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ottle and watch a beetle crawl up the side of a honeysuckle
bush.
How long have I been out? It was morning when I lost reason.
Now it’s afternoon. But the stiffness in my joints suggests
more than a day has passed, even two possibly. If so, I’ll have
no way of knowing which tributes survived that tracker jacker
attack. Not Glimmer or the girl from District 4. But there was
the boy from District 1, both tributes from District 2, and Peeta.
Did they die from the stings? Certainly if they lived, their
last days must have been as horrid as my own. And what
about Rue? She’s so small, it wouldn’t take much venom to do
her in. But then again . . . the tracker jackers would’ve had to
catch her, and she had a good head start.
A foul, rotten taste pervades my mouth, and the water has
little effect on it. I drag myself over to the honeysuckle bush
and pluck a flower. I gently pull the stamen through the blossom
and set the drop of nectar on my tongue. The sweetness
spreads through my mouth, down my throat, warming my
veins with memories of summer, and my home woods and
Gale’s presence beside me. For some reason, our discussion
from that last morning comes back to me.
“We could do it, you know.”
“What?”
“Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we
could make it.”
And suddenly, I’m not thinking of Gale but of Peeta and . . .
Peeta! He saved my life! I think. Because by the time we met
up, I couldn’t tell what was real and what the tracker jacker
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