Голодные игры

           Iturn,drawingbackthebowstringandsendanarrowstraightatClove’sheart.Sheturnsjustenoughtoavoidafatalhit,butthepointpuncturesherupperleftarm.Unfortunately,shethrowswithherright,butit’senoughtoslowherdownafewmoments,havingtopullthearrowfromherarm,takeintheseverityofthewound.Ikeepmoving,positioningthenextarrowautomatically,asonlysomeonewhohashuntedforyearscando.

           I’matthetablenow,myfingersclosingoverthetinyorangebackpack.MyhandslipsbetweenthestrapsandIyankituponmyarm,it’sreallytoosmalltofitonanyotherpartofmyanatomy,andI’mturningtofireagainwhenthesecondknifecatchesmeintheforehead.Itslicesabovemyrighteyebrow,openingagashthatsendsagushrunningdownmyface,blindingmyeye,fillingmymouthwiththesharp,metallictasteofmyownblood.Istaggerbackwardbutstillmanagetosendmyreadiedarrowinthegeneraldirectionofmyassailant.Iknowasitleavesmyhandsitwillmiss.AndthenCloveslamsintome,knockingmeflatonmyback,pinningmyshoulderstotheground,withherknees.

           Thisisit,Ithink,andhopeforPrim’ssakeitwillbefast.ButClovemeanstosavorthemoment.Evenfeelsshehastime.NodoubtCatoissomewherenearby,guardingher,waitingforThreshandpossiblyPeeta.

           "Where’syourboyfriend,DistrictTwelve?Stillhangingon?"sheasks.

           Well,aslongaswe’retalkingI’malive."He’souttherenow.HuntingCato,"Isnarlather.ThenIscreamatthetopofmylungs.