim determination on all their faces. The Careers stride back into the woods to hunt.
    The dizziness has subsided and while my left ear is still deafened, I can hear a ringing in my right, which seems a good sign. There’s no point in leaving my hiding place, though. I’m about as safe as I can be, here at the crime scene. They probably think the bomber has a two- or three-hour lead on them. Still it’s a long time before I risk moving.
    The first thing I do is dig out my own glasses and put them on, which relaxes me a little, to have at least one of my hunter’s senses working. I drink some water and wash the blood from my ear. Fearing the smell of meat will draw unwanted predators — fresh blood is bad enough — I make a good meal out of the greens and roots and berries Rue and I gathered today.
    Where is my little ally? Did she make it back to the rendezvous 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,