Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor "When the War Came" by The Decemberists
Rated for: language, death, implied torture and mentions of sexual abuse (neither of which are graphically described).
When the War Came
When the war came, the war came hard – The Decemberists
District 1
When the war came, it divided communities.
Shimmer sits on the roadside, holding his hand and watching the oncoming road.
Everyone knew the war was coming before it came. That's how District 1 works (worked). Everyone knows someone who knows something. And the word has been that District 13 has been moving to liberate them from the Capitol. To stop the Hunger Games and the oppression and the starvation.
"Come on, Leven," she begs, even though she never begs. "We need to go."
"Where?" he asks dully, his gaze still fixed on the body of his father.
"Anywhere. Away from here. It's dangerous."
"To join them?"
"Not if you don't want to."
He laughs humourlessly. "Do we have a choice anymore?"
"I don't know but Leven, you're scaring me. Please let's go." Tears are starting to fall down her icily perfect face. "He's dead, Leven. We can't ... I wish ... please."
He shakes his head. "I can't leave him. Go alone, if you must."
"No."
The resoluteness in her shaking voice causes him to look at her for the first time. She is gazing at him. Terrified, sapphire eyes meet dead brown ones. For a few seconds, nothing moves.
"OK," he says softly. "OK. If you won't leave then I'll go with you. I won't let you die too." He stands up and pulls her with him. He looks back at his father. "But if I get the chance, I will avenge him," he says.
"Sure," she says because she's so relieved, he could say anything and she'd agree to it. He kisses her and then they begin to walk in the direction their friends and remaining family went so long ago.
The streets of District 1 are deserted. Bodies lie everywhere, the blood from their bullet wounds staining the otherwise pristine concrete. If you take the bodies and blood away, nothing looks out of place. Everything just feels out of place.
But just ten minutes of walking, fingers tightly locked together in careful silence, and they run into a group of people who point guns at them. Scared, Shimmer moves closer to Leven who stands just in front of her. The message is clear. He will not let anyone touch her.
The group stare at the couple for a few seconds in an almost imperceptible stand-off. Then someone breaks it by asking, "Capitol or Rebellion?"
"Neither," Leven snarls.
The lead woman shakes her head. A girl at the back moves forward, frowning, and then her face lights up in recognition. Shimmer doesn't smile back at her, for all that they know each other. "It's fine," the girl says to the group. "I know them. Shimmer and Leven. They'll be on our side."
"Leven? Leven Henry?" the woman demands. The girl nods. "The son of Ideo Henry, the victor?"
Leven shakes with anger, his hand nearly crushing Shimmer's. "You," he hisses. "You killed him. You people. Don't say his name, murderer."
"What?" the girl says, shocked. "No. Leven, no, we-"
"We had to, boy. He was a sympathiser for-"
"Don't give me that crap!" Leven roars. "He sympathised with no one. You just decided he did! He just wanted to keep us safe and you killed him." He looks at them. "Murderers!" he roars and charges towards them. Shimmer still does not let go of Leven's hand. It is only when his solid, dependable form falls backwards, taking her with him that she realises what has happened.
Gunfire rattles in the distance as she bends down to his limp figure, fingers still entwined with his. There is a dull ache in her left shoulder from a mis-fired bullet. It doesn't compare to the one in her heart.
"Sh-Shimmer?" the girl from the group says tentatively.
"You killed him," Shimmer replies, still looking at Leven.
"It was self-defence," the lead woman says. A number of soldiers look uncomfortable. Shimmer doesn't see this. She sees only Leven's torn face and lifeless eyes.
"He couldn't have done anything to you," she says dully. "Nothing. You had guns. We had nothing. He was right. You are murderers."
"He blamed us for his father's death. He would have jeopardised our lives."
"So you executed him too. Do I go next, then?"
"Of course not!" the girl from the group exclaims. "Shimmer, it was an accident. But you both know we're right. And we can protect you. You'll die, alone. Please, Shimmer."
Shimmer bends down and kisses what is left of Leven's lips. She disengages her hand and his falls to the floor. Then she stands up and faces the group of people.
"No," she says simply. "I won't die alone."
She opens her right hand to reveal a small knife.
"No. Shimmer, no. Don't, Shimmer."
She shakes her head. "Isn't it what you people want?" she asks. "To kill us because we don't support your cause? Even if we wouldn't do anything to you? You got your wish."
She lifts her arm and within seconds, she has fallen forward, joining Leven on the floor, their blood staining the once-pristine streets of District 1 and their hands just centimetres apart.
District 2
When the war came, it changed very little.
Callum gets up at the same time as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. He goes to the kitchen to make food and, eventually, his younger brother and mother join him. His mother still wears that vacant look that has haunted him since the day his father and sister died in the collapse of the Nut. In the end, Paul helps her to eat. She's more responsive now than she was a year ago but it still isn't her there.
He leaves for work. There are still quarries nearby and Callum works in one, just like he always did when he was younger. But the safety checks are better than they were and there is more of a community atmosphere. These are people who have chosen to be here rather than are forced to be here. In a sense. If they didn't work before, they would have starved. If they don't work now, they will starve.
The work is hard and although he would like to say that it's rewarding, there is not much rewarding about mining granite all day. Yes, it feeds his family but that's as far as it goes. It's nicer because he isn't under threat of death all the time. But it isn't rewarding.
Once work is done for the day, Callum stops by the village shops to buy food for the next few days. He has just enough for his family which is an improvement on before when they had just under enough. But all of the luxuries and so on which were advertised so often in the Rebellion have not appeared. This doesn't bother Callum so much because he has enough. It's the lying which annoys him.
The TV in the shop shows Gale Hawthorne in District 2 discussing some new peice of technology. Callum looks at the screen while counting his coins with his fingers.
"Bit of a cheek, that man," the shopkeeper says.
"Sorry?" Callum asks.
"You know, Gale Hawthorne? Word is that he's the one who collapsed the Nut. They try to keep it covered up but everyone knows it was him. And now he lives in District 2 and acts like he didn't do anything."
Callum already knew all of this. He has long ago given up his rage at the man who caused his family's death. It was just an act of war. Innocent people die and people like Gale Hawthorne don't understand how much it can hurt for people who aren't exactly like him.
Besides, killing Gale Hawthorne would be too difficult. And wrong. An eye for an eye makes the whole world go blind.
He sometimes wonders what he would have done if he'd trained for the Games. Revenge would be higher on the list, he thinks, but at the expense of his family.
So he simply nods and says something about how bad Gale Hawthorne is before buying the food and going home. His brother has returned home from school and his mother has cleaned the house which is definitely a sign of improvement. They eat their dinner together and talk about nothing at all. Exactly like they used to. Only this time, the reason isn't that any wrong words could get them killed. It's that they don't know what to say to each other about the shells of days their lives have become.
Finally, after they have put their mother to bed, the two brothers sit in the front room of the house.
"Any plans for tomorrow?" Callum asks.
"Nah. You?"
"Work."
"Course." Paul pauses. "Think she'll ever get better?"
"Yeah. One day. Hopefully."
"Cal?"
"Yeah?"
"She wouldn't be ill if it wasn't for the Rebellion, would she? Maybe it would have been better if..."
"No, Paul," Callum says. "She wouldn't have been ill but the Rebellion is better for all of Panem."
"But nothing really changed for us."
"But it must have changed for thousands of people."
"Do you really believe that?" Paul asks and it isn't scepticism: it's genuine curiosity.
Callum shrugs. "I have to," he says. "Otherwise losing Nerata and Dad would have been for nothing. Nothing at all. And I can't let myself think that." He stands up. "I'm going to bed. Early rise tomorrow."
And they go to bed at the same time as they did yesterday and as they will tomorrow. Just like every day of their lives.
District 3
When the war came, it brought vengeance.
Saul hides, waiting for orders from the commander. But the only noise in his earpiece is crackling. The sound of no one responding to any questions. The sound of someone who is either very busy, incapacitated or dead.
"Saul, you know what we have to do, mate," Perseus says next to him.
"Go out and kill everyone we see?" he asks in a voice which clearly states that this is the last thing he wants to do.
"Well ... you could try injuring. We only have to stop them and you won't feel so bad."
"Oh. Great."
Perseus gives him an encouraging smile. Saul grips his gun nervously. He is nineteen years old and has been a fully-fledged Peacekeeper for all of five weeks. He has spent these five weeks practicing with the gun on targets and learning his way around the district. More hard work than he'd ever done in the Capitol but definitely not as bad as everyone made it sound.
But now he has to go into the middle of a full-scale rebellion and kill people. And he doesn't want to.
In the back of his mind, he knows he's seen countless people die. He's always been dimly aware that the children in the Hunger Games actually die. Not die as in fall on screen and then get up when the camera stops rolling. Actually die, with their hearts stopping and their mother's wails falling upon deaf ears. But it's so easy to forget that on TV. It never seemed real. Not like this.
He wonders whether this is what being a tribute feels like. It's all a game until, one day, you have to kill people and they want to kill you. Then it becomes reality instead.
He can't help thinking that if it is then he was one hell of a callous bastard when he watched all the shows.
"On three then," Perseus says, breaking into Saul's thoughts. "One. Two. THREE!"
Perseus leaps out from behind the corner and Saul follows, scanning for people (enemies). The factories are ablaze and in the eerie flickering light, Saul can see the weight of angry District 3 soldiers crushing the Peacekeepers. He holds up his gun at the mass, closes his eyes and punches the trigger. A woman, her face twisted with anger and desperation, falls over.
"Dear God, forgive me," Saul mutters as the crowd turns to him and Perseus. He fires again, catching a man in the shoulder. He's trying not to look now, trying to forget the person whose life he just took, the man whose arm he has just destroyed, the girl who is falling and being crushed by the onslaught. So he looks to the Peacekeepers either side of him, with their cold and menacing faces. Lucretia is on his left – she chose Peacekeeping to settle her sister's debt so that her nieces and nephew wouldn't starve. He doesn't know the man on his right.
The man on his right suddenly falls, the victim of a thrown object. The crowd surges forward. Saul fires again and again, just trying to stop the oncoming mass. It's fear, and not hatred or duty, which motivates him but he still can't block out the screams of the people he hits.
He runs out of ammo and drops back, fumbling with the box at his belt. Instinct makes him look up and see a rebel, holding a gun.
"Oh, no," he mutters. "Please. No. Oh, no."
The rebel smiles. "Got you, Capitol scum."
There is a flash of gunfire.
District 4
When the war came, it was embraced with open arms.
Sara has always been one of life's nobodies. A figure you pass in the streets, a face to fill the gap in the crowd. Instantly unmemorable. She is the person who sat at the back of school and did her work quietly. She worked on the fishing boats and brought in an average haul, rarely being noticed. She never trained for the Games but she knew her way around a trident to not be completely terrified of being called.
She has always listened to what others say and she has a brain. She can think for herself. And the one thing she has thought for herself is that the Capitol have got to go.
She stands in the square, waiting for the signal. She doesn't look out of place but then, she never does. Some of the other people who are waiting for the signal look tense. She tries not to look at them (so as not to give the game away) and forces herself to focus instead by recalling the anger she felt watching the 74th Games with the act of defiance so prominent in her mind, Proving it can be done. Maybe not by people who were nobodies but they weren't exactly somebodies either. And if they could do it then so can District 4.
A gunshot from the left indicates the start. Sara leaps forward, ignoring the screams from her right, and grabs the Peacekeeper who was nearby, piercing his throat with her knife. He doesn't even have time to shout. It's that quick, the death of the Peacekeeper.
She stops to pick up his gun before leaping into the chaos that has engulfed the square. She should feel something she thinks as she shoots at another Peacekeeper. Some horror that she has taken the life of another human being, perhaps. Maybe even some terrible thrill at what she's doing. But she can only think of following through with the plan. Maybe nobodies don't feel. After all, they're not noticed.
But surely this is being somebody. Wasn't that the point?
She sees the Peacekeeper who had a particular fondness for the whipping post and aims at him. There's no more thought as to what she should feel. She simply is.
"Rally to me, District 4!" a voice shouts. "For freedom!"
Sara turns towards the voice. She is surrounded by complete strangers who don't notice her and her gun. But she isn't paying attention to them either. Instead she runs towards that voice, looking for those who fight back. Being a somebody at last, a person getting freedom for District 4.
Just like everyone around her.
District 5
When the war came, it made boys into men and men into soldiers.
Erica has been a pacifist since the age of eighteen. She has stuck to that conviction for the last eight years and so was somewhat surprised to discover that she stopped being a pacifist this morning. She only found this out five minutes ago when the rebel soldiers burst into her house and demanded she fight for them. Upon her explanation of pacifism, they told her if she fought with them, they would protect her daughter, otherwise they would leave both of them alone (i.e. to die).
She has agreed to fight for them. The rebels are relieved but they obviously didn't understand the problem to begin with. Everyone wants to get rid of the Capitol so why wouldn't someone fight? The idea is just an alien concept.
"You'll keep my daughter safe?" she asks again. The man's gaze flickers towards her index finger which is encompassed by Ann's hand.
"Yes," he says. Everyone else smiles and nods encouragingly.
She shakes her head. "You bastards," she says softly. "You killed my sister and now you're threatening to kill my daughter."
Several people protest at this point.
"We didn't kill your sister."
"We're going to keep her safe, not kill her!"
"Your brother-"
"Do not bring my brother into this," Erica shouts and despite the rebellion outside, the room is suddenly filled with silence. "Leo agreed to this because he hates the Capitol for killing our sister. But I got a different message from watching her die. Did you notice that until she died, no one around her used violence? She died refusing to use violence and I'm living as she clearly wanted to.
"You people, you're all the same. You want to kill so you kill innocent children, whatever side you're on. You're forcing me to fight because you'll only protect her if I agree to and if I disagree, you'll probably kill me because you'll think I support the Capitol. You're, none of you, above killing children. So yes, people like you killed my sister and yes, you're threatening to kill my daughter. Now pass me a goddamn gun so I can go against everything I believe in to save my daughter's life."
The stunned silence which has reigned since she began shouting continues for a few more, painful seconds. Then a young man near the front of the rebel crowd, looking sheepish, mutters, "We're just fighting for what we believe in."
She nods at him. "I know," she says. "And there's nothing wrong with fighting for your beliefs. I'm just honoured that you've made them mine as well."
"But-"
"Hey, if you hadn't gotten here first then who knows? Maybe the Peacekeepers would have recruited me so I could fight for their beliefs as well. Isn't it great not to have a mind of your own?"
The leader rolls his eyes. "If you're done, I'd like to get going," he says unsympathetically. "Jacques. Pass the lady a gun and let's move out. Reed, Phill, move the kid."
A woman silently passes Erica a gun. She grasps it with her free hand before bending down to kiss her daughter on the forehead. "Bye, Ann," she says softly. "Mommy loves you and is coming back to you." She straightens up and gently removes her finger from Ann's grasp. "Let's go," she says and her voice is devoid of emotion. The group moves out apart from the two soldiers left behind.
As Erica moves away, the sounds of gunfire filling her ears, she can just about hear the wails of a baby, crying for her mother.
District 6
When the war came, it caused people to see each other for who they really are.
Stefan fought in the initial wave of rebellion against the Capitol and now he lies in a makeshift hospital, injured. Around him, people scream and moan – just more examples of the Capitol's cruelty.
On his second day of lying there, amidst the heat and the dying, he sees a new casualty being taken into the building by a scrawny man. The woman collapses and the man nearly buckles under her. Without thinking, Stefan leaps up and, ignoring the pain in his side, runs over to prop up the woman. Together, he and the man carry her to an empty space and place her carefully.
"Thanks," the man says.
"No problem," Stefan replies and clutches his side.
"Jesus!" the man yells. "Go lie down! You shouldn't be up!"
Stefan laughs. "Relax, Lee. I'm, ow, fine. Really. You needed help and I could help. So it's all fine." He taps his blood-soaked bandages. "Not gonna ruin your hard work, mate."
"Stefan?" Lee's eyes widen in recognition and then he scowls. "Are you mocking me?"
"No, I'm being serious," Stefan replies, still smiling. "Better than I could do."
He stumbles as he walks. Lee props him up. "Sure you are," he says. "Just like in school. Only I called it bullying there."
Stefan grins. "Look at you," he says wonderingly. "You grew a pair..." He stops. "Sorry, sorry," he says in a more serious voice, "that was uncalled for. Look, Lee, I was an ass back then." He barks out a laugh. "Apparently still am. But I'm being serious, mate, your work's great!"
They have reached Stefan's place. Lee helps him to lie down. "You grew up, Stefan," he comments.
"Yeah, had to happen eventually."
Lee smiles slightly. "Sorry, that came out more condescending than I meant. So ... you're fighting for us now."
"Not right now. Seem to be lying here injured instead."
"Still braver than me," Lee says softly. "Never could stand violence. As you always knew."
Stefan raises his hands and then winces. "Hey, mate, I said sorry, didn't I? Besides, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're working as a medic, saving lives – mine included, you know. I couldn't do that."
"But you always fought for what you thought was right."
Stefan looks away. "Not really. I just fought. Was beating you up right?"
"But still."
"Bravery's more than one thing, mate. It might be brave to go out ... but it's brave to stay here and try to save people's lives. Doing anything against the Capitol."
There's a moment of silence. Then Lee stands up. "I'd better go."
Stefan sticks a hand up. It takes Lee a few seconds to work out Stefan wants him to shake it. After a moment's hesitation, he clasps it.
"Good luck, Lee."
"Luck, Stefan."
Stefan watches Lee leave out of the corner of his eye and smiles.
District 7
When the war came, it orphaned hundreds.
Ella was sixteen years old when her life changed forever. In District 7, she was still a child and District 7 has always valued its children. Somehow, almost unbelievably, this rubbed off onto the usual Peacekeepers. Perhaps the only moment of unity between those Peacekeepers and the citizens of the District was for the Peacekeepers to argue with the Capitol reinforcements long enough for the rebels to hide the children away. Some said later that it wasn't anything like that but Ella saw one of them wink at her before being shot for mutiny and his partner suddenly shooting into the (adult) crowd to control them.
In the forests of District 7, Ella was the oldest in the group of nine children and soon became the leader of the group, looking after the others until the rebels and District 13 gained the upper hand. People scoured the forest for them and saved them from their lack of food and illness which Ella had done her best to avert.
Now Ella and the children live in the ruins of District 7 as they cower from Capitol bombings. Her parents have died but Ella has not yet had time to mourn for them because her children have also lost parents and instead of being able to cry for her lost ones, she has spent many nights sitting with the other orphans.
As the days go on, Ella continues to care for them. They still call her Ella and her terms for them vary depending on their age and her mood. But even when adults offer to help, Ella and the children stick together. They trust her. And helping them allows her to ignore the ache which the loss of her parents caused. It's a working and helpful relationship.
(Incidentally, Ella does cry. Once. She leaves to get water and suddenly finds herself in floods of tears. But there is no one nearby to see and she doesn't tell anyone about it. She supposes that really, only her parents need to know. But then, they must know how much she misses them anyway)
Throughout the Rebellion, Ella and the children refuse to leave each other's sides. And when the Rebellion ends, because neither she nor they have anyone left to claim them, they simply join in with the rebuilding of a destroyed District. Most people are used to them by now and refer to them as one unit. In her happier moments, Ella finds this amusing.
Once the district is rebuilt, the Council start to make recommendations that all of the children be adopted by different people. It surprises Ella to discover that she doesn't want her kids to be taken away and that they refuse to leave her. None of the adults who know them are too keen on splitting them up and any attempts to persuade them are half-hearted. In the last few months, they have become a family. And they have only become a family because their own were split up.
The council allow them to stay together.
District 8
When the war came, unspeakable crimes were committed.
Alan knows the difference between right and wrong. Everyone does. Some things are clearly right, some things are obviously wrong. For Alan, the world is comfortably divided into these concepts. For example: helping a neighbour is right. The Hunger Games are wrong. Defending people is right. Murder is wrong. Putting these together, fighting the Capitol must be right overall.
The test wave failed. So District 8 awaits its opportunity and in the meantime, is subject to strict regulation. But that doesn't make it wrong. It just makes the right end longer to wait for.
It is two days after the test wave fails that Alan meets Miri properly. He knows her from school and work in that vague way in which someone can just about recall a name and put it to a face. He knows nothing about her home life, her personality or anything else. Normally, she leaves no impression on him whatsoever. But he can't ignore a crying girl being pushed out a building with a strange man following her.
"Hi, Miri," he calls out (vaguely wondering if he has the right name) and walks over to her. "Are you OK?"
As though people generally burst into tears when they're OK. But it's the right thing to do. You comfort people who are crying. It's just what you do.
The man walks forward and smiles calmly at him. "She's just received some bad news, I'm afraid," he says smoothly.
Alan doesn't like his tone. "What's that then?" he asks.
The man raises one eyebrow. "I don't suppose that's really any of your business, is it, boy?"
His clipped tones and slightly familiar face suddenly hit him. "You're a Peacekeeper!" Alan exclaims. "How come you're not in uniform?"
"Because my shift starts in ten minutes. Watch your tone, boy." He turns to Miri, ignoring Alan's scowl. "Goodbye, Miri."
The girl flinches as the man turns and walks away. The tears are still sliding down her cheeks. Alan walks towards her.
"What an ass," he mutters. "You sure you're OK? Want to talk about it?"
"I'm fine," she says, not looking at him.
"How do you know him anyway?"
"I don't."
"But he-"
"Leave it, Alan, please," she says. And Alan notices that she is flinching away from him and holding herself as though she hurts. She won't look at him. She's terrified. And that's wrong.
"He's threatening you, isn't he?" Alan mutters, almost to himself as realisation dawns on him. "Or he ... he's hurt you," he says, voice getting louder, "or, or, or something!"
The silence is so sudden that he half expects her to deny it. Instead, she looks away.
"What did he do, Miri?"
"Does it matter?" she asks dully. "You can't do anything about it."
"He can't go around hurting people."
"I think he can if he wants," she replies, her voice still a painful monotone. "He's got the power. Why do you care anyway? You don't even know me."
"Because it's wrong," Alan answers.
Suddenly, she laughs. It's a bitter laugh. "It is. You know what else is wrong, Alan? People decide to rebel. I don't but everyone else does. I get raped by that man because he's untouchable now but the rebels don't. That's what's wrong."
Alan, who has been debating whether to put a comforting arm around her shoulder is suddenly very glad of the distance.
"He what?" he asks as though he hadn't heard it all too clearly the first time.
Miri looks away. "Nothing. Forget I said it. Please."
"Miri-"
"Leave it, Alan," she says and now she seems angry, despite the tears falling down her face and her arms clutching her body together. "It doesn't matter what's right and what's wrong – just who has the power and who doesn't. I don't have the power. You don't have it. He does. So he ... he can do what he wants." She turns away. "I ... I have to go. Thanks for caring, Alan. But you can't help me."
She walks off, leaving Alan alone in the street.
"It must matter," he whispers to himself. "It must."
But with Miri's tearstained face in his mind, Alan realises that he'll never be sure again.
District 9
When the war came, it left people cold-hearted.
Dawn walks through the streets, carefully avoiding flames and holds onto the items in her hand. To her left, she sees people screaming for help from the remains of a burning building and others running to help. She ignores them. She only has one person in the world left to care about and that's herself.
The bombings and fighting have been going on for a week and the rebels are gaining the upper hand. Not that this particularly bothers Dawn except in a curious sort of way. She has long since stopped adhering to any rules implemented and regardless of who is telling her what to do, she's not going to listen. Let the two sides kill each other. She'll just survive.
Dawn turns the corner and runs straight into another fight. Swiftly, she backs away. There are very few "safe" places left in District 9 and this one already has a dead body. Still, since no one has noticed her, she bends over the body to take its possessions, only to find someone has already done so. Bastards.
She is backing away again when a voice shouts, "Hey, lady, you fighting or what?"
She turns around, her body already hunching into the pose of someone terrified. "N-n-no," she stutters in a passable imitation of someone scared. "I ... I j-j-just want to g-go."
The man rolls his eyes. "Go that way then," he says, pointing. "There's a group of people hiding in one of the basements." His eyes have been looking her up and down and suddenly they freeze on her hand. Specifically her right hand. The one with the ring on it. "Where did you get that ring? It's not yours."
"It is," Dawn snaps back, too startled to pretend to be terrified. How does this man know it's not her ring?
"It's not, that's my sister's. I'd know it anywhere. Where did you get it? What did you do to my sister?" He's shouting. Dawn backs away.
"Nothing," she yells. "I did nothing."
Which is true. Dawn tries not to kill people. She stole the ring from a dead woman. Apparently his sister.
The man moves towards her and she decides that rather than reason it out with him, it would be better to escape. In one practised movement, she throws her knife at him and turns and runs.
"Traitor!" she hears him yell but he doesn't seem to be following her. She doesn't know if he's going to die or if she missed altogether. She doesn't care much either although part of her hopes she didn't kill him. She wishes she hadn't had to lose her knife though.
When she reaches a secluded spot, she stops and thinks about what he yelled. Traitor? That's going a bit far, she thinks. She's never allied herself with the Capitol before and she's never going to either. Why would she ever ally herself with the people who sent her younger brother to his death in front of thousands of people? He might have been stubborn, rude and violent but he was all she had had, considering their miserable excuses for parents. And now it's just her. She spits on the floor. She's never going to ally with them.
But she's never allying with the so-called Mockingjay either. It would be an insult to Luke's memory to pay any kind of respect to the girl who caused her brother to die. If she'd just let that damn backpack go, he might have lived. She doesn't care if all of Panem falls into disrepair. No one else has ever cared about her or her little brother. So she doesn't give a damn about them.
As she backs into the ruins of a building and brings out some food she stole from a dead rebel, she fingers her ring and smiles. Let them fight for ideals and freedom. Dawn is winning her fight for survival.
District 10
When the war came, people watched those they love die around them.
James sits by the field, arms crossed and with a defiant look on his face.
"I'm not leaving them," he says flatly.
"Dad, you have to. You'll die if you stay."
"Then let me stay."
"That isn't an option." Tina gestures around in frustration. "We can't save them, Dad."
"Someone has to stay." The old man's posture hasn't changed once.
"It won't work, Dad. Do you think Mom would have wanted you to sit here and die?"
"She wouldn't want me to leave. Go with your kids, Tina. I've worked with these cows all my life and I won't leave without them now."
Tina looks at her father, who remains defiant and frail, even in the face of an apocalypse. "I can't make you change your mind, can I?" she says sadly. "Not even for your grandchildren."
"What kind of cattle worker would I be if I ran out on helpless animals?" he asks. "No, Tina, someone has to get them out."
She opens her mouth to argue but sees his set face. She sighs. "Goodbye, Dad."
"I'll see you soon."
She nods, not convinced that this is the truth but not wanting to voice it either. Then she turns and walks away, blinking away the tears which threaten to fall.
James watches her go then turns towards the cows who are looking panicked. He calls to them as though this is a normal day. As though his world isn't about to end.
Everyone has told him that it will be impossible to move the cattle but they don't know that. No one knows until they try. And he can't just leave them. So he moves among them, calling them and trying to herd them, focussing as hard as he would normally.
And he is still among them when the bomb hits.
District 11
When the war came, it satisfied the winners' bloodlust.
Dante had joined in the rebellion as a soldier right at the beginning. In District 11, the fight against the Peacekeepers was over relatively quickly and the Capitol gave up any hope of recapturing District 11 straightaway, apart from bombs. This left the District 11 rebels with the question of what to do with their Peacekeeper captives.
As he leaves the Justice Building, Dante can't stop shaking. When he first joined, he didn't think his duties would extend to ... to ... that. But it was for a good cause. The Peacekeepers had talked. They knew about the Capitol's plans. It was useful information and it had been the only way to get it from them. It was for the betterment of everyone, really. And they weren't like the Capitol. They didn't do it as punishment. It was for a good reason. In extreme circumstances. Anyone would have done the same.
Dante tells himself this over and over. By the end of the day he has stopped shaking and even feels like a hero.
(When he sleeps, he dreams of hot water, of knives, of blood and screaming. Of people who cry and who stare ahead and speak in dull voices. Of pleading not to kill their families. He wakes in a cold sweat and volunteers to cover someone else's watch where pained voices in his head serve a useful purpose of keeping him awake.)
Later, he reports to the Commander who orders him and his squad to wait. As they stand, his fellow soldiers chat about the captured Peacekeepers.
"We got Thorius. He executed old Mitchell's boy just for losing some equipment. Wasn't so tough yesterday, was he?"
"I'm just hoping I get some time with that bitch, Reya – crippled my old dad. Enjoyed it too, you could see. See how much she enjoys what's coming to her."
"What about those new Capitol ones, who targeted the community? Killing all those families. Guess you must have enjoyed yesterday, eh, Dante? Getting even with them?" The woman clasps the teenager on the shoulder. Dante jumps.
"Oh. Yes." he replies.
He'd been given the woman who shot his parents and sister to work on yesterday. She didn't recognise him. And that had made him angrier.
(In his dream, he had gotten so angry that what he had done had made her blood cover him. But when he put his hand to his face, he'd only found her tears.)
All of the remaining Peacekeepers have crimes to answer for. Horrible, thoughtless, inhumane crimes. When he and his squad are ordered into a room, handed guns and told to execute them, he finds himself smiling. They'll pay now.
He faces the Peacekeepers. Two less than yesterday – one died in interrogation, one from his wounds earlier this morning. The remaining ones look at their captors through torn faces. Some look defiant. Some look resigned. Some look terrified.
He faces the woman who killed his family. She'd screamed yesterday. It had haunted his dreams but not as much as his sister's screams haunt his waking moments. She had a nephew who depended on her. But he'd had a family he depended on.
He takes hold of the gun and aims.
"FIRE!"
He punches the trigger. A second later, there is another gunshot.
"You missed," the woman next to him says, "so I got her. Sorry to take your revenge but..."
"Don't worry," he says. He puts his gun down. He's still shaking from strain and fear. He hadn't had the courage to kill her in the end. But he doesn't know if it's because yesterday was enough (perhaps too far) or if it's because he wanted her to suffer by seeing her companions die.
And somehow, he knows that is going to haunt him tonight.
District 12
When the war came, it took a while to piece everything back together.
Jany stands in the ruins of what was once her home and immediately runs away again, only to be caught by her father. She buries her face in his chest and sobs while he holds her close and says nothing.
They are among the first people to return to District 12 and, somehow, it's worse than she imagined. All of her childhood memories have been obliterated in a haze of fire and smoke. Her friends have been reduced to charred flesh and crunching bone.
She spends that first night in a hovercraft, screaming as the events of the night District 12 was destroyed replay in her head.
On the next day, she agrees to help rebuild District 12. It's not a hard decision to make – it was her home for fifteen years after all – but it's a hard decision to follow through. Houses have to be placed back together, bodies buried. Ash fades away. New plants are grown.
On more than one occasion, Jany has to stop and walk away as tears threaten to overwhelm her. On more than one occasion, she watches others do the same.
One night, she asks her father if they'll ever be done rebuilding. He looks around.
"We can rebuild District 12 to live in," he says slowly, "but we won't be rebuilding our lives. We'll be creating them. I don't think we can ever rebuild what we lost here."
She nods and pretends to go to sleep. But she thinks about the new life they're creating and wonders what this means for the people who are no longer here. She can't help feeling acutely aware that her ex-boyfriend's house is just twenty metres away. They cleared his corpse out four days ago.
Time goes on. Jany's life remains in an almost never-ending maze of rebuilding, restarting, creating. One day, she looks around and nearly jumps in surprise. She is surrounded by buildings, looking almost as though nothing had ever happened to them. The ash has blown away. Trade has restarted and normal, everyday conversations surround her. It' s been like this for a while she realises. But even as she thinks this, she sees the gaps in groups of friends, the marks which just wouldn't fade, Thom with his wheelbarrow carting more bodies away.
"Jany, move it," someone yells. "We have work to do."
"Coming," she yells. She takes one last look around her and follows her father and the other workers. This is her life now, she realises. The new life she's created in District 12. Making a replica of the old one but somehow better. No fear or hunger anymore. Doing something productive. Being happy. Even though the gaps can never be filled.
The Capitol
When the war came, it hurt the innocent.
Artus is freezing cold, hungry and upset. The last few weeks have been horrible because his mom and dad have been angry 'cause they couldn't buy what they wanted. And they always buy what they want. And tonight, Dad came to his room and told him they had to leave. He said to think of it like a game, like he was going on an adventure.
Artus doesn't like adventures. He only went because Dad ordered him to.
The Peacekeepers told him and Pictor to stand in front of the President's house. He doesn't like it here. All the kids around him are Pictor's age because Mom told Pictor to look after him and Pictor wanted to stand with his friends and now Artus is bored.
He doesn't tell Pictor. Pictor doesn't listen to him anyway and he won't let him leave. He says the Peacekeepers won't let him leave either. So he just has to sit here and be cold and hungry and surrounded by strange people.
After ages, he tells Pictor he's cold. He keeps saying it until Pictor grabs him and holds him close. Pictor's cold as well so it isn't much better. He wishes Dad had put his coat on him.
He looks into the crowd of adults, hoping Mom and Dad will take him away. But they won't come and the Peacekeepers have guns and he knows what that means. This isn't fun. This isn't a game. He knew it wouldn't be a good game but Dad lied to him about it being a game at all.
Suddenly, there's a noise above and Artus looks up to see silver parachutes falling towards them. Pictor sees as well and lets go of his little brother to catch one. Artus smiles. Silver parachutes mean food and help.
"Got it," Pictor tells Artus. "We'll be OK."
And then there are flashes of firelight and screaming and smoke and Artus is flung forward. He picks himself up. Tears fall down his face. It hurts. His knees are cut and his hands are bloody and people are shouting.
He looks back at his brother who looks dazed. His hands still grip a parachute. Artus runs back towards him.
Pictor looks around. He sees the medics running towards kids. He looks at the parachute in his hands. His eyes widen in horror.
"Artus, no!" he yells as he lifts the parachute to throw away, just as Artus reaches him.
The bomb in Pictor's hand detonates.
Panem
There will be all sorts of changes to people's lives because of the war.
There will be those whose bodies are unceremoniously bundled into mass graves after death.
Shimmer Ixat and Leven Henry will be placed hand-in-hand next to the body of Ideo Henry, by the request of the girl who knew them and pleaded for their lives. They will lie under the press of other bodies in District 1 together forevermore.
Saul Anzaria will be thrown into a fire along with the bodies of the other Peacekeepers who tried and failed to fight in District 3.
James Aran will be picked up and simply hurled into a mass grave in District 10. His daughter will never know where he lies.
Artus and Pictor Olym will be spared the anonymity of a mass grave or fire – their remains will never be recovered. Their parents will place flowers in the area of the Capitol their sons died in every year instead.
There will be those who fought for what they believed in and live.
Sara Shell will later realise what she's done and she will weep for the lives she took. But she will also have a family and live happily ever after on the shores of District 4.
Dante Burrows will never forgive himself for what he did. He will live in District 11 as one of the war heroes and will never speak again.
And there will be those who fought for what they didn't believe in and die.
Erica Lensfield, who lost her sister to the Games and her brother to grief, will lose her life to freedom. She will be honoured as a hero by all except her daughter, Ann Lensfield, who will never forgive her mother for abandoning her to fight in District 5. No one will ever tell Ann about the true circumstances of Erica's death.
The lives of some will change entirely.
Ella Mored will never have biological children of her own. However, the children she looked after will refer to her as their mother and she will have twenty-four adopted grand-children as a result. She thinks her parents would be proud of the life she made for herself in District 7.
Alan Morris will re-evaluate his life and although he will never lose his strong belief in right and wrong, he will stop being so impulsive about his actions and think about their consequences. He fights for District 8 eventually but with more caution. Eventually he will become one of the greatest commanders of District 8, renowned for his passion and clear thinking.
Others won't change at all.
Callum Ryand will lose his mother to a happier place but, otherwise, will continue with his daily routine in District 2. He will never lose his belief that everything was for the best.
Jany Fawcett will never stop finding new things to rebuild in District 12. New monuments to honour the dead, new improvements to make. It will help her to ease the pain and to create the happy life she thought she had lost.
Some people will come out of the war as better people than when they went in.
Stefan Morek will survive the war and become good friends with Lee Pettit. He will always attribute his life to the good work of Lee and Lee will always attribute his motivation to save lives to Stefan. Their lives in District 6 will remain happy.
But some people will remain bitter and angry.
Dawn Eldern will continue to fight for survival, even in the new District 9, where she will not conform. She will not regret her life choices and will even get a kick out of her constant thievery and trickery. But she will eventually die alone.
Overall, when the war came to Panem, the war came hard.
FIN