【饥饿游戏】52

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 1 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.
There’s no time to judge if a move is the correct one. When
there’s a hiss 2, 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 3 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 4, but I can’t worry about that now.
How long I scramble 5 along dodging 6 the fireballs I can’t say,
but the attacks finally begin to abate 7. Which is good, because
I’m retching again. This time it’s an acidic substance that
scalds my throat and makes its way into my nose as well. I’m
forced to stop as my body convulses, trying desperately 8 to rid
itself of the poisons I’ve been sucking in during the attack. I
wait for the next hiss, the next signal to bolt. It doesn’t come.
The force of the retching has squeezed tears out of my stinging
eyes. My clothes are drenched 9 in sweat. Somehow,
through the smoke and vomit 10, I pick up the scent 11 of singed 13
hair. My hand fumbles 14 to my braid and finds a fireball has
seared off at least six inches of it. Strands 15 of blackened hair
crumble 16 in my fingers. I stare at them, fascinated by the 
transformation 17, when the hissing 18 registers.
My muscles react, only not fast enough this time. The fireball
crashes into the ground at my side, but not before it skids 19
across my right calf 20. Seeing my pants leg on fire sends me over
the edge. I twist and scuttle 21 backward on my hands and feet,
shrieking 22, trying to remove myself from the horror. When I finally
regain 23 enough sense, I roll the leg back and forth 24 on the
ground, which stifles 25 the worst of it. But then, without thinking,
I rip away the remaining fabric 26 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.
I’m shaking too hard to move. If the Gamemakers want to
finish me off, now is the time.
I hear Cinna’s voice, carrying images of rich fabric and
sparkling gems 27. “Katniss, the girl who was on fire.” What a
good laugh the Gamemakers must be having over that one.
Perhaps, Cinna’s beautiful costumes have even brought on this
particular torture for me. I know he couldn’t 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 28 naked in that
chariot would have been safer for me.
The attack is now over. The Gamemakers don’t 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 29 black clouds.
Another light, daylight, begins to softly emerge. Swirls 30 of
smoke catch the sunbeams. My visibility is poor. I can see
maybe fifteen yards in any direction. A tribute could easily be
concealed 31 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 compete 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.
I’m so weary I don’t even notice I’m in the pool until I’m
ankle-deep. It’s spring-fed, bubbling up out of a crevice 32 in
some rocks, and blissfully cool. I plunge 33 my hands into the
shallow water and feel instant relief. Isn’t 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 34 burns. 
Probably she’d recommend it for my hands. But what of my 
calf? Although I have not yet had the courage to examine it, 
I’m guessing that it’s an injury in a whole different class.
I lie on my stomach at edge of the pool for a while, dangling 35
my hands in the water, examining the little flames on my 
fingernails that are beginning to chip off. Good. I’ve had 
enough fire for a lifetime.
rigged adj. 作弊的，以不正当手段操纵的
vipers n. 毒蛇
retching n. 干呕；恶心
scalds n. 烫伤（scald的复数）
convulse vt. 震撼；使剧烈震动；使抽搐
singe 12 n. 烧焦；烤焦
crevice n. 裂缝；裂隙