the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第30章
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guessing this is some evil trick on the part of the Gamemakers。 Even the plant instructor in the Training Center made a point of telling us to avoid berries unless you were 100 percent sure they werenˇt toxic。 Something I already knew； but Iˇm so thirsty it takes her reminder to give me the strength to fling them away。
Fatigue is beginning to settle on me； but itˇs not the usual tiredness that follows a long hike。 I have to stop and rest frequently； although I know the only cure for what ails me requires continued searching。 I try a new tactic climbing a tree as high as I dare in my shaky state to look for any signs of water。 But as far as I can see in any direction； thereˇs the same unrelenting stretch of forest。
Determined to go on until nightfall； I walk until Iˇm stumbling over my own feet。
Exhausted； I haul myself up into a tree and belt myself in。 Iˇve no appetite； but I suck on a rabbit bone just to give my mouth something to do。 Night falls； the anthem plays； and high in the sky I see the picture of the girl； who was apparently from District 8。 The one Peeta went back to finish off。
My fear of the Career pack is minor pared to my burning thirst。 Besides； they were heading away from me and by now they； too； will have to rest。 With the scarcity of water； they may even have had to return to the lake for refills。
Maybe； that is the only course for me as well。
Morning brings distress。 My heads throbs with every beat of my heart。 Simple movements send stabs of pain through my joints。 I fall； rather than jump from the tree。 It takes several minutes for me to assemble my gear。 Somewhere inside me； I know this is wrong。 I should be acting with more caution； moving with more urgency。 But my mind seems foggy and forming a plan is hard。 I lean back against the trunk of my tree； one finger gingerly stroking the sandpaper surface of my tongue； as I assess my options。 How can I get water？
Return to the lake。 No good。 Iˇd never make it。
Hope for rain。 Thereˇs not a cloud in the sky。
Keep looking。 Yes； this is my only chance。 But then； another thought hits me； and the surge of anger that follows brings me to me senses。
Haymitch！ He could send me water！ Press a button and have it delivered to me in a silver parachute in minutes。 I know I must have sponsors； at least one or two who could afford a pint of liquid for me。 Yes； itˇs pricey； but these people； theyˇre made of money。 And theyˇll be betting on me as well。 Perhaps Haymitch doesnˇt realize how deep my need is。
I say in a voice as loud as I dare。 ¨Water。〃 I wait； hopefully； for a parachute to descend from the sky。 But nothing is forthing。
Something is wrong。 Am I deluded about having sponsors？ Or has Peetaˇs behavior made them all hang back？ No； I donˇt believe it。 Thereˇs someone out there who wants to buy me water only Haymitch is refusing to let it go through。 As my mentor； he gets to control the flow of gifts from the sponsors。 I know he hates me。 Heˇs made that clear enough。 But enough to let me die？ From this？ He canˇt do that； can he？ If a mentor mistreats his tributes； heˇll be held accountable by the viewers； by the people back in District 12。 Even Haymitch wouldnˇt risk that； would he？ Say what you will about my fellow traders in the Hob； but I donˇt think theyˇd wele him back there if he let me die this way。 And then where would he get his liquor？ So 。 。 。 what？ Is he trying to make me suffer for defying him？ Is he directing all the sponsors toward Peeta？ Is he just too drunk to even notice whatˇs going on at the moment？ Somehow I donˇt believe that and I donˇt believe heˇs trying to kill me off by neglect； either。 He has； in fact； in his own unpleasant way； genuinely been trying to prepare me for this。 Then what is going on？
I bury my face in my hands。 Thereˇs no danger of tears now； I couldnˇt produce one to save my life。 What is Haymitch doing？ Despite my anger； hatred； and suspicions； a small voice in the back of my head whispers an answer。
Maybe heˇs sending you a message； it says。 A message。 Saying what？ Then I know。 Thereˇs only one good reason Haymitch could be withholding water from me。 Because he knows Iˇve almost found it。
I grit my teeth and pull myself to my feet。 My backpack seems to have tripled in weight。 I find a broken branch that will do for a walking stick and I start off。 The sunˇs beating down； even more searing than the first two days。 I feel like an old piece of leather； drying and cracking in the heat。 Every step is an effort； but I refuse to stop。 I refuse to sit down。 If I sit； thereˇs a good chance I wonˇt be able to get up again； that I wonˇt even remember my task。
What easy prey I am！ Any tribute； even tiny Rue； could take me right now； merely shove me over and kill me with my own knife； and Iˇd have little strength to resist。 But if anyone is in my part of the woods； they ignore me。 The truth is； I feel a million miles from another living soul。
Not alone though。 No； theyˇve surely got a camera tracking me now。 I think back to the years of watching tributes starve； freeze； bleed； and dehydrate to death。 Unless thereˇs a really good fight going on somewhere； Iˇm being featured。
My thoughts turn to Prim。 Itˇs likely she wonˇt be watching me live； but theyˇll show updates at the school during lunch。 For her sake； I try to look as least desperate as I can。
But by afternoon； I know the end is ing。 My legs are shaking and my heart too quick。 I keep forgetting； exactly what Iˇm doing。 Iˇve stumbled repeatedly and managed to regain my feet； but when the stick slides out from under me； I finally tumble to the ground unable to get up。 I let my eyes close。
I have misjudged Haymitch。 He has no intention of helping me at all。
This is all right； I think。 This is not so bad here。 The air is less hot； signifying eveningˇs approach。 Thereˇs a slight； sweet scent that reminds me of lilies。 My fingers stroke the smooth ground； sliding easily across the top。 This is an okay place to die； I think。
My fingertips make small swirling patterns in the cool； slippery earth。 I love mud； I think。 How many times Iˇve tracked game with the help of its soft； readable surface。 Good for bee stings； too。 Mud。 Mud。 Mud！ My eyes fly open and I dig my fingers into the earth。 It is mud！ My nose lifts in the air。 And those are lilies！ Pond lilies！
I crawl now； through the mud； dragging myself toward the scent。 Five yards from where I fell； I crawl through a tangle of plants into a pond。 Floating on the top； yellow flowers in bloom； are my beautiful lilies。
Itˇs all I can do not to plunge my face into the water and gulp down as much as I can hold。 But I have jus enough sense left to abstain。 With trembling hands； I get out my flask and fill it with water。 I add what I remember to be the right number of drops of iodine for purifying it。 The half an hour of waiting is agony； but I do it。 At least；
I think itˇs a half an hour； but itˇs certainly as long as I can stand。
Slowly； easy now； I tell myself。 I take one swallow and make myself wait。 Then another。 Over the next couple of hours； I drink the entire half gallon。 Then a second。 I prepare another before I retire to a tree where I continue sipping； eating rabbit； and even indulge in one of my precious crackers。 By the time the anthem plays； I feel remarkably better。 There are no faces tonight； no tributes died today。 Tomorrow Iˇll stay here； resting； camouflaging my backpack with mud； catching some of those little fish I saw as I sipped； digging up the roots of the pond lilies to make a nice meal。 I snuggle down in my sleeping bag； hanging on to my water bottle for dear life； which； of course； it is。
A few hours later； the stampede of feet shakes me from slumber。 I look around in bewilderment。 Itˇs not yet dawn； but my stinging eyes can see it。
It would be hard to miss the wall of fire descending on me。
13
My first impulse is to scramble from the tree； but Iˇm belted in。 Somehow my fumbling fingers release the buckle and I fall to the ground in a heap； still snarled in my sleeping bag。 Thereˇs no time for any kind of packing。 Fortunately； my backpack and water bottle are already in the bag。 I shove in the belt； hoist the bag over my shoulder； and fl
