Голодные игры/The Hunger Games (Сюзанна Коллинз). Страница 106 из 236

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This

is

all

right

,

I

think

.

This

is

not

so

bad

here

.

The

air

is

less

hot

,

signifying

evening

's

approach

.

There

's

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

I

've

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

!

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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

.

It

's

all

I

can

do

not

to

plunge

my

face

into

the

water

and

gulp

down

as

much

as

I

can

hold

.

But

I

have

just

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

it

's

a

half

an

hour

,

but

it

's

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

I

'll

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

.

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A

few

hours

later

,

the

stampede

of

feet

shakes

me

from

slumber

.

I

look

around

in

bewilderment

.

It

's

not

yet

dawn

,

but

my

stinging

eyes

can

see

it

.

It

would

be

hard

to

miss

the

wall

of

fire

descending

on

me

.

My

first

impulse

is

to

scramble

from

the

tree

,

but

I

'm

belted

in

.

Somehow

my

fumbling

fingers

release

the

buckle

and

I

fall

to

the

ground

in

a

heap

,

still

snarled

in

my

sleeping

bag

.

There

's

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

flee

.

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