suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

A hole opens in the plain and as if on cue, the remaining
mutts bound into it, disappearing as the earth closes above
them.
We wait, for the hovercraft to take Cato’s remains, for the
trumpets of victory that should follow, but nothing happens.
“Hey!” I shout into air. “What’s going on?” The only response
is the chatter of waking birds.
“Maybe it’s the body. Maybe we have to move away from
it,” says Peeta.
I try to remember. Do you have to distance yourself from
the dead tribute on the final kill? My brain is too muddled to
be sure, but what else could be the reason for the delay?
“Okay. Think you could make it to the lake?” I ask.
“Think I better try,” says Peeta. We inch down to the tail of
the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is
this bad, how can Peeta even move? I rise first, swinging and
bending my arms and legs until I think I can help him up.
Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of
the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.
A mockingjay gives the long, low whistle, and tears of relief
fill my eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes Cato’s body
away. Now they will take us. Now we can go home.
But again there’s no response.
“What are they waiting for?” says Peeta weakly. Between
the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the
lake, his wound has opened up again.
“I don’t know,” I say. Whatever the holdup is, I can’t watch
him lose any more blood. I get up to find a stick but almost
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