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I stretch and burrow down into the bag。 ¨Iˇll sleep now。 Wake me if anything interesting happens。〃
Apparently nothing does； because when I open my eyes； bright hot afternoon light gleams through the rocks。 ¨Any sign of our friend？〃 I ask。
Peeta shakes his head。 ¨No； heˇs keeping a disturbingly low profile。〃
¨How long do you think weˇll have before the Gamemakers drive us together？〃 I ask。
¨Well； Foxface died almost a day ago； so thereˇs been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored。 I guess it could happen at any moment；〃 says Peeta。
¨Yeah； I have a feeling todayˇs the day；〃 I say。 I sit up and look out at the peaceful terrain。 ¨I wonder how theyˇll do it。〃
Peeta remains silent。 Thereˇs not really any good answer。
¨Well； until they do； no sense in wasting a hunting day。 But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble；〃 I say。
Peeta packs up our gear while I lay out a big meal。 The rest of the rabbits； roots； greens； the rolls spread with the last bit of cheese。 The only thing I leave in reserve is the squirrel and the apple。
By the time weˇre done； all thatˇs left is a pile of rabbit bones。 My hands are greasy； which only adds to my growing feeling of grubbiness。 Maybe we donˇt bathe daily in the Seam； but we keep cleaner than I have of late。 Except for my feet； which have walked in the stream； Iˇm covered in a layer of grime。
Leaving the cave has a sense of finality about it。 I donˇt think there will be another night in the arena somehow。 One way or the other； dead or alive； I have the feeling Iˇll escape it today。 I give the rocks a pat good…bye and we head down to the stream to wash up。 I can feel my skin； itching for the cool water。 I may do my hair and braid it back wet。 Iˇm wondering if we might even be able to give our clothes a quick scrub when we reach the stream。 Or what used to be the stream。 Now thereˇs only a bone…dry bed。 I put my hand down to feel it。
¨Not even a little damp。 They must have drained it while we slept；〃 I say。 A fear of the cracked tongue； aching body and fuzzy mind brought on by my previous dehydration creeps into my consciousness。 Our bottles and skin are fairly full； but with two drinking and this hot sun it wonˇt take long to deplete them。
¨The lake；〃 says Peeta。 ¨Thatˇs where they want us to go。〃
¨Maybe the ponds still have some；〃 I say hopefully。
¨We can check；〃 he says； but heˇs just humoring me。 Iˇm humoring myself because I know what Iˇll find when we return to the pond where I soaked my leg。 A dusty； gaping mouth of a hole。 But we make the trip anyway just to confirm what we already know。
¨Youˇre right。 Theyˇre driving us to the lake；〃 I say。 Where thereˇs no cover。 Where theyˇre guaranteed a bloody fight to the death with nothing to block their view。 ¨Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the waterˇs tapped out？〃
¨Letˇs go now； while weˇve had food and rest。 Letˇs just go end this thing；〃 he says。
I nod。 Itˇs funny。 I feel almost as if itˇs the first day of the Games again。 That Iˇm in the same position。 Twenty…one tributes are dead； but I still have yet to kill Cato。 And really； wasnˇt he always the one to kill？ Now it seems the other tributes were just minor obstacles； distractions； keeping us from the real battle of the Games。 Cato and me。
But no； thereˇs the boy waiting beside me。 I feel his arms wrap around me。
¨Two against one。 Should be a piece of cake；〃 he says。
¨Next time we eat； it will be in the Capitol；〃 I answer。
¨You bet it will；〃 he says。
We stand there a while； locked in an embrace； feeling each other； the sunlight； the rustle of the leaves at our feet。 Then without a word； we break apart and head for the lake。
I donˇt care now that Peetaˇs footfalls send rodents scurrying； make birds take wing。 We have to fight Cato and Iˇd just as soon do it here as on the plain。 But I doubt Iˇll have that choice。 If the Gamemakers want us in the open； then in the open we will be。
We stop to rest for a few moments under the tree where the Careers trapped me。 The husk of the tracker jacker nest； beaten to a pulp by the heavy rains and dried in the burning sun； confirms the location。 I touch it with the tip of my boot； and it dissolves into dust that is quickly carried off by the breeze。 I canˇt help looking up in the tree where Rue secretly perched； waiting to save my life。 Tracker jackers。 Glimmerˇs bloated body。 The terrifying hallucinations 。 。 。
¨Letˇs move on；〃 I say； wanting to escape the darkness that surrounds this place。 Peeta doesnˇt object。
Given our late start to the day； when we reach the plain itˇs already early evening。 Thereˇs no sign of Cato。 No sign of anything except the gold Cornucopia glowing in the slanting sun rays。 Just in case Cato decided to pull a Foxface on us； we circle the Cornucopia to make sure itˇs empty。 Then obediently； as if following instructions； we cross to the lake and fill our water containers。
I frown at the shrinking sun。 ¨We donˇt want to fight him after dark。 Thereˇs only the one pair of glasses。〃
Peeta carefully squeezes drops of iodine into the water。 ¨Maybe thatˇs what heˇs waiting for。 What do you want to do？ Go back to the cave？〃
¨Either that or find a tree。 But letˇs give him another half an hour or so。 Then weˇll take cover；〃 I answer。
We sit by the lake； in full sight。 Thereˇs no point in hiding now。 In the trees at the edge of the plain； I can see the mockingjays flitting about。 Bouncing melodies back and forth between them like brightly colored balls。 I open my mouth and sing out Rueˇs four…note run。 I can feel them pause curiously at the sound of my voice； listening for more。 I repeat the notes in the silence。 First one mockingjay trills the tune back； then another。 Then the whole world es alive with the sound。
¨Just like your father；〃 says Peeta。
My fingers find the pin on my shirt。 ¨Thatˇs Rueˇs song；〃 I say。 ¨I think they remember it。〃
The music swells and I recognize the brilliance of it。 As the notes overlap； they pliment one another； forming a lovely； unearthly harmony。 It was this sound then； thanks to Rue； that sent the orchard workers of District 11 home each night。 Does someone start it at quitting time； I wonder； now that she is dead？
For a while； I just close my eyes and listen； mesmerized by the beauty of the song。 Then something begins to disrupt the music。 Runs cut off in jagged； imperfect lines。 Dissonant notes intersperse with the melody。 The mockingjaysˇ voices rise up in a shrieking cry of alarm。
Weˇre on our feet； Peeta wielding his knife； me poised to shoot； when Cato smashes through the trees and bears down on us。 He has no spear。 In fact； his hands are empty； yet he runs straight for us。 My first arrow hits his chest and inexplicably falls aside。
¨Heˇs got some kind of body armor！〃 I shout to Peeta。
Just in time； too； because Cato is upon us。 I brace myself； but he rockets right between us with no attempt to check his speed。 I can tell from his panting； the sweat pouring off his purplish face； that heˇs been running hard a long time。 Not toward us。 From something。 But what？
My eyes scan the woods just in time to see the first creature leap onto the plain。 As Iˇm turning away； I see another half dozen join it。 Then I am stumbling blindly after Cato with no thought of anything but to save myself。
25
Muttations。 No question about it。 Iˇve never seen these mutts； but theyˇre no natural…born animals。 They resemble huge wolves； but what wolf lands and then balances easily on its hind legs？ What wolf waves the rest of the pack forward with its front paw as though it had a wrist？ These things I can see at a distance。 Up close； Iˇm sure their more menacing attributes will be revealed。
Cato has made a beeline for the Cornucopia； and 。 If he thinks itˇs the safest place； who am I to argue？ Besides； even if I could make it to the trees； it would be impossible for Peeta to outrun them on that leg Peeta！ My hands have just landed on the metal at the pointed tail of the Cornucopia when I remember Iˇm part of a team。 Heˇs about fifteen yards behind me； hobbling as fast as he can； but the mutts are closing in on him fast。 I send an arrow into the pack and one goes down； but there are plenty to take its place。
Peetaˇs waving me up the horn； ¨Go； Katniss！ Go！〃
Heˇs right。 I canˇt protect either of us on the ground。 I start climbing； scaling the Cornucopia on my hands and feet。 The pure gold surface has been designed to resemble the woven horn that we fill at harvest； so there are little ridges and seams to get a decent hold on。 But after a day in the arena sun； the metal feels hot enough to blister my hands。
Cato lies on his side at the very top of the horn； twenty feet above the ground； gasping to catch his breath as he gags over the edge。 Nowˇs my chance to finish him off。 I stop midway up the horn and load another arrow； but just as Iˇm about to let it fly； I hear Peeta cry out。 I twist around and see heˇs just reached the tail； and the mutts are right on his heels。
¨Climb！〃 I yell。 Peeta starts up hampered by not only the leg but the knife in his hand。 I shoot my arrow down the throat of the first mutt that places its paws on the metal。 As it dies the creature lashes out； inadvertently opening gashes on a few of its panions。 Thatˇs when I get a look at the claws。 Four inches and clearly razor…sharp。
Peeta reaches my feet and I grab his arm and pull him along。 Then I remember Cato waiting at the top and whip around； but heˇs doubled over with cramps and apparently more preoccupied with the mutts than us。 He coughs out something unintelligible。 The snuffling； growling sound ing from the mutts isnˇt helping。
¨What？〃 I shout at him。
¨He said； ˉCan they climb it？ˇ〃 answers Peeta； drawing my focus back to the base of the horn。
The mutts are beginning to assemble。 As they join together； they raise up again to stand easily on their back legs giving them an eerily human quality。 Each has a thick coat； some with fur that is straight and sleek； others curly； and the colors vary from jet black to what I can only describe as blond。 Thereˇs something else about them； something that makes the hair rise up on the back of my neck； but I canˇt put my finger on it。
They put their snouts on the horn； sniffing and tasting the metal； scraping paws over the surface and then making highpitched yipping sounds to one another。 This must be how they municate because the pack backs up as if to make room。 Then one of them； a good…size mutt with silky waves of blond fur takes a running start and leaps onto the horn。 Its back legs must be incredibly powerful because it lands a mere ten feet below us； its pink lips pulled back in a snarl。 For a moment it hangs there； and in that moment I realize what else unsettled me about the mutts。 The green eyes glowering at me are unlike any dog or wolf； any canine Iˇve ever seen。 They are unmistakably human。 And that revelation has barely registered when I notice the collar with the number 1 inlaid with jewels and the whole horrible thing hits me。 The blonde hair； the green eyes； the number 。 。 。 itˇs Glimmer。
A shriek escapes my lips and Iˇm having trouble holding the arrow in place。 I have been waiting to fire； only too aware of my dwindling supply of arrows。 Waiting to see if the creatures can； in fact； climb。 But now； even though the mutt has begun to slide backward； unable to find any purchase on the metal； even though I can hear the slow screeching of the claws like nails on a blackboard； I fire into its throat。 Its body twitches and flops onto the ground with a thud。
¨Katniss？〃 I can feel Peetaˇs grip on my arm。
¨Itˇs her！〃 I get out。
¨Who？〃 asks Peeta。
My head snaps from side to side as I examine the pack； taking in the various sizes and colors。 The small one with the red coat and amber eyes 。 。 。 Foxface！ And there； the ashen hair and hazel eyes of the boy from District 9 who died as we struggled for the backpack！ And worst of all； the smallest mutt； with dark glossy fur； huge brown eyes and a collar that reads 11 in woven straw。 Teeth bared in hatred。 Rue 。 。 。
¨What is it； Katniss？〃 Peeta shakes my shoulder。
¨Itˇs them。 Itˇs all of them。 The others。 Rue a