The Hunger Games

weapons recently. She’ll probably be hanging somewhere nearby, seeing what she can scavenge. But the other three . . . I’m going to have my hands full. My ability to kill at a distance is my greatest asset, but I know I’ll have to go right into the thick of things to get that backpack, the one with the number 12 on it that Claudius Templesmith mentioned.
    I watch the sky, hoping for one less opponent at dawn, but nobody appears tonight. Tomorrow there will be faces up there. Feasts always result in fatalities.
    I crawl into the cave, secure my glasses, and curl up next to Peeta. Luckily I had that good long sleep today. I have to stay awake. I don’t really think anyone will attack our cave tonight, but I can’t risk missing the dawn.
    So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of frozen air across the arena, which may be exactly what they’ve done. I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It’s strange to be so physically close to someone who’s so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he’d be no harder to reach. I’ve never felt lonelier since the Games began.
    Just accept it will be a bad night, I tell myself. I try not to, but I can’t help thinking of my mother and Prim, wondering if they’ll sleep a wink tonight. At this late stage in the Games, with an important event like the feast, school will probably be canceled. My family can either watch on that static-filled old clunker of a television at home or join the crowds in the square to watch on the big, clear screens. They’ll have privacy at home but support in the square. People will give them a kind word, a bit of food if they can spare it. I wonder if the baker has sought them out, especially now that Peeta and I are a team, and made good on his promise to keep my sister’s belly full.
    Spirits must be running high in District 12. We so rarely have anyone to root for at this point in the Games. Surely, people are excited about Peeta and me, especially now that we’re together. If I close my eyes, I can imagine their shouts at the screens, urging us on. I see their faces — Greasy Sae and Madge and even the Peacekeepers who buy my meat — cheering for us.
    And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more?
    I wonder what he makes of all this kissing.
    Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.
    My breath makes small white clouds as it hits the air. It’s as cold as a November night at home. One where I’ve slipped into the woods, lantern in hand, to join Gale at some prearranged place where we’ll sit bundled together, sipping herb tea from metal flasks wrapped in quilting, hoping game will pass our way as the morning comes on. Oh, Gale, I think. If only you had my back now . . .
    I move as fast as I dare. The glasses are quite remarkable, but I still sorely miss having the use of my left ear. I don’t know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep and