The arena bends and roils around me. It takes everything I have to keep moving. I need to find Peeta. Not that I'd be of much use to him in this state.
I reach up to touch my temple, still throbbing from where Johanna struck me. My left forearm is still gushing where she stabbed it.
Well, I can't exactly call her a traitor, can I? It's not like I didn't know something like this would happen eventually. This is the Hunger Games after all, and whatever alliances may form, everybody is ultimately in it for themselves. Because the alternative means your own death. Self-defense. It's always self-defense.
Which is exactly why Peeta and I didn't want allies in the first place. But Haymitch was so damn insistent and whether we liked it or not, we got them. And ever since, they've been trying to separate me from Peeta. And they finally succeeded.
But why didn't Johanna just kill me? She had the upper hand. She had me pinned. She could have easily slit my throat. A person with the wits to survive by pretending to be a weepy little coward can't really be so stupid. It's the same type of bizarre behavior Finnick displayed when he saved Peeta's life. Twice. Nobody ever saves lives in the arena. Even if you're not the bloodthirsty type out to up your kill count, if someone dies, it's just one less person standing between you and home.
Oh, yeah. And when Mags dove into that deadly fog. Although maybe, in her case, it might have been suicide, rather than self-sacrifice. She was never going to make it out of here.
But still...something doesn't add up.
But it doesn't matter now. Whatever transpired over the last few days is clearly over. I have to assume Finnick is still in league with Johanna. And Beetee...I don't know. I can barely form a coherent thought to work it out.
Where is Peeta?
Head spinning, I stagger drunkenly until I reach the edge of the trees. On my hands and knees, I somehow make my way up the hill, where I find Beetee unconscious. His wire is tied around the hilt of a knife, tight in his grip. What was he trying to do?
My heart stops at the sound of a cannon. Please, don't let that be Peeta! Then there's another. What just happened? My panic is quickly extinguished when I hear his voice frantically calling my name.
"Katniss! Katniss!"
Oh, thank God!
"Peeta!" I scream. "I'm here!" He'll never find me, of course. But maybe that will draw any enemy away from him. Away from him, and right to me. Me, and my arrows, and this lightening tree.
And maybe I'll be able to shoot straight.
Enemy...
What did Haymitch say about the enemy? "Remember who the enemy is." His last words of advice were to remember the enemy. And he wasn't referring to the other tributes. He meant the Capitol. The real enemy. Of course I know that.
Something clicks in my muddled mind and, as quickly as my shaking hands will allow, I untie the wire from the hilt of Beetee's knife, and fasten it around the end of my arrow. I locate the weak spot in the force field and carefully take aim, letting my arrow fly as the lightning strikes.
After that, the world goes black.
"Miss Everdeen, have you heard a word I've said?" demands Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee. I meet his eyes with a glare that, to me, feels like I could shoot lightning bolts from mine. But, to everybody else, I probably just look like I've been given a powerful sedative after having a large section of my brain sucked out.
Turns out Plutarch is one of the rebels. Who knew? Not only is he a rebel, but he was the mastermind behind the plot to blow up the arena.
That's right. Beetee's plan wasn't just a scheme to trap the Careers, as Peeta and I were led to believe. It was part of a much larger plot. Half the tributes were in on it. Not Peeta and I, though. We were pawns. Everybody's job was to keep us alive. Only it didn't go so well for Peeta. He got picked up by the Capitol, along with Johanna and Enobaria, while Finnick, Beetee, and I were safely brought to Thirteen. That was a month ago.
Oh, and Johanna wasn't attacking me. She was digging the tracker out of my arm so that the Capitol would be unable to locate me. I'm sure she enjoyed it. She was probably chomping at the bit for the opportunity to cause me physical pain for the greater good.
"That's Missus!" I spit back at Plutarch. And no. I haven't paid a lick of attention to a single word he has said, because it's the same speech I've heard every day since being released from the hospital. They need me to be the Mockingjay. The face of the rebellion. To blaze the path to victory, and blah, blah, blah.
But why should I cooperate after they tied Peeta to the railroad track?
"Perhaps you don't understand how important the Mockingjay is to the rebellion." voices President Coin from the other end of the table.
"Sure I understand," I say bitterly. "It was important enough to keep Peeta alive for my sake, but now that you have me here, it doesn't matter what the Capitol does to him."
Plutarch speaks up again. "Now, Katniss, we couldn't let everybody in on the plot. Peeta was in no more danger than anyone else who didn't—"
My mouth falls open in disbelief. Did he really just say that? I jump to my feet, and pound my fists on the table, although the sound isn't nearly as impressive as I would have liked for it to be. "That's bullshit, and you know it! Peeta was in more danger than everybody else out there, just for being connected to me! He went in there prepared to die, not spend weeks in Snow's custody being tortured!"
The thought of what they might be doing to him as I stand here sends cold shivers down my spine. "I'm not agreeing to a damn thing until you get Peeta out of the Capitol." I storm out of Command without being dismissed.
I don't make it very far down the hall before I have to stop. It must be close to four o'clock in the afternoon. I've had to switch my anxiety medication twice because I couldn't handle the side effects. The one I'm on now causes severe nausea, but I'll take that over vivid hallucinations of spider mutts any day. At least it happens around the same time every day, so I know when to expect it. I'm usually okay after a good puke. I quickly locate the nearest restroom and hang my head over a toilet.
As soon as I'm sure I have nothing left, I rinse my mouth and continue on my way to my favorite utility closet. I shut the door and curl up against the wall with my head between my knees to combat the dizziness.
I just wish I knew something. Anything! Is he dead or alive? Did they make him an Avox? That's probably the best I can hope for. But most likely they are torturing him. Not for rebel information—they would have figured out a long time ago that he knows nothing—but in hopes of breaking me.
And, I have to say, it's working.
A few minutes later, the door opens. I don't have to look up to know who it is.
"What are they doing to him, Gale?" The agony is palpable in my voice. "If I just knew whether he were dead or alive, then maybe I could figure out what to do from there. But being in the dark is pure hell."
He clears a space next to me and takes a seat. "Well, you might know something sooner than you think," he says. "Plutarch is seriously considering organizing a rescue mission."
"Yeah, right." I eye him doubtfully, refusing to get my hopes up. "I've been barking up that tree for a month."
"It's risky business," Gale explains. "But they need you that badly..." He becomes distracted by the beeping of his communicuff. "We need to get back into Command. They only sent me to bring you back."
Rejuvenated by the hope of being reunited with Peeta, I jump to my feet, and sprint down the hall.
