Someone gives my shoulder a shake and it startles me awake. I've fallen asleep with my head leaning against the wall. The cheek that Thread had damaged, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his hand that is closes to me, dangles in midair. I see Peeta standing in front of me, and I can smell fresh bread, which I smelled faintly before he woke me up. Peeta has a silly expression on his face, which had turned into a smile. I think of all the ways I could kiss that smile off his face, and then I remember that I could. I reach for Peeta's neck, and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. Which turn into a mini make out session.
"What was that for?" Peeta asks, with a bewildered look on his face.
"Do I have to have a reason to kiss my boyfriend?" I asked coyly, with a smile to match.
"Touché. Why don't you head on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him for a while," he says.
"Thanks for following my lead yesterday." I said.
"Even though you could have gotten us killed, you're welcomed." Peeta says, playfully.
I swat Peeta's arm, kiss his cheek lightly, and then leave the kitchen. Before leaving I could see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. Peeta was chipper this morning. He must have gotten plenty of rest last night, which I couldn't say the same for myself as I stretch my stiff neck.
I feel my way up the stairs, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep at once. At some point, Clove, the girl from District 2, enters my dreams. She chases me, pins me to the ground, and pulls out a knife to cut my face. It digs deeply into my cheek, opening a wide gash. Then Clove begins to transform, her face elongating to a snout, dark fur sprouting from her skin, her fingernails growing into long claws, her eyes remain unchanged. She becomes the muttation form of herself, the wolf like creation of the Capitol that terrorized us the last night in the arena. Tossing her head back, she lets out a long, eerie howl that is picked up other by mutts nearby. Clove begins to lap the blood flowing from my wound, each lick sending a new wave of pain through my face. I give a strangle cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I have to remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, but I know Gale needs the extra pair eyes more than I do.
The swelling around my eye has gone down and I can open it a bit. I push aside the curtain and see the snowstorm has strengthened to full-out blizzard. There's nothing but whiteness and the howling wind that sounds remarkably like the muttations.
I welcome the blizzard, with its ferocious winds and the deep, drifting snow. This may be enough to keep the real wolves at bay, also known as the Peacekeepers. A few days to think. To work out a plan. With Peeta and Haymitch at hand. This blizzard is a gift.
Before I go down to face this new paradigm, I take a moment to make myself acknowledge what I'm about to do. To put it bluntly, I'm embracing rebellion, I'm not leading the country towards rebelling against the Capitol. Is this the life I was destined to live after I became a victor, or was it one of slavery? I think. Whatever it is, I'm going to have plenty of time to think on it over the course of the next few months. I was about to contemplate what the Capitol could possible do to me as retribution for my actions, and then something hit me. If the victors were to rise up and lead the rebellion, would they change the rules, and reap us instead of the crowd? The repercussions of the course of action I'm about to pursue will be far great than what I had original planned, but not everything action the Capitol takes, will have an appropriate counter for me to take. Here's hoping. I think.
I get out of bed, and go take a shower. As I'm taking my shower, I try to figure out how they organized that uprising in District 8. So many, so clearly acting in defiance of the Capitol. Was it even planned, or something that simply erupted after years of hatred and resentment? I need to figure it out, so I can avoid it from happening here. I need to keep it from happening here, to keep the Peacekeepers from firing on the crowds. I tremble at the memory of so many be killed indiscriminately. Would the people of District 12 revolt, or would they just lock their doors? Yesterday the square emptied quickly after Gale was whipped. It's sort of disheartening that there were very few who stayed behind to help Gale, but there's no use worrying about that now.
I know that Peeta could keep the crowd at bay with his words, but this is my fight. I caused the rebellion, and I'm going to keep it at bay until necessary. President Snow's words echo in my head again. Prove to me that you still love him. I'm almost in tears when I think of what President Snow might do if he got his hands on Peeta.
Downstairs, I find my mother and Prim tending to a subdued Gale. The medicine must be wearing off, by the look on Gale's face. I don't want to make my mom's job harder by challenging her again, but I guess I'm just looking out for my friend. "You're going to give him another shot if necessary?" I ask.
"If necessary. We thought we try another snow coat first," says my mom. She has removed his bandages. You can practically see the heat radiating off his skin. She lays a clean cloth across his angry skin and nods to Prim.
Prim comes over, she appears to be stirring what appears to be a large bowl of snow. But it's tinted a light green, and it gives off a sweet, clean scent. Snow coat. She begins to ladle the stuff onto the cloth. I can almost hear the sizzle of Gale's tormented skin meeting the snow mixture. His eyes flutter open, perplexed, and then he lets out a sigh of relief.
"It's lucky we have snow," says my mom.
I think of what it must be like to recover from a whipping in midsummer, with the searing heat and the tepid water from the tap. "What did you do in the warm months?" I ask.
A crease appears between my mom's eyebrows as she frowns. "Try to keep the flies away."
My stomach turns at the thought, and I'm probably sure face had a look of revulsion on it, to which my mom laughed. She fills a handkerchief with the snow-coat mixture and I hold it to the weal on my face. Instantly the pain withdraws. It's the coldness of the snow, yes, but whatever of herbal juices my mom has added numbs as well. "Oh, that's wonderful. Why didn't you use this last night?"
"I needed to set the wound first," she says, with a chuckle.
I don't know exactly what that means, but as long as it works, who am I to question her? She knows what she's doing, my mom. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, for challenging her decision. Although I kept my cool, who am I to tell her what course of action she should take. "I'm sorry. About challenging you yesterday."
"I've had, and heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when some they love is in pain."
Someone they love. No matter what I feel for Gale or what people think, Gale could never replace Peeta. I know that I've spent more time with Gale, but I owe Peeta too much. Peeta doesn't care that I owe him, he's just happy to have me in his life. Maybe I should look past the debts, and just enjoy having him in my life. I think. I give my head a shake to clear it because I know what Peeta can do to me. "Where's Peeta?" I say.
"He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn't want to leave his house unattended during the storm," says my mom.
"Did he get back all right?" I ask. In a blizzard, you could get lost in a matter of yards and wander off into oblivion.
"Why don't you call him and check?" she says.
There must have been something in my demeanor for my mom to say that I should call him, which I'm going to go do now. I go into the study, which I have all but avoided entering since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers.
"Hey, just checking to make sure you got home safely." I say.
"Katniss, I live three house down from you." Peeta says, annoyed that I would waste the time to call and check in on him.
"Humor me." I say.
"Well, I'm fine, thanks for checking." Peeta says, chuckling. He asks the next question as if it's normal for a person to be recovering in my house. "How's Gale?"
"He's alright. He's in the competent hands of my mom and Prim." I say.
"I made it out alive. Even with a little help from the Capitol." Peeta says quickly. "How's you face?"
"My face is going to need some time, but I have a snow coat on it. Hey. Have you seen Haymitch today?" I ask.
"I checked in on him. He's drunk and dead to the world, but I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says.
"Somethings never change." I say.
"That they do. Did you have a reason for calling, or are you just missing your boyfriend?" Peeta tease.
"Yes I do miss my boyfriend. And yes I did have another reason for calling, but it's going to have to wait until the storm passes." I say.
"Sensitive information?" Peeta asks.
"Pretty much, and I want to discuss it with Haymitch, too." I say.
"As you said, nothing is going to happen until the storm passes. Keep yourself busy, and out of your mom and Prims way." he says.
"If it wasn't storming, I can think of a few things to keep myself busy, and a person to do it with." I say coyly.
I hear Peeta sputter before I hang up the phone. Yes! I think. I got Peeta back for that "treat" remark he made back in the Capitol almost a month ago.
It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply another snow coat to my cheek, and try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it could help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get I call Peeta.
We rouse Haymitch, and drag him along with us.
"Nice shiner, sweetheart." Haymitch says.
"Ha, ha." I say, sarcastically.
Haymitch complains about us taking him along, but not much as usual. We all know we need to discuss what happened and it can't anywhere as dangerous as our own homes in the Victor's Village. In fact, we wait until the village is well behind us to even speak. I spend the time studying the ten-foot walls of snow piled up on either side of the narrow path that has been cleared, wondering if they will collapse on us.
Finally Haymitch breaks the silence. "Got any new ideas on how to make that stand yet?"
"Sort of, but I have a question to ask first." I say.
"Shoot." Haymitch says, fixing me with a questioning glance.
"What would it take to for an uprising to begin?" I ask.
"What?" Peeta asks.
"Are you serious? I thought you were talking about a nonviolent stand?" Haymitch asked.
"I'm going to take a nonviolent stand." I say. "Three days ago, before Gale was caught by Thread, he mentioned that there was talk amongst the miners about staging their own uprising. I would have told you that had you not have interrupted me." I say, annoyed.
Peeta just shrugs, and looks at Haymitch. "Oops." Haymitch says. "Well if the miners had any brains they wouldn't try anything, seeing as the new Head Peacekeeper isn't afraid to use the whip. So, I think it's safe to say we have some breathing room for the time being."
We fall silent as a group of men with shovels passes us, headed out to Victor's Village. Maybe they can do something about those ten-foot walls. And by the time they're out of earshot, the square is too close. We step into it, and we all come to a stop simultaneously.
I thought that with the blizzard that nothing was going to get done. I was so wrong! I thought. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, marches on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nest of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions – an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows – are set up in the center of the square.
"Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch.
Peeta lets out a whistle.
"That's putting it mildly." Haymitch says.
"Clearly." I say.
Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make a living there.
"Haymitch, you don't thing everyone was still in –" I can't finish the sentence.
"Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer. Well I better go, see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare."
He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" And then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home."
"So do I. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper gets back on her feet," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family."
"I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her.
"I'll go too. Drop by the bakery on the way home," he says.
"Thank." I say rubbing Peeta's arm gently. I suddenly very scared at what I might find.
The streets are almost deserted, which would not be unusually at this time of day if people were in the mines, or the kids in school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, though cracks in shutters.
An uprising. I think. That's a good one. There's an inherent flaw in starting an uprising that I have over looked. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. Gale and I have done that our whole lives, our families have too. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I half expected them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches. Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows, and draw the curtains tightly. At least we've got our work cut out for us. I think.
We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale would be in the best hands possible."
"Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mom says he will be back in the mines in a few weeks."
"May not be open until then, anyways," Hazelle says. "Word is it's closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty wash tub.
"You closed, too?" I ask.
"Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now."
"Maybe it's the snow." Peeta says.
"No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says.
Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be alright."
I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mom will send something for Posy."
When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "I'm going to the Hob. You can come along, or head back if you want." I tell Peeta. I want him to have a choice, but I want him to stay with me. I feel safer whenever he's close to me.
"I'll go with you. " Peeta says, and I can't stop the smile that graces me face. Peeta returns my smile and grabs my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one will try to save it.
The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days." I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. I get the feeling that I'm still being watch, and seeing any of the vendors from the Hob isn't going to help them.
"Let's head back." I say.
"Okay." Peeta says.
We head back to the square, stopping by the bakery. Peeta wanted to check in on his family. While we're there, I by a couple of cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just mere yards away from the front door. The last thing I notice before we leave the square is that I don't recognize any of the Peacekeepers' faces.
As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they most often don't receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. When the mines reopen, wages are cut, hours extended, miners sent into blatantly dangerous work site. The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. The installations in the square see plenty action as people are dragged in for offenses so long overlooked we've forgotten they are illegal.
Gale goes home, all talk of rebellion forgotten. But I can't help but think that all things he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. The hardship in the mines, the tortured bodies in the square, the hunger on the faces of the family. Rory has signed up for tesserae, something that Gale can't even talk about, but it's not enough with the inconsistent availability and the ever increasing price of food.
The only bright spot, I get Haymitch to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper, resulting in extra money for her and greatly increases Haymitch's standard of living. It's weird going into his house, finding it fresh and clean, and food warming on the stove. He hardly notices because he's fighting a whole different battle. Peeta and I try to ration what white liquor we had, but it's almost run out, and the last time I saw Ripper, she was in stocks.
I feel like a pariah when I walk through the streets. Everyone avoids me in public now. But there's no shortage of company at home. A steady supply of ill and injured is deposited in the kitchen before my mom, who has long since stopped charging for her services. Her stocks of remedies are running so low that soon all she'll have to treat patients with is snow.
The woods, of course, are forbidden. Absolutely. No question. Gale doesn't even challenge this now. But one morning, I do. And it isn't the house full of sick and dying, the bleeding backs, the gaunt-faced children, the marching boots, the omnipresent misery that drives me under the fence. It's the arrival of a crate full of wedding dresses one night with a note from Effie saying that President Snow approved these himself. Extremely bad timing, Effie. I think, even though it's not her fault.
The wedding. Is he really planning to go through with it? What, in his twisted brain, will it achieve? Is it for the benefit of those in the Capitol? A wedding was promised, a wedding will be given. He can't kill us. If it was that simple, he would have killed me already. Nothing is making sense, and all the death and destruction is becoming too much for me to handle. I toss and turn in my bed until I can't take it anymore. I have to get out of here. At least for a few hours.
My hands dig around in my closet until I find the insulated winter gear Cinna made me for recreational use on the Victory Tour. Waterproof boots, a snow suit that covers me from head to toe, thermal gloves. I love my old hunting stuff, but the trek I have in mind is more suited to this high-tech clothing. I tiptoe downstairs, load my game bag with food, and sneak out of the house. I look in the direction Peeta's house momentarily, and then head into town. Slinking through the side streets and back alleys, I make my way to the weak spot in the fence near Rooba the butcher's. Since many workers cross this way to get to the mines, the snow pockmarked with footprints. Mine will not be noticed. With all his security upgrades, Thread has paid little attention to the fence, perhaps feeling harsh weather and wild animals are enough to keep everyone safely inside. Even so, once I'm under the chain link, I conceal my tracks until the trees do it for me.
Dawn is just breaking as I retrieve a set of bow and arrows and begin to force a path through the drifted snow in the woods. I'm determined, for some reason, to get to the lake. Maybe to say good-bye to the place, to my dad and the happy times we spent there, because I know I'll never return again. Maybe just so I can draw a complete breath again. Part of me doesn't really care if they catch me, if I can see it one last time.
The trip takes twice as long as usual. Cinna's clothes hold in heat alright, I'm soaked with sweat under the snow suit and my face is numb to the cold when I arrive. The glare of the winter sun has played games with my vision, and I am so exhausted and wrapped up in my own hopeless thoughts that I didn't notice the signs. The thin stream of smoke form the chimney, the indentation of recent footprints, the smell of steaming pine needles. I am literally a few yards from the door of the cement house when I pull up short. And that's not because of the smoke, the prints, or the smell. That's because of the unmistakable click of a weapon behind me.
Second nature. Instinct. I turn, drawing back the arrow, although I know that odds aren't in my favor. I see the white Peacekeeper uniform, the pointed chin, the light brown iris where my arrow will find its home. But the weapon is dropping to the ground and the unarmed woman is holding something out to me in her gloved hand.
"Stop!" she cries.
I waver, unable to process this turn of events. Perhaps they have orders to bring me in alive so they can torture me into incriminating every person I ever knew. YOU WISH! I think. My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It's a cracker, that is gray and soggy around the edges, but an image is clearly stamped in the center of it.
It's my mockingjay.