Hunger Games: Bonnie and Twill

by IzorIzent

Two refugees from District 8 encountered by Katniss outside District 12 in the winter following her Games. What was their story? How did they come to be there? What happened next?

Mrs. Bublinski was dying. Years of breathing textile lint and dust had ruined her lungs. It was a common affliction in District 8. She lay in bed gasping for air. Her neighbors helped as best they could, bringing her food, helping her sit up, holding her as she coughed and retched uncontrollably. She was barely a pale shadow against the dingy sheets as Twill Johns sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand.

Between gasps, Mrs. Bublinski started to speak. "My husband, the late Mr. Bublinski, may he rest in peace, was crazy." She spoke in short bursts, taking in a gulp of air after each phrase. "He hated this place and wanted to take us away."

"Away where?" asked Twill.

"District 13."

'Mr. Bublinski really was crazy.' thought Twill. As a last brutal act in the civil war known as the Dark Days, the Capitol had razed district 13. Nothing of it now remained but ruins.

"He said the district was never destroyed."

(It came out as, "He said. gasp The district. gasp Was never. gasp Destroyed. gasp")

"He said that graphite mining was just a cover and the real business of 13 was nuclear power. He said they survived because they were able to threaten the Capitol with nukes and that after the war they moved everything underground, and that they're living there still."

"So he wanted to take you there."

"Yes." The old lady was seized by deep, body wracking, coughs. When it ended, she sighed, "Help me up." After a brief struggle, Twill managed to get her more or less upright and seated on the edge the bed.

"In that closet," she continued, feebly indicating a corner of the room, "under some rags there's an old box. Bring it here."

Twill found a small, battered, cardboard box and brought it to the bed. Mrs. Bublinski fumbled off the lid, revealing an old folded up piece of paper inside. She pulled it out and struggled to unfold it. Twill helped her gently, but sucked in her breath when she saw what they were holding. It was a map, and not some home made scribble, but a real printed map. A legend identified it as a map of Eastern Panem and carried the imprint of the Panem Bureau of Printing.

"This must be ancient." said Twill.

"I don't know where he got it." said Mrs Bublinski. "I don't know why I've kept it."

Twill's fingers drifted over the paper. Here was just a trace of District 6, here was District 12, here District 13. The map showed mountains and rivers, railroads and highways, a ragged coastline. For a district dweller to have a map, even of their own neighborhood, was a capital crime, punishable by instant death. Twill had never held a real map. When she was a child, her mother, over time, had drawn her several to explain what they were (a crime in itself). She had explained to Twill about scales and orientation and some of the more common symbols, had taught her that real maps had legends that explained what the map was showing. After each of these sessions, the homemade maps were thoroughly destroyed, and her mother had cautioned again and again against even talking about maps with anyone else. And now there was one in her hands. A real one. It was all here.

"And there's this." said Mrs Bublinski, pulling a small, circular brass object from the bottom of the box.

"What is it?" asked Twill, holding it gingerly and staring at a slightly wobbling hand that seem pinned at it's center. "Some kind of clock?"

"No." said Mrs. Bublinski, "It's called a compass. You can see the letters around the edge. They stand for north, south, east, and west. The blue end of that hand always points to the north. I don't know why, but that's what Mr Bublinski said, and it does always seem to point the same way, even if you move it around."

"What's it for?"

"For when you are wandering. You use it with the map to know where you are and which way you are headed. Mr Bublinski believed he could use those to get us to 13. I want you to have it. You're educated; maybe you can figure it out. Maybe someday..." Her voice trailed off. She was exhausted. Twill helped her to lay back down and adjusted her blankets. She sat on the edge of the bed and studied the map briefly, and then the compass. Carefully she replaced them in the box and hid it away in the container she had used to bring the old lady some food. Mrs Bublinski drifted into an uneasy sleep, the sound of her labored breathing filling the room. Twill stayed with her for hours, until another neighbor showed up to take her place.

That evening, in their small and drab apartment, Twill and her husband, Weft, sat looking over the map.

"What a treasure." said Weft. "Illegal as hell, of course."

Together, they stared at the lines and symbols.

"It doesn't show District 8."

"No," agreed Twill, "but look down here..." She pointed to a hand drawn arrow that pointed off the map's edge near its bottom. The arrow sat just above a line indicating a railroad track. "District 8" was hand written at the end of the arrow. A similar arrow further to the right pointed out the bottom of the map and read "District 11".

"Who knows if any of this stuff is still there." Weft mused as his finger followed the track of the railroad.

"Well, there are still plenty of trains." said Twill. "And we're still here, and so are Districts 12, and 6, and 11. So maybe they still use the same tracks."

"They'd be pretty old."

"You know what I mean." said Twill, giving him a nudge. "The same routes."

Weft picked up the compass turning it this way and that. The needle always pointed in the same direction. "So," he said, "I put the 'N' where the blue end of the needle is, and that's north?"

"I guess." replied Twill.

"Well this map has an arrow on it that points north? So if I put this compass on the map so that the arrow points in the same direction as this gizmo, that's correctly aligned to the north?"

"Makes sense." said Twill with a shrug.

"So District 12 is that way." said Weft, pointing towards their tiny bedroom.

Twill laughed. She'd never really thought about it, but she wouldn't have imagined that 12 was in that direction.

"You know," said Weft, looking very serious, "we should turn this in to the authorities."

"Absolutely." said Twill. She packed the map and compass carefully away and together they found the best hiding place they could manage.

Only a couple of days later, Mrs. Bublinski died.

---

"Did you see it?"

"Did you see it?"

It was a low buzz that traveled through the mill, barely audible over the ceaseless clanking of the machines.

"Did you see it? Did you see how she faced them down?"

It was the day after the conclusion of the 74th Hunger Games, and this wisp of a girl, this nobody from nowhere, had challenged the Capitol itself... and had won! Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, had refused to bow to the whims of the Gamemakers, had forced them to deliver on their word, had saved her co-tribute Peeta Melark, and had become, along with him, Victor of the Games. The whole factory, the whole district, the whole world was buzzing about it.

In the weak, fading light filtering through the high, lint covered windows of the textile mill, Twill and her co-workers labored through another shift. The air was hot, humid and dust laden, and the hacking coughs of the workers were lost in the noise of the machines. The mills of District 8 never stopped and the production quota had just increased. Supervisors traveled up and down the lines of machines, threatening, coercing the workers. Work harder! Work faster! No talking! It was a bad day for the supers. No one wanted to work; all they wanted to do was talk about the Games.

Within a week, the managers of the mills realized they had a problem. Talk of the Games was not going away, and the district token of Katniss Everdeen was helping to keep the talk alive. The image of her Mockingjay pin had become a fashion sensation. It was being woven, embroidered, and stitched a hundred different ways onto who knew how many different kinds of fabric. The demand came from the Capitol and could not be denied, but it was keeping the talk alive.

In the dingy lunchroom of Factory D, notices began to appear among the posters of happy, prosperous workers and of President Snow. The notices banned talk of the Mockingjay, banned wearing of the emblem, banned discussion of the Games. But the talking did not stop.

After her shift, Twill sat at her kitchen table grading papers from her day's work as a teacher. She nursed a cup of weak syntho-tea and looked across the table to her husband. His mood had been strange ever since the Games, and he was staring moodily into his own cup of the brew.

"If she could do it, why can't we." he mumbled.

"Do what? What are you talking about?" asked Twill.

"Katniss Everdeen. The Games." said Weft. "She held the Capitol accountable, she didn't give in to their demands, and she won. Imagine if a whole district did that.

"Look at us." he continued, "You do a day's work as a teacher, then a half-shift at the factory, and now here you are doing more teacher stuff. I do a fourteen-hour shift at the plant, then come home and try to keep this place from falling apart. We hardly have clothes enough to wear, and we're the ones who make the clothes! Imagine if we had a family. How would we get by?"

"People do." said Twill.

"Yeah," said Weft, "some of them because of us. We hardly have enough food for our own table, and yet we're constantly giving to neighbors."

"Everyone who can, does." Twill replied, "It's how we get by. You know that. They'd do the same for us if it came down to it. We work together."

"I'm not complaining about it. I'm not saying 'Stop!' or anything. I'm just saying that things shouldn't be this tight.

"Look at this place. It's a new building, not ten years old, but the plaster is cracking, the plumbing leaks and the water is brown with rust... when we get water. The electricity is unreliable, and I swear one entire end of the building seems to be sagging.

"Today, we ran 8,000 yards of watered silk ribbon in three different colors. 8,000 yards of ribbon! Do you have any silk ribbon? And that was just today.

"There's a better life out there. You see it in the things we make. We do the work. Why don't we get the reward?"

Twill shrugged. "We serve the Capitol just like every other district."

"Serve the Capitol!" Weft snorted. "Enslaved by it, you mean."

"Yeah, well... what can we do?"

"We can take our cue from Katniss. We can stand up and hold the Capitol accountable."

Discontent was part of life in District 8, but with the conclusion of these Games, it had risen in intensity. What Weft had said was a dangerous thing to speak aloud, but as the days continued, Twill noticed more and more people daring to push the limits. Previously unthinkable things were being said, whispered furtively but with passion. They became a slow burning flame fed by the victory of Katniss Everdean. A month after the games had ended, Katniss was still coming up in conversation after conversation, and a subtle change was taking place. She was no longer a girl who had defied the Capitol: she was becoming a symbol, an ideal of self-determination. The Mockingjay..

Stubbed a toe? What would Katniss do? Short of flour? How would Katniss handle it? When children cried, they were told, 'The Mockingjay will make it better.'

One day in the lunchroom at work, an acquaintance of Twill was sharing a box of homemade biscuits. Little more than crackers made of the same ingredients as the local bread, each had been molded with a crudely cut Mockingjay image. They were an instant hit, until a supervisor walked in and spotted one. The woman and her entire family was placed under house arrest for two weeks. Neighbors risked their own safety just to keep them alive. The authorities made their point, but it left a lingering anger. The biscuits didn't go away; they just dropped out of sight.

Weeks passed. The talk continued, but it was the drudgery of daily life that prevailed. School and shift work were the order of Twill's days, and the monotony was unrelieved. Evening was coming on sooner, and autumn chill replaced summer heat. Life in District 8 maintained it's steady grind.

---

Bonnie Elliston was more than a bit sullen as she walked with Twill to their shift at Factory D. She lived in the same tenement as Twill and the two often walked into work together. She also attended the classes that Twill taught at the tenement school, and her last paper had graded poorly... not that she cared, but it took nothing to get her parents on her case. Bonnie tended to be quiet. Twill had known her all her life. She was growing up now, nearly as tall as Twill herself, thin in the way that most District 8 girls seemed thin. 'Almost the same age as Katniss', mused Twill. Bonnie had a large, liver-colored birthmark mark covering part of her face. It was enough to keep her outside the social circles of most of her schoolmates. She had little social life, was known as a loner. Her few friends were what her parents called "bad elements". They shared a common resentment of authority and frequently found themselves at odds with the local Peacekeepers. It was a dangerous way to live. Punishments for misbehavior were swift and harsh. Bonnie knew people who had been savagely beaten. Some had been permanently disabled. She had even known two her own age who had been hung. Life sucked. She knew that too.

Bonnie got along well enough with Twill. "Mrs. J." she called her. They got along because Bonnie refused to acknowledge that Twill held any authority over her. Bonnie didn't like the shift work at the mill. It wasn't the labor that bothered her; it was Serge McPherson. McPherson was her shift supervisor and did have a real, enforceable authority over her. He was an old man by the standards of her friends, and a disgusting pervert by Bonnie's. The birthmark didn't bother him. All he saw was a young woman whose life could be a lot worse if she got on his bad side. She felt his eyes on her all the time, and his hands whenever he got the chance.

Things had been getting worse, and it looked like today's shift would be no exception. McPherson assigned Twill to a sewing room, and told Bonnie to supply the inspection stations near the loading docks. This meant that Bonnie would spend the shift lugging Peacekeeper uniforms from production to the docks. On the one hand, she wouldn't have to deal with other people so long as the inspection stations had enough to keep them busy, but on the other hand it meant that McPherson would have no difficulty finding her alone. Halfway through the shift, there he was, in an empty corridor as she pushed along a laden trolley.

"I want to talk to you." he said, opening the door to a deserted office and gesturing her inside. He wasted no time, grabbed her roughly, and mashed his mouth onto hers. She struggled free and backed herself against the closed door, staring at him wildly.

"Why don't you loosen up." he said, advancing on her slowly. He was leering at her, his eyes devouring her body. "I could make things easy for you." She started as his hand fell on her shoulder, slid down her shirt to her breast, and stayed there.

"I have to get these uniforms to the docks." she said, reaching behind her for the door handle.

"Not just yet." he said, pressing her hard against the door, her body full against hers and his hand now squeezing the breast. "I could also make things worse." He kissed her roughly again, tried to force his tongue into her mouth.

Again she struggled free, pushing him back and managing to get out the door.

"Fuck off, Serge!"

"Come off it, Bonnie. Why make things tough on yourself? You know: I'm called Mr. McPherson around here. You don't want to go back to that, do you?"

"After all we've been to each other?" she snarled sarcastically, "You don't want to know what I call you."

He moved towards her.

"I have to go!" She grabbed hold of the trolley and pushing it hard down the corridor.

He pulled up short.

"Sure. Sure." his laughter mocked her from behind. "We'll talk again later."

'That bastard!' she thought, her face blazing hot as she pushed the heavy cart. 'I'll kill him!'

During the brief lunch break, she sat alone, seething with anger. Around her, the talk was all about Katniss Everdeen and the Hunger Games. Both District 8 tributes had died within twenty-four hours of the start. Bonnie wished she had been reaped.

She imagined herself as Katniss, heroically rescuing her handsome, dying lover atop the Cornucopia. Surrounded by a surging pack of ravenous Serge McPhersons, she stood erect and defiant on the very lip of the Cornucopia and pumped arrow after arrow into the beasts until they were all dead, dead, dead.

Walking home after the shift, Twill brought the two of them to a stop as the plant disappeared from view behind yet another dilapidated tenement. "What's wrong?" she asked, staring intently at Bonnie.

"Nothing." Bonnie mumbled, avoiding the gaze.

"I don't think so." said Twill. "I mean, no offense, you can be pretty darn taciturn, but tonight the hostility is coming off you in waves."

Bonnie glared at her. What did this woman know? How could anybody understand? "Nothing." she repeated. "I just hate this stupid job, this stupid life."

"Did something happen?"

Bonnie didn't respond.

"Well," said Twill, "you can talk to me if you want."

"I'd do anything to get out of this place."

The two continued on their way, but as they neared their tenement, Bonnie stopped and stared at the building. Her parents were there... intrusive, judgmental, controlling, and angry (always angry). It was so hopeless.

"I have to go." she murmured, and turned and walked away.

"Bonnie!" Twill called after her, exasperated, but Bonnie wasn't listening. She could disappear for days at a time, staying at some squat in a condemned building with some of her friends. To do so was, of course, entirely illegal and more than once had ended with Peacekeeper intervention. Twill watched her go. She would tell Bonnie's parents that she had wandered off. There was little they could do but worry.

Back in their small apartment, Twill and Weft sat at the kitchen table discussing their day. Twill had told Weft about her interaction with Bonnie. He just sat there shaking his head.

"You know," he said, "you hope a situation like that will get better with time. That Bonnie will grow up and settle down, but settle down to what? She's on a nowhere path at the moment, but it's not like anyone can show her a better way. She deserves a chance, they all do, but she's not going to get one here. We're all on nowhere paths here."

The map was spread on the table before them. It had become a game, following the lines, checking directions, measuring distances, guessing travel times. The map was a little fantasy land, theirs to explore.

"There's talk, you know. Me and some of the other guys. It's time we did something."

"Do what? It's frightening when you say stuff like that." said Twill.

"Yes," replied Weft. "it is, but it's obvious the Capitol doesn't care about us. We either continue as we are, or we take matters into our own hands."

"You and a couple of the guys won't be able to do much more than get yourselves hurt, or maybe killed."

"I was hoping it would be 'us' and a couple of the guys." grinned Weft.

The notion did little to lift Twill's spirits.

"The thing is," said Weft, "the thing is that it's not just a couple of the guys. There's a lot of people looking around and thinking maybe something could be done. That's the thing about this Katniss deal: people are thinking you can stand up to the Capitol and win. I tell you, the feeling is growing. I walk down the street and hear people I don't even know talking about it. The Mockingjay. She's not even Katniss anymore; she's this bigger thing. She's this small cry that keeps echoing and echoing and getting louder and louder. And here's something that I don't ever remember from before: there's organization. It's not just in our circle, our plant. This is happening throughout the district."

"How can you know that?"

"How can you not?"

"Weft, whatever happens, we're in it together, but what you're talking about is so dangerous. Don't just rush in all helter skelter, and don't expect me not to be scared."

"I'm scared too," he said, "but damn it, I think there's hope."

---

Three days later, Bonnie reappeared. She came out of nowhere to join Twill on the walk into the evening shift. She was wearing a thin and threadbare old coat against the evening chill. The coat was a hand-me-down from her mother, but Mrs. Elliston's new coat would not have been much better. "Hey, hey, Mrs J."

"Bonnie." said Twill. "You know you don't do yourself any favors disappearing like that."

Bonnie shrugged. "What are you gonna do."

They had barely entered the factory when McPherson was there and pulling Bonnie aside.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Away." she snarled.

He had her upper arm in a vice-like grip and started shaking her violently. "You got work here! You be here every damn day, I don't care if you're dying! You think you're some kind of princess?"

He shoved her after Twill. "You get your ass in gear!"

On this evening, Twill was assigned to the looms, and Bonnie was sent to the inspection stations. The hours wore away and Bonnie was hoping the shift would end uneventfully, but then McPherson appeared on the docks to order her into his office. He moved to sit behind his desk and told her to close the door behind her.

"What do you think you're doing?" he barked. "Do you know how much trouble you've caused?"

Bonnie glowered at the floor, but said nothing.

"You're a real bitch, you know that? I could make life hell for you. And I should!"

He got up and moved around the desk, grabbing her arm again and pulling her to him.

"You tell me why I should take shit 'cause of you. You better wise up, an' you better start comin' across."

He slammed her into the wall, again pressing his body hard against hers. She fought back, trying to knee him in the crotch and raking her nails down his face. He threw her away, and in that moment she was free of the office, out in the corridor, out in public.

They were both panting heavily, both incensed.

"I guess you need a lesson." he snapped. "Maybe some time in the traps will set your head straight."

The lint traps were a dust-clogged area beneath the thundering looms. The area was cleaned at intervals to recycle the accumulated fibers. It was a punishment detail, hot and confined, the air filled with dust and difficult to breath. More than one person had died while cleaning the traps. It was extreme to spend a full shift there, and management frowned on prolonged assignments. Dead employees were noticeably unproductive.

Bonnie spent the next two shifts in the lint traps. It might have gone on longer, but people started to pay attention. Comments began to circulate. Management, paranoid and autocratic, heard the rumors and became upset. A general crackdown was always possible, but with quotas at their current levels, any interruption in production would be intolerable. McPherson was called in and spoken to. He claimed he had not realized that scheduling had resulted in such an unfortunate duty roster and promised to correct the situation immediately.

The next shift found Bonnie assigned to the Shredder/Compactor. The machine was designed to shred textile remnants and compact the fibers into large blocks for recycling into other products. Bonnie spent the shift piling cloth onto conveyors that took the remnants into the shredding head. The machine was in an isolated part of the plant and again, Bonnie found herself working far away from any company. Of course, McPherson had to check on her regularly, and sometimes those checks did seem to drag on.

---

Unrest in the district was on the rise. The Peacekeepers were kept busy with arrests and floggings. Tensions peaked when a group from Factory F was arrested and three of them hung as traitors. No further explanation was given, but it sent a chill through the populace.

"They were a group like ours." Weft told Twill. "It's still growing. Others will take their place, but clearly we now face dangers from within. Someone ratted them out. We're getting more and more organized, but the more organized we get, the more chance there is of betrayal. Our group knew about that group, and there are others."

"How do you know?" asked Twill.

"Through Beanie. And there's this guy, Taylor. He's a weird one. I've never met him, but he's moving back and forth between the mills. Beanie's met him. He's setting things up across the district, getting people in touch with each other, organizing a coordinated action. The mood that we've got here... it's all through the district. I think we can do something if we work together."

"Like what?"

Weft looked at her closely. "Like an uprising. A rebellion."

"Weft!" breathed Twill, "Do you know what you're saying? And all because of this Taylor guy?"

"No." said Weft. "That's just it. It's us. It's the district. Things can't go on like they are. We must do something."

"How do you know this guy isn't working for the Capitol? How do you know you're not being led into a trap? How do you know he isn't the one who ratted out those other guys? People can't just move from factory to factory; we're all monitored, tracked."

"He does, and other people trust him. Beanie does and, let's face it, Beanie's the 'go to' guy for this stuff around here. Somehow Taylor's off the net. Peacekeepers don't know one of us from another, and supervisors are easy to avoid when you don't have a specific assignment. Look busy and they'll just assume you're part of a crew.

"This Taylor says it's happening in all the districts, but some are further along than others and we have to wait until everyone is ready. But here in this district, we're damn near ready now. Beanie thinks so, and so do I. We must do something, and we think that when it happens, someone has to lead the way. Let it be us."

"Well if you're going to take this Taylor guy at face value, shouldn't you listen to what he says? All of it? Not just the bits you like? I don't understand this. Who is he?"

He hesitated, even looked a bit embarrassed. "There's a rumor," he continued, "that he's from 13."

"Aw, come on!" sighed Twill, wondering, 'How unreal can this thing get?' "District 13? It doesn't even exist. We see Capitol reports from there, and it's nothing but a smoking ruin."

"Yeah," said Weft, "but I've started to watch those reports, and you should too. Don't watch the reporter, watch the background. Pick some little point and pay attention to it. Whatever it is you chose, a cloud, a bird, a shadow, every time you see a report you will see exactly the same thing. Those reports don't come from 13, they come from some Capitol studio, and they use the same old clips over and over for backdrops."

"Crazy Mr. Bublinski." responded Twill, "Even if that's true, it's no proof that the actual district isn't a ruin."

"Twill," said Weft, taking hold of her hands and looking her full in the face, "We have to try, Taylor or no Taylor. With him, we're getting organized, and that's a good thing, but we are not tied to him. Can't you feel what's in the air? There's a sense of possibility, of hope, that I've never known."

"Some of what he says sounds pretty incendiary, but some of it is cautionary too. You say you're not tied to him, but you're mighty eager to leap on the bits of what he says that you like. He seems to be saying other stuff that you're not so eager to hear."

He reached and stroked her hair. Twill sighed. This talk was frightening. Insurrection? Rebellion? Whatever was to come, she knew she would stand by Weft, but she couldn't help feeling there was a vast cliff before them and they were all rushing, heedless, towards its edge.

---

More than a month later, Factory D was raided. It was on Twill's shift. Autumn was in full swing, moving inexorably towards winter. Night came early and the air was chill. The day had been windy with a miserable drizzle that kept people indoors. They were almost happy for the warmth of the machines.

Halfway through the shift, the shipping doors opened. In flooded the chill, and the rain, and the Peacekeepers. There must have been a hundred. They took up positions in every section, every corridor, every room, every exit. Their commander disappeared into Serge McPherson's office where the two huddled briefly in conference. When they emerged, McPherson and the commander toured the plant. In four separate areas, McPherson pointed out workers who were taken into custody and hustled from the building. He hesitated when they reached the Shredder/Compactor, where Bonnie had apparently found permanent assignment. He stared at her intently then, with a leering grin, he led the Peacekeepers away.

"McPherson." hissed Weft. "That rat bastard! He brought them in. He's openly bragged about it. Says he's heard the talk and knows there's traitors in the mill. He sucks up to management every chance he gets. As if it will do him any good. Says we don't appreciate how well off we are. Do you know, of those four guys that were arrested, only one had any contact with us, and she was way out on the fringe. The other three were just people who pissed off McPherson. We've known he's a problem for a while, and we've been careful around him. There's a network that does little more than keep an eye on him... where he is and what he's doing. And what he's doing can be pretty damn disgusting."

"I think he's part of Bonnie's problems." said Twill.

"Well there's nothing to be done right away," said Weft, "but you can bet we'll be even more careful from now on. Things are firming up."

"What do you mean?" asked Twill.

"Plans. We're going to do it. We're going to try for an uprising. Jeez, Twill, I am so ready. The Victory Tour is only a month away, and that's when it's going to happen."

The Victory Tour. At the halfway point between Hunger Games, the most recent Victors toured Panem, as guests of the Capitol. They were wined and dined and acclaimed. It made for great TV in the Capitol and was compulsory viewing in the districts. Attendance was mandatory within each district when the Victors appeared. In all but the most recent Games there had been only one Victor. That meant that in one district only was there any actual cause for celebration, and even there it was tempered by the loss of a tribute. The Tour was a busy time for the Peacekeepers. It took a lot of hard work and dedication to enforce cheerfulness.

"That stinking 'celebration'. It's perfect. She'll be here. The Mockingjay. We're counting on her presence, her influence, to peak our support. This can succeed! I know it. There's enough of us now to really start something, and once it's under way, we'll get all the support we need. We'll show people that the opportunity is here and now, and they will seize it."

Twill looked at him solemnly. The light in his eyes was undeniable, but the risk. The risk.

"What is my part in this?"

"It's all still under discussion. All I can say for sure... I hope I can say for sure... is you'll be with me."

She looked at him, her mouth set in a firm line, then nodded.

He smiled back at her, and she could see the joy in his eyes. Fourteen years they had been married and this, this right here, was the reason why.

"They don't stand a chance. We'll have things set by the time she arrives. Her appearance here will get everyone out. All the various groups will be deployed according to a plan. Nothing happens that night. It will just be an exercise to make sure that everyone can be in place when necessary. If we can do that, the next opportunity will be when she reaches the Capitol, only a couple of days later. That's when standing around won't be enough. That's when we act. Each group will have a goal. They'll be strategic in nature, control of key points, but they are also meant to show the whole district that we can win, and that will bring a lot more people onto our side."

"What if it falls apart that first night?"

"Then we're not ready. Our next opportunity will be the next Games, but now is better. The Victory Tour is the Mockingjay ascendant. It will work. Just wait and see."

---

Bonnie didn't mind the Shredder/Compactor. She spent most of her shift working alone and unsupervised. McPherson was always a problem. He would show up at unexpected times. She would look around, and he would be there, staring. He hadn't tried anything lately, but she knew it was just a matter of time. She found a heavy piece of pipe and hid it where it was just a moment away.

Afterwards, no one knew how it happened. It was lunch break. Bonnie arrived late and sat by herself, neither of which was unusual. McPherson never appeared, not unusual either... sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn't. After all, there was a private office that was his for the shift.

But then he still didn't appear.

Even after lunch break, he was nowhere to be found.

At first, it was only known that he wasn't around, but his absence soon became a cause for concern. He failed to respond to several intercom pages. Building security was dispatched to find him. Following his movements led the investigators to the shredder. Someone noticed the band of color in a completed bale, and that led to the discovery of Serge. Why he had been hanging around that machine was a mystery, but that's what he had done. How he came to fall onto the conveyor was also a mystery, as was why he was unable to get off again. That much weight should have caused the conveyor to stop, but years of neglect had disabled the emergency switches. Serge went into the shredder head.

Again the Peacekeepers were called in. It was obvious they would be. For an event of this magnitude they would be brought in no matter who was involved, but for a person who was an acknowledged collaborator, they would take a special interest.

Their investigation did not turn up much that wasn't already known. A length of pipe was found near the scene. It looked clean. Blood was found on the conveyor. The pipe and some blood samples were sent off to the Capitol for forensic analysis. In the meantime, Bonnie, the operator of the machine (and a known delinquent) was taken in for questioning. She had already been grilled by management, and now she was grilled by Peacekeepers.

They kept her in custody for three days, depriving her of sleep and steadily ramping up the intensity of their interrogations, but Bonnie knew nothing. Yes, she was frantic. They were brutalizing her. She had seen him there as she went to get more scrap, but he was gone when she came back. She stuck to her story and her behavior was cooperatively ignorant, terrified, cowed and submissive. She seemed horrified, in shock. Well... it was a horrific thing to happen.

The forensic report came back. The samples from the conveyor were McPherson's blood. There were traces of his blood on the pipe, and bits of skin and hair, also his. The pipe had been thoroughly wiped, but genetic material was found from another person. It did not match Bonnie, nor anyone else in the plant. The Peacekeepers were not happy, but Bonnie was released. The investigation widened and everyone who worked in Factory D had his or her turn with the interrogators. No progress was made. The investigation stalled.

Death in the mills was not that rare a thing, and accountability always traveled down the ladder of responsibility to its lowest point. There were no grounds to believe Bonnie had anything to do with the incident, but she was the machine operator and for lack of someone better, she would pay. The Peacekeepers declined to keep her under arrest, but management decided the very least that could be done was to force her to face the enormity of the situation. They also felt that doing so would have a curative effect and get the wreck that Bonnie had become back to being a productive worker.

Bonnie looked at the block of fibers set in a distant corner of the loading dock: six hundred pounds of shredded cloth and Serge McPherson. She had been assigned the task of taking the bale apart and sorting his remains from the fabric. Management was not about to let that much material go to waste.

"It won't be so bad." said Twill who, coincidentally, had been assigned to help Bonnie get started. "Most of the bale is fine, there's just going to be that one patch."

"But, Mrs J., I didn't do anything." Bonnie was crying. Obviously this whole situation was a horror to the girl, but what could Twill do? What could Bonnie do? Nobody refused an order from management. Any objections would be referred to the Peacekeepers for resolution.

They pushed a heavy, wheeled bin up beside the bale.

"It's not going to get any better just looking at it." said Twill.

With a shudder, Bonnie stepped up and stared to pull handfuls of material off the block, tossing them into the bin. She got about a third of the way through the material before it became just too much. She stumbled to the edge of the docks and retched over the side, then sat down and, unmoving, stared at the closed doors before her. The new supervisor tried yelling at her, but it had no effect. She was sent home.

At the end of the shift, Twill found Bonnie seated outside the tenement, oblivious to the night that had turned freezing cold.

"Come with me." said Twill. "If you can't face home, you can stay at our place tonight."

Bonnie followed her docilely. Her only comment was a softly mumbled, "I didn't do anything."

"You can sleep on the floor in the bedroom." said Twill, laying down some blankets and a pillow. Bonnie collapsed in a corner, pulling the blankets up around her.

Twill went into the kitchen where Weft had tea waiting. They conversed in low tones.

"Why did you bring her here?"

"If I didn't, she just would have run away."

Weft shook his head and a period of silence followed.

He broke it with, "Nobody seems to know what happened. Some of the hotter heads were in favor of getting rid of him, but no one's taking responsibility. It's really focused Peacekeeper attention on our factory."

There was nothing for Twill to say.

Weft continued, "Well, the one thing we all agree on is that we can't let this change our plans. The biggest problem is that we obviously can't take on the Capitol ourselves. We hope to take control of this district, but we'll be isolated and under siege if the other districts don't join us. They'll wear us down. We won't have a lot of time."

"It's a cinch the Capitol won't broadcast anything until it's all over and they've won." said Twill.

"That's the general consensus." Weft agreed, "Once we start it, we have to count on the other districts getting involved. Taylor said some are ready..."

'And he said some aren't.' thought Twill.

"... so what we're thinking is that we'll have to get some people out of the district to carry the news."

"What about Taylor himself? Isn't he supposed to have all these great connections?"

"He says there's similar movements in all the districts, but some are weaker, lacking the right kind of support. He's urging caution, patience, waiting until everyone's lined up, but we're ready now. If we don't seize the opportunity, we'll lose it. There won't be any fire without a spark, and we've told him that we're going to be that spark. What we start here will spread like wild fire until all of Panem is aflame. I know it! But we've decided that a personal presence from here, rebels no longer under the Capitol's yoke, people who can speak first hand about what's going on, people who are out of place, out of their district, can do a lot to get the action started elsewhere."

He paused.

"I sort of volunteered us."

Twill looked at him. "Us?"

"You and me. Why not? We have a map, and a compass."

"What about District 13 Taylor? If he can't get the word out, what chance do we have?"

"He's gone, apparently back to 13. He'll be back, but no one knows when. We're ready, Twill, and we're moving, with or without him."

"How do you suggest we get out of the district if it's under siege?" asked Twill.

"We'll dress as Peacekeepers. You have to figure there'll be plenty of confusion. We do our best not to be spotted, but hope that if we are, the uniforms will be enough that no one will take a closer look. We just have to get through the lines."

"I don't want to think about where these uniforms will come from."

"Jeez, Twill, we work in a factory that makes them. We'll steal a couple."

"I'll get you uniforms." came an unexpected voice.

Twill and Weft both started and stared at the door to the kitchen. Bonnie stood there.

"I'll get you uniforms." she repeated. "It's no big deal."

Twill and Weft were staring at her open-mouthed.

"I gotta go." she said, turned and left the apartment.

---

It was days later before Twill saw Bonnie again. Bonnie joined her as she was on her way to the evening shift.

"Just what did you hear the other night?" Twill asked.

"Enough." said Bonnie.

"Bonnie... what we were talking about..."

"Yeah, yeah," said Bonnie, "Uprising, revolution, escape, blah, blah."

Twill felt suddenly very ill, and wondered if she was about to faint.

Bonnie looked at her quizzically. "What? You think I'm going to squeal? Not fucking likely. Who do you know who's had more to do with Peacekeepers than me? And what have they got so far? I just turn on the tears and become the stupid, weak little bimbo they want to believe I am. It works with them."

She smirked, "It works with you."

"Bonnie!" said Twill incredulously.

"They got nuthin' on me." continued Bonnie, "I'm smarter than they are and every bit as tough.

"I've already got uniforms that will do, but you don't really need them from me, do you? This wonderful rebellion of yours... there'll be lots of dead Peacekeepers to give you all the uniforms you need. Hell, once you rule the district, just go to the factory and pick up some new ones.

"Shit," she continued, "you'll control the Communications Center, won't you. Surely that can transmit as well as receive. You can broadcast the joyous news to the whole world." She gave a girlish giggle, stuck her arms out to the sides and spun around like a top, grinning happily up at the sky.

Twill was speechless.

Bonnie stopped in her tracks, dropped her arms and turned a stoney face to Twill. She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Mrs. J., you are so hopelessly square. What is this gaga stuff about? Stealing? Shit, I've been stealing stuff from that place for years." The little girl was gone.

"Why? How?"

"Because I know how and because I can. It's a kick taking stuff right out from under their fucking noses."

"But if you got caught..."

"You think I don't know it? You remember that kid who was hung a year or so ago? They caught him wearing Peacekeeper boots. Where do you think he got them?"

It was like Twill had been struck dumb.

"Oh yeah," continued Bonnie, "they got it out of him before he died, the little shit. They obviously didn't get me, but he took them to a place where they got a friend of mine."

"He died righteous." she sadly reminisced. "Didn't give up a thing."

They were walking again.

"Besides," said Bonnie in an offhand way, "I did get caught once."

Twill shuddered, but kept moving.

"Yeah," said Bonnie, "Serge caught me."

"Serge McPherson?" asked Twill shakily, hardly daring to look at the girl.

"Yeah, but we worked something out... sort of a swap."

Twill came to a stop again and looked at Bonnie.

"Yeah, well what are you gonna do? The trouble was, he wouldn't stop. He decided I was gonna be some kind of toy for him to play with. He cornered me a couple times, but I got away. Then he went too far, drew some attention, had to lay off. He put me on that shredder machine, but then he'd come around and just stand and stare. Stand and stare. Stand and stare. Creeped me out. I knew it wasn't going to last. He was gonna try something sooner and later. And then he did. And I was ready. I whacked him a good one, and he fell across the conveyor. Started to get up, so I whacked him again. He wasn't moving after that, so I figured 'what the hell', got him all onto the conveyor, flipped the switch, and went for lunch. You can only take so much. Come on, we're already late."

She had to grab Twill's arm and pull to get her moving again.

"That stupid pipe." Bonnie mused. "You know, I never even thought of DNA, never even entered my tiny little mind. I was shitting bricks when they sent it away for analysis. Thought I was toast."

"You're DNA wasn't on it." murmured Twill faintly.

"Yeah." replied Bonnie. "Can you believe that shit? Should have been all over the damn thing. I guess some tech must have fucked up pretty good. I tell you: if I met that tech today, I'd give him in a Capitol minute what I wouldn't give Serge."

Twill was stunned. "But, Bonnie: you killed a man. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Well, there's that." said Bonnie, seemingly pensive and rueful; then she dropped the pretense and spat back angrily, "I didn't kill a man. I killed a fucking sleazoid son-of-a-bitch rapist pig. What was I supposed to do? File a complaint? Yeah, like anybody would do anything about that. He wasn't going to stop. I protected myself. And when he was done with me, it would have been someone else, so I protected them too. Your own fearless revolutionaries thought he was shit and wanted him gone; I just had the nerve to do it. You should be thanking me."

The two entered the mill, punched their time cards. Twill went to the sewing rooms, and Bonnie went to her new duties at the inspection stations. They didn't see each other again for days.

That night, Twill was obviously distracted and Weft found it difficult getting any conversation out of her at all. He pressed her to find the problem and, eventually, with a sad shake of her head, she replied, "Bonnie".

"What about her?" asked Weft.

Twill was silent for a long while, cradling her cup of tea and staring into it. In the end, with a deep sigh all she said was, "The uniforms are under control."

---

It was different this year. Normally, the Victory Tour was a tribulation inflicted on the District by the Capitol. Attendance was mandatory and grim-faced, heavily armed, Peacekeepers bullied the citizenry to show some enthusiasm. The crowd duly showed all the eagerness that could be mustered at gunpoint.

This year was different. The Mockingjay was coming. The enthusiasm was real. It made the Peacekeepers nervous.

Everywhere that Katniss went, trouble seemed to follow. This year's tour was turning into a litany of defiance, protest and riots.

The Capitol's broadcasts of the tour stops had been exemplary. They portrayed Katniss as a slip of a little girl, obviously a bit uncomfortable in her grown-up frocks, doting in happy oblivion on the light of her love, her co-tribute, Peeta Melark. And Peeta, looking young, fit, and handsome in his custom tailored Capitol suits, was every bit as infatuated with her. Scenes from aboard the train reinforced the impression with the happy couple finding every opportunity to wander off and be alone together. Politics were not on the agenda. This Tour was a celebration of young love.

But it was the Victory Tour. Every stop evoked the Hunger Games. Katniss and Peeta had survived after every tribute from every other district had died. They had survived together because of Katniss' remarkable defiance of the Capitol, her unwillingness to accept the capricious rulings of the Gamemakers. Her defiance had paid off, and that was the message the districts were taking from the Tour.

The first stop, District 11, had set the tone. When Katniss went off script with a moving eulogy to the District's fallen tributes, the crowd had responded with an extraordinary display of solidarity and support. It had been broadcast live, and the damage was done. It was not re-broadcast. Katniss did not go off script again. She stood at each podium accepting flowers and awards, overwhelmed by the official outpouring of love, and happily seeking shelter in her rapturous adulation of Peeta. The districts weren't buying it.

In District 8, the tour, usually an ordeal to be got through, was the only topic of conversation. Katniss Everdeen, The Girl on Fire, The Girl Who Defied the Capitol and Won, would be among them.

"Beanie says all that lovey-dovey stuff is an act." Weft said to Twill.

"It's a pretty convincing one." said Twill.

"Yeah, well maybe there's something to it, but it's not the be all and end all the Capitol is trying to sell. You watch Katniss. When she's talking to the people, she really makes contact. You can see it in her eyes. When she's talking to the authorities, the mayors and such, she keeps her distance. She smiles a lot, but it never gets to those eyes."

"Those eyes." said Twill. "Maybe you're the one who's in love."

"I am," smiled Weft, "but not with Katniss."

Twill got up to pour them each another cup of tea. "I'm sure Peeta would be flattered."

---

The day of the tour was cold and wet. A chill wind gusted across the city square, and a persistent drizzle of rain tried hard to turn itself into snow. Twill and Weft were huddled near the edge of the square. Beanie had held them back along with a group of others from Factory D.

"This is our station." murmured Weft To Twill. "When its go time, we'll attack whatever group of Peacekeepers is there." he said, nodding towards a small squad of Peacekeepers to his left. "Others will firebomb the stores behind us. Then we're off to the Communications Center."

Twill gripped his arm, feeling slightly ill.

"We're not the only ones." he said, looking over the jostling crowd that filled the square. "Look to the stores. Look to the street intersections. You can see some of the other groups, and there's more you can't see. It's so obvious to me." he whispered, "I hope it's not obvious to them." He cast a glance back at the Peacekeepers. "We're where we're supposed to be. Beanie will know how well the others did in a day or two. That's when the final decision will be made. Jeez... it's like a week before Katniss will be in the Capitol."

The crowd surged forward with a roar of welcome when Katniss and Peeta appeared at the entrance to the Justice Building. A brave few in the crowd fired off what was now known as the Mockingjay salute, the left arm raised, three fingers extended. Peacekeepers surged into the crowd and dragged them from the square, but the people hardly noticed. They were engrossed by the spectacle of the Tour, and by the presence of Katniss among them. The ceremony proceeded smoothly and stayed on script. At its conclusion, a little girl came forward to present a bouquet of flowers. Katniss lifted the child up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The mayor presented Peeta with a commemorative plaque, which Peeta accepted graciously.

'It's true', thought Twill, 'They connect with the people, but not with the authorities.' Katniss was still the rebel, the Mockingjay, and Peeta was at her side. Twill looked at the people around her. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. If she would lead, they would follow... but neither Katniss nor Peeta would be in District 8 in a week's time.

The next week dragged by. At home, Weft talked only about the revolution, his face animated, his voice excited. Twill felt only an increasing dread. At work, she looked around her and wondered how these people would react.

Weft slapped the table hard. "Beanie says it's a go."

Twill smiled wanly.

"He was at a meeting and they all agreed that the Tour stop went well. Everyone was ready and the size of the crowd kept the Peacekeepers distracted. We're ready."

Twill nodded.

They watched the continuing tour on TV. The Capitol broadcasts continued on the same theme, but it was the crowds that held their attention. Yes, there was something there. It was more obvious in some districts than others, but there was definitely an underlying swell of discontent. The Mockingjay salute always shot up at some point. Peacekeepers responded swiftly to quell it, but their actions were hampered, resisted, by the crowd.

Some districts seemed ready to boil over, lacked only the spark.

"We'll give it to them." said Weft, "We'll be the call to arms."

The night the Tour reached the Capitol found a huge crowd assembled in the square before District 8's Justice Building. It was a clear night with only the sliver of a waning moon. The air was calm but frigid. Massive lights lit the square and Peacekeepers were present in force.

Weft and Twill were in the same position as previously, surrounded by the same group of people. They held bandana masks crumpled in their hands, waiting the signal from Beanie. It seemed to Bonnie that there were a lot more Peacekeepers than before, and in addition to shields and truncheons, they were carrying guns. Slightly back from the square, halfway hidden in shadow was some kind of heavy vehicle, very large, and very ominous. Weft was eyeing it and, it seemed to Twill, some of the Peacekeepers had started to notice. Two of them had just begun to move towards their group when Beanie gave the signal. After that... chaos.

Bottles of fuel appeared from under coats, their rag wicks quickly ignited, some were thrown through windows of buildings, some at the now oncoming Peacekeepers. The Capitol troops responded ferociously. In a disciplined pack they charged into the fray, swinging batons and firing freely. Bodies were falling all around, but the mob did not run. They surged back against them, Beanie and his crew leading the way. Weft lost sight of Twill and suddenly found himself sitting stupidly on the ground beside the unmoving body of a Peacekeeper. He snatched up the man's rifle and began firing indiscriminately, hoping it was Peacekeepers he was hitting but not really knowing. He paused enough to regain his feet, and there was Twill rushing towards him. He grabbed her arm and together they forced their way to the side of a building, flames gushing from a window only yards away. A quick glance around showed the whole square in turmoil. Shouts were mixed with screams and the ongoing rattle of gunfire. Flames belched from buildings and a haze of acrid smoke choked them.

Lights blazed from the shadowed vehicle and it advanced into the square. Rebels, rioters, Peacekeepers, it crushed all in its path, and from its back Peacekeepers with automatic weapons spewed death. A bottle full of gas soared high through the air and landed smack among them, bursting into flames and sending burning bodies reeling in every direction. Now the vehicle was surrounded, its windows smashed, its driver torn from within. The mob advanced, kicking, punching, crushing over his body. The vehicle, its back ablaze, was rocked from both sides. Further and further it tilted until, with one final surge it was overturned. Now the fire raced down its exposed belly until nothing remained but a mass of flames.

The Peacekeepers in Beanie's sector were down, and now he tallied his group. "To me! To me!" he cried holding aloft a captured Peacekeeper machine gun. His group responded, charging towards him and carrying a portion of the mob with them. Many in the group now had weapons, as did some of those who joined them. Fighting was still fierce around them, but Beanie ordered. "To the Communications Center!" The group charged away from the square. Some of the mob followed, but most stayed behind. There were running people everywhere, with them, against them, simply fleeing.

They rounded a corner at full tilt and the Communications Center was before them. Two Peacekeepers stood before the doors. At the sight of the onrushing horde, one threw his weapon down and raised his hands, but the other opened fire. Sheer momentum carried the rebels forward. More fell, but in moments the Peacekeepers were overwhelmed. Both went down and the doors were breached. Two more Peacekeepers inside had barricaded themselves behind desks and chairs. Their fire cut heavily into the group, but they too were overwhelmed. The rebels raced through the building. Charging up stairs and along corridors, they burst into empty room after empty room. Explosions sounded above them, shaking dust and plaster free. They reached the top floors firing wildly and making short work of two more Peacekeepers waiting there. But not without cost. Not without cost. And that was it. The building was secured.

There were fires in the rooms at the top, but they were soon brought under control with available extinguishers. Beanie, sweating and filthy, advanced into the rooms. Weft was still on the stairs. Twill, at his side, was gasping for breath and collapsed onto a step in tears. So much noise, so much violence, so much death.

"Shit!" they could here from Beanie up ahead. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" He emerged from the still smoking rooms, his face a black scowl. "They destroyed the transmitters."

The sudden quiet was unnerving. "Lets go back down." said Beanie. "Secure the entrances, do what we can to barricade them."

He motioned to Weft. "Our command is supposed to be in the square. Go back there, and see what the situation is. Report to command, if there is one, and tell them we have the building, but not the transmitters. See what you can find out, then get back here."

Weft looked at Twill. "You stay here. See if there's anything you can do to help. There's wounded and stuff."

"No." said Twill. "If you're going, I'm going with you."

Weft's pause showed that he was considering an argument, but he gave it up. The two walked back down the stairs. They passed through the scarred and broken lobby, already full of wounded and dying. There were no doctors, no painkillers, no meds, only the most rudimentary first aid. Some of the dying were screaming and thrashing their way out of the world. Low moans came from many of the wounded. It was a blessing to leave the building behind and get back out into back into the silent dark and the cold.

It was a short distance back to the square. An eerie quiet pervaded there. The bright lights were out, apparently destroyed, but one of the huge monitors, hanging crookedly from a building top, was still on. There were Katniss and Peeta, dressed in evening finery, Ceasar Flickerman capering about like a clown, and a beaming President Snow standing slightly off to one side. Here in District 8, buildings still burned fiercely and one had collapsed into a pile of rubble. On top of the pile, someone had erected a banner, lit by the surrounding fires and feebly stirring in a mild breeze. Twill knew it. Even without seeing the image, she knew that it was emblazoned with a crude drawing of a Mockingjay.

The square was empty, strewn with bodies, some stirring slightly. Cries for help sounded faintly. No one went to their aid. Only the dead and wounded remained in plain sight.

Weft ventured into the open, but a sudden burst of gunfire from the Justice Building sent him diving for cover. Now he was on the other side of the street from Twill. Twill closed her eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and dove after him. More gunfire erupted and stones sparked behind her as bullets ricocheted into the night. Weft wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

"I'm guessing that if we have people here, they'll be where that flag is. I think we can get there by cutting through buildings."

They backed away from the square until they found a doorway that led into a darkened corridor hazy with smoke. Immediately they were challenged. "Stop!" hissed a voice from the dark. Who are you?"

"Weft Johns, from Beanie's group, Factory D."

"I don't know Beanie. I don't know you. Lay down your arms."

Twill and Weft both complied and raised their hands.

"Step back." said the voice, and they moved back almost to the door.

Two heavily armed men emerged from the shadows and scooped up their weapons.

"What do you want?"

"We're here to report from the Communications Center. Are you with the rebellion or not? Beanie said the command center would be somewhere around here, but how can we know?"

In low tones, the two men briefly conferred. One of them faded back into the shadows.

"It's here." said the other, "Follow me."

"He led them down the corridor and into a room with a broken wall. There he was himself challenged and gave a password. They advanced through the room without even seeing the challenger and came through the wall into open air. They were at the back of the rubble pile, on its far side away from the square. A couple of dozen men and women were there, seated on various bits of broken concrete.

"From the Communications Center." said their guide. He handed their weapons over to a man nearby, then turned and disappeared back into the building.

Twill and Weft looked around. In addition to the people nearby, they could see others in higher vantage points overlooking the square. Those high up were watching the Justice Building; the rest were staring at them.

"Who's in charge?" asked Twill.

"I guess I am," said a woman coming forward. "since our leader is dead. My name is Paylor."

"Beanie sent us." said Weft.

"I don't know Beanie, but I know there was supposed to be a group at the Communications Center."

"Well... it's been taken, and they're securing it as best they can. Heavy losses. No medical. No food. Peacekeepers destroyed the transmitters before we could get to them."

Paylor grunted. "Give them their guns. Anyone spare some ammo?"

No one volunteered. Twill and Weft shouldered the rifles.

"Beanie wants us back there. He wants to know what the situation is."

"The situation..." mused Paylor. "Here's the situation as I see it: we had a hell of a riot and lot of us got killed and we got a few of them. Most of it, though, was just a riot and looting. I don't see that we've picked up a lot of active support. We did get some." she said with a casual gesture towards the people around them. "We got a bunch of weapons and a very little bit of ammo. We did actually hear from one other group, so we know we have the Granary. Who knows... maybe we'll get some food. That monitor's still on..." she said, pointing towards the square.

"Yeah, the power was on at the Communications Center." interrupted Twill.

"That's good." said Paylor looking at her. "So maybe we have the Power Plant.

"We know there's a heavy contingent of Peacekeepers in the Justice Building. That's where they went when they lost control in the square. We have the entrances covered, at least the ones we know about. We know there's still a large group at their barracks. The major entrances are covered there as well. That's what we've been talking about. We think we can keep the group here contained, but we have to take the barracks. That's where their arsenal is, and we need those weapons." There was a general murmur of assent from the others.

"We've already dispatched people to reinforce those already there. A bunch of us here were about to go ourselves when you showed up. So far as I know, most of what force we have will be there.

"Since we think we have the Peacekeepers bottled up, and since the Communications Center is now of no more use to us than them, I suggest Beanie abandon his position and move his men down to the barracks." More murmurs of assent followed.

Twill and Weft nodded their assent, and Paylor assigned a man to see them back to the street. They hugged the buildings until they were well clear of the square. The trip back to the Communications Center was uneventful.

Twill saw familiar faces standing behind makeshift barricades as they approached the building. They were recognized in turn and the nagging fear of being shot by their own friends was gratefully dispelled.

Once safely inside, Weft asked for Beanie and was told he was on the roof. They toiled up the stairs again. It had been a long night. The adrenaline that had fueled them early on had largely worn off and an immense exhaustion was setting in. Both had to take a break at the top floor to get their breath back and rest. They didn't take long. They both sensed the urgency of the situation and forced themselves to get up and moving.

On the roof, Beanie was standing with a cluster of other men. The building was high, by District 8 standards, and had a wide view, including a good section of the district's encompassing fence. Dawn was breaking, the sky becoming noticeably brighter. A fresh, chill breeze had sprung up, biting into their thin clothes on the open expanse of roof. The men were staring up to a radio antenna where someone had tied a Mockingjay banner that fluttered against the pink of the dawn. Beanie saw Weft And Twill advancing and smiled. "It looks good, doesn't it?" he asked, gesturing upwards.

"Yes," agreed Weft, "and long overdue."

They reported their meeting with Paylor, and Beanie stood nodding as they spoke. When they were done, he sighed deeply.

"We haven't seen any sign of activity out there." he said, waving to beyond the fence. "Maybe they weren't able to get the message out themselves."

Twill disagreed, but said nothing.

"Let's get out of this wind." said Beanie, and the group moved inside.

"Shouldn't we post sentries?" asked Twill.

"I guess not," answered Beanie, "not if we're going to be moving anyways."

They sat in a corridor at the top of the stairs. Beanie had his knees up, his arms crossed over them and his head resting on his arms. Twill wondered if he had fallen asleep, but he soon looked up.

"We can't go immediately. Foragers have been sent out to see what's what and, hopefully, to scrounge some food. I want to hear from them. We're all exhausted to the point of stumbling over our own feet. Most importantly, we have wounded. We can't just abandon them."

"The Capitol isn't going to take this sitting down." argued Twill, "They're going to hit back, and hit back hard. We have to ready, and there's very little time."

"I will not abandon the wounded!" snapped Beanie. He took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wall. "Look..." he continued, "some of the wounds are light. Some of those people may still be able to fight, and willing to, but others aren't. Some are seriously disabled, some are dying. Maybe we can arrange it so the lesser take care of the worse, but these people made grave sacrifices for this rebellion, and I will not abandon them. We're also desperately in need of rest; not a lot, just some."

Twill was bristling. "This is no time for rest!"

Beanie looked at her dolefully, then shifted his gaze to Weft. "Tell you what: you take a squad with you, volunteers, and go find the rebels at the barracks. Make contact. Find out what the situation is. Tell them we're coming. Then you come back here and report. By the time you get back, we'll be set and ready to go."

Weft looked around. "Volunteers?" he asked, and instantly had a squad. "Lets go." he said.

At the bottom of the stairs. Twill pulled him to one side. "This is wrong!" she whispered, "There's no time for this. It's foolish to think the Capitol doesn't know what's going on. These transmitters may be down, but you saw that monitor in the square: where is that feed coming from and why is it still playing? They're sending everyone a message: they have communications and they're not going anywhere. The Capitol will be here in force... and soon. Beanie's wrong. We have to move now."

Weft looked back at her wearily. "We agreed that Beanie would be in charge. This is no time to start arguing leadership. He's brought us a very long way. His judgment has been good so far. The best thing we can do is get to the barracks and back as quickly as possible. He says they'll be ready: they'll be ready."

They rejoined the squad and headed out into the morning light.

---

Twill couldn't even remember the flash or the explosion. One moment she and Weft and a group of heavily armed men were crossing the street away from the Center, and the next she was crumpled against a building in the shadow of a massive piece of concrete while the ground lurched beneath her and the world spun like a top. She was breathing dust, coughing and hacking while pain shot through her head. Struggling to a sitting position brought on waves of pain, dizziness, and nausea. Her eyes would not focus; the world was lost in a fog. She could hear sounds, but they were strangely muted, muffled. A shape loomed before her, but it took a moment before she recognized Weft. He was on his knees at her side, one of his hands in hers, the other cradling her face.

"Twill!" he was shouting, "Twill!"

Slowly he came into focus. She reached up her hand to touch her head and it came away bloody.

"Weft." she murmured.

"Oh God" he exclaimed and grabbed her to him.

Fresh waves of pain knifed through her head, and she gasped at their ferocity. She feebly tried to push him away. Gently he laid her back against the wall. His face was close to hers. She could see his eyes, full of terror and despair.

"I'm... I'm alright." she managed. "What happened?"

"They bombed the Center." said Weft. "Hovercraft out of nowhere. Bombs. It's a ruin. Are you okay?"

"Yes." said Twill quietly. The world was starting to settle, not swimming as erratically as before. Her hearing was coming back and her vision clearing. She looked at the torn piece of concrete leaning precariously beside them. Had it landed a couple of feet closer, they would have been crushed like bugs. It seemed funny, but an attempt at laughter only brought on more pain. Weft moved closer, still caressing her face.

Now she could see past him, see the ruined walls of the Communications Center. She could also hear cries and wails, shouting and calls for help. Weft fired a brief glance over his shoulder but turned immediately back to Twill. Dust still filled the air, but it was thinning, breathing getting easier.

"I'm alright." Twill repeated, a bit stronger, a bit more confident. "We must help."

She tried to get up, but it was too much. The world swirled and swung and heaved like ocean waves, and the pain was like knives thrusting into her head. She puked down the front of her clothes and stumbled back against the wall.

"I have to get help!" cried Weft.

"No. No." Twill insisted. "I'll be fine. It'll just take a minute." Suddenly she was feeling exhausted, tendrils of sleep tying her to the ground.

"You go." she said, "You go help. I'll be there in a minute."

He looked at her silently, terror and doubt in his gaze.

"Go." she said, "I'll be there."

He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. "I love you." he said.

"Me too." she replied, and then he was gone, scrambling through the debris back towards the ruined building.

Twill sat in the black shadow, battling sleep in the freezing winter air.

'Must get up.' she thought. She tried, and fell, and tried again. Slowly the ground settled and she was able to struggle upright, to keep her balance holding on to the nearby concrete for support. Her rifle had disappeared and she cast about feebly, but did not see it. Slowly she started to move through the debris. And then it happened again. She felt trapped inside a thunder clap as the earth lurched beneath her. Knocked off her feet, she hit the ground heavily, the breath punched out of her. She struggled to regain it, but there was no air, only dust, and debris raining down around her.

It was minutes before she could move, try to get up. The ground settled beneath her and she struggled to her feet. She looked out into the light and saw... nothing. There were no cries or shouts, just a strange and oddly unnatural silence. Where the Communications Center had been, there was nothing but a shattered concrete.

"Weft?" she asked into the silent air. "Weft?" She repeated louder. "Weft, where are you?" she shouted louder. Now she was staggering forward, oblivious to the pain. She fell, got up, and fell again, desperate to get to that pile of rubble. "WEFT!" she was screaming now, "WHERE ARE YOU!"

Hands gripped her arm and pulled her back, pulled her down. "We have to get out of here!"

She tore free and staggered forwards again. "WEFT?" It was a plaintive wail.

"He's gone!" insisted the voice. "They're all gone. He's dead! We have to get out of here."

The hands grabbed her again, dragging her back. She spun to confront this intruder, and found herself face to face with Bonnie, Bonnie, covered in dust, her clothes torn, blood running down one arm, a pulse rifle slung awkwardly over her shoulder.

"HE'S DEAD!" Bonnie was shouting at her. "We have to go!" She waved her arm down the street.

Twill was numb. It didn't make sense. What did Bonnie mean 'he's dead'? She looked down the road. A river of white was advancing slowly down the street, a tide of Peacekeepers.

"We have to get out of here." hissed Bonnie, renewing her grip and dragging Twill back into the shadows, into the building still standing behind them. Twill allowed herself to be taken. She was back in a fog, uncomprehending, confused. Bonnie dragged her through the silent building; some sort of vast warehouse with mountains of cloth bolts creating a maze. They stumbled through until a door appeared before them, a door back into the light.

Bonnie said, "Wait here." and ran forward to the door. Twill stood immobile, hardly capable of coherent thought.

Bonnie was back in a moment. "It looks clear." she said, "We're going to cross to the next building and go through there. We're going to work our way back home."

Twill was unresponsive.

Bonnie stuck her face inches from Twill's. "Do you understand?"

Twill stared back at her blankly.

"Shit!" Bonnie swore, grabbing Twill by the arm again and dragging her forward.

Slowly they worked their way through building after building, staggering across open spaces, taking refuge in shadows, dodging Peacekeeper patrols. So many patrols.

With a final burst of energy, they reached the tenement, and Twill found herself standing in her own apartment. She had no idea how she got there. Bonnie was with her still.

"Get cleaned up." Bonnie ordered. "You have to look like you've been here all along. They'll come. You wait and see. They'll come asking questions the Peacekeeper way. You better be ready. You better have answers. I have to go."

And with that, Twill was alone. She looked around, not knowing what to do, then she went into the bedroom, fell onto the bed, and was instantly asleep.

It was after dark when she was shaken awake. Bonnie stood over her, Bonnie looking clean and tidy and every inch the good little schoolgirl.

"Get up!" Bonnie yelled. "Get out of those clothes and get cleaned up!" The apartment was dark, and freezing cold. She half helped, half forced Twill to get undressed and into the shower. The water was freezing. "I'll be back." She yelled, disappearing out the door with the bundle of Twill's discarded clothes. An hour later, she returned. Twill was clean, dry and dressed, sitting listlessly at the kitchen table, staring at its bare wooden top. Bonnie sat down across from her.

"Mrs. J." she asked, "can you hear me?"

Twill looked at her and nodded.

"It's over." said Bonnie. "Your revolution has failed. There's Peacekeepers everywhere, thousands of them."

Plaintively Twill asked, "Weft?"

"He's dead, Mrs J. They all are."

The sobs broke from Twill in waves. How was this possible? She looked around the apartment. He was everywhere. He was nowhere.

Bonnie moved over beside her, awkwardly placed an arm across her shoulders. "He died righteous, Mrs J." It was all she could think to say.

Twill did not remember Bonnie leaving, did not remember getting back into bed. It was pitch black when she was startled into wakefulness. She was covered by every blanket she owned, and still it was cold. "Stay in your apartments, stay in your homes." an amplified voice was intoning. She wrapped the blankets around her and staggered to the window. In the street below, some kind of speaker truck was slowly moving down the street. "Anyone caught outside will be shot on sight. Obey the 24 hour curfew." The message repeated and repeated until the truck disappeared around a corner. Twill went back to bed.

---

The days that followed were bleak, dreary, and terrifying. There was no heat, and electricity came only when the emergency broadcast system was activated... scenes of triumphant Peacekeepers, scenes of endless executions. There was no heating, no hot water. Twill stood at the kitchen sink staring at their two teacups, his and hers. Suddenly she picked his up and flung it against the wall. The stupid, stupid, man! Him and his stupid revolution! She swept everything off the kitchen counter, pulled everything from the kitchen cabinets, and then collapsed to the floor and wept. She wouldn't even be able to bury him.

Two days later, the Peacekeepers came, just as Bonnie said they would. They stormed the building, ransacking every apartment, demanding identity papers, questioning everyone, beating anyone who hesitated.

They took a special interest in Twill. Where was her husband? She didn't know. Why didn't she know? They got separated the night of the Capitol broadcast. She hadn't seen him since. How did she get the cut to her head? She fell, running from the square, and got stepped on. Where was her husband? She didn't know. Was he a rebel? No. Was she a rebel? No. Where was her husband? On and on it went, over and over again. They shoved her, slapped her, punched her, choked her, twisted her arm, nearly broke her fingers, but her answers didn't change. And then they left. She felt cheap and dirty. She felt like she had betrayed Weft. She cried, alone in the apartment.

Over the next several days, they came back twice, repeating the ordeal. She held out, and held on. They learned nothing from her. Once, looking from her window after one of these assaults, she saw the Peacekeepers drag a man from the building and throw him into a waiting van. She didn't know the man, and took it for granted that he was later executed. So many executions.

But there were secrets they did not discover.

The food supplies dwindled. It didn't matter. She had no appetite. The people held out. There were those who risked moving inside the building, sharing what supplies there were. Twill suspected that Bonnie was making outside excursions, but she never saw the girl. And then it was over.

She awoke one morning to find the lights on, and heat rattling through the building. The television was on with an endlessly repeating message that the mills would open again, and all people were expected to report to their regular shifts. She wondered if there would be school.

At the usual time she headed down to her classroom. Most of her students were there, though Bonnie was not in sight. Twill sat at her desk and stared out a window. She had nothing to teach. The students became restless. They just started talking among themselves. Some got up and left, others just sat around aimlessly passing time. Bonnie wandered in around noon and sat quietly at the back. She ignored the others, preferring to keep a watchful eye on Twill. The day dwindled away until the school hours were done. Only Bonnie and Twill remained in the room.

"Ready to go?" asked Bonnie.

Twill gave a start, apparently noticing her for the first time. "What? Go where?"

"Our shift." said Bonnie. "Our shift at the plant."

Twill sighed deeply and responded listlessly. "Oh yeah. Our shift. I suppose. I'm a bit surprised you're going in."

Bonnie shrugged. "You have to pick your battles."

The two left the building, starting the walk to the factory. It was already dark, the air still and chill. The moon, just nearing full, cast a dead white light and stark black shadows. Only the sound of their footsteps crunching over ice and broken glass disturbed the nighttime silence. They had walked a block or two when a Peacekeeper patrol rounded a corner in front of them. In an instant they were surrounded, blinded by harsh lights shone directly in their faces. Harsh voices ordered them against a wall, demanded identification papers, interrogated them on who they were, what they were doing and where they were going. For ten minutes they were searched, grabbed, and groped, until a Captain said 'enough' and ordered them on their way. They hurried down the street followed by Peacekeeper laughter.

As they rounded a corner, Twill leaned heavily against a utility pole, sobbing with fear and humiliation. A quick glance at Bonnie showed only anger and hatred.

"Those bastards." said Bonnie. "Those sons of a bitches fucking bastards."

They gathered themselves together and walked on. "We'll be late," said Twill, "but we'll explain what happened. They just have to believe us."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

They reached the street that normally would have taken them to the factory, but the way was blocked. A building had collapsed, spilling a wall of debris across the way.

"Further down." said Bonnie.

It was two more blocks before they found a clear street to take them towards the factory, and another two before they turned a corner that put the factory in sight. It was almost comforting, thought Twill. They could just hear the faint sounds of machinery, see the yellow light streaming from the high windows. It would be warm there. Familiar. There would be people she hadn't seen in weeks and work to keep her occupied. Together, she and Bonnie started along the street, the moonlight sparkling over broken glass and frost.

Bonnie broke the silence. "You know those searches they did? Where they tore everything up?"

Twill didn't feel the need to respond.

"I heard they were looking for weapons. They lost a lot of them. They didn't find many."

Twill was walking head down, watching the street at her feet. She didn't much care what Bonnie heard, or where she heard it.

"The thing is: this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

They continued the walk in silence until Bonnie stopped suddenly, grabbed Twill's arm and pulled her into the deep shadow of a building. "Look." she said, pointing to the sky.

Six bright lights hung there in a long line. 'Pearls on a string', thought Twill and wondered where she got the phrase.

"Hoovercraft," said Bonnie, "and they're headed this way."

Together, they stood in the shadow and watched as the planes drew nearer and nearer. And then the first plane was over the factory and bombs were falling. Explosions rocked the surrounding buildings, shattering more windows and bringing more glass onto the street. The ground heaved under their feet, as they stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed. The devastation continued with plane after plane raining dozens, hundreds of bombs down on the factory. And then they were gone. And the factory was gone. Only a pile of junk remained with stray wisps of flame reaching into the sky.

Bonnie and Twill were stunned. They stood unmoving, staring at the ruin.

Suddenly Bonnie snapped, "That's it. We're leaving."

"What?" said Twill, staring at her, "Where?"

"Out of here." replied Bonnie, waving her arms vaguely, her voice harsh with determination. "Out of the district." She turned and started back the way they had come.

Twill watched her walking away, undecided on what to do. Then she called, "Wait up!" and hustled after the girl.

They were moving fast, and Bonnie was talking. "We'll use those Peacekeeper outfits, and get out of here. I've heard that there are people who live in the wild, people who don't answer to the Capitol. Maybe we can find them."

"Maybe we'll get ourselves killed." said Twill.

Bonnie stopped suddenly and turned on her. "Don't you get it? We're already dead! We were supposed to be there. We were supposed to be in that building. As far as the Capitol is concerned, our names are off the list. Our continued existence is an inconvenience, an embarrassment. Do you think the Peacekeepers will hesitate to set it straight?"

They were moving again. "Everybody's dead. Everyone who lives in our building works there, at least everyone I know. My parents were there. They're dead too." Now, in the moonlight, Twill could see tears streaking Bonnie's face. "We have to go."

They reached the tenement without further incident. "Get some pillowcases." said Bonnie. "We'll start at the top and work our way down."

"Doing what?"

"Gathering supplies. There won't be much after the last two weeks, but we've got the whole building."

"You mean break in and steal?"

"You still don't get it, do you? They're dead. They just killed two full shifts. Those people don't need shit. We do. Now let's go."

Twill was standing in her living room holding a pillowcase containing the meager supplies the apartment had to offer. In addition to a small amount of food, mostly beans and rice, she had found a small coil of rope, and had tossed in a tin opener and a bread knife. She looked at the pillowcase and felt foolish. This was madness. Was it really happening?

An annoying screech from the TV announced that the emergency system was coming on. The TV blazed to life with a view of the demolished factory. An immaculately groomed news-anchor started talking about barbarism and terrorists and the need for the Capitol to restore law and order. The factory had been identified as a hotbed of terrorist activity and insurrection, and the Capitol had dealt with it accordingly. More of the same was promised if necessary to rid the district of the elements threatening its peace and prosperity. Twill stood mesmerized, her mouth agape.

And Bonnie was in the doorway glaring at her. "Great." she said, "Now she's watching TV."

Twill snapped out of it and the two left the apartment, Twill closing the door gently behind her.

They went through the apartments of people they knew, and then of those they didn't know. There was risk. Not every apartment was unoccupied and they watched for light leaking out from under doorways. It took a while, and most of the building, but they managed to fill six pillowcases. "It's all we can carry now, and probably more than we can take with us, but it may be a while before we're actually able to leave."

Sacks awkwardly in hand, they were about to leave the building when Twill stopped short. "Damn!" she said, "There's something I forgot." She turned and raced up the stairs.

Bonnie's voice trailed after her, "We don't got a whole lotta time here."

Twill raced to her apartment and grabbed the map and compass from their hiding place. Back downstairs, Bonnie gave her a truly evil glance, and they left the building. Bonnie led the way.

"Where are we going?" asked Twill.

"A place I know. The squat."

---

They dodged from shadow to shadow, eyes and ears alert to any unnatural sound. They had met the one patrol earlier and did not wish to repeat the experience. If they met another, there would be no need for ID papers: they would be shot instantly as looters. Bonnie knew every concealing niche, every cellar stair, every unlocked door. They dodged through buildings and under streets, passed through spaces Twill would never have imagined to exist.

The path Bonnie was leading headed in the general direction of the train depot, and an area close to the district's encircling fence. No one came to this place. The Capitol had long ago decided that close proximity to the fence was likely to give people ideas... ideas of escape. The whole area was long deserted, the buildings abandoned and condemned. How ironic that for all the mayhem of the last several weeks, this area, scheduled for demolition, remained untouched.

Eventually, Bonnie came to a stop inside one of the deserted buildings. "This is it." she said.

Twill looked around. It was deep night, and the waxing moon provided the only light. It leached in through a broken window leaving most of the space in deep shadow. From what Twill could see, the walls were bare and water stained, the concrete floor was littered with food wrappers, old tin cans, some old magazines. A couple of filthy mattresses were tossed in a corner. They had huge rips in then, their contents freely spilling out. In another corner, an old stuffed chair leaned drunkenly, as battered as the mattresses. Some lumps elsewhere might have been pillows, or greasy blankets. There was a faint odor in the air of habitation and long gone food.

Bonnie walked over to the mattresses and gently fingered the cascade of stuffing.

"This is not good." she said. "They've been here."

"Who?" asked Twill.

"Peacekeepers. I hope they didn't get anyone. There's a chance they'll be back."

She stood in the center of the floor looking around her, then, "Come." she said authoritatively.

They picked up their bags and Bonnie led the way to a neighboring building, up a couple of flights of stairs to an empty room that overlooked where they had been. This room looked entirely deserted, its window without any trace of glass.

"If it's surveilled, they'll be here soon. We can only hope it's not. Make yourself comfortable."

Twill didn't think there was much hope of getting comfortable in this place, but she scrunched down in a corner, sitting on one of the full pillowcases with another at her back. Bonnie stayed where she could look out the window, and Twill, watching her, soon fell into a light doze. She woke with a start, and found herself alone. A trace of motion in a far corner caught her eye. A rat? She really didn't want to know.

Light was dawning when Bonnie shook her awake. She couldn't believe she'd actually fallen asleep.

"One of my friends showed up." said Bonnie. "He didn't have much to say. He was here when the Peacekeepers showed up, but had time to get out of sight. He says they stomped around a lot, and tore the place apart, but it wasn't any kind of in-depth search. They didn't find anything and didn't stay long. Too bad. There's stuff here that would have opened their eyes."

"So what next?" asked Twill.

"So what next?" echoed Bonnie. "You're the adult. Aren't you supposed to be in charge?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Lets have some breakfast." Rummaging through one of the pillowcases, she came up with a box of biscuits. "Oh look," she said "Mockingjay biscuits. Yum."

She produced a sort of candle in a tin can, struck a match to light it, and together they tried to warm their biscuits before chewing them down. The sun had risen and the day was clear but cold. They hadn't been doing or saying much, just sitting in the room as time passed, each lost in her own thoughts.

Twill couldn't help but think of her apartment, so warm, so familiar, so close. Maybe Bonnie was wrong. Maybe the Capitol wouldn't care about two survivors. But Weft wouldn't be there, and without Weft it was no longer home. Returning to that old life wasn't possible. Weft had been right about one thing: life in District 8 offered no hope. Returning to the apartment would be easy, and might be safe, but it would be returning to a prison. The unknown was frightening, but if there was any hope anywhere, it was out there.

"So what was the plan?" Bonnie eventually asked.

"What plan?" Twill countered.

"Weren't you and Mr. J. planning to leave the district? Get the word to the outside?"

"I suppose." said Twill. It hurt to think of all the failed plans. It hurt to think of Weft. "I don't know if that planning ever got very far. Weft said we were going to try for District 3. He said that they seemed the edgiest in the broadcasts of the tour."

"Not much to go on." said Bonnie. "It's a cinch we can't stay here. Do you even know where District 3 is? How to get there? How to get in? Who you were supposed to contact?"

Twill had no answers. She gave a dejected shrug.

"Did you have any actual plan for getting out of this district?"

Twill shook her head. "I really hadn't thought about it."

Bonnie gave an exasperated sigh. "Wait here." she said, and got up to leave the room. At the door she stopped and looked back. "Wait here." she repeated. "Don't you go wandering around. Don't you forget that we're dead on sight. We're dead until we're out of here." She disappeared through the door.

A half hour later, she reappeared wearing a large backpack in Peacekeeper white and toting another. Both looked full. A pulse rifle was slung over her shoulder. The rifle startled and scared Twill.

Bonnie handed the one pack to Twill and stood the rifle in a corner. She took off the other backpack and starting taking clothes from it. "These are the uniforms I got."

Twill opened the pack Bonnie had handed her and looked in at the pile of white. Unpacked, the uniforms were complete from helmets to boots. Bonnie had even managed to secure two of the long, fur trimmed dress cloaks worn only on parade or for ceremonial occasions. Twill picked up one of the helmets, marveling at its construction.

"Remarkable." was all she could think to say.

"Yeah." agreed Bonnie. "Maybe my last good time. Good thing they didn't do a thorough search when they came here. This stuff wouldn't have been that hard to find.

"I think your notion of wearing Peacekeeper uniforms was probably good. I'll bet the district is ringed with Peacekeepers."

She fingered the material. "Look at this cloth. Do you own anything this good?"

Twill shook her head again. She had handled enough of it in her duties at the plant and had often wondered how it would feel to wear such cloth.

"It's strong, and durable, and warm. A damn sight warmer than what we're wearing now. I'll bet it's water resistant. These are their winter outfits, thank God. We're going to need all the warm we can get. Look at these cloaks." She fingered a fur-collared expanse of white cloth. "We don't have blankets this big or this good at home.

"I'm changing." she said. "You change to. It will be more comfortable, and it will help us get into the 'leaving' mind set."

They ditched their old clothes for the uniforms and stood looking at each other. It sent a shiver down Twill's spine. Neither uniform fit very well and they swapped pieces back and forth, trying to find the best combination.

"These shoes are too big." said Bonnie.

"Mine are a little tight." said Twill. "We can swap those as well." And they did.

"Better." said Twill.

"Still too big." said Bonnie. "You must have huge feet."

They looked at each other again and were suddenly laughing.

"Okay," said Bonnie, quickly sobering, "enough. There are only two ways we can leave. We walk, or we hop a train."

"How do we know there's going to be any trains?"

"There are always trains. We might have to wait a while, but there's usually three or four a day. That might have changed over the last couple weeks, but the mills are open again, so the trains will be coming back."

"And we can get on a train?"

"Well now... that's the thing. None of the trains actually comes into the district. All we have here is a short little dead-end line and a choo-choo that moves boxcars in and out. There's a holding area outside the district and trains that come along can stop to pick up a car, or leave one. The area's fenced, and lit, and there's a guard on it, but they're pretty lax." She paused, deep in thought. "Maybe not so lax these days."

"How do you know all this?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "I've been there, okay? There's good shit on trains and, you know, stuff falls off. We go out there all the time. I know guys who have gone to other districts. Can't be done, right? But they've done it. Too bad they're not here now.

"It doesn't matter if we're going to walk. So that's the first question: where are we going? There are people out there; people who don't belong to any district. They don't give a rat's ass about Panem. I haven't met them myself, but I know guys who have. Maybe if we get far enough away, we can join up with them."

"District 13." said Twill.

"What?"

"District 13."

"What about it?"

"We should go there."

"What?"

So Twill told Bonnie about District 13, about the conversations she had had with Weft, about the rigged reports the Capitol broadcast, about the man, Taylor, who was said to be from there.

"And you believe this?" asked Bonnie.

Twill nodded. "Look..." she said, "we have to get away from here, and a train will take us further and faster than any other means, but we have other problems as well. It's the middle of winter, and all we have is six pillowcases of food. It seems a good amount sitting here, but even on the lightest rations, it won't last long in the wild. Do you know how to hunt?"

Bonnie shook her head.

"Neither do I. You've got that rifle, so there's a chance we can shoot something, and that chance will probably come to a necessity. And you're right that we can't just drop in on another district, even if we find one... so where else can we get supplies? If these wild men of yours are out there, they're just as likely to be in that part of the country as this. Maybe we'll find them; maybe we won't. Maybe they'll accept us; maybe they won't. If District 13 exists, then it's our sanctuary in the wilderness: a civilized place where we can expect to be welcomed, a place where we might hope to continue the fight. A goal."

Bonnie was not looking at her. She was sitting on the floor, lost in thought.

"My friend," she said. "the one from last night, said he'll try to get back tonight. He said he'll try to bring food but, at best, that will just be a meal. If he shows, I'll see if he can get us more. I'll also ask him if he can get any info on trains." She glanced up slyly. "We have our own networks. Who knows, maybe he's heard something about this Taylor guy. If any of it's true, the best thing we could do would be to find him. He'd be able to take us straight to 13... if it exists."

"East." said Twill, "We'll need to go east."

Bonnie gave her a puzzled look. "Sure." she replied. "East. You bet. And a private car. And someone to carry the baggage. In the meantime, I'll have to go out and take a look at that holding area, see what the situation is."

"I'll come too." said Twill.

Bonnie looked dubious.

"I might as well." commented Twill. "We'll be leaving together, and if I can know what to expect, I should."

Bonnie looked at her and nodded slowly. "Tomorrow night. Right now, I think I'd better go and see if I can scrounge us some more food. You stay here. You don't have the knack.

"Put these uniforms away. It won't help if they're dirty, and it looks like we'll be here for a day or two yet."

They changed back into their district clothes and Twill carefully packed away the uniforms. She kept the cloaks out for warmth. Bonnie disappeared from the room and, once again, Twill found herself alone.

It was a slow and tedious day, and well after dark before Bonnie returned. She had another pillowcase of supplies with her, but declined to say where she got them. She had also found a small paraffin heater. Their evening meal was generous, but nothing stayed warm for long in the chill of the winter night. They draped the Peacekeeper cloaks close about them and huddled as near as they could to the tiny heater. When sleep came, they spooned together to share each other's warmth.

Twill awoke later. There was no way to know how far the night had progressed. Bonnie, once again, was gone. Maybe it was Bonnie's movement that had woken her, but that girl was slick as a cat. She eased over to the window and looked down to the entrance that Bonnie had first led her to. She could see no sign of movement. She returned to her corner and tried to sleep. Already the harsh conditions were wearing her down, and they hadn't even left the district.

It was light when she woke again and the cold had brought on a stiffness that was hard to shake. The sky had clouded over, and a sharp wind sent frigid gusts into the room. The day was looking like it might rain, or snow, or something. Bonnie was back, standing to the side of the window and staring out. A small pile of food had been added to their supplies.

"My friend is afraid he's being followed. He has to act the good boy for a while. I probably won't see him again." She turned from the window. "It's very dicey out there; the whole district is crawling with Peacekeepers. If he can find any train information, he'll try to send a message. Some of the people we know have disappeared, but he's seen one or two others. Right now, nobody knows anybody. Nobody can afford to. He never heard of your Taylor guy, but if lightning strikes, he'll point him in this direction. I'd say we're on our own.

"Tonight." she said, looking around the room and taking in their meager supplies. "Tonight we'll go if we can. What's the point of stretching things out? We'll haul everything to the holding area. The mills are working, so there'll be material ready to go. Hopefully, there'll be a train. It's a slow business moving boxcars around. We'll wait near the entrance to the holding area and hope for an open and empty car as a train is leaving, before it develops any speed. There's a blind bit when the trains leave the compound; a short section where one side is shielded from the sight of the Peacekeepers... if they haven't changed that. Finding a car will be miracle number one, getting ourselves on will be miracle number two, and managing to take these bags will be miracle number three. We'll wear the uniforms for warmth, but they're not going to help us get away. If we're spotted, we're dead... uniforms or not. Who knows, if it snows, maybe the white will act like camouflage."

"What's this holding area like?" asked Twill.

"It's huge, and very little cover. Only the part that holds the boxcars is fenced, but that's huge all by itself. Around that there's a maze of tracks, wide open, almost no buildings, just some tool sheds." She looked discouraged. "It's one thing to go out there in the summer and just hop on and go for a ride, but now, in the winter, carrying packs and bags, and the Peacekeepers all tense and on the alert, and you, all old and never done it before... that's something else."

She looked hard at Twill. "Can you do it? We'll probably only get the one chance, and if I get on and you miss it, I'm still going to have to go. It's death to stay here. I'll have to take the chance and there may not be a second."

"I understand," said Twill. "and I agree. It's scary. Can I do it? What's involved?"

"The train will be moving slow, but getting faster. It's only a short time we have. There's not really anywhere to hang on properly. You run up to the train and the floor of the boxcar is about four feet off the ground. You have to sort of grab hold of the floor and jump and hoist yourself up and in. I'll go first. You have to watch what I do. Hopefully, once I'm in, I'll be able to help you"

Twill nodded. "Let's hope I'm not so old and feeble as you image." she said with a smile, but inside, she had her doubts.

"If there's no train at all," said Bonnie, "then I guess we'll just have to start walking. Really, Mrs J., it just totally sucks. I mean, I really believe we're dead if we stay here, but I don't want to leave. I'm scared too. I know how to get by here, but out there? Oh man. I'm cold and I'm tired and I'm hungry... and we haven't even left yet. I wish things were like they used to be. That sucked too, but not as bad as this; and all I see is it getting worse."

Twill was feeling the same way.

"And if there is a train," continued Bonnie, "We're going to have to take it no matter which way it's going."

Twill nodded again. "There's hope if we can find District 13." she said, but she wasn't feeling much hope herself.

"Do you have any idea how to do that?"

"Yes." replied Twill, trying to sound confident. "Look what I've got here..." With that, she rummaged through one of the pillowcases and came out with the map and compass. She spread the map on the floor and got to the task, falling into teaching mode, of explaining it to Bonnie. They spent a couple of hours going over the basics, trying to figure out distances and directions, showing how the compass could help to point the way.

At the end, Bonnie was shaking her head. "I suppose it's better than nothing, but it doesn't seem by much."

"It gives us a goal." said Twill.

"You know," said Bonnie, "that map thingy says that District 11 is south. Things get warmer when you go south, don't they? Maybe we should head that way."

"We don't exactly know where that district is either, or how to get in, or who to contact. And it's definitely under Capitol control. I really think 13 is our best bet. At the worst we'll have 12 or 6 as a backup."

"At the worst we'll freeze to death in the wilderness." sighed Bonnie. "It doesn't matter. First we have to get out of here and on a train. After that, the train will probably decide where we're going. They don't just wander around aimlessly."

It was afternoon, with the light already starting to fade. An icy drizzle was now falling, blown around by the gusting wind, threatening to turn to snow. They spread out the supplies and sorted them, packed the rucksacks and still had enough left over to half fill four of the pillowcases. Twill took the rope she had packed and tied the pillowcases into pairs that could be slung around their shoulders. They changed back into the Peacekeeper uniforms and waited for dark.

Bonnie was staring out the window into the street below. She audibly sighed. "It's time."

The uniform had Twill feeling warmer than she had in days. 'Must be winter wear,' she thought. The weight of the backpack was surprising, and she felt it affecting her balance. Bonnie was ready to go as well, but as Twill watched her take a final look through the window, she saw her stiffen.

"Come on." said Bonnie leading the way out of the room and down the stairs to the building entrance. There they stopped. Lost in the shadow of an alcove, Bonnie set down the bags she was carrying, took off her backpack, and took the riffle in both hands. "Stay here." she ordered.

Twill watched Bonnie sprint across the street and flatten herself against the building opposite. She was holding the rifle ready and slowly eased around the doorway. Then, quite suddenly, she disappeared from view. Twill stood and watched, wondering what was happening. There was no sound other than the wind. It must have five minutes before Bonnie reappeared and ran back across the street. She was towing someone by the hand.

"This is my friend, Neems." she said to Twill. "Denim really, but he likes Neems." They were standing tightly close to each other still holding hands. Twill could see Bonnie's eagerness.

"Yaw. Mrs. Jaayyy." said Neems.

He was taller than either of them and rail thin. Dressed in threadbare clothes, his only concession to the weather was a light, and very worn, jacket. He looked even younger than Bonnie, his head shaved and half covered with a tattoo of a coiled dragon. There seemed to be pins stuck through his lip and eyebrow.

"Denim." acknowledged Twill in her best schoolteacher-ese. He was not a boy she recognized.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "He's coming with us."

"Yaw." said Neems, "Neeeeems".

Twill stared at Bonnie.

"Not 'with us', with us." corrected Bonnie, slinging the rifle back over her shoulder. "He's coming out to the yard. He says he got word there's a train tonight and he's going to help us. He says he took extra care to make sure he wasn't followed, but he can't be gone too long."

Neems held out a bag towards Twill. "Some stuff." he said. "After yesterday, I figured Bon would make her move tonight, and I couldn't just let her go. Fuck the Peacekeepers, I just couldn't." He looked at Bonnie. "I was afraid I missed her." The two kissed.

"Thank you... Neems." said Twill. Taking the bag from him. In a minute, it was added to one of her own.

"Yaw."

"Neems is one of the best at hopping freights." said Bonnie, looking up at the boy. Standing in the shadows, it looked like they were glued together.

He was looking back at her and leaned down to give her a sloppy kiss. "Gonna miss you."

They stared at each other for a moment before Bonnie tore her eyes away.

"Let's go." she said, and the little group walked out into the wind.

They stole their way to the fence, and crept along it to a place where garbage had, over time, piled up on both sides. The garbage covered a hole in the mesh, and they crawled through. For the first time in her life, Twill was outside District 8.

Neems, dressed in dark clothes, emerged first into the clear. He looked around carefully before signaling the others to follow. "You so bright!" he said, looking at their dress. He led them away from the fence and into the night.

Twill could see a glow in the sky ahead of them. It resolved into a huge, brightly lit enclosure as they neared. There was a tall, unlit tower at one corner of the yard. Twill could see no people, but there was a train! They were in a wilderness of train tracks, and the locomotive ahead of them was moving slowly along a path outside the enclosure.

"Have we missed it?" asked Twill.

"Don't know. Keep down."

They advanced in spurts from one upright structure to another. Twill had no idea what these things did, but for Bonnie and Neems, they were like stepping-stones. The area around them was wide open, whipped by the wind, lashed by the freezing drizzle. There was not so much as a shrub anywhere in sight, only the blazing lights of the boxcar enclosure.

At one pause, Twill hissed, "How can they not see us?"

Neems was scanning the area, looking for potential trouble, but he answered, "Yaw. They see what they want to see. They're not looking for us and, in this weather, they only want to get out of it. Those eyes," he nodded towards the tower, "we don't know what they see."

The train had advanced beyond the enclosure but seemed to be slowing to a stop. Twill noticed a huge gate opening in the fence before them. Slowly the train started backing into the enclosure. They were close enough now to see a few figures on the ground, catch the suggestion of voices on the wind. She felt so exposed, was thankful for the blowing drizzle. It was helping to keep the Peacekeepers blind.

With a loud clang, the back car of the train crashed into one of the cars sitting in the enclosure. The car staggered back under the force of contact, but the train had stopped. Figures hustled around the connection between the car and the train, and then hustled out of sight. In the harsh light of the enclosure, they could see the full length of the train and all the cars it was towing. There, up close to the locomotive was a car with open doors.

Neems led Bonnie and Twill on. Their short hops were taking them away from the enclosure, down the tracks in the direction the train was pointed. With a screech of steel wheels, the locomotive started up again, inching its way forward. There was a bang as each connector took up the weight of its boxcar and the train moved slowly ahead. Now they were at the side of the line the train was traveling along. Kneeling rigidly, they watched as the engine slowly blocked out their view of the enclosure. Now it was almost on them. Neems signaled them to give him their bags, and then their backpacks. They happily shrugged them off and handed them over. The train was moving faster now, but still hardly at a walking pace. The locomotive, huge in the night, was sliding past them, and they were swallowed in its shadow.

Now Neems, burdened with the bags, rose and sprinted down the track towards the open boxcar door. He heaved the bags inside, and with a deft sweep was suddenly aboard himself. He beckoned them with his arm.

"Now!" said Bonnie, rising to her feet and dashing along the tracks. The train was going faster now, at nearly a trotting pace. Twill was up and running fast after Bonnie. Bonnie had reached the car, tossed the rifle in and, not so gracefully as Neems, was aboard.

Now it was Twill alone. She reached the car and grabbed for the floor and the side of the door. She was moving at a run and the train was inexorably gaining speed. She tried to pull herself forward but was barely able to keep up. Neems grabbed at the back of her uniform and fell backwards with handfuls of cloak. He cursed and scrabbled back, clawing the cloak out of the way until he had a grip on her jacket near the collar and heaved. Slowly she came up a bit. She was off the ground now, her head covered by the rumpled cloak. She couldn't see what was going on, could only feel the train continuing to gain speed. As she hung from its side, Neems was pulling hard on her jacket but not making any more progress. Her one hand was still locked on the side of the opening, she snapped the other to a position where she was able to hoist a little, at least get her shoulder a bit higher. Somehow she managed to kick a leg up and her boot heel caught the floor of the car. Bonnie, on her knees, grabbed the boot and started hauling it back into the car. Slowly, with Neems and Bonnie dragging mightily, Twill clawed and crawled and half rolled up and into the car. The others let go, falling back in a heap. Wrestling the cloak free of her face, she lay on her back, stiff with fear, gasping for breath, adrenaline pumping through her body. She saw the roof of the boxcar above her and, turning slightly, she saw Bonnie and Neems. They were embracing at the open door, tightly wound around each other, buried in a kiss. It was Neems who broke away. He gave Bonnie one last look, and stroked her face with his hand. Then, with a final "Yaw." he was out the door and gone.

Bonnie, leaning against the opening and holding it with both hands, stared back down the track after him, then rolled away from the door back into the shadows of the boxcar. Twill struggled into a sitting position, and stared into the deep shadows. She sensed, more than saw or heard, that Bonnie was in tears. "You okay?" she asked.

After a brief moment, came the barely audible reply, "Fucking bastards."

---

Twill crawled across the floor and settled close to Bonnie in the dark and the cold. Out the open door of the car, together the watched the lights of District 8 dwindle away until there was nothing but the train pounding into the night. They huddled together for warmth. A greasy old tarp lay in the boxcar and they wrapped it around themselves as a blanket. Somehow, they both managed to fall asleep.

They woke to the grey light of dawn, and struggled to their feet to peer out into the country through which the train was racing. Snow, they saw, lots of snow with scrub poking though here and there.

"Which way are we going?" asked Bonnie.

"Not sure." replied Twill, "It's morning, the sun's in front, so I'd guess east."

"Can't you check that compass thing?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

She pulled out the compass and stared at it. She was a lot less confident in its use out here than she had been back in her apartment.

"I think mostly east, maybe a bit north. Give it an hour or so. According to the map, if the old tracks still apply, and the train is on its way to District 6, we would travel a long way east first, and then slowly turn northward. I can't even guess what speed we're traveling.

Bonnie drew back into the car, leaning against the rocking, vibrating wall. "I'm hungry."

"Yes," agreed Twill, "I guess we should eat something. They rummaged through the bags and found some dry cereal. "A handful each." said Twill. "We'd better get used to being hungry."

The train drove on as the day grew brighter. The weak winter light streamed through the open side of the boxcar, and Twill watched as its band grew broader and slowly swept, like the hand of a clock, across the floor. As the sun rose higher, its seemed to poke almost through the car at right angles and shortened as the shadow of the roof came into play.

"I'd guess we're traveling nearly north now." said Twill, after once again consulting the compass.

"Too bad." said Bonnie, "I was really hoping we'd end up going south."

"We've got a long way ahead of us. Any thoughts on how we might get off this thing?"

"We can't do it now. Too fast."

"When it slows, we'll have to take the first opportunity."

"Yeah, but what will make it slow? Maybe it doesn't slow down until it's entering a District."

There was nothing for Twill to say. She gave a noncommittal shrug and tried to huddle smaller against the chill.

It was late afternoon, and the sun shining in through the other side of the car, when the train began to decelerate. Both twill and Bonnie were on their feet.

"Maybe this is it." said Bonnie, "Bring the bags over here. If it gets slow enough, we'll toss them first, then jump."

The train was moving considerably slower now, though there was nothing in the landscape they could see to account for it.

Finally, it was Bonnie who said, "If we're going to do this, we better do it now."

Twill nodded.

Bonnie tossed the rifle, and together they tossed out the bags. With a brief look at Twill, Bonnie was out the door. Twill looked out at the ground racing by. 'This is insane,' she thought, but there was no going back. She stepped back from the door, then moved forward and jumped.

She hit the ground hard with no hope of keeping her feet. Her body lurched forward and she fell hard on her shoulder, flipping over herself, her face grinding into gravel. She rolled and rolled until crashing into some scrub and coming to a violent stop. She lay still for a moment, her face half buried in stinging snow, and slowly, carefully, pulled herself to a sitting position. Everything hurt. She gingerly tried moving her arms and legs. Nothing seemed broken and she was able to slowly pull herself to her feet. Her shoulder was obviously badly bruised, and one knee was very painful, but she was able to stay on her feet and even managed a step or two. One half of her face was still stinging, and a white glove pressed against it came away red. She looked around her.

She could just see the train in the distance, and it seemed to have come to a complete stop. 'Great,' she thought, 'we could have gotten off in comfort.' In the other direction, she saw no sign of Bonnie, but that was the way she started to walk.

A hundred yards down the track, she spotted Bonnie, up and walking away from her. The white of the Peacekeeper uniform really did have a camouflage effect.

"Bonnie!" she called out. Her voice was startling loud in the clear air, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise. Bonnie stopped and turned, and Twill caught up to her in moments.

"No yelling!" whispered Bonnie emphatically. "The train isn't that far away." They both stared off in its direction, could see no sign of movement.

.Bonnie looked a little the worse for wear, but not as beat up as Twill felt herself to be.

"You're alright then?"

"Yes." said Bonnie, "A bit sore, some bruises, gonna be stiff for a while, but nothing serious. You look like you scrapped up your face pretty good."

"Yeah." agreed Twill, "Take a look and tell me how bad."

Bonnie scooped up a handful of snow and used it to wipe the side of Twill's face. It stung, but when she was done she was able to say that there didn't appear to be any serious damage.

"Good enough." said Twill. "What now?"

"Find the bags."

Together, they continued walking down the line. It was another hundred yards before they found the first backpack, the other bags were scattered over a distance, and the two were slow in collecting them. Every muscle seemed to be complaining.

One of the pillowcases had burst open. They searched around for its contents and found some, but obviously they weren't going to find it all. The tied the case together as best they cold, put on the backpacks, and looped the other bags over their shoulders.

"Where's the rifle?" asked Bonnie. It was nowhere in sight. They walked further down the track searching desperately, but to no avail.

"Shit!" cursed Bonnie. "That was something we could use." Twill felt the same. They continued the fruitless search a while longer, but came up empty. Together they turned and headed back towards the train.

As they neared the point where the bags had fallen, Twill grabbed Bonnie's arm and pointed. Tangled in the branches of a bush some thirty feet back from the track sat the rifle. Bonnie crashed across the distance to retrieve it.

"Now how do you suppose it ended up there?" asked Twill.

"Don't know. Don't care. We have it, and it looks alright." Bonnie's relief was obvious.

"Well then, that's that." said Twill.

"Now we walk."

They looked around again, and eventually both ended up staring at the train. Bonnie pointed to trees growing back away from the track. The two moved slowly over the uneven ground and into the cover of a forest, then turned to move in the direction of the train.

As they neared it, they caught snatches of voices and, peering from cover, they were startled to see Peacekeepers walking down the length of the train checking each car as they went.

"Wow." whispered Bonnie. It required no reply.

Together they worked their way to the front of the train, careful to stay under cover. The locomotive was stopped at some small, but heavily fenced, installation. Some sort of device was linked from the installation to the train and, as they watched, workers detached it and it swung back behind the fence. After some brief tinkering, the workers disappeared back onto the train. Minutes later, they were joined by the Peacekeepers. With a screech of steel against steel, the locomotive slowly started to move. Bonnie and Twill stood still in the deepening twilight and watched as it accelerated slowly out of sight.

Bonnie sighed.

Twill asked, "Do you think we should stay here for the night?"

Bonnie thought about it. "No." she said eventually, "There's no shelter there, and there's still light. We should keep walking until its nearly dark. Then look for some place to... hunker down."

For days they walked, starting off cold and hungry, and ending up cold and hungry. When they stopped to break, they took turns with the rifle, trying to figure out how it worked. They didn't fire any of the rounds, afraid of the noise, and knowing that when they were gone, they were gone. The pulse mechanism was powerful and relatively quiet, but slow to charge. They did learn how to use it to start fires. Occasionally, they would crack a tin of something and heat it over open flame. Sometimes they just needed the warmth. Twill managed to break an empty tin in half, and they kept the pieces to use as cups. At might, they looked for fallen clumps of branches, or dense patches of bushes, to shelter them as they fitfully slept.

They ate frugally, but even so, their supplies diminished at an alarming rate. Two of the pillowcases were emptied in short order, their cloth retained as extra padding against the cold. There was no sign of game.

They stayed close to the train tracks, sometimes walked in the open along them. The snow was heavy now, as if a storm had recently passed through. Traveling through open spaces was difficult and left glaringly obvious trails. Walking through the forest was better, but it was so easy to lose any sense of direction. The rails were relatively bare, their gravel bed easy to follow, easy to walk. Several times they had to run for cover as trains bore down on them, apparently out of nowhere.

Twill thought she had identified the rails on the map. They traveled in the right direction... towards District 6. Sometimes they studied the map, but it was becoming tattered and was breaking into pieces.

Then came a day when they reached a branch in the line. It was morning, and the sky was overcast. A light snow was falling, but the air was not bitterly cold. The line continued straight on before them, but a switch controlled access to a second line that peeled off on its eastern side. They had come across sidings before, short sections of track running parallel to the main line, but joined to it at either end. This was different. They could see far enough down it to see it curving away to the east. It wasn't on the map.

"What now?" asked Bonnie.

Twill shook her head. "The only thing I can figure," she said, "is that this line goes in to District 12. That's on the map, but there's no rail connection shown." Looking down, she added, "These rails do have some shine to them. I guess they get used at least once in a while."

"District 12." said Bonnie, "At least it's nice to think we might have some clue as to where we are. Where does that leave us in relation to 13?"

"I think we have to bear east of 12, and then continue north. It's going to mean leaving the rail line entirely."

Bonnie gave her a sour look.

"I don't see any tracks that lead to District 13. I guess there must have been some, but I don't see them here. There were roads, but who knows if they're still there."

They started down the easterly branch line.

District 12. Food. Warmth. Shelter. It was on both their minds. Neither said it out loud, but both were wondering if it would be possible to make contact. No doubt there would be an encircling fence. Could they breach it? Could they get inside? District 12 was the home of Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay herself. If a couple of would-be rebels couldn't find help here, was there any to be found in the world?

Night had nearly fallen when Bonnie laid a staying hand on Twill's arm and put her finger to her lips. Both stood stock still, listening intently. Yes, they did seem to hear snatches of voices in the air. As quietly as possibly, they slipped away from the tracks and into a deep forest that now encroached upon it. Cautiously, they continued, keeping the rails in sight.

The track curved before them, and rounding along it, they came in sight of the fence. It was not as imposing as that which circled District 8, but it was imposing enough. High, and topped with razor wire, it looked like it had been recently refurbished. Sections of the chain link were new and, on either side of the tracks, its base was anchored to heavy steel plates. A massive gate traversed the tracks, closed and guarded by two Peacekeepers, automatic weapons cradled in their arms.

Inside the gate, and on either side of the tracks, stood large, metal utility sheds. Warm yellow light shone out a window in one. It looked so inviting. Twill wondered if it might not be best just to walk on up and surrender. Oh... to be warm!

"I guess we're not getting through that." muttered Bonnie. It had been a fool's hope anyway.

Twill was about to suggest moving further into the forest, east and away from the gate. It was late, and time to make such camp as they could. Clearly they couldn't risk a fire anywhere close to Peacekeepers. She moved to speak when Bonnie raised a hand to silence her. "Listen." she said.

In the quiet of the falling dark, Twill felt the vibrations more than heard anything: an approaching train.

They drew back further into the brush as the train rounded the curve at a snail's pace and approached the gate. The Peacekeepers shouldered their rifles and together pulled it open. The train crept through.

Suddenly Bonnie was up and running back, towards the rear of the train. "What are you doing?" Twill hissed after her, "Where are you going?" But Bonnie wasn't listening. She reached the end of the train and bolted into the open. Crossing behind the last car, she disappeared from sight.

Twill was stunned, had no idea what Bonnie was up to. Crouched down in the gloom, her hand brushed against the pulse rifle and she picked it up. The train slid slowly by. Twill could see it was starting to pick up speed. As the last car passed, Twill was astonished to see Bonnie clinging to a steel ladder attached to the back of the last freight car. Bonnie waved. Twill couldn't believe her eyes. Forgetful of the nearness of the Peacekeepers, she stood up and stared, mouth agape, transfixed by the scene. Bonnie was inside 12, but the gate was soon to be closed and locked.

---

The Peacekeepers were drawing the gates together, when one of them cast a glance back at the receding train. Bonnie stood out against the dark boxcar like a massive blob of white paper. He swore viciously and scrabbled at the rifle on his shoulder. In seconds he was bringing it to bear on Bonnie. What could Twill do? She had no choice, raised her rifle and fired. The Peacekeeper lurched forward and fell to the ground. Now his companion was in motion. He had his rifle in his hands, but an insurgent was on one side and deadly fire was coming from the forest outside the gate. He made his decision and bolted into the dark. In an instant, Twill lost sight of him beyond the shed. Now she was running forward, through the gate.

Bonnie had jumped free of the boxcar and the train was disappearing into the distance. She was standing in the center of the tracks staring at the fallen Peacekeeper. Twill was wildly sweeping the area, looking for the other, but he had vanished from view.

She stalked towards Bonnie screaming, "What the hell were you doing? Are you crazy? Are you out of your ever-loving mind?"

Bonnie stared blankly at the fallen Peacekeeper. "I didn't think..." she started weakly, "I wanted to get through the fence, maybe find some stuff we could use."

Twill was looking at the Peacekeeper now, obviously dead, lying in an expanding pool of blood. "You didn't think? I'll say you didn't think!" She wiped her hand down her face thinking, 'What now? What now? What now?' "We have to get out of here. Fast! That guy... they're going to be coming, and big time."

Bonnie looked at her. "Yes." she said, awareness returning. "We have to run." But instead of sprinting back out through the gate, she walked to Peacekeeper, retrieved his weapon, did a brief search of his uniform and came away with a couple clips of ammo.

Twill was following her as if in a dream, the rifle held slack at her side as Bonnie went into the shed. It was warm in there, blessedly warm, and the incandescent light was remarkably soothing. Twill felt waves of exhaustion sweeping over her. Bonnie was ransacking the place. She found little... some rations for the guards and a couple more ammo clips.

She turned to leave, pushing Twill before her, when a field radio squawked to life on a table behind her.

"Johnson, report!" said the disembodied voice. A moment later, the order was repeated. Then, "Johnson, you slack jawed goober, you better get on this horn and fast!"

Bonnie smashed the radio with the but of her gun. "Lets go."

The two fled through the gate and into the night.

They ran into the forest, ran for seeming hours. They fell, stumbled, tripped repeatedly, but got up and ran more. Branches lashed at them out of the dark, clawed at their uniforms, but still they ran. They ran until they fell and could not get up again. They cowered together against the trunk of a massive tree and, unable to stop themselves, they fell asleep.

It was early dawn when they were snatched awake. The forest around them was full of sound, voices and footsteps. "Lose the packs." breathed Bonnie, "We'll have to run."

They shrugged off their backpacks and cloaks, all their supplies save the rifles, and lurched to their feet, prepared for a desperate sprint, but they were too late. To either side, they could see white uniforms advancing through the trees, and then they were spotted. From thirty feet away, they could see a Peacekeeper looking directly at them. "Get a move on." he snarled. "Stop slacking off. Get your asses in gear."

They looked at each other. Was it possible? Had he mistaken them for part of this action? Slowly, they hefted their rifles and started to move forward, trying hard to keep in line, trying hard to look like just two more Peacekeepers while searching desperately for an opportunity to break away. They moved downhill and crossed an icy stream. Bonnie was just clearing the bank when her foot hit a stone awry, and she fell with a sharp cry. Twill went to her side, hooking her arm through Bonnie's close to the shoulder and tried to pull the girl upright. She almost made it, but with a gasp of pain sank back to the ground.

Now the man who had spoken before was coming in their direction. There was nothing to do, no hope of escape. Bonnie hunched down, clinging to her ankle and burying her face in her arms, hoping to hide her telltale birthmark.

"What's going on?" the man barked. He wore the shoulder flashes of an officer.

"Twisted my ankle." replied Bonnie.

"And you?" he barked at Twill.

"I stopped to help."

He looked them over. Bonnie was on the ground, grasping her ankle, her face resolutely hidden. Twill was standing, facing the officer, looking frightened and intimidated. "Oh, it's you two, is it?" he sneered. "A couple of real jack-offs, aren't you. Look at you. You don't even look like Peacekeepers. And now you've twisted your ankle. Imagine that." He prodded Bonnie with his boot. "You're a disgrace." He looked around at the other soldiers continuing their advance. "Very well," he said to Twill, "You can help this one back to the gate, but don't think this is over. I want your names, numbers and units."

Twill was at a loss, had no idea what to say, when suddenly small arms fire broke out in the distance. The man put his hand to the side of his helmet in an attitude of listening. "We got them." he said with satisfaction. "You two get back. I'll deal with you later." He stormed off towards the continuing sounds of gunfire.

With Twill's help, Bonnie managed to get to her feet. She wrapped an arm across Twill's shoulder and the two started back the way they had come. The going was tough. After a couple of attempts, it became obvious that Bonnie's ankle would not support her weight. Walking was now a trial.

As they struggled back to their packs, Twill panted, "What do you suppose they were shooting at?"

Bonnie gave no response.

"He said they got them." said Twill. "Got who?"

"As long as it's not us." Bonnie replied.

They regained the tree where they had slept, and Bonnie half sat, half fell to the ground.

"We don't have much time." said Twill, "You stay here, I'll look for something to use for a crutch."

It didn't take a lot of searching to find a forked branch lying on the ground amid these trees. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

"Now what?" asked Bonnie. She was on her feet again and trying to get a feel for the crutch. Their packs were back on, the meager addition from the shed added to their dwindling supplies. They now had two rifles and some ammo.

"Back to that stream, I think." said Twill. "If my sense of direction is any good, it looked to me like it came from the north." The two set off.

Twill checked the compass when they reached the stream. It did indeed seem to come from the north. The forest was quiet now with neither sight nor sound of Peacekeepers or anything else. To Twill, the area was menacing and she would be glad to leave it.

They followed the stream for hours. The day was clouding over and threatened snow, but the air was not frigid and their exertions were working up a sweat. Eventually they reached a spot where the forest edged a large clear expanse and stream could be seen to emerge from a small lake. To either side, banks of winter reeds rattled in the slight breeze. Around the lake, the ground was open with a heavy covering of snow. Twill helped Bonnie to a tree near the edge of the forest and found a place for her to sit. They shrugged off their packs and sat together for a couple minutes.

Twill reached behind her to a low hanging pine branch and pulled off a handful of needles. "You know," she said, "I saw someone in some Games using these to make tea. Maybe we should try that." She stuck the needles in a pocket and rummaged through her dwindling pack to come up with the last of the Mockingjay biscuits. She gave two to Bonnie, put one in her pocket and slowly nibbled at the only one remaining.

As she sat, she wondered about the events at the gate. They had been inside 12. Maybe they should have stayed there. District 12 was home to Katniss Everdeen. It was the smallest of the districts. She thought about Katniss and the last Hunger Games. District 12 only had the three Victors: Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss, and Peeta Melark, all of them equally rebellious. If they could have found the Victor's Village, that special, closed community that every district had, maybe they could have found shelter. Obviously not for long... a week, a week would do, a week out of this weather, a week to recover. a week to scrounge some new supplies. They'd be in so much better shape to face what lay ahead.

But things had gone wrong at the gate. It had been a rash and foolish act, and it had gone wrong. They would be trapped in District 12, trapped in a sea of raging Peacekeepers. In such a small space, hemmed in by the ever-present fence, where everyone knew everyone else, discovery would be inevitable. She sighed. A pleasant fantasy, but nothing more.

There was little relaxation. Far away, they watched a hovercraft inch its way across the sky.

"You wait here." said Twill. "I'll scout ahead."

It was late afternoon when she returned. A light snow had started to fall.

"There's a place up there." she reported, "some concrete structure, maybe an old building foundation. Open door, open window, but otherwise enclosed. There's a fireplace, and firewood stacked inside, but I don't see anything to say anyone's living there. It's strange, it's suspicious, it's probably very risky, but it's real shelter. Do you want to take the chance?"

Bonnie didn't even have to think about it. She nodded yes and struggled to her feet. Twill gave her the rifles to carry, picked up both packs, and they left the forest for the house by the lake.

---

It was the coziest night they had had since leaving District 8. The small fire they managed in the little building's hearth cheered them considerably. They shared one of the rations packs Bonnie had taken from the guardhouse at the gate. They had been eating so meagerly that it was more than enough to fill them both. They felt secure in this place and both soon fell deeply asleep.

The sun was fully up and streaming through the door when they awoke. The snow that had started the previous afternoon had stopped overnight, leaving a fresh coating on the land all about. Today, the sun was shining in a near cloudless sky, the air frigid with a brisk breeze.

Bonnie's ankle was not feeling any better. Twill had removed the boot to assess the situation, and it was bad. The slightest movement caused excruciating pain. There was very heavy bruising. Neither she nor Bonnie had any experience at all in assessing or treating injuries. All Twill could think to do was to put the boot back on as protection from the cold and lace it loosely.

Supplies were running very low. They combined what was left into a single backpack, which Twill determined to carry to make the going a bit easier for Bonnie. Together they decided to spend an entire day and another night in this place to rest. Bonnie was to stay inside, tend the little fire and take care of her ankle while Twill set out to see what lay immediately ahead and, hopefully, do some hunting. They had seen very little game, a surprise and disappointment to Twill.

Twill's walk took her to the far end of the lake where another small stream fed into it. The open areas were heavy with snow and Twill was concerned for Bonnie's progress. The forest closed back in again at this end of the lake, providing some shelter and making walking a bit easier. The new stream also appeared to head north. Twill decided the best plan would be to follow it. She saw occasional squirrels in trees, but by the time she brought the rifle to bear, they were gone. There were animal tracks in the snow, but no animals to be seen. Frustrated, she set back towards the house.

As she neared it, she was alarmed to see a stranger approaching the door... a stranger dressed in a snow suit of obvious Capitol design. She dropped to a half crouch and brought her rifle to the ready, trying to sneak up as close as she could to this interloper. As she neared, she flipped the pulse switch on the rifle. It engaged with an audible click, and fast as lightning, the figure spun. Twill found herself staring at the point of a very deadly looking arrow. Unbelievably, she recognized the face behind the bow. It was Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay herself!

It was a tense standoff. Twill was astounded, overjoyed to see Katniss, but Katniss was having none of it. All Katniss saw was an armed Peacekeeper in a disheveled uniform. Twill did her best to allay the situation, readily giving up her rifle and managing to bring her last Mockingjay biscuit into view, trying to assure Katniss of their allegiance to her cause. She thought she might be convincing Katniss that she was no enemy when their voices brought Bonnie to the door. Instantly Katniss' guard was up again and it was not until Bonnie had painfully worked her way into Katniss' view that the situation was defused. One good look at Bonnie, and Katniss knew she was dealing with refugees.

The rest of the day flew by. Twill and Bonnie told their stories and gushed with admiration over Katniss' achievements. They told her where they came from, how they came to be here, and where they were going. Katniss took some convincing on that last part. She, in turn, told them about conditions in 12 and its ongoing security clampdown. Miraculously, she had a pack full of food and gave it all to them. It went a long way towards replenishing their supplies. She showed them how to make a better fire. She took Twill out into the forest and tried to show her some rudimentary hunting techniques. It was the best day they had had in weeks, and they were saddened when the light began to fail and she left them to return to her district. Twill thought briefly of calling after her, asking her for shelter, but deep down she was convinced it could never work. She ended up saying nothing.

Back in the building, Bonnie was resting with her back against the stones by the hearth.

"Wasn't that something!" said Twill.

"She was smaller than I expected." replied Bonnie. "Even smaller than she seemed on the Tour."

"It was so good to meet her. I tell you, it really raised my spirits."

"You know," said Bonnie, "I was really impressed by her in those last Games. I really was. But now..."

"What do you mean?"

"There was just something about her, so fit and well fed, so clean, all dressed up in that high tech Capitol gear."

"Well, she is a Victor, and rich, and right outside her own district. But that's something, isn't it? Right outside her own district. She really does flaunt the rules, even in the face of that crackdown she described. That counts for something big in my eyes. She must be fearless."

"I've been thinking..." replied Bonnie, and took a long pause before continuing. "She got nuthin' on us. We're tributes too. Tributes in our own Games: the Winter Games." She waved her arms in the air. "This whole fucking world is our arena, and out competitor is the Capitol. The only way we can survive is to get to a place we've never been, we don't know where it is, and we're not even certain it exists. Have you thought, Mrs J., of what we'll do if we actually get there and there's nothing but ruins?"

"There won't only be ruins." said Twill. "I know it. And we will get there."

They were bedding down for the night, nestled close together for warmth and as close to the dying fire as they could manage. Just before sleep overtook them, Bonnie murmured, "One thing for sure: those cheese rolls she had were prime. Just one was a whole meal."

The next day, they left the house and the lake behind them, and worked their way back into the woods.

---

The following days were grueling. Bonnie's ankle showed no sign of improving and her progress with the crude crutch was arduous and slow. The steam had veered off to the west, and they were following the compass. Uphill and down they walked, struggling through tangled undergrowth and unexpected patches of deep snow. The temperature had dropped, and the cold bit through their clothing.

Twill's hunting efforts were dismal. She did manage to bring a down a couple of squirrels, and that was better than nothing, but not by much. They were always hungry, but dared not splurge on their supplies. They ate the minimum they could bear. Their uniforms were filthy and hung loosely on them. The lack of food left them exhausted and slowed them even further. Katniss had shown them how to make a decent fire. It had seemed easy and straightforward when she did it, but here and now, nothing seemed to work. At night, they huddled together against tree trunks or in the shelter of dense patches of brush. Getting up and moving each morning had become a trial in itself. A strange sort of deadness overcame them. They hardly ever spoke, marshaled all their energy into taking the next step, and then the one after that. They walked until they couldn't walk any more... and then they walked some more.

Bonnie's ankle was not getting better. To the contrary, it was obviously getting worse. The girl tired so quickly that frequent rest stops were required; stops that grew lengthier and lengthier. Now when they huddled together in the night, Twill could feel a fever heat coming off the girl. In the pale winter light of day, she looked ashen, her skin coated in a clammy sheen.

They had struggled to the crest of yet another ridge, and Twill was looking for a place to rest, when an unexpected sound caused her to spin around, searching for its source. And there it was: slinking from the woods, a large dog, half crouched, ears laid flat, a low growl issuing from its bared teeth. Twill cast about desperately for a refuge, practically picked Bonnie off her feet and began to lurch towards a nearby tree. Now the space behind them was filled with dogs, and with a snarl, one lunged forward sinking its teeth into Bonnie's injured ankle. Her shriek of agony made Twill's ears ring and she lost her grip. Bonnie was on the ground, the dog shaking its head and dragging on the injured leg. Twill fumbled desperately for her rifle, pointed it and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened! She tried again, got the same result, then took it by its barrel and started using it as a club. Now the other dogs were attacking. Twill was swinging wildly, trying to fend them off while beating the one away from Bonnie. She made a solid connection, and the dog let go. The others momentarily drew back, and Twill grabbed Bonnie's collar, dragging her towards the large tree. A trail of blood followed their progress. Now the dogs closed again and Twill was screaming, flailing with all her might in every direction. A dog had her pant leg and pulled her off her feet. Another had hold of Bonnie. She stabbed at the nearest furiously with the rifle and suddenly it gave a yelp and fell beside her. Twill was shrieking, stabbing wildly in any direction, Bonnie lay moaning beside her, but suddenly the dogs were gone. Twill's eyes darted to and fro, frantically looking for the next attack, but the dogs had vanished back into the woods. Only the fallen animal remained, an arrow protruding from its side.

An arrow? Twill stared at it, uncomprehending, as Bonnie lay gasping and sobbing beside her. An arrow? Katniss? Had Katniss suddenly appeared to their rescue? It was impossible, ridiculous. Twill sat up and scuttled back until she reached the tree. With a lunge forward she was able to regain Bonnie's collar and drag the girl back with her. Now she grabbed the rifle, again by its barrel, snapping her head side to side in a search for that arrow's source.

They appeared soundlessly out of nowhere. Half a dozen people stepped into view. It was as if the forest itself had conjured them from nothing. Twill saw with amazement that they were women, hard and weathered, dressed in odd assortments of furs and fabric. They were armed with bows and spears, and the bows had arrows notched and pointed at Bonnie and Twill. In one of those totally inexplicable moments, Twill thought, 'I'm getting tired of people pointing arrows at me.'

One of the women was yelling... harsh words that Twill could not understand. She came closer, drawing the arrow further, intend on firing at close range. It was a sure kill when one of the other women barked a command. The first hesitated, screaming a stream of unintelligible abuse at the other while not taking her eyes from Twill. The second stepped forward and barked the command again, bringing her spear to bear on the first. The others were watching the confrontation, their weapons still at the ready, but more intent on their companions than on Twill and Bonnie. Now the second speaker approached the first, speaking quickly and intensely. She drew close enough to hook her fingers over the bow and draw the arrow point away from Twill. The other snarled ferociously, but relaxed the string, and stepped back. Her eyes blazed with anger and hatred. The others took new beads on Twill and Bonnie, but did not seem intent on firing.

Now the second speaker turned her attention to Twill and spoke words of command. Twill did not understand and made no attempt to response. This brought murmurs of anger from the others, and the bowstrings were drawn tighter. The woman stepped forward, seized Twill's rifle and wrenched it from her grasp. She pointed at Bonnie, shook the rifle and uttered another command. Twill pulled Bonnie's forgotten rifle from the girl's shoulder and tossed it to one side. One of the women sprang in to scoop it up, and their apparent leader gave a grunt of satisfaction.

Another command and gesture had Twill surrendering her pack. One of the women went through it quickly. Seizing the ammo clips, she left the rest and tossed the pack back.

The leader was motioning Twill to get up, but Twill wasn't even paying attention. Removing Bonnie's rifle had brought her attention back to the girl, and the growing pool of blood at the injured ankle. Bonnie appeared to have lost consciousness. Twill gently pulled back the pant leg and was repulsed by what she saw. The injury was so much worse than she expected, the skin almost black, the tears from the teeth of the dog oozing blood and puss. She turned away, coughing and retching while the strangers stood by impassively. One stepped up to the dead dog and pulled the arrow from its side. She began to dress the carcass, a procedure no more grisly than that faced by Twill. Twill reached into her jacket, bringing sounds of mild alarm and warning from the strangers, the bows were brought closer to bear, but all she came out with was one of the empty pillowcases. She tore a large strip from it, took a deep breath and reached down to bind it around Bonnie's wound. Bonnie stirred, opened her eyes, and slowly started to bring a hand to her head. She became aware of the strangers and brought her gaze to Twill.

"We have to get up." said Twill.

Bonnie turned her face away, and it was a moment before she nodded. With Twill's help, she struggled to her feet, supported on her good leg, leaning back against the tree. She was pale as a ghost and breathing heavily. Picking up the pack, Twill searched with her eyes until she spotted the stick Bonnie had been using as a crutch. She pointed to it and made motions to show its use. The leader nodded and stepped back, and Twill retrieved the stick. With her crutch under one arm, and her other across Twill's shoulder, Bonnie took a deep breath, glanced at Twill and gave a brief nod. The two stepped away from the tree. The leader gestured and the party set off along the ridge.

---

It was a short but hard journey. Twill was half carrying Bonnie and the women were setting a pace she felt very difficult to maintain. Twice she lost her footing and took Bonnie down with her. Each time an argument erupted among the women. Each time Twill wrestled herself and Bonnie back to their feet. They traveled a short way along the ridge and then began a descent of its southern slope. Twill could not help but feel they were headed in the wrong direction. Eventually, the party reached a lightly wooded area close to a fast flowing river. They entered an encampment. There were a half dozen structures that looked as though they had been cobbled together from fallen branches, leaves and grass. The largest dominated the center of the cluster. Small lean-tos had been built to shelter a couple of mongrel dogs tethered to them. The dogs watched alertly, but made no sound. Twill saw faces peering from some of the structures. She wondered what the reception would be for a hunting party with one dead dog and two strangers in tow.

One of the women pulled a dog away from its shelter. It went with a low growl. She motioned Twill and Bonnie to wait there. Two of the women took up guard positions as Twill gently laid Bonnie down on a coarse mat of branches and pine needles and then sat beside her. The two women who had spoken disappeared into the largest structure, and a period of quiet followed.

After some time, another hunting party entered the encampment from a different direction and came up short when they saw the strangers. A brief conversation ended with these women also entering the large structure. As late afternoon drew towards evening, this happened twice more.

Water was brought to Twill and Bonnie, and some kind of stew in a tightly woven bowl. Twill tasted the concoction. It had a strong and strange flavor, grease floated on top, but it went down smoothly enough and the warmth of the brew felt good. She held Bonnie's head to bring the bowl to her lips. Bonnie managed a few swallows, and between them, they emptied the bowl.

It was after dark before the summons came. Once again Twill helped Bonnie struggle to her feet. Together they were led, prodded, into the large structure. It was warm inside and dimly lit by a central fire. The air smelled of wood smoke, food, and body odors. Close to the fire and encircling it sat a ring of adult women. Further back in the shadows was a motley assortment of men and children. Very close to the fire, and sitting atop a rock warmed by it, was a very old woman. She was a tiny figure, stooped by age, her face scarred, wrinkled and weathered, her mouth sunken as though she had no teeth. A younger woman stood deferentially behind her. After an initial disturbance at the entry of Twill and Bonnie, all attention was turned to the old woman.

She spoke a guttural sentence and people separated Bonnie from Twill, took the former back into the shadows and laid her down on another mat of branches. Twill began to protest, but it was clear that she could do nothing. A curt command saw the Peacekeeper cloaks stripped from both Twill and Bonnie and taken into the circle, where they were carefully folded and laid beside the two rifles, the ammunition clips. A low conversation started. The old woman moderated. She was clearly in charge, and others spoke only when she permitted.

Twill turned her attention back to Bonnie. In the shadows, a man was hovering over the girl's wounded leg. He had removed Twill's makeshift bandage and was rinsing the wound with water, a procedure Bonnie evidently felt painful. The man sat back and rummaged in a sack on the ground beside him. He drew out a lidded bowl of woven grass, dipped his fingers into an ointment it contained, and began spreading the ointment onto the wound. At first, Bonnie tried to pull away. She was restrained and, after only a few moments, seemed to relax. It looked to Twill as if she had fallen asleep.

The man stood and approached the circle of women. Hands clasped against his chest, eyes on the floor, he stood just outside the circle in an attitude of humble supplication. The conversation among the women broke and, with a curt nod from the leader, he stepped inside the ring, never breaking his pose. He spoke in a low voice for some time. When he was done, the old lady dismissed him with a nod. He backed into the shadows, not relaxing his hands or removing his gaze from the ground before him until he was well outside the circle.

Now the old lady turned her attention to Twill and spoke.

"Come forward." translated the woman behind her. Her words were heavily accented and Twill had difficulty understanding. A push from behind sent her inside the circle.

It was the leader who carried the conversation, her words translated by the woman standing behind. Twill had to listen intently to understand.

"Who are you?"

Twill gave her name and Bonnie's.

It was the start of a long interrogation with Twill answering question after question. Where had they come from? How had they got to this place? Where were they going? What had happened along the way? It went on and on with Twill answering as truthfully as she could.

All the information was accepted impassively. None of it was challenged beyond the questions of the old lady.

The main interest seemed to circle around the Peacekeeper uniforms she and Bonnie wore, and the Peacekeeper sweep around District 12. That was the only incident that Twill did not describe in full. The Peacekeeper's comment, "We got them." sprang to her mind. She now thought she knew the 'them'. She described how Bonnie and she had woken beneath the tree with Peacekeepers advancing on either side, but did not tell of the earlier events at the gate that had ended in the Peacekeeper death. She felt afraid to tell that part, and later realized that her fear was that these people would blame them for the sweep, and that the blame was probably justified.

The old lady was nodding.

"Joc," she said through the translator, and indicating the woman who had so wanted to kill them, "lose sister there. It is our law: all Sky Devils die. She see you dressed Sky Devil, she say you die."

She nodded at the other woman, the apparent leader of the hunting party. "Flam say you not Sky Devil. You not know how fight."

Twill protested, "We are not Peacekeepers... Sky Devils. We stole the uniforms to help us escape. We hate the... Sky Devils... like you. We fight them."

"You not know how fight. You use gun like club. Why you not shoot dogs?"

"I was terrified." said Twill, "I tried to shoot. The rifle didn't work."

The old lady nodded at the rifles and one was handed to her. She looked it over, flipped off the safety and fired a round through the wall of the structure. The noise was unexpected and deafening. A surge of conversation erupted in the room but soon died away. The old lady nodded again and repeated the procedure with the other rifle. This time Twill clamped her hands over her ears, but still winced at the sound. The rifle had worked at the gate, hadn't worked with the dogs, and was working now. She didn't understand.

The woman looked at her impassively. "You not Sky Devil."

The old lady nodded to the women who had served as guards on Twill and Bonnie and to the woman who had translated for her. The guards stepped forward and pulled Twill from the ring. Two men picked up an end of the mat on which Bonnie lay and began to pull it from the room. Twill was led after it to the lean-to where she and Bonnie had spent the afternoon.

"You stay here." said the translator, and turned to walk away.

"Who are you people?" asked Twill.

"We are Nome, the people. I am Franse." She and the guards walked back towards the central building. "You stay put." she called over her shoulder. "You go, you die."

It was a cold night, all the more so without the cloaks. Twill tried to push Bonnie's bed further back into the lean-to, as sheltered as she could manage, and then huddled close to the girl. Bonnie stirred, not quite asleep after all. Their eyes met in the near dark. "I heard you in there." murmured Bonnie. "You kept the faith. You were righteous." She closed her eyes and soon seemed to be sleeping more soundly than Twill had seen since her ankle had been injured. It was the only good thing Twill could see.

For two days Twill had the run of the camp. No one interfered with her comings and goings. She made no attempt to escape. She wasn't going to go anywhere without Bonnie. There were no guards in evidence, but Twill got the impression that everyone was watching, and that no one was trustful. After dusk she was allowed into the central structure, but sat near the wall with the men. She managed to drag Bonnie inside as well and no one made to stop her. No one moved to help her, either. The few hours of warmth were good. They were given water and food, and Twill, almost immediately, felt revived. It seemed to her that Bonnie was rallying as well. The fever receded, but it did not go away.

Every night the same circle convened, but their language was unintelligible and Twill could not guess what they discussed.

On the third night, she was again summoned into the circle.

"We know place you go." said the old lady though Franse. "Two, three moons, we be near. You fem, like us. You strong spirit. You live, fight Sky Devils. We take you. You come with us, you live. We take you close."

Twill couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You know District 13?" It was an incredulous whisper.

"We know many things. Good, bad. Yes. Strong people there. Strange people. Live under earth. Live in cage. Not free like Nome." A murmur of agreement passed through the circled women.

"And you would take Bonnie and me there?" Twill hardly dared to hope.

"You, not other. Girl die."

It was like a hammer blow. Had they guessed what had happened at District 12? Had they condemned Bonnie? Twill felt panic rising. Was the cost of her life to be the death of the girl?

"No! I won't let you! She's done nothing to you." protested Twill, her distress obvious. Her eyes darted, searching for some desperate means of escape, but it was useless... they were trapped.

The old lady looked perplexed, and low murmurs swept the circle of women. Some had the sound of approval.

Franse stepped forward and whispered to the old woman who nodded slowly and tried again.

"Not punishment. Calm yourself." Franse translated. "Girl too hurt. Medicine not work. She die less than one moon. Spirit strong but body fail. Soon she walk where none who live can follow. Different trail than you. We cannot help. You cannot help. Finish here. With honor. It is our way. Warrior's way. You live."

"Bonnie comes with me." stated Twill defensively, still tense and untrusting. "She's getting better, anyone can see. She'll be a strong fighter too. I can't leave her. It is not our way. If we can get to District 13, they can help. They have... big medicine. She deserves the chance."

"Too far. Too far." The old lady shook her head. "You come with us, you live. She die. You stay with girl, she die. Take plenty time, plenty pain, make you weak too, then you die."

"I can't leave Bonnie."

Again the old lady shook her head, but evidently decided there was no point in continuing. She seemed disgruntled. She gestured to the cloaks and rifles still lying near the fire. "We keep." she said.

"But we need them." insisted Twill. "We need them to survive. Surely you see that."

"You stay with us, you live. Girl die. She not need. You stay with girl, you die. You not need."

Now Franse started talking on her own, stepping beyond her bounds as translator. The old lady glared at her, seemed about to issue a rebuke. Franse immediately stopped, became a supplicant seeking permission, deferring to the elder. After a moment's consideration, the old lady nodded her assent.

"Too far... District 13." said Franse. "Many, many dangers. You are weak. Girl is sick, weak. More and more weak. Not get better. Go too slow. Girl die. You cannot help. You go with girl, you die too."

"You could help us," said Twill, "show us the way, tell us how to get there, shorten our path."

Now it was Franse shaking her head. "Too far. We walk the paths of our mothers, their mothers before them. We know the signs. We know the dangers. We tell you, is not enough, you not see. No make sense. You not know."

"The cloaks and the guns would help." said Twill.

This, Franse translated for the old lady.

"No." came the reply. "You stay with us, you live. You stay with girl, both die."

"I can't leave Bonnie." said Twill.

The old lady made a slight sound of impatience, and dismissed Twill from her presence. Twill found herself dragging Bonnie's mat back to the lean-to under a moonless, starlit sky. Franse came up behind them. "You need to listen." she said.

"I can't leave Bonnie." Twill repeated.

Franse sighed. "Me, one more, we fast two days. Mourn those lost. We try get our food for you."

"Oh, thank you." said Twill, her voice full of a gratitude truly felt.

Franse shook her head and walked away.

In the morning, the Nome were gone. The camp was deserted, the buildings partially destroyed. It looked like no one had been there for years. 'How could they move so quietly?' wondered Twill, but it didn't matter... they were gone. They had left a bowl of the stew, now cold and congealed, a small sack of grain and some strips of dried meat. The cloaks and rifles were nowhere to be found. Twill could imagine the debate that preceded the gift of food.

Bonnie was awake. She was up on one elbow, watching as Twill scoured the camp.

"I feel better." she said, as Twill returned to the lean-to. "We can do this."

Twill nodded. She showed Bonnie a staff she had found, broken to a point at one end, long and sturdy. "It will do for walking support," she said, "and maybe a spear if necessary."

They shared the bowl of stew and stuffed the dried meat and grain into their pack. Twill managed to get Bonnie upright, the girl helping more than she had been able before their time with the Nome. But Twill could see the effort it took. Just getting up had Bonnie breathing heavily and in a sweat. Her injury was obviously not improved, probably worse. Their short stay with the Nome had done them both some good, but Twill expected the benefit would be short lived.

"At least now we know for sure that District 13 exists and is populated," said Twill, "and we're headed in the right direction. All we have to do is get there. They must think we have some chance, or they wouldn't have left us this food."

Bonnie tucked her crutch under her arm, and with her arm across Twill's shoulders, the two set off into the forest.

---

The benefit of their brief rest was short lived. After only a day, Twill was carrying Bonnie as much as the girl could walk. Bonnie, obviously in continual pain, was concentrating fiercely on simply hopping ahead a few inches at a time. Twill tried to choose the easiest path, but they were in untamed wilderness, in a relentless winter, and paths were hard to find. They stopped frequently and it seemed to Twill that their progress was unbearably slow.

Two more days they managed, each more hesitant than the last, making less progress each day. Bonnie had ceased to be responsive. She was moving robotically, mechanically repeating the same actions without any apparent awareness. Twill was practically carrying her. When they stopped to eat, Twill would chew food into a mush and then try to feed it to the girl. Bonnie could take a few mouthfuls and that was it. With time, no coaxing from Twill could get her to swallow anything more than a mouthful of melted snow.

Where was District 13? It felt like they had been wandering forever. From their vantage atop a high ridge, all that was apparent was endless hills, endless forests, endless snow, endless cold, endless wind. They started a slow and torturous descent, Twill searching for the easiest path, Bonnie barely able to stay on her feet, leaning heavily on Twill. The days seemed to be lengthening, but night still came swiftly and with it the fear of predators. They could go no farther. They found a fallen tree and huddled together against it, modestly sheltered against the wind.

In the gathering gloom, Twill thought back over their journey. The boost to their spirits from meeting the Mockingjay outside District 12 was gone, faded away in the vicious cold and blinding snow of this never ending winter. It was hopelessly obvious that Bonnie's injured ankle was so much worse than either of them could have imagined. Twill had stopped checking on it. It looked and smelled bad, was obviously excruciatingly painful, and there was nothing to be done about it. The Nome were right: traveling through the wild with this seriously injured and sick girl could not continue. Perhaps their search for District 13 had been a mistake. Perhaps they should have stayed in 8. The Capitol's crackdown couldn't go on forever and the destruction of that factory full of workers might have satisfied their need for vengeance. It wasn't certain that she and Bonnie were on some Capitol death list.

There was little to tell the coming of the dawn. The weather had set in again. Dark clouds and driving snow obscured visibility and left them feeling isolated in an impenetrable sea of gloom. Twill could see that Bonnie was almost done. She determined to go ahead on her own, scouting out what was before them. Feeling as alone as she had ever felt, she set off into the forest.

It all seemed so much the same. Every day the same trees. Every day the same snow. Every day the same cold. She was at an exceptionally steep section of hill and grasping desperately at the rope railing to stop from falling, when it struck her... a rope? She stopped to gather her wits and look around. Yes, she was on a trail, a broad and clear path with rope supports installed at steep sections. Was this some Nome path? Small hope that it was, it was the best they had had in weeks. It must lead somewhere. Twill floundered her way back to Bonnie, barely able to follow her own path, her tracks already obscured by the new snow. But she did find her way, found Bonnie exactly as she had been left. Excitedly she described the way ahead. The girl stirred enough that Twill felt sure she must have heard. She started to pull at Bonnie and a slight moan escaped the girl's lips. She was done. She could walk no further, could not even get to her feet. Twill looked at the ashen face, the glassy eyes. "No!" she said, "We're not done yet!"

Crouching with her back to Bonnie, she pulled the girl's arms over her shoulders and struggled to her feet. Another faint moan greeted the effort. 'At least she's still alive,' thought Twill. Bonnie was light as a feather, nearly starved, nothing but skin and bones, but Twill was little better off. She was equally starved and exhausted. The effort was enormous. With Bonnie draped down her back, Twill staggered down towards the trail until she collapsed by its side. Another strangled gasp escaped Bonnie. But Twill was not going to be defeated. This was a trail. A real trail. An open well-kept trail. It led to something.

Again she struggled to her feet, Bonnie still hanging from her back. She lurched and stumbled her way forward. And then, to her amazement, a clearing! The driving snow made it impossible to see far, but just at the edge of visibility, it could be made out - a chain link fence! She stumbled through the open space toward it. At least twenty feet high and topped with razor wire, this was no derelict structure; this was new and well maintained. Had they finally reached their destination, the sanctuary of District 13? There must be a gate! She stumbled wearily, frequently blindly, along the fence, but just as Twill thought there might be some other structure ahead, she fell. Bonnie gave a small shriek of pain and Twill lay sobbing in the snow. Had there been movement ahead of them? She turned to Bonnie, encouraging and imploring, and struggled to get back to her feet. She was just managing it when gloved hands closed on her and hauled her up - the white gloved hands of Peacekeepers.

---

Bonnie cried in pain as the two were manhandled through a gate and into the base. Twill saw the sign above the entrance: the Great Seal of Panem, above it arched the words "Peacekeeper Corps", and below it, "Base 43". And there was the Peacekeeper motto, "Prosperitas ex Fortitudo" - Prosperity through Strength. Inside the compound, they were separated, each tossed into a tiny concrete cell, no lights, no windows, just all encompassing darkness and bone chilling cold. There was a heavy smell of disinfectant in the air. Twill explored the space with her hands. The ceiling was close; even a slightly taller person would not be able to stand straight. She hardly had to extend her arms to feels walls on all sides. There might be room to sit; there wasn't enough to lay down in anything other than a ball. She was terrified, for herself and for Bonnie, and tried calling her name... shouting. There was no reply. What place was this? Nothing was shown on the map between Districts 12 and 13. She tried shouting again. Any response would have been welcome. The silence dragged on and she slumped down into a corner, dreading what might come next.

She had lost track of time when the door burst open and blazing light poured in. She recoiled from its brightness, but Peacekeepers were on her, dragging her to her feet and restraining her while blood was drawn from her arm. Then they were gone. The door slammed shut and she was once again lost in the darkness. Time dragged on, and with no other option, she urinated and defecated in a corner. Now that smell permeated the air. Twill's mouth was dry and full of a sour taste. Thirst was weighing on her.

The door burst open and Twill shrank from the painfully bright light. Two Peacekeepers were silhouetted there. "Jeez." said one and disappeared. Moments later he was back with a bucket of cold water reaking of disinfectant. "Clean it up." he ordered.

Twill did as she was told, tearing a piece from her shirt to use as a rag. She surreptitiously managed a couple mouthfuls of the liquid, certain that it was toxic but unable to resist the water. By the time she was done, her eyes had become accustomed to the light. The Peacekeepers ordered her out of the cell and marched her down to a nearby room, austerely furnished with wooden tables and chairs. Bonnie was there, slumped in a chair, head bowed. She seemed oblivious to Twill and her captors entering the room.

"Bonnie! Are you alright!" exclaimed Twill.

A gloved hand struck her head heavily enough to stagger her. "Shut up." said a voice. Rough hands led her to a chair and forced her to sit. The smell of Bonnie's festering injury was already in the air. Behind a table in front of her sat a Peacekeeper officer.

"Where are we?" she asked. The next blow came unseen and left her in a daze.

"We will ask the questions, you will answer them." said the officer. "You are Twill Johns and Bonnie Elliston from District 8." he continued. "According to our records, you are both dead. The purpose of this tribunal is to determine why that record is incorrect, and how you managed to end up here dressed in government issued uniforms. Would one of you like to volunteer an explanation?"

Bonnie's head rolled to one side. Twill could see the effort it took her just to open her eyes, but the words she sighed were clear enough for all to hear: "Screw you."

The officer nodded, and a Peace keeper with a baton stepped up and heavily rapped Bonnie's injured ankle. The girl screamed in agony, arched rigidly erect in her chair, then slumped back down sobbing.

"Stop it!" shrieked Twill. She must have been struck again because she found herself on the floor, blood poring from her nose while the room around her echoed with screeches of pain from Bonnie. Two Peacekeepers held the girl while a third twisted and hammered at her injury. Bonnie was reduced to an animal sensitive only to its pain. She was beyond rational thought.

"Stop it! Stop it!" screamed Twill. She tried to reach for the girl and a wave of fists, boots, and batons rained own on her. She tried again, her face so swollen she could hardly see, and the blows increased in fury. She was curled on the floor as Bonnie's screams went on and on, until Twill managed to scream, "I'll talk! I'll tell you anything you want to know."

The blows subsided and she struggled to a sitting position on the floor in front of her chair. She was sobbing. What did it matter? They were all dead anyway. Everyone was dead.

The questioning went on for hours. Every detail of their story came out. And then it came out again, and again. Every tiny deviation, every slight hesitation brought on new horrors of pain, until their interrogator was satisfied. Then the two were dragged back to their cells and tossed into the darkness.

After some unknown time, the door again slammed open, and Twill was dragged back to the interrogation room. Again Bonnie was there. Twill did not try to speak. She could not tell if Bonnie was even aware of her surroundings. Her leg, through her torn uniform, looked black, and the smell coming off it was ferocious. A Peacekeeper had hold of her hair to keep her head upright.

This time, three Peacekeeper officers, in crisply starched and pressed dress uniforms, sat attentively behind the wooden table. All had small stacks of paper before them. The center officer took up his and spoke: "Twill Johns and Bonnie Elliston, you are charged with treason against Panem, sedition and insurrection, desertion of your district, murder, impersonating a Peacekeeper, possession of firearms, theft of government property..." Twill lost track of what was being said. In a daze she stared at the officers. 'They're so clean,' she thought, 'so incredibly clean. They look like angels.' The officer droned on and on, neatly setting aside each page as it was concluded. Then Twill thought, 'Neems.' A vision of the boy came to her. 'I had forgotten. How odd they never asked.' The droning continued, but her mind was far away, traveling down avenues of memory. Weft's laughter. The taste of a cup of hot tea. Bonnie rolling her eyes. The Mockingjay banner flying in the wind above the Communications Center. And then the reading was done. The officer sat with his hands clasped before him on the table, looking expectantly at Twill.

A hard slap brought Twill's attention back into focus. "What?" she asked.

With an air of exasperation, the officer repeated, "How do you plead?"

Bonnie stirred. With words that were little more than an exhalation of breath, she managed, "Fuck you." It brought her a blow that Twill thought must surely have killed her.

'Plead?' thought Twill, 'I plead guilty to hunger and exhaustion, guilty to being oppressed and mistreated, guilty to being denied any small sense of possibility, of hope.' This whole desperate flight had been about nothing more than hope, the hope that something... better... lay at its end.

She said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"The tribunal takes your lack of response as an admission of guilt, and a plea of guilty will be entered against each charge. Under the authority vested in it by the Councils of Panem, the tribunal finds Twill Johns and Bonnie Elliston, former residents of District 8 in the Nation of Panem, guilty of all charges. There is only one sentence possible: death. There is no need for further delay. You will be taken from this place to a place of lawful execution, and there you will each be put to death by means of a single bullet to the head. Your bodies will be left as carrion for passing beasts. It is all the memorial you deserve. Sentence to be carried out immediately. This tribunal is adjourned." The officers shuffled the papers before them, stuffed them into briefcases, stood and filed from the room.

Peacekeepers came forward and grabbed both Bonnie and Twill. They were dragged out into the compound, out through the fence and into the surrounding forest. In the center of a small clearing, the Peacekeepers released their hold and stepped away. Bonnie's body crumpled to the ground, and Twill sank to her knees beside her. It was so unreal. Could any of this actually be happening? She tried to cradle Bonnie's head, stroke her hair. The girl lay unmoving against the frozen ground, dusted with snow, but her half-lidded eyes shifted to Twill's face and Twill knew she was there and aware.

Twill murmured words of reassurance, admiration for the girl who had come so far. Every chance she had, had been desperate, but she had taken them all. "Back in there," Twill murmured, "you were... righteous. I was amazed. You really are tougher than any of them."

Slowly, Bonnie raised a gaunt and emaciated hand and Twill reached down to grasp it gently, felt the fingers tighten ever so slightly. Bonnie's lips were moving and Twill bent her head down close to hear. She couldn't be certain, but it sounded like, "They got nuthin on us." She didn't even notice when the Peacekeeper came up from behind, felt nothing as the bullet smashed through her brain. Bonnie followed immediately.

---

The two soldiers had been startled when the Peacekeeper had nearly crashed into their observation post. They shrank back into the hide and stayed still and silent as the figure worked its way down the hill. What was a lone Peacekeeper doing out here? It was probable that the Capitol Base knew of their presence, it stood to reason that District 13 would be keeping as close as eye on the base as the base kept on 13, but in these civilized days the opposing camps observed an unwritten policy of non-intervention. Besides, Peacekeepers never traveled alone. In the untamed wilderness, it would be suicide.

It was even more surprising when the Peacekeeper came toiling back up the hill, and shortly after re-appeared carrying an obviously injured companion. As the two disappeared from view, the soldiers nodded to each other and followed at a discreet distance. The Peacekeepers slowly worked their way towards the base, but acted oddly disoriented. They did not seem to know their way to the main gate.

The soldiers withdrew, returned to their concealment, and recorded the incident for their next report to 13.

Scarcely a day later, they were surprised again to observe a small party emerge from the base and head into the forest. Two of the party were under restraint, seemed incapable of walking. The soldiers eased themselves to a position where they could follow the action. There they witnessed a double execution. This was not good. This was not how the Capitol Base normally handled disciplinary issues.

The Peacekeepers returned to the base, showing no concern for the two bodies left lying in the woods. The soldiers waited for silence to settle, then made a stealthy approach to the execution ground. They got close enough to see that the victims were two women, their faces nearly skeletal from the ravages of starvation. From the large and conspicuous birthmark on the face of one, it was obvious that these had never been Peacekeepers.

Once back at their post, they added this incident to their report. How unfortunate it was that these two had been wearing Peacekeeper Whites. District 13 had protocols for intercepting fugitives in these woods. If they had been refugees, those two might now be safe in 13... except for those uniforms.