CHAPTER 4
Most people are either too shocked to speak or full-out panicking when they realize they were just in a car accident. I, however, wear a look of pure annoyance as people walking the streets stop at the scene of the accident to "help." If they want to help so bad, they should just walk away. The last thing I need is publicity about this. As soon as just one person recognizes me, the whole district will be talking about how Katniss Mellark got in a wreck, and before I know it the reporters will be swarming trying to figure out if I was hurt. And wouldn't they just love it if I was?
Anyway, that's the last thing I want right now.
I feel one of the passersby lifting me out of the driver's side of the car, though, which I suppose I'm okay with. The person sets me down against a tree planted off-center in the middle of the sidewalk as a landscaping technique. My head is pounding. I can't remember the last time I had a headache this bad.
Once I have taken a moment to breathe and somewhat collect myself, I notice the position of the car. Everything happened so quickly that I'm not sure what caused the accident, but I remember slamming on the brakes too hard and the car skidding off the road. Only I didn't exactly run it into the lamp post like I thought I had. It actually ended up crashed in an alley, wedged between a dumpster and the bakery wall.
Wait. The bakery?
My heart begins to pound, shooting even more blood to my head and thus creating a quicker throbbing. But I can't be bothered by this now, because all I'm thinking is what if Peeta was hurt? I stand up, about to go in and check on him. Surely, someone would have called a doctor if someone inside was injured. But on second thought, isn't it standard protocol to call a doctor in every case of a car accident? If my doctor hasn't gotten here yet, then it's no wonder there isn't one for the bakery yet. It feels like I've been sitting here forever though, can't they hurry?
"Katniss!" someone calls out.
My head whips around to see my mother rushing toward me. There's my doctor.
"Mom," I say, hurrying toward her. I open my arms to hug her, but she takes a step back and I realize she's already entered her healer zone.
"Do you feel okay?" she asks.
She starts examining my eye movement closely while I speak, so I try to keep them still as possibly. I wouldn't want her misdiagnosing me with a concussion.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply. "But what about everyone else?
"What do you mean?" she asks, a concerned look on her face.
I look over my shoulder at the bakery, where the front end of my car is smooshed into the pink brick wall. At the angle I'm standing, I can't actually see the front end of my car or tell whether the wall has been damaged. So I just point at it, expecting she saw it on the way over to me. "I ran into the side of the bakery," I say.
My mother's wide eyes go back to their natural state and she releases a relieved laugh. "Goodness, I thought you meant the kids were in the car with you. But the bakery's fine, you didn't hurt a single brick. The entire district, or the downtown at least, was rebuilt with bomb-proof walls, remember? You couldn't have hurt that building if you tried."
"Oh, that's right," I say. "I have to go check out the damage to the car."
I begin walking back to the scene of the accident when a question flashes through my head. What caused me to run off the road in the first place?
The answer comes on its own. "Hey, are you okay? I saw the accident, you looked pretty spun up?" I turn to find a tall man, who was clearly a Seam kid at once time, standing behind me.
I can't do anything but stare. So I didn't imagine that. He really is here.
"Wait . . ." he says, seeming to recognize me.
I don't answer. I can't say anything. My head is still spinning from the car accident which I suspect may have given me a concussion after all, but now my thoughts have become even more jumbled.
I'm saved from the chaos when I hear Peeta's voice behind me, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. "Katniss!" he shouts out to me.
When Peeta finally reaches me, his breaths are uneven and he's limping. I briefly worry whether his prosthetic leg is giving him trouble again, but I don't have time to question it much. Peeta reaches up and puts his hands on either side of my face, and his eyes hold nothing but concern. "Are you okay?" he asks. "I heard what happened, but they wouldn't let me outside to see you until they made sure no gas had leaked."
"Yeah, I'm fine." But my answer comes too quickly, and his eyebrows press together. He doesn't buy it. "No, really," I assure him.
"I'm glad," he says. Then he gives me a kiss, and though I find his arms to be comforting and stable amongst the swarming uncertainties in my head, I know that now is not the time.
When we pull away from each other, I'm shocked to realize that he's been standing there, watching us the whole time. My cheeks flush bright red.
"I'm sorry, I just—" he trails off. "Katniss?"
Peeta takes a step back from me but still remains close, his arm wrapping around my waist. He squints at the man, not because he can't see but to try to figure out who he is. Then his eyes soften and his mouth forms an "O" shape.
That's it, Peeta, I think. You have it figured out.
"Gale?" Peeta says.
"Yeah, hey," Gale says. He sounds distracted, but reaches out to shake Peeta's outstretched hand nonetheless.
When they step back from each other, Peeta reaches for my hand. Peeta and I don't normally go out together in public, and when we do we don't show much affection. Despite having cameras focused on us for the beginning stages of our relationship, I still hate public displays of affection. It seems too intimate, too vulnerable, and others don't deserve to be a part of that. So now, with Peeta gripping my hand, I wonder if he's doing it for the sake of being territorial.
Gale watches me carefully, as if I'm the deer and he's stalking me, waiting for the opportunity to shoot.
I look down at my shoes, my face still red. I want nothing more than for this to be over. But it can't be over until Gale stops staring, and his eyes are still on me.
After what seems like an eternity but was truly probably only several seconds of awkward silence, he finally looks at Peeta. "Okay, I guess I'll see you around."
Peeta shakes his hand one more time. In the process, he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist, confirming my earlier suspicion that he was being possessive.
Gale gives me one last, long look before walking away. I notice that he's headed in a completely different direction than he was when the accident happened, but I shrug it off. Why should I care?
Peeta looks at me until I meet his gaze, my face blank of emotion. He sighs and shakes his head with a look of disappointment. "What on earth, Katniss?"
I don't answer.
"So here we had a chance to make things better between you and Gale. It's the first time you've seen him in thirteen years and maybe the last time you'll see him again, and you don't say a single word to him. I mean, I get it, Katniss, but you have to at least—"
"Will you stop?" I say, exasperated, just loud enough that a few heads turn my way. I wait until they look away before I continue. "I'm not ready to see him, okay? Just yesterday we were eating dinner with his family. It's all a lot to process. And I'm not ready."
Peeta takes a moment to take in this response, sees the signs of strain on my face, and reaches up to stroke my cheek with his thumb. I look in his eyes and am mildly amused to see that, as usual, Peeta can't stay irritated with me. He tilts my chin upward and gives me a peck on the lips. "Take your time. I'm here for support."
Two days later, I'm woken in the middle of the night by loud coughing. Peeta shifts in bed next to me. He must've been awakened by the noise, too.
I turn on the lamp on the side table and listen carefully. In my periphery, I see Peeta rubbing his eyes. Then he looks at me and sits up quickly when he sees that I'm up.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
The coughing starts again. It sounds thick and wheezy.
"What's wrong? Who is that?" he asks again.
"I think it's Will," I reply. "I'll go."
"Come and get me if you need me," he says as I walk away.
I creepy silently down the hallway. All my years of hunting and being hunted have come in handy for moving across the wooden floorboards of my house. I finally reach Will's room. When I reach his bed, I see that he's already wide awake.
"Hey, Willy," I say. "What are you doing awake?"
"I can't sleep and I have coughs," he answers, but he can barely get two words out at a time without coughing.
"Do you feel sick?" I ask. I reach down to feel his forehead for a fever and find my hand dripping in his sweat. My eyebrows furrow as I see that his skin is covered in chill bumps. "Honey, you're sweating."
Will looks confused, and I realize he's far too young to know if he's sick.
"Peeta!" I shout.
I pick up Will and carry him downstairs into the kitchen. I hear Peeta's footsteps running to catch up behind me. Once we're in the kitchen, I shift Will to my left hip, grab the phone from the hook on the wall, and dial my mother's number.
"What's going on?" Peeta asks.
"He says he's cold but he's dripping sweat, and he can't stop coughing."
I see a flash of worry cross Peeta's face for just a second before he composes himself. It crosses my mind that this is what makes Peeta such a great father – and husband, too. When the kids or I are worried about something, even if he's concerned too, he'll hide it in order to calm and support us.
He begins to ask, "Who are you—" but I hold up a finger when I hear my mother's voice answer the phone.
"Katniss?" she says on the other end.
"Can you come over?" I ask. "I think Will's sick and I don't know what to do."
My mother arrives ten minutes later, armed with a bag of all different kinds of medicines and another bag that holds her thermometer and other tools.
"Thanks for coming, Mrs. Everdeen," Peeta says when he answers the door.
She doesn't say anything, just nods. Once again, she's already entered her zone.
"Do what Grandmom tells you," I say to Will.
He nods, his small legs swaying off the edge of the kitchen table where my mother has asked him to sit.
"I'm putting this under your tongue," my mother tells him before she puts her thermometer in his mouth. She keeps it in for about a minute, then pulls it out. "He has a 102 degree temperature," she announces.
"What does that mean?" Peeta asks.
"He has a fever," she answers. She feels different places on his face, then looks at me. "You said he was cold."
"I am!" Will says. With perfect timing, he shivers. A few seconds later, his coughing begins again.
My mother focuses intently on the sound of his coughs. After several minutes of listening, she begins packing up her bags. "He has a bad case of pneumonia," she says.
"What's that?" Peeta asks, though I already know.
My mother sighs. "It's a bacterial infection in the lungs. You can get it from being in the cold, catching a virus, lots of things. But with this weather, I'd bet he got it from being outside too long."
"So what do we do?" I ask.
"Well," she frowns, "I can't help you at this point. if you had brought him to me when he first displayed symptoms, then maybe I could've helped. But this is beyond anything my medicines can fix. You'll have to take him to a hospital."
"It won't get better on its own?" asks Peeta.
"It could, but the illness itself can last for weeks and the recovery is lengthy. Babies and toddlers as bad off as he's gotten usually don't live past the first week, if unmedicated."
I scoop Will up from the table and start walking toward the front door. "Go wake up Maysi, I'll start the car," I call to Peeta from over my shoulder. I can see his startled expression as I walk off, but he doesn't question me.
"Where are we going?" Will asks.
"Going to the hospital, Willy," I tell him. "We're going to make you feel all better."
He gives me a weak smile and says, "Okay."
We reach the district hospital by 3:30 in the morning. We decided to leave Maysilee with my mother. She said it would be safer for her if she was kept away from Willard. Will's coughing has progressively gotten worse.
When we walk through the doors of the emergency room, they recognize us immediately. Perks of being a victor, and perks of being the Mockingjay.
"He has a dangerous case of pneumonia," the doctor says after an hour of examining him and gathering lab results.
I groan in frustration, my exhaustion-fueled temper becoming exacerbated. "I could've told you that when we walked in!"
Peeta places his hands on my shoulders. "Don't get stressed out."
"How can I not be stressed out?" I exclaim.
He watches my eyes for a moment, seeing the build-up of irritation behind them. "Hey, calm down. Let's go out in the hall."
I let him lead me into the hallway, where he grabs my shoulders again and looks me in the eyes.
"We're going to make this work. The doctor said he'll have to stay here for the next few days, so you and I can take turns staying overnight with him. One of us can check up on the house, stay with Maysi, and work while the other stays here." He must still see the skepticism in the capability of these doctors and the fear for our son still written on my face, because he says, "I know you're scared, but we're going to push through it. Will's a little fighter, and he has doctors and medicine on our side."
Then Peeta hugs me, but I can't find it in me to hug back. He lets me go, then says, "Maybe you should call Hazelle. Let her know what's happening."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because she's a friend of our family. Maybe she'll be able to help us out."
He rubs my arm comfortingly, then walks back in Will's room, leaving me in the hall alone.
DAY THREE AT HOSPITAL
Will hasn't gotten much better. If anything, he's gotten worse. His coughing has become a dry hacking that occasionally ends in vomiting. The doctor says that throwing up is a good sign, that it means he's getting rid of the fluids built up in his lungs. Yet they continue to increase his dosage of medicine. They said they're scared to increase it much more though due to his age.
DAY FIVE AT HOSPITAL
Despite what the doctor told us before, they've increased his dosage again, but this time it's the absolute highest they can go. And it still isn't enough. I was told when I came here that they would help my son to get better, not drug him up until he can't stay awake. I asked if there were any other options for treating his sickness. Apparently there's some surgery that's usually used on lung cancer patients. They drain the fluids from your lungs and hope for the best. The doctor said that the surgery has only been tried on a pneumonia case twice in history, and that there's no guarantee that the mucus will be able to drain out as easily as normal fluids.
I called Peeta to tell him. He said that we can both stay here at the hospital tomorrow for the procedure.
I've formed a habit of calling him twice a day while he's back home and I'm with Will. I call once at lunchtime, and again before I go to bed. That's why it surprised me at seven o'clock tonight, an hour after dinner, when he called me instead.
"Hello?" I say into the phone, but I'm greeted by someone else's voice.
"Hi, is this Katniss Mellark?"
"Yeah, who is this?" I ask.
"This is Doctor Grunley from the District Twelve hospital. I was called to your husband's bakery tonight. I'm the one who—"
"Wait, why were you called to the bakery?" I interrupt.
"You see, Mrs. Mellark, there was a bad fire . . ."
He continues talking, but I can't hear what he's saying. The doctor's voice is just a low hum in my ear. A fire at the bakery . . . and they're calling me from Peeta's phone. Peeta would insist, has always insisted, on delivering news to me himself, regardless of how bad the news was. Unless he was dead . . . or dying. And just like that, the realization of what's happening here hits me.
I don't even realize I'm screaming until a group of hospital security guards begin rushing towards me. At first, they ask me what's wrong and if I'm okay. But I don't answer them, I just keep screaming. They resort to restraining me, but I thrash against their tight grip on my arms and legs. One guard rushes off to get the manager of the ER. The manager emerges from an office door in seconds and they carry me into an empty hospital room. My voice has started to break by now, with all the wailing and shouting and crying, but I won't stop screaming until I see Peeta.
I keep hoping that they'll just kill me right here and now, to bring me out of the confusion and horror I'm feeling. But I know they won't kill me. They have no reason to. And I'm used to being tortured by being forced to live.
Instead, they pin me down on a coat and shove a long needle into my arm. I'm out before the needle leaves my body.
A/N: There's another cliffhanger for you! What do you guys think? Did Katniss misunderstand the doctor? Will Peeta be okay? Did Katniss just overreact, or do you think Peeta is actually going to die? And do you think poor Will is going to get any better? And don't forget about Gale, OMG! I was going to write this chapter with Katniss being okay to talk to Gale, but it just happened that my fingers didn't want her to be I guess, lol.
Please leave a review, I value your feedback more than you know. I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reading and an even bigger thank you to all of my reviewers! You guys make my day :)
