10

I keep moving through the afternoon. At first I try jogging, but my legs start shaking again and I have to slow to a walk. After several hours, the light in the forest starts turning orange, which I guess is what sunset looks like here. The cannon has sounded twice since the bloodbath ended.

I decide to take stock of my situation before finding a place to hide for the night. I should be pretty far away from the field by now, but it would be good to get my bearings, and I might be able to see if any other tributes have made it out this far. A smooth-barked tree nearby has some good climbing branches and I hoist myself into them.

I spiral upwards, clinging to the trunk and moving slower as the branches get thinner. Just when I don't think I can climb any farther without falling, my head breaks through the leaves.

I peer in the direction of the Cornucopia. All I can see are miles and miles of treetops, turning amber in the orangey light.

My heart leaps into my throat. Have I really come that far? It felt like a long way, but I didn't dare to hope it was more than seven or eight miles. I should at least be able to see the mountain.

That's what catches me. I can't see the mountain.

I turn on my branch, searching for it. When I find it, I nearly fall out of the tree. There's the mountain, all right. And there's the Cornucopia, not three miles from my perch.

I've been going the wrong way.

I'm not sure when I got turned around, but clearly I should have checked my direction long ago. Maybe I've been going in circles this whole time. It's a miracle I haven't run into anyone else, especially with all the noise I've been making. I didn't realize I needed to be quiet.

I sit on my branch, clutching the slippery bark with shaking fingers. How could I have been so stupid? So cocky? I actually thought I was doing well. My head start – wasted. For all I know, I'm a few yards away from the Career camp.

My eyes prickle and I scrub a rough hand over my face, forcing the tears back in. Sniveling like a baby won't get me anywhere. I made this mess, so now I have to figure a way out of it.

I need to keep moving. I'll check my position regularly from now on, making sure the mountain stays at my back. It will have to wait for tomorrow, though; trying to move in the dark when I could be surrounded by enemies would be even stupider than what I've already done.

Just when I think I can't feel any worse, it starts to rain.

I pull my hood up and start picking my way down the tree as the rain turns into a downpour. The branches are wet and I slip a couple times, but I think the sound of the rain drowns out any noises I make.

I look around for a good spot to spend the night. A little ways away is a cluster of trees surrounded by dense bushes. It looks a little too convenient. If there's not a Gamemaker trap in there, then there's probably another tribute.

A bit farther in the other direction, I spot a few low bushes. They don't offer quite as much cover, but they're a less obvious hiding place in case anyone decides to hunt at night.

The rain stops as suddenly as it started. The Gamemakers must have cooked it up – probably their way of wishing us sweet dreams. By making everything sodden right before we have to bed down in it.

I lay my sleeping bag under the bushes and crawl on top of it. I don't want to make the inside all soggy by getting in just yet. The branches of the bush scratch my face, but they're close together, and in the dark I think I'll be pretty hard to see.

My tongue feels like tree bark, and I allow myself a few more sips of water. The bottle is already half empty, and I haven't seen a single source of water all day. No streams, no ponds – nothing. It occurs to me that they put water in my pack because there isn't any in the arena. The thought should make me panic, but I'm too bone-tired and miserable about my stupid navigation mistake to get worked up about it now.

Without my thirst as a distraction, my stomach twists with hunger. I ease my bag open and pull out one strip of beef and a piece of dried fruit. I want to wolf them, but I force myself to eat them slowly, taking tiny bites and chewing them to mush before swallowing. It's a trick Mom taught us when we were kids and food was scarce. She made a game of it, and we'd compete to see who could make their meal last the longest. Dad always won.

I put everything back in my pack, then curl up with it wedged between my knees and chest. I keep my knife clutched in my right hand. In case.

For the first time, I notice how loud the forest is. Leaves rustle in the wind. A few birds are still singing. Crickets play their creaking music. I'm sure it wasn't this loud when I was walking. Maybe that's the key to staying alive in this forest: noise means safety; silence means there's an enemy nearby. I don't look forward to testing that theory.

My eyelids have just started to droop when a blast of noise jerks me back to full alertness. My fingers tighten around my knife, but it's just the anthem blaring through the arena.

Between the branches, the sky lights up with the Capitol's seal. I hold my breath, waiting for the list of the fallen.

They start with District 2, which means all the tributes from One are still alive. A girl from Two is not. Three has lost Bot and a girl whose name I can't remember. Four has lost one of its boys. The faces appear one after another in an endless parade. They don't show Shibori from Eight, so she's still alive. So is Raize.

Suddenly, Bowen's face is staring down at me, outlined in white light. He blinks once and his image fades.

I stare at the empty sky, feeling shocked and angry, and surprised to be either. I'm still trying to catch my breath when Twylah's picture appears. Glowing white against the dark blue sky, she's almost pretty. She lowers her eyes and disappears forever.

The seal returns. The anthem plays. Silence.

Bowen and Twylah. I feel like I should do something, say something. The truth is I didn't know either of them very well. I didn't want to. Bowen was a bully and a moron, and Twylah was just a scared little kid. And now they're both dead. I try to figure out how that makes me feel, but there's no point, and it makes my head pound to think about it. I tighten my grip on the knife, squeeze myself into a smaller ball, and try to get some sleep.

By sunrise, the muscles in my legs have stiffened into rocks and I have to painfully massage the blood back into them before I can crawl out from my hiding place. I think I snatched a few minutes' sleep here and there, but I was too worried about someone sneaking up on me – or just plain tripping over me – to get any real rest.

I start the day by climbing my tree again to make sure I know where the mountain is. The sun turns its snowcapped tip from blue to orange as I take a few small sips of water and chew a piece of dried fruit into pulp. Then I'm on the move.

It's slower going now that I'm trying to be quiet. There's another short downpour shortly after sunrise, and I manage to jog for a bit while the rain drums on the leaves. The muscles in my legs scream in protest, but I push myself forward until the rain cuts off, just as abruptly as it did last night.

Midmorning, I scale another tree to check the position of the mountain. Still behind me.

I've just started climbing down when a snapping twig makes me freeze. Two figures appear below me. I shrink back against the tree.

Squinting through the leaves, I recognize Dolly and Beulah, the sisters from District 10. The taller one is holding a crossbow; the other clutches a chunk of wood like a club. Did they hear me rustling around in the tree? Are they hunting me right now?

The one with the stick pauses right underneath me. I could jump and land on top of her. If I'm lucky, I might even get my knife into her before she has time to throw me off.

My breath is suddenly deafening in the silence. I press a hand over my mouth to smother the sound.

I could do it. I could kill this girl from District 10. If I don't, someone else will. And if I do, I'm one step closer to safety.

A squirrel chatters nearby and the girl with the crossbow has an arrow flying almost before I see her move. She misses the squirrel, which skitters up a tree with an angry squeal, but I'm hit with a wave of relief.

I might be able to kill one sister, but not both. It's smarter to stay hidden until they move on.

"It was just a dumb squirrel, Dolly," the girl with the stick tells her sister. "Let's keep moving."

Dolly retrieves her arrow and they disappear into the woods.

Seeing two other tributes eager to spill my blood definitely changes my perspective. I spend the rest of the morning moving at a snail's pace, stopping every few minutes to listen out for the silence that could mean someone coming my way. All I hear are birds chirping and the quiet rustling of leaves.

By late afternoon, I'm jumping at my own shadow. I'm tense, I'm exhausted, and I'm nearly out of water. I promised myself I wouldn't have another sip until I'm actually dying of thirst, but my throat is so parched I'd swear it's about to start bleeding, and if it gets much worse than this, I don't want to know. My head is throbbing and it's a struggle to make my eyes focus on anything. I try climbing a tree and slip three times before I make it to the top.

When I find the mountain, I'm not surprised that I've been veering to the east again. I should keep moving, but I'm so tired and dizzy that I just lean against the trunk and let my eyes drift closed.

I must fall asleep, because when something moves near my head, I jerk backwards and nearly fall out of the tree.

It's just another squirrel. I watch in a daze as it scampers along my branch. It twitches its bushy tail and the sunlight sends sparks off its golden fur. Its little paws pull a leaf down to its mouth and it sucks up a few drops of trapped rainwater, watching me with huge, black eyes. Its long eyelashes droop in a slow, deliberate wink.

I glare at it. I know I'm probably delirious, but I don't like the look in that thing's eyes. There's a glint in them that seems nasty somehow. I take a weak swipe to shoo it away.

And almost fall out of the tree when the squirrel snaps at my fingers with a snarl.

It takes a run at me and I fumble for my knife. Before my clumsy fingers can find the handle, the squirrel leaps over my head and into another treetop. I stare after it, slack-jawed. One thing I know for sure: that squirrel didn't leave because it was afraid of me.

I add squirrels to the list of things that might kill me in here. It falls somewhere between an arrow through the throat and dropping dead from thirst.

I know I should keep moving, but it's hard to remember why. Did I seriously think I could reach the edge of the arena? Yeah, right. Even this high off the ground, I can't seen any sign of it. I know there must be an end to it somewhere, but I also know that I'm not going to reach it on two sips of stale water.

Maybe I could just die here. I could fall asleep in this tree and snap my neck on the way down. If I'm lucky, I might sleep through the whole thing. Or maybe I'll die of thirst before that happens. That'd show them I'm not here for their entertainment. Can't be much fun for the audience to watch a tribute die slowly of natural causes.

In the distance, a cannon sounds.

I force myself to sit up. I'm not going to die here. When I die, I want it to be on my terms, and I want the audience to watch the whole thing. If I die with this many tributes left in the arena, I'll be reduced to a footnote at the end of tonight's recaps. I want to die during mandatory viewing hours. I want to bore them to tears with my unspectacular death.

My heart thuds dully against my ribs. It feels like it's working harder than ever to push my dry blood around my body. It's damned hot in this tree, with the sun beating down on the leaves. Something sparkles in the distance. The light cuts through my head like a pickaxe. I close my eyes, annoyed.

Sparkling. What's sparkling out here?

My eyes snap open as my heart lands in my mouth. I squint in the direction of the sparkling, trying to make my eyes focus.

Could it be another tribute with a weapon? No – too big. Some muttation created by the Gamemakers? It's not moving, which probably rules that out. Mutts tend to move pretty fast. But what else would sparkle like that?

The answer comes to me slowly, filling my heart with a sickening hope.

Water. It's water reflecting the sunlight.

Slowly – carefully – I climb down the tree. I still feel weak from thirst, but the adrenaline has given me focus. I just need to get to the water. It seems like the sole purpose of my entire life.

I try to move quietly, but the forest keeps sloping at crazy angles and I stumble a few times, crashing into the underbrush. If there's another tribute within a mile of me, I've got no chance. I find that I don't really care. All that matters is reaching the water.

As the light in the forest turns orange, I hear splashing up ahead. The air already feels cooler on my face. I want to run, but if I fall I won't get up again, so I force myself to walk. Far away, the cannon sounds.

I round a small cluster of trees and then I'm at the river. It's the most beautiful sight in the entire world. Except there's already another tribute beside it.