So, apparently I'm writing Hunger Games fanfic now. I settled down to write one of my Twifics, went to write a note about a vague idea I had, and 10 pages and a couple of hours later I had this. My muse is a law unto herself.
Thank you to rainsoakedhello and larameau for prereading this, your comments really helped.
If this is the first thing you've read of mine because you don't venture into Twiland (or you love Twific but you've never heard of me), all relevant links are on my profile.
Ashes
It's a normal night of abnormal dreams. I know the Quell is causing them; I've never before heard of chemicals that fall like rain and burn your skin away before I saw it happening on television, yet now in my sleep I'm blistering and raw.
At first I think that Papa is shaking me awake because I've been screaming, but the quiet terror on his face chases all traces of slumber from me.
"Madge, you need to get up."
"What is it?" I whisper, scrambling out of bed to find my mother handing me a pile of clothes. Hardwearing clothes too: denim pants, a woolen sweater and a pair of sturdy boots. For once she seems to have rejoined the living world, and she's regretting it. The shadows under her eyes don't come close to contesting the shadows behind her eyes.
"The peacekeepers have left the District. A hovercraft came for them about ten minutes ago," Papa says.
"Left?" Though adrenaline is pulsing through me, my brain is still fuzzy and slow to piece things together. "Why would they leave after what happened today?"
"To get to safety before the Capitol arrives. Now, listen to me, sweetheart. I need you to do what I ask." I am listening, nodding to show I'll do whatever he wants, but inside I'm shaking with pure, white shock. The Capitol is coming? I understand what he isn't saying. They're bringing war to District 12.
"I promise, Papa."
"We've turned the electric fence off so people can get into the woods. Gale is here and he's been rousing other families. You're to go with him."
"Okay." Then it hits me, what he isn't saying. "Are you...why are you not coming?"
"We'll follow when we can."
"But why aren't you coming now?"
"Sweetheart, we don't know how long it will be until the Capitol arrives." Again, there's that euphemism. He's saying 'the Capitol' but he means war machines, bombs, fire. Death. "We don't know how many people will get to safety before they do. Until everyone else is out of District Twelve, I have to say here. We can use the shelter under the house if we need to."
My throat is tight with pain and tears I have to swallow back. I want to believe his confident words but his tone belies them. He's not confident at all.
"I don't want to leave you, Papa," I whisper.
"It will only be for a little while. I have a duty to the people of the District and I can't abandon them just because I'm afraid. We'll see you again, I promise."
The sobs I'm holding back are convulsing my stomach and I clutch at the pile of clothes like they're a life belt, the only thing keeping me connected to my family.
Mother starts helping me undress and Papa makes himself scarce while I change. These few moments help me gather myself. I'm handed a small backpack, filled with whatever could be rustled up from the pantry.
I'm corralled downstairs, my brain still disconnected from whatever my body's doing, and there are Gale and two of his brothers, themselves packing up food from our cupboards. "I've heard other people are creating new ones too, so there's more space for people to get out."
"Derrick has gone ahead and reopened the old gap in the fence," Gale is saying to Papa.
"Have you got everything you need?"
"As much as we can hope for." Gale looks at me and nods, a terse movement of the head that isn't a greeting, more of an acknowledgement of the gravity of the situation we are in. He doesn't smile. I doubt he can. The survival of so many people seems to have fallen to him tonight, but then survival is what he's good at. The only person better at it is Katniss.
"We should be going, if you're ready," he says.
I can't reply. Suddenly I'm in Papa's arms and I can feel his chest quaking against mine with the sobs he has to contain.
"I love you, sweetheart. You stay with Gale and he'll keep you safe." I don't want to let go. Only a soft voice at my ear makes me turn.
"Madge," Mother says quietly. "I want you to have something." I pull away from Papa to take whatever it is from her outstretched hand. It's a Mockingjay pin, identical to the one I gave to Katniss.
"Where - ?"
"The one you used to have belonged to your aunt. This one is mine and I want you to have it. I want you to wear it until we see each other again." I'm in her arms and crying a fresh bout of tears. Gale shuffles awkwardly beside us and she releases me, sealing the pin into my grasp by curling my fingers over it.
I'm swept out of the room in a flurry of activity. There isn't time to say the word "goodbye" to anyone and I've gone to that quiet place inside that always emerges after tears. The night air cools my hot cheeks, sharp and fresh in comparison.
The streets aren't in the frenzy I would expect – some people are stood in doorways watching our small procession, and you can hear preparations going on inside some of the houses we pass. Still some homes remain dark and quiet, their inhabitants apparently asleep.
"Why aren't we waking everyone?" I ask Gale.
"Other people are doing it. Some people have refused to believe us and some people want to wait until morning before they do anything. We're getting out of here now."
We've reached the gap in the fence. There aren't many of us – Gale's family, Katniss' and Peeta's, plus a few families of the men that helped Gale in the uprising. I recognize Derrick, a burly man who is as quiet and intense as Gale himself.
I don't understand why I'm here with them. Everyone is from the Seam, and I'm the Mayor's daughter.
Of course. I'm here because of Papa. He's given them warning in exchange for my escape. He's made bargains so I will be safe.
I don't like the thought but I promised him that I would go with Gale, and however afraid I am of leaving him behind, I'm more afraid of what's going to happen to District 12.
We slip through the fence one by one. Gale is the last through and as we begin our march to the tree line he hisses. "Can you hear that?" he asks.
We all stop and listen. His ears were quicker to catch it but in the silence it's clear – the thrum of a hovercraft. Only this isn't one thrum, it's many, like the anger of a swarm of Trackerjackers.
Gale curses. "Run." And we do.
There's no light except for soft swell of the moon and that's quickly swallowed up when we're under the branches. Gale is in the lead and it's all any of us can do to keep pace with him, trusting that he knows where he's leading us. It hurts, all too quickly it hurts, my breath burning in my lungs and my legs screaming for rest, but that ever-increasing buzzing pushes us all on. We only slow when someone stumbles, reaching out to grab them and pull them back up. When it is my turn to tumble, my hands break my fall, but I feel the sharp scratch of wood on my palms as they do.
We inevitably slow to a jog, then a march but even with the distance we've put behind us, we need more and we know it. Light is filtering through the canopy overhead. Dawn is approaching.
It seems Gale is following a very particular path. We pass a lake and then trace the edge of the stream that feeds it. Dimly I register that water is useful if we need to live out here.
I have no idea how to survive. The forest is an alien place to me. I've spent my entire life in District 12 and now I'm in a landscape of black trunks that rise above me, spreading a dark veil above my head and reaching low, spindly limbs out towards me. I'm surrounded. The ground is soft and there are noises I don't understand – scratching and clicking and rustling. It's too loud, even over the rasp of my own breathing. I'm wishing that I'd spoken to Katniss more. She knows how to survive in the woods and now that's the most important thing in the world.
"Here," Gale says finally. "We can rest here."
I'm not sure where 'here' is until my eyes adjust to see the particular group of shadows before us. The shapes are too regular compared to the organic chaos around us, and as my eyes follow the straight lines I understand what it is - a house. It's smaller than any you'd find in the Seam - I'm not sure how we'll all fit in it. There are no windows or door, just gaping holes where they once were. The roof is thick with growth, inches of moss and greenery, but still it is a roof.
"I wonder why this is here," someone says. A woman. The words are loud even against the constant backdrop of noise. I feel like telling her that we must be quiet or the Capitol will hear us, but I know that's not true. We must be a few miles from home by now. I'm not sure how far a mile is, except that District 12 was less than a mile across, and the amount of ground we've covered must be more than that.
I drop my bag to the dirty floor and sink to it myself. There is, perhaps, a blanket inside and I know that I will end up shivering if I try to sleep without one. It doesn't matter. I don't think I can sleep anyway.
In the distance, the first boom sounds.
Silence reigns in our little house.
The first blast is followed by another. And another. Then the night is alive with a constant barrage of harsh explosions.
It feels like the ground should be rocking under my feet, but it is still. I cling to the floor anyway as if the world is shaking around me. In a way it is – the peace of my life has been ripped away to be replaced by this. Everything I've ever known may not survive the night. In the end the only thing I can do is curl into a ball and cover my hands with my ears. I'm not the only one employing this tactic but I'm probably the oldest. The younger children cry and Prim Everdeen is rocking her mother.
I'm the only one here without a family.
I retrieve the Mockingjay pin from my pocket and clutch it to my chest. The metal is warm from being so close to my body. Holding it hurts my grazed palms, but not holding it hurts more. It's the only thing I have left of my parents. If I could be rocking my mother like Prim is, then I would.
The bombs continue through the brightening of dawn. A few people – Gale and his mother and, surprisingly, Prim – get on with things even as the sounds continue to ricochet from the walls and the rest of us sit in stunned shock. Prim ensures there is food by sharing out some of the provisions we've brought. Gale goes out to set snares, taking one brother to teach him.
"No time like the present," I hear him mutter.
A few men begin collecting wood and building a fire inside – apparently there's a hearth still in place and they decide to risk using the chimney since the smoke should be absorbed by the trees. Gale's mother – I realize I don't know the names of most people here - fetches water from the stream and boils it, then passes it around in a water skin.
I eat the food put in front of me because I hope it will fill the achy void in belly, but it doesn't help. My body is sore from last night's flight and I'd like a hot bath but I suspect I'll never have one again.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I always thought rebellion would be something carefully planned, building gradually to a perfectly orchestrated final act. What happened in District 12 wasn't like that at all.
I came home from school on the second day of the Quell to find that the miners had gone on strike, inspired by the way the tributes were working together.
We knew even then what was happening in the Games. The seeds were sewn before the tributes even left the district, courtesy of a loose-lipped Haymitch. By the end of the first day, whispers had become brave, bold conversations in public places, and word spread about what Haymitch was doing.
I sought Gale out when I heard about the strike, just to hear it from him. He said that he'd gone to Haymitch the night before they left for the Quell and begged him to bring Katniss back alive. Haymitch loves his secrets but whatever Gale told him obviously moved him to some form of pity, and he let Gale in on the plan. He needed a man on the ground in District 12 anyway. Perhaps this was all part of his plan: to inspire a rebellion.
The problem was that the Peacekeepers knew who to go to when the strike entered its second day. They dragged Gale away from the picket line and marched him all the way to the whipping post. What they weren't expecting was the mutiny awaiting them. Gale, with his back still scarred from his last encounter with the whip, kept his head high and refused to apologize for his crimes. He took the first few kicks – those that earned him the bruised ribs – with grim defiance.
This time, people stepped forward to stop it.
I'm told the fight was quick. The peacekeepers were no match for the angry crowds of the Seam and they were chased back to their compound. Mockingjays went up all over town, painted on walls and over the flag of Panem.
That was last night. The peacekeepers left as soon as they could, and called on the Capitol to make an example of us.
I don't realize I've slept until I wake up. Someone has wrapped me in blanket and placed a sweater under my head to act as a pillow.
The first thing I'm aware of is the silence. It's still that not-quite-quiet silence of the forest, but there's an absence of something. My ears are ringing with it.
"They've stopped," I say. It's the first words I've said in hours and my throat burns in protest.
"Yes, they stopped a little while ago." Prim is crouched next to me, holding out a water skin. "Gale and Derrick are going back to see what it looks like." She says the words casually but I can see her flinch at the thought. She's left people behind too. What's left of her family might be here, but everyone will know people in the District that didn't make it out – people they went to school with, or worked with, or traded with, or lived next to their entire lives. No matter how many people escaped, and no matter how little damage the Capitol has done, we will all have lost someone.
I'm on my feet, having chugged back the contents of the skin. My throat is grateful but wouldn't say no to more. "I'm going with them."
"Don't be ridiculous," Gale says, ducking back inside the cottage through the low doorframe. "We have no idea what we're going to find. It's not safe for you to come."
"Then I'll follow you." My words don't have the strength that I want them to but then I don't have much strength left; there's nothing to galvanize them given how empty I feel.
"What happens if they've left peacekeepers all around? You won't be armed."
"Will you?"
"Doesn't matter. I know how to hide and I can outrun them."
"If I stay with you, then I'll be hidden too."
He looks like he wants to say more but his mother beckons him over to whisper in his ear. They have a low, hissed debate and eventually he swears loudly and turns back to face me.
"You can come, but you need to do whatever I say."
I nod and follow him out of the door. It's only an extension of my promise to Papa. "We'll be back before dark," he says over his shoulder.
The forest is different in daylight, but still surreal compared to the uniform grayness of home. There are so many colors, each one a subtle variant on the last, and the noises more raucous during the day. What strikes me most though is the stench. I thought I could smell smoke because of the fire inside the cottage, but it surrounds me even out here, heavy in the air. I gasp and Derrick hands me another water skin.
"You might want to keep that close. The smoke's going to be heavy in the air for a few days – that much coal dust on fire will generate plenty of it."
I swallow down a sob as I realize what he means and what I'm breathing in, but we're already off, moving through undergrowth that seems determined to trip me and snare me. Gales doesn't seem to be having this problem. My legs are heavy from last night protest every step. I wish for clean, fresh air and a break from the acrid smoke but there's no respite and my lungs don't acclimatize.
We don't talk, saving our breath, and I focus on what I'm seeing so I don't think about what I'm about to see. The trees around us make me think of chemical rain, the kind I dreamed about, and I want out of this forest. I want to be back in my bed, and I want Papa to be waking me up from this nightmare.
Gale's pace slows and the light changes. The smoke is thick enough here that I can see it. We're walking through it. The sky is opening up, heavy and grey. He pulls an arrow from his quiver and holds his bow ready. I want to laugh at how absurd it is – one man with a bow and arrow against the might of the Capitol. Except I don't think I'll ever laugh again.
No-one jumps out at us. They probably couldn't see us in this fog anyway and it doesn't matter, because we're suddenly out of the tree line and I know, I know, that there was no need for them to leave guards behind what is left of District 12.
Because there is nothing left.
Yards from where we stand, the ground falls away, a ragged edge giving way to cracked and broken remains. The crater isn't that deep, but it's still a crater, a gaping wound in the earth where our homes once stood. Bricks and mortar, slabs of stone and slate and metal lie in charred, fragmented piles, fires still burning in their midst. Even through the ashes clouding the air, I can see this.
It's all gone. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone.
I don't even know that I'm on the grass until Gale's next to me, hugging me to his chest and rocking me as I let out great gasping sobs into his shoulder. We could be there for minutes or hours, but he keeps hold of me until my body is empty and I can cry no more. That gaping ache inside me is torn wide open, raw and hungry.
"They're gone, aren't they?" I gasp out, remembering Papa talking about the shelter beneath the house. The shelter might have protected them from some bombs, but this was complete and utter destruction. The shelters will have been swallowed by the weight of the houses tumbling around them…claustrophobia rises quick and brutal in me and I'm clawing at Gale, desperate for breath. He loosens his hold but doesn't release me, still rocking until I have no more tears to expel.
He rises and I'm left on the ground, sinking my hands into the grass for something, anything to hold onto. He's moving towards the crater to get a closer look and I want to get as far away from it as I can, yet I can't move.
The only things left standing in this landscape are a few posts of the electric fence, sturdy concrete pillars that lean at odds to the ground. They don't look stable – one even wobbles in the breeze. They are so close to the edge, where ground crumbles away to nothing, that if they were to topple over they would fall into it.
"Gale, don't be an idiot," says Derrick. "Come away. We should go; we've seen what we needed to see."
Gale turns but it's too late – one of the posts tilts and totters beside him, twisting towards the earth and the place where he is standing. He leaps out of the way in time, but its weight still drags him to the ground, pinning his arm beneath it.
I'm screaming but I'm running towards him as well, and Derrick is beside me. We're all hands for moments as we claw at the place where the post meets his arm, shoving without hope, but somehow we get him free.
His face is white, teeth set in a grimace, but he hasn't made a sound through the whole thing. He cradles his arm to his body and we help him to his feet, staggering back into the trees and away from the wreckage behind us.
The walk back to our hideout is hard going. I can't speak, not even to ask if he's alright, although Derrick's asked that plenty. Gales gives a typical non-committal grunt in response every time, but his gait is slower than it was.
It seems to take hours, darkness closing in on us from all sides. I want to sink into the undergrowth, into the shadows around my feet and stay there forever. I don't have the energy for this and the weight of the Mockingjay pin in my pocket is taunting me. Papa promised me that we would see each other again. I kept my promise to him and I'm wishing I hadn't. Surely wherever they are now has to be easier than this.
When we get back to the little house, I do curl up, hiding under my blanket to block out the world. I don't sleep, not really. I wish I could, but then maybe it's a blessing that I don't. After what I've seen today, who knows whether the visions I'm having would be worse in unconsciousness. I can still taste the ashes on my tongue. I will never forget the smell.
Days pass. I'm not sure how many. I move only to eat and drink, and rise only to go seek out a quiet part of the woods to relieve myself. Everyone is as somber as me, but they have each other to comfort. Gale's mother seems to have taken some form of responsibility for me, but she has enough to be dealing with, tending to Gale's arm. I hear Mrs. Everdeen say that it's strained and bruised but not broken, and she sends Prim out to search for medicinal herbs.
Gale doesn't let having his arm in a sling stop him. He's clearly in charge here: this is his territory. He disappears once every few hours, on his own and without saying where he's going. It's one of the few things I take notice of.
We're in limbo. Is this how the rest of our lives will pan out? Was rebellion worth this?
The first true sound I'm aware of is the hum – that dangerous thrum of a 'craft in the sky. It brings white-hot terror with it, the first emotion other than numb sorrow I've felt in days, and I'm not the only one. Mrs. Mellark is chanting in the corner: "They've found us." Someone has the sense to quell the fire, but it may be too late.
Gale comes tearing in moments later. "Come on everyone, we're on the move. The transports here."
He's bombarded by a barrage of questions from two dozen people and I want to cringe away from the noise, but he answers calmly, addressing everyone.
"The 'craft is ours," he says. "I arranged it all with Haymitch, in case something like this was to happen. It's going to take us to District Thirteen."
I want to tell him that District 13 doesn't exist, but it doesn't seem worth the energy. The cacophony continues as we collect our scattered belongings and follow him to a nearby clearing - everyone still has a clutch of questions about what is going on, since it now seems that Gale knew even more than we suspected he did. He's been in on this some time.
Getting to ride in a 'craft for the first time should be a thrill but my world is devoid of color. I wait my turn to grasp the ladder and as soon as I am frozen in place, I want to move. Fear clamps down around me and when I am released I am screaming, sobbing and I fall to the floor, curling up inside myself. I can hear Mrs. Everdeen and Gale's mother, then I feel a pinch on my arm and some measure of peace arrives.
Time passes and I awake in a concrete room, unsure of how I got here. I recognize Gale's little sister sleeping in a cot on the opposite wall to my bed. The door opens before I can shake the slumber free.
"We're in here," someone says. Mrs. Everdeen appears in the doorway. "We're with Hazell and Posy; the boys are in the other room." Prim is holding someone, her arm around their waist to support them, and it takes me a moment to recognize the slumped figure as Katniss.
She's scratched and thin and pale, but she's alive.
She's carried to another bed and I let her sleep. I'm exhausted but can't sleep anymore. I know that my unconsciousness was chemically induced. I'd remember the dreams if it hadn't been. I count the cracks in the wall so I can't think about what I've seen over the past few days.
Only when she wakes, staring stubbornly at the ceiling for a few minutes, do I attempt a conversation.
"You survived," I murmur, scared of disturbing the peace in this silent place. "We didn't know…the broadcast cut off at the last minute."
She rolls to look at me. She looks as empty as I feel.
"Was it worth it?" she whispers. "Peeta's gone. District Twelve is gone. Was it really worth it?"
I pull the Mockingjay pin from my pocket and clutch it to my chest. It represents everything I have lost. It might not feel like I have anything left now, but the people I escaped with are proof that I'm wrong. I still have everything left to lose. I think of everything Katniss did to survive in the Games. I don't know if I can be that strong, but I know I can't be a coward. I have promises to keep.
"We'll make it worth it," I swear.
I'm torn on whether or not I continue this. I have a full-length (ish) story that I want to tell from Katniss' POV and I could theoretically write both as they will be parallel to each other, but they would need to be finished before Mockingjay comes out. It possibly means I won't be sleeping between now and the end of August with all the other stuff I have to write. Hmm.
Thanks for reading x.