After the first batch of silver parachutes exploded in the too small hands of Capitol children, there was a momentary silence in which the only sound that reached Gales ears were flames licking the air. At first, he felt a surge of triumph, 'They'd done it!'
But then came the blood curdling mewls of children blown to pieces.
The earth shook like never before and for a moment the word registered, Earthquake. And the Peacekeepers who were handling him lost their grip and he made a dash for the door, the lock that Katniss's arrow had broken through. And then he saw them.
He could see Katniss's head frantically surge through the crowd of bewildered Capitols citizens and a few meters ahead, the most distinct blonde plait was visible and felt that he was back in the woods of District 12 and he was walking behind Katniss and Katniss wasn't talking to him because he wouldn't stop calling her Catnip, and Prim was standing just outside the fence, just behind it and he could feel the tension in the air become just a bit more palpable as Katniss went farther and faster to get to her, to scream, 'Get away, Prim!' Because even though she was afraid of her sister, she was afraid of them too. Prim was small and all bones and pale skin and yellow hair so neat in two plaits tucked behind her ears. She retreated as soon as she saw the expression on Katniss's face and listened to her exasperated chastising with a placid look that Gale found amusing as he trailed behind them, a safe distance away. But her grip on Katniss's hand was just as tight as the one that Katniss had on her.
But this time, Prim is the one wearing an anxious look as she tucks her coat around a mass of bloody limbs. Gale feels himself reaching out the same time as Katniss, but he knows why and she doesn't, the shout is poised to reach his lips the moment he realizes it. The moment it clicks. His brainchild.
He should have felt like the proud director of a spectacularly performed play, he should receive the applause that was meant to commend his genius; his brilliantly laid out plain executed flawlessly. But all he can think of is Katniss and Prim and the grip that had locked them together that day back in District 12 when the sadness they shared was because a mine exploded and then somehow they couldn't survive without one other. And he can't close his eyes as she catches fire, the sweet girl whose hand shook and felt so frail and small inside his own as they watched the person they loved most in the world open her eyes to a wall of fire. Because Katniss is screaming and he is struggling against white suits without realizing it, and Prim is burning, burning, burning on the ground and Katniss is there too. Dead? Good. Because he can feel the smooth tentacles of oblivion rising within him, and he is weak, and he is tired and he is in pain in more ways that can be counted so he surrenders and it is easier than anything he has done in a long time.