Both straps on my shoulders now； I make for the trees。 Somehow I know the girl will not pursue me。 That sheˇll be drawn back into the Cornucopia before all the good stuff is gone。 A grin crosses my face。 Thanks for the knife； I think。
At the edge of the woods I turn for one instant to survey the field。 About a dozen or so tributes are hacking away at one another at the horn。 Several lie dead already on the ground。 Those who have taken flight are disappearing into the trees or into the void opposite me。 I continue running until the woods have hidden me from the other tributes then slow into a steady jog that I think I can maintain for a while。 For the next few hours； I alternate between jogging and walking； putting as much distance as I can between myself and my petitors。 I lost my bread during the struggle with the boy from District 9 but managed to stuff my plastic in my sleeve so as I walk I fold it neatly and tuck it into a pocket。 I also free the knife itˇs a fine one with a long sharp blade； serrated near the handle； which will make it handy for sawing through things and slide it into my belt。 I donˇt dare stop to examine the contents of the pack yet。 I just keep moving； pausing only to check for pursuers。
I can go a long time。 I know that from my days in the woods。 But I will need water。 That was Haymitchˇs second instruction； and since I sort of botched the first； I keep a sharp eye out for any sign of it。 No luck。
The woods begin to evolve； and the pines are intermixed with a variety of trees； some I recognize； some pletely foreign to me。 At one point； I hear a noise and pull my knife； thinking I may have to defend myself； but Iˇve only startled a rabbit。 ¨Good to see you；〃 I whisper。 If thereˇs one rabbit； there could be hundreds just waiting to be snared。
The ground slopes down。 I donˇt particularly like this。 Valleys make me feel trapped。 I want to be high； like in the hills around District 12； where I can see my enemies approaching。 But I have no choice but to keep going。
Funny though； I donˇt feel too bad。 The days of gorging myself have paid off。 Iˇve got staying power even though Iˇm short on sleep。 Being in the woods is rejuvenating。 Iˇm glad for the solitude； even though itˇs an illusion； because Iˇm probably on…screen right now。 Not consistently but off and on。 There are so many deaths to show the first day that a tribute trekking through the woods isnˇt much to look at。 But theyˇll show me enough to let people know Iˇm alive； uninjured and on the move。 One of the heaviest days of betting is the opening； when the initial casualties e in。 But that canˇt pare to what happens as the field shrinks to a handful of players。
Itˇs late afternoon when I begin to hear the cannons。 Each shot represents a dead tribute。 The fighting must have finally stopped at the Cornucopia。 They never collect the bloodbath bodies until the killers have dispersed。 On the opening day； they donˇt even fire the cannons until the initial fightingˇs over because itˇs too hard to keep track of the fatalities。 I allow myself to pause； panting； as I count the shots。 One 。 。 。 two 。 。 。 three 。 。 。 on and on until they reach eleven。 Eleven dead in all。 Thirteen left to play。 My fingernails scrape at the dried blood the boy from District 9 coughed into my face。 Heˇs gone； certainly。 I wonder about Peeta。 Has he lasted through the day？ Iˇll know in a few hours。 When they project the deadˇs images into the sky for the rest of us to see。
All of a sudden； Iˇm overwhelmed by the thought that Peeta may be already lost； bled white； collected； and in the process of being transported back to the Capitol to be cleaned up； redressed； and shipped in a simple wooden box back to District 12。 No longer here。 Heading home。 I try hard to remember if I saw him once the action started。 But the last image I can conjure up is Peeta shaking his head as the gong rang out。
Maybe itˇs better； if heˇs gone already。 He had no confidence he could win。 And I will not end up with the unpleasant task of killing him。 Maybe itˇs better if heˇs out of this for good。
I slump down next to my pack； exhausted。 I need to go through it anyway before night falls。 See what I have to work with。 As I unhook the straps； I can feel itˇs sturdily made although a rather unfortunate color。 This orange will practically glow in the dark。 I make a mental note to camouflage it first thing tomorrow。
I flip open the flap。 What I want most； right at this moment； is water。 Haymitchˇs directive to immediately find water was not arbitrary。 I wonˇt last long without it。 For a few days； Iˇll be able to function with unpleasant symptoms of dehydration； but after that I'll deteriorate into helplessness and be dead in a week； tops。 I carefully lay out the provisions。 One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heal。 A pack of crackers。 A pack of dried beef strips。 A bottle of iodine。 A box of wooden matches。 A small coil of wire。 A pair of sunglasses。 And a halfgallon plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water that's bone dry。
No water。 How hard would it have been for them to fill up the bottle？ I bee aware of the dryness in my throat and mouth； the cracks in my lips。 I've been moving all day long。 It's been hot and I've sweat a lot。 I do this at home； but there are always streams to drink from； or snow to melt if it should e to it。
As I refill my pack I have an awful thought。 The lake。 The one I saw while I was waiting for the gong to sound。 What if that's the only water source in the arena？ That way they'll guarantee drawing us in to fight。 The lake is a full day's journey from where I sit now； a much harder journey with nothing to drink。 And then； even if I reach it； it's sure to be heavily guarded by some of the Career Tributes。 I'm about to panic when I remember the rabbit I startled earlier today。 It has to drink； too。 I just have to find out where。
Twilight is closing in and I am ill at ease。 The trees are too thin to offer much concealment。 The layer of pine needles that muffles my footsteps also makes tracking animals harder when I need their trails to find water。 And I'm still heading downhill； deeper and deeper into a valley that seems endless。
Iˇm hungry； too； but I donˇt dare break into my precious store of crackers and beef yet。 Instead； I take my knife and go to work on a pine tree； cutting away the outer bark and scraping off a large handful of the softer inner bark。 I slowly chew the stuff as I walk along。 After a week of the finest food in the
world； itˇs a little hard to choke down。 But Iˇve eaten plenty of pine in my life。 Iˇll adjust quickly。
In another hour； itˇs clear Iˇve got to find a place to camp。 Night creatures are ing out。 I can hear the occasional hoot or howl； my first clue that Iˇll be peting with natural predators for the rabbits。 As to whether Iˇll be viewed as a source of food； itˇs too soon to tell。 There could be any number of animals stalking me at this moment。
But right now； I decide to make my fellow tributes a priority。 Iˇm sure many will continue hunting through the night。 Those who fought it out at the Cornucopia will have food； an abundance of water from the lake； torches or flashlights； and weapons theyˇre itching to use。 I can only hope Iˇve traveled far and fast enough to be out of range。
Before settling down； I take my wire and set two twitch…up snares in the brush。 I know itˇs risky to be setting traps； but food will go so fast out here。 And I canˇt set snares on the run。 Still； I walk another five minutes before making camp。
I pick my tree carefully。 A willow； not terribly tall but set in a clump of other willows； offering concealment in those long； flowing tresses。 I climb up； sticking to the stronger branches close to the trunk； and find a sturdy fork for my bed。 It takes some doing； but I arrange the sleeping bag in a relatively fortable manner。 I place my backpack in the foot of the bag； then slide in after it。 As a precaution； I remove my belt； loop it all the way around the branch and my sleeping bag； and refasten it at my waist。 Now if I roll over in my sleep； I wonˇt go crashing to the ground。 Iˇm small enough to tuck the top of the bag over my head； but I put on my hood as well。 As night falls； the air is cooling quickly。 Despite the risk I took in getting the backpack； I know now it was the right choice。 This sleeping bag； radiating back and preserving my body heat； will be invaluable。 Iˇm sure there are several other tributes whose biggest concern right now is how to stay warm whereas I may actually be able to get a few hours of sleep。 If only I wasnˇt so thirsty 。 。 。
Night has just e when I hear the anthem that proceeds the death recap。 Through the branches I can see the seal of the Capitol； which appears to be floating in the sky。 Iˇm actually viewing another screen； an enormous one thatˇs transported by of one of their disappearing hovercraft。 The anthem fades out and the sky goes dark for a moment。 At home； we would be watching full coverage of each and every killing； but thatˇs thought to give an unfair advantage to the living tributes。 For instance； if I got my hands on the bow and shot someone； my secret would be revealed to all。 No； here in the arena； all we see are the same photographs they showed when they televised our training scores。 Simple head shots。 But now instead of scores they post only district numbers。 I take a deep breath as the face of the eleven dead tributes begin and tick them off one by one on my fingers。
The first to appear is the girl from District 3。 That means that the Career Tributes from 1 and 2 have all survived。 No surprise there。 Then the boy from 4。 I didnˇt expect that one； usually all the Careers make it through the first day。 The boy from District 5 。 。 。 I guess the fox…faced girl made it。 Both tributes from 6 and 7。 The boy from 8。 Both from 9。 Yes； thereˇs the boy who I fought for the backpack。 Iˇve run through my fingers； only one more dead tribute to go。 Is it Peeta？ No； thereˇs the girl from District 10。 Thatˇs it。 The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish。 Then darkness and the sounds of the forest resume。
Iˇm relieved Peetaˇs alive。 I tell myself again that if I get killed； his winning will benefit my mother and Prim the most。 This is what I tell myself to explain the conflicting emotions that arise when I think of Peeta。 The gratitude that he gave me an edge by professing his love for me in the interview。 The anger at his superiority on the roof。 The dread that we may e face…to…face at any moment in this arena。
Eleven dead； but none from District 12。 I try to work out who is left。 Five Career Tributes。 Foxface。 Thresh and Rue。 Rue 。 。 。 so she made it through the first day after all。 I canˇt help feeling glad。 That makes ten of us。 The other three Iˇll figure out tomorrow。 Now when it is dark； and I have traveled far； and I am nestled high in this tree； now I must try and rest。
I havenˇt really slept in two days； and then thereˇs been the long dayˇs journey into the arena。 Slowly； I allow my muscles to relax。 My eyes to close。 The last thing I think is itˇs lucky I donˇt snore。 。 。 。
Snap！ The sound of a breaking branch wakes me。 How long have I been asleep？ Four hours？ Five？ The tip of my nose is i