Chapter Nine ~ Pay the Devil His Due
a/n: The story takes a turn into darkness at this point, so fair warning. I tried to use lesser offenders for one character's racist taunting, however if your stomach is easily turned by violence, you may wish to skip this chapter. As always, thank you for all the reviews!
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The anticipation was almost worse than the humiliation.
"Snow wants you to know your place, and I'm the man who's gonna to show folk what happens when one of their beloved heroes gets on the wrong side of the law." Romulus Thread rocked back and forth on his heels, chuckling to himself. A crowd had begun to gather, and Gale forced himself to meet their eyes. There was shock there, horror, and some unexpected satisfaction.
At least his younger sister was with his mother and her new husband at the fort in Yankton. Gale thought he would never be grateful for the weasel, but at least Posy wouldn't have to watch this. Rory and Vick were with the army, but they were no longer on speaking terms with him. Still, he hoped they wouldn't rejoice when they heard the news. Lesser men might, like those on the edges of the crowd who had brought drinks and jerky to enjoy the show.
"People of Panem!" Thread bellowed in a showman's voice. He was enjoying this, Gale realized with a sinking heart. The sheriff probably practiced this speech in his shaving mirror every morning in case he ever got a chance to use it. "Take a good look! This half-breed is guilty of trespassing, kidnapping one of General Snow's doves, and shooting at a sworn deputy of the law! The punishment is fifteen lashes!" He held up two whips: one, a bullwhip, used for oxen; the other, a cat o' nine, commonly used in army floggings.
The whip cracked, and Gale tensed. A long whistling sound cut through the air, and he sucked in a breath as fire erupted across his shoulder blades. The whip drew back across his shredded shirt, almost a caress. Then it whistled again, stopping just before contact. Gale pulled at the ropes tying him to the post, testing their strength, but they didn't budge.
It was a trick.
The second caught him by surprise, and his whole body flew forward, jarring his wrists with the momentum of it. Searing pain blazed across his flesh as one whip lifted and the other danced across his shoulder blades. He struggled to hold still, but the assault was too much, he could not regain his footing. The whips came down, one over another, until all he could see was a white sheet of blazing pain before him.
He heard Thresh's voice on the edge of the crowd. "Cut him down!"
"Don't..." Gale rasped, shaking his head at Thresh.
"Did I hear you, boy?" Thread smacked the ground with the whip, and Thresh flinched, just. A twisted smile spread across the sheriff's face, and he crooked his finger at the tall black man.
Thresh went on, like a fool. "He didn't do anything any man here wouldn't have done for an innocent woman, Sheriff. If you have to whip anyone, whip me instead."
Penance, Gale realized. Thresh had never stopped trying to absolve himself of guilt from the horrors they'd been forced to perpetuate in the Indian Wars. "Don't, Thresh," he whispered. "You don't owe me..."
"That's a mighty fine offer, boy," Thread smiled, but it was not a kind smile. He lowered his voice, "but I've slaked my thirst for African flesh with that little sister of yours already."
Thresh's eyes turned dark with anger, and he clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tensing before he launched himself at Thread.
"No!" Gale roared at his friend, but it was too late. Darius and Cray dragged Thresh off, with help from the crowd. It took five grown men to subdue him.
Thread spat on Gale's face. "That's what I think of your friend's offer. For insubordination!" He roared to the crowd. They roared back. "He'll take the black's lashes too!" He leaned in, and whispered, "Like a man, Hawthorne."
The lashes came down hard and punishing after that, each strike blurring into the next, and he bit his lip so hard his mouth filled with blood. After that, time slowed, and there was nothing but the thundering of his heart in his ears as he slumped forward and focused on his breath, just one after another after another.
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"Cut the ropes...get him out of here before..."
"It won't stop..."
"Run and get the medicine woman..."
XxX
He came to in a haze of agony. He was lying on his stomach on something hard and sticky, he smelled whiskey and the fug of Abernathy's cheap cigars. Gale turned his head and vomited. There was a shout of disgust as it splashed all over the floor, but Gale didn't, couldn't care. "Where..." he tried to sit up, but the pain was so excruciating he couldn't move except to flex his fingers. His vision swam, dark at the edges. His wrists hurt too, they were raw and stung like hellfire.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Hawthorne! Your back is after lookin' like..." Finnick ran out the door, and Gale could hear retching. He would have laughed if he remembered how. For a former soldier, Finnick had never done well with the sight of fluids after his bloodlust had worn off.
"It's gonna be ok, boss. Those bastards won't get away with this." Thom gripped his hand, hard. "Hold still, this is gonna hurt."
The rotgut rained down on him like liquid fire. Mercifully, he lost consciousness.
When he woke again, he was being carried by Thom and Haymitch up the stairs. "Where... where is... " Madge. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He could barely get the words out. His heart was slamming against his ribs, and he struggled to stay conscious. Spots danced in front of his eyes when they laid him on the bed.
"Thresh? Haymitch and Chaff got him, boss. He's safe." Thom pressed a glass of water to Gale's lips, but he was shaking so badly that most of it ended up on the floor.
No... where is... where is... He moved his lips, but no sound came out.
"What the hell were you thinking, boy?" Haymitch's voice was sharp. "It's too early in our little campaign to come out, guns blazing - especially without back up! Back up is essential. Didn't the army teach you nothin'?"
They taught me how to kill and be killed. How an enemy captain can bring a tiny town to their knees. How neighbor will turn on neighbor, just to curry favor with a uniform. How a mother sounds when she's begging for her child's life. How to track a man for weeks until you know him by his habits...and how to kill him stone dead.
But it hadn't been the army that taught that to him. It had been long ago, in another life. If she was here, it meant the past had truly caught up to him, and nothing good could come of Fate putting Her hand to the wheel.
He forced that line of thought away. It was growing harder and harder to concentrate on the present. Images swum through his consciousness: his mother, fifteen years before, sobbing in the barn over the telegram in her hand. His little sister's birth, when she opened her eyes and looked at him, stealing his heart forever. Katniss, showing him how to shoot a bow, a smile in her dark gray eyes. And young and running through the green meadow, her golden hair streaming loose behind her, a smile on her lips as she kept just out of his reach, laughing, laughing...
"Madge."
