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My eyes follow the line of her finger up into the foliage
above me. At first, I have no idea what she’s pointing to, but
then, about fifteen feet up, I make out the vague shape in the
dimming light. But of . . . of what? Some sort of animal? It looks
about the size of a raccoon, but it hangs from the bottom of a
branch, swaying ever so slightly. There’s something else.
Among the familiar evening sounds of the woods, my ears register
a low hum. Then I know. It’s a wasp nest.
Fear shoots through me, but I have enough sense to keep
still. After all, I don’t know what kind of wasp lives there. It
could be the ordinary leave-us-alone-and-we’ll-leave-youalone
type. But these are the Hunger Games, and ordinary isn’t
the norm. More likely they will be one of the Capitol’s muttations,
tracker jackers. Like the jabberjays, these killer wasps
were spawned in a lab and strategically placed, like land
mines, around the districts during the war. Larger than regular
wasps, they have a distinctive solid gold body and a sting
that raises a lump the size of a plum on contact. Most people
can’t tolerate more than a few stings. Some die at once. If you
live, the hallucinations brought on by the venom have actually
driven people to madness. And there’s another thing, these
wasps will hunt down anyone who disturbs their nest and at-
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