Chapter Seven
As it turns out, President Coin didn't agree. I cleared everyone out of the Control Room a few minutes before the appointed hour and the red light on the panel began flashing just like it did before, but in the end I found myself explaining my plan to a sub-commander. Then I had to wait an hour for Coin to finally speak to me herself and even then we were only talking for a matter of seconds. I instantly knew she wasn't interested and the line turned to static again before I really registered what was happening. It's her way or no way. And now I have to tell the others.
When I get to the room further down the corridor that the Capitolians had obviously used as some kind of lounge, they're all waiting for me: Zib, Cam, Cali and every other man or woman who has either been made or made themselves the leader of a group of rebels. Since the day we took over the district, I've expected them to ask each other why they all report to me. They never do.
"What's all this about, Commander Paylor?" asks a woman about ten years older than me called Adaira. Before all this happened, I would barely have recognised her if I walked past her in the street, but now she's one of the most outspoken of those I suppose Thirteen would call my sub-commanders.
I bite back my instinctive first remark, which is to tell her to call me Flax or at least to drop the 'Commander', and sit down on one of the chairs. Zib pushes herself off the wall she'd been leaning against and crosses the room to perch on one of its heavily padded arms. She's got another bandage on, one she wasn't wearing this morning. It's on her thigh, tied almost like a tourniquet, and the blood seeping through it looks black in the dim light.
"I was speaking to President Coin," I reply, addressing the room as a whole even though I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of Zib's blood on that white bandage. "I asked her to help me move anyone who wished to leave out of the centre of the district. She said no."
"Why?" asks Cali, leaning towards me. It's only when she moves that I see Gabby sitting next to her.
"Either because she doesn't have the resources or because she isn't really on our side at all," answers Zib's mother, getting up to pace around the room. "They hardly have a reputation for selflessness, do they?"
"She offered me an alternative. She said she'd fly some of us back to Thirteen as refugees."
"Some of us?" says Cam suspiciously, perhaps because he recognises the tone of voice I used when I said 'some'.
"She won't take the wounded or the infirm. She says she doesn't have the space or the supplies to care for them, not from every district."
"They took in everyone from what was District Twelve though," he counters, and when I look around I can see the doubt on everyone's faces.
"There weren't many of them. And they do have some space there. Eliza explained."
"Who's Eliza?"
"That soldier I was speaking to. She's a bit more…human than the rest of them."
And then I tell them most of what she told me, up to and including the disease epidemic that killed so many.
"So they want those who can be useful to them?" says Zib, as perceptive and to the point as ever. "They want more people they can turn into grey-uniformed robots? Or they want to breed more grey-uniformed robots? You said it yourself that a lot of them are infertile."
"That's going a bit far, Zib," I reply, but even as I do, I can't help wondering if she's got a point.
"Well I'm not going there," she announces. "I'm not a robot and I'm certainly not anyone's broodmare."
"No one's saying you have to go there. No one's saying anyone has to go there. I turned her down. I said she takes all of us or none of us."
"I bet that went down well," says Darry, but though his voice is harsh, I can see he doesn't think I did wrong. "So we're going to keep fending for ourselves?"
"For now," I reply, not seeing the point in trying to lie to them by pretending our food and water supply is going to last forever. "But Coin said she can't take in everyone from 'every district'. And that means they're all fighting. Even District One."
"I suppose that's what Eliza said as well?" says Adaira, not sounding at all convinced.
"It makes sense," interrupts Cali before I can answer. "After the Quell-"
"Why does it?" Adaira snaps, her increasing frustration showing more and more in her voice every time she speaks. "They lost a couple of Victors, but so did everyone else. What did any Victor ever do for us anyway? Have you seen any of ours since the uprising started? They could be in the Capitol for all we know. And so much for the Mockingjay. She might as well be dead. If she isn't already."
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't," I say, raising my voice so they can all hear me clearly. "Either way, we keep fighting. Because what's the alternative? Surrender to the Capitol? If I know anything then it's that I'd rather die."
"No one's surrendering, Flax," she says, looking slightly repentant. "But that doesn't mean we can trust Thirteen if they won't tell us anything about themselves or what they're doing."
"Did Coin say anything about Lucan?" asks Zib after a couple of minutes silence. "Boggs said he'd send him back."
"I thought you said you weren't anyone's broodmare, Pershing," calls a voice from the back. "But perhaps you just think a good District Eight boy isn't enough for you."
I rest my hand on Zib's arm, holding her down on the chair before she can react. "I didn't ask, Zib. It's been over four weeks now. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn't on our side and they found out."
"No," she says, calm once again as she looks down at me. "I'd know. I've seen enough of men to know a bastard when I see one so I'd know. He's on our side. And he might be able to tell us something about Thirteen if he comes back. That's what I meant."
"Then we'd best keep fighting then. Or Coin will be sending him back to a wasteland."
Once the meeting finally finished, I made the mistake of leaving the Communication Centre through the main doors. They were crowding around as soon as they saw me, normal people rather than rebel fighters, asking questions and asking for information or help. I even think some of them just wanted to see me, because there were those who didn't speak at all.
By the time I'm watching the last one hobble away, it's starting to get dark. I look up at the sky, wishing it could tell me if the Capitolians are on their way back, but it gives me no answers. However I stand still for a minute, watching the stars. Before the war, I hardly ever saw the stars. I can't make up my mind if that's just because I never thought to look or if it's because the factories haven't been in use for over a month and the air's starting to clear. I don't suppose I'll ever know, but I like to think it's the latter.
I hurry off down one of the side streets, intending to check on the rebels manning the guns on the other side of town, but then I notice the ruins of a building ahead of me. Most of it has been destroyed in the bombing, but a couple of the walls are still standing, and when I investigate further, I find a sheltered space in the middle of the collapsed stone which suddenly looks more appealing than any bed ever has.
I'll hear the sirens if the bombers return, I tell myself as I spread one of my two coats on the ground and sit down. I'll hear people shouting and running for cover in plenty of time to get up to the guns. It'll only be for a short time anyway, and then I'll move again.
"So she does sleep. Flax Paylor is human after all."
I roll over, reach for my gun and open my eyes in one movement, startled by the voice and ready to attack in a second. I find it hard to believe that less than a month ago I would have been at home with Grandpa, forcing myself to get up and face yet another day at the factory. Now look at me. Now look at how everything's changed.
"Relax, Commander Paylor, it's only me," says the voice, which I easily recognise as Cam's now I'm a bit more awake.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, flopping back down onto my coat and pulling the other one over me because I'm suddenly freezing cold. "What's happened?"
"Nothing's happened," he replies, handing me a flask of water and a couple of crackers. "I was looking for somewhere away from everything while it's quiet. I came here and then I found you."
"And you what?" I ask amusedly. "Sat here and watched me sleep just so you could tell the others that I still need to?"
"Something like that."
I sit up and shuffle backwards, leaning against the wall and raising the flask to my lips. I drink and then hand it to him, moving over so he can sit on the coat as well. He drinks and then puts the flask down on the floor between us, looking at his handful of crackers before handing me another one.
"What's it like out there?" I say eventually, asking the question even though I wish we could stay here in peace for a little longer. "How's Cali?"
"About to lose it," he replies. "She isn't a trained medic and she wouldn't have the supplies to treat all the wounded even if she was. People are dying every hour and there's nothing she or anyone else at the hospital can do about it. Every time the hoverplanes come back it gets more and more overcrowded up there."
"I asked Coin again like I said I would," I tell him. "I didn't tell anyone else because I knew she wouldn't do it. She still says she'll take the healthy ones who can't or won't fight back to Thirteen, but that she doesn't have enough room to treat her own wounded and sick so she can't take ours and every other district's as well."
"Maybe you should say yes."
"That'll go down well, won't it? 'District Eight, I know most of you have at least one wounded or sick relative after the recent bombings, but I'm commanding you to leave them here to die while you go Panem knows where in these hovercrafts with the nice grey-uniformed soldiers and their automatic rifles.'? What would you say to that if you were one of them? Would you go to Thirteen without knowing what you'd find there?"
"You don't trust Coin?"
"Do you?"
"No."
"Well then. We've been fighting for nearly a month now and nothing's changed, at least not for the better. The only people who could tell us anything are the Thirteens, and we've heard virtually nothing. Katniss bloody Everdeen started this war, whether she meant to or not. But where is she? Dead? Hiding in Thirteen? Nobody knows. But either way, she's not doing much to help the cause, is she? We're on our own and it's only going to get harder."
"You're doing your best, Flax," he says, putting a comforting arm across my shoulders and pulling me closer. His shirt smells of gunpowder, smoke and blood, but I feel better all the same. "And we're still fighting. We're still holding on."
"What if my best isn't good enough? Coin knows what I am, what I was before all this, and she doesn't respect me. She doesn't tell me anything. And if I don't know the whole truth then how can I know what we should do?"
"They'll send a hovercraft soon enough," he replies grimly. "With supplies and more ammunition for the guns. We should demand proper answers then."
"By holding them hostage and beating them up?"
"If we have to."
"You can't go around hitting the people you're supposed to be in an alliance with, Cam."
"Who says? They're holding out on us and you know it. If they're planning something then maybe we can help. If the Mockingjay's alive and they're still planning to take the Capitol then I want to be there when they do."
"And if they're not?"
"Then we still need to know."
"Will you come with me to the Communication Centre in the morning then?" I ask, my voice small as I force myself to admit my fear in a way I've refused to do ever since the beginning of the uprising.
"I'll do whatever you want, Flax," he replies immediately. "You know that."
"Do I?"
"You should by now."
I pull back so I can look at him, suddenly fighting the ridiculous feeling that he isn't talking about speaking to President Coin anymore. But then I settle down again, mentally telling myself to stop being so stupid. I have a job to do and so does he. We both want and need the rebellion to be successful. If it isn't then we're both dead. That's what this is all about.
"We'll speak to her in the morning then. I want someone I trust to go to Thirteen to see where I'd be sending people to, and I want to know what happened at the end of the Quell. Because we can't carry on like this forever."
"In the morning," he echoes, folding his coat and putting it across his lap. "But now you need to sleep."
I open my mouth to protest, to say that I should get up and check on the people manning the guns, but he shakes his head and pulls me back down again. I rest my head on his lap, intending to pretend to comply only until he's distracted, but he pulls my coat over me and tiredness hits me so hard that I can't fight it.
I know no more until I open my eyes to see the dawn light streaming through the gap in the wall where the windows used to be.
I try to stay where I am because I can tell by the regular rhythm of his breathing that Cam's asleep, but in the end I can't keep still. Everyone knows how much a whipping hurts, but they don't know how much it itches when the wounds have scabbed over and started to really heal, and this reminds me of that. Now that I've had chance to rest, the cuts on my back that I got during one of the many raids are driving me mad even as they're healing, and the worst thing is that I already know I can't reach to scratch because I tried before.
Cam's hand rests lightly at my side, his arm still draped over me like it was when he first told me to sleep, but I just about manage to slide away without waking him. Or so I thought. Almost as soon as I've crossed over to what's left of the door frame so I can lean against it and get some relief from the incessant itching, I look back to find his dark eyes staring up at me, full of amusement.
"Flax, what are you doing?" he asks, getting up and walking slowly towards me.
"Nothing. I need to go back out now. It's almost light and we both know the Capitol will be back."
"Fine," he replies, stopping right next to me. "We'll both go. Right now, shall we?" he continues, but just as he suggests leaving, he reaches behind me and rubs the old wounds on my back over the thin fabric of my shirt.
"I hate you," I reply, looking up at him with eyes half-closed in appreciation.
"So I'll stop then, shall I?" he asks, starting to pull away and then laughing at my wordless noise of protest. "Cali would tell me off and say this really isn't helping."
"And I'd tell her she's lying. It's helping me plenty," I say, leaning into his touch without thinking. Then I turn around and look up at him again, suddenly aware of how close we are in a way I wasn't before. "Cam, I-"
"Flax, please," he says, his hand pushing against my back to hold me still as he interrupts me. I'm grateful because I don't know what I was going to say. "I-"
"Commander Paylor! Commander Paylor! Flax! Where are you?"
"What is it?" I ask, pulling myself together and taking a step back just in time to see Darry race around the corner like he's being chased by President Snow's personal guard. "What's wrong?"
"There's another hovercraft," he gasps breathlessly. "From Thirteen."
As soon as he finishes speaking, he turns and races off again, knowing I'll follow him. Every hovercraft that arrives, every communication we have with our mysterious allies, is an opportunity to learn something about what's happening in the rest of Panem. We've had so little news that I know doubt is starting to spread. The Capitolian broadcasts have been relentless and the bombing has only got worse. People are beginning to question how much longer we can hold out for, and I'm finding it hard to reassure them when I'm thinking the same thing. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time they'll tell me something.
Two grey-uniformed Thirteens jump down from the craft before it's landed on the ground. They fix the door into place and then stand back straight away. I don't recognise either of them, but I'm not surprised. They all begin to look the same after a while.
However the first thing I notice after that is that the people who emerge next aren't wearing grey. They're wearing the white clothes of District Thirteen's medics, and after the last of the ones they sent before died in the bombing yesterday afternoon, I'm initially both happy to see them and surprised they came. But then I change my mind. What use are they hiding out in Thirteen away from all the action? They should be where they can be of most use and benefit. They should be here.
"Darry, take our guests to Warehouse Two," I command, waving my hand sharply in the general direction of what's left of the road that leads out of the centre of town. "Follow him!" I continue, shouting out to the two anxious looking medics.
"Yes, Commander Paylor," replies Darry, saluting sharply before beckoning to our new arrivals. They promptly scurry after him, glancing at me nervously.
"Command suits you," calls another voice from the hovercraft, one belonging to a person who certainly doesn't speak with the harsh monotone of Thirteen. "But for the love of Panem, you look a mess."
I spin around in time to see another man climb down the steep steps that line the back of the craft door. He's wearing the uniform of a District Thirteen soldier, but with a faded brown jacket over the top. I recognise it a split second before I recognise him, because I remember being there when Zib gave it to him. Lucan. He's come back. After a whole month, our allies have finally sent him back.
"Is that any way to speak to your commander, Soldier Domani?" I shout back, waiting until he's moved away from the hovercraft, the door has been closed and it's vanished from sight before cautiously approaching him.
"I am a soldier of the rebellion, and Mockingjays don't lie," he replies, looking down at me with that wicked smirk that hasn't changed a bit. "You look bloody awful."
"Mockingjays?" I retort disbelievingly, trying to remember the last time I saw my reflection. "That's a joke. She could be dead for all we know. We've heard nothing since the end of the Quarter Quell."
"She's not dead," he says. "She's been recovering from everything that happened in the Quell. But now she's ready to fight. She said so in front of the entire population of Thirteen."
"Oh yeah, when?" I ask, only checking myself when I notice my disbelief and frustration has made Flax return and left Commander Paylor nowhere to be seen.
I stop a short distance from him, just far enough away so I don't have to look up too much to meet his eyes.
"The day before yesterday," he replies. "She says she wants to fight."
"How wonderful for her," I snap, yanking the strap of my gun into a different position when my forward movement makes it dig painfully into my wounded shoulder. "How nice of her to consider joining us. I must go and tell the others. The war's as good as over now our saviour has decided she wants to fight."
"Give her a chance. She's done a lot for Panem."
"And what's she been doing while we've been fighting and dying? Waiting for the right moment to announce her continued existence? Well it's taken her long enough."
"She's been through a lot. Didn't you see the boy's interview? Snow captured him after the Quell."
"I saw it," I reply, thinking of a few days ago when we all watched Peeta Mellark calling for a ceasefire from his soft, comfortable seat on Caesar Flickerman's sofa. "And they'll get their ceasefire over my dead body," I continue, shocked by the vehemence in my voice. "If anyone thinks the Capitol will pardon them if they lower their weapons after this then they're insane."
He raises his hands as if in surrender and backs towards the steps of the Justice Building. "Nobody's quitting, Flax," he says. "Everdeen's done a deal with Thirteen. She'll fight for the cause with the condition that Mellark's pardoned if we win. And Johanna Mason, Enobaria Moreno and the mad Victor girl from Four…Annie Cresta."
"So she's making conditions now, is she? First we hear nothing for weeks on end while we spend our days trying to avoid getting ourselves blown to pieces, and now she's saying she'll only play if she gets what she wants. I thought she had something. When I saw her here on the Victory Tour, I mean. There was something about the look in her eyes. Now I'm beginning to think she's a spoilt little girl who just wants her own way."
"I wouldn't know. I've never met her," he replies, making me feel slightly guilty when I think of how I haven't met her either. "But everything that happened with her first Games and the Quell still means something. If people see her fighting then it'll make them stronger. And from what I heard in Thirteen, I'm not so sure we're winning."
"What do you mean?" I snap, suddenly forgetting all about Katniss Everdeen. "We've held this district for over a month. It's tough but we're not losing."
"You're doing well, Flax-"
"Don't patronise me," I growl, narrowing my eyes at him. "You're starting to sound like one of the Thirteens."
"Let me finish. I meant in comparison to a lot of the others. The Capitol's really fighting for Eleven, and they seem to have an unusual attachment to Five, but not even Coin knows why that is. Or if she does then she's not saying."
"Eleven's because of the food supply. I don't know about Five though. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if we stay divided like this. If Thirteen's acting alone then it won't work. And Coin's got her own agenda."
"You've never met her either," retorts Lucan, raising his eyebrows sceptically. "How do you know?"
"How don't you know? You've been there for nearly a month. Haven't you heard anything about what they're planning?"
"They don't exactly invite me to Command," he replies defensively.
"Why not? Didn't you want to find out when they're going to move on the Capitol?"
"I'm not so sure they know themselves."
"They know. Coin knows," I reply, feeling a little bit guilty for taking my frustration out on him. "But I bet the people actually out there fighting will be the last to find out."
"She might not be like that once the war really starts."
"The war's already started, Lucan. Please don't tell me you hadn't noticed. And I told you, Coin's got her own plans."
"How do you know that?"
"I just know. I've spoken to her. I asked for an evacuation of the people here who aren't fighting. She said no. And then she offered to fly them to Thirteen instead, but only the healthy ones. To me that sounds a bit too much like the Capitolians when they only gave the cure they had for a deadly virus to those who were useful to them. I'm not about to give up everything for another dictator."
"Cure for a virus?" he asks curiously, sitting down on one of the few remaining undamaged steps.
"It's a long story," I reply, shaking my head. "A lot of people died. My grandmother died."
"I'm sorry," he says. He actually sounds like he means it.
"It was a long time ago. But I meant what I said. We're risking our lives for freedom. Proper freedom. And if Thirteen don't want us to have that then I'll fight them as well."
"And I'm sure they'll be terrified," he replies, leaving me uncertain whether he's being sarcastic or sincere because I don't know him well enough to read his voice.
"I mean it," I say evenly. "We've come too far for me not to take them on if I have to."
"With your bare hands and laser beams from your eyes?" he says with a smirk, and it takes me a while to place those words.
"You've been talking to Zib," I say eventually.
"I try," he replies, shrugging his shoulders ruefully. "When she isn't holding a gun to my head."
"You say that like you expect her to trust you. But she's Zibeline. She only trusts me because we've known each other for over thirty years."
"If you repeat a word of this to anyone then I'll kill you," he says, and something about the look in his dark eyes tells me he's joking even though he sounds deadly serious. "But I wish she'd give me a chance. She reminds me of home and yet she doesn't at the same time. I thought I was tormenting her to get a reaction, but I actually missed the death threats when I was in Thirteen."
"She's been through a lot. More than you'd ever hear about from me," I tell him, raising my hands when he starts to interrupt. "The only way you'll find out is if she chooses to tell you. But trust me, you're special. Most of the people she's pulled a gun on are dead. But if you hurt her then I'll kill you, I promise you that."
"That's not a very proper threat for a commander to make."
"I'm not speaking as Commander Paylor, Lucan. I'm speaking as Flax. Zib's my best friend and if you hurt her then I really will kill you."
"I think she's more likely to hurt me," he replies, laughing as he stands up again.
I smile but then look beyond him out into the square. It's quiet, as it usually is with the ongoing threat of the hoverplanes, and other than armed rebels with guns in their hands, there are very few people about. That's why I immediately see the small figure racing towards me.
"Taffeta Sheridan, what in Panem are you doing out here?" I shout as soon as she skids to a halt in front of me. It's a struggle not to smile when she salutes me like her father does.
"Gabby sent me," she gasps in reply, too caught up in the excitement of her mission to tell me off for calling her by her full name. "To get you. She told me to bring you to the Communication Centre."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Something about a message. A warning. Hurry up!"
"Where's your mother?"
"Hiding in the basement with the others. I was waiting upstairs for Father to finish his shift."
"You should be downstairs where it's safe," I reply, but I follow her anyway, and I'm not surprised when Lucan falls in behind me.
"Flax, you're here," says a very panicky Gabardine as soon as I walk into the main control room.
"I told you I'd find her," interrupts Taffy, stamping her foot on the threadbare carpet.
"Don't interrupt, Taffeta," snaps Zib's mother sharply, glaring at me like she used to when I was ten when I squeeze the girl's shoulder in commiseration.
"Someone in Thirteen hacked the Capitol radio system. Just for a few seconds, but it was long enough to hear them talking about a bombing raid. They'll be here within the hour. More planes than ever before. You've got yourself a bit of a reputation, Flax. It seems our resistance is irritating them," she says, pursing her lips into a tight, smug smile.
"Then we'll have to irritate them some more, won't we?" I reply. "Sound the alarm and then get downstairs. Do me a favour and take Taffy with you," I add in a low voice so the young girl can't hear. "Give her a job to do so she feels useful."
Zib's mother nods and rises to her feet just as her eldest daughter races into the room. "I've got everyone up and stationed at the guns," she says. "Did you find… Flax, you're here. Good. Did Ma tell you what Thirteen said?"
"Obviously," I reply. "We need to leave. Now. Gabby, the alarms…"
Seconds later, we all hear the sirens wailing and the sound of people who'd been on the upper floors of the Communication Centre rushing to get to the relative safety of the basement. The room's full of noise but I still hear Zib's wordless exclamation when she notices Lucan standing beside me.
"You're alive."
"Obviously," he replies, smirking back at her.
"I dread to think how you convinced them of your innocence. Making time with your interrogators, probably."
"Jealous?"
"You wish," she growls back, lifting her gun off her shoulder and turning away from him in the same movement. "I'll see you after, Ma," she continues in a much softer voice as she hugs Gabby tightly.
"I should be out there fighting, not you."
"Like you'd know what to do with a gun," Zib replies, her tone as affectionate as her hug. "Tell Adie I love her."
"She already knows."
"Let's go," I say grimly, nodding towards the door.
It only took a short time to get out of the Communication Centre and head straight towards the nearest guns, but in that time, the first wave of bombers arrived. Suddenly the square was filled with smoke and dust for what felt like the millionth time since the rebellion started, and it was almost impossible for us to see where we were going.
The force of a nearby explosion threw me and a few of the others to the ground, and I could immediately feel blood trickling down my chest from where the old wound at my neck had been reopened. However I was roughly dragged to my feet by someone I didn't have time to really see, and seconds later we all stumbled behind the barricades and angled the machine guns towards the sky.
Hours later, we're still in the same place, firing missiles into the sky and hoping we don't run out before the pilots of the planes do. The information District Thirteen gave us was good, and there were more bombers than in the other raids. I'm beginning to think we won't have a district to live in by the time the war's finished, even if we win in the end. Every raid brings down a few more buildings, and they've even taken to targeting the main square now, knowing that's where everyone's sheltering.
I squint as I look into what I've always thought of as the viewfinder above my gun, using it to track a hoverplane and then moving forwards a little to allow for the time it will take the missile I fire to reach it. I draw the trigger back and then watch as the plane I'd been aiming for begins a spiral to the ground, minus most of its left wing. Before it lands, the whole thing explodes, lighting up the dull District Eight sky like the Capitol on Victory Ceremony day.
"You're catching me up!" shouts Zib from the gun nest next to me.
"A way to go yet!" I shout back, almost smiling at her words.
I fire at my next target, thinking of the tally chart we've got going on the wall in the storeroom where we usually sleep. Every time anyone hits a hoverplane and brings it down, they get another mark on the wall next to their name, and morbid and horrific though it is, it gives us something to focus on other than the thought we could all be blown to pieces at any second.
As Baize once pointed out to me, the competition and the sight of the chart gives people courage, and once he said that, I didn't have the heart to make them stop it. Especially when I'm on there as plain old 'Flax', with no hint of 'Commander Paylor' to be seen. My line of tally marks is just shorter than Adaira's, and is about two-thirds the length of Zib's. Despite her lack of training, she's the best shot we've got. Whenever anyone comments, she just replies that every mark is another dead Capitolian, and the look in her eyes is so fierce that most people leave it there. I know her well enough to know it's because she'll never forgive them for leaving Adie to die, for forcing her to make the choice she did so that Adie could live.
I wait by my gun for a few minutes after the last planes have vanished, steeling myself for the onslaught of questions to come, but eventually I realise I can't hide forever. When I round the corner and look down the narrow street, I can't see the end of it through all of the people who are gathered there. They all have their backs to me, staring at something I can't see, but when I get closer, those at the back of the crowd see me coming and back away. There's a path cleared in seconds, and that's when I see that what's holding their attention is the smoking ruin of a Capitol hoverplane.
I walk closer, forcing myself to carry myself straight and tall because I can feel many pairs of eyes watching my every move. There are men, women and children gathered there, many even younger than Taffy. They're all covered in dust, and many of them have injuries, covered in makeshift bandages they've probably put on themselves in attempt to avoid having to go to the hospital. I can't say I really blame them when I've been doing everything in my power to avoid the place myself.
They're all staring at me, waiting to see what I do next. What I really want to do is ask them what's so special about this hoverplane. I'm proud to say that it's hardly the first one we've shot down, and I sincerely hope it won't be the last. It looks like any other to me.
But that's only until I see the open cockpit. That's when I realise what's drawing the crowd. The pilot's still alive.
"I bet he wishes he was dead," says Lucan quietly as we approach the plane.
"He will be in a minute," snarls Zib, pushing past everyone but me until she is also at the front of the crowd.
I look to the side and find Cam staring back at me with sad eyes, and I know he understands what I'm going to have to do. I turn to the Capitolian pilot, his white uniform stained with his blood and his eyes wide with pain and terror, and I decide this is going to feel a lot different to shooting planes from the sky or killing people because it's the only way to keep them from killing me.
The mass of people are totally silent, as if they've even stopped breathing as they wait to see what will happen next. The only sounds I can hear are stones and bricks falling from the surrounding bomb-damaged buildings and the rasping breaths of the Peacekeeper as he struggles to speak. I try not to wonder what he'd say if he was able. He's obviously badly injured, as anyone would be if they'd been in a plane crash, but he's still conscious. Maybe with treatment and medicine, he might live. But he's the enemy, even if he is barely older than me, frightened and hurting. We can't have him using our resources when we don't have enough for ourselves, and this is war. I'd lose the respect of the district if I tried to help this man.
"Let me do it," says Cam in a quiet voice, stepping towards me as I reach for the hand gun at my belt.
"No," I reply loudly. "The person who decides a man must die should have the courage to kill them themselves."
I raise the gun and aim it at the pilot, pulling the trigger before I have time to think about it. The gunshot echoes around the narrow street in the silence. The people gathered around don't stop staring.
"Right," I say, lowering my gun and threading it back through my belt as I nod to the group of men and women who had initially approached the plane. "Clear the wreckage. Salvage what you can. The rest of you help take the wounded to the hospital. Now!" I continue, shouting at the top of my voice because a lot of them seem too hypnotised by the dead Capitolian to have heard me the first time.
They soon move after that, and once they've gone or are busy working, I spin on my heel and leave, not pausing to see if any of the others are following me.
A couple of hours later, I'm standing in the middle of the main food storage building, listening to a middle-aged man who used to live up by the station telling me what we have left in such minute detail that I'm now considering sending him to Thirteen because I have a feeling he'd be more at home there. I came here because I thought it would distract me from what happened earlier, but the droning of his monotonous voice is doing nothing but allowing my thoughts to wander in the direction of the very subject I'm trying to avoid thinking of.
"So as you can see, Commander Paylor," says the man, whose name I've long since forgotten. "Without extra supplies, we're not going to last longer than a week."
"Just what I wanted to hear," I tell him, resuming my pacing around the cavernous room which is now little more than a quarter full.
I'm not begging Coin for help again, not when she refused to even consider the suggestion I made before. I'm not. But maybe I have no choice. I can't let my pride lead to hundreds of deaths, however difficult I find it to swallow. Even if she does tell me sending them to Thirteen is the only option. How bad can it be when the alternative is staying here and waiting to see if it's starvation or the bombing that gets you first?
"Leave us for a minute," says a familiar voice, and I look up to see Cam standing in the doorway, gesturing behind himself to the storeroom man.
The man looks uncertain, but I nod and he leaves immediately. When I turn to Cam, he doesn't have to speak for me to know what he's thinking, what he's trying to find the words to say.
"I'm fine, Cam," I lie, hoping I sound convincing but at the same time not really expecting to. "Honestly."
"You only say 'honestly' when you're lying," he says, walking further into the room towards me.
I shake my head but laugh because I know it's true. "It just felt different. Killing a man who didn't have a gun in his hand."
"He was in a hoverplane, Flax. He had a bit more than a gun and he'd have come back with more bombs if we hadn't shot him down."
"I know that. I killed him, didn't I?"
"You're losing your bandage," he says, changing the subject as he reaches across to the bandage on my neck. "And it's such a mess that it's probably doing more harm than good. I should take you to Cali."
"No, I don't need the hospital. I don't!" I reply, my voice loud and my words quick out of sheer panic at the thought of going there.
He continues to peel the bandage back with a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes occasionally flicking to mine. "And here was me thinking the great Commander Paylor fears nothing."
"Cali won't thank me for trying to take over her domain," I say, trying to get him to change the subject yet again.
"Cali would want to see you, Flax, and you know it. No, you fear going to the hospital and you have done ever since it was set up. And I know you're not scared of the sight of blood. So why?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me," he says, gently touching the skin around my cut. I only jump back when his fingers brush my throat, because I suddenly feel vulnerable enough without that. "Cali said to check it's not too hot. Heat means infection, and we'll surrender within the week without you."
"Don't be stupid," I reply, but I stay where I am instead of moving away all the same.
"You're still avoiding my question," he says after a while.
"You really want to know? I won't go to the hospital because I'm scared. Not of the blood and the pain and suffering, but of the way I know they'll look at me. I started this. If it wasn't for my stupid plan then none of them would be there. I'm scared they blame me, and I'm not strong enough to deal with that."
He doesn't say anything but drags me to the side of the room instead, sinking down the wall until he's sitting leaning against it before pulling me down beside him. It's only then, when his jacket falls open, that I see the circle of blood on his shirt.
"What happened?" I ask, reaching for him the same way he reached for me.
"I fell and landed on broken glass," he replies. "I pulled it out. I was at what's left of the Town Hall and now there's even less left. Another wall collapsed."
"Were-"
"Gabby got everyone out."
"Good," I say, undoing a couple of his shirt buttons with one hand and trying to reach into my pocket to find a clean piece of cloth to cover the wound with the other.
He watches me intently as I peel the fabric of his shirt back and press the cloth against his chest. "They blame the Capitol, not you," he whispers eventually, covering my hand with his own. "I've been there. I've seen them. When they're not asking after the Mockingjay, they're talking about the resistance. The pride they feel at how we're still fighting back is the only thing keeping a lot of them going."
"But a lot of them aren't carrying on going, are they? And that man would have bored me to death if he hadn't been telling me that the food's running out," I say, waving my free hand in the direction the storeroom man disappeared. "I'm going to have to speak to Coin again, aren't I? I'm going to have to tell her I accept her terms. I bet a lot of them will even thank me for it even if I haven't a clue what I'm sending them to."
"Speak to her and give people the choice," he replies. "I bet you'll be surprised how many of them choose to stay exactly where they are."
"We'll soon see," I tell him as I pull my hand away and begin to push myself back up.
"Where are you going?" he asks, getting up and looking down at me, his eyes full of concern.
"I'm going to swallow my pride and wave the white flag at Coin. But I'm going to the hospital first. It's about time I saw it with my own eyes."
"Do you still want me to come with you?"
"Yes," I reply, telling him the truth for once as I begin to walk towards the door. "But I'm going to send you to the rest of the food stores instead. Look at what we've got and I'll meet you in the main square this evening."
"Flax?"
"What is it?" I ask, stopping in the doorway and looking back at him.
"I… Just be careful."
"Of course," I reply, but I can't help wondering what he'd been going to say before he stopped himself.
Then I step out of the storeroom and make my way towards the hospital and I soon forget such trivial things. I can hear people shouting and they're saying that one of the underground shelters collapsed in the bombing.
We can't go on like this. I'm going to have to accept Coin's offer. And eventually I know I'm going to have to go to Thirteen myself. They are the main opposition to the Capitol in this war. All we'll get from staying here alone is death.
Nothing to say other than my usual thank you to those of you who've reviewed this story. A lot of people put it on alert last week as well, so I guess I should thank you as well. Feel free to say hi ;)
Also, they're nothing to do with me, but apparently 'The Pearl Awards' are being done again - go and nominate your favourite stories/artwork. I know I will...
