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to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it’s futile, she<br />

can’t be saved. I crash into the trees, repeatedly swiping away<br />

the blood that’s pouring into my eye, fleeing like the wild,<br />

wounded creature I am. After a few minutes, I hear the cannon<br />

and I know that Clove has died, that Cato will be on one of our<br />

trails. Either Thresh’s or mine. I’m seized with terror, weak<br />

from my head wound, shaking. I load an arrow, but Cato can<br />

throw that spear almost as far as I can shoot.<br />

Only one thing calms me down. Thresh has Cato’s backpack<br />

containing the thing he needs desperately. If I had to bet, Cato<br />

headed out after Thresh, not me. Still I don’t slow down when<br />

I reach the water. I plunge right in, boots still on, and flounder<br />

downstream. I pull off Rue’s socks that I’ve been using for<br />

gloves and press them into my forehead, trying to staunch the<br />

flow of blood, but they’re soaked in minutes.<br />

Somehow I make it back to the cave. I squeeze through the<br />

rocks. In the dappled light, I pull the little orange backpack<br />

from my arm, cut open the clasp, and dump the contents on<br />

the ground. One slim box containing one hypodermic needle.<br />

Without hesitating, I jam the needle into Peeta’s arm and<br />

slowly press down on the plunger.<br />

My hands go to my head and then drop to my lap, slick with<br />

blood.<br />

The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful greenand-silver<br />

moth landing on the curve of my wrist.<br />

285

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