Chapter Nine
Spring revives New Panem, fresh blood coursing through an empty heart. The trees are in blossom, meadows cast off their burly white coats to blazon clusters of flowers.
That, at least, is the odic way to describe the passing of The Old Time.
The truth? The snow turns to mud, our boots are permanently soaked with melt water. Each flower my gaze lingers on I relate to people I know (knew) - Posy, Primrose, Poppy, Katniss. I develop an unhealthy addiction to the bouncer, checking it for news at every stop. Night's rest drains me more than day's walking.
As deep a wound as the alleged deaths of our friends have clawed into Annie, as impatient Johanna is to shed the grief from herself. I am caught between two extremes and seamlessly fluctuate from one end to the other, an unpredictable roller coaster ride through my emotional repertoire.
If I could only come to terms with myself, this grand undertaking would be so much easier.
But then again, it would be no feat worth remembering without all the difficulties paving its way.
I try to bolster our resolve by desperately clawing to my hopes of Katniss (and Finnick) somehow having escaped the nuclear holocaust. Johanna doesn't have an open ear for it, but as the weeks pass I think I can slowly worm my theory into Annie's head.
Perhaps Coin waited long enough for them to get away, we speculate. They piggybacked a revolution for her. She wouldn't dump her best cards like that. She also wouldn't let Snow blow her to pieces, is what Johanna says.
The question is: How often can a people rise from its ashes? It took them 75 years the first time around. I wish myself a long and prosperous life, but I don't have that much time to wait and see.
In my mind I trace a line across the map of Panem. The wheat-fields of Eleven, the industrial labyrinth of Eight, miles and miles of unexplored wild zones. At the end of it lies Twelve, the inconspicuous district that ignited hope in the hearts of many and burned even more to the ground.
Will the The Girl On Fire be waiting there?
We keep to the wild zones for fear of what we might find in the districts. With no government in place and everybody affected by the war it's a good guess that discord and panic took the reins.
Sometimes we see settlements far off in the distance. We stay clear of those. There's fire and gunpowder in the air, and if the wind blows our way cries of misery ride the breeze. That only encourages us in our decision and we amble among unspoiled nature and a world long passed.
By May we cross from Ten to Eight. Our coats now hang firmly strapped to our packs and more often than not we exchange the stuffy tent for a night under the starry sky. We work up what Annie calls a mariner's tan and settle into a rhythm of moving for a few days before stopping to rest and restock our provisions.
While the food we took from the arena makes for nice variety, gummy worms have poor nutritional value. Most of the time we stick to game and while I never thought I'd excel in this department I must admit I turn out to be a decent trapper. Nobody beats Annie's fishing magic though, which becomes the staple of our rations.
Our current rest stop is in stark disparity with what is happening to the rest of Panem.
"Guys, guys, get a grip! This is getting out of control!" Johanna warns. From a safe distance she observes the undoubtedly biggest splash duel the world has ever been witness of. Up to my hips in the icy water of the pond I give my all to triumph over Annie (who started this nonsense), but she proves to be a formidable nemesis. Far from throwing in the towel Annie tackles me, flips us both over and we dive into the cool blue. Needless to say, this effectively scares off all the fish in the pond.
Upon emerging Annie victoriously brushes a water lily from her hair, gives me a smug grin before proceeding in Johanna's direction, the shore.
"No stupid jokes," warns Johanna. Her aversion to water still stands, albeit a little mellowed. I don't know the details, but apparently there's been some coaching sessions in Wonderland I've been excluded from. Initially a little offended by this omission, I've since come to terms with the fact that I don't have to be everybody's shoulder to cry on. It's not too bad of a deal, actually.
Annie wrings out her hair. "Can you lay out that net, Peeta?"
I go about the task of untangling the fishing net, a tricky endeavor after it underwent our impromptu splash feast. On shore the girls are back to bare bones business, throwing me the necessary lines, preparing the fires and our self made smokers.
"What's Four's motto again?" I ask, trudging ashore.
Johanna raises an eyebrow. "You trying to justify her blind luck in water brawls? She gets you every time. Why is this a surprise anymore?"
Annie hands me my bowl and spoon. "From The Waves We Rise," she recites. "Don't be disappointed, Peeta. You can't beat a fish in water."
"Well, I sure hope he can," says Johanna. "Or we'll go empty-bellied."
We cook our last supplies, lay down in the lush grass with full bellies. The first stars rise into the night sky. My companions' breathing evens out after a while and when I look over I see they're peacefully asleep.
I sit up, take in the pond's reflection. Underwater our net is filling with fish. It'll be a full day of work tomorrow.
In the distance a bird sings.
But mockingjays fail to enthrall me these days.
"What do you say?"
Johanna gives it a thorough examination.
"Broken bones for sure. I'd say snapped neck if you're lucky, slow excruciating death if you're not."
The analysis applies to a stone Annie threw down the 30 foot drop we're facing. It's not a completely vertical cliff, so the option of climbing down has been discussed and voted upon. We're looking at a 3-0 win for no.
The wild zones around here are full of craters and rock faces. We speculate remnants of the Dark Days, scars the bombs left on the lands 75 years ago. I wonder if this is what the Capitol will look like a century from now?
"Who could know that crossing Panem would be such a pain in the ass?" says Johanna offhandedly.
I try to hide my frustration. "I thought we agreed to take the scenic route?"
I hate the scenic route. I hate cliffs. I hate the wild zones.
My inner limits for physical performance, free-time psychoanalysis and recreational hiking are reached.
I want to go home.
I want somebody to finally come up and tell me this is has all been a long, bad dream.
I want that person to be Katniss, to concede that everything was a bad joke and together, laugh about it.
I wouldn't even be angry. Promise.
With a deep breath I conclude my tirade, overcome my weaker self and zip up my pants.
"You good to go?" asks Annie upon my return.
I give an affirming nod and hoist up my pack. Since I want to keep my face with the girls, I can only let off steam while performing solitary tasks, like taking a piss.
It's not ideal, but somebody has to play the happy-end utopian, or this whole endeavor of ours will go down.
And I'm not quite willing to abandon that last kindling of hope yet.
Concluding this journey without encountering other people would not only be improbable but quite distressing. The only uncertainty, then, remains in the nature of our reception to New Panem and its inhabitants.
It's Day 114 on my tally sheet. If my calculations are right we could enjoy oven-fresh bread from the bakery just before the first snow falls.
But while I compensated for rest days, detours and minor complications, well, I never dared to think about this.
We're in a clearing when we notice them, so there's no time to hide. We spot them just as they make us out. Everybody's grip tightens on their guns. If there's one thing we learned from this war it's that the world has been deprived of trust.
Five of them against three of us. And there could be more, out of sight. If I were to guess I'd say they're district folk rather than Peacekeepers, but I can't be sure. All men. All armed. No difference, really.
"If we shoot first we can take them," whispers Johanna. That's the mindset one needs to win the Games.
"Nobody has to shoot," counters Annie. Their guns are not cocked yet. My finger, however, rests on the trigger. I'm with Johanna on this one. We can't take any chances.
There's movement on the other side. I guess they're debating. Well, there goes the surprise moment. I just hope they have a pacifist soul among them, too.
"We should leave". As long as we can.
"Not turning my back on those guns," says Johanna.
"We want no trouble!" calls Annie over the clearing.
I can't believe we're negotiating now! "Shit, Annie. Shut up!"
"This is gonna go down the drain so bad." Johanna unclips the safety on her rifle. "We ought to do something else than wait for them to shoot, Peeta."
I put a restraining grip on Annie's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go. This is getting too hot." Raising a hand to signal our retreat to the strangers I usher to the girls to make for the trees, slowly, no too jerky moves.
But our flight is stopped by an unexpected gesture from or opponents. The distance is too great to be sure, but once the give-away tune joins a familiar three finger salute we freeze in our tracks.
Eleven's song. Twelve's hand signal.
Annie gives me a lecturing stare. "Not everyone in this world is bad, Peeta."
How I wish she were right.
Lured by the prospect of a truce we lower our guns and raise our hands instead. Thumb across pinkie finger. A gesture used in Twelve to say goodbye to those who won't return again.
Katniss used it to honor Rue during the 74th, and then District 12 used it to smack Snow straight in the face with it before the Quell. None of that ever got streamed on Panem TV, but the people addressed got the point. One of them apparently being Coin.
Looks like she made Katniss further promote it, too.
The three fingered salute - face of the New Panem. Who would have thought.
And then-
Hot blood sprouts across my face. What the- I yowl, jerking my arm down, holding a red mess against my chest. They shot me! Annie and Johanna are yelling, but the sound of gunfire stifles their cries.
Annie grabs me by the shoulders, pushes me down. Johanna shoots back. The men on the other side of the clearing scatter, but the shelling doesn't stop.
Then Annie's got my face in her hands and I realize I've been staring at whatever bloody mess my arm's become.
"Peeta. You're ok. Get up. Come on now!"
She guides me to my feet, but her voice is cracking. My right arm's ablaze. Annie latches on to my left, pulling me along. We break into a run. Johanna has our back. I hear her shooting, sprinting, screeching like some mad banshee.
We make for the trees. They provide some cover, but only in exchange for a troublesome footpath. Here the wear and tear of my prosthetic leg parades itself. I manage to stay on my feet only through combined efforts of Annie's pulling and Johanna's pushing.
The odd bullet grazes trees to my side.
I hear a muffled oomph as three sets of footfall turn to two.
"Go! Go!" screams Johanna from behind, but doesn't follow.
The fire in my arm spreads to my lungs.
They're closing in. Who are those people? God, they'll kill us! We'll die!
Annie pushes on fervently.
"Wait! Wait! Johanna-"
"Just go!" she yells and tugs on my arm.
Boom, boom, boom. Like the cannons! We're back in the Games! It's the feast: They offered us peace and we needed it and didn't get it. Ha! Chance missed! Four and Twelve, a doomed alliance, all because we chose the wrong side.
I inhale sharply as I behold the view in front of us. No more trees. Just the distant, unreachable horizon. Perhaps we can bounce off an invisible forcefield like Haymitch?
Annie raps an iteration of "no, no, no" as we are forced to slow down, only to come to a dead-end at the top of another precipice. Below us, some fifty feet down, the forest continues. Between that and us lies jagged rock and gruff descent. I could never climb that with one leg!
I wrench my head around. No Johanna. Only voices. Footsteps in the forest. We're mice in a trap. The viewers on Capitol TV must be foaming at their mouths by now.
I grab the gun. Slippery blood, but it'll have to do for a last stand. I try to yank my other hand free from Annie's but her grip is stone.
She's wheezing from the run, eyes locked on the insurmountable cliff.
"Annie," I say. "Hey. We can take them." We can't. "Stay with me." I can't do this alone.
She shakes her head, tightens the hold on my hand. Then her gaze lifts and she looks me right in the eye. Every fibre of me stiffens.
"No." I take a step back, trying to pull her with me. "No, Annie, not like this."
"Trust me."
"This is death. No."
But when was the last time I had my way?
It's not Four's suicidal resolution that has me capitulate in the end, but the ricochet of an accurately aimed bullet hitting me square in the back.
Annie pulls, has me in a deadlock grip. I can't break free. I can't breathe. A last (s)tumble.
Airless, I scream.
Wingless, I fly.
Crescendo. Climax. Cannons!
I haven't forgotten about you, folks. This and the next chapters are the ones I dreaded most out of the entire story. You'll see why soon, just don't hate me for it.
Also, do you have any preferences on getting to know Katniss' timeline? As I came up with the story I only intended to show it from hers and Finnick's Interludes and retellings, but by now I'm not sure that would do it justice enough, since it's waaay too much plot for two-something chapters. Then I played with the thought of a spin-off but soon became realistic again (I don't have the time), so I thought about overhauling the story frame and gifting one part (4-5 chapters) to Katniss POV. Once this plot part is finished of course.
Would you be interested in that, or are you die-hard Peeta POV freaks? I want to cater to the audience, so let me know.