Сьюзен Коллинз - The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Think , he told himself. Where would she go? The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. She would not want to battle him, armed with a rifle, when she had only a knife. She’d return to the lake house to get a gun herself. Perhaps she’d circled around him and was headed there right now. He strained his ears and yes. Yes! He thought he could hear someone moving off to his right, retreating to the lake. He started running toward the sound and then stopped abruptly. Sure enough, having heard him, she was flying through the underbrush, realizing what he had realized, no longer caring if he heard her. He estimated her to be about ten yards away, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and released a spray of bullets in her direction. A flock of birds squawked as they took to the air, and he heard a faint cry. Got you , he thought. He crashed through the woods after her, branches and thorns catching his clothes and scratching his face, ignoring all of it until he came to the spot where he’d guessed her to be. There was no trace of her. No matter. She would have to move again, and when she moved, he’d find her.

“Lucy Gray,” he said in his normal voice. “Lucy Gray. It’s not too late to work something out.” Of course, it was, but he owed her nothing. Certainly not the truth. “Lucy Gray, won’t you talk to me?”

Her voice surprised him, lifting suddenly and sweetly into the air.

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 up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Yes, I get it , he thought. You know about Sejanus. “Necklace of rope” and all that.

He took a step in her direction just as a mockingjay picked up her song. Then a second. Then a third. The woods came alive with their melody as dozens joined in. He dove through the trees and then opened fire on the spot the voice had come from. Had he hit her? He couldn’t tell, because the birdsong filled his ears, disorienting him. Little black specks swam in his field of vision, and his arm began to throb. “Lucy Gray!” he bellowed in frustration. Clever, devious, deadly girl. She knew they’d cover for her. He lifted the rifle and machine-gunned the trees, trying to wipe out the birds. Many fluttered into the sky, but the song had spread, and the woods were alive with it. “Lucy Gray! Lucy Gray!” Furious, he turned this way and that and finally blasted the woods in a full circle, going around and around until his bullets were spent. He collapsed on the ground, dizzy and nauseous, as the woods exploded, every bird of every kind screaming its head off while the mockingjays continued their rendition of “The Hanging Tree.” Nature gone mad. Genes gone bad. Chaos.

He had to get out of there. His arm had begun to swell. He had to get back to the base. Forcing himself to his feet, he tramped back to the lake. Everything in the house remained as he had left it. At least he’d prevented her from getting back. Using a pair of his socks as gloves, he wiped off the murder weapon, crammed all the weapons back in the burlap bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and ran to the lake. Judging it heavy enough to sink without being weighted down with rocks, he plunged into the lake and towed it out into deeper water. He submerged the bag and watched it spiral slowly down into the gloom.

An alarming tingling enveloped his arm. A clumsy dog paddle carried him back to shore, and he staggered back to the house. What of the supplies? Should he drown those as well? No point. Either she was dead and the Covey would find them, or she was alive and she would hopefully use them to escape. He threw the fish into the fire to burn and left, closing the door tightly behind him.

The rain began again, a real downpour. He expected it would wash away any trace of his visit. The guns were gone. The supplies were Lucy Gray’s. The only thing that remained were his footprints, and those were melting before his eyes. The clouds seemed to be infiltrating his brain. He struggled to think. Get back. You must get back to base. But where was it? He pulled his father’s compass from his pocket, amazed it still worked after the dunking in the lake. Crassus Snow was still out there somewhere, still protecting him.

Coriolanus clung to the compass, a lifeline in the storm, as he headed south. He stumbled through the woods, terrified and alone but feeling his father’s presence beside him. Crassus might not have thought much of him, but he’d have wanted his legacy to live on, and perhaps Coriolanus had redeemed himself somewhat today? None of it would matter if the venom killed him. He stopped to vomit, wishing he’d brought along the jug of water. He vaguely realized that his DNA would be on that, too, but who cared? The jug was not a murder weapon. It didn’t matter. He was safe. If the Covey found Lucy Gray’s body, they wouldn’t report it. They wouldn’t want the attention it brought. It might connect them to the rebels or reveal their hideout. If there was a body. He could not even confirm he’d hit her.

Coriolanus made it back. Not to the hanging tree, exactly, but to District 12, wandering out of a stretch of trees into a clump of miners’ hovels and somehow finding the road. The ground shook with thunder, and lightning slashed the sky as he reached the town square. He saw no one as he made it to the base and climbed back through the fence. He went straight to the clinic, claiming he’d stopped to tie his shoe on his way to the gym, when a snake had appeared out of nowhere to bite him.

The doctor nodded. “The rain brings them out.”

“Does it?” Coriolanus thought his story would have been challenged, or at least met with skepticism.

The doctor did not seem suspicious. “Did you get a look at it?”

“Not really. It was raining, and it moved fast,” he answered. “Am I going to die?”

“Hardly,” the doctor chuckled. “It wasn’t even venomous. See the teeth marks? No fangs. Going to be sore for a few days, though.”

“Are you sure? I threw up, and I couldn’t think straight,” he said.

“Well, panic can do that.” She cleaned the wound. “Probably leave a scar.”

Good , thought Coriolanus. It will remind me to be more careful.

She gave him several shots and a bottle of pills. “Come by tomorrow, and we’ll check it again.”

“Tomorrow I’m being reassigned to District Two,” replied Coriolanus.

“Visit the clinic there, then,” she said. “Good luck, soldier.”

Coriolanus went back to his room, shocked to find it was only midafternoon. Between the booze and the rain, his bunkmates had never even risen. He went to the bathroom and emptied his pockets. The lake water had reduced his mother’s rose-scented powder to a nasty paste, and he threw the whole thing in the trash. The photos stuck together and shredded when he tried to separate them, so they went the way of the powder. Only the compass had survived the outing. He peeled off his clothes and scrubbed off the last bits of the lake. When he’d dressed, he took down his duffel and began to pack, returning the compass to his box of personal items and stowing it deep in the bag. On reflection, he opened Sejanus’s locker and took his box as well. When he got to District 2, he’d mail it to the Plinths with a note of condolence. That would be appropriate as Sejanus’s best friend. And who knew? Maybe the cookies would keep coming.

The following morning, after a tearful good-bye from his bunkmates, he boarded the hovercraft for District Two. Things improved immediately. The plush seat. The attendant. The beverage selection. Not luxurious, by any means, but a far cry from the recruit train. Comforted by comfort, he leaned his temple against the window, hoping to get in a nap. All night, while the rain had drummed on the barrack’s roof, he’d wondered where Lucy Gray was. Dead in the rain? Curled up by the fire in the lake house? If she’d survived, surely she’d abandoned the idea of returning to District 12. He dozed off with the melody to “The Hanging Tree” humming in his brain, and awoke hours later as the hovercraft touched down.