It makes no sense. My bird baked into a cracker. Unlike the stylist renderings I saw in the Capitol, this is not a fashion statement. "What is it? What does it mean?" I ask harshly, still prepared to kill.
"It means, that we're on your side," says a tremulous voice behind me.
I didn't see her when I came up. She must have been in the house. I didn't take my eyes off my current target. Probably the newcomer is armed, but I'm betting she won't let me hear the click that would mean my death is imminent, knowing I would instantly kill her companion. "Come around where I can see you," I order.
"She can't, she's-" begins the woman with the cracker.
"Come around!" I shout. There's a step, and a dragging sound. I can hear the effort the movement requires. Another woman, or should I say girl since she looks to be about my age, limps into view She's dressed in an ill-fitting Peacekeeper uniform complete with white fur cloak, but it's several sizes too large for her slight frame. Sher carries no visible weapon. Her hands are occupied with steadying a rough crutch made of a broken branch. The toe of her right boot can't clear the snow, hence the dragging.
I examine the girl's face, which is bright red from the cold. Her teeth are crooked, and there's strawberry birthmark over one of her chocolate eyes. This is no Peacekeeper. No citizen of the Capitol, either.
"Who are you?" I ask warily but less belligerently.
"My name's Twill," says the woman. She's older. Maybe thirty-five or so. "And this is Bonnie. We've run away from District 8."
District 8! Then they must know about the uprising!
"Where'd you get the uniforms?" I ask.
"I stole them from the factory," says Bonnie. "We make them there. Only I thought this one would be for… for someone else. That's why it fits so poorly."
"The gun came from a dead Peacekeeper," says Twill, following my eyes.
"The cracker in your hand. With the bird. What's that about?" I ask.
"Don't you know, Katniss?" Bonnie appears genuinely shocked.
They recognize me. Of course the recognize me. My face is uncovered and I'm standing here outside District 12 pointing an arrow at them. Who else would I be?
"I know it matches the pin I wore in the arena." I say.
"She doesn't know," says Bonnie softly. "Maybe not about any of it."
Suddenly I feel the need to appear on top of things. "I know you had an uprising in Eight."
"Yes, that's why we had to get out," says Twill.
"Well you're good and out now. What are you going to do?" I ask.
"We're headed for District 13," Twill says.
It takes me a moment for register Twill's words. "Thirteen? There is no Thirteen. It got blown off the map." I say.
"Yeah, seventy-five years ago," Twill says.
Bonnie shifts on her crutches and winces.
"What's wrong with your leg?" I ask.
"I twisted my ankle, and the boots are too big," says Bonnie.
I bite my lip. My instincts are telling me they're telling the truth. And behind the truth is a whole lot of information that I would like to get. I step forward and retrieve Twill's gun before lowering my bow, though. Then I hesitate a moment, thinking of another time in the woods, when Gale and I watched as hovercraft appear out of thin air and capture two escapees from the Capitol. I think that if these two are on the run, then I'm going to send them on their way. "Anyone after you?"
"We don't think so. We believe they think that we were killed in a factory explosion," says Twill. "Only a fluke that we weren't."
"All right, let's go inside," I say, nodding at the cement house. I follow them in, carrying the gun.
Bonnie makes straight for the hearth and lowers herself on a Peacekeeper's cloak that has been spread before it. She holds her hands to the feeble flame that burns on one end of a charred log. Her skin is so pale as to be translucent and I can see the fire glow through her flesh. Twill tires to arrange the cloak, which must have been her own, around the shivering girl.
A tin gallon can has been cut in half, the lip ragged and dangerous. It sits in the ashes, filled with a handful of pine needles steaming in water.
"Making tea?" I ask.
"We're not sure, really. I remember seeing someone do this with pine needles on the Hunger Games a few years back. At least, I think it was pine needle," Twill says with a frown.
I remember District 8, an ugly urban place stinking of industrial fumes, the people housed in run-down tenements. Barely a blade of grass in sight. No opportunity, ever, to learn the ways of nature. It's a miracle these two have made to this far.
"Out of food?" I ask.
Bonnie nods. "We took what we could, but foods been so scarce. That's been gone for a while now." The quaver in her voice melts the rest of my remaining defenses. She's just a malnourished, injured girl running from the Capitol.
"Well, then this is your lucky day," I say, dropping my game bag on the floor. People are starving all over the district and we still have more than enough. So I've been spreading things around a little. I have my own priorities: Gale's family, Greasy Sae, some of the other Hob traders who were shut down. My mom has other people, mostly patients, who she wants to help. This morning I purposely overstuffed my game bag this morning, knowing my mom would see the depleted supplies and assume I was making my rounds to the hungry. I was actually buying time to go to the lake without her worrying. I intended to deliver the food on my return tonight, but now I can see that won't be happening.
From the bag I pull two fresh buns with a layer of cheese baked into the top. We always seem to have a supply of these since Peeta found out that they were my favorite. I toss one to Twill but cross over and place the other in Bonnie's lap since her hand-eye coordination seems a little questionable at the moment and I don't want the thing to end up in the fire.
"Oh," Bonnie says. "Oh, is this for me?"
Something inside me twist as I remember another voice. Rue. In the arena. When I gave her the leg of groosling. "Oh, I've never had a whole leg to myself before." The disbelief of the chronically hunger.
"Yeah, eat up," I say. Bonnie holds the bun as if she can't quite believe it's real and then sinks her teeth into again and again, unable to stop. "It's better if you chew it." She nods, trying to slow down, but I know how hard it is when you're that hollow. "I think you tea is done." I scoot the tin can from the ashes. Twill found two tin cups in her pack and I dip the out the tea, setting it on the floor. They huddle together, eating, blowing on their tea, taking tiny, scalding sips as I build a fire. I wait until they are sucking grease from their fingers to ask, "So, what's your story?" and they tell me.
Ever since the Hunger Games, the discontent has been growing in District 8. It was always there, of course, to some degree. But what differed was that talk was no longer sufficient, the idea of taking action went from a wish to a reality. The textile factories that service Panem are loud with machinery, and the din also allowed words to be passed safely, a pair of lips close to an ear, words unnoticed, unchecked. Twill taught at school, Bonnie was one of her pupils, and when the final bell rung, both of them would spend a four-hour shift at the factory that specialized in the Peacekeeper uniforms. It took months for Bonnie, who worked on a chilly dock, to secure two uniforms, a boot here, a pair of pants there. They were intended for Twill and her husband because it was understood, that once the uprising began, it would be crucial to get word of it out beyond District 8 if it were spread and be successful.
The day Peeta and I came through and made our Victory Tour appearance was actually a rehearsal of sorts. People in the crowd position themselves according to their teams next to the building they would target when the rebellion broke out. That was the plan: take over centers of power in the city like the Justice Building, the Peacekeepers' Headquarters, and the Communication Center in the square. And at other locations in the district: the railroad, the granary, the power station, and the armory.
The night of my engagement, the night Peeta fell to his knee and proclaim his undying love in front of the cameras in the Capitol, was the night of the uprising began. It was an ideal cover. The speech President Snow gave the night we were in the Capitol was mandatory viewing. It gave the people of District 8 a reason to be out after dark, gathering either in the square or around various community centers around the city to watch. Ordinarily such activities would be too suspicious. Instead everybody was in their place by the appointed hour, eight o'clock, when the masks went out and all hell broke loose.
Taken by surprise and overwhelmed by sheer numbers, the Peacekeepers were initially overcome by the crowd. The Communication Center, the granary, and the power station were all secured. As the Peacekeepers fell, weapons were appropriated for the rebels. There was hope that this had not been an act of madness, that in some way, that if they could get the word out to the other districts, an actual overthrow of the government in the Capitol might be possible.
But then the ax fell. Peacekeepers begin to arrive by the thousands. Hovercraft bomb the rebel strongholds into ashes. In the utter chaos that followed, it was all people could do to make it back to their homes alive. It took less than forty-eight hours to subdue the city. Then, for a week, there was lockdown. No food, no coal, people forbidden to leave their homes. The only time the television showed anything but static was the suspected instigators were hanged in the square. Then one night, as the whole district was on the brink of starvation, came the order to return to business as usual.
That meant school for Twill and Bonnie. A street made impassible by the bombs caused them to be late for their factory shift, so they were still a hundred yards away when it exploded, killing everyone inside – including Twill's husband and Bonnie's entire family.
"Someone must have told the Capitol that the idea for the uprising must have started there," Twill tells me faintly.
The two fled back to Twill's, where the Peacekeeper uniforms were waiting. They scrapped together what provisions they could, stealing freely from neighbors they now knew to be dead, and made it to the railroad station. In a warehouse near the tracks, they changed into the Peacekeeper uniforms and, disguised, were able to make it onto a boxcar full of fabric headed to District 6. They fled the train when it stopped for fuel along the way and traveled by foot. Concealed by the woods, using the tracks for guidance, they made it to the outskirts of District 12 two days ago, where they were forced to stop when Bonnie twisted his ankle.
"I understand why you're running, but what do you expect to find in District Thirteen?" I ask.
Bonnie and Twill exchange a nervous glance "We're not exactly sure," Twill says.
"It's nothing but rubble." I say. "We've all seen the footage."
"That's just it. They've been using the same footage for as long as anyone in District 8 can remember," says Twill.
"Really?" I try to think back, to call back the imagines 13 I've seen on television.
"You know how they always show the Justice Building?" Twill continues. I nod. I've seen it a thousand time. If you look very carefully, you'll see it. Up in the far right-hand corner."
"See what?" I ask
Twill holds the cracker out with the bird again. "A mockingjay. Just a glimpse of it as it flies by. The same one every time."
"Back home we think they're reusing old footage because the Capitol can't show what's really there now," says Bonnie.
I grunt in disbelief. "You're going District Thirteen based on that? A shot of a bird? You think you're going to find a new city with people strolling around in it? And that's just fine with the Capitol?"
"No," Twill says earnestly. "We think the people moved underground when everything on the surface was destroyed. We think they managed to survive. And we think the Capitol leaves them alone because, before the Dark Days, District Thirteen's principal industry was nuclear development."
"They were graphite miners." I say. But then I hesitate because that was information that I got from the Capitol.
"They had a few small mines. But not enough justify a population of that size. That, I guess, is the only thing we know for sure," says Twill.
My heart beats too quickly. What if they right? Could it be true? Could there be someone—wait a minute.
"Why haven't they helped us?" I say angrily. "If it's true, why do they leave us like this? With the hunger the killings and the Games?" And suddenly I hate this imaginary city of District 13, and those who sat by, watching us die. They're no better than the Capitol.
"We don't know," Bonnie whispers. "Right now we're just holding on to hope that they exist."
That snaps me to my senses. These are delusions. District 13 doesn't exist because the Capitol would never allow it. They're probably mistaken about the footage. Mockingjays are about as rare as rocks. And about as tough. If they could survive the initial bombing of 13, they're probably doing better than ever now.
Bonnie has no home. Her family is dead. Returning to District 8 or assimilating into another district would be impossible. Of course the independent, thriving 13 draws her. I can't bring myself to tell her that she's chasing a dream as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. Perhaps she and Twill and can carve out an existence in the woods. I doubt it, but they're so pitiful I have to try to help.
First I give them all the food in my pack, grain and dried beans mostly, but there's enough to hold them for a while if they're careful. Then I take Twill out into the woods and explain the basics of hunting. She's got a weapon that can convert solar energy into deadly rays of power, so that could last indefinitely. When she manages to kill her first squirrel, the poor thing is mostly a charred mess because it took a direct hit to the body. But I show her how to skin and clean it. With some practice, she'll figure it out. I cut a new crutch for Bonnie. Back at the house I peel of an extra layer of socks for the girl, telling her to stuff them into the toes of her boots, then wear them on her feet at night. Finally I teach them both how to build a proper fire.
They beg me for details of the situation District 12 and I tell them about life under Thread. I can see this important information that they will be bringing to those who run District 13, and I play along as to not destroy their hopes. But when the light signals late afternoon, I'm out of time to humor them.
"I have to go now," I say.
They pour out there thanks and embrace me.
Tears spill from Bonnie's eyes. "I can't believe we actually got to meet you. You're practically all anybody talks about since you pulled—"
"Yeah, I know. Since I pulled out those berries," I say tiredly.
I hardly notice the walk home even though a wet snow begins to fall. My mind is spinning with new information about the uprising in District 8 and the unlikely but tantalizing possibility of District 13.
Listening to Bonnie and Twill has confirmed one thing: President Snow has been playing me for a fool. All the kissing and the endearments in the world couldn't have derailed the momentum building in District 8. Yes, my holding out the berries had provided the spark, but in no way was I able to control the fire. He must have known that. Then the only reason for the charade with the Victory Tour was to keep me from do something else inflammatory in the districts. I guess the wedding for the Capitol would be an extension of that directive.
I'm nearing the fence when a mockingjay lights on a branch and trills at me. At the sight of it I realize I never got a full explanation of the bird on the cracker and what it signifies.
"It means we're on your side." What does that mean? Did I unwittingly become the face of the hoped-for rebellion? Has the mockingjay on the pin become a symbol of resistance? If so, my side is not doing too well. All you have to do is look at District 8, to know that. But what if the mockingjay has become the symbol of the rebellion? It's a crossbreed of an animal that's no longer exists. Have I become that crossbreed? Half-Capitol, half-district, could I succeed where the districts originally failed?
I stash my weapons in a log near my old home in the Seam and head for the fence. I'm crouched on one knee, preparing to enter the Meadow, but I'm so preoccupied by the day's events that it takes a sudden screech of an owl to bring me to my senses.
In the fading light, the chain link looks as innocuous as usual. But what makes me jerk my hand back is the sound, like the buzz of a tree full of tracker jacker nests, indicating the fence is alive with electricity.