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the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第32部分
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¨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 and Foxface and 。 。 。 all of the other tributes；〃 I choke out。
I hear Peetaˇs gasp of recognition。 ¨What did they do to them？ You donˇt think 。 。 。 those could be their real eyes？〃
Their eyes are the least of my worries。 What about their brains？ Have they been given any of the real tributes memories？ Have they been programmed to hate our faces particularly because we have survived and they were so callously murdered？ And the ones we actually killed 。 。 。 do they believe theyˇre avenging their own deaths？
Before I can get this out； the mutts begin a new assault on the horn。 Theyˇve split into two groups at the sides of the horn and are using those powerful hindquarters to launch themselves at us。 A pair of teeth ring together just inches from my hand and then I hear Peeta cry out； feel the yank on his body； the heavy weight of boy and mutt pulling me over the side。 If not for the grip on my arm； heˇd be on the ground； but as it is； it takes all my strength to keep us both on the curved back of the horn。 And more tributes are ing。
¨Kill it； Peeta！ Kill it！〃 Iˇm shouting； and although I canˇt quite see whatˇs happening； I know he must have stabbed the thing because the pull lessens。 Iˇm able to haul him back onto the horn where we drag ourselves toward the top where the lesser of two evils awaits。
Cato has still not regained his feet； but his breathing is slowing and I know soon heˇll be recovered enough to e for us； to hurl us over the side to our deaths。 I arm my bow； but the arrow ends up taking out a mutt that can only be Thresh。 Who else could jump so high？ I feel a momentˇs relief because we must finally be up above the mutt line and Iˇm just turning back to face Cato when Peetaˇs jerked from my side。 Iˇm sure the pack has got him until his blood splatters my face。
Cato stands before me； almost at the lip of the horn； holding Peeta in some kind of headlock； cutting off his air。 Peetaˇs clawing at Catoˇs arm； but weakly； as if confused over whether itˇs more important to breathe or try and stem the gush of blood from the gaping hole a mutt left in his calf。
I aim one of my last two arrows at Catoˇs head； knowing itˇll have no effect on his trunk or limbs； which I can now see are clothed in a skintight； flesh…colored mesh。 Some high…grade body armor from the Capitol。 Was that what was in his pack at the feast？ Body armor to defend against my arrows？ Well； they neglected to send a face guard。
Cato just laughs。 ¨Shoot me and he goes down with me。〃
Heˇs right。 If I take him out and he falls to the mutts； Peeta is sure to die with him。 Weˇve reached a stalemate。 I canˇt shoot Cato without killing Peeta； too。 He canˇt kill Peeta without guaranteeing an arrow in his brain。 We stand like statues； both of us seeking an out。
My muscles are strained so tightly； they feel they might snap at any moment。 My teeth clenched to the breaking point。 The mutts go silent and the only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my good ear。
Peetaˇs lips are turning blue。 If I donˇt do something quickly； heˇll die of asphyxiation and then Iˇll have lost him and Cato will probably use his body as a weapon against me。 In fact； Iˇm sure this is Catoˇs plan because while heˇs stopped laughing； his lips are set in a triumphant smile。
As if in a last…ditch effort； Peeta raises his fingers； dripping with blood from his leg； up to Catoˇs arm。 Instead of trying to wrestle his way free； his forefinger veers off and makes a deliberate X on the back of Catoˇs hand。 Cato realizes what it means exactly one second after I do。 I can tell by the way the smile drops from his lips。 But itˇs one second too late because； by that time； my arrow is piercing his hand。 He cries out and reflexively releases Peeta who slams back against him。 For a horrible moment； I think theyˇre both going over。 I dive forward just catching hold of Peeta as Cato loses his footing on the blood…slick horn and plummets to the ground。
We hear him hit； the air leaving his body on impact； and then the mutts attack him。 Peeta and I hold on to each other； waiting for the cannon； waiting for the petition to finish； waiting to be released。 But it doesnˇt happen。 Not yet。 Because this is the climax of the Hunger Games； and the audience expects a show。
I donˇt watch； but I can hear the snarls； the growls； the howls of pain from both human and beast as Cato takes on the mutt pack。 I canˇt understand how he can be surviving until I remember the body armor protecting him from ankle to neck and I realize what a long night this could be。 Cato must have a knife or sword or something； too； something he had hidden in his clothes； because on occasion thereˇs the death scream of a mutt or the sound of metal on metal as the blade collides with the golden horn。 The bat moves around the side of the Cornucopia； and I know Cato must be attempting the one maneuver that could save his life to make his way back around to the tail of the horn and rejoin us。 But in the end； despite his remarkable strength and skill； he is simply overpowered。
I donˇt know how long it has been； maybe an hour or so； when Cato hits the ground and we hear the mutts dragging him； dragging him back into the Cornucopia。 Now theyˇll finish him off； I think。 But thereˇs still no cannon。
Night falls and the anthem plays and thereˇs no picture of Cato in the sky； only the faint moans ing through the metal beneath us。 The icy air blowing across the plain reminds me that the Games are not over and may not be for who knows how long； and there is still no guarantee of victory。
I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding as badly as ever。 All our supplies； our packs； remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts。 I have no bandage； nothing to staunch the flow of blood from his calf。 Although Iˇm shaking in the biting wind； I rip off my jacket； remove my shirt； and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible。 That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control。
Peetaˇs face is gray in the pale moonlight。 I make him lie down before I probe his wound。 Warm； slippery blood runs over my fingers。 A bandage will not be enough。 Iˇve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it。 I cut free a sleeve from my shirt； wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee； and tie a half knot。 I donˇt have a stick； so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot； twisting it as tightly as I dare。 Itˇs risky business Peeta may end up losing his leg but when I weigh this against him losing his life； what alternative do I have？ I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lay down with him。
¨Donˇt go to sleep；〃 I tell him。 Iˇm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol； but Iˇm terrified that if he drifts off heˇll never wake again。
¨Are you cold？〃 he asks。 He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me。 Itˇs a bit warmer； sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets； but the night is young。 The temperature will continue to drop。
Even now I can feel the Cornucopia； which burned so when I first climbed it； slowly turning to ice。
¨Cato may win this thing yet；〃 I whisper to Peeta。
¨Donˇt you believe it；〃 he says； pulling up my hood； but heˇs shaking harder than I am。
The next hours are the worst in my life； which if you think about it； is saying something。 The cold would be torture enough； but the real nightmare is listening to Cato； moaning； begging； and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him。 After a very short time； I donˇt care who he is or what heˇs done； all I want is for his suffering to end。
¨Why donˇt they just kill him？〃 I ask Peeta。
¨You know why；〃 he says； and pulls me closer to him。
And I do。 No viewer could turn away from the show now。 From the Gamemakersˇ point of view； this is the final word in entertainment。
It goes on and on and on and eventually pletely consumes my mind； blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow； erasing everything but the present； which I begin to believe will never change。 There will never be anything but cold and fear and the agonized sounds of the boy dying in the horn。
Peeta begins to doze off now； and each time he does； I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now； I know Iˇll go pletely insane。 Heˇs fighting it； probably more for me than for him； and itˇs hard because unconsciousness would be its own form of escape。 But the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him； so I canˇt let him go。 I just canˇt。
The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens； the subtle shift of the moon。 So Peeta begins pointing it out to me； insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes； for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again。
Finally； I hear him whisper that the sun is rising。 I open my eyes and find the stars fading in the pale light of dawn。 I can see； too； how bloodless Peetaˇs face has bee。 How little time he has left。 And I know I have to get him back to the Capitol。
Still； no cannon has fired。 I press my good ear against the horn and can just make out Catoˇs voice。
¨I think heˇs closer now。 Katniss； can you shoot him？〃 Peeta asks。
If heˇs near the mouth； I may be able to take him out。 It would be an act of mercy at this point。
¨My last arrowˇs in your tourniquet；〃 I say。
¨Make it count；〃 says Peeta； unzipping his jacket； letting me loose。
So I free the arrow； tying the tourniquet back as tightly as my frozen fingers can manage。 I rub my hands together； trying to regain circulation。 When I crawl to the lip of the horn and hang over the edge； I feel Peetaˇs hands grip me for support。
It takes a few moments to find Cato in the dim light； in the blood。 Then the raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound； and I know where his mouth is。 And I think the word heˇs trying to say is please。
Pity； not vengeance； sends my arrow flying into his skull。 Peeta pulls me back up； bopty。
¨Did you get him？〃 he whispers。
The cannon fires in answer。
¨Then we won； Katniss；〃 he says hollowly。
¨Hurray for us；〃 I get out； but thereˇs no joy of victory in my voice。
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 Catoˇs remains； for the trumpets of victory that should follow； but nothing happens。
¨Hey！〃 I shout into air。 ¨Whatˇs going on？〃 The only response is the chatter of waking birds。
¨Maybe itˇs 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 Catoˇs body away。 Now they will take us。 Now we can go home。
But again thereˇs 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 donˇt know；〃 I say。 Whatever the holdup is； I canˇt watch him lose any more blood。 I get up to find a stick but almost immediately e across the arrow that bounced off Catoˇs body armor。 It will do as well as the other arrow。 As I stoop to pick it up； Claudius Templesmithˇs voice booms into the arena。 ¨Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy…fourth Hunger Games。 The earlier revision has been revoked。 Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner
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