A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait! I've been out of school for about a month and I've been selfishly enjoying my summer. I'm back now; writing every night, so updates will be faster.
ALSO, Crash is coming to an end, my loves. There's this chapter and then (so far) three more chapters after it. That would make the story 14 chapters long—my lucky number! Yeah, buddy!
"I know the sky is falling—here we are, I'm empty.
I feel the world keep spinning; am I high? Save me."
"The Sky is Falling" - Aiden
ALSO, This new handy-dandy image for Crash is courtesy of the lovely and talented Magz. Find her on Tumblr! The username is completemadman
Chapter 14
(Finnick's POV, still)
We took a deliberately slow pace, being careful to make it look as though I were defeated and had given up. Alistair played the part well; wore a face of sheer determination and pride at apprehending the legendary—and now infamous—Finnick Odair. I feigned a struggle every once in a while to keep up the appearance of being captured and led to the slaughter; but really, I've been through things much worse than what the onlookers are anticipating. If I were really being led to prison and the inevitable slaughter that would await me—could still await me, for that matter—it would be a walk in the park compared to the atrocities to which I've been submitted.
Six blocks down, eight to go. I keep the mental countdown going in my mind; I find it's much better to focus on how close we are to ending this, than how far I am from safety.
Really though, I don't care too much for my safety. As long as Annie gets that letter, there's hope for her. Hope for them.
Hope is such a foreign word. Since the day we were born, we've been raised in a hopeless world and now—now that we're fighting for change and making great strides for revolution—it's all different. Hope exists, and I can only hope I live to see the outcome. Annie and our child will, I just hope to see it with them.
I hope that one day I can see our son or daughter swim past the buoys that keep us trapped in this nation, and boast about how much faster she or he did it than the other children. I hope that I'll get to celebrate his or her 12th birthday and there will no Reaping looming in the shadows, threatening to sadden the day. I hope my son or daughter will have the freedom to be anything and everything he or she wants to be, wherever he or she want to be. As children, we all joked about traveling Panem—seeing the spooky forests of 7, the majestic mountains of 2, even the looming prairies of 10 and 11—but I want my child to do so, without being on a tour to celebrate him or her murdering other children. I hope—desperately hope—for my son or daughter to know only of the Games through what we teach them, never from experience. I hope for that more than I hope to make it out of here and meet him or her. For that goal, that personal security, I would lay down my life assuredly.
"Ayo, Nicky boy?"
"Huh?" I'd been so lost in thought I hadn't noticed Alistair trying to get my attention. When I turn around to meet his gaze, his expression tells me he's been calling for me for a long while.
"Back from vacation, now?" He jokes, pointing at my head with the typical someone's-a-little-nuts-gesture.
"Yeah, yeah," I gruff.
"We're about a block away," he pauses. "But I have some bad news."
I look up at him expectantly, but say nothing.
"Peeta's been captured. I overheard another 'keep saying so about a block back. You were too zoned out to notice, so I thought I'd wait to break it to you until we stopped for a bit."
I could feel all the color draining from my face. Never once, in the entire time we've been here, have I actually thought about the possible mortality of that kid. I always just assumed he and Katniss would be fine. I guess, like so many other times, I was wrong.
"What?" I just don't believe it. How would he have been separated from Katniss? There's no way she would let him gallivant alone. He doesn't have any nightlock, either, and I know there's no way any Peacekeepers would have any mercy for him.
"Well, I don't know who got 'im. You see, there are other 'keeps like me, so he might be safe. If we see Diamarco, I'll ask. He's got a communicuff. He's always talking to the Rebels."
"How do we find him?" I ask seriously.
Alistair chuckles and looks at me conspiratorially. "You up for causing a scene?"
"I'm probably the best damn actor Panem's ever seen!" I guffaw. "How big we talkin'? Crowd of twenty or Breaking News across the nation?"
"Just wiggle out of your cuffs—which I know you can," he says, eyeing me cheekily, "then wait for my signal."
"To do what?"
"Punch me across the jaw, hard enough to make my lip bloodied. Then I'll call for reinforcements. Diamarco will answer. He's on my speed dial," he says nonchalantly.
I can't help but laugh. Luckily we're pretty isolated from the crowd of refugees—and citizens alike—or else I'd have surely blown our cover.
I sober from laughing long enough to look at Alistair and see how serious he is, and loose it again.
"Seriously?" I ask between bursts of thunderous laughter.
"Deadly," he smirks.
I nod and we begin walking again. We double back a few blocks while I slowly slip out of the cuffs. I cough to notify him that I'm out. We keep walking, maintaining a distance of four blocks from the mansion—to buy us more time to talk to Diamarco.
When we get closer to a large crowd, he signals by rubbing his shoulder. With his right arm occupied, I throw a jab to his right cheek and follow through. He bites his tongue hard from the initial impact and his bottom lip absorbs the shock of the follow through.
We then wrestle for dominance in a 100% staged manner. We roll around on the ground for a few rounds of superficial punches—to which we reacted dramatically and I have to force back laughter—before I submit and let him pin me down. As he puts the cuffs back on, he reaches into his pocket and dials for Diamarco. As Alistair predicted, he agrees to help "keep the peace."
Alistair remains sitting on back to ensure that I can't get up until Diamarco arrives, but when I do see his face he shoots me an award-winning smile.
Diamarco joins us in only about three minutes. He seems to just materialize out of nowhere, like some of the special effects in a Capitol-made supernatural film.
I'm surprised when I see him because I recognize him. I'd remember that face anywhere—but I've certainly never seen him here at the Capitol. His coffee-colored complexion and his slicked back, blue-black tresses are definitely remarkable. If he'd been a Victor, I'm sure we'd have a lot in common. Though I recognize him, I've never really talked to him. I've only seen him about a handful of times when I'd come to 3 to entertain some techno-genius that created something a little too powerful for Snow's liking. He's the head Peacekeeper there, at least he was last time I was there.
Alistair senses my trepidation and when he gets up, he bends down to whisper in my ear, "Came here to help more."
I microscopically nod, so that only he can tell.
Diamarco forcefully pulls me up and sternly yells some made up bullshit about underestimating Peacekeeper authority and learning a lesson. Although I know it's just talk, it does acutually sound very convincing. He tells the privy eyes of the crowd to dissipate and then he and Alistair both take one of my arms and we begin to walk back the way we came, toward the mansion.
As soon as we're far enough away, Alistair starts the conversation.
"Who got Peeta? Us or them?"
Diamarco looks down for a second before he replies, "Them at first. We got him back, though. But he freaked out. Had one of those episode things—or whatever you call 'em," he says looking at me. "He's safe, though we had to use a bit of force to knock him out. He'll be OK. No concussion or anything."
I nod and give my thanks.
"There's a lot more of us on your side than you think, kid," is all he says.
We don't talk anymore after that. We're solemnly quiet, mustering the inner strength to carry this out—and to possibly end our lives in the process. Diamarco receives a phone call; tells us it's about Cressida and Pollux—that they've arrived at the square—and promptly leaves.
"Now or never, eh?" I say to Alistair as the mansion comes into view.
When I look at his face, I don't see determination or fear; I see complete and utter disgust and turmoil.
"What's wrong, Ali?" I say as I direct my gaze to whatever he's seeing.
When I see it, I almost vomit.
There's an 8-foot tall chain-link fence around the yard of the mansion. Barbed-wire covers the top, daring anyone to try to climb it. Countless peacekeepers stand against it, also daring any brave soul to try, facing the crowd with their semi-automatic rifles aimed and loaded.
I feel my heart break when I see what they're guarding—or rather whom, I should say.
Hundreds of children, too young to even take out tesserae, are sitting on the lawn clinging to one another for warmth in the cool, wintery air. They're all under-dressed, as if they'd been taken from their house without warning.
I knew Snow was a coward and I knew the lives of children were meaningless to him, but I never thought he'd stoop this low.
Frozen, we stand our ground about fifty yards from the mansion. Alistair makes small talk with some nearby guards about how dumb the war is. In my head, I'm laughing hysterically at how dumb these guards are. It turns out Alistair is quite a gifted actor as well.
Eventually, he tells them he needs to take me directly to Snow. I play my part well, and pretend to be scared. The Peacekeepers, Alistair included, laugh at my terrified expression but tell him they can't let us through.
Then, to my astounding and theirs, about a hundred parachutes fall from the sky. Instantaneously, I recognize them as the kind in which sponsors send their gifts during the Games.
Realizing the same thing I did seconds ago, Alistair grabs me and we rush closer to the fence. The peacekeepers train their guns on me, but after a minute or so of no activity and Alistair's convincing, they lower their weapons. We watch in horror as the unsuspecting, innocent children open their parachutes. The smiles on their faces wipe away quickly and turn to extreme terror as they—and we—hear the beeping of the device.
Alistair throws himself in front of me as we back away from the fence. Just as we get about five yards back, half of the parachutes explode. My face contorts in aguish as my body collapses upon itself. As the bombs explode, a giant wave of fire sweeps over the fence causing some peacekeepers and onlookers to be engulfed in flames; a few accidentally fire their weapons.
One stray bullet makes contact with Alistair's chest as he protectively pushes me farther behind him.
"Ali!" I yell, not caring if it blows our cover.
I hold him in my lap as the life quickly starts to fade from his eyes. His uniform is soaked in blood and I can see it already pooling on the ground. The wound looks as though it's nicked his aorta— fatally. There's nothing I can do; he knows this and so do I. But I can't get myself to do anything but hold him, my dear old friend.
"K-Katniss," he hisses.
I turn down to look at him and see him pointing to someone doused in flames. I see the fur coat and make the connection he'd already made. I wonder how he knew, but there's no time to ask.
I look at him with pleading eyes; not wanting to leave him but wanting to help Katniss, too.
"GO!" he shouts, with all the energy he has left.
I choke back tears as I watch him take his last breath and I close his eyelids.
"Rest in peace, guarded by the sea," I solemnly say as I kiss his forehead.
In the madness and craze of the bombs seconds ago, peacekeepers are completely confused and paying no attention to me as I run toward Katniss—who's now completely covered in flames. I'm only a couple feet away from her when I see the District 13 Medics arrive on the scene. I quickly spot Prim as I'm starting to push Katniss into a nearby snowdrift.
"Prim!" I call out to her with all the volume I can muster as I choked on the smoke.
She recognizes me immediately and rushes over once she sees what I'm doing.
"Is that—" she gets out before sobs overtake her.
"Help me, please," I plead as I desperately try to move her flailing body into the snow to extinguish the flames.
She nods and begins helping push Katniss onto the ground so we can roll her the last few inches to the bank.
Just as we get her covered in snow, the other half of the parachutes go off.
"MOM!" Prim shrieks as not only the remaining children, but the medics are enveloped in an inferno much more intense than the former.
