Chapter Eleven
It's the sound of the door opening that finally wakes me, and the first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that all of the lights have automatically switched themselves on in the compartment. I guess there's no sleeping in when you're in Thirteen. I scowl at the thought as I look across at Cam, who stands in the doorway, smiling and shaking his head with mock disapproval.
"You missed dinner," he says, still smiling. "It's time for breakfast."
"What?" I reply, starting to sit up only to find my movement restricted by Zib, who is fast asleep on the other side of Adie with her arm over her sister and her hand clenched in a tight fist around the collar of my jumpsuit. "Somebody should have woken me."
"None of the rest of us went to dinner either," he replies, crossing over to the bed and shaking Zib awake. "We all slept in. Even Cali," he adds, smiling again.
Zib sits up and turns around at the same time, her slight movement almost tipping her off the edge of the small bed that really wasn't made to hold three.
"I've never slept on my own before. And that other bed looked cold," she says by way of explanation, brushing Adie's hair back off her face and laughing when the girl sleepily tells her to give her another two minutes. "Not today, Sunshine," she continues, sliding out of bed and dragging the rest of us with her. "Every day that passes is a day closer to the day I get a shot at the Capitol. So let's go. The sooner we start, the sooner we're out of here. This place gives me the creeps anyway."
I laugh, but that doesn't mean I disagree with her. It's true what she says. There's something about being stuck underground, something about the grey uniforms and the almost humourless way that everyone lives their lives here. I don't like it any more than Zib does, and I'm with her when she says that the sooner we complete our training, the sooner we'll be able to leave. Horrific though it is, I'd rather be fighting than living in a confined space under someone else's rules. I've spent far too much of my life doing that already.
Cam holds the door open for us, and we file out into the corridor. I'm immediately surrounded by lots of familiar faces. It seems they've put all of us from District Eight together, and there are people everywhere. They all look at me, the expressions on their faces as unchanged as their surroundings are different.
"You have to put your arm in here," says Adie, putting her hand into a strange contraption that's mounted on the wall. "It'll tell you what you're meant to be doing."
She takes her hand away a short time later, and the pale skin of the inside of her forearm is now imprinted with a purple ink schedule.
"I hate school," she says sulkily as she reads what it says. "They keep telling me I'm too young to fight, but I'm not. I know I'm not."
"Don't be in such a rush to grow up, Adie," replies Cali as she follows the girl's lead and receives her own tattoo. "We should be having breakfast. We're meant to start training at half past seven and it's quarter past now."
I nod and lead them down the corridor. We've been going without for too long to say no to breakfast. However when we reach the dining room, we all get a shock. I'd been thinking we'd grab something from there and eat it on the way like we used to back in Eight, but the soldiers on the door won't let us leave with so much as a crust of bread. Even though they explain the rule was created because people used to try and hoard food, it doesn't make much sense to me now, especially when I'm so hungry and don't have time to eat.
"They'll just have to wait for us to finish then, won't they?" snaps Zib as she sits down at the nearest table after collecting a small bowl of grain.
"I'm sure they will," replies Lucan amusedly. "I doubt even Coin herself would dare to come between you and breakfast."
"I need my strength for when I'm going to kick your backside in training."
"I look forward to it," he answers with a smirk, breaking a piece of bread from his slice, flicking it across at her and then laughing when she catches it and eats it.
"Children, please," I intone warningly, noticing the disapproving looks we're getting.
They both ignore me, so I get my own bowl of grain and sit beside Zib without interfering. It's good to see her smile anyway. A couple of seconds later, Cam sits beside me. His bowl of grain is bigger, but he soon spoons extra into mine, glancing surreptitiously around the room to check no one's looking.
"No, Cam," I hiss. "I've got enough."
"Shut up and eat your breakfast, Commander Paylor. Or the Food Police will get us."
Zib laughs and I glare at her, but I take Cam's advice and keep eating. The clock on the wall says half-past seven and we're nowhere near the training room yet.
When we finally get to where we're meant to be, we're met by a man so fierce-looking that he makes Boggs appear friendly. He must be at least sixty, but he seems to still be as strong and fit as he would have been in his twenties. If I hadn't seen as much of this war as I have, then I'm sure I'd think twice about arguing with him. As it is, I find myself almost hoping for a confrontation because it would involve witnessing the rarity that is a District Thirteen soldier showing some kind of strong emotion.
"You're late," he barks. "All of you. Are you so stupid in District Eight that you can't read or tell the time?"
"Who are you calling stupid?" snaps Zib, aggressively taking a pace out of line towards him despite how there's at least a foot and a half height difference between them and she's unarmed. It's Lucan who holds her back, and I'm not the only one who notices.
"We only got here yesterday," I say, meeting the man's gaze evenly. "You people didn't exactly provide us with a map."
"And you are?" he replies, glaring down at me with cold grey eyes that remind me of Coin's.
"Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?" I reply flatly, deliberately not answering him properly because I can feel everyone's eyes on me, waiting to see how I react to what I guess they think is a challenge to the authority I didn't want but now partly can't imagine living without.
He says nothing and narrows his eyes even further, walking towards me until there's only a few short inches between us. I refuse to back down. Everyone's watching me, everyone who's fought with me and for me back in Eight. I don't know exactly why, but suddenly all I can think is that I don't want them to see me submit to anyone else's authority.
"I asked you a question," I repeat, still not even allowing myself to blink. "Last time I checked, we weren't enemies. Unless you'd rather dye your hair a funny colour and wear white, of course."
The man who hasn't given his name stares back at me for what feels like all eternity, but then he laughs. I think it's the first time I've heard a District Thirteen soldier laugh.
"I'm Soldier Johnson, and I'll be supervising you during the start of your training," he says, shaking his head slightly. "And you're Paylor, aren't you? You've got to be Paylor."
"Why do you say it like that?" I reply, nodding my head once to answer his question.
"The way you held out against the bombing for so long really pissed the Capitol off. We used to hear them talking about you sometimes when we managed to hack their radio signal. There's a price on your head. You're worth more than any other district commander since they aired that first propo."
"How do they know who I am?"
"How in Panem do I know?" he retorts grouchily. "Just because we're fighting back, it doesn't mean they don't know all the things about us that they used to know before."
Something about the way he says that makes me think he wasn't from Thirteen originally. He might have eyes like Coin, but there's something in his mannerisms that doesn't quite fit the District Thirteen mould. He talks like someone who's lived under the direct control of the Capitol before. Given the way he greeted us, my first thought was District Two, but now I'm not so sure. But I can see him waiting for my response so I guess it isn't the time for interrogation.
"I'm honoured anyway," I retort with a grin. "Did you hear that?" I call back to the group behind me. "There's a price on my head!"
"How much?" replies Baize, shouting over their cheers. "Nessa's fed up of District Thirteen grey so I might turn you in if the price is right!"
"Nessa would find herself wearing a widow's black if you tried," growls Cam, only half teasing.
"Relax and take a joke, Marshall," replies Baize immediately. "We'd all die first and you know it."
"When you've quite finished your show of loyalty," interrupts Johnson. "You're here to train, not to worship at the altar of Commander Paylor. Move! All of you!"
"Even me?" I ask, unable to resist pushing my luck even as I begin to follow the others, knowing what his answer will be.
"President Coin wants you all to pass basic training," he replies flatly. "And that includes you. But I wouldn't worry. Rumour has it that you made quite an impression yesterday. Command will come calling soon enough."
"What happened? With the raid on the Capitol, I mean," I ask, for some reason feeling a little bit guilty that I slept right through it.
"Nobody who wasn't there really knows. But they got them out. Mellark and Mason. Poor girl. They brought them up to the hospital in the early hours of the morning and nobody's seen them since."
"What about Moreno?"
Johnson shakes his head. "They didn't find her. She probably wasn't there. Nobody knows whose side that one's on."
As it turns out, I hear a lot more speculation about Enobaria Moreno's allegiance in the hours that follow. I only got through about two kilometres of what Soldier Johnson optimistically was hoping would be an eight kilometre run before a messenger came to call me to a meeting in Command.
Within minutes I found myself sliding into a chair at the glass table, making every attempt to sit as far from President Coin as possible. Heavensbee asked me how I was settling in with a look in his eyes that made me think he already knew, but Coin said nothing, barely glancing at me before continuing her discussion of Peeta Mellark's mental state. They're saying he's been hijacked, but as I don't really know what that means, it's only when talk turns to the problem of District Two that I start paying attention again.
"You should speak to Lucan Domani," I suggest eventually, when they've gone around in circles so many times that I'm starting to feel dizzy. "He was born there and then he was stationed there too. He can tell you all you need to know about the layout without you having to smuggle a map out," I continue, wondering why they didn't ask him when they brought him here for questioning.
"Lucan Domani is lucky to be alive. He can't be trusted," says Coin instantly. "He's spent most of his life in the Peacekeepers."
"And yet you trust Mr Heavensbee," I retort. "Surely he's spent virtually his entire life as a Capitolian citizen and not a small proportion of it running the Hunger Games."
She scowls but doesn't reply directly to me, and discussion soon starts up again as people suggest new ideas for taking control of Two. However by the time we're finally ready to end the meeting, I can't help noticing how they're now planning to take Lucan out of training tomorrow so they can send him to Special Defence. I catch Dalton's eye as Coin dictates that particular direction to her nearest lackey, and we both shake our heads resignedly. It seems they'll treat us as equals, but only up to a point that suits them.
After finally escaping from Command, I return to the firing range immediately despite being told I don't have to. A few hours of talking about bombing and death with a group of people that includes many who remind me of the dictators I've grown up both loathing and fearing has made me want nothing more than the company of my friends.
"Where in Panem did you get those from?" I ask incredulously as Baize approaches, holding up some photographs and newspaper cuttings for us all to see.
"Taffy found them. I didn't ask," he replies as he gazes intently at the plain red targets ahead of us. "But I figured we could make target practice a little more enjoyable."
We all watch, even Soldier Johnson, as Baize attaches photographs of President Snow, many of the Gamemakers and other various members of the Capitol government onto the targets. When he turns back, he's looking at me for permission rather than at the soldier from District Thirteen.
"First prize goes to the person who shoots Snow between the eyes," I shout so they can all hear me, struggling to stop myself from raising my gun and giving it a try.
As soon as Baize has moved out of the way, a single gunshot rings out across the carefully enclosed space. I spin around instantly to see Lucan staring at the targets, and he doesn't lower his arm until he knows everyone has seen the hole in the picture of the fierce, cold-looking woman to Snow's right. The tension in the atmosphere is suddenly almost visible, and when I see the expression on Lucan's face, I wonder what terrible history he has with Prisca Oakhurst.
However I assume that Zib already knows, because I recognise the concern in her eyes despite her typically teasingly confrontational words.
"Show off," she snaps, stepping forwards and raising her own gun. "But I'm better."
"Now who's showing off, Soldier Pershing," Lucan replies, his expression abruptly less fearsome. "Time to put your money where your mouth is, I think."
"Three shots each," says Soldier Johnson, seemingly enjoying himself so much that I have to resist the temptation to ask if we're more fun than the average District Thirteen new recruits. "Whoever gets our esteemed leader between the eyes the most times wins. And then perhaps we can get on with proper training."
When I hear him say that, I resolve not to leave here without asking him about where he really came from. He calls President Snow our leader, and that confirms to me straight away that he wasn't born in Thirteen.
Lucan goes first, shooting three bullets and hitting his mark twice, but when Zib follows him, all three of her bullets hit the centre of President Snow's forehead with deadly accuracy that surprises even me. All the rest of them cheer, calling for District Eight and laughing when Lucan mockingly bows down to Zib, but I can't laugh when I see the expression on my friend's face. She's trying to hide it, but the hand holding her gun is trembling, and I can see her fighting back her tears.
"That'll do!" I shout. "Back to work! All of you!"
"How do you shoot like that?" I ask Zib, pulling her to one side as the air is suddenly full of the noise of gunfire.
"Aim for the middle," she replies, smiling wanly. "It helps if the target's Snow's head."
I'd been relieved after the end of the first day of training. I'd fallen into the small, not entirely comfortable bed beside Zib and Adie a few minutes before Thirteen's universal bedtime, thinking that it could have gone a lot worse. However when Cam and I approach the training compound the following morning, the sound of raised voices tells me it isn't going to be the same this time.
It takes a lot of willpower to stop myself from sprinting the rest of the way, but I manage it, covering the distance as quickly as I can while remaining at a walk. I've seen the likes of Boggs deal with conflict amongst the soldiers many times. They always stay calm, and they shout but they never run.
I approach the group on the training field, and what I see would make me laugh if the circumstances were different. If we weren't meant to be fighting the Capitol rather than each other then this would be funny.
My rebels are on one side of the compound and the Thirteens we're meant to start training with now we've had our induction are on the other. They're facing each other like they're waiting for someone to sound the attack, and even as I watch, one of the soldiers steps forwards.
I recognise Zib instantly, and I'm not surprised she's in the middle of it. The District Thirteen soldier steps towards her only for Lucan to shove him back into the rest of his group. I can see the rage and fury etched into every inch of him even from over here, and I find it hard to imagine an eighteen-year-old capable of beating him to that place on the tribute train for the Fifty-seventh Hunger Games.
Zib begins to round on Lucan, the echo of her voice reaching me as she tells him she doesn't need defending, but then she thinks better of it and turns on the other man instead. I can see the woman who is meant to be in control, but she's standing a short distance away, and it's immediately obvious that all the military training this place could offer was never going to be enough.
"Go on then, Flaxie," whispers Cam. "Do your Commander Paylor bit. You know you want to."
I glare viciously up at him for a second, but then I stride away. He's right, I do want to. I didn't want to command but it's part of me now. It isn't in me to walk away or to leave something like this for another to sort out.
"Silence!" I shout, screaming at the top of my voice because it's the only way to make myself heard over the noise everyone else is making.
They all stop dead, the Thirteens because that's the response that's been drilled into them for as long as they've been alive and my lot because they recognise my voice instantly.
"The Capitol would be laughing if they could see you all right now!" I continue, struggling to remain serious and not to laugh at the shocked expressions on their faces. "Don't you think this is just what Snow would want? How are you going to fight the Peacekeepers if you're too busy fighting each other?"
Nobody speaks, but a lot of them are looking at the floor and shuffling like children being told off by a particularly strict teacher. I narrow my eyes at Zib because she's one of the few who can meet my gaze, but she doesn't say anything either. The grief she feels for Gabby is almost visible, and when I look at her, I know I couldn't make myself angry with her if I tried.
"We're all on the same side here," I say speaking softly so they're straining to hear me on the basis that if they're struggling to listen then they're not thinking about fighting each other. "We're doing this because we're at war. So get on with it so we can fight who we're meant to be fighting. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Commander Paylor," they all echo back, and when I wave them away with a jerk of my hand, most of them head off on their run.
"What happened?" I ask, not having to look around to know that Zib hasn't moved.
"That Thirteen was holding court when we arrived," answers Lucan before my friend can speak. "Going on about how most of the other districts haven't been through that much and that they should be grateful they're being taken in."
"Oh," I reply, thinking I should say something more eloquent but somehow not finding the words. "I understand, Zib," I continue eventually. "I'd probably have belted him as well. But we have to work with these people or we can't go to fight. You know that as well as I do."
She nods reluctantly, as if she knows but doesn't much like it. "Do we have to run?"
"Unfortunately," I reply, liking the idea about as much as she does.
Nothing we did in back home could prepare us for daily eight kilometre runs, which are apparently a standard part of military training here. I still ache from yesterday's attempt despite how I was called away only a short time into it. Out of our group, only Lucan made it to the end.
"Let's go, Commander Paylor," says Cam. "It isn't one rule for us and another for you just yet."
"Shut it, Solider Marshall," I retort, pushing him and then racing away before he can retaliate.
Despite the seriousness of everything I've been doing today, from the target practice with my gun to the discussion of tactics and strategy in Command, I still feel like a disobedient schoolgirl as I creep up the stairs with only my torch to light the way. If the tattoo on my forearm hadn't already washed away then it would tell me I should be asleep in bed, and as I emerge into the corridor after checking for patrolling soldiers, I wonder what they'd do if they actually caught me. Not a lot, I imagine, but that doesn't prevent me from feeling like I'm breaking the rules.
"Flax, is that you?"
"No, Baize. It's President Coin disguised as me," I reply, all the sneaking around making me flippant and almost light-hearted.
"That's okay then," he retorts, pointing his torch at me in a way that makes me growl and shrink back.
"Hurry up. Or the next patrol will be here."
He nods, and his shadow on the wall to the side of him does the same. Together we edge towards the metal door at the end of the narrow passageway we've turned into, and when we get there after what's only a few seconds but feels like all eternity, he throws it open and strides into the room beyond.
"She's here!" he calls, gesturing wildly to me with his arms. "Our beloved leader!"
"Shut up, Baize," I snap, forcing myself not to laugh as I quickly close the door tightly behind us. "Do you want the whole of District Thirteen in here?"
"They won't hear us."
"How do you know that?" I ask, shaking my head. "Do you know anything about the running of this place?"
"Don't have to," he replies, shining his torch around the room until he finds a chair to sit on. "We've only got a couple of weeks to go if the rumours are true. Then we're out of here. For good if I have anything to do with it."
When I pull myself onto one of the tables, at least half a dozen torch lights appear, and I look around the room to see a mass of familiar faces. Cam and Cali are closest, with Lucan sitting against the far wall. Zib is next to him, with her arms wrapped tightly around Adie. I raise my eyebrows questioningly when I see the girl. We're all here so I can tell them the truth about what's happening rather than the patchy information they're fed through the official channels of this place, but I'm not sure it's fit for the ears of one so young.
"She saw worse back in Eight and you know it," Zib says, understanding what I'm thinking like usual, and I have no choice but to nod in acceptance. I know that's true as well as she does.
"So tell us, Commander Paylor," interrupts Adaira, fierce-looking in her military uniform even without her weapons. "What's going on? When are we going to get a shot at the Capitol?"
"When the rebels take Two," answers Poplin before I can speak. "It doesn't take a genius to work that one out."
I point my flash light in the direction of her voice to see her sitting on the floor in the corner. Her sister sits in front of her, leaning back against her chest, and I can see her useless hands neatly folded together on Luce's stomach.
"Watch your mouth, Poplin Bradley," snaps Adaira instantly, taking the other woman's retort as an insult.
"Or what?" answers Poplin, her scowl every bit as vicious as it used to be before her accident.
"That's enough. Both of you," I hiss, only turning back to Cam when they're both looking suitably chastened. "I said a few people, Cam. This is half the bloody district."
"Everyone wants to know what's going on, Flax," he hisses back, his voice just as low as mine. "Tell us what they're saying in Command."
"Lucan can probably tell you more than me," I reply, raising my voice so they can all hear me. "We're trying to take control of Two, but it's the Capitol's last stronghold and they're not in a rush to give it up."
"They're all traitors there," says Baize. "I don't see why we can't just blow the whole place up."
"Because if you weren't so narrow-minded then you'd realise you can't judge everyone on the beliefs of a few," snarls Lucan, making me abruptly remember that we're talking about his birthplace and home.
"Oh yeah? They're not exactly fighting back against the Capitol, are they?"
"Well, actually," I say, speaking before Zib's tenuous hold on the front of Lucan's shirt is no more and I'm breaking up a physical fight instead of a verbal one. "Most of the outlying villages are under rebel control already. And there are rebel spies in the heart of the Nut."
"The Nut?" asks Lucan, sounding slightly calmer.
"The Capitol's place in the mountains," I explain, surprised I subconsciously picked up the term Heavensbee invented for the place and repeated it without thinking.
"The Mountain Fortress," he replies. "I know a couple of people on our side who've worked there for years. They'll help when the time comes."
"And a few of their Victors," I add, repeating what I heard earlier as everyone in Command tried desperately to think of a way to drive the Capitol out of the final district.
"Two's Victors?" scoffs Zib incredulously. "Help us? I doubt it."
"Some of them will," Lucan says. "Some of them are on our side. And you heard about Odair's broadcast. They've got as many reasons as most of us to want Snow brought down."
"So we're basically waiting for Two to be brought down from the inside?" replies Zib, nodding her head in acceptance of what Lucan said.
"Sort of," I say. "They're trying to storm the entrances even as we speak. I said they could try to starve them out but apparently that won't work because they've got years worth of supplies in there."
"They have," confirms Lucan. "You already know I was stationed there for a bit a few years ago. Parts of it look just like the Capitol."
"Can't we go to Two and fight?" asks Adaira. "There's no point us staying here."
"You know the rules," I say, secretly almost wishing we could go to the frontline because I don't like being shut up in this place any more than the rest of them. "Pass basic training and then we can."
I can see that she's about to argue from the expression on her face and the way she sits forward on her chair, but before she can speak, we all hear footsteps coming down the corridor. Everyone turns their torches off and we stare into the darkness, waiting.
However as the door swings slowly open, I change my mind about hiding and decide it's a ridiculous thing to be doing. Even if it is a District Thirteen patrol, I outrank any soldier who would be doing the night shift anyway. Besides, the only thing we're doing wrong is staying up past bedtime, and it's been at least twenty years since someone's been able to punish me for that.
I flick the switch on my torch in time to see Eliza peer tentatively into the room, and her eyes widen when she realises we're all in here.
"What are you all doing out?" she asks, her voice barely audible. It takes me a few seconds to realise she's trying to make sure her patrol partner doesn't hear her.
"Planning another revolution," replies Zib flatly, ducking out of the way when I reach out to whack the back of her head.
"We're just talking, Eliza," I say. "None of the compartments are big enough to fit us all in so we came up here."
"Yes, Commander Paylor," she answers. "But be careful. This looks like a War Council or something and people might get the wrong idea."
By 'people', I sense she means the likes of Coin and Boggs, but I shrug my shoulders dismissively anyway. She retreats back into the corridor and I hear her telling someone else that the room's empty. I might be confident we're not doing anything seriously wrong, but that doesn't stop my sigh of relief.
"Do you really think they'd think that?" asks Cali after a few minutes. "That we're plotting something just because we're all out here together."
"I suppose it might look a bit suspicious," I reply. "If your mind works that way," I add, letting my words hang so they know what I'm really saying is that Coin's mind certainly does work that way.
"What do you think?" asks Baize to the room as a whole. "The District Eight War Council. Or maybe even the government. How about it, President Paylor?"
The others laugh, but I can't, not when I think about the potential implications of him saying things like that here.
"Don't even joke about such things," I hiss. "In a place like this? Are you mad?"
He shrugs his broad shoulders and I shake my head at him before looking around at the others. They're laughing, but not a single one of them is laughing at the ludicrous suggestion of 'President Paylor', and suddenly I'm terrified. A few weeks ago, I was racing across the square in District Eight followed by a mob armed with stones and planks of wood. Now I'm in District Thirteen, sitting around a table with people like Coin and Heavensbee and being treated like an equal. Is it any wonder that I don't know what to think?
"What is this place?" asks Cali a couple of weeks later, saying what we're all thinking as we stand in a small room set to the side of what looks like a street from another world.
"Simulated Street Combat," says the soldier who met us here but still hasn't introduced himself.
"The Block," says Lucan ominously, before changing his tone instantly to something that sounds a lot like sarcasm. "It's so we know what the Capitol's going to look like before we get there."
"The Capitol looks like this?" replies Zib doubtfully as she peers through the dirty glass window at the stretch of brightly coloured building fronts that bear virtually no resemblance to anything else we've seen in Thirteen. "Seriously?"
"Sort of," he answers with a smirk. "But the colours are brighter and the architecture's a bit…weirder."
"We're not here to discuss the finer points of Capitolian architecture, Soldier Domani," snaps yet another man in a grey uniform. "You will be divided into squads of eight and will then be required to deal with whatever situations present themselves while you're out there. You will be able to hear your commander's instructions once you've left this room."
"But our commander's here," says Cam suspiciously as he nods in my direction.
"Not for the purposes of this exercise, Soldier Marshall," is the immediate response. "Only when you've passed basic training will you be assigned to the squads you'll be in once you leave here."
"So we divide into groups and go out there now?"
"Yes. You can go first, if you wish," replies the soldier, focussing on me and sounding slightly more respectful than he did before.
"Fine," I say, lifting my unloaded training weapon from my shoulder and turning to face the others. "Cam, Zib, Lucan, Cali, Luce, Baize, Darry," I continue, instinctively calling the names of the seven people I trust most in the room even though I know I won't be able to fight with them for real because they'll be needed to lead squads of their own. "Let's get this over with."
After taking what turn out to be earpieces from the instructor, the eight of us leave the side room to emerge out onto the fake Capitol street. Everywhere is so silent that each one of our footsteps echoes around and around. Nobody dares to speak, and I find myself using hand signals and pointed looks to tell the others which way to go rather than giving verbal commands.
We edge further along until the mock buildings surround us, but it's only when we reach a bright orange door that I hear the voice in my ear, telling us we have to secure and search it. This doesn't feel right, and when I look at the others, I can tell by their expressions that they're thinking the same thing. We make no move to carry on, and the voice repeats itself, louder and more insistently this time.
"Now what?" hisses Cam.
"I think we have to do as it says," I reply, laughing at myself inside when I realise it's partly the fact someone else is giving the orders that's making this situation feel surreal.
"Might as well get on with it then," says Lucan, stepping forwards and taking Zib with him.
Both of them have their guns raised and ready to fire, the look in their eyes telling me they're not treating this like a simulation.
"Go on," I whisper, jerking my head towards the door and waiting for Lucan to kick it down.
However before his foot can even touch it, there's an explosion on the other side of the street, and we're so used to bombs dropping from the sky that we all run for cover. Once the air fills with smoke and the noise of buildings tumbling down, it doesn't feel like a simulation to me either. I'm instantly transported back to Eight and it's like I never left. I look up and see a group of rebels further down the street, cornered by a squadron of approaching Peacekeepers, and then the voice coming through my earpiece tells me the area the enemy are walking on is mined.
All I have to do is get to the detonator, but I know without being told that they'll see me if I break cover. Even if I can blow the mines, I'll never be able to get back to safety in time.
I think about it for a split second, gazing at the virtually defenceless rebels, and I run anyway. The sound of gunfire fills the air and the nagging voice in the back of my mind that's been telling me all along that this isn't real is finally drowned out entirely. I sprint as hard and fast as I can, desperate to do what I have to do before it's too late.
But then I'm suddenly crashing to the ground, landing flat on my stomach with a weight on my back that holds me down so I can't get up. I don't have the strength to struggle back to my feet, even as I watch the Peacekeepers reach their target and open fire on the rebels across the street.
Then the lights go back on and the Peacekeepers stop. They turn back to face my direction and I suddenly recognise many familiar faces from around the compound despite the white uniforms.
"What in Panem was that?" barks the instructor who'd initially greeted us in the side room.
The weight on my back disappears and the next thing I know, Cam's pulling me to my feet. It's only when my eyes meet his that I understand. All eight of us had heard the same command, but only I had been in the right place to detonate the mines. Cam had seen it for the suicide mission it was and, caught up in the simulation, had sacrificed the others to save me.
"Stupid," I hiss, shaking my head at him as the soldiers who run the Block rapidly get nearer.
He shrugs his shoulders and moves closer to me instead of moving away.
"Maybe this is Fate's way of trying to tell you something," whispers Cali, looking almost amused despite the situation, and I abruptly can't even begin to look Cam in the eye.
"When you put on that uniform," starts the instructor as he finally reaches us. "You forget who you are and think only of the battle. We are at war, and you can't allow personal feelings to get in the way of the job you must do."
He takes a deep breath and I think that's him done, but I'm swiftly proved wrong. The lecture we get about the glory of the rebel army and the duty that falls to a few to sacrifice themselves for the greater good goes on for what feels like hours. I'm reminded of how I used to feel back in the factories before the rebellion, and however wrong it is, the instinct to fight against unwanted authority is as great as it ever was.
"We all know why we're here," I interrupt. "But if you train all emotion and independent thought out of our army then you just have mindless robots who can't think for themselves. There's a fine line between obedience and stupidity, Soldier, and I have no intention of crossing it."
"You're saying what happened then was right? Because I can assure you that President Coin wouldn't see it that way."
I'm tempted to tell him that I don't care what President Coin thinks, but I force myself to keep that thought hidden inside. Now is not the time for a second rebellion. If we win the first one then the time for that will come later.
"You might not think much of us, but we held our district for weeks and weeks after our uprising, and we're not as clueless as you think we are. Sometimes in the heat of battle, the heart will rule the head, but maybe it's better that way." The pressure behind Cam's hand as it rests against the small of my back increases when I say that. It's abruptly an effort to concentrate on what I'm saying. "Now if you don't mind then I think we should get on. Otherwise it'll be dinnertime and we'll still be out here."
"Very well, Commander Paylor," he replies. "But I still have orders that you all have to pass basic training or you won't be on the list of those going to fight."
"I understand," I answer with a tired sigh, lifting my pretend gun and heading back along the pretend street as the pretend lights dim again.
Now more than ever, I'm sick of pretend.
About a week later, I allowed two entire squads of rebels to enter a street lined with snipers so Cam's cover wasn't blown. I did it without thinking, without realising any of the implications of my actions because I couldn't see past keeping him alive.
After that, they actually got another commander down there and I was shouted at again. But even though it was at the back of my mind that it should have bothered me then and it should bother me now, it doesn't. I'd just shrugged my shoulders, flashing the white stripe on the sleeve of my dark grey uniform that marks me as his equal, and headed back onto the Block.
About half an hour later we were faced with a group of men and women dressed as Peacekeepers but quoting rebel passwords and claiming to be in disguise. Zib saw just their uniforms and shot them without stopping to listen.
Anything I did or didn't do was forgotten by the instructors after that, but that doesn't mean I could forget. How could I when I remembered every time I looked at Cam?
However despite our rather shaky start at the Block, we have survived our two weeks of SSC training relatively unscathed and we are still counted as part of the rebel army. Today is the day of our final test, the day we find out if we're going to be put on the list of soldiers who will shortly be leaving Thirteen for somewhere closer to the Capitol before the first attempt to take the city and win the war.
I turn back to look at the others as we wait for the soldier to open the door and I hope they all make it.
A bit closer to getting to the Capitol now... As ever, reviews are very much appreciated ;)