Detego Detectum

Chapter 1

Intrusions

The click of a gate signaled the morning gathering… breakfast. Twenty-three heads tilted on long, graceful necks to listen as corn mix filled the hopper with a soft "hisssss".

Haymitch watched the geese as they waddled, one by one, through the fog that hid their coop, toward the feeder in the middle of the pen. It was a damp autumn morning, and he pulled the collar of his jacket closed against the chill.

The flock grew more animated, darting and pecking at one another and jockeying for a space to feed. The undulating motion of their bodies and the snapping of their bills conjured up a grotesque image of ballet-dancing hippos from an animated film he'd seen as a child. He turned with a scowl back toward the gate.

Vapid, ridiculous creatures.

His hand froze on the latch as another image sliced mercilessly through the solitude of the early November morning.

"Damn!"

Inside the house, the hunt was on. That case of scotch had only been delivered two… three… no, two days ago.

Where was it?

It couldn't be gone already.

Haymitch waded through the empties and dirty clothes until his foot struck a cardboard box. It answered with the amiable clink of bottles yet unopened.

"There you are," he mumbled playfully. "Thought you could hide, huh? Well, it's just you, me, and twelve hours till the next feeding time."

Escape and Relief joined the party, too… everyone has a few drinkin' buddies.

Hamitch stopped abruptly fifty feet away from the grizzly scene of his district-mate being mutilated by sickening, pink mutts. What was that droning noise? He looked around at the trees, groggy and confused.

…what?

…what?

…what?

…a phone?

…a phone in the arena…?

Daylight smeared watery slots under Haymitch's eyelids.

Escape and Relief closed the door behind them as they left.

The victor rolled over, determined not to hear the phone. It stopped ringing for a moment and then continued. Stopped. Continued. Stopped. Continued.

Furious, he kicked at the debris littering the floor, staggered to the wall, and snatched up the receiver.

"What!" he barked at the intruder.

"Haymitch, it's Plutarch. Plutarch Heavensbee."

Silence.

Plutarch Heavensbee? Why's he calling? Wasn't he the one who'd sent him home, a useless, unreliable babysitter? The possibilities made his head ache.

Haymitch slurred into the phone, "Yeah, well, it's nice to hear your voice, but… I'm, um, kind of busy right now. Thanks for calli…"

Plutarch interrupted calmly, "Haymitch, something's come up. We want you to come back to the Capitol to give us some input."

"Who's 'we'?"

"President Paylor, me…the War Crimes Tribunal."

Tension added to the list of the morning's intruders. No, he wouldn't go. The war had gone on long enough; it was over now, and he was done. Done. No more loss. No more sacrifice. No more pain.

"I'm flattered, Plutarch, really I am," said Haymitch, not bothering to mask his trademark sarcasm. "I'm sure you can manage this… this whatever it is… without me."

"We can manage it without you. But in this case, we'd rather not." replied Plutarch flatly.

"Right. Like I said, Plutarch, I'm kind of busy. I've got these geese…"

"Haymitch!" shouted Plutarch. The normally-cool official voice, raised in anger, startled even the numb victor. "COME. TO. THE. CAPITOL."

Haymitch weighed the gravity of Plutarch's outburst in his mind during the pause that followed.

"Alright. Gimme a couple days."