"Apparently there's a high bandwidth transmitter in District 2 we completely didn't know about," Beetee explained, "Lucius has been using it to keep in touch with the District Garrisons, but we still have to patch in there with whatever's left running here."
The lights in the communications building were still dimmed as Beetee attempted to call District 2. Gripping the edge of her pants in silent anticipation, she bit on her lip when Lucius's face finally appeared. The screen blurred with static intermittently, and there was a delay between the audio and video, but she tried her best to follow his words.
"As planned, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8 and 11 are under curfew, this will be lifted shortly. Most essential services will resume in a few hours and production will resume tomorrow."
She gripped the table, and held her breath.
"District 6 sustained moderate damage during the attack, but they're in our hands. They're trying to repair the depots and hangars. 12 was seized without incident. 9 and 10 are still fighting, but the resistance appears to be collapsing soon, since there's no air support and no hope of reinforcements. We're encountering fierce resistance from District 1, and there's been little progress. We might have to bring in the heavy bombers very soon."
Resisting the urge to pound on the table, she gritted her teeth, and asked, in a shaking voice.
"I think there's one more district missing."
"Right, District 5," Lucius said, looking at the map, "apparently there was a classified protocol issued to District 5's Garrison since the dark days. They surrendered without a shot, presumably to preserve the power infrastructure from getting destroyed."
The knot in her chest began to unravel.
"Your parents are safe," Lucius said, "I checked in with the Mayor."
"Oh my god, thank god, thank you so much," she sighed in relief, nearly passing out at the table, "Marcus and Aurelia are safe in the training centre as well."
"Thank you so much for making the arrangements," Lucius said, before an aide passed him a stack of papers, "I have to manage the mess in District 1 now."
As Lucius hung up, she flinched at the sudden intrusion of armed men into the broadcast room. The men shoved aside everyone in their way, until they surrounded her with guns drawn. At once, she staggered backwards, heart in her throat, until she recognised Boggs amongst them.
He spoke quickly, voice clear and firm, "Ma'am, we've received reports that a band of Vigilante Capitolites are defying the curfew and searching for you-"
The hair on her neck stood on end, but she listened.
"For your own safety, we have orders to evacuate you from the Capitol."
She shook her head, "First of all, I'm not afraid, second of all, I don't see how these made-up mannequins can harm me, thirdly, it's best if I stayed here to-"
"Due to your status, that's not negotiable," Boggs interrupted, "there's a Hovercraft coming to take you."
"To where?"
"District 5."
Beetee chipped in, "You can still tune into the ongoings from there, right now the uplink from 5 to 2 is probably better than from here anyway."
She paused, and pondered about seeing her family, and Gase so soon - perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all. Without a word, she allowed the men to escort her onto the roof, where a Hovercraft was already touching down. She squinted at the noon sun blazing down on them, and the hovercraft's downwash sent her red hair fluttering. The men shoved her forward when she hesitated to board the ramp, only to be swiftly chastised by Boggs.
"We'll be hitching another ride to District 1 to help there," Boggs yelled over the noise, "just hang tight, the rest of Panem is counting on you."
Fatigue and weariness from the non-stop buzz of activity in her last few hours weighed heavily on her eyelids, but she hesitated to fall asleep on the hovercraft, lest she missed the constant chatter of radio traffic in her ears. It was hard hearing anything over the roar of the engines, but the tuned-frequency changed with each district they overflew. Some, with calm reports of nil activity, and some, interspersed with the rattle of gunfire and frantic screaming.
She cupped her head in her hands as she pondered Snow's words, and wondered whether it was too early to regret unleashing this war upon Panem.
Sensing her apprehension, the pilot looked back and informed her of their approach into District 5. Despite what Lucius said, District 5 still resembled a warzone, with armed men from District 13 running around carrying equipment and moving to secure vital points. Fenced in with barbed wire on the town square, no less than a thousand peacekeepers sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the ground, their weapons and armour having been stripped from them. Scanning their despairing, despondent faces, she recognised one - who struck her in the face when she was a girl for not giving way to him, and another, who once flung her into the ditch for no apparent reason. Despite all their misdeeds, she couldn't help feeling sorry for them, and averted her gaze as she trotted past the soldiers guarding them.
It was hard to get by undetected. Despite her unassuming clothes, everywhere she went - soldiers stopped and saluted her. The constant downwash of hovercraft landing in the square to unload men and material sent her eyes skywards, and she gawked at the dozen or more hovercraft circling, waiting to land. It blew her mind just how much air resources District 13 had been sitting on this whole time. Shaking her head, she continued towards the edge, until she saw a makeshift aid station had been set-up near the square, and her pace quickened when she heard cries of pain coming from the tent.
"What's going on?" she asked, grabbing the nearest soldier she could find, "Didn't my District surrender without a fight?"
"There was a delay in the coordination," the soldier replied, "we expected to encircle them quickly and cut off access to the power plant, but the terrain slowed us down. So the workers inside had to fight off the locked-out peacekeepers longer than they should've. They gave them a hell of a fight though, pretty much unarmed civilians fighting off a paramilitary force."
"This wasn't supposed to happen," she shouted, her voice still drowned out by the cries of anguish.
"No it wasn't," the soldier said, pointing at the stretchers laid out on the grass, with bandaged and bloodied workers, lying on them, "but this is war."
She counted the wounded lying before her. 12. With probably scores more from other Districts who didn't surrender immediately. Snow's words repeated in her head, each sentence like a punch in the gut.
The war you have unleashed.
"Are you alright?" the soldier asked, gripping her shoulders and helping her upright, "Look, you've done all that you could, and you don't have to be here if you don't want to."
Her eyes wandered upon a wounded man on a stretcher, with his bandaged, bashed-in face and only one eye looking back at her. He caught sight of her red hair, and flashed her the thumbs up. She recognised him as one of the plant shift leads, and immediately recounted how Gase had agreed to be on shift today.
Oh my god, Gase.
At once, she trotted down the row of stretchers, desperately searching for a tall, brown-haired woman amongst them. Her fears came to a head when she reached a curtained-off section. She froze there at first, unable to recognise the bloodied mess on the stretcher, with a neck brace still firmly in place. But the realisation that the battered person lying there was Gase drained all the blood from her face.
"No!" she screamed, lurching towards her friend, only to be held back by a nurse. Tubes were running into her while a doctor examined her wounds.
"You can't interfere," the nurse pleaded, "she's still unconscious and they need to operate on her right now, or there'll be long-term damage."
"Why, why?" she screamed, knees giving way as she slumped to the ground. Tears fogged her vision, and she found herself grasping at tufts of grass, "How on earth did this happen?"
The shift lead from earlier limped over. He couldn't stand for more than a second, and knelt on the ground next to her.
"She was in High-Voltage Room 2 when the attack started," he recounted, staring at the tear-soaked earth, "the bastards managed to force their way past the core, even through the doors we barricaded, but for some reason, she steadfastly stopped them from entering the room, even resorting to fending them off with a broken pipe. Eventually they got in and beat her within an inch of her life. We don't know why she did it, the room had another exit she could've left through."
"I-I told her to shut the mains to the Capitol buildings," she sputtered, burying her face into her shaking hands, "I did this. It was all my fucking fault."
"It's not your fault, whatever you planned must've had a reason," he consoled her, placing his arm around her quaking shoulders, "but none of what they did made sense, since she was the only person there who could've operated the switchgears, and instead they cracked her skull open."
A shudder went down her spine as the soldier's words filtered back to her.
This is war
None of what they did made sense.
Staring through the fog of her tears, she connected the two, above and beyond every plot and scheme she had concocted over the year, and realised that she could never plan for this inevitable outcome.
War never makes sense.
The realisation was like a fist reaching deep into her chest and crumpling the last remnants of her soul.
Sure, war doesn't make sense, but neither does killing 23 children every year for no goddamned reason.