Interview With the Mockingjay

by Kiwiwriter47

Here's a slightly different take on the events after "Mockingjay." A journalist from the Capitol's newspaper goes to District 12 to find out the real story - and come to terms with his own role in the Second Rebellion and his own lost love. Author's note: This story has become increasingly about the folks who fought the revolution and are building the post-war world.

4. Chapter 4

INTERVIEW WITH THE MOCKINGJAY – Chapter Four

Monday dawns cool and crisp, perfect running weather. After my morning run, shower, and breakfast, I leave instructions for Calpurnia on tending the apartment while I'm gone, and head for the paper, to get briefed on the Mockingjay and District 12, and to meet Ace Archer.

I find him already at my desk, sitting in my chair, booted feet up on my desk. His jet-black hair is swept over his tanned forehead, and he is wearing blue jeans, checked shirt, and the usual photographer's vest. I can't tell, but I'm pretty sure he's taller than me, and more muscled.

Just to be more irritating, he's holding and studying the photograph of Meredith that Kae Lyn took at the bridge, when she arrived in her Buffalo to relieve our position. It's my favorite photograph of her. She's standing on top of her armored fighting vehicle, wearing a green tanker's suit, headphones around her neck. She's just taken the hairpins out of her hair, and she has a saucy, triumphal expression on her face. In a moment, she's about to see me, and leap off the vehicle into my arms, knocking us both into the mud.

I yank the photograph out of Archer's hand. "Next time you play with stuff on my desk, ask my permission," I snarl. Not the most diplomatic way to begin my relationship with my photographer, but that photograph is sacred to me. "And get your boots off my desk."

"Sorry, man," Archer says, his bronzed face turning red. "I been waiting 45 minutes." He takes the boots off my desk, and vacates the chair.

"That's better," I say, and take my chair back, and point at another one. "Grab a seat. Charlie Allbright."

"Ace Archer," he says, taking the chair and extended a hand. I observe a tattoo on his wrist. I can't make it out. "Who is that fox? Your girlfriend?" he asks.

This guy will win no prizes for diplomacy, I think. But he will be at my side for up to a month, so I had better learn to get along with him. "Sort of," I say.

He grins wolfishly. "Sort of? Is she your fuck buddy?"

I give him a death-stare.

"Sorry," he says, edging back. "Look, I'm kinda blunt. It's just who I am. I say what I think. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad." He shrugs. "It's just Ace being Ace."

"She's not my fuck-buddy," I say, my voice hard.

Ace looks up at the ceiling, around in circles, clearly aware that he's irritating me beyond belief. "Lookit, I'm really fucking up here right now, and I don't mean to. I heard you were a war vet and all, and I thought, well…fuck, I don't know what I thought."

"You thought I was some kind of rough-and-tumble guy, the kind who shoots pool, knocks back beer, and loves them and leaves them," I say.

Archer grins sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so. They told me you were a 'Black Devil,' and those guys have some rep." He points at the little red arrowhead magnet attached to my computer terminal. "I wanted to be one of those guys."

"There aren't many left," I say. I put Meredith's photograph reverently back in its place on my desk. "Look, let's start over. I'm Charlie Allbright."

Archer grins again. "I'm Ace Archer, your new photographer."

"Where you from, soldier," I say, repeating a phrase from a hundred wartime interviews.

"District 1. But I lived in the Capitol."

I blurt out, "How the hell did a guy from the Districts get to live in the Capitol without having his tongue ripped out by the Peacekeepers?"

Archer leans back in his chair. "I had a gig taking photographs and video of Capitol big shots on group tours at Hunger Games arenas," he says, smiling, his chewing gum moving around his mouth. "I started doing that when I was 17, and a bunch of high rollers from the Capitol put up the dough to move me up here."

In spite of his crass nature, I'm interested. "How did that work out?"

"Well, these rich assholes love to go out to Hunger Games arenas on group tours and re-enact scenes from their favorite Games. And I'd go along and do the photographs and videography. It was good times, man. They paid well, they tipped well, and the girls…well, let's just say the girls fucked well."

I laugh in spite of myself. Most of the paper's photographers have little trouble finding girlfriends. But Archer seems to have taken it to a higher level. And it's interesting how much energy the Capitol's residents put in to gloating over and remembering Hunger Games gone by. They were so obsessed with them, they began to neglect holding on to their empire. Maybe that's why the Peacekeepers were such a lousy army, I think, even if they had brave soldiers and overbearing cops.

"So what did you do during the war?" I ask.

Archer's face falls. Clearly this is a source of embarrassment. "I wasn't in the fucking war. I didn't want to join the Peacekeepers, and I couldn't join the rebels."

"Because you were here in the Capitol."

"Right," Archer nods. "They didn't draft me, because even with the war on, the rich guys were still going on their Hunger Games tours. I was out at some Arena – I don't remember which one, taking photographs, when the tour operator comes up to us and says, 'Hey, this tour's over. We've just been put out of business. The government has fallen. We're going back to the Capitol right now. Drinks are on the house.'"

"Well, at least you got free liquor on the trip home," I say, trying to connect to the young man.

"That was the only good thing that came out of it. When I got home, I had an apartment and no job. One of my girls told me that the paper was completely re-staffing, so I came here. Been working here ever since." He grins again. "Still got the babes, though."

I ponder his words for a moment. He's still finding his way in the world and life. "So you pretty much missed the war," I say. "What do you know about the Hunger Games?"

"Fuck, man, I loved them!" he bursts. "Shit, I wanted to be in them! I thought it was the ultimate high for action. But they never called me! Every time they held the Reaping, some other asshole would beat me to it." He shakes his head. "I never got into the shit," he says morosely.

I haven't seen anybody this anxious to get into a fight since the rebellion started.

"You were in the shit, right?" Archer asks. "I see your 'Black Devil' pin. Man, what's it like?"

What's it like? It's like the flashback that is ensuing. It's not the bridge this time, it's a time we were ambushed on a patrol in a forest, with Peacekeepers shooting at us from the front and mortar fire in the rear. I can hear the mortar rounds going off behind me and see the Peacekeepers firing a machine-gun back at me. Jennifer and I are shooting back, and then the two of us are running like hell, zigzagging past the craters caused my the mortar rounds to get us the hell away from there and –

"I said, what's it like, man?" Archer asks again.

The flashback ends. I gasp for breath. "It's an experience," I finally say, looking at the floor.

"Must be intense."

"Yeah," I say. I have to change the subject. "So you liked the Hunger Games," I say.

"I thought it was the ultimate."

"Most of the guys I knew back in District 2 felt the same way," I say. "What do you know about Katniss Everdeen?"

"Only that she went fucking nuts," Archer says. "And she's a hell of a shot with a bow and arrow. 10 yards away, firing upstairs, and Pow!" He smacks his right fist into his left hand. "She kills that bitch Coin dead with one arrow. Damn…I mean, talk about accuracy."

"Do you know what our assignment is?"

"Yeah, they told me. Interview with the Mockingjay. Go out to District 12, grill her, get some photographs, head back to town. No sweat."

I'm amazed. "You think it's that easy?"

"Dude, this girl is my age, and she's crazy. She probably wants to tell her story. She needs to tell her story. Because nobody listens to crazy people."

For a moment, I want to yell at him, but then it occurs to me, Archer might be right. Crazy people need audiences. Maybe Archer's not as dumb as he looks.

"Okay," I say. "But I do the interviewing here. You shoot the pictures."

"You got it, dude." Another big grin, and a snap of the gum. "So where are you from? If you don't mind me asking?"

"District 2," I say.

"Wow, that District saw a lot of shit. It was pretty intense there. You used to have a lot of winners, too. I heard they built an annex to the Victor's Village."

"We had two of the damn things," I say.

"I take it you didn't like the Games much."

I had put up with idiot would-be Tributes like you using me as a punching bag, I think, biting my lip to avoid saying it.

"Not a fan," is all I say.

"Well, you saw the real shit," Archer says. "The Hunger Games were just a game."

"With children being sent to kill each other and die, and a whole society brutalized," I answer.

"It was only 24 kids out of what – a million? And in most Districts, they had volunteers lining up to get in the Arena," Archer says. "Survival of the fittest. How about that for a message?"

"You two can debate this later," growls the voice of Harry Byrne, chief of the copy desk, who has come over from his semi-circle of computers. Tall, thickly moustached, graying, Byrne and his copy editors sort out our stories, slap headlines on them, and send them to print. "You're wanted in the video room. Now."

Harry is another bulldozer, but he's paid to be one. He has to grind the paper out every night. Talk to him on duty, he's a tank who will not brook arguments on the English language. Talk to him off-duty, he's a charming wine connoisseur. It's just too bad that Panem has such lousy wine.

Archer and I rise from our chairs and troop into a conference room where George Altman and our national editor, Naomi Chamberlain, a redhead with huge glasses, await us. George points at a stack of folders and DVDs on the desk. "This is our file on District 12, Katniss Everdeen, and our DVDs of her appearances. I think we should go over them before you head out there tomorrow."

"Sounds sensible," I say. Archer and I plop down in chairs opposite the big-screen TV. George shoves folders and cups of orange juice at us. Everybody has a coffee mug or orange juice. We need some donuts, I think idly. Or bagels. For the sugar rush.

Katniss takes up two folders herself, mostly from pre-war copies of the Times. "A lot of that stuff is practically useless," George says. "It was written by the pre-war government's handpicked liars."

I open the folders and start wading through the stories and pictures. They're in chronological order. Katniss Everdeen. Dark hair, braided, gray eyes, thin and clearly undernourished. Shots of her as the "girl on fire," riding in the chariot at the opening ceremonies of the 74th Hunger Games. A blond-haired boy with wide, sad, eyes next to her. They are waving at the fans.

"Nice horses," Naomi says. On Sundays, she goes riding in a park. The Capitol has everything to entertain its citizenry. Just a lot less of it than before.

"That must be Peeta Mellark," Archer says, pointing him out. "Her boyfriend."

"That's one of the questions we have to track down," George says. "There was a Peacekeeper report that after Katniss got back from the 74th Hunger Games, she was not seen with Peeta very often, but was observed hunting in the woods near the District with another guy." He opens another file folder, and reveals a photograph of the dark-haired, grim-looking young man. "This fellow."

I look at the photograph. "That's Gale Hawthorne," I say. "He's a colonel in District 2. In charge of the new airmobile regiment they're creating."

George nods. "Right first time."

"How'd you know that," Archer asks, his face quizzical.

"I read our own paper, dummy," I snap. I give George a hard look. Why are you sticking me with this idiot?

"Later," George says. "The thing is, Katniss said in interviews at the time that Hawthorne is her cousin." He flips out more photographs, including one of Gale kissing Katniss smack on the lips.

"Well, I've been kissing my cousin for 40 years, and I never did it like that," Naomi says, looking at the photographs.

"District 12…it had 8,000 people…no connection with the rest of the nation, who the hell knows what goes on there?" Harry asks rhetorically.

"You're saying they're all inbred," I say.

"Well, it's 8,000 people," Harry says. "We're not talking about a huge gene pool here."

"And it's down to less than a thousand now," George says. "And the District's records went to shit when the Capitol bombed them to shit. But this is something we have to track down. We have to know if the Peeta-Katniss relationship was real or a set-up."

"Why do we have to know that, precisely?" Naomi asks.

"Because if they were doing everything they did to get laid or doing everything they did to start a revolution is the big question," I say, thinking back to the funeral repast, and the questions from Jennifer and Slim.

"This whole thing is a mess," George continues. "During the war, Peeta was a prisoner of the Capitol, and they tortured him into being some kind of drone and slave."

He walks around the table to another file folder. "These are some preliminary interviews we've done with some people who were involved in their activities. Most of them are from District 13."

"Which makes them anal assholes," I say. "And probably not willing to say anything good about someone who whacked their beloved President Coin."

"Precisely," George says. "But they do indicate that Peeta was seriously tortured and needed a lot of therapy and medication to get his brains sorted out. So that's another issue."

I start scribbling notes. I'll make an aide-memoir later. "What do we have on District 12?" I ask.

"It was a hole," George says. "Now it's an even bigger hole. The government is pressing hard on rebuilding it first, using it as a beta site for other rebuilding efforts. The permanent population numbers less than 1,000. The much larger transient population consists of construction workers from all the other districts working there. Because the mayor was killed in the attacks, the government has appointed a temporary Commissioner, Ron Davis, until they can hold an election for mayor. It's all coal mines and forests. And they don't like outsiders much."

"I can't blame them. Who can we interview from Katniss's inner circle that's outside District 12?" I ask.

"Nobody," George answers crisply. "We asked her mother in District 4, Gale Hawthorne in District 2, and Johanna Mason in District 7. They are all united. They won't talk unless Katniss does. It's the anvil chorus. You open up Katniss, they'll open up."

This story is getting more annoying by the minute. "Let's get back to the chronology," I say. "So Katniss was the girl on fire when she got rolled out at the 74th games." I flip through the stories. "Her costume was designed by this guy, Cinna. What happened to him?"

"Dead," George says. "Killed by the Peacekeepers. We're not sure when."

"Well, there goes that interview," I say, with a sigh. "Moving right along. Then she gets a…what the hell…she rated an '11' on the scoring?"

"No shit," Archer says, grabbing the clipping out of my hand. "She got a fucking 11? Jesus, that's incredible! Nobody gets more than a 10!"

"How did you miss that achievement," Naomi asks. "You're the biggest fan of the Games on the paper."

"I was doing a shoot during the 74th Games," he says. "I think on the site of the 68th. Or maybe the 59th. I don't remember. These jobs all kind of flowed together," he says, not looking up. "But I remember the 74th Games, because I missed most of the action. I only saw the last few days."

"Okay," George says, continuing. "So Katniss Everdeen goes into the arena with a score of 11. We'll look at the tape for the highlights. Peeta announces before the whole nation, God, and President Snow that he's madly in love with the girl, and the crowd goes wild. Nobody wants to see them both die."

"So the Gamemakers changed the rules," I say. "First time ever, I believe."

"I didn't know the Hunger Games had any rules," Harry says.

"They pretty much don't," Archer says. "You can't step off those circles for 60 seconds, and there's no cannibalism. Other than that, the Tributes are on their own, and the Gamemakers can do what they want."

We all stare at Archer. "You know your Hunger Games," George says.

Archer smiles again. "I always wanted to be a Tribute, boss."

George looks down at his folders again. "Okay, so the Games go off, Katniss and Peeta hook up, yadda yadda yadda, the other Tributes all meet various gory fates that we shall soon see in full color, then the Gamemakers bring the last three together and jump them with these mutts. The last Tribute to fall is the mongoloid from District 2…" George looks up. "Jesus, Charlie, I'm sorry about that. Did you know Cato?"

Cato? He's the last Tribute who was killed in that particular set of games. "Well, he's 10 years younger than me, so obviously we didn't go to school together."

"I think what George is asking is did you ever interview the guy?" Harry says, sounding irritated. "Nobody thinks you're that young."

"Yeah, I probably did interview the guy," I say. "Do you need the story?"

"Probably not," Naomi says. "Let's skip on down."

George resumes going through the stories. "So just as Cato dies, Peeta loses a leg, and the Gamemakers decide to change the rules again and go back to only one winner, for an incredible 30 seconds."

"And the question is why," I say.

"Exactly," says George. "And Seneca Crane isn't here to explain it to us, unfortunately."

"No loss," says Harry flatly.

George continues. "Peeta and Katniss do the his-and-hers nightlock scene. We have to know if they really meant it or if that was a bluff, and why. At which point, the Gamemakers go into a major panic at the thought of having a Hunger Games and no winner, and for the one and only time in Panem's history, we have two Hunger Games winners."

"Which infuriates the Panem leadership beyond measure, because the poorest District in the whole nation has just given the finger to President Snow and his merry band of cutthroats," I say.

"You could write this shit," Archer says.

"I do, pal," I answer, and for the first time there is a bond between us. Not a big one, but a real one.

George resumes his narrative. "Peeta and Katniss get repaired, Peeta gets a prosthetic leg, they go home, everybody's happy, and life goes on for a few months with our sweethearts occupying separate homes in District 12's Victor's Village." George looks up. "Meaning they get their first homes with hot water and central heating in their lives."

"Hang on a second," Harry says. "Wasn't there a Mentor to these kids? A guy named Haymitch Abernathy?"

"Yeah," George says, flipping open another folder. There's no way I can read all these stories. I'm glad George is giving the short version of events. "A walking bottle of Chivas Regal. He gets hooked in with the Rebellion later, but during the 74th, he got the kids the supplies they needed."

"Sponsors," Archer says. "The better the show you give in the Arena, the more sponsor money and support you get."

"So Peeta and Katniss are back home in District 12, and according to the Peacekeeper reports, they are not, repeat not, lovers. In fact, they barely talk to each other. Katniss is seen hunting in the woods with Gale Hawthorne," George continues.

"Then Katniss and Peeta go on the Victory Tour. And everywhere they go, they draw huge crowds of people, who see them as the champions who stuck it to the Capitol."

"And that's when the rebellions started," I say.

"It was like they left a trail of powder," Naomi says. "Everywhere they went, disorder and fighting followed right after. District 8 exploded."

"At this point, President Snow realizes that he has to get rid of these lovebirds to manifest the Capitol's absolute power. So he announces that Peeta and Katniss are getting married. Two minutes later, he announces the Quarter Quell, the 75th Annual Games, to be a reunion of former Tributes," George continues.

"Which was absolutely brilliant," I say. "It says that even if you're a winner, you're not safe from being slaughtered. Nobody in Panem outside of the Capitol can avoid being horribly murdered. Every single person in the nation, including Hunger Games winners, lives at Snow's whimsy. And he can send both Peeta and Katniss to their deaths, with the whole country enjoying the show."

"So Miss Everdeen goes into the trials and somehow gets a score of '12,'" George continues.

"That I remember," Archer says. "We were watching that at my shop. I couldn't believe it. It was like the first time ever that someone rated a '12.'"

"We have to find out how she rated a '12,'" Harry says. "We could interview the living Gamemakers."

George shakes his head. "They're awaiting trial. All behind bars. It'll be months before they even start the prosecution."

"Maybe we can go through their lawyers," Naomi says. "This doesn't affect their cases. They're not being tried for how they voted in those presentations."

"No, that won't work," I say. "There was a rat's nest of corruption and payoffs at the ministry level trials, which I covered. I'm sure they were greasing palms at the Gamemaker level. How they arrived at their ratings is probably sealed evidence. I mean, I can ask my sources in the prosecutor's office, but they're going to come back with the same thing I just told you."

George flicks his eyes at us. The only sound is the hum of the air-conditioning. "Naomi, get someone to check that line, just to cover the betting. It's just a few phone calls."

Naomi scribbles her own notes. George goes back to his folders. "Okay, on with the tale. The highlights of the Quarter Quell pre-game show were three: Katniss leaped up and showed off an outfit that made her into a Mockingjay, Peeta announced that Katniss was pregnant, and all the Tributes stood up and united hands in a show of victor solidarity."

"That's quite a trifecta," I say. "That did a lot to stir up the rebellion. Even in the Capitol, people were enraged at them sending a pregnant girl into the arena to die."

"There's an interesting problem with that, though," George says. "No baby."

"Well, the rebels announced she miscarried," Naomi says. "From the stress and exertion."

"Let's be sure of that, shall we?" George asks. He looks down at his notes. "Finally, when they play the anthem, all the Tributes rise and hold hands together in a demonstration of unity, and the Capitol immediately yanks the ceremony off the air, and never replays it."

"No surprise there," I say.

George moves on. "The 75th Hunger Games start in a jungle with the Cornucopia sitting in the middle of an island-like formation with 12 spokes of land. Katniss and Peeta form an alliance with…" George struggles with his piles of paper. "What's this name? Finnick Odair. District 4." He hands us a photograph. He's bronze-haired, handsome, 24.

"They also ally with the 80-year-old crone Mags from the same district," George continues.

"Putting an 80-year-old woman in the arena," Harry says, shaking his head.

"I think there are some ancient legends about overweening arrogance leading to a fall," I say. "The term is called hubris."

"Let's keep up with modern history," George says. "The four of them head into the jungle, battle a force field, search for water, and fight off various assaults. First there was lightning, then some kind of blistering fog, and the 80-year-old woman walks right into it to avoid burdening the others."

"That was noble of her," I say. "Must have been some kind of chemical agent."

"Our heroes flee the fog, get into the salt water, and then get attacked by killer monkeys," George continues.

"More mutts," I say.

"Then they get hit by a tidal wave, and get joined by Johanna Mason, the District 7 Tribute, and the two Tributes from District 3, Wiress and Beetee. So we have a little team here."

"You know, I remember watching the 75th Games closely," Archer says. "Did anyone notice the geometry of the Arena?"

We all stare uncomprehendingly at the photographer. He reaches for a notebook, and says, "Look, I saw it at the time." He starts sketching in the notebook. "The Cornucopia is the center. There were 12 spokes. The arena was designed like a clock. It did lightning at midnight and noon, Blood at 1, Rain at 2, fog at 3, and tidal waves at 10. And each of these attacks came in the appropriate spoke of the clock."

"Damn clever," Harry says. "But that makes it predictable. Who dreamed up the 75th Hunger Games?"

"The eminent Plutarch Heavensbee," I say. "Who is now Secretary of Communications. So maybe he rigged this particular Hunger Games in a different way, to set the ending he wanted."

"Well, then, we should interview Plutarch," Archer says.

Naomi laughs. "The Secretary of Communications is not going to tell us how he orchestrated the Rebellion. He's a manipulative bastard, and he keeps his own secrets. Besides, if he ever tells his story, it'll be to his own TV network."

"The next horror the Gamemakers visit on our crew are jabberjays that sound like people emotionally close to the members," George says.

Archer looks down at his little chart. "That's the 4 o'clock attack," he says.

"Then they got some supplies, loaves of bread, and I think Peeta and Katniss had a romantic moment," George continues. "Then the group sets up a wire trap of some kind, and the Career Tributes from District 2 attack our crew."

"It got very wild there," Archer says. "Johanna attacked Katniss, but didn't kill her. Then she got attacked, and stood up, and shot her arrow right at the arena's force field. I remember that, because the broadcast ended right then. Everybody in the Capitol wondered what the hell was going on."

"I think everyone in Panem was wondering what was going on," I say. "After that, the Districts exploded."

"And then it gets even stranger," George says. "The next time we see Katniss, she's doing those propaganda shots for the rebellion from District 8, basically daring the government to come and get her."

"So one minute she's in the 75th Hunger Games, the next minute she's shaking hands with the wounded and denouncing the Capitol for rebel television."

"And we have no idea of her story on how she got from the explosion in the arena to District 8. We do know that Peeta was captured by the Capitol, and gave an interview in which he said the escape was caused by a conspiracy involving some of the other Tributes, which led to the great escape," George says. "If that's what happened."

"Peeta made broadcasts calling for a cease-fire and warning that the Capitol would attack District 13," I say. "You're suggesting that the Capitol messed up his mind."

"I can't trust any Capitol broadcast," George says. "It sounds logical that the rebels organized the escape, but we have to check this out."

As he is about to read the rest of his material, there is a knock on the door, and George's secretary enters the room wordlessly, handing him a message. George reads it, and turns pale. "We have to cut this short…Charlie, you and Ace can look at the rest of this material by yourselves."

"What's going on, George?" I ask.

"There's been an incident in District 1. A police car with four cops in it was on patrol, and it got blown up by an anti-tank missile. They think it was one of the missiles that was stolen over the weekend," George says. He hands the message to Naomi. "Pull Kae Lyn off the Flickerman hunt. Hook her up with one of your crime reporters and get them out there. I want this covered comprehensively."

"Do you want me to go out to District 1?" I ask George.

He shakes his head. "You two are on a train tomorrow at noon to District 12. Start looking at these tapes." He shoves a stack of tapes at us.

The three editors rise and leave the room to work on the story, leaving Archer and me alone with the stacks of tapes and file folders.

Archer picks at the folders. "Do you want to go through the rest of this paperwork?"

"I need a mental break from all this paper," I say. "There's too damn much of it. We need her story, not what people have written about her."

Archer strides across to the TV and tosses a tape in the player. "Let's go to the videotape," he says.

He flips the switch, and the tape rolls out. It hasn't been cued up right, and it opens not to the "girl on fire" that started the whole Katniss craze, but to Katniss crooning a lullaby to a dying little black girl in the woods.

"I didn't know she could sing," Archer says.

I look at papers in one of the folders. The girl must be Katniss's pal Rue, the District 11 girl. They formed a short-lived alliance. Katniss is surrounding her frail body with wildflowers.

Archer chomps on his gum and grins at me. "Too young for you," he says.

"Fuck you," I say, not seriously. For some reason, I'm not offended. He just wants to butt heads. Maybe I can survive with him.