The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Seventeen

The pack's whooping laughter subsides as they leave me for dead. It would be easier if I were. What with the injury, my body already feels like it's in a state of decrepitude and disrepair. I cannot bear to look at the wound itself but the hand I used to cover it is streaked with gore; it tells me all I need to know. The sight sends a shock wave of sickness through my system that displaces the pain. I have to get up, to treat it, but my body refuses to comply. It's much easier to lie here, my life being leached.

      Or at least that's what it feels like. It's indescribably acute, the pain, that leaves me too fatigued to scream. I'd rather face that mutt again than this. At least I wasn't helpless then.The moment when Cato did the deed replays over and over in my head like a stuck record that I'm forced to view. My stomach burns where he kicked me; it's like a fire storm in my gut. His words fly around my brain, mocking, like vultures that finish off the damned. 

      "I told you, he's good as dead." Upon hearing the familiar voice of Cato, the dregs of my willpower dissipate. Is he coming back? Cato's words are slightly slurred. It's probably the venom still in his system. "No one can survive that- not even a tribute with a score of eight. I stuck him deep." The agony erupting in my thigh suggests that he's telling the truth. "Not that I'm sure exactly how he got that eight. It's not like he's been any use, apart from leadin' us on a wild goose chase. Anyhow, I did him a favour, putting him out of his misery. A pathetic existence. Tonight, mark my words, tonight, the cannon'll fire and there'll be one less piece of scum to worry about. An' itl'll be a pleasure, seeing his face projected on the sky, for the last time." Then his voice fades into the oblivion that grips me.

      Despite the situation, his words awaken a sense of determination within me. Somehow, listening to him crow makes me want to prove him wrong. Cato won't be seeing the last of me for some time yet, I manage to form a coherent thought as I use a branch to prop myself up. Due to my predicament, the manoeuvre is hasty and haphazard, too much blood on my hand for it to grip properly. I stumble; the sudden weight pressing down on my left leg inflames the torture. Gingerly, and as delicately as possible, I try to distribute the pressure more evenly. 

      Before I do anything else I examine my thigh. The hole slashed in my trousers allows a trickle of blood through but I know it's so much worse than it looks. Underneath, I feel blood, and who knows what else, oozing through the fabric so they're slick with the stuff. I smear my bloody hand on the other trouser leg and I know it won't be long until they're both soaked. The pain it brings is intense and, with a sense of dread, I realise I'll have to treat it soon.

      It's difficult to think properly with the haze that has seemed to descend on my mind, with millions of thoughts whizzing around at once, impossible to grasp, but there's one that is clearer than the rest: find shelter. Through the hurt and the havoc the prospect of shelter beckons me. Through the hurt and the havoc it's the only stability.

      Gritting my teeth and bearing the pain, I release the branch that's supporting me. I totter like a toddler, my hands frantically searching for anything: another branch; a fern; a vine- anything- to steady my steps.

     I've only covered- what, five metres? - when I see movement in ahead of me. Fearing the worst, I crouch to hide behind the beech my body's hugging. The noise is coming from the bend of the stream and it takes my eyes a moment to focus. But then I see the source of the disturbance. It's another tribute. 

      Instinctively I shrink back, letting out a hiss of pain as a twig scrapes my bad leg. The tribute's head whips round, reflexes much sharper than mine, and scrutinises the foliage around me intently. Now I can see that it's the ginger girl from District 5. She isn't carrying a pack, nor a weapon, and she hasn't acted overly aggressive in the Games but I can't help but be anxious that she'll attack.