Day dreaming, or to be more precise, grasping at straws, that was what I was doing when the Disease Control van sped down the street. The cake had gotten me thinking, thinking about other ways I could make it up to my family for moving them so far from home. Vick wanted a bicycle more than anything. I was pretty sure I could find a used one that wasn't too expensive. I could probably save enough by his birthday. Rory of course wanted the impossible. He wanted to go home. We rarely spoke anymore because of it. Nothing more than good morning and past the salt, that is. It was hard to believe that the little kid that used to beg me to take him hunting was now nearly grown. I had never taken him. I had meant to, many times, but hunting was the only time I could get away from it. It being the responsibility of looking after my family, that and the knowledge that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. Going into the woods was my only escape. Taking Rory along would've been taking a bit of that weight with me. And of course there was Katniss. It was hard enough trying to convince her that we could have had some kind of future when one of the reasons we couldn't was tagging along. Of course I fixed that all right. I had been fooling myself any way. Even if she had never volunteered for the Hunger Games, he would have made a move sooner or later. What did I have to offer her in comparison to Peeta with his steady and safe source of income and a home in town? Me? With my mom and siblings to feed and a low paying job that required me risking my life on a daily basis? What if Prim hadn't died? I know Katniss too well. She never would have left District Twelve. Outside of coal mining, being a soldier is the only thing I know how to do. She would have had to been crazy to pick me. That or a hopeless romantic and Katniss is neither. If I didn't love her to the point of physical pain I would have told her to forget about the loser from the Seam and marry the baker. Survival, I expected no less from her.
Katniss was in the past any way. Rory was not. I hadn't made enough of an effort with him. I could have taken him hunting here. Done something just to let him know I understood what he was going through. I was going through it too. That was the problem. I was preoccupied with work and my own pain and I simply didn't know how to ease his. I missed District Twelve more than I thought possible. Funny, since I loathed it every second when I actually lived there. Well not every second. I loved the woods. That's what I miss. I would probably miss more about home if it didn't remind me of the misery the Capital wrought on all our lives. Never the less, I couldn't blame Rory for being angry and I wasn't helping. I silently resolved to do better. I was contemplating just how when I rounded the corner and saw the van parked in front of my house. That old familiar sense of impending doom returned. I started up the path but an official from Disease Control blocked my way. I watched them nail a quarantine sign on the door, a bright red T for typhus. It's silly how you act when confronted with the unthinkable. I knew exactly what was happening and I had a pretty good idea how it would end. But I couldn't help myself. "What's going on?" I asked.
"Typhus. You need to step back sir," he replied. I had a good three inches over him. He was slightly heavier but looked to be more flab than muscle. I started to push past him but he shoved me back. He was stronger than he looked. Though I ached to do so, punching him wouldn't have improved the situation any. I decided on another tactic.
"You don't understand! That's my house! My family is in there!" I cried. He immediately backed away. Typhus was not a fun way to die, not that there's really a fun way to die. He signaled the man in charge, who came forward and looked at me expectantly.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Look, I'm Gale Hawthorne and that's my house," I said and pointed at the door. If there was a time to throw my name around it was now. The two of them exchanged glances and looked back at me with cold hatred. I didn't care. "I need to get inside."
"Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Chills? A rash?" he asked. He was an older man, with the sort of imperious manner that suggested he had spent his entire life in some low level government job. He relished every bit of authority afforded him.
"What does that matter? I live there. That means I've been exposed, doesn't it?" I replied. I stared back at him. I was getting into that house one way or another. Spilling his blood to do so would mean next to nothing to me.
"If you go in, you can't come back out."
"I understand that," I said.
"Okay then," he said and started walking me to the door. "No one and I mean no one but medical personnel is allowed inside. Food supplies will be dropped off in a couple of days. Wait until the delivery man has left before you open the door to get them."
I stepped inside and heard the door shut behind me. I turned and saw my mother. The light that spilled from the room she shared with Posy bathed her face in a warm glow. The deep lines and hard edges of a difficult life were softened. Only her eyes told the truth, five children, one dead on arrival, and a husband lost to the mines. She'd had enough pain for twenty lives. This shouldn't be happening. Things were supposed to be better now. Otherwise, what was the point?
"Gale," she gasped and then the tears began. I went to her and hugged her. My mother is one of the strongest people I know. She's had to be. She never lingered on our misfortunes. You have to be strong, if not for yourself, then for the ones you love. She has always taught me not to dwell on the pain of the past but to focus on what I could actually do. Sadly, more often than not, I lack her conviction. Seeing her given into her tears was nearly more than I could take.
"It will be okay," I said. "We'll get her medicine. It will be okay." But even as I was saying it, I knew it was a lie. I had seen the reports myself just today. The disease was already rampant in Districts Three and Eight. Medicine was being rationed. We were at a bottom of a very long list. My position would be no help here. There was still a lot of animosity towards the Districts that were favored by the old regime. The New Capital was bending over backwards to prove there was no longer any favoritism. Once again I found myself unable to protect the ones I loved the most.
"What's that?" my mom asked as she pointed at the pink box in my hand. I had forgotten I was even holding it.
"Nothing," I replied. "Why don't you go and sleep in my room? I'll stay up with her tonight. I promise I'll get you if she gets worse."
Finally after a lot of convincing, my mother trudged down the hall to my room. I watched her shut the door and then went in to check on Posy. There were so many blankets piled on her that I could barely make out her tiny frame. Her face was flush with fever. I sat on the edge of her bed and put my hand to her forehead. Hot. She opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile.
"Hey Pest, how's it feel to be seven?" I asked.
"Not very good," she said in all earnestness.
"Well it gets better. Honest," I replied, crossing my heart.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the bakery box. I smiled. At least she wasn't so sick that she didn't notice a rare and special parcel in her midst and on her birthday no less.
"What's what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
"That!"
"Oh this," I said and held up the box. I gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Should we open it and see?"
Posy nodded vigorously. Even with her eyes bright with fever, I knew she was excited by the idea of a treat. I took out my knife and cut the string. Very slowly and very carefully, I lifted the lid. She let out a little gasp, her mouth forming a perfect little O. "Is it mine?" she asked.
"All yours. You want some?" I asked.
"Not yet," she replied, shaking her head. "Can we put it on my table so I can look at it?"
"Absolutely," I said. I moved the lamp to the side and placed the box on the nightstand.
"It's so pretty," she whispered, her eyes transfixed.
"Okay, it's time for you to get some rest," I said, pulling a blanket up to her chin.
"Oh tell me a story. Please!" she begged. "It's my birthday and you promised."
"I got you a cake! Isn't that much better than a story?" I asked.
"Both are better," she insisted. As if I could deny her anything.
"Alright, but just one, and then you have to go to sleep," I said. I sat back and pretended I was trying to remember a tale I had heard long ago even though I usually just made it up off the top of my head. "Once upon a time, there was a princess named Posy."
"Like me," she said as she settled back into her nest of blankets.
"Yes, a lot like you. And she decided that there should be a national holiday celebrating the color pink. There were weeks and weeks of preparations for the day. They painted all the streets and all the buildings pink. Every pink flower imaginable was planted in giant pink pots. The trees were strung with pink lights."
"That would be so pretty."
"It was. A large pink tent was built in the town square and inside, only pink food was served."
"What about chocolate?" she asked. Posy had never had chocolate but she had heard about it and unfortunately it had taken on mythical powers in her mind. It made everything better. Why else would other kids brag about having had some?
"There was pink chocolate made with the very rare pink chocolate bean," I replied.
"There's no pink chocolate beans!" she cried. Doubt danced across her face.
"There are and this is my story so let me tell it," I said. I paused for a moment to wipe away a bit of sweat that had collected on her brow. "All the animals were dyed pink and all the people too."
"Like the green lady?"
"Just like that. Even Princess Posy's icky brothers where dyed pink only they came out looking a bit more like purple."
"Purple's nice. Then what happened?" she asked. She could ask questions all night if I let her, urging me to continue building her elaborate dream world where all things were pretty and all people were kind.
"Well they ate all the pink food, especially the chocolate, and listened to music played on pink instruments. And at midnight, Princess Posy climbed onto her pink pony and rode back to her palace where she then climbed into her pink bed and had very pink dreams. The end."
"That was a good story," Posy said, smiling appreciatively.
"Okay. Sleep," I ordered and bent down to kiss her damp forehead. Thankfully she closed her eyes.