To Kill A Mockingjay

Chapter 3

For a second I have a stupid fear that Thresh has died, but he's there whipping his head from side to side in search of a threat.

"Who do you think that was?" I ask him

"I'd say either the Lover Boy from 12 or the Ginger from 5," he replies, "the careers will be in their base camp or hunting."

"It was probably Peeta," I mumble, thinking back to what Katniss told me. "12," I add, seeing the Confusion on his face.

We start walking again, and by now the sun is peeking over the mountains, but it's well up high when we reach the edge of the forest. I can see the grassland from here; it's about half a mile away.

"Look, this can be a rendezvous point," I say, pointing to a large, distinct boulder with green and red streaks.

"Okay, so if we hear a cannon or a feast announcement, we come back here." He half says, half asks.

"Yeah," I confirm.

We say goodbye awkwardly, and I climb a tree high up to regain a few hours of sleep. I belt myself in a nice sturdy branch, but I hang the pack in the branch next to me. It's too hot for the sleeping bag. I don't recall falling asleep, but I do recall waking up. It's afternoon, and a baby Mockingjay is shuffling around my feet. I sing the beginning of the Hanging Tree to it, and the novice easily picks up my song.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man
They say who murdered three?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where a dead man called out
For his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree

This song calms me. It was written almost 70 years ago by a Hunger Games Victor named Lucy Gray Baird. She was tied to her district, of course, but her music was so amazing it managed to travel from district to district through the mouths of officials, peacekeepers, or Mockingjays.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run
So we'd both be free?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree

More mockingjays have arrived, so I keep singing. why not? No one can reach me here. I left the bow and arrows in Katniss's body; I have no use for them, so now the careers here have no long-range weapons while I could kill them all with my slingshot.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope
Side by side with me
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree

I hear the snap of a branch. Perfect. I ready my slingshot but the underbrush is silent now. Must have been a rabbit, I think, until I see the strand of bright red hair. I can barely make it out through the tiny little holes between the branches and leaves of a bush.
Peeta Mellark is dead. I didn't know him, but a lump still forms in my throat. I watch quietly as the ginger stalks away. Who am I kidding? I can hardly kill a fly!
As night falls, I search my pack for dinner, have a good amount of greens and berries, plus some groosling. a fine meal, I guess. I take a bite off the groosling but spit it out almost immediately. The meat is too soft, too squishy, and tastes too strange, not at all like groosling. The animal has begun to decompose; maybe it's still safe to eat, but I'm not taking any chances. I fling the dead thing away and work my way through some nuts and berries instead but my stomach is upset. I don't feel like eating even though I am very well emaciated. and cold now, so I unroll up the sleeping bag and tuck myself in. Heaviness takes over before it can help it.

I'm cold. as if wind is in my face. then scratches, then pain. The wind is knocked out of me as I land on my stomach. It takes me a second to realize I fell out of my branch, and another one to realize that the one that caught me is cracking. I fumble out of the sleeping bag and jump to a fork in the trunk just in time. The branch cracks and snaps to the ground and traps my sleeping under it. I look ten feet up, and I can see my pack hanging up in a small branch. I don't think I broke anything, but I'm sore all over. I know it's not smart, but I climb down to retrieve the bag. It takes a while, but I manage to move the branch and recover the sleeping bag, then, like following a command, I scurry up the tree like a little squirrel. Dawn is incoming, and I want more sleep. I make sure I belt myself in this time, but something keeps me awake. The happiness the singing caused me is gone, replaced by the grief for Katniss and, strangely enough, for Peeta. I don't feel like doing anything, so I stay high up in this tree. I'm not safe no matter what; this is the arena after all, so here's as good as anywhere. I get up at what by the position of the sun I judge to be about 10:00 a.m. I decide to make a schedule for the uneventful days.

Dawn: Wake up/breakfast

Dawn-noon: Hunt and gather

Noon: Lunch

Noon-Dusk: Search for water

Dusk: Dinner

Nightly death toll: Bed

During the day I manage to hunt a groosling and find a small pond very near my rendezvous point with Thresh. The next day is as uneventful as the last, at least until noon. That's when I hear the trumpets.

"Attention, tributes. Attention. There will be a feast tomorrow at dawn. To be clear, the feast is a treat for all tributes. And only for all tributes. The bounty will be whatever each of you needs most," Claudius Templesmith's voice says.

Hmm, I don't really need anything. I'm good with weapons, food, and water. Then, I realize, The target is Thresh