A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. Thanks to Fnur for being an awesome beta when I ask her to help me out. Thanks to anyone who has recommended this story to a friend as well!
Wednesday, March 28th - After the Collapse
Gale and I are silent as we stand facing away from each other. I allow him this time to absorb the knowledge that half our crew is dead. Mortin begins to stir. He emits a low groan. I stand over him, peering into his pained face and readying myself to help him.
"Ah, fuck…" he groans, wincing as he tries to sit up. His breath hisses as his bad arm swings slightly to the side.
"Careful Mortin, it looks like you might have broken your arm," I say as I lean over him, trying to get a better look at his head to check for any injuries. He must have been knocked out at some point. He groans once more as I gently press my fingers to his scalp. There are no abrasions, but it must be tender to the touch.
"Artie's back at the collapse trying to dig a way for us to get you both out," I explain for Mortin's benefit.
"I wasn't expecting this," Mortin frowns as he looks around the tunnel. The wall look as though they may fold in at any moment here.
"Of course you weren't, no one expects a collapse! We know it's possible, but we tell ourselves it won't happen," Gale grits out.
He's annoyed at the silly nature of the comment. It would be foolish to think it isn't possible, but just as foolish to constantly think about it. Thoughts like those can eat a miner up inside.
"Come on," I say as I try to loop my arm around Mortin's waist to help him up.
Gale's better suited to helping with the man though. He easily braces himself against Mortin's body, helping to steer him toward the area where I came in. It's difficult to fit Mortin through the area that Gale and I cleared for my passage. His injured arm is jostled easily and he constantly emits sounds of pain. We manage it though and soon we are slowly making our way toward Artie. Gale's bad leg makes it slow going as well. He doesn't make a single noise about his troubles though, contrary to Mortin's barrage of noises. Gale retrieves his pickaxe and headlamp from the area in which I found them.
Making our way down the tunnel feels like ages longer than when I traveled the path alone. With my fear subsiding I can focus more clearly on the damage that's been done to the tunnel. After a short while we hear the tell-tale clink-clink-clink of Artie hammering away at the massive tunnel blockage. Gale whistles when he sees the enormity of it. As we approach we can see the ray of light from Artie's lamp.
"Artie, they're both here," I shout ahead of us. The man stops for a moment and peers through the large hole he's made. His smile is large and the relief in his expression is evident.
"Alright boys?" He asks. Gale and Mortin grunt in response, which appears to be enough of an answer. Artie continues hammering away until we are close enough to gauge our ability to get through the hole. We determine its good enough and as gently as possible I help Mortin maneuver himself through.
Artie immediately slaps one of his large hands on each of their backs. My men nod their gratitude at seeing each other alive, even if they aren't completely whole. We'll probably never be "whole" again after this. Suddenly I remember that Artie has been through this terrible ordeal several times now. Once is too many times for me, I can't imagine how he doesn't lose his mind.
We begin to journey back toward Bristel, but when we come across the first dead body Artie stops abruptly. He looks back at me and then at the other two men.
"We should bring them closer to the entrance, in case someone comes for us," Artie says as he nods down at the man. I close my eyes briefly and hear the rushing of my own pulse in my ears. You can do this, you can do this; don't break down again, I don't trust myself to listen to my own advice.
Gale kneels down beside the completely buried man. It's Knox. He's been crushed by the rocks and the sheer force of the ceiling collapsing on him. Only his head is visible under the pile of rubble. Mortin leans gingerly against the wall as Gale and Artie begin to unbury the first of our deceased men. His lifeless body is twisted in an odd angle that makes my stomach churn. At some point I find myself falling to my knees, my numb fingers removing the smaller debris at his feet. With three people working at it, we are able to uncover him more quickly than Artie and I had managed earlier as we worked on helping Harper.
I grip one of Knox's large biceps between both my palms as Artie and Gale grab his other arm and both his legs. We slowly move towards the next body in the tunnel with Mortin trailing slowly behind us. He hasn't spoken since we met up with Artie. I almost wish he would say something so that I could feel anything other than this empty void in my chest. The next man we find is Nat. This time the void in my chest seems to evolve into a steady ache. I think about his children. His daughter inspired me to sing at the festival. Her innocence and beauty filled me with the desire to cultivate my rebellious thoughts.
Nat looks unharmed as if he is simply sleeping, slumped against the wall with one of his legs covered in the dirt. His arms rest on top of his chest as though he were holding his heart as he died. When Gale shifts Nat's body forward to lay him out I see that there is a large sharp rock lodged in his back. It must have impaled him. He must have struggled to continue breathing for until he finally succumbed and fell against the wall.
"Take it out, his daughter can't see that," I find myself talking, though the thoughts didn't seem to reach my brain before they made their way to my mouth. Gale obliges. He gently slides the jagged spear-like rock from Nat's back and throws it roughly into the dirt.
This time Mortin tries to help as we move the two bodies toward our next fallen crew member. Artie bows his head into the little cavern that has concealed Jim. I can just barely see the pained expression that sealed itself on Jim's face. The wall beside him folded over him in an almost shelf-like fashion. He must have felt himself slowly being crushed. He's so entrapped that neither Artie nor Gale can seem to make the area around him budge. Artie's expression shows that he's determined not to leave the man. I begin to cry when he pulls on Jim's arm so hard that we hear the pop of a bone. By some sort of grace, his body suddenly works loose a few minutes later.
I grimace when I know that all we have left to do I retrieve Hank's body. We first line the three men up alongside each other. In silence we walk toward our fallen leader. Artie tries to block me from viewing the body, but it doesn't do much use. I set one glance on my partner and promptly turn to vomit. Hank's skull has been crushed by fallen rocks. The jagged large rocks are like the face of the ceiling that Artie had shown me earlier.
My stomach convulses repeatedly as the vomit continuous to propel itself out of me. Hot tears accompany it and continue after the torrent of vile sickness has ceased. I've seen head wounds like that during broadcasts of the games, but it is different when you know the person. It is different when you see the person's brains.
Gale quickly covers my vomit with dirt to quell the smell that will be trapped in the tunnel. He retrieves his thermos and splashes some of the warm water against my face. I nod my thanks and allow him to fold me against his chest as Artie gently lines Hank's mangled body in a parallel position beside Nat. When the act is finished I pull my face away from Gale's shoulder to quickly look at our men.
The image of them lined evenly in a silent slumber feels like a hapless dream. As though I have drifted into some strange ghost land where my friends sleep eternally in a dark grave. They are names without faces, I note. Men whose appearances have been distorted and altered, but whose spirits live on in us.
Even if we rise from the depths of the mine they will spend forever underground, until they rot and become dust. Once they are brought to the surface they will only be presented to their families for mass burial. It doesn't matter that they escape here, even in death they will be a prisoner of the earth. The only difference is they'll be six feet under its surface.
Bristel's voice shakes me from my thoughts and my ears are filled with the sounds of my remaining men as they move around the entrance to our tunnel, "Sidney, come back and sit with me for a while."
I heed Bristel's request and go back to lean against the wall next to him and Harper. Harper hasn't made any progress since I left and Bristel's skin looks paler than before. My hand rests on the ground beside Bristel's. We sit in each other's comfort for a while, watching as Gale and Artie gather the lunch pails and supplies. They unbury things as they talk softly with each other. Mortin rests his head on his good arm as he leans against the boulder that crushed Bristel's limbs.
"They'll come for us soon, lovely," Bristel says as he pats my hand gently. I just nod.
"Yes!" Gale exclaims as his palms come into contact with the most important box in this tunnel, the meager first aid kit.
I watch as he rifles through it looking for anything helpful. His expression of elation is gone as quickly as it came. Of course, there isn't much of worth in the kit. He pulls out a small bottle of pain medicine and shimmies a few pills into his palm. He distributes them evenly between Bristel, himself, and Mortin. It's all we have, but they all quickly consume the only relief they will have from their injuries.
"Here, let's ration up this food too. We'll eat a small bit now and a larger bit if we're still here tomorrow," Artie says as he passes a few pails our way.
"How do you even know what time it is?" Mortin asks as he takes some bread from the pail he is sharing with Bristel.
"Well, I figure it's gotta be almost dinner. It was mid-day when the collapse happened," Artie explains.
"Sounds about right to me," Gale agrees. I trust that their instincts are probably right. Gale essentially has an internal clock, so he has to be right. Besides that, my stomach is beginning to scratch with hunger. I wonder if my father has eaten. Is he taking care of himself? He's probably waiting with thousands of Seam residents at the entrance to the mine. I hope that he brought himself warm clothing and food to keep his strength up. Don't forget your medicine, I silently plee with him. If Hazelle finds him at the ropes, she'll surely force him to think of himself.
Gale opens his pail to share with me. He rips his meager sandwich in half and places one of them in my dirty palm. I don't even try to waste water on washing the dirt from my hands. I just slowly eat the food that's been offered. I've lost the ability to taste anyway. When I've finished I look at the men in their various states of pain. My eyes fall on Mortin, whose injury I think I can at least somewhat help.
"I'll try to make a sling for your arm Mortin, it's swelling a lot," I offer.
He nods and looks down at the purple flesh on his forearm. It rests limp against his leg. I take one of the bandage rolls from within the first aid kit and snap the handle off one of the pails to make a rod for his arm. As gently as I can I fasten the rod and cloth bandages around his arm to keep it straight. I try not to wrap the cloth too tightly over his swelling flesh.
"Thanks," he whispers. His snide remarks and haughty nature has vanished in this turbulent atmosphere of destruction and death. I'm grateful for the reprieve.
As time passes we agree to turn off our headlamps to conserve the light and to prompt ourselves to rest. For at least an hour or two there isn't a sound in the tunnel, except for the quiet breathing of our crew-mates. Once I think I hear someone crying, but I can't tell who it is. Bristel lays down to rest, murmuring that he doesn't feel well.
If I didn't have the physical presence of my eyelids I would think that my eyes were closed. Everything around us is blacker than even the darkest night. I rest my head on Gale's shoulder and fall into a hazy sleep.
When I wake again, my neck aches and the men are whispering to each other.
"Is something wrong?" I ask blearily.
Artie clears his throat and replies, "Bristel is a little worse off than we thought." My heart clenches. What can possibly get worse than what we've experienced so far?
"I think I deserve that song now, canary." Bristel's voice is soft, laced with exertion and pain.
I crawl toward him in the darkness. I nearly knee him in the face, because the blackness prevents me from seeing him. He releases a muffled laugh against my pant leg. I sit close, gripping his hand between both my palms. He squeezes my fingers softly. There is a shuffling noise behind me. Gale has crawled next to me, his scent and the warmth of his body settle in the darkness.
I allow one of my hands to trail up Bristel's arm, slowly feeling my way toward his face. The skin feels hot and clammy, which is worrying. I place the back of my hand over his forehead and let the heat from his skin seep into mine. His fever may be indicative of blood poisoning. There is little hope that we will be found soon enough to save him from it. In this fragile state, I realize that I must soothe him because it is the only thing I can do.
I feel his facial muscles pull into a smile as I place both hands on his roasting skin. I let my hands guide my lips toward their destination. The aim is off and I slightly undershoot, my kiss falls on his eyebrow instead of the target skin above it. The second time I hit my objective, right in the middle of his heated forehead. My dry lips meet the moisture of his skin before I pull back slightly.
"Everything will be alright Bristel; what do you want me to sing?" I feel his hot breath on my face as I pull back a few inches. He sighs and then a soft laugh escapes his lips.
"I'm in love with a coal miner's daughter; do you know any songs for that?" He asks.
The men laugh behind me. The idea of Bristel actually loving a girl is a bit absurd. He is serious though. I feel his features tighten under my palms. Gale is murmuring to Artie something about how everyone's in love with one of those at one time or another. Artie and Mortin's laughter fades after a few moments. I feel Gale's hand stroking my sore back. The sensation is calming my nerves. Yet, his soothing hand is unable to placate the fear for Bristel and Harper that has settled inside me.
"I know one song, but it's about a miller's daughter. Is that close enough?" Bristel chuckles, causing his breath to puff across my face heartily. I take that as a 'yes' and begin singing softly to him.
"By a river there's a little orchard,
In the orchard stood the miller's daughter.
In the orchard stood the miller's daughter.
Apple, apple, fallen in the water,
By the stream I kissed the miller's daughter.
By the stream I kissed the miller's daughter."
I hope that he is able to imagine his girl's face, waiting for him by a stream. The song intends for you to understand that kissing this maiden is as natural as an apple falling from a tree. Like gravity. The narrator is drawn to her, falling helplessly into watery depths that carry him away. As the words flow gently in the darkened space, Bristel turns his head to press his lips inside my left palm, much like Gale did earlier. For the second time, I feel confusion at the action. The final line reverberates against the earthen walls and is followed by thick silence.
"Thank you," Bristel says faintly.
His voice sounds weaker than it did only moments ago. I incline my head to his chest to check the beating of his heart. It is unbalanced and sluggish. Panic overcomes me. His heart feels as if it will give out any moment.
"Don't you dare die on me, damn it," I hiss at him, reaching for the pulse point on his neck. It beats faintly against my fingertips. Gale has stopped smoothing his hand over my back. He's pulled himself alongside me and I feel his large palm pressing down over Bristel's chest, feeling the faint beat of our friend's heart.
"Bristel, not yet. They're coming for us. You just need to hold on; your miner's daughter is waiting on the surface." My voice is urgent. I feel his hand weakly gripping my forearm. He can't leave yet; he has so much more living to do. They'll come for us soon. My mind assures me for the millionth time.
"No," Bristel says softly, "You're right here."
It takes me a moment to realize I am his coal miner's daughter. That I am the girl he is yearning to see before he dies. Something about the paradox is pungent. Gale inhales sharply beside me. Words are lost between all of us, like they have been sucked from within us and pulled out of reach. I silently thank the heavens that Mortin has enough sense to keep his snide remarks to himself.
"Oh, Bristel. I'm sorry I didn't know," I say, stroking his clammy face once more. His deep chuckle shakes through his chest and vibrates against my knees.
"Gale?" Bristel reaches for our companion, "You take good care of her. She deserves the best."
A headlamp switches on, bathing the scene in an eerie white light. Artie holds the hardhat above us. I can see the light quivering slightly across Bristel's pained face. He is so pale that it nearly makes me sick. His good hand is gripping Gale's tightly, while his broken arm lies limply beside him. The deep look in Bristel's silver eyes is mirrored in Gale's. Some sort of silent exchange is passing between them. Gale is nodding at him slowly. He pulls back, allowing me to fill the space that he has vacated.
"You're any man's equal. Probably better than most," Bristel says. His lips smirk slightly as he speaks. There are tears threatening my eyes with sharp stings. I nod weakly, trying to smile at his compliment.
"You get them out of here, promise me," he says, his voice more firm.
My hands slide to his face once more as I nod furiously. My voice is choking in my throat, words unwilling to fall. Several of my tears drip onto his dirty cheek, before they carve a path through the grime and slip across my fingers.
"Tell me a joke," I finally tell him.
He laughs again and closes his eyes briefly. When they open again I can tell he is slowly losing his grip on reality. His eyes slide back and forth across my face in the pale light.
"What do ducks like to eat in their soup?" He says at last. I look at him with a puzzled expression on my face, because I would rather eat duck soup. I raise my shoulders, indicating I don't know.
"Quackers," he states simply. I smile at him and laugh lightly. Both Artie and Gale chuckle as well. Mortin remains silent, thankfully. Perhaps watching someone die is the one thing that he actually feels bad about.
"That was my favorite joke when I was a kid," Bristel informs me.
It's sweet, because despite all the sarcastic comments he has in his repertoire he has chosen a silly childhood memory instead. His eyes scan my face, memorizing the features. I smile at him as best I can; trying desperately to hold back more tears.
"Stay with me. Until it's over."
His voice is softer once more, fragile almost. My fingers are gripping his tightly, urging him to stay. Just a little longer. I lean close and press my lips against his. It is a soft kiss, friendly and tender. His eyes remain closed as I pull away.
"Of course. Would you like me to sing to you some more?"
He smiles at my words and squeezes my hand again. I let him press it to his lips once more as I softly sing him the Valley Song and then a few lullabies. Tears are streaming down my face freely as I sing him an old wedding tune. He'll never be married now. Even if he's an insufferable jerk sometimes, he would make a girl happy. He would be a fine husband, a good provider. I can deny it all I want, but he has been a good friend. Protecting me at the whipping, keeping me company, supporting me in the rebel cause.
I sing to him for what feels like hours, letting my voice grow hoarse. I can tell that time is passing, because I feel the scratch of hunger in my stomach. He never takes his eyes off me, even when they become unfocused with a hazy look. I keep singing even when his hand goes limp in mine. My voice breaks as I finish the last few lines about the miller's daughter.
I lay my head on his silent chest. My ear is only met with the scratch of my skin against the rigid cloth of his shirt. There are no breaths, no heartbeats. I inhale deeply, trying to memorize his smell. I don't recognize it enough, which makes me feel guilty somehow. I don't have him set to memory like I do Gale. I wrap my arms around Bristel, but no tears come. I've run the well dry, drained every drop of my sorrow.
The silence is punctuated by Artie's voice as he prays softly. His words are lovely and perfect. Not many people speak prayers any more in Panem. After a while, Gale gingerly removes me from Bristel's chest. He runs his palm over his friend's eyes, closing the lids gently. He looks like he is sleeping, almost peaceful in death. I glance toward Harper, who is still unconscious. Will he die too? I watch sadly as the other men pull Bristel's body away. Now all of our dead crewmates are lined neatly in a row, resting serenely beside each other.
When they return a second headlamp is lit to provide light to eat by. Mortin wordlessly shoves a tin lunch pail into my shaking hands. I open it and stare down at the uneaten dinner. One of the crew members had brought this meal to eat during the dinner break. I pick up the lid and glance at the name written inside. Tardive. This is Nat's food. His wife probably packed this for him or maybe his sweet beautiful daughter. The daughter who inspired my first act of rebellion; what will I say to her? How will I ever make her understand what kind of man he was? Artie watches me examine Nat's name. I briefly feel the warmth of his large hand on my shoulder. He squeezes reassuringly before he bites into a sandwich from a separate pail.
"We should conserve the rest; we don't know how long we'll be down here," Gale declares as he examines the pile of packed meals. We all nod in agreement.
Once we have all finished eating we lay down to rest. Artie turns off both of the lamps and we are engulfed in darkness once more.
"What was wrong with Bristel?" I ask the stagnant air around me.
"Hard to tell, but I think that boulder might have caused some internal bleeding," Gale answers. I hear him shuffle up from his position across from me. The tunnel is so silent that I can just barely hear his soft tread on the dirt.
Gale slides his body behind mine, gripping my waist with his arm as he settles in. His chest spreads warmth across my back. His presence brings a calming effect and I press myself more tightly into his embrace. I listen to him breathing as he quickly falls asleep, my ear serenaded by the rhythm of his soft snores.
Hours pass and I still cannot drift into sleep. It evades me, pulling me to the brim and shaking me back to wakefulness. Artie is snoring loudly, the grizzly sound grates against my temples. How does his wife share a bed with him at night? Mortin's slumber is silent, except for a single moment when I think I hear him mumble something incoherent. At some point I finally melt into a dreamland, only to be woken by a clanging in the mine shaft. The noise startles Gale awake as well. He stiffens before he realizes where the sound is located. We both scramble up, nearly tripping over Mortin. Artie fumbles with a headlamp as Gale and I finally reach the metal grate of the mine shaft. Gale bangs the handle of his pickaxe against the grate noisily.
"Hello?" A voice yells in response. My heart beats furiously. We've been rescued. My mind is screaming with happiness. A wide smile spreads across Gale's face as he grips me to his side, hugging me tightly.
"We're on the level 6 tunnel," Gale yells to the unnamed individual, "We're Hank's remaining crew." There is a clanking noise again. Followed by a string of curse words from a second voice.
"We're level 7, there's only the two of us…managed to pry the lift open…now we're climbing up. The whole shaft's smashed." Gale and I stare at each other bewildered. Only two men left on their crew, that's worse than our tally. With Bristel's passing, we are down to five living crewmembers.
Artie and Mortin have joined us at the lift. Each of them hands us a lit hardhat. All four of us stare transfixed down into the shaft, shining our lights in the path of the newcomers. I bite my lip nervously as I pray that these survivors don't fall to their deaths. After a few tense moments a man's filthy hand grips the floor near the bottom of our grate. He hauls himself up, smiling at our disorientated faces.
"Let's get this grate open." Artie's firm demand is met by all of us. Mortin even helps, despite one of his arms being broken. With difficulty the grate finally budges, allowing the man to slip inside. He dangles an arm over the edge, hoisting the second miner up. The second man looks up into our faces after he catches his breath. Both Gale and I gasp.
"Thom!" Gale rushes forward gripping his friend in a hug. Thom laughs as he slaps Gale's back roughly. They give each other the once over.
"You look like hell," Gale laughs deeply as he assess his friend. Thom rolls his dark grey eyes. He has deep cuts on his face and neck. A decent amount of dried blood is caked to the side of his face from some type of head wound. He must have lost his hardhat during the collapse. It's firmly on his head now.
"You've looked better yourself," He returns jokingy as he regards Gale.
He glances around at the rest of us. When his eyes fall on me he smiles and nods in my direction. I return the gesture. When we were children he used to play in the meadow with the rest of us kids, but we were never close in any way. I never knew him well enough to say so. We were in the same year, but as we got older he was always hanging around with Gale, Bristel, and a few other boys at school. They were all part of the group that made girls swoon.
"And Bristel?" Thom asks hesitantly as he turns back toward Gale. Gale's eyes flicker toward the place where our men have been lined in a row.
"He passed only a few hours ago. Blood poisoning from being crushed," I murmur softly. Thom nods solemnly. After a few moments of silence he walks toward our fallen men. He kneels beside Bristel and lightly takes his friend's cold hand. Something possesses me to approach.
I stand at his side as I speak, "His passing was peaceful. I sang to him as I held him, as if he were simply going to sleep." Gale joins me. His warm hand envelopes mine as we watch Thom pay his respects to his childhood friend. Thom glances up at our entwined fingers, before his eyes float to my face. Something unidentifiable flickers through his expression before he smiles softly.
"He really loved it when you sang. Talked about it for hours at a time," Thom's voice sounds thoughtful as he reminds me of Bristel's feelings. Feelings that the man hid expertly under a mask of teasing friendship.
Would things have been different, had I known he was serious about me? Bristel…the man who danced me into a stupor, protected me at the whipping, and comforted me when I decided to become a rebel. Would I have easily loved him? Perhaps if there had been completely different circumstances I would have grown to love him more deeply than the kinship of crewmates. I wish I could take all my teasing back, I should have been more grateful for the way he tried to protect me before.
A/N: Thanks again for reading. The song used during this chapter is an old Hungarian Folk song. I'm not exactly sure who wrote it, but you can look it up online. There are several choral versions of it.