Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
So shines a good deed, pt 21
Gale stares down at his exposed ankles and frowns.
"I may have misjudged how tall you all are," Alameda says, scratching her head with a seam ripper and frowning.
Thom looks indignant as he holds out his arms, the sleeves pulling well above his wrists. "You think?"
Scowling at him, she huffs. "Well, what do I look like? A stylist?"
In Gale's mind, she's clearly as badly dressed as any stylist he's ever seen, but he keeps his mouth shut. She's got an object just sharp enough to cause him some real damage in one hand and hasn't brought them their breakfast, he doesn't want to provoke her, at least not until she's fed him.
His dad couldn't zip his jacket up, Jude's pants wouldn't button, and Arran was the worst off. The second he'd pulled his pants up a loud tearing noise had filled the compartment and he'd winced, turning an amazing shade of red.
The pants had been patched, rather sloppily Gale thought, and the jacket and waist were easy enough to let out, but Gale and Thom's strange little uniforms are posing more of a problem.
She starts digging through some of the trunks, looking for who knows what, but comes up empty.
"You'll just have to live with it."
Gale doesn't normally care what he's wearing, he's got it on good authority that he looks great in anything, but for some reason he doesn't want to parade around the Capitol looking like he's borrowed Rory's clothes.
"I'm not wearing this," he tells her through gritted teeth. It's humiliating.
"You don't have a choice," she snips back, faux pleasantly, her unnaturally white teeth flashing.
And really, he doesn't.
Earlier, before anyone had fully woken, Wiress and Alameda had blown in, expressing the first hints of real emotion Gale's seen in them.
"They've changed the timetable," Wiress had snapped. "They're moving up the train's arrival time and having the announcement the evening we get there." She glared at Alameda. "How did they keep this change quiet? We should've known."
Or, judging by the dark look she gave Alameda, she should've known.
The girl just huffed. "This is Beetee's area, not mine. He monitors this stuff."
"Well it was your contact that apparently failed."
"Mine?"
"Or Finnicks."
Things started dissolving from there, Wiress casting blame on everyone but herself, to Alameda's increasing annoyance, before Jude cuts them off, speaking for the first time the entire trip.
"Why would they do that?"
Gale had swallowed down bile. He knew exactly why they'd move the time up.
"They know," he rasped, images of his brothers and sister, mother, Madge, and the Everdeens, tortured and bleeding all forming behind his eyes. He's killed them all.
"Probably," Wiress grumbled, more irritated than worried, and Gale fights off the urge to lunge at her and throttle the life out of her for her lack of concern. If her competency is in doubt the world collapses, but the potential deaths of their families cause her little discomfort it seemed.
"What about our families?" Jude spoke again, his voice higher than the first time. "Have they hurt our families?"
Alameda shook her head wearily. "No, I'd know."
"How?" Jude snarled, stepping closer to her. "How do you know they're alright? You didn't even know this was going to happen!"
"I just do, okay? I have my ways," she answered, setting her jaw and holding his angry glare. "Keeping tabs on people is a lot easier than monitoring our government, okay?"
Jude took another step towards her, his breathing shaky. "I want to know how."
"That isn't important."
"It is to me."
Before he could take another step, trap her against a crate and do something he'd regret, Gale's dad put a hand on his shoulder.
"Jude," he stepped beside him, staring steadily, "we have to trust her."
Gale had wanted to laugh at that. He didn't trust any of them. They were liars and manipulators, just barely above cockroaches in Gale's mind.
He stopped himself though. His dad was right. As little as he likes them, his life is in their hands, his family's life is in their hands, and there's nothing he can do about that but hope they're half as good as they think they are at playing the system they've been carved from.
For a minute Jude had just stared, eyes locked on Alameda's horrible green hair with its stiff curls, before he lets out a long, frustrated breath.
"Fine."
He'd spent the entire fitting glaring daggers at her, but he hadn't said another word, even when Alameda had jabbed him, supposedly on accident, with her needle when she'd been adjusting his pants.
Biting his tongue, Gale nods, sinking into a pile of fluffy skirts, his pants rising mid-shin.
Alameda's green lips stretch up. "Don't worry, Dorothy. Even with your chiseled good looks and winning personality, you won't get so much as a second glance wearing this."
The uniforms, she'd explained when she pulled them out, are worn by Avoxes.
"And they're as good as furniture to most people in the Capitol."
"What's an 'avox'?" Thom asked, eyeing the dark brown uniform, made of some kind of soft, but strangely strong material, warily
"Traitors," she answered with a shrug as she handed Arran his uniform. "They've got their tongues cut out, so they can't talk." She sticks her own tongue out and pretends to snip it off with a pair of scissors to demonstrate, in case they didn't understand. Turning to Gale, she'd grinned. "Which means you can't talk either once we're off this train. Lucky me."
Gale had simply glared at her for that, unwilling to give her any kind of ammo to fire back at him with.
His dad gives him a sympathetic smile and pats his head, ruffling his hair like he had when Gale was small, before sighing.
"What time are we going to arrive?" He asks, eyes focusing on Alameda.
"By noon," she answers, getting to her feet and brushing a few stray threads from her dress. "I'll come and gather you and head for the hotel."
Thom's stomach rumbles loudly and he gives her a sheepish smile. "Any chance you got some food in your magic bag?"
"I'll feed you when you when we get to the hotel," she tells him, snatching up her bag and looking around. "Remember, mouths shut, heads down, and follow my lead."
With that, she wiggles out, leaving the men in their uncomfortable new uniforms with empty bellies and full heads.
#######
Haymitch curses under his breath, grabbing up a towel and smearing blood across his cheek from where he'd nicked it attempting to shave. He glares at the razor, as though the chunk missing from his hide had somehow been its plan all along.
"You know," a cool voice drifts in, "there are appliances that will do that for you. Probably cost you less blood."
Not bothering to turn and look at her, he resumes shaving.
"I like a good challenge."
Besides, the less control over his life he gives the Capitol the better, even if it is just shaving.
"Suite yourself," Wiress says, turning and walking back into his room.
Glaring at her back, Haymitch makes a final swipe before washing his face off and following after her, letting the water drip from his jaw and onto his undershirt.
"Don't you ever knock?" He asks, eyes still narrowed on her as she goes to his bedside table and picks up his wallet.
"Rarely."
Stomping over to her, he grabs it as she flips it open to a picture of Madge from the year before, smiling at him in her school uniform.
"Don't touch my stuff," he snaps at her, tossing it on the bed and going to his closet to dig out the least offensive piece of clothing he can find.
"You'll be coming with me," she tells him, as though they've been having a pleasant conversation and he hadn't just told her off for prying through his personal property. "To the City Circle where the stage has been set up. We need to look it over."
Grabbing a dark colored shirt, he pulls it on and turns, snapping it up and frowning at her as he does.
"I thought I was going with the boy and them, helping Bird keep things smooth."
Keep the idiot from doing anything stupid and getting himself killed. Not that Haymitch cares, but Madge does, and since it's Haymitch's fault she's in this mess, guilty by association, he owes it to her to keep an eye on the boy.
"Phoebe is more than capable of handling this," she reassures him, picking up his wallet again and pulling out Madge's picture. Haymitch doesn't bother hiding his snort of derision. She hadn't thought much of the girl's skills earlier. Her mind is apparently changed as easy as the winds.
Smirking, Wiress, shrugs. "Besides, her absence won't be noticed. She's our little chameleon, after all. People are used to her appearing when she wants to."
Snatching the picture from her hand, Haymitch falls to the bed and stuffs it back into his wallet.
"I can still help," he tells her, pushing himself up and putting the wallet in his back pocket, far from her calculating eyes.
"No," she gives him a frown of disapproval, "you just want to keep an eye on dear Madge's boyfriend."
"Don't give two shits about him."
Wiress laughs, genuinely amused. "I know you don't, but you really would like to play the hero, and getting him home would certainly help you do that."
He narrows his eyes at her, hating it when she's so near the mark.
"You and I both know we aren't heroes, Haymitch."
Huffing, Haymitch goes to the chair in the corner and finds his belt, puts it on and ignores her.
"We're the bad guys then, great," he snorts.
"It isn't that evenly cut, you know that. Life is very rarely black and white," she counters, her voice still infuriatingly even. "Even if something happens to him, you won't be to blame."
"Sure I will," he mutters.
He should've left Madge and Matilda where they were, they may not have been happy, but they wouldn't have targets in their backs.
The thought falls apart in his head as quickly as it forms.
A life lived in misery isn't much of a life at all. He should know. The few years of happiness they've had might not make up for the mess they're in now, but it's better than nothing.
"No, she's a very bright girl. She'll see the gray it's all painted in."
Smiling slightly, Haymitch nods. His smile slips off just as quickly as it forms and he narrows his eyes.
"How would you know? Been spying on her?"
Watching his every move was one thing, but Madge's and probably Matilda's was another, at least to him.
Shrugging, Wiress walks to the door. "Would you expect anything less from me?"
Before the door slides shut, she calls over her shoulder to him. "Be ready. We arrive at noon."
#######
Hazelle's heart stops when a knock comes on the door the next morning.
Amos Lane, the man Gale had told her about that had recruited him for the corps, stands at the door, his pinched face pulled up into a tight smile.
"I thought today would be as good a day as any to get him started with paperwork," he tells her pleasantly in his too high voice.
For a second Hazelle's heart stops and her mind freezes. Their entire plan is going to unravel, all on an oversight, because of something that had been set in motion months ago that's coming to fruition at the least opportune time.
Rory comes up behind her, a cup of cold broth in his hand.
"Gale's got the flu," he tells the man smoothly. "And my dad, too. If you want to come in and-"
Amos Lane covers his mouth in horror, taking a large step back and almost falling off the porch.
"Oh, no. That's-I'll just start him once he's over this."
The man is gone, fleeing in terror over a fictitious illness before Hazelle can even tell him she'll let Gale know he stopped by.
"You lie too easily, Rory," Hazelle sighs. He shouldn't be so good at something so underhanded.
"Everyone has their skills mom," Rory shrugs. "My particular one just happens to be an amazing poker face."
Remembering a few times Rory had come home from school with a few extra trinkets, a ribbon for Posy and some candy for Vick, Hazelle wonders just how long her middle child has been honing this talent of his.
"Still…"
Deciding this isn't the time for this particular battle, Hazelle just pinches the bridge of her nose. If only Rory and his 'particularly amazing' poker face were her greatest problem at the moment.
"Mom!" Vick shouts from the couch, pointing wildly at the television. "They're making an announcement!"
For the second time in less than an hour, Hazelle's heart stops.
Snow, taut skin and cold eyes, smiles out at them.
Before she can even cross the room, he's made the announcement: the festivities are being moved up. Tonight the newest Victor is going to make his official debut, and, Hazelle knows, the announcement about the Quarter Quell is going to follow.
Sinking down into the threadbare chair, she tries to steady her breathing.
Things are coming to a head, much faster than she'd anticipated, and she isn't sure she's ready for the consequences.
"We need to get up to the Village," Rory tells Vick who nods enthusiastically.
Hazelle looks at them in horror. "Why?"
Exchanging a look, both boys turn back to her.
"To help Madge," Vick answers. "It can't just be down to her, Mellark and Katniss. She's going to need help."
Staring at them, Hazelle feels tears start to prickle at the back of her eyes.
They're too young to be thinking these things. They're just kids. They should be playing games or sneaking out to see girls, at least in Rory's case, not deciding to join what amounts to a treasonous revolt.
Heart suddenly pounding, Hazelle shakes her head. She's their mother, she can't let them do this.
Rory and Vick are her babies, and she won't stand by and let more of her children fight a battle without her.
"I'm going to help," Mrs. Hawthorne corrects him.
Both Rory and Vick cross their arms over their chests and glare in an uncanny impression of Gale.
"We'll be in just as much trouble as the rest of you if things go bad," Rory tells her, his scowl intensifying. "Might as well do something worth being punished for."
Vick nods again, his jaw set.
Much as she'd like to argue with them, she can't. They're right.
When all is said and done, they'll be found just as guilty as Gale and Asher if something happens. She can't deny them a chance to fight back, just this once, against the people that have made them grow up so much faster than they deserve.
Blinking back tears, Hazelle reaches out and grabs them both, pulling them tight to her. She wishes she could keep them there, safe and innocent in her arms, for the rest of their lives, but that isn't an option. They're too much like Gale, they'll find a way to fight, even if she tries her hardest to convince them not to.
Pulling back, she presses a quick kiss to each of their cheeks.
"Let me go get Posy," she tells them as she stands.
They gape at her.
"You're going to let us go?" Vick asks skeptically.
Hazelle nods. "We're a family. We're in this together."
To the end, wherever that may be.
#######
Madge had spent the rest of the day, after walking the Hawthornes home, comforting her mother, dosing her with morphling and assuring her that Mr. Abernathy was going to be okay after she'd had to tell her about his unexpected trip to the Capitol.
She'd calmed easily enough with Madge humming to her and bringing her tea throughout the rainy afternoon, keeping her away from the television showing the Victory Tour, but, not for the first time, Madge wishes her mother weren't quite so fragile.
"She's tough in her own way," Mr. Abernathy had told her, when Madge had met him after school in tears after someone had taunted her over her mother's strange behavior
There was nothing to convince him otherwise, even when Madge pointed out that no one else's mother spent days in bed with headaches or uses a highly controlled drug just to get through some days.
"She's just weak," Madge complained, fighting off tears. She had enough things for people to pick at her for, she didn't need a mad mother on top of everything else. It wasn't fair.
Mr. Abernathy had dropped down on a stump, groaning, before gesturing for her to come closer.
"Listen, sweetheart," he'd began. "Your mom, she's gone through a lot-"
"So have I!" And Madge wasn't a wild-eyed lunatic.
He'd taken her hand and patted it gently. "You have, and you've come through. You're a tough little cookie, no matter what anyone tells you. So is your mom, though."
Before Madge had been able to protest, tell him her mother wasn't strong, if she were she'd be like the women from the Seam, who never dissolve into tears if they burn dinner or can't get the soap scum from the bathroom tile, he brushes some hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear, sighing.
"She-I know has her problems, and I know you wish she didn't, and I know she can be a mess because of the morphling and you're embarrassed by her half the time, but she loves you kid, and she's still here, still alive and fighting because she loves." He gives her a strange little smile. "For some people, just getting through the day is climbing a mountain. Don't be too hard on her, she's climbing one everyday."
Madge had given him a hug after that, kissed his scratchy cheek and told him she'd be a little more understanding. It had taken her a few years for the fact that he was just as much talking about himself as he was her poor mother to sink in.
Life hasn't been exactly pleasant for either one of them, and they're doing the best they can, and Madge can only try to appreciate their efforts.
The day had bled slowly into a dreary, drizzly night before melting back into morning, greeting Madge with the same gray, cold sky.
A knock echoes through the house, startling Madge awake from her spot next to her soundly sleeping mother.
No one ever visits, and her stomach clenches up at the sound.
A million possibilities, each as awful as the next, run through her mind.
Gale's been caught, he and all the other men are going to be executed. Mr. Abernathy's done something foolish, drank too much on the train, it's the only place he still gets anywhere near as drunk as he had before he took in Madge and her mother.
As quickly as she thinks those things she shakes them off. Gale won't fail, it isn't in him, and Mr. Abernathy wouldn't risk her by drinking that much. At least she hopes not.
Combing her mother's hair back and kissing her cheek, Madge gets up and straightens her dress. She's making a catastrophe before she even knows who is at the door and it'll do her no good.
Shaking, Madge darts in Mr. Abernathy's room and snatches up his crowbar, weighing it in her hand. If worse comes to worse, she won't go down without a fight.
Descending the steps two at a time, she makes out the silhouettes of two figures through the foggy glass of the front door.
Quietly, she crosses to the door, crowbar hidden behind her back, and carefully opens it peering out.
Peeta smiles slightly at her, his cap pulled low on his head, blonde hair poking out at strange angles. "Figured we needed to strategize."
Beside him is Katniss, looking just as sullen as she had the night before, when she'd stormed out. She nods. "I saw him trying to sneak up to the breaker house for a look around. I figured that if I don't want my sister and mother executed for treason I should keep him and you from getting us caught. You've got all the stealth of a drunk bear."
It isn't exactly a glowing endorsement, but Madge supposes it's the best she can expect. Katniss hadn't exactly volunteered for this job and she can't be forced to enjoy the part she's being forced to play.
Nodding, Madge waves them in, but not before spotting another group trudging up through the muck and the rain.
Mrs. Hawthorne, carrying a sleepy eyed Posy, trails behind Vick and Rory, both splashing messily through puddles, sending muddy water and damp grass in all directions.
Madge, Katniss, and Peeta watch them for several minutes, until they reach the steps.
"Mrs. Hawthorne, what are you doing here?"
Shifting Posy, Mrs. Hawthorne takes a deep breath and looks at her boys before turning her steady gaze back to Madge.
"They've moved the Capitol introduction up, just announced it," she tells them. "Did you know?"
Since Madge has been attending her mother, the television turned low, any and all announcements that have been made are unknown. Judging by the blank look on Peeta's face, and the much more tense one on Katniss', they'd missed it too.
She could've just sent Rory or Vick up, and the fact that she'd dragged Posy out in the miserable weather, bodes ominously to Madge.
"We need to move as swiftly as possible if we're going to be ready when they make the announcement this evening, you know," Mrs. Hawthorne points out, as though she'd been asked.
Madge stares at her, uncertain what she's just heard, and even once she's processed it, she still isn't sure.
"Mrs. Hawthorne, you don't have-the three of us can do this." At least Madge hopes so.
"We're going to help," Rory says suddenly.
Mrs. Hawthorne gives him a long look, as though she'd like to say something, but then both Vick and Rory cross their arms over their chests and set their jaws in a remarkable impression of Gale, and she sighs, looking to Madge.
"We can't just stand by while Gale and Asher fight this battle. We need to do our part."
Madge can appreciate feeling helpless, useless, but she's probably already doomed Gale and Mr. Hawthorne, she can't bear to drag the rest of the Hawthornes into this mess.
Closing her eyes, Madge sighs.
They're right though. They're already tangled in this plot too tightly to have any hope of escaping punishment if something should happen. Madge knows that better than anyone. Families aren't considered innocent, no matter the situation. Her father's death and the disaster that followed for her and her mother made that abundantly clear to her.
Gale's family is marching into this, preparing for whatever might come, and Madge has no right to stop them. This is their choice, and she can only pray it's the right one.
Opening the door a little wider, she forces a smile.
"Let's get to this then."
#######
Asher shifts in the uncomfortable little seat, wedged between Gale and Jude. Across from him, Phoebe is fiddling with a loose string at the end of her uniform, pulling it off with a muted snap before looking up at him and letting the edges of her mouth flick up before she drops her gaze to the floor of the cart they've been pushed into, her pant legs pooling on her feet.
Looking up, Asher inspects the overhead, damp, smooth stone shining with a strange red light, and then down, at the ground speeding by.
They're out of the train, on their way to the hotel, which seems surreal, but that's where he'd been assured they were heading.
"We'll help offload and be put on one of the transfer carts, taken to the hotel, then to the basement," Phoebe had explained, pointing to one of the many boxes covered in dresses and gaudy clothing, when she'd shown up, only a few minutes after the train had slowed to a stop, dressed a bit like a little girl who'd stolen clothing from someone much larger than her, green hair hidden under a tightly wrapped headband.
"The basement?" Gale had frowned.
"What about lunch?" Thom asked, before snapping his mouth shut at the irritable look Gale shot him.
"Don't worry about that, you'll get something," she answers, not missing a beat. "You just get your box and follow me to the incinerator, and if anything happens, you are not to interfere, understand?"
Asher hadn't liked the way she'd nonchalantly said it, something about her tone and the rapid fire way she'd spit it out told him that he was definitely going to want to interfere should anything go wrong.
"Why the incinerator?" He'd asked, feeling that no matter what answer she gave him, he wasn't going to like it.
She'd waved a hand. "Don't worry. Just stick to the wall and stay quiet. Remember, you don't have tongues."
Catching her by the sleeve, Gale had narrowed his eyes. "No, no more just do what you say. What's going to happen? We need to be prepared."
For a minute they'd just stood there, glaring at each other, dislike etched into every inch of both their faces, before she finally huffed.
"Fine," she muttered, pushing the sleeves of her uniform up until they bunched at the elbows. "These boxes are marked for destruction. That means down to the incinerator, which is in the basement. We need to get to these boxes to the basement."
Before any of them could ask the obvious question, what's in the boxes that needs to go so desperately to the basement, she'd picked one up and opened the lid.
Inside, are several stacks of ugly plates, white with gold trim, but when she lifts one of them, shifting it slightly, Asher is horrified to see several very familiar little containers. Explosives.
"We've been sleeping on explosives," Gale snapped.
"What you don't know can't hurt you."
"Unless it explodes on you!" Gale half shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
She shrugged. "A great many things, I'm sure, but this is hardly the worst thing I've done, and that's just to you."
Holding up a hand to silence their arguing, they needed to stay focused, Asher sighed. "We're taking the explosives to the incinerator?"
Shaking her head, she'd snapped the lid shut. "We're taking the boxes with us to the basement, the entrance to the tunnel that leads under Snow's Mansion is down there."
Thom, eyes still fixed on one of the boxes holding the explosives, frowns. "And no one's noticed it."
Phoebe had smiled offhandedly. "Nope, you'll see."
Things had sped by after that.
She'd forced boxes into their hands, telling them just to take them to the luggage car, and when the doors had slid open and people, avoxes, had started crawling up and in, they'd mixed with them seamlessly.
The avoxes either don't care or are part of the plan, Asher isn't sure which, because they'd nudged the men in the right direction, give them gentle guidance and tense smiles as they'd pushed them onto the cart. Even as they ride in the subterranean labyrinth of the Capitol, they don't make any indication that they're going to give them trouble.
It's cool, and even at the rapid speeds, Asher can see their breath evaporating in little puffs, blowing away the second it escapes their mouths and noses. Their thin uniforms provide little protection against the stinging air, and out of habit, he tries to stuff his hands in his pockets, only to find them missing.
Glancing over at Gale, he finds his son as grim faced as ever.
Reaching out, he gives his knee a pat.
Gale gives him a tense look, almost ill, and Asher is instantly reminded of when he'd been a little boy, sick with pneumonia.
"Big cough, Gale," Asher had reminded him, giving him and encouraging pat on the back. "Get it out."
"It hurts," Gale had whimpered, tears welling in his eyes as he dissolved into another fit of coughs. "I'm tired, daddy."
Asher had picked him up and cradled him close, rocking him to sleep in the ancient rocker that still sets in their house.
"It's gonna get worse before it gets better," he'd told him. "You just have to keep fighting."
He wishes he could tell his son that now. The proximity to Capitol, the source of their misery, should be making him less confident, but he feels the opposite happening. As the minutes tick by, the chance they'll be caught increases, he grows calmer. Everything seems more possible. They're about to see the worst of it, and that can only mean better things are on the horizon.
It may be a delusion, probably is, but he feels things falling in place. They might just survive this, and with that, save everyone they love.
With a jerk, the cart stops.
The strange red lights that sit along the tracks are washed out by a floodlight, drenching the cart in blinding light, and before Asher's eyes can adjust to it, he's being pulled roughly out and pushed toward the cart where their boxes are being stored.
"Get the luggage and head inside," a man, dressed in a deep blue uniform and a box-like hat, directs them, pointing toward a set of double doors and a pair of Peacekeepers.
Following Gale, Asher walks to the cart and picks up the box he'd deposited earlier. It's heavy, the explosives and the plates making it twice as bulky as it should be.
"Can we put something other than plates in them?" Thom had asked after first picking his up.
"No," is all she'd answered with.
Asher got the feeling she only picked them to be annoying, but kept his thoughts to himself. If they complained too much she'd probably have add something heavier.
Phoebe at the lead, they get in line in.
Asher watches the Peacekeepers wave what looks to be electric squares over a strange set of markings on the boxes, and a little red light flashes, lighting up the screens on the squares. It must give them information, telling them where to send the box, because each avox is sent one of two ways, left up a set of narrow stairs, or right down a wide hall.
First up is Phoebe, with her eyes downcast as she's sent to the right. Then Gale follows, he's kept close to her the entire time, distrustfully eyeing her the entire time.
On Gale's heels, Asher steps up.
The Peacekeeper, who looks to be about Gale's age, with cold eyes and a thin mouth, holds his square over the symbol and reads the screen before sending Asher towards the entry Gale and Phoebe had vanished down.
When he steps through the entryway the air temperature drops further, no longer a brisk cool, but a dry kind of freezing. He's heard of a meat locker before, and he can only imagine this is what the phrase means.
Wishing he could've kept his coat, he feels the hair on his neck and arms stand on end and he shivers.
Squinting, there are only small, dull lights on the wall, Asher spots Gale ahead and quickens his steps to catch up.
They walk silently, hearing the heavy footfalls of Thom and Arran coming behind them, before Phoebe cuts them a look.
Glancing around, she shifts her box a little and when they come to a small hall to the right, almost invisible in the poor lighting, she abruptly turns.
They've only gone a few yards when someone shouts at them.
"Hey!"
The Peacekeeper, the young one that had checked Asher's box, is coming towards them, a baton out. Phoebe curses softly behind them.
"Where are you going?"
He's on them, his cold eyes flashing in the poor light, first up to Arran, then to Gale, finally settling on Phoebe.
"This is a divert hall, you idiots. A dead end. Dumbasses. Did you think you could hide down it?"
A cruel smile forms on his lips and he takes a step towards her, jabbing her in the shoulder with his baton. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
He laughs at his own joke before slapping the box from her hands.
It falls, loudly, and the plates, and mercifully only the plates, fall out, shattering and scattering on the floor.
"You dropped it." He leans down, in her face. "Pick it up."
Asher bites his tongue. He only picked her because she's the smallest, seemingly the least threatening. The coward is nothing more than a bully, creating a situation he can flex his muscles in. It's no wonder he became a Peacekeeper.
Looking entirely contrite, Phoebe nods and drops down, sweeping shards of plate up and keeping her eyes down. Even if it is probably only an act, Asher feels sick. In her too big clothes and her fresh scrubbed face, she reminds him a little too much of Posy again. It turns his stomach.
As he's about to push that connection away again, it's unsafe and painful at the moment, the Peacekeeper suddenly kicks the broken plates, sending bits of glass through the air and causing Phoebe to yank her hands back and look up, her expression one of innocent confusion.
"Faster," he snaps.
When one of his feet pull back, aiming a kick at her, Asher can't stop himself.
Without thinking, he drops his box and lunges at the Peacekeeper, slamming him into the wall.
It isn't Posy he's protecting, but that doesn't matter. He isn't about to stand back and watch someone get a sucker punch, or a sucker kick, in on anyone.
He lands a punch and the Peacekeeper's nose cracks, spraying crimson onto his white uniform and the shoulder of Asher's brown one, coloring it black in the dull light.
Growling, the Peacekeeper slams his forehead into Asher's eye, causing sparkling stars to burst behind his eyelids and temporarily blinding him, just long enough for the man to push him back.
Tripping, Asher goes to the ground and Gale steps between him and the Peacekeeper, now spitting blood and snarling.
"Get out of my way," he spits.
"No."
The sliver of his face Asher can see around Gale slacks for a second before his eyes narrow, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. "You aren't an avox."
He starts to reach for his radio, strapped to his waist, and all four men lurch to stop him from sounding the alarm. Before they can though, something cracks loudly, shattering, and before anyone has time to look for the source, Phoebe has come up behind the Peacekeeper and jumped on his back.
Asher barely has time to register what's happened when red sprays out, splattering on their uniforms and the floor.
The Peacekeeper drops, clutching his throat and making a sickening gurgling noise as blood continues to spurt out.
After a second, Phoebe, with a thick, jagged shard of plate in her hand, pushes him, face down, with her foot.
Wiping her bloody hands on her uniform, she looks down at Asher.
"I appreciate the chivalry, but I warned you not to interfere," she tells him, looking entirely unfazed by the situation.
She glances at the shard in her hand for a moment before waving it at Thom, grinning, then tossing it away.
Plates suddenly seem like a brilliant option to Asher, and he decides not to question her too much after that.
#######
They run, boxes bouncing heavily in their hands, following behind Alameda as she leads them down the twisting hall.
The Peacekeeper is dead, still in a heap in the middle of the hall, blood pooling around him.
"Don't worry about him," Alameda had told them before using his radio to send a message to the dispatch. Apparently she'd told them, through some kind of code, that he was visiting a friend.
"A friend?" Jude had frowned. "What's that code for?"
"A whore," she answered, stuffing his radio in her box and motioning for them to follow her.
The men exchanged a look, all a little dark in the face at the way she'd tossed that kind of language around, but no one said a word, just picked up their boxes of broken plates and explosives and followed her.
After ten minutes, going so deep into the labyrinth that Gale wonders if they'll ever get out, Alameda stops, staring at an expanse of dark, empty wall.
Her nose wrinkles up, and just as Gale is about to grumble about her being lost, she reaches out and runs her hand along the wall.
"Damn it. I always have trouble with-"
Before she can finish, she falls through the wall, yelping as her box crashes, unseen to all.
"It ate her," Thom whispers in awe.
"Don't be dense," Alameda snaps, her voice muffled. Suddenly, her head pops back through the seemingly solid wall. "It's a hologram. Hides the enormous hole we've made, in the unlikely event anyone should come down here."
She waves her hand, ushering them in.
"We didn't come all this way for y'all idiots to stand around staring at fake brick."
Gale glares at her, thinking of a hundred different insults he could throw her way, but settles on silence. She isn't worth his breath.
Gritting his teeth, he steps into the wall, right where her head had been.
The toe of his shoe makes it through, but his face doesn't.
"Damn!" His hands jump to his face, cupping his nose and expecting blood to come from it.
His dad pulls his hands down, and gives him a grim smile. "Looks alright."
Twittering laughter erupts from the wall and Alameda's obnoxious face pops back out.
"Did I forget to mention the low ceiling? Whoops."
I'll bet.
Gale makes a low, threatening noise and she grins wider before vanishing back into the wall.
"Just duck."
Thirty minutes later, back aching and eyes straining, sweating heavily, they emerge from the tunnel, and into another.
Gale's feet touch down on concrete, a soft tapping noise echoing through the air. He drops his box and looks around.
"What is this place?" Thom asks as he emerges, squinting into the dark.
Alameda flips on a small lantern, bathing the area around them in blue light.
It's entirely concrete, walls, ceiling, and floor. Any traces of warmth are sucked away by the empty space around them, absorbed into the walls.
"Well, as best we can tell, it's part of an old military base, from before Panem." She turns on the spot. "The first president of Panem apparently built the mansion over it without knowing what he'd done. Some of the rebels, the ones that made it out and managed to blend into the Capitol, remembered it though, and they excavated it. Guess they figured it might come in useful someday."
Eyes roaming over the flat gray of the walls and ceilings, the spiderweb cracks patterning both, Gale mumbles, "Guess they were right."
This is where they'll start their revolution, take down the mansion and then Snow.
This is the place where the Games will ends. Where he's going to save Madge and his brothers and sister.
Squatting down, Gale pushes some of the broken plates out of the way and pulls a carefully contained explosive from the bottom, smiling.
"Let's get started."