When I wake up, Peeta's already gone. The blankets are folded up and placed on Johanna's bed. On top of them is a note, etched on a piece of paper from one of his notebooks.
K -
Went to bake. See you at breakfast.
- P
Peeta's handwriting is different. Before, every stroke he made with a pen was smooth. It flowed in a scroll across the paper like cream swirling in a cup of coffee. Now the words are more of a scribble. Jagged. Inconsistent. He's trying, though.
It's early still. Breakfast isn't for hours. We slept last night, both of us. My mind is clearer now than it has been in weeks, but with it the stark realities of war come barreling to the forefront. Yesterday I told Peeta we needed to survive this war. It's the first time I've spoken about life after the war. No. It's the first time I've even thought about life after the war. I have an expiration date. The second I enter the city, every Peacekeeper, every foot soldier, every Capitol citizen will look to kill me. My death might end the war. I'm beyond the point of martyrdom. My death could be the end of the revolution, one way or another. My death is inevitable. I need to accept that. I need to process.
I need outside of these walls. I throw on a gray uniform and my father's hunting jacket. I open my door and turn right, walking the twenty feet to Gale's door. I raise my fist and knock loudly. He might still be asleep.
"Gale!" I call out, my hand hammering persistently on his door. He opens the door, face flushed.
"Hey Catnip," he offers, leaning out slightly. "I haven't seen Peeta. He didn't come back last night." He stares at me knowingly, and I hear a recognizable cackle from inside the room. I peer over his shoulder and spy Johanna, her hair tussled, pulling up a pair of gray slacks.
"Go ahead, I'm done with him," she says, and as she walks past Gale she slaps his ass so hard it hurts me. He flinches and grins at her. Johanna struts out the door and down the hall to our room, her shoes slung over her shoulder. I raise an eyebrow and look back at Gale.
"Shut up," he says, and retreats back into his compartment.
"I didn't say anything," I tease. He stares at me. "Are you blushing, Soldier Hawthorne?" I torment, which only makes his face beat redder.
"As if you didn't have your own sleepover last night," he retorts.
"Not like that," I comment, and Gale can't seem to wipe a smirk off his face. "I need fresh air. Come hunting with me."
Gale looks at the clock. It's not even five yet. "I'm tired. Why don't you ask Finnick, I'm sure he'd go with you. I didn't really get any sleep last night."
"Get dressed," I say, picking up his shirt from the floor and shoving it in his hands. "And I don't want to hear anything about you and Johanna. You are my cousin and it grosses me out."
Gale chuckles to himself as he heads in the bathroom to get ready.
He's out in just a couple minutes and we head upstairs. The morning shift change hasn't occurred yet, and the soldiers manned at the door give us a sideways look, but permit us to go outside. I shake my leg, adjusting the uncomfortable tracker. I close my eyes and take in the air, the earth, the forest.
"Did you want to talk?" Gale offers, but I shake my head. After a while, though, a thought festering in my mind tumbles off of my lips.
"Do you think…" I try to find the right words. "Do you think anything happens after you die?"
He stops and looks at me. "No," he answers honestly. "I don't."
"Me either," I admit, digging at the ground with the toe of my boot. A wind picks up and the air chills. At least when I die, I'll finally find that nothingness I search for every night in my sleep. At least the nightmares will finally stop. The crack of a branch stills my thoughts. My eyes dart to Gale. He's heard it too, and his back straightens. I nock an arrow.
It was too heavy a footfall for a deer. Something is out there. Someone is out there. How could the Capitol breech the perimeter unnoticed? The monitors would have captured the hovercraft. The woods are too sprawling and dangerous to trek on foot. My mouth tastes acidic and I swallow. I remember what my father taught me. Breathe. Aim.
When he crests the hill, all ability I had to breathe is stifled. His dirty blonde locks look ragged. His shoulders, once broad, slump in fatigue. When our eyes meet, I find icy blue staring back at me. They are lighter than his brother's.
"Rye," I breathe, dropping my bow limp at my side. I'm seeing things. I'm going crazy.
"Katniss?" he calls back.
"Rye!" I scream and take off for him. I run until I reach him and throw my arms around his neck. I'm crying. I don't cry normally, but I'm crying hard in his arms. "What are you doing here? How are you here?" I ramble.
"We got lost," he says. I look over his shoulder. There's a small group of people behind him, maybe six or seven. Starved, ragged, tired people. My eyes dart between them. They're mostly merchant class. I don't really recognize anyone except...
"Delly?" I murmur. Rye grabs her hand.
"I'm going to run ahead of you and let the guards know we have survivors," Gale tells me, and takes off toward the entrance.
"Come on, this way," I gesture, pulling myself together. They follow me toward the entryway to District 13.
"It's real?" Delly cries out, and I nod my head. She sobs into Rye's shoulder, and he throws an arm around her and leads her toward the door.
Inside, we are met by pointed guns. I instinctually put my hands in the air, as do the survivors. There are no apologies for protocol, no efforts made to welcome these travel-weary immigrants. One of the soldiers pats them down. Rye and one of the older women turn over knives they'd carved out of stone and wood.
"Take them to the brig," the lead soldier orders.
"No," I protest.
"It's only temporary, until we clear any security risks," he tries to explain, but I'm not interested.
"Take them to the hospital," I tell the escorting guard. He stares between me and his superior. "They need medical attention. Look at them!" His eyes drop from mine and scan the people standing before him. Delly can barely hold herself upright. They've probably not eaten for days. He looks back to his boss.
"Sir, I think we should take them to the hospital ward," he says.
"I know these people! They aren't Capitol spies!" I argue.
"Katniss, you have no idea who they are. Look at what happened with Peeta," Gale inserts himself, and Rye's eyes flash.
"What happened with Peeta? Is he alive?" Rye looks at me desperately.
"Yeah, he's alive. He's just… he's different, Rye," I answer.
"Different how?" he blurts.
"Take them to the hospital. I'm getting Peeta," I tell Gale. He nods. The guards finally agree and I take off sprinting for the kitchen. My mind is racing. How will Peeta react to this? By the time I reach my destination, it's abuzz with workers prepping for the morning meal. I see Peeta on the back wall, rolling dough on the counter.
"Peeta!" I call out, but he doesn't hear me. I grab his shoulder. Peeta smiles at me until he sees my face and his expression shifts. He pulls the cotton from his ears and stuffs it in his pockets.
"Katniss, what's wrong?" he asks, raising his hands to my shoulders.
"It's Rye," I spit out, and Peeta's face looks confused. He has difficulty keeping his realities separate, but in every misshapen or real thing he sees, he knows his entire family is dead. "Peeta, he's alive. He escaped Twelve during the bombing, along with some other people from Town." Peeta's eyes shift into a hopeful yet terrified look that makes my stomach hurt.
"Is my dad…?" Peeta chokes on his words.
"No, Peeta. It's just Rye. And Delly," I answer.
"You found Delly?" he asks, his eyes brimming.
"They were outside. They're heading to the hospital ward now," I answer. Peeta takes off running, and I chase behind him. We reach the elevator and he hits the call button repeatedly, his other hand pressed against the wall.
"Come on!" he sighs in frustration, and then he looks up at me. His face shifts. "You found them in the woods?" I nod. "Thank you," he says, and he steps forward and kisses my mouth. It's quick. Harmless. His eyes fill with such gratitude that for a second I feel like Peeta is really here. The old Peeta. The elevator doors open and the moment is lost as he rushes inside. The ride feels like an eternity, when in reality it's maybe seconds between the floors.
When the doors open, Peeta runs through them. "Rye? Rye!" he calls out, his feet pounding the floor of the hospital ward as he darts past the reception area. He lived here for so long he doesn't need a guide. He weaves himself masterfully down hallways and through the hospital staff.
"Peeta!" I hear Rye call out, and Peeta takes off running. When Rye sees Peeta, he pulls himself out of bed and the two brothers collide in the middle of the room. "I thought you were dead, I thought for sure you were dead," Rye repeats over and over.
"Me too," Peeta whispers.
They talk. Their voices draw low when they speak about the bakery. Peeta feels guilty. While Snow convinced him to blame the bombings on me for a long time, since he's come to terms with what actually happened he's shifted the blame to himself.
"So, are you guys married yet?" Rye asks, and Peeta and I both stare awkwardly at the floor. "Oh," Rye realizes. "Did you break up?"
"It's complicated," I say, and Peeta looks at me with a culpable gaze. "Don't," I whisper to him and squeeze his hand.
Rye stays in the hospital that night. Peeta skips dinner. I skip training and sit in my compartment. Johanna doesn't come back. I'm guessing she's at Gale's. Peeta slips into my room in the middle of the night. He lies on the floor next to my bed and stares at the ceiling. I roll on my stomach and look down at him.
"How's Rye?" I ask softly.
"Sleeping. Finally. It took forever to get Delly to stop talking," he answers, smiling faintly to himself.
"That sounds about right," I tease, and he glares at me playfully. His face turns serious.
"Katniss?" Peeta whispers, and I look at him expectantly. He sits up. "Thank you," he says again.
"I was just in the right place at the right time," I answer.
"You brought my family back to me," he says. For a minute we just stare at each other, and then Peeta rises to his feet. "Push over," he whispers, and I scoot myself over on the bed. Peeta lifts the covers and crawls in beside me. He curls his body into mine. He nuzzles his face into my neck. I feel like I can finally breathe. We eventually fall asleep, our hands intertwined.
Rye and the rest of the District 12 survivors stay in the hospital about a week. They are interrogated repeatedly by officials from 13, but their story is consistent. During the firebombings, Rye and Delly were not home. Rye was upset about what happened in the Arena; that his brother was probably dead. He took off running and Delly followed him to the back of the slag heap. They were hiding there when the bombs started going off. Rye immediately focused on protecting Delly, and they sprinted for the woods behind Thom's. Little did they know they were running in the opposite direction of the rest of the District 12 evacuees. They ran into the others in the woods, and eventually they decided to try to reach 13. Fairy tale or not, it was their only shot. They had no navigational tools and were basically lost, using only the moon, sun, and direction of the river to go on. It took months. They lost four people along the way. That's the word they all use. "We lost them," Rye says.
They died. Infection, mostly. One starved.
When they saw me in the woods, Rye thought I was an apparition. A ghost. What he wanted to see, not what actually was. But here they are now, fed and clothed. Relatively safe. Safer than in the wilderness, I suppose, although being forgotten by the war has its benefits.
Rye and Delly join us for breakfast. Peeta smiles the whole time. The rest of us leave for training, and the three of them become thick as thieves. Annie and Delly grow close. Peeta is moved out of Gale's and he and Rye end up bunking together, but Peeta still comes to my room every night. He sleeps in my bed. He holds onto my hand like an anchor.
One morning at breakfast, Delly is chattering away about stories from home. Gale squeezes my knee hard. His tolerance for Delly is as low as mine, and that's saying something. "Oh, you remember Nelle Baumwood! Evan's older sister? She's was reaped four or five years ago. Gosh, I think she was a tribute in the 69th Games? Maybe?"
Across the table from me, Peeta's body seizes tight. Tribute. His eyes blow out, his pupils like two pieces of charcoal. Everyone stills.
"What's happening?" Rye asks with urgency.
"Did you just flash?" I ask Peeta, my voice quivering.
"Yes," he says. His eyes are fixed on me, but every muscle in his body is clenched in place. He's practically growling under his breath.
"What is flashing?" Rye blurts out. No one answers him.
"Do you want to kill me?" I ask, my eyes still locked with Peeta's.
"Yes," he breathes. His body bristles, his knuckles go white.
"What the hell?" Rye shouts, but we all continue ignoring him.
"Are you going to?" I ask Peeta, quieter still, our gaze never breaking.
He fights to get the next word out. "No," he struggles, panting.
"Why not?" I say.
Peeta closes his eyes, shutting me out. Shutting everything out. "Because I'm in love with you," he exhales, as if the words themselves feel like poison burning his mouth. But he's in control. He's aware. Peeta's eyes shoot open and he glares at me. "Gale," he says, his stare turning dark.
"Yes," Gale answers, keeping his tone even while his body is poised to react.
"I need you to hit me over the head with your lunch tray. Can you do that for me?" Peeta asks, his eyes fixated on me.
"Oh hell no!" Rye practically yells.
"Peeta, you don't have to do that," I start, but he raises his hand.
"It hurts," Peeta whispers. "It hurts to not hurt you." He clenches his jaw and groans. "Gale, come on."
I see Gale in one swift motion grab his tray, stand, and slam Peeta over the head like he's swinging a bat. Peeta drops to the table. That's when Rye Mellark stands up and punches Gale squarely in the jaw.