the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第25部分

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and　water　bottle　are　already　in　the　bag。　I　shove　in　the　belt；　hoist　the　bag　over　my　shoulder；　and　flee。
The　world　has　transformed　to　flame　and　smoke。　Burning　branches　crack　from　trees　and　fall　in　showers　of　sparks　at　my　feet。　All　I　can　do　is　follow　the　others；　the　rabbits　and　deer　and　I　even　spot　a　wild　dog　pack　shooting　through　the　woods。　I　trust　their　sense　of　direction　because　their　instincts　are　sharper　than　mine。　But　they　are　much　faster；　flying　through　the　underbrush　so　gracefully　as　my　boots　catch　on　roots　and　fallen　tree　limbs；　that　thereˇs　no　way　I　can　keep　apace　with　them。
The　heat　is　horrible；　but　worse　than　the　heat　is　the　smoke；　which　threatens　to　suffocate　me　at　any　moment。　I　pull　the　top　of　my　shirt　up　over　my　nose；　grateful　to　find　it　soaked　in　sweat；　and　it　offers　a　thin　veil　of　protection。　And　I　run；　choking；　my　bag　banging　against　my　back；　my　face　cut　with　branches　that　materialize　from　the　gray　haze　without　warning；　because　I　know　I　am　supposed　to　run。
This　was　no　tributeˇs　campfire　gone　out　of　control；　no　accidental　occurrence。　The　flames　that　bear　down　on　me　have　an　unnatural　height；　a　uniformity　that　marks　them　as　humanmade；　machine…made；　Gamemaker…made。　Things　have　been　too　quiet　today。　No　deaths；　perhaps　no　fights　at　all。　The　audience　in　the　Capitol　will　be　getting　bored；　claiming　that　these　Games　are　verging　on　dullness。　This　is　the　one　thing　the　Games　must　not　do。
Itˇs　not　hard　to　follow　the　Gamemakersˇ　motivation。　There　is　the　Career　pack　and　then　there　are　the　rest　of　us；　probably　spread　far　and　thin　across　the　arena。　This　fire　is　designed　to　flush　us　out；　to　drive　us　together。　It　may　not　be　the　most　original　device　Iˇve　seen；　but　itˇs　very；　very　effective。　
I　hurdle　over　a　burning　log。　Not　high　enough。　The　tail　end　of　my　jacket　catches　on　fire　and　I　have　to　stop　to　rip　it　from　my　body　and　stamp　out　the　flames。　But　I　donˇt　dare　leave　the　jacket；　scorched　and　smoldering　as　it　is；　I　take　the　risk　of　shoving　it　in　my　sleeping　bag；　hoping　the　lack　of　air　will　quell　what　I　havenˇt　extinguished。　This　is　all　I　have；　what　I　carry　on　my　back；　and　itˇs　little　enough　to　survive　with。
In　a　matter　of　minutes；　my　throat　and　nose　are　burning。　The　coughing　begins　soon　after　and　my　lungs　begin　to　feel　as　if　they　are　actually　being　cooked。　Disfort　turns　to　distress　until　each　breath　sends　a　searing　pain　through　my　chest。　I　manage　to　take　cover　under　a　stone　outcropping　just　as　the　vomiting　begins；　and　I　lose　my　meager　supper　and　whatever　water　has　remained　in　my　stomach。　Crouching　on　my　hands　and　knees；　I　retch　until　thereˇs　nothing　left　to　e　up。
I　know　I　need　to　keep　moving；　but　Iˇm　trembling　and　lightheaded　now；　gasping　for　air。　I　allow　myself　about　a　spoonful　of　water　to　rinse　my　mouth　and　spit　then　take　a　few　swallows　from　my　bottle。　You　get　one　minute；　I　tell　myself。　One　minute　to　rest。　I　take　the　time　to　reorder　my　supplies；　wad　up　the　sleeping　bag；　and　messily　stuff　everything　into　the　backpack。　My　minuteˇs　up。　I　know　itˇs　time　to　move　on；　but　the　smoke　has　clouded　my　thoughts。　The　swift…footed　animals　that　were　my　pass　have　left　me　behind。　I　know　I　havenˇt　been　in　this　part　of　the　woods　before；　there　were　no　sizable　rocks　like　the　one　Iˇm　sheltering　against　on　my　earlier　travels。　Where　are　the　Gamemakers　driving　me？　Back　to　the　lake？　To　a　whole　new　terrain　filled　with　new　dangers？　I　had　just　found　a　few　hours　of　peace　at　the　pond　when　this　attack　began。　Would　there　be　any　way　I　could　travel　parallel　to　the　fire　and　work　my　way　back　there；　to　a　source　of　water　at　least？　The　wall　of　fire　must　have　an　end　and　it　wonˇt　burn　indefinitely。　Not　because　the　Gamemakers　couldnˇt　keep　it　fueled　but　because；　again；　that　would　invite　accusations　of　boredom　from　the　audience。　If　I　could　get　back　behind　the　fire　line；　I　could　avoid　meeting　up　with　the　Careers。　Iˇve　just　decided　to　try　and　loop　back　around；　although　it　iles　of　travel　away　from　the　inferno　and　then　a　very　circuitous　route　back；　when　the　first　fireball　blasts　into　the　rock　about　two　feet　from　my　head。　I　spring　out　from　under　my　ledge；　energized　by　renewed　fear。
The　game　has　taken　a　twist。　The　fire　was　just　to　get　us　moving；　now　the　audience　will　get　to　see　some　real　fun。　When　I　hear　the　next　hiss；　I　flatten　on　the　ground；　not　taking　time　to　look。　The　fireball　hits　a　tree　off　to　my　left；　engulfing　it　in　flames。　To　remain　still　is　death。　Iˇm　barely　on　my　feet　before　the　third　ball　hits　the　ground　where　I　was　lying；　sending　a　pillar　of　fire　up　behind　me。　Time　loses　meaning　now　as　I　frantically　try　to　dodge　the　attacks。　I　canˇt　see　where　theyˇre　being　launched　from；　but　itˇs　not　a　hovercraft。　The　angles　are　not　extreme　enough。　Probably　this　whole　segment　of　the　woods　has　been　armed　with　precision　launchers　that　are　concealed　in　trees　or　rocks。　Somewhere；　in　a　cool　and　spotless　room；　a　Gamemaker　sits　at　a　set　of　controls；　fingers　on　the　triggers　that　could　end　my　life　in　a　second。　All　that　is　needed　is　a　direct　hit。
Whatever　vague　plan　I　had　conceived　regarding　returning　to　my　pond　is　wiped　from　my　mind　as　I　zigzag　and　dive　and　leap　to　avoid　the　fireballs。　Each　one　is　only　the　size　of　an　apple；　but　packs　tremendous　power　on　contact。　Every　sense　I　have　goes　into　overdrive　as　the　need　to　survive　takes　over。　Thereˇs　no　time　to　judge　if　a　move　is　the　correct　one。　When　thereˇs　a　hiss；　I　act　or　die。
Something　keeps　me　moving　forward；　though。　A　lifetime　of　watching　the　Hunger　Games　lets　me　know　that　certain　areas　of　the　arena　are　rigged　for　certain　attacks。　And　that　if　I　can　just　get　away　from　this　section；　I　might　be　able　to　move　out　of　reach　of　the　launchers。　I　might　also　then　fall　straight　into　a　pit　of　vipers；　but　I　canˇt　worry　about　that　now。
How　long　I　scramble　along　dodging　the　fireballs　I　canˇt　say；　but　the　attacks　finally　begin　to　abate。　Which　is　good；　because　Iˇm　retching　again。　This　time　itˇs　an　acidic　substance　that　scalds　my　throat　and　makes　its　way　into　my　nose　as　well。　Iˇm　forced　to　stop　as　my　body　convulses；　trying　desperately　to　rid　itself　of　the　poisons　Iˇve　been　sucking　in　during　the　attack。　I　wait　for　the　next　hiss；　the　next　signal　to　bolt。　It　doesnˇt　e。　The　force　of　the　retching　has　squeezed　tears　out　of　my　stinging　eyes。　My　clothes　are　drenched　in　sweat。　Somehow；　through　the　smoke　and　vomit；　I　pick　up　the　scent　of　singed　hair。　My　hand　fumbles　to　my　braid　and　finds　a　fireball　has　seared　off　at　least　six　inches　of　it。　Strands　of　blackened　hair　crumble　in　my　fingers。　I　stare　at　them；　fascinated　by　the　transformation；　when　the　hissing　registers。
My　muscles　react；　only　not　fast　enough　this　time。　The　fireball　crashes　into　the　ground　at　my　side；　but　not　before　it　skids　across　my　right　calf。　Seeing　my　pants　leg　on　fire　sends　me　over　the　edge。　I　twist　and　scuttle　backward　on　my　hands　and　feet；　shrieking；　trying　to　remove　myself　from　the　horror。　When　I　finally　regain　enough　sense；　I　roll　the　leg　back　and　forth　on　the　ground；　which　stifles　the　worst　of　it。　But　then；　without　thinking；　I　rip　away　the　remaining　fabric　with　my　bare　hands。
I　sit　on　the　ground；　a　few　yards　from　the　blaze　set　off　by　the　fireball。　My　calf　is　screaming；　my　hands　covered　in　red　welts。　Iˇm　shaking　too　hard　to　move。　If　the　Gamemakers　want　to　finish　me　off；　now　is　the　time。
I　hear　Cinnaˇs　voice；　carrying　images　of　rich　fabric　and　sparkling　gems。　¨Katniss；　the　girl　who　was　on　fire。〃　What　a　good　laugh　the　Gamemakers　must　be　having　over　that　one。　Perhaps；　Cinnaˇs　beautiful　costumes　have　even　brought　on　this　particular　torture　for　me。　I　know　he　couldnˇt　have　foreseen　this；　must　be　hurting　for　me　because；　in　fact；　I　believe　he　cares　about　me。　But　all　in　all；　maybe　showing　up　stark　naked　in　that　chariot　would　have　been　safer　for　me。
The　attack　is　now　over。　The　Gamemakers　donˇt　want　me　dead。　Not　yet　anyway。　Everyone　knows　they　could　destroy　us　all　within　seconds　of　the　opening　gong。　The　real　sport　of　the　Hunger　Games　is　watching　the　tributes　kill　one　another。　Every　so　often；　they　do　kill　a　tribute　just　to　remind　the　players　they　can。　But　mostly；　they　manipulate　us　into　confronting　one　another　face…to…face。　Which　means；　if　I　am　no　longer　being　fired　at；　there　is　at　least　one　other　tribute　close　at　hand。　
I　would　drag　myself　into　a　tree　and　take　cover　now　if　I　could；　but　the　smoke　is　still　thick　enough　to　kill　me。　I　make　myself　stand　and　begin　to　limp　away　from　the　wall　of　flames　that　lights　up　the　sky。　It　does　not　seem　to　be　pursuing　me　any　longer；　except　with　its　stinking　black　clouds。　
Another　light；　daylight；　begins　to　softly　emerge。　Swirls　of　smoke　catch　the　sunbeams。　My　visibility　is　poor。　I　can　see　maybe　fifteen　yards　in　any　direction。　A　tribute　could　easily　be　concealed　from　me　here。　I　should　draw　my　knife　as　a　precaution；　but　I　doubt　my　ability　to　hold　it　for　long。　The　pain　in　my　hands　can　in　no　way　pete　with　that　in　my　calf。　I　hate　burns；　have　always　hated　them；　even　a　small　one　gotten　from　pulling　a　pan　of　bread　from　the　oven。　It　is　the　worst　kind　of　pain　to　me；　but　I　have　never　experienced　anything　like　this。
Iˇm　so　weary　I　donˇt　even　notice　Iˇm　in　the　pool　until　Iˇm　ankle…deep。　Itˇs　spring…fed；　bubbling　up　out　of　a　crevice　in　some　rocks；　and　blissfully　cool。　I　plunge　my　hands　into　the　shallow　water　and　feel　instant　relief。　Isnˇt　that　what　my　mother　always　says？　The　first　treatment　for　a　burn　is　cold　water？　That　it　draws　out　the　heat？　But　she　means　minor　burns。　Probably　sheˇd　remend　it　for　my　hands。　But　what　of　my　calf？　Although　I　have　not　yet　had　the　courage　to　examine　it；　Iˇm　guessing　that　itˇs　an　injury　in　a　whole　different　class。
I　lie　on　my　stomach　at　edge　of　the　pool　for　a　while；　dangling　my　hands　in　the　water；　examining　the　little　flames　on　my　fingernails　that　are　beginning　to　chip　off。　Good。　Iˇve　had　enough　fire　for　a　lifetime。
I　bathe　the　blood　and　ash　from　my　face。　I　try　to　recall　all　I　know　about　burns。　They　are　mon　injuries　in　the　Seam　where　we　cook　and　heat　our　homes　with　coal。　Then　there　are　the　mine　accidents。　。　。　。　A　family　once　brought　in　an　unconscious　young　man　pleading　with　my　mother　to　help　him。　The　district　doctor　whoˇs　responsible　for　treating　the　miners　had　written　him　off；　told　the　family　to　take　him　home　to　die。　But　they　wouldnˇt　accept　this。　He　lay　on　our　kitchen　table；　senseless　to　the　world。　I　got　a　glimp