A/N: Sorry I didn't get this out as quickly as I hoped…. But it's a pretty intense chapter!
Trigger warning: mentions of attempted rape/assault.
Don't forget to drop me a line once you've read!
I do not own The Hunger Games; all mistakes are mine…Happy Reading!
Peeta has a vivid recollection of his and Katniss's time during the Victory Dinner at the mayor's where they stumble into someone new... Peeta has to get creative in getting Katniss to come back to him... Katniss snuggles in bed with her mom and sister... Madge fights off an assailant... Raven comes to Madge's rescue... and Gale comes face to face with the new Head.
Another Way Out
Chapter 8 – Should've, Could've, Would've (Continued…)
[ Peeta ]
'Bathroom?' I silently let Katniss know that I intend to escape this farce of a dinner and hope that she will accompany me, if only to get away from the intensity of all the conversation— even if it's just for a moment or two.
"Is it okay if I use the restroom?" I ask, looking up from my plate and pushing it back to signal that I am done. Mayor Kadinski's husband, Raven— the sponsor who, tonight I learned was responsible for a good chunk of our sponsor gifts in the arena, offers me a kind smile and nods his head before politely calling for Rose to show me the way. I'm not sure what I think— or how I feel about him, even after this dinner. Ever since our return home, ever since the Kadinski's came to 12 as a replacement for Mr. Undersee, I have made an extra effort to avoid them— mostly because of Raven's "Sponsor status" in the Capitol. But after talking to him tonight, he seems like such a nice guy— so real and down to earth— he really makes it difficult for me to hate him, and the mayor, for that matter.
"It's okay Rose, I know where it is." I don't realize how harsh my words sound until they leave my lips. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I meant because of . . . from when I used to visit Madge," I conclude in hopes of redeeming myself.
Rose offers me an understanding smile and pats my head as she walks by me to collect my plate, "No worries, Mr. Peeta," she says reassuringly.
Without looking back, I get up, exiting the dining room and make my way up the immaculate staircase.
'Katniss,' I call out to her when I do not hear any trace of her footsteps behind me, wondering if she didn't get the hint.
'Right behind you,' she snickers, sneaking up from behind me. Together, we make our way to the top of the stairs and into the familiar hallway bathroom on the main level where we take a seat on the cool, tiled floor, leaning our backs against the door.
'I just needed to get out of there for a minute,' I tell her, sticking to our silent form of communication so that no one hears us.
'Did you know that Raven was the sponsor who helped us— or well . . . he tried to help us? There is something off about him— him and the mayor, but I just don't know what it is.'
'No, I wasn't aware of that, but I think they know something. Did you notice how every time we brought up either of our parents, they were quick to redirect the conversation by asking some sort of stupid question?'
'Yes, they couldn't have been more obvious. Peeta, we need to get out of here, something is wrong, I just know it. I— I can feel it in the pit of my stomach that something is seriously wrong at home. Our families— and Madge and Gale, they wouldn't just not come to see us.' Katniss anxiously tells me.
'Let's just hope that when we get back, Haymitch is ready to go. Come on, let's see if we can get this show on the road,' I tell her, standing up and offering her my hand.
We make a sharp left out of the bathroom and my head snaps to the side, meeting Katniss's eyes when I hear voices coming from what was once Mr. Undersee's office.
"What was that?" Katniss whispers. She doesn't need clarification, the alarm in my eyes says it all.
Together, we follow the sounds of beeping and unfamiliar voices that lead us into what must now be Mayor Kadinski's office. Having only been in this room a handful of times when Madge lived here, I can't help but notice that not much has changed. My focus quickly diverts from the lack of re-decorating in the room to the flashing words on the television. "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" are the moving words we read across the screen.
Regardless that this room is most definitely off limits to anyone who is not the mayor, Katniss and I are drawn to the screen like moths to a flame until we are face to face with the reporter on the television. It is an announcer I have never seen before— a woman with graying hair, a hoarse and authoritative voice, and who wears the brightest, neon green lipstick as she articulates her words into the microphone gripped firmly in her hand.
She warns that conditions are worsening, and a Level 3 Alert has been issued. Additional forces are being sent into District 8, and all textile production has ceased.
They cut from the reporter to the main square in 8. The banners that were dangling by the rooftops from our trip only a week ago can still be seen. People wave miniature sized flags of our banners as they hang out of windows— some are even tossing bricks out of said windows. It's a mob scene— a riot. The square is packed with screaming people, their faces hidden by rags and homemade masks. While most of the people are on the ground causing chaos, there are a handful of people marching through the streets as they confidently wave their flags of us.
"Oh, come on Hal. You're exaggerating; it was just a riot. Just a handful of idiots chucking bricks at some Peacekeepers." The images before me causes a memory to resurface— the conversation between Egeo and Hal that we accidentally stumbled into during the Banquet Dinner in the Capitol. And then, it's as if everything comes full circle; Egeo and Hal's conversation making perfect sense.
Burning buildings. Peacekeepers shooting into the crowd, not caring in the slightest who they take out in the process.
'They're fighting back,' I tell Katniss, a sly grin appearing on my lips. We stand there together, watching the district go up in flames as the chaos erupts.
"Daddy says no one is allowed in Mommy's office," I jump, startled by the delicate voice coming from behind us. Katniss latches onto my hand, both of us turning around to be confronted by the most striking pair of innocent blue eyes I think I may have ever seen. It's a little girl— she can't be any more than seven years old. She is dressed in a pretty pink nightgown, gripping firmly onto her teddy bear, as she stares blankly at us.
It isn't until I see the tiny little music notes adorning her nightgown that I realize this must be the little girl who occupies so much of Madge's time with the piano lessons. Kizzie.
"I- I'm sorry, we heard noises on our way back to the eating room," Katniss explains to the little girl. She looks so serious, and for a second, I'm afraid she will run straight to her parents and rat us out, but then the little girl's blank stare transforms into a mischievous, toothy grin, which actually reveals a set of her two missing front teeth.
"I'm not s'posed to be out of my room, so I won't tell if you won't," she grins, eager to conspire with us, and her quirky response causes the corners of my mouth to turn up.
'No wonder Madge is so fond of her,' Katniss conveys, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
"Deal," I tell the little girl while extending my hand out to her.
"Our little secret?" She asks, raising her eyebrows as she accepts my hand, giving it a firm shake.
"Definitely! I- is your— are you Kizzie?" I ask her, trying to keep the conversation flowing. She nods in response to my question. "Madge told us about you— Madge is our friend. She said you were a musical prodigy."
"Progi-dy?" The little girl asks nervously, testing the word out on her tongue and hugging her teddy bear even tighter.
"It means . . . it means you have an extraordinary gift that requires little practice. That you are amazing without even having to try." The little girl beams proudly at us from the compliment.
"Do you want to see another secret?" Kizzie asks, not waiting for an answer before she latches onto Katniss's hand and begins pulling us into the other direction. I wonder if, like Madge once was, is this little girl starved for attention? Do the kids at school make an extra effort to avoid her— all because of her mother's status as mayor?
"Sure . . . uh, okay," Katniss agrees, turning her head to me and raising her brows. She takes us into her bedroom— the room that once belonged to Madge and heads toward the wall. She begins prying the cover off the vent, revealing a small and narrow opening into the walls. She climbs inside, and then, after a second, she turns her head to us, motioning for us to follow her.
"Come on, you'll fit; it's bigger once you get inside," she says reassuringly.
I turn to Katniss and shrug my shoulders, as if to say, 'why not'. "Sure," I tell her and then we proceed to put our trust in this little girl we only just met as she leads us into the walls.
We crawl quietly behind Kizzie as she leads us to, where, I have no idea. But my gut says that she means us no harm, so we just go with it. As she navigates us through the walls, I begin to wonder how she knows where we're going; how many times has she traveled this maze to be so familiar with it? All I know is that if I had to find my way back on my own, we would most definitely be lost. She occasionally slows down, turning her head over her shoulder to make sure we are still close behind.
Finally, she comes to a stop. "If we turn right, we could look right into Mommy's office, but I found something really cool," she says, turning left instead. She leads us through a maze of twists and turns, the tunnel getting wider and wider until we can stand up completely erect. She feels her way up the wall, pressing a button you cannot even see, which triggers a door to spontaneously appear right before our eyes.
"Isn't this cool?" She squeals, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears, her eyes glowing with excitement.
Flabbergasted beyond belief, I nod my head. "How— what—" I stutter, not exactly sure what to say.
"I'm not sure what this is, but I think it's some kind of underground tunnel system," Kizzie says. "I read about them in one of the coalmining books from school," she explains, a hint of sadness grazing her features.
"Katniss, do you think this has anything to do with—"
"Peeta!" Katniss stops me, "Not in front of," she says through gritted teeth, motioning to Kizzie with her head.
"How long have we been gone? We should probably get back to the dinner before they send someone after us," Katniss says.
I shake my head as I recall the events from the Victory Dinner at the mayor's house the night we returned home. The memory of what Katniss and I saw on the television in the mayor's office, to the mini adventure we shared with the mayor's daughter, still so fresh in my mind. It felt like weeks ago, yet, at the same time, it feels like it could have only been hours ago.
Not wanting to think about it, I roll over onto my side to stare into Katniss's blank eyes. "Katniss, please talk to me. You can't sit here staring at the walls forever," I beg her. It's been four days since we returned home from the tour; four days since we found out about Dylan's death. As soon as we were excused from our final duties at the mayor's house, Katniss and I hauled ass to her house to find out why our families were absent. Our little 'field trip' with Kizzie, and everything we saw in the private room of the mayor's office was all but forgotten when Madge greeted us outside the door. She didn't have to utter a single word because her face said everything. Dylan was dead.
Prim and Lilly were a wreck, but they were keeping themselves distracted with busy work. Lilly still isn't seeing patients yet, but she busies herself with cleaning. Or rearranging or organizing something. A few times my dad had to force her to stop and get some rest, but she would always refuse, saying she had to keep herself busy, as to not think, or feel the pain from losing her husband.
Ever since Dylan got sick, my dad, Rye, and Madge have pretty much been camped out at the Everdeen home. Madge occasionally goes home to help Hazelle with whatever she needs; apparently, Posie has been feeling a little under the weather. But my dad and Rye spend their nights in the spare bedrooms of the Everdeen house. It was another huge shocker for me to learn that while Katniss and I were on tour, Rye left mother's house for good.
I cannot even imagine the pain Lilly must feel— losing your best friend, the father of your children. I mean, Katniss is here, but she's not really here. But I know it's not the same, because she'll come back, I just know she will.
Madge said Dylan tried to hang on for Katniss to get home, but his lungs were just too weak. They eventually gave out and he stopped breathing. She said that he didn't suffer; that he wasn't in any pain. Between Madge and Hazelle, my dad Rye, and Gale, they each took turns in pairs watching over Dylan's body until the burial. That was six days ago. And as customs go in 12, they had the burial the very next day. If we had just gotten home a few days sooner . . . we could have— no, no, I can't spend my time thinking about what could've, would've, or should've been, I have to focus on the now. I have to focus on getting Katniss to come back to me.
"Katniss, please come back to me, I can't lose you," I plead to her, unable to prevent the tears from leaking out of my eyes. She continues to give me the same blank stare she's given me since she first crawled into this bed. She doesn't blink, doesn't flinch. There is no trace— not a single hint of recognition she is aware that I need her. Unable to reach her vocally, I try speaking to her silently. 'Katniss, I love you, please, please come back to me,' I say, and still— nothing.
I cannot see another way to wake her up from this . . . hysteria, or whatever it is that has her in this catatonic-like state, so I get an idea and run into the bathroom. I turn the shower on and then zip back into the bedroom, scooping Katniss into my arms, and carry her into the shower. I gently sit her down in the corner, and then guide the nozzle to allow the cold water to splash against her body, in hopes that it will be enough to wake her up. I didn't make the water freezing cold— no, that would just be cruel. But it's definitely cold enough to wake someone up. Then I crawl in behind her and hold her in my arms, allowing the jets to soak us. And then I just cry. I cry and I sob, and I wail. I cry and cry some more, bawling my eyes out until I don't think it's possible for there to be anymore tears left inside me. Once my tears subside enough for coherent speech, I try once again to reach her.
"Katniss please— please come back to me . . . I need you, I— I can't live in this world without you, please don't make me face this alone. Please, please, I love you so much, just please, please, come back."
I have no idea how long I fester in silence when I hear the whispers of her croaky voice, "Peeta?" At first, I think I am dreaming— wishful thinking. But then, I hear it again— the croaky, raspy voice that sounds so foreign, but it is hers, all the same, "Wh-what's going on? Why are we in the shower . . . and why are my clothes all wet?" She asks me, looking from side to side, genuinely confused; and for a moment, I am reminded of my time on the train, headed to the Capitol for the first time when I threw Haymitch in the shower after one of his drunken episodes.
My arms are already wrapped around her middle, so I just cling even tighter onto her petite frame, "Katniss, oh god, Katniss, thank you. Thank you for coming back to me," I tell her, showering her with kisses.
"Oh Peeta! I— I— w-what happened? I just had this horrible dream that my dad—"
"Y-you don't remember?" I ask her, dreading having to tell her a second time.
"I-is my d-dad, is he d-d—" Her chin quivers as she tries to say the word and I just nod— confirming her worst nightmare. Then, using my foot, I switch the water off as she turns around and crawls into my lap, hooking her arms around my neck and just cries. I'm not sure how long we're in the shower before the sobbing stops, but eventually, it does.
"I'm so sorry Peeta, I . . . I did exactly what I got mad at my mom for doing all those years ago . . . I— I— can you ever forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive Katniss, I'm just— thank you for coming back to me," I tell her gratefully, latching onto her even tighter.
"He's really gone, isn't he? It was Snow, wasn't it?"
"I mean . . . we don't know for certain, but . . . yeah, probably," I admit sheepishly. "Come on, let's get out of here and get some dry clothes on. I need to go check on your mom; will you be okay if I go next door for a few minutes? I promised your mom—"
"My mom!" Katniss exclaims, looking ashamed that the thought didn't occur to her sooner . "Is . . . is she okay? And Prim?"
"They're both doing . . . as well as they can be . . . considering. Your mom is keeping herself busy; she's been cleaning non-stop. Pop's has had to hide the cleaning supplies, and then remind her to go to sleep once she sits down for a few minutes. And Prim is alright, they're both just worried about you."
"I- I want to come with you," she tells me. We get out of our soaking wet clothes and into some warm, dry ones and then make our way over to Katniss's actual house.
[ x – x – x ]
[ Gale ]
I really wasn't looking forward to talking to dough boy, but I figured it was important if he was asking to meet in the woods. I'm freezing my ass off out here in the middle of the forest, beginning to wonder if he's actually going to show up, but when I turn around to head back towards the Seam, I see him hightailing it toward me— and then he just whooshes right past me as if I'm not even here.
"Come on, let's keep walking," Mellark asserts, breezing right past me.
"What's wrong with here?" I groan, glaring daggers at him that he cannot see as I fall in line with his steady jog.
"Come on, it's not that much further," he says, not slowing down a bit. After another minute or two, he finally comes to a stop. He turns his head to meet my eyes for a brief second before scanning his surroundings.
"Too many birds. They give me the creeps . . . always feels like their eyes are following me," he says suspiciously, lifting a brow. This earns him another confused look from me because there isn't a single bird out here in the dead of winter. I try to hide my irritation that the brief moment is over when he resumes jogging again.
'Oh! He must be referring to the cameras', I silently berate myself for not remembering Madge's warning. I follow him a little further and notice how familiar he seems to be in the woods— my woods. How gracefully he passes through the branches; the ease in which he glides over the roots in the ground, tells me this is not his first time venturing out this far. I am having a hard time keeping up with his pace, irritated that while I am struggling for breath, baker-boy breathes with such ease. It's just another item to add to the running tally of things that irk me about Peeta Mellark.
Finally, we come to a stop and I fail to hide my relief.
"So, what's up?" I ask him once my breathing evens out.
Mellark looks around, surveying the area, as if he is checking to make sure we're alone and then says, "Okay, it's safe to talk here."
"We weren't back there?" Confounded by his words, I ask him; tossing my thumb over my shoulder, my forehead puckering with confusion.
"No, they have cameras hidden next to Katniss's old house, and listening devices surrounding the Hob."
I do not need to ask who they are. "You mean . . . they know we uh, come out here?"
"Yeah, but I think your poaching is the least of their concerns right now," Mellark begins. I want to question him further, but he doesn't give me time before he continues, "Okay, let's lay all our cards on the table, Gale. I know you don't like me, and I want to know why. Have I done something— offended you in some way?"
"Huh?" I ask, feigning ignorance.
"Don't play dumb Gale, I see the way you look at me, the evil glares you send my way when you think no one is looking— how you tense up when I enter a room. I love Katniss, and I'm going to be around for as long as she'll have me. And since you're her best friend, I think it would be for the best if we could at least find a way to get along. Then there's Madge— she's my friend too, and I know that she loves you and you love her, so it doesn't look like you're going anywhere either. So, come on. What gives?"
Wow, Mellark's got balls.
"I . . . I like you just fine," I lie to him, reaching up and scratching the back of my neck nervously, not really in the mood to hash this out.
"Bullshit. Is it . . . is it because of Katniss?" He speculates, his expression hardening.
"No! Of course not, Catnip and I— we're just friends." I say guarded, not quite believing my own words. If it wasn't for Madge, would I still be pining after Katniss? Of course not! I love Madge, I respond to my own question.
"Come on Gale, meet me halfway. A solution cannot be found if you can't determine the problem." There is a pregnant pause while I think of what to say next. I fidget uncomfortably in place, thinking long and hard about my next words while Mellark's eyes remain fixed on me.
"I think . . . I think it goes back to before the games. Before there was Madge. I— I always thought it would be me and Catnip and I had every intention of telling her so when she won the games and came home. But then . . . Madge happened . . . You happened. But then, it's always been you, hasn't it? I used to ask myself what was so special about you. I saw the way Katniss looked at you— how she'd light up when you entered the room, the way she would glow at just the mention of your name. And I couldn't, for the life of me figure out what the two of you could possibly have in common." I pause for a moment and then keep going, not giving Mellark a chance to interrupt me.
"I mean, she was from the Seam, you from Town. I saw you as this stuck-up, privileged and entitled kid from Town whose family worked in the bakery, so you must eat warm, fresh bread every day, right? And I guess . . . I guess I envied that. Catnip and I . . . we've known struggle . . . hardship. We have felt the pains of hunger— sacrificing meals in order to feed our siblings, so what could a kid from Town possibly know about any of that? But then . . . when you and Catnip were in the arena, I learned things about you . . . and—"
"And now you just pity me?" Peeta interjects, his brows knitting together.
"No, no, that's not it," I say, shaking my head. "I . . . it made you like . . . like this real person. Then— then I told myself that you can't really be that good— that sincere. People just aren't made like that," I admit it all to him, my candor taking me by surprise. "Madge is always saying good things about you . . . but I just . . . I don't know man, but . . . but, I— I guess you're right."
"About?" He asks amused, raising his brow.
"We need to get along. For our girls," the corners of his lips turn up when I refer to Katniss and Madge as, "our girls."
"Okay, so now that's out of the way, there are some things I need to tell you," Mellark says, jumping headfirst into— whatever the reason was he brought me out here in the first place.
He explains in great detail the events that occurred "behind the scenes" when they were in 11. He tells me about the president's threat— beginning with the day they left for the tour and concluding with his suspicions about Mr. E's death. Then, he gets down to my purpose in all this.
"If we needed to leave, w-would you help us? You could come with us, and bring your family, of course."
"Leave? Where would we go?" I chuckle, wondering if he's joking.
"The woods? Beyond the woods? I don't know . . . anywhere but here. I— I don't know if it will actually come down to that, I'm just trying to prepare for the 'what if's'. I know that when Katniss finally comes around, that Prim will be her main concern—"
"So, she's still . . . um, out of it?" I ask, recalling the last time I saw Catnip's blank eyes just staring at the ceiling— or well, more like . . . through the ceiling.
"No, um . . . she uh . . . she woke up a few days ago. But it's going to take some time for her to get back to her old self." His words are hopeful, but I can tell he's not sure if even he believes them. "But that's not what I brought you out here for—"
"If what you're saying is true, that means people are fighting back. Why would we run away like cowards to abandon our district when we can join the fight? Sure, we'd be safe from Snow's reach, but what about everyone else? I know Katniss, and she isn't built to walk away from a fight. If there is one thing I know about Catnip, it's that she's not afraid— she's the hunter, not the prey."
"Gale, you don't know what it was like for us . . . living through the Games, and then trying to figure out how to survive after them— and then, after everything we saw— everything we went through on the tour—"
"Oh, like you've had such a hard life! You're from town!" I regret the words the instant I say them, and even more so when I see the pang of hurt flash across Peeta's face.
"Are you under some sort of impression that mylife was easy? That there weren't nights when I didn't go to bed hungry? That I wasn't kicked, slapped, burned, or somehow inconveniently found myself at the bottom of the stairs for my mother's amusement? Granted, my name wasn't in the reaping ball anywhere close to how many times your name was in there, but it only had to be picked once. And it was."
"I— I'm sorry, I— damn," I stutter, not sure what else to say. All I do know is that if Madge were out here with me, she would probably punch me in the face. No, not probably. She would. And it would be well deserved.
"Look, I don't want or need your pity or your sympathy Gale. That's not why I asked you out here. The fact is, we have all suffered. It doesn't matter who suffered more, or at the hands of who, suffering is suffering. And Katniss is, she's— she doesn't want to fight."
"Now, that's bullshit. That's not the Katniss I know," I snarl, giving him a discernable scowl.
"She's not the Katniss you know Gale. She's changed. The Games have changed her. Taking the life of another human being changes you, and I'm not sure she'll ever completely be the same person she once was. I know I'm not," he mumbles that last part under his breath. The guilt that rushes through me causes me to shift uncomfortably on my feet.
Maybe he's right . . . if there is one thing I have learned over the last six months, it's that Peeta Mellark knows a side of Katniss that I've never known. But . . . NO! Deep down, Katniss is . . . she's still my Catnip, and she would never want to run from this. And . . . and even if she did, she would want me to pull her back . . . to make her see reason.
"You could convince her Peeta! I've seen you on the television, seen how you work the crowd. You could do it, change her mind." I plead with him, trying to make him see what I see . . . how I see it. If I can't get him open his perspective, then I'll just have to talk to Catnip myself.
"I'm not doing that Gale. I refuse to manipulate her into anything against her will. I don't want to run away from this, but I love Katniss too much to force her into anything. Too many people have been making our choices for us— I won't do that too. And whatever she chooses to do, I will stand by that choice."
"Even if you don't agree with her? Even if she's wrong?" I challenge him.
He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flashing with guilt, "Even if she's wrong," he eventually responds with a nod, averting his eyes to the ground, "I think . . . I think she's scared after we saw the uprising in 8—"
"The WHAT?!" I shout, not sure if I heard him correctly.
"Well, maybe 'uprising' is the wrong word, but there was . . . it was more like . . . unrest. People in the streets—" Peeta says, brushing it off as if this means nothing.
"Tell me, what did you see?" I demand, cutting him off and narrowing my eyes at him.
"It was on the television at the mayor's house. We weren't supposed to see it, but when we walked past the mayor's office, the television was on and the reporter said the conditions were getting worse, that the Capitol was sending in reinforcements. There were fires, masked people throwing things at Peacekeepers—" If that isn't an uprising, I don't know what is. After hearing this revelation, I wonder what else he's holding back from me.
"Don't you see Peeta, this is an opportunity!" I begin, my eyes widening with excitement, "People just have to be brave enough to take it. You and Catnip— you've given everyone hope. There's been talk in the mines; people want to fight back, they're ready—"
"Yeah, there has been talk in the Hob too," Peeta says, and my face scrunches up— since when does Peeta Mellark spend his time slummin' it in the Hob?
"You can't run away Peeta, and you can't let Katniss run from this either. This is our chance, don't you see?"
"Gale, even without her dad dying, Katniss was crumbling. And now that Dylan is gone . . . she's just too fragile right now. I'm afraid that . . . that anything more will push her over the edge, and it will push her so far that we'll never be able to get her back."
It is at this moment that I realize Mellark is not going to budge. That nothing I say or do will sway his decision, so I finally concede— in my own way. "Okay . . . well, um, I'll help you start collecting and stockpiling supplies in the woods, but I won't be going with you. And I still think you should try to talk Catnip out of this insane notion that running away is the answer."
"I've already started storing things out here. But I can get Effie to start sending a few extra items on my next order and we can—"
"No! Absolutely not. I do not want a single thing from the Capitol."
"Don't let your pride send you to an early grave, Gale. We all need to put our egos aside to ensure our survival— who cares where a warm coat comes from, as long as you have one," Peeta says as we start making our way back towards town. I don't say anything, but yeah— I guess he has a point.
I collect my game bag in the hollowed-out tree I stored it in when a thought comes to mind, "How will I know what's going on?" I ask as an afterthought.
"Stop by my house. Here," Peeta says, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pair of thick, wool-lined gloves before handing them to me. "I'll take a rabbit for them," he says, giving me a valid excuse to actually stop by his house, as to not rouse Katniss's suspicions.
That is our last interaction before we head our separate ways. I watch as Peeta heads in the direction of his house and decide that I have too much on my mind to go home now. I wish Madge were here so I could talk to her about some of this. But if I stopped by her house, Ma would see me, and I'm not ready to face her yet. She will know something is wrong, and eventually weasel it out of me. I finally decide to stop by the Hob to see what I can trade; it will give all this new information ample time to settle.
I manage to get rid of everything— except for the turkey I intentionally withheld, since I plan on taking it home for Ma to cook up. It has been ages since I've brought an entire turkey home, not to mention that I can't wait to see Madge's face when she sees this turkey. I am nearly bursting at the seams, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of seeing Madge's beautiful face light up, that I don't hear the booming voice that calls out to me.
"I SAID, what's in the bag, BOY?" The unfamiliar, sharp, yet commanding voice rumbles out again. I keep walking, pretending to be oblivious that his words are directed at me. No such luck.
"It's um . . ." I stammer, trying to think up a good excuse. "I found it in the meadow, I was going to get rid of it— didn't want anyone to get sick from it," is the lame excuse I offer him. One look at the slain animal carcass and you can easily tell it was shot through the neck, which was clearly no accident. He doesn't care what I say as he rips the game bag from my shoulder, unties the top and peers inside. I know I am in trouble when I see the sinister way his lips curve up at me.
"Oh! Well, if he isn't a poacher," almost gleefully, the man says, eager to punish me, and for the first time, I notice he's wearing the uniform only Head Peacekeeper's are assigned to wear. But this is most definitely not Cray. And as much as I despised Cray— as much as I did not like the hungry way his eyes ravenously followed Madge every time she walked past him, I know that this man is, without a doubt, much, much worse than Cray.
[ x – x – x ]
[ Katniss ]
"Mama, I am so sorry for leaving you guys! I— I am so ashamed of myself; I did to you and Prim what I was so mad at you for, I— I—" I cry to my mother and Prim, offering them my apologies— sandwiched between them while we are curled up together on Prim's bed.
"It's okay Katniss, honey. Everyone grieves differently, and we can't help what soothes us," Mom reassures me, pulling me to her chest. "Your mind just needed time to process what it learned."
"He's— he's really gone, isn't he?" I ask, my chin quivering from the thought of never seeing my father again.
"Yes honey, he is. But . . . I hope you find comfort in the fact that he wasn't in any pain, he didn't suffer. He die— he left us happy and surrounded by the people he loved. I'm so sorry you didn't get to say goodbye to him, just know that— that he loved you so much. You were the light of his life . . . a miniature version of him. . . . but . . . he's at peace now . . . watching over us." Mom chokes her words out, unable to make it to the end of her sentence before breaking into tears once more. I am also not oblivious to the fact that mom cannot say the words "died".
But . . . I did get to say goodbye . . . kind of. In my dream. After coming home to learn that dad died at the exact same time I had my "dream" causes me to believe it was, in fact, no dream at all. It was too real, too lifelike, and the events matching up to real time,too uncanny for it to have been just a dream.
"W- what were his last words?" I press my mother, not completely sure if I am ready to hear them, but the words are already out there. Mom chuckles and pulls both me and Prim in for another hug. I'm not sure when the last time I allowed my mother to hold me was, or the last time we were all snuggled in bed together like this. Probably not since Prim was a little tot.
"We were lying in the bed together, the T.V. was on in the background. It was your interview with Caesar. Peeta had just proposed to you— and—"
"Oh my god! I completely forgot about that. Was he angry? Are you angry?" I pull back from mom's embrace and turn to meet her eyes. "That's not how I wanted you guys to find out . . . on television. Peeta and I— we wanted—"
"Katniss, be quiet and let mom finish!" Prim interjects with a knowing smile on her face.
I give her an apologetic glance and nod for mom to continue.
"Dad was happy, sweetie. I think— I think if he could have jumped for joy, he would have done so. He said he wanted you to marry Peeta. He said, "Make sure she marries him, Peeta is good," and as sad as we all are, I think Dad would want us to keep living our lives, to be as happy as we can be without him here. He loved Peeta, and he would have been thrilled to call him his son. You probably already know this, but dad has long since considered Peeta as part of our family." Mom's words bring me to tears, so she cradles me even tighter, allowing me to cry.
"But—"
"No 'buts' Katniss, we are going to live. For Dad. We are going to go through the motions of being happy until we are . . . eventually . . . happy. I— I'm not ready to start seeing patients yet . . . my mind is much too scattered to put other people's lives in my hands, but . . . but, we'll just take it one day at a time. Prim and I have been working on rearranging and organizing the two spare bedrooms. We have decided that we will use one for the apothecary, where we will store all of our medications and herbs, and the other we have decided to call, "The Clinic," in which we will treat our patients. Once it warms up, we want to plant an herb garden out back. You are welcome to help us. Keeping my mind busy— physically seems to help me, and it might help you too."
I nod and stand up, ready to get to work. Mom is right, Dad would want us to keep living, he would not want us to be consumed with grief. And the only way to start the healing process is like mom said, going through the motions. "What can I do?" Mom and Prim share a giggle while shaking their heads.
"How about you, Peeta and Madge head into town and pick up a few ingredients for me?" Mom suggests, causing my brows to wrinkle in confusion.
"Madge?" I ask, wondering what my friend has to do with this.
"Yes, Madge. That friend of yours, she is pretty incredible, you know? She has been here since . . . since, well, since before 'it' happened. And she's still here."
"I think Madge is the only reason we didn't starve to death. She made sure we ate, sometimes force feeding us," Prim chuckles playfully. And knowing Madge, she did exactly that. And then I feel even guiltier than ever— how can I ever repay Madge for all that she's done— all that she does for my family?
"Okay," I say, grabbing Mom's list and heading downstairs.
With there being over a foot of snow still covering the ground, Peeta, Madge and I bundle up in layers before heading out.
"I'm supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight, will you come with me?" Peeta asks me once we've got everything crossed off the list and are headed back towards the Village.
"You mean . . . your mom too?" I ask, spitting the word out as if saying the mere word will cause me to be ill.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Dad says he promises she'll be on her best behavior. Graham and Holly are supposed to be there too."
"Ugh. I guess so . . . do I have a choice?"
"Of course, you have a choice. You can say no."
"Are you going?" I snap at Peeta, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Yes . . ."
"Then no, I do not have a choice. I am not leaving you alone with that witch." Peeta must find my response amusing from the way he chuckles, sharing a look with Madge.
"My dad will be there Katniss," he says playfully, as if this actually means something to me.
"That never stopped her before," I mumble under my breath. Although I love Peeta's father, it's hard for me to forget all the years he was oblivious to his wife's abuse of the boy I love.
"You guys are so adorable! Arguing like an old married couple!" Madge pipes in, which earns her a scowl.
"Did you hear that?" I ask, hearing an unfamiliar sound coming from the square.
[ x – x – x ]
[ Madge ]
Katniss, Peeta and I have finished running our errands for Lilly and are making our way through Town when we hear a commotion coming from near the square. It is a sound I do not recognize; a whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath coming from the crowd.
"Come on," Peeta says, his face contorting into a frown. We jog ahead to see what's going on. Peeta climbs onto a crate that is pushed up against the wall of the sweetshop, and offers his hand, first to Katniss, and then to me as he scans the square. His lips are set in a hard line when he says, "Get down. You guys go home, and I'll be there in a few minutes."
"What?" Katniss objects, trying to force her way back up.
"Please, trust me Katniss. You and Madge go home, and I'll meet you back there in a few minutes." While Katniss forces her way back up the crate to see what's got Peeta in such a tizzy, I separate from them and push my way through the crowd. So many people give me these strange, concerned, and hardened looks when my face comes into view. There are frowns and knitted brows, foreheads wrinkling with despair, which causes me so much confusion.
"Get out of here girl," a voice calls out.
"You'll only make it worse," another says.
"What do you want to do, get him killed?"
My heart slams so hard inside my chest, I think it may explode. The last time my anxiety reached this level was when I saw Darius walking my way with that look on his face, the look that says someone you love is dead. When I finally break through the crowd of people into the cleared space, their pained expressions make perfect sense.
That's when I see him— the boy I love.
Gale is tied and bound to one of the whipping posts in the center of the square— the whipping post that has never been occupied by a single inhabitant. His shirt has been ripped from his body, and hanging above his head is a fat, juicy turkey with a nail impaled through its neck. I can already see at least six red, angry slashes painted against his back— and that's not counting the ones across his chest.
"Alright, alright, we get it. He's learned his lesson— I think he's had enough." It's Darius who comes to Gale's rescue. The man— the assailant pushes Darius away, pounding him on the head with the butt of his whip, and Darius falls to the ground. Slumped over and unconscious.
"Anyone else want some?" The new Head Peacekeeper asks, lifting his arms in an invitation for anyone else to try and stop him.
Gale falls to his knees and then he looks up for the briefest of seconds, his eyes meeting mine. I can tell he is grinding his teeth to bare through the pain— having seen him do this several times before when he has injured himself. He refuses to give this new Peacekeeper the satisfaction of bringing him to tears.
"Get out of here Madge," although no sound comes from his mouth, I know what he says— what he means to say.
"I love you Gale, it's going to be okay," I mouth the words to him, crying for the both of us before I turn around and begin running. When I look over my shoulder, I see the relief that washes over Gale's features for the briefest of moments when he sees me exiting the square. But I'm not going home; not going to his house either, like he probably thinks.
I know that if anyone can get Gale released from his torture, it is Katniss and Peeta. And when they eventually get Gale to Lilly— I just hope that Lilly is ready to start healing again.
"He's going to be okay; he's going to be okay," I repeat the words over and over in my head as I run full force away from Town. All I know is that if Gale is to survive this, he will need something stronger than the herbs available in the apothecary. He will need something Capitol grade.
When I reach Victors Village, I slip through the gates and scan the area to see if the coast is clear. When I am certain there isn't a single soul around to witness me breaking and entering, I sneak into the vacant, number eight home of Victor's Village. The one with the basement that's tunnels lead into the same tunnels beneath the mayor's home. That's where my dad's boxes are stored— and I can only hope there is some morphling in at least one of them. There has to be, right?
I shimmy into the crawl space and find myself back in the winding pathway of the underground tunnels. I travel through the maze of twists and turns until I recognize the path my father always took me on when we would come down here. I get excited when I see three boxes with my name on them, written in my father's perfect handwriting. I begin going through them, tossing anything out that isn't useful. I am so absorbed in searching for even just a single vial of my mother's precious morphling that I ignore the icy chill that slithers up my spine.
The moment my eyes meet his, I know that he is the predator and I, the prey. Heat prickles throughout my body, my fight or flight senses kicking in. But . . . there is nowhere to run to.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? If it isn't the captivating mayor's daughter— or should I say the 'late' mayor's daughter. My apologies for the loss of your parents. You know Madge, I've always wanted to try you out for size, and it looks like today's going to be your lucky day." Head Peacekeeper Cray ravenously licks his lips— his lips twisting into a menacing snarl as he creeps up on me, rubbing his hands eagerly together. I shudder from the voracious look in his eyes— knowing that I am definitely out of my league here. I look, first to my right, then to my left for something— anything that I might use as a weapon . . . but . . . there's nothing.
The last time this happened— the last time Cray cornered me, it was near dark; I was all alone as I made my way to the Seam to visit Prim. And it was Gale who stopped him, Gale who rescued me.
'There is no one to rescue you now, Madge,' I silently remind myself, 'No one even knows you're down here,' the thought causes my heart to skip a beat. How long will it take for someone to realize that I am missing . . . to realize that something is wrong?
"I—" I don't get two words out before he shoves me to the ground. Reflexively, I extend my hands behind me to brace my fall.
"I have wanted you for so long, you beautiful, sexy tease, and I am finally going to have you," he tells me, undoing his belt buckle.
"I— I'll scream," this does not even phase him.
"Go ahead, scream all you want. No one will hear you," he taunts me, only inches from my face. And I know he's right. "Besides, I like my girls feisty," he chuckles, our noses almost touching— and then he licks my face. I begin kicking, screaming, and swinging my arms through the air, as I attempt scooting backwards to get away from him, refusing to make this easy for him. My name is Madge Undersee, and I will NOT go down without a fight!
From the time I was a little girl, my daddy taught me that my body belonged to me, and me alone, and no one was allowed to touch me anywhere without my permission. And as uncomfortable as those conversations were, he also made certain that I understood that no means no, even if you say yes at first. Even if you say yes one hundred times. As the only daughter to a man of high status, I think he always feared something like this happening.
'Help me daddy, I need you' I scream the words in my head.
I flip my body over and try to crawl away. But I am not fast enough, because before I know it, Cray's hands are locked around my ankles, dragging my thrashing body back to him, my back scraping against the hard, rock surface beneath us.
He uses one hand to cover my mouth, and with his remaining massive hand, Cray manages to bind both of my hands above my head, securing them there with only one of his hands. And it is at this point that I want to kick myself for leaving Katniss and Peeta.
I sink my teeth into the hand he has over my mouth and he flinches back, but his grip on my hands does not loosen. "You fucking bit me, you bitch!" This angers him and he slaps me across my cheek. He uses his belt to secure my hands to something— I cannot tell what it is, but my arms are now completely immobile.
My stomach churns from the repugnant stench radiating from his body when he reaches over me— he reeks as if he hasn't bathed in days . . . maybe weeks. I try to twist my hands out of the restraints while he grabs something from inside one of my boxes and shoves it into my mouth.
'Why did I leave, why didn't I just stay put?' I ask myself. 'You did it for Gale, Madge. Now stop whining because no one is here to save you. Think . . . how can you get out of this?'
Bound and gagged, I refuse to go down without a fight. I still have mobility of my lower half, so I begin kicking, lashing, jerking my legs in quick, erratic, and spontaneous movements. I refuse to concede and maintain my efforts of trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but it's useless. I am nothing but a tiny, scrawny little thing compared to him. Even before— even when I was the daughter of the mayor— a privileged girl who ate well on a daily basis, I would have been no match for this powerful, robust, burly, sickening, slimeball of a man. He slowly overpowers me, my energy slowly diminishing by the second. I hear the distinct riiip coming from my dress, and then feel the cold air hit my bare skin just before he uses his disgusting paws to fondle my breast.
'Oh my god! My pen!' Is the only thing that I am worried about.
"Get off of me you fucking sick, disgusting, pervert!" My screams come out muffled— I am not even sure if he can understand me; not that it matters— not that he cares. He is probably getting off on my pleas. "Please, please, stop—" I resort to begging, knowing it will not make any difference.
"Oh, I like beggars," he says, turning the corners of his iniquitous lips up at me.
"Please don't— please— stop," are the last words I remember before something hard smashes against my skull and everything goes black.
Within seconds, I am greeted by the face— albeit much younger version of my beautiful, glowing, radiant mother— except, something about her seems different.
'I must be dead,' I tell myself— knowing that is the only way I could be looking at my mom.
"My WORD! You are . . . you are just beautiful!" She cradles me in her arms, and I can immediately tell that something is . . . off about her, and it's not the fact that she looks as if she is my age.
"Mama? I-is that you?" I ask the beautiful mom/not-my-mom.
[ x – x – x ]
[ Raven Kadinski ]
I reach into my jacket pocket to retrieve the diagram Amy drew for me, detailing a map of the underground tunnels. Once we put Kismet to bed, she asked me to head down into the tunnels to fetch a box for her.
Poppy's diagram is flawless, and I think I'll be back in record time when I hear voices coming from one of the side tunnels. My head snaps up and my ears strain to hear the voices again. For a fraction of a second, I am consumed with anxiety because no one should be down here. Least of all, anyone up to any good. But after a moment of silence, I continue my trek, convinced that it's just my paranoia.
But then— I hear it again. My grip tightens onto the walking stick I brought with me when I hear a man's voice— followed by the muffled cries of a young girl.
I slowly approach the predator and find myself stupefied to come face to face with 12's previous Head Peacekeeper. Cray is his name, and he is perched on top of a girl who looks to be rendered unconscious.
"What are you doing down here?" I demand, clearing my throat and announcing my presence.
"Oh, it's just you—" his head snaps to attention, startled by my presence at first. But when he realizes it's just me, his body relaxes and his words come out nonchalantly, as if there isn't something wrong with the fact that he is about to violate this tiny, helpless girl. As I get closer, I realize this is not just any girl, it's Madge. The sweet, young girl who devotes so much of her time teaching my daughter piano. The very same girl of whom my daughter is extremely fond of.
"I asked you a question," I assert myself, my voice sharp and refusing to show an ounce of fear. While I know it is Madge lying unconscious on the ground, her tangled blonde locks matted with sweat surrounding her face, all I can think about is my own little girl— and what I would do to any man— any person who even dare try to harm her. While I stand here, inhaling slow, deep breaths of air to slow my erratic heart rate to keep my cool next to this sick, twisted, and demented man, I can slowly feel the blood in my veins morphing into ice . . . a murderous rage festering inside me.
'I have to help her, I have to save Madge,' the thought silently ruminates in my head, consuming my every purpose.
"I've had my eye on this beautiful little tease for a while now. Thread thought he could make a fool of me, but who's the fool now? You can have a piece too, but I get first dibs," his words sicken me, but I play along with this charade, it being the only way I can think to save Madge.
I nod, slowly inching my way closer to him. With my heart pounding in my chest, I fake a grin, acting as if I am eager to go along with his despicable plan. 'What kind of sick fuck takes pleasure in violating a child?' I ask myself, my grip tightening on the stick in my hands— thankful that I had the good sense to bring it with me. He is completely oblivious to my true intentions as I squeeze tighter, tighter; inching closer and closer to this pig. As soon as I am close enough, as soon as I can be certain it is I who has the upper hand, I raise the walking stick, gripped firmly with both of my hands and whack him upside the head— as hard as I can, knocking him out cold.
I run to Madge's side in a flash, releasing the belt that restrains her hands and removing the dishrag from her mouth. I flip Cray onto his stomach and use his own belt to secure his hands behind his back.
As I look around for something to drape over Madge's body, a shiver runs through me when I see her dress, shredded into pieces, lying next to her. Panic floods my senses when I think that he succeeded in— but then relief immediately washes over me when I take sight of her underclothes, which are still completely intact. I quickly scan the area and find a large piece of fabric— perhaps a tablecloth that I rip into slivers, and secure Cray to a nearby boulder. I tug on the restraints, making sure they are secure— ensuring with absolute certainty that he cannot break free.
Once I am convinced, beyond a single doubt that Cray cannot break free, I use the remainder of what I think must have been a tablecloth and drape it over Madge's bare body. I carefully lift her into my arms and run as fast as I can back to the mansion— completely forgetting about the box I came down here for.
"Shh, sshhh, Madge, it's okay. You're going to be okay," I tell her, not quite sure if I believe it myself. Her eyes are swollen shut, she has a busted lip with blood gushing steadily from her nose and lip. She is in and out of consciousness, trying to speak through her swollen lips.
"Mama," I think she says. Of course, a young girl would want her mother at a time like this.
"It's okay Madge, it's Raven— Kismet's— Kizzie's dad. I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you," I tell her soothingly and she lets out a grunt in response. "You're going to be okay Madge," I tell her, repeating the words; whether it's to soothe her, or myself, I am not sure.
I finally make it back to the mansion and Poppy is waiting for me on the other side of the door.
"What took you so— Oh my god Raven! What happened? What did—" Poppy screams out when she sees Madge's bloodied and beaten face. Both Poppy and I have grown rather fond of this sweet girl, who devotes much of her time with our daughter.
"I found her like this— it was Cray— he was about to— oh God Amy, I don't know what he would have done if I hadn't shown up. She needs help!" I explain everything I witnessed to my wife— everything that happened, not leaving out a single detail.
"Go to Victor's Village and tell Haymitch. I don't think we should move her— in case something is broken. Haymitch will get Lilly Everdeen, and she will know what to do!" Always cool, calm, and collected in a crisis, I follow my wife's instructions to a tee.
I do not waste a second and run as fast as my legs will carry me until I reach the Village. There is only one light on in all of Victor's Village— it is the home that belongs to Katniss Everdeen.
I knock on the door, and thankfully, it's Haymitch who answers.
"Uh, Raven . . . uh what's up?" Haymitch asks, flask in hand.
"Haymitch, it's Madge, she needs help. She was attacked and she's in bad shape. Amy's at home with her, but we were afraid to move her—"
His head snaps at attention at the sound of Madge's name.
[ x – x – x ]
[ Katniss ]
"Stop it! You'll kill him!" I scream out to the man holding the whip when I see my best friend beaten to a pulp.
"Katniss, NO!" Peeta screams, and then I feel him jerk my body to the side. He jumps in front of me and raises his hand to block his face from catching the whip. And then I hear him inhale a sharp intake of air as he tenses from the pain.
Once I get over the shock of what is happening, I get a glimpse of the assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines, a cruel mouth twisted into an evil grin. Shaved, gray hair, and eyes so black, they seem all pupils. He has a long, straight nose, reddened from the cold. His powerful arm raises once more, his eyes set on me, since he missed the first time. My hand reaches over my shoulder, seeking an arrow that isn't there. Peeta jumps in front of me once again, blocking me from the cutting blow and taking another lash to his wrist.
"Hold it!" A familiar voice barks. Haymitch appears and stumbles over a Peacekeeper who is lying on the ground. It's Darius. A huge purple lump pushes through the red hair across his forehead. He's unconscious, but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to help Gale?
Haymitch ignores him and helps me to my feet. He frowns when he sees my face. Apparently, this new Peacekeeper did manage to get me.
"Oh, excellent," Haymitch says arrogantly, lifting my chin to inspect my face, before moving to examine Peeta's hand. "She's got a photo shoot next week, modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?"
I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, my face free of makeup, my braid tucked carelessly under my coat, he doesn't recognize me at first. Haymitch however, he instantly recognizes.
The man rests the whip on his hip. "They interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."
"I didn't . . ." Gale begins, his speech garbled, "confess to . . . shit," he finishes, spitting a chunk of blood that lands next to the Peacekeeper's shoes.
Everything about this man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warns of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where has he come from? District 11? 3? Or— or maybe the Capitol?
"I don't care if they blew up the blasted Justice Building! Look at her cheek! His hand! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Haymitch snarls, circling the Peacekeeper.
"That's not my problem," the man says, his voice plagued with doubt.
"No? Well, it's about to be my friend. The first call I make when I get home is the Capitol," Haymitch begins, "find out who authorized you to mess up my victors' pretty little face— and the boy's spose' ta paint a pretty picture for display in the Capitol."
"He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?" the man says, his features growing more worried by the minute.
"He's her cousin, and she's my fiancé. So, if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us," Peeta says, taunting the wicked man.
Another Peacekeeper steps up and removes their head piece. I instantly recognize her from Greasy Sae's; a woman named Purnia. "I believe sir, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad— Sir."
"Is that the standard protocol, then?"
"Yes sir," Purnia states confidently, and several others nod in agreement. I'm sure that none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everyone to bid on the drumsticks.
"Very well. Get your cousin out of here. And if he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land, I will personally assemble that firing squad." He wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering us with blood. Then he coils it into quick, neat loops and walks off.
Purnia meets my eyes and I mouth a quick, thanks to her. She ignores me and keeps on walking. Then the rest of the Peacekeepers fall into formation, following the Head Peacekeeper.
"Gale!" I say, regaining my senses and run over to him, dropping to my knees and fumbling to untie his restraints. Peeta is at my side with a knife and cuts his hands free.
"Better get him to your mama," Haymitch says.
"Mom's not seeing patients yet," I tell him, looking up with a worried frown to meet his eyes.
"Well, let's hope this changes her mind." Haymitch retorts, and I nod in agreement, hoping this will be the push she needs to get back on the saddle.
The shopkeeper of the clothing stall sells us a board that serves as a stretcher, so long as we don't say where we got it from. By the time we've laid Gale face down on the board, almost everyone has dispersed from the square. Only myself, Haymitch, Peeta, and a handful of miners are left to carry Gale back to my house.
Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses from my old home in the Seam grabs my arm. "Do you need any help?" She asks, her intense grey eyes meeting mine.
"No, I think we can get him there, but can you get Hazelle? Tell her to meet us at my house?" She takes off in a hurry toward the Seam.
"Leevy! Don't let her bring the kids!" I shout to her.
"I won't, I'll stay with them myself!" She shouts back to me.
"He's the new Head. Name's Romulus Thread. Don't know what happened to Cray," I hear someone say.
"After twenty lashes, Darius stepped in, saying he'd had enough. Only he didn't do it all smart and official like Purnia did, he grabbed Thread's arm and Thread hit him over the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him," it's Bristel, one of Gale's friends from the mines.
"Doesn't sound like much good for any of us," Haymitch retorts.
I follow behind the guys who are carrying Gale on the stretcher, getting lost in my thoughts as the snow starts coming down, hard and thick when another name crosses my mind.
Madge.
[ x ]
Whew! Was that as intense for you guys to read as it was for me to write? Poor Madge, right? Don't worry, she's going to be fine…she's a fighter!
Don't forget to drop me a line to let me know what you thought.
Line from Chapter 9 comes from Gale: "Madge, where's Madge?"