Chapter Twenty Six

Katniss

Always hated parties. Well with the exception of the one my father use to throw me and my teddy bear when I was four. Sometimes when he had saved his pennies here and there, he would get me candy from Mr. Jenkins. It was after all the most expensive thing that we had in District Twelve. Well probably not the most expensive but probably the most unnecessary. He never saw it like that, he always made it a special occasion. We would make the whole day a special occasion. The little things that make us smile.

His hand in mines brings me back to reality. It is funny but I have been thinking a lot about of my father. I have tried for so long to think about other things, to think about other people, and now for some reason, I have been thinking about him, like he knew that I would need him. He looks at me, and then realizes that we will have to do what this mad man wants. His finger gently rubs my palm. Ever since he did it in the Reaping that day, I think that was the day that he made up his mind to keep me safe.

"You okay," he asks forgetting about the Avoxes in the room. The room is no more private if we were in a crowd of people. The Avoxes who knows if they are loyal or being controlled by Booth. I nod but offer no words to him. My eyes look around and see that not only would we have to contest with the Avoxes, but more than likely some sort of listening devices in the room. Peeta must understand my apprehension so he just embraces me.

"I understand," he whispers before separating. "Let's get ready for the party I guess."

He walks over to the shower and actually goes into it closing the door. I hear the water begin to fall and as I walk towards the bed, I sit down on the edge. The very last thing that I want to do is to go to some party. It seems that it is one of the things that Booth has engineered. From my understanding on the plan, he is expecting me to kill the President of Panem. My hands start to shake and I know that if I don't do it, Peeta will die.

It is always a decision. It is always the decision. It is as if we will always be back in the arena and those berries will always be in our hands. I rub them over and over, trying to steady my nerves. It was the same feeling that I had back when I was given a bow and a single arrow. I wonder if I had made a different choice back then, would things have ended differently?

The mere thought of the Games continuing as a punishment for the children of the Capitol citizens, continue to turn my stomach in disgusts. What choice did I have truly? Did I even have one? Both of them evil in their own respect. President Coin would have never let the Victors live, even if I did kill Snow. She had always seen me and the others as potential enemies. Why else would she had sent all of the Victors into the Capitol, under the false pretense of trying to overtake and eliminate Snow. She knew even back then that we would probably fail, and that we would be all killed. She counted on it, even by sending Peeta back in his condition, to make sure of it. She was never counting on the one thing that I had always known.

Looking up I see him there looking at me with a smile.

"You will always love me," I ask.

His smile goes from wide to a confused look.

"As long as my heart beats, and even after it stops," he says kneeling in front of me.

My hand reaches up to her cheek and he just kisses it. It is the only small moments that we have together now. I wonder if he would still feel the same when the President is no longer living and I am the cause of it. He stands grabbing my hand helping me to my feet. The way he looks at me, like I am the only one in the whole world. Everything could be collapsing around us, the world could be ending, and the way he looks at me, those deep eyes, just keep me steady, as if he is holding me up.

He leads me a couple of steps to the shower and then finally lets go of my hand. I walk or I think I am walking towards the bathroom. Turning around right as I get to the door, he just smiles and there standing in a towel, the scars seem less, as if they are finally fading. The bullet wounds are finally starting to fade and now all I see is the man that was once a boy, loving me when I thought no one would.

The hot mist in the bathroom as I close the door it is there that I see it. On the mirror of the bathroom, many many many dots all over. I can help but smile and let out a small laugh. He remember the story of my father doing that for my mother and I love him for the fact that he is trying to do the same thing. He will always love me. The smallest details that no one else would get but us. My hand goes up to clean off the dots, but that is when I realize it. 'No one would get but us…our own secret language.'

'. ... -.-. .- .-. .'

Could it be? I try to remember. It was so long ago that we learned this, and it would be amazing in itself that Peeta would even remember this much of it.

E…S…C…A…P…E.

It is the word escape in an old code that District Thirteen used and taught us. It was a code if we were ever to be caught or needed to get a message through. No one in the Capitol would know what it meant, the randomness of the taps, or even of the points here in the bathroom window.

I try to decipher the new line.

'.-. .- .-. - -.-'

P…A…R…T…Y.

'... .. -. -.'

S…I…G…N.

I undress and pretend as it is nothing important. My palm erases the evidence and all I can think of is what Peeta was telling me. It is the plan that we haven't been able to say, the way out. An escape at the party, and probably a distraction or a sign, I don't know which one. Quickly taking a shower, I walk out and see that Peeta is already in his suit looking at himself in the mirror.

"Have a good bath?" He asks.

"Very," I say. "It was nice and warm in there, haven't had a warm shower since we left District Four. Although it would have been nice of you to clean off the bathroom window instead of leaving it there all fogged up."

He stops and looks back at me. He knows exactly what I am referring to, and that I found out the note from him. He smiles and turns still fidgeting with his bow tie. I walk over to him and when I stand right behind him and slip my hands behind him. He turns around and looks at me.

"I could never get this thing," he says.

I smile and make the knot needed. One of the many trainings that I got from Effie Trinket during my time as a Tribute. Looking at him now, he looks so elegant there in a black suit with shiny black shoes. After a couple of seconds he blushes.

"What?" he says.

"Nothing," I say. "Just that you should wear more of these type of clothes."

He smiles.

"Well I think your look is much better than me," he says. "The towel look always did bring a smile to my face."

I let out a surprise shock sound and he just smiles at me.

"Well turn around," I say making the circle motion. "I have to change and it wouldn't be proper for you to watch me."

I pick up my dress that is still in the shield packaging and wait for him to turn around. He folds his arms and continues to look at me. After sticking out my tongue I turn and walk towards the bathroom. Closing the door behind me I place the dress on the nearby hook and unzip the bag. Staring at me though is something that I was not expecting, I could recognize it anywhere. It is a rare design, and slipping my hand around the fabric, I know immediately that it is not an imitation, but a true genuine.

It was one of Cinna designs, that didn't make the final selection. It was one of the finalist dresses of the wedding that costs Cinna his life. I don't know how Booth did it, how he stole it, but this is something that no one has seen for years. I can't help it, the desire to touch something of an old friend, imagine how many hours he spent designing and constructing it.

The only thing that I can do is just stand there looking at it, as a tear rolls down my cheek.

Lillian

Sitting in the abandon warehouse I wonder how long has it been since they used it. I position myself as far from view of a window but near a wall that had been eaten away. It allows me to be able to see if anyone was coming, but give me enough time to hide. I think about the dangers that Thomas must be facing, trying to explain his dirty clothes and the fact that honestly we don't look like the people here. I know that we have been taught to make up stories, but this one is different. Would he be distracted would they have caught him. The Peace keepers here, we don't know them, and even if we did, we don't know if they are part of the people who is after us. It was after all the same government that at one time thought my mother and father were criminals and terrorists.

I hear footsteps. I move my eyes to the slit in the wall. It isn't I see his familiar walk that I let out a sigh of relief. He didn't have any problems, and for one that is a good thing probably it means that they stopped looking for us.

I let out my bird card and wait for the response.

One...Two...Three... and then finally the bird call. He sure took his sweet time responding. We were taught that if we were in trouble that we wouldn't respond and wait ten seconds before responding. This would let the person who is waiting for the respond to know that we were in trouble and to be ready.

The pieces of wood that we had placed on the entry I can hear being moved.

"Lil," I hear him call out.

"Yeah," I say. "In the back."

He walks towards the back room where I had moved all of our stuff. Pretty sure he will be upset about it, you know me doing anything with a bullet in my thigh. It take me a while of kicking it to the other room. The dirt pattern must have given me away because when he came in, the first thing he tells me was if I had fun kicking everything around?

"Of course," I say. "How else was I suppose to get out how mad I am?"

He hands me the clothes he had bought and turns around while I take off my shirt and slip on the shirt that he bought. Looking down at it, purple? Seriously?

"Purple?" I say. "What they didn't have any pink?"

He lets out a laugh.

"Well it was either that or a pale green," he responds. "You know like vomit."

"Thanks," I say. "Going to need your help on the umm."

He turns around and sees that I am holding the pants. I would of course try to do it myself but the sharp pain every time I try to bend my knee. After a couple times, he finally relents and grabs the nearest chair.

"Here sit down," he says helping me into the chair. After helping me remove the boots, he closes his eyes and tugs at the bottom of the jeans until they are finally out. He then fumbles around with his hand until he grabs the bag. Such a dork, this is my little brother, the shyest boy in the class. He has so many girls after him, and all he can do is just smile and pretend that he doesn't see it.

"You are going to have to open your eyes," I say. "I need help getting them on too."

He finally peeks a little and realizes that I have place my old shirt on my lap covering the area. He puts on my pants through my feet and then helping me little by little, he finally gets it up enough that I can grab the waist of the jean and pull it up.

"So, did you find a place where we can call?" I say.

"The nearest place would be the Institute," he says hesitating. I can tell something is wrong, something is off.

"What happened?" I say.

"Lil," he says lowering his head. "The train."

"What happened?" I say repeating. "Come on Tommy, you are scaring me, what happened with the train?"

"They are all gone," he says. "Every one of them."

"What?" I say confused. "What do you mean everyone? What train?...Our train?"

He nods.

"There was a news cast in the store that I was in," he says. "They said it was a derailment, and everyone died."

"Tommy," I say and wait for him to look up at me but doesn't. "Tommy, look at me."

He doesn't but begins to stand.

"Thomas William Mellark, you look at me when I am talking to you," I say taking a stern voice. This shocks him, and his eyes connect with mines. "He wouldn't break his promise, they wouldn't leave us. Okay?"

He doesn't say anything but helps me up and hands me the crutch. I give it back to him, and tell him that I will try to walk, because it would look bad walking around with a crutch.

"We will just walk slow," I say. "Okay?"

"Lil," he says starting to protest.

"Tommy," I say. "I will not be a cripple."

He finally lifts up his hands in surrender.

"Slow," he says again repeating the words that I said. "We have to take it slow, and if you need to rest you need to tell me okay?"

I nod and we start to walk very slowly towards the Institute. After an hour and many stops along the way, I realize where we are. It seems that we are in District Seven, because of the story of the Dam that broke back in the War. We learned this in school, the history of Panem, the full history of the Wars and the Rebellion.

In the distance I can see the beacon, that lights every Institute. It is the way that in the darkness you can see where to go. It was implemented back about ten years ago, when the Capitol requested a Institute to tie it all. It was said that it was always a District thing, but when the Capitol asked for one, it was a sign that finally everything was coming full circle and that Panem was finally healing. The light was a symbol of healing. I wonder if the people from the train know this.

We walk and stop, walk and stop. I can feel the sweat from my head, the throbbing from my thigh. We changed the bandages before we had left and now that we walk I can feel that soon enough I will have to stop. The good thing about the institute in District Seven was that Institute was in the middle of a garden of trees. Sort of like our garden of remembrance back home, I think they might have gotten the idea from here. Around the institute stands trees that have grown high and strong in a man-made circle.

The doors all made of wood, heavy and known to be made out of the woods surrounding the District. Thomas had to put his back into it a couple of time before it would finally even budge.

"What are you kids doing," I hear someone behind me say.

We turn around and see an older woman with a sleeveless shirt on. She is toned and muscular as if she had been doing physical labor since she was born. In her hand is what seems to be a black axe. Her hair cut very short, the color of brown, like mama's but with a streak of grey mixed in.

"What's it to you," I say. "We are trying to get inside the Institute."

She studies me for a little bit before a smile begins to creep in.

"A girl and a boy," she says. "You inherited your mama's attitude I see."

The way she speaks, it is as if she knows who my mother is. Her face looks familiar but I can't seem to place it anywhere. The way she smiles is unnerving almost as if she wanted to, she could just toss that axe at us.

"Who are..." I hear Thomas start to say.

"Oh I was never really good with manners, or formal introduction," she says taking her axe from her shoulder and into her hand. Thomas begins to move his hand. "Oh I wouldn't do that if I was you. I may not look it, but I can easily take you both down without even breaking a sweat. From the looks of it, I can tell that your sister is hurt, thigh probably. If either of you had a bow in your hands then probably I would think twice, but a knife?"

I look back at Thomas and nod no.

"You better listen to her," she says. "Would be the smartest thing."

"Now who are you tormenting now, Johanna," I hear a male voice call from afar. The voice is familiar.

She smiles and doesn't turn around.

"Just some old friends," she says. "Well not really, but kids of an old friend. Think you might know them too."

"Johanna," I say suddenly realizing who I am talking to.

"Yes," she says. "Johanna Hawthrone, and I think you know my significant other."

She turns and shows me of a man walking up the path with a couple of large birds over his shoulder. The black and gold bow sling over his other shoulder. Just as our eyes meet, he immediately stops and the color just drains from his face. Without any hesitation he drops the birds on the ground and the bow as well.

"Gale," Johnna says. "I think you might know the Mockingjay's children."