Голодные игры/The Hunger Games (Сюзанна Коллинз). Страница 108 из 236

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I

'm

barely

on

my

feet

before

the

third

ball

hits

the

ground

where

I

was

lying

,

sending

a

pillar

of

fire

up

behind

me

.

Time

loses

meaning

now

as

I

frantically

try

to

dodge

the

attacks

.

I

ca

n't

see

where

they

're

being

launched

from

,

but

it

's

not

a

hovercraft

.

The

angles

are

not

extreme

enough

.

Probably

this

whole

segment

of

the

woods

has

been

armed

with

precision

launchers

that

are

concealed

in

trees

or

rocks

.

Somewhere

,

in

a

cool

and

spotless

room

,

a

Gamemaker

sits

at

a

set

of

controls

,

fingers

on

the

triggers

that

could

end

my

life

in

a

second

.

All

that

is

needed

is

a

direct

hit

.

Whatever

vague

plan

I

had

conceived

regarding

returning

to

my

pond

is

wiped

from

my

mind

as

I

zigzag

and

dive

and

leap

to

avoid

the

fireballs

.

Each

one

is

only

the

size

of

an

apple

,

but

packs

tremendous

power

on

contact

.

Every

sense

I

have

goes

into

overdrive

as

the

need

to

survive

takes

over

.

There

's

no

time

to

judge

if

a

move

is

the

correct

one

.

When

there

's

a

hiss

,

I

act

or

die

.

Something

keeps

me

moving

forward

,

though

.

A

lifetime

of

watching

the

Hunger

Games

lets

me

know

that

certain

areas

of

the

arena

are

rigged

for

certain

attacks

.

And

that

if

I

can

just

get

away

from

this

section

,

I

might

be

able

to

move

out

of

reach

of

the

launchers

.

I

might

also

then

fall

straight

into

a

pit

of

vipers

,

but

I

ca

n't

worry

about

that

now

.

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How

long

I

scramble

along

dodging

the

fireballs

I

ca

n't

say

,

but

the

attacks

finally

begin

to

abate

.

Which

is

good

,

because

I

'm

retching

again

.

This

time

it

's

an

acidic

substance

that

scalds

my

throat

and

makes

its

way

into

my

nose

as

well

.

I

'm

forced

to

stop

as

my

body

convulses

,

trying

desperately

to

rid

itself

of

the

poisons

I

've

been

sucking

in

during

the

attack

.

I

wait

for

the

next

hiss

,

the

next

signal

to

bolt

.

It

does

n't

come

.

The

force

of

the

retching

has

squeezed

tears

out

of

my

stinging

eyes

.

My

clothes

are

drenched

in

sweat

.

Somehow

,

through

the

smoke

and

vomit

,

I

pick

up

the

scent

of

singed

hair

.

My

hand

fumbles

to

my

braid

and

finds

a

fireball

has

seared

off

at

least

six

inches

of

it

.

Strands

of

blackened

hair

crumble

in

my

fingers

.

I

stare

at

them

,

fascinated

by

the

transformation

,

when

the

hissing

registers

.

My

muscles

react

,

only

not

fast

enough

this

time

.

The

fireball

crashes

into

the

ground

at

my

side

,

but

not

before

it

skids

across

my

right

calf

.

Seeing

my

pants

leg

on

fire

sends

me

over

the

edge

.

I

twist

and

scuttle

backward

on

my

hands

and

feet

,

shrieking

,

trying

to

remove

myself

from

the

horror

.

When

I

finally

regain

enough

sense

,

I

roll

the

leg

back

and

forth

on

the

ground

,

which

stifles

the

worst

of

it

.

But

then

,

without

thinking

,

I

rip

away

the

remaining

fabric

with

my

bare

hands

.

I

sit

on

the

ground

,

a

few

yards

from

the

blaze

set

off

by

the

fireball

.

My

calf

is

screaming

,

my

hands

covered

in

red

welts

.

I

'm

shaking

too

hard

to

move

.

If

the

Gamemakers

want

to

finish

me

off

,

now

is

the

time

.

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I

hear

Cinna

's

voice

,

carrying

images

of

rich

fabric

and

sparkling

gems

.

"

Katniss

,

the

girl

who

was

on

fire

.

"

What

a

good

laugh

the

Gamemakers

must

be

having

over

that

one

.

Perhaps

,

Cinna

's

beautiful

costumes

have

even

brought

on

this

particular

torture

for

me

.

I

know

he

could

n't

have

foreseen

this

,

must

be

hurting

for

me

because

,

in

fact

,

I

believe

he

cares

about

me

.

But

all

in

all

,

maybe

showing

up

stark

naked

in

that

chariot

would

have

been

safer

for

me

.

The

attack

is

now

over

.

The

Gamemakers

do

n't

want

me

dead

.

Not

yet

anyway

.

Everyone

knows

they

could

destroy

us

all

within

seconds

of

the

opening

gong

.

The

real

sport

of

the

Hunger

Games

is

watching

the

tributes

kill

one

another

.

Every

so

often

,

they

do

kill

a

tribute

just

to

remind

the

players

they

can

.

But

mostly

,

they

manipulate

us

into

confronting

one

another

face-to-face

.

Which

means

,

if

I

am

no

longer

being

fired

at

,

there

is

at

least

one

other

tribute

close

at

hand

.

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