Chapter 21
It seems that North Korea is worse than Panem during Snow's time, in terms of the cruelty and cold-blooded-ness of the secret police. But here, the Peacekeepers were bad enough, mistreating the people and offering one night stands like Cray, for a handful of coins. Fortunately for now, the last Peacekeepers I have seen did a good job catching that culprit along the streets of the Capitol.
The five Peacekeepers guarding Mr Park's room were knocked out by a sleeping gas bomb. They were in dismay when they woke up and discovered his dead body. But you can't blame them as no one with a normal mind would ever dream of assassinating your own diplomat. A Korean note was tied to his right foot, stating that he had been 'influenced' by the pleasures of the Capitol, and would pose a threat to Korean 'sovereignty' as a whole. This killing would be a warning especially for President in the Capitol has been tightened and in the Districts, Peacekeeper posts are at every corner. But now President Paylor and us, counting me, Peeta, Cinna and Effie (Haymitch broke his leg after an accident, which involved him not getting out of harm's way in time from a car, drunk as he is), are now on a world tour. We would be literally flying over half of the globe to places we have never been before. It is to express goodwill and present the message that we can be a great help to many nations. Well, after the Hunger Games have been abolished, life at District 12 especially has been extra sleepy, so I guess we can start doing newer things day by day.
I wake up in the Capitol hovercraft that will take us to London, the capital of Great Britain. Great Britain used to be a key ally of the old North America, but at the time of the war, the nation was hit with a money crisis and they were having somewhat like the riots in North America, only that it was less worse. But then things got better after Panem closed up itself, and the country had a chance to return to its former glories, where at least many can get three meals a day and a bed to sleep on for the night. With no Hunger Games, for that matter. A kiss from Peeta and a cup of piping hot coffee pushes me further into reality and opens my sleepy eyes. I let him tie my hair like he did and walk to the cabin nearest to the door. I find Cinna watching a British news broadcast on TV with a grim face. In a few minutes, we'll be landing at Heathrow Airport to be welcomed by the British government officials, Prime Minister William and of course, the paparazzi and hundreds of cameras. On the bright thin screen, the awaiting crowds at the airport are quite rowdy, some holding banners that say, "That fool of a Ski should pay for the death of North America. Now something not American is coming back to the world." "What a mentality!" sighs Paylor as she enters. "President Ski was the leader of the Russians who started the war that devastated North America, but indirectly created Panem. The Russians of today are so remorseful for the past generation's decisions, but you know, some people won't let it go. Just like World War Two. The Chinese still won't totally forgive the Japanese."
Cinna helps me put on a smooth grey-blue dress I wore in one of the Districts during the Victory Tour. Peeta's donning a white shirt and trousers. He looks like a tourist in District 4. Then Effie gets us in time to the doors just as the Peacekeeper bodyguards usher us out into the roaring open, with flashes of cameras as bright as sunlight and the voices of a multitude swelling together. We don't need to talk, but to smile and wave. But I just look rather quietly at the excited faces, which yearn to see even a shadow of America's past. Well, sorry. Here are we, the citizens of Panem, a country which suffered so long from the Hunger Games. Here am I, the Mockingjay, the one who still suffers from nightmares and scars from the past, although they must be smaller by now.
We are hurried through the cool air-conditioned airport into waiting cars, which zoom us off to the Big Ben, which is a tall clock tower that somehow reminds me of the arena in the Quarter Quell, where the whole place was designed to be like a clock. I feel a bit giddy upon one look at any clock. Peeta seems to be enjoying himself as he is chatting non-stop with Mr Brooke who is joining us in the car. Effie is complaining to Cinna about how some reporters took too many photos for a pink-haired lady with a bouquet towering on top of it. "The trip's fine?" Paylor asks. "Yeah. At least it wasn't like the Victory Tour, where the Peacekeepers showed us everywhere, pointing guns at out backs." I say. She laughs. "The British are very polite and gentlemanly. They are renowned for this culture, even for centuries. Ah, here we are." The convoy stops at the mesmerising grand old Big Ben. The arrow and the numbers on the clock look like Greek and English at the same time. We get out and are received warmly by another group of friendly and smiling leaders.
I meet Mr Peters, the good New Zealand diplomat and we both start talking about the way things are going ever since the visit to Panem. I am actually quite miffed at how the theme 'the Girl on Fire' is not catching up in fashion (my relieve) but at how it is made public on every international magazine like the Times and Reuters. I had enough of propos and 'acting', for once. I am not a good celebrity, as I have said. Peters points to some lovely primroses and asks me about what I think about them. I am about to say that my sister was also named Primrose when my eye catches something in the crowd. It doesn't look like a camera to me, nor does it have the closest resemblance to a banner. And it is pointing at the rather gullible-looking Russian President Vlad, who is looking exhausted after an hour of trying to make it clear to the crowd that he still has intentions of even wiping out Panem. And he won't, even if he wants to. District 13 still has nukes, saved for an emergency.
The object in the crowd looks very suspicious to me. The British police and CIA agents are busy looking at other sections of the crowd, looking for zealots with knives perhaps. But in my opinion, I think the object in the crowd looks more like a gun to me. And am I right, for the hand holding it is switching off a latch on it which is very much like a safety catch of a normal gun, and...
"Peters! Duck!" I scream and leap at President Vlad. Peeta's eyes bulge in surprise, President Paylor's open in amazement, Cinna's and Effie's widen with horror and ten thousand other eyes and mouth open with shock and surprise. As I knock Vlad down, my head turns to the tall big screen located at the side of the stage, where President Paylor would be speaking. I see the actual Katniss in me, instinctive and suspicious of everything, not knowing who to trust and who to share a joke with. I see the Mockingjay, selfless and sacrificial, ready to save anyone from Rue in the arena to the leader of an old foe even at the cost of her own life. I am being shot on television.
The bullet hits me squarely at the side of my chest, and it feels as if a smaller version of Cato's sword had pierced me instead of Peeta's leg. But the pain and agony that follows lasts for a couple of seconds. What follows next is a strange sweet dreamy numbness. Numbness. I can't even feel my hands and legs. I feel like a jellyfish in a desert. My dress is covered all over with blood and some of it splatters all over Mr Vlad. His aged face looks confused and concerned all at once. A word only escapes from his lips. "Why?" I know what he means. Why should the heroine of a nation his forefathers attacked and laid waste to (the Panem is American sentiment, but that's OK for me) rescue him from a single bullet? Why should the Mockingjay, who had suffered all her life, take more pain to save another individual who was considered unworthy by a million British souls? "Because I have to." I say in a cracked voice.
The crowd is in an uproar. The shooter, a big guy, is tackled by CIA agents and carried away. The police is forced to demand everyone to leave so that order can be restored and that I can be taken to be treated immediately. But still many stay. Not to threaten or insult President Vlad, but to chant 'Katniss' and 'Mockingjay'. The scene has changed from protesters screaming for Vlad to be quartered in the square to supporters who have fallen in love or are simply taken aback at what i have done today. Most of them are actually some people in rags. But I can't think or see anything more, because confusion is setting in. And pain comes back, burning me like fire. I let out a scream as paramedics rush to my aid. A gasp escapes from the crowd and the police have to start forcing them back. Then someone lifts me onto a stretcher and I am carried into a small building near the Big Ben to wait for the ambulance, which is facing siege from the crowd at the road. I cannot make sense about what else is going on. People are screaming into walkie talkies, knocking other out, giving me both kind and amazed looks. They actually look sympathetic that a young girl actually shot at no fault of hers.
Peeta appears at my side, begging me not to leave him. But I say quietly, "I'm not dying, Peeta. I'm just...injured." Someone injects a painkiller which hurts at first. I bite my tongue so that I won't scream, but something like a groan escapes from my lips. Effie and Paylor fly in, looking as worried as my mother when a swarm of tracker jackers almost got me and my father on a hunting trip. They are shrieking something about 'being suicidal' and 'crazy'. But Peeta says rather loudly, "She just doing what's right!" Everyone in the room is struck dumb. No one can deny that. Peeta lets go of my hand and addresses everyone, "Look here, if your friends were in danger, you would save them, wouldn''t you?" Reminds me of Rue and Marvel's spear. "As for her saving a stranger even to us, it is actually a very rare virtue that not many of us have. You two, Effie and Paylor, you should be ashamed of yourselves! And the people who were insulting the Russian President too. He's not as bad as Snow for all I know!" His voice burns with a spirit that almost cuts off the painkillers in my veins.
Now it is time for Cinna to calm things down. "Peeta's right." he says calmly. "It's OK. At least Mr Vlad is safe and Katniss is a strong fighter. She'll pull through. But now, what matters is to get Katniss to the hospital as soon as possible." Effie and Paylor slink away to let the paramedics carry my stretcher to the ambulance that has finally arrived. Peeta accompanies me, holding my hand tightly to remind me that I won't be alone in this foreign land. In the ambulance, which is quite cramped with equipment and radios, I think I hear this, "We'll have to put her in an induced coma."
Induced coma. I jerk up from the stretcher. "No, don't! I won't be put down!" I scream. The paramedics leap to action and hold me down in a second. Peeta is momentarily distracted, but then he snaps back to reality and says, "You don't have to do it roughly Let me handle this." I struggle with the guy in white who is holding a syringe. Peeta looks down at me in the eye and says, "Katniss, it's OK. You don't have to panic. No none is going to hurt you."
I calm down the moment I hear Peeta's voice. I remember how he cradled me in his arms after the jabberjay attack. A mere knock-out injection is certainly a thousand times less worse than birds voicing out the screams of agony of your loved ones. I even allow the paramedic to inject me. As I feel both nauseous and sleepy, I grab hold of Peeta's hand. He squeezes it gently. "Stay with me." I say. "I will. Always." Peeta says. Then a welcoming dreamy black overcomes my entire world once more.