War never makes sense-
-were the last words fluttering through her mind as she threw herself beneath the humvee and scampered out the opposite end, a mere second before the autocannons reduced it into a fiery inferno. Cannon-fire tore up the lawn as she dashed across and dove through the doorway into a house.
The firing stopped, and all the reasons why the hovercraft started shooting at them deserted her mind, only to be replaced by that familiar thumping in her chest as she fought to stay alive. Heaving from the exertion, she shifted towards the window, only to be thrown back as the autocannon shredded through the walls, in a vain effort to kill her within the house. The splinters of wood, glass and concrete drove her under a table, and she peered at the hovercraft through one of the gaping holes in the wall.
"Fuck," she swore, watching its bomb bay doors open, before a hideous hissing sound hit her ears as a missile streaked towards her. She dashed away from the table a second before the front of the house exploded in a maelstrom of smoke and fire, hurtling her towards the rear like a rag doll.
The pain hit her like a sack of bricks. Pins and needles sticking into every inch of her skin. Desperate to survive, she clung onto a broken section of drywall as the house's front collapsed from the explosion. The hovercraft's engine still roared in her ears, and watched as it readied itself to finish her off.
Instead of another missile, her eyes widened as she saw ropes extending from its ramp, and black-uniformed men descending to the ground. She gritted her teeth when she realised that probably wasn't a rescue squad coming for her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a back door to the house, dangling from a hinge, and a backyard, followed by a fence, and then an endless expanse of forest to god-knows-where. She braced her feet to begin another mad dash away, before realising she would get shredded in an instant once the autocannons started again.
Swallowing the urge to panic, she slumped against the wall and clenched her fists against the flames' sweltering heat as it threatened to roast her alive. All around her, furniture and fixtures combusted spontaneously, and all at once she heard Katniss's screams again, even as tears fogged her smoke-logged eyes.
She choked on the billowing smoke, and waited until there was enough smoke in the sky to conceal her movement from the hovercraft. A minute passed like an eternity, each second multiplying the pain in her limbs and the fire in her lungs, before finally - she leapt from the wall and sprinted into the backyard, her petite frame merely a shadow in the acrid blackness. True enough, the autocannons were silent in response, but the soldiers' shouting drove another nail of dread into her soul.
Hardened by lifelong instincts of vaulting ladders in the power plant, she cleared the fence with the ease of a fox, but failed to secure her footing as she tumbled down a slope. She let out a terse groan as the slope flung her onto a tree trunk, and recovered just in time to see the soldiers pecking apart the chain link fence with bolt cutters. Still coughing smoke from her lungs, she fled into the forest, the green foliage giving ample coverage from the hovercraft. As the trees flew past, her eyes began to water at the memory of many a mad forest dash she'd endured during the games, this time, from people she thought were on her side.
A bullet struck the tree in front of her, and then another, forcing her to bank sharply left. They weren't looking to capture her, either. The pain in her legs blossomed into fiery agony, amplified by the wounds from the Games. She glanced over her shoulder and shuddered at the masked men pursuing her, lasers sweeping through the greenery. There'd be no way she could shake them, not even with her agility - the pain dragged her down into the mud with each step she took.
The roar of water struck a chord of hope, and she hurdled over a boulder towards the noise. Bullets hissed through her hair as the noise grew louder, but her heart lurched when she skidded to a halt before a waterfall instead of the river she was hoping for. She might survive this jump, or get smashed against some rocks. It was a slim chance against the inevitable odds of death their bullets would bring.
Remember, they aren't looking to bring you in alive.
She gritted her teeth and shook her head, more angry at being outfoxed and outsmarted by her own allies, than at her impending doom. The thought of Gase's broken body on the stretcher reminded her of how many people she's sacrificed to make it here, and she couldn't imagine how dying would be of any help to all of them.
You'd have to die a thousand deaths to pay your penance, this time.
With the roar of water before her, and the yelling of men behind her, there was one last thing for her to do: to meet death, on her own terms. As her heartbeat went steady, she braced her feet against the soil, and made one last leap into the sunset, its radiant orange hue gleaming against her fluttering hair.
You're a bad person.
You're a bad person.
You're a bad person, which is why you deserve this and why this is happening to you now.
Her brain repeated as she sailed through the thirty feet drop and smashed into the rapids below. At once, she heard a sickening crack as her skull collided with a rock on the riverbed, and her limbs flailed wildly as she fought to surface. The instinct to survive won over, and she gulped lungfuls of air amidst the noise of gunfire peppering the rocks around her.
"Fuck!" she screamed, as the rapids dragged her under again. Bullet streaks tearing through the water interspersed the clouds of red blooming from her head, and she thrashed about in an attempt to breathe again.
Right, foxes can't swim.
The current dragged her further and further away, and before long she stopped fighting its immeasurable strength and pressed a hand to her forehand. She barely registered the hideous streak of crimson flowing down her arm before passing out in the river.
The next hour passed like a shadowy blur, choking and screaming herself awake as water threatened to fill her insides. She tried to grab a low tree branch, a rocky outcrop, the riverbank, anything that could help her get to safety, but like the full force of the war she had unleashed, proved too much - and swept her away in its tidal fury.
A moonlit glow bathed the river as it finally gave up and deposited her onto its gravel shore. Blood still leaked from her forehead, and it took her several tries to stagger to her feet and make sense of her bearings. It was no use, a shadowy pine forest stared back at her, and in her weakened, delusional state, appeared to be growing limbs that threatened to strangle her.
Wiping the water from her eyes, she squinted into the darkness, and made out a glint of light in the distance, barely a glimmer between the imposing trunks. Like a wounded animal, the girl trudged forwards, not knowing what lay ahead, but deciding not to risk the river again. The howl of wolves made her hair stand on end, and her soaking clothes sent a shiver through her body.
Still nothing worse than Day 18 of the 74th Hunger Games.
Her strength had all but faded by the time she discovered the source of the light, a fenced off village, where undoubtedly someone could help her.
"Help!" she cried out, staggering over the gate and tripping face-first into the ground. Try as she might, her tenacious strength had deserted her this time. And she found no reply within her for the shadowy figure that came to grab her by an ankle and drag her broken body through the gravel.
A heady scent of pine seeped into her senses, and the crackle of a fireplace roused her awake. Something about those two sensations sent a shudder into her pain-stricken body; she tried to sit up straight, but found herself weighed down with blankets. Swathes of bloodied bandages covered her forehead, and she winced as she prodded the wound in her skull.
"I'd just lie down if I were you," a woman's voice entered her ears. Dark, and cold, it was a stark contrast to the fireplace's warmth.
"Just my fucking luck to have a miserable cunt flop herself half dead on my doorstep," the voice seethed.
She craned her head to see where it came from. Dark shoulder-length hair, brown eyes steeped in hatred and pain; the woman was like Gase's evil alter-ego.
"Why," the girl's raspy voice echoed around the confines of the comfortable living room, "why did you help me?"
"Frankly I couldn't give a shit about two-faced slimy gamemakers like you," the woman spat, pausing to sip a glass of wine, "but after realising you might have single-handedly destroyed the Hunger Games for good, I reckon it would be worth saving your pitiful self."
"How...how'd you know-"
"Unfortunately, it appears that despite your best efforts to mark your place in history, history itself has swallowed you whole and spat you out onto my fucking riverbank."
There was something about the woman's scathing language that struck a chord with her. And the wine. And the pain-filled eyes. The empty house, voice filled with hollow dread. She's seen her somewhere before. Despite the woman's advice, she sat up straight to get a better look at her.
"Oh right," she said, recognising her face, "it's Johanna, isn't it? We met briefly while I was on tour."
Johanna raised her wine glass, "Took you fucking long enough, Miss Fox. What kind of a stupid name is that, anyway?"
"Save it, I'm not a fan either," she murmured, before checking the rest of her body for injuries. She gulped when she looked under the blankets and found that Johanna had stripped her completely naked, laying her clothes out by the fireplace to dry.
"Don't worry, nothing I haven't seen before," Johanna sneered, watching the girl's face blush red, "though you've got to admit that you're one skinny-ass bitch."
"I haven't eaten much in days," she replied, shaking her head. A sly grin broke out on Johanna's lips, before she left and returned with a round loaf of bread and tea. The girl nibbled on the bread, liking how the flecks of rosemary perfumed its soft, chewy interior, but she found herself coughing violently with one sip of the tea.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, wiping saliva from her chin, "What the fuck is in this?"
"It's mushroom tea," Johanna replied, "I go foraging for them in the forest. Helps with the pain."
There was something about the way Johanna mentioned pain, which told her an otherworldly story she could never speak of. With nothing else left to lose, and desperate to ease the throbbing in her head, the girl clenched her fists and took a gulp of the mushroom tea. The bitterness faded into a warmth in her belly, and then she felt herself floating, like she weighed nothing at all. In a few moments the pain in her head evaporated, and the sensation was like falling into the softest bed.
"Magic, isn't it? Helps more with heartaches than headaches though," Johanna said, patting her own chest, "Maybe you can give some to that bitch Hertha one day and see if she stops complaining."
"This is some good shit," the girl replied, daring to take another sip, "thank you so much for looking after me."
"Oh, get over yourself. I'm not the loving, nurturing type," Johanna said, looking directly into her eyes, and then at the carpet, "but for some goddamned reason you remind me of my youngest sister. Probably the red hair."
At once, Johanna stopped talking, and she could see her fists clenching and unclenching in the shadows. The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second, before she recalled a passing statement Finnick made to her once - This woman has lost more to Snow than you could ever imagine.
"This won't help you one bit, but he's gone," she whispered, biting down on her lip, and looking at her toes, "I killed him. He can't hurt you anymore."
"Oh, right, is that so?" Johanna replied, voice breaking into a stammer, "whoop-dee-fucking-doo-"
Johanna's lips pursed into a straight line.
"I didn't have the guts to do it myself," she continued, "but I made sure Finnick put a bullet in his head."
Beneath the dim glow of the fireplace, she made out Johanna's chest heaving with each breath, before the woman reached for her teacup.
"I...I'll get y-you some more tea," Johanna whispered, wiping her eyes as she left.
Left alone, she held her breath, and listened. In between the crackling of the fireplace, she imagined hearing a stifled sob from the kitchen, and then another, followed by silence. Johanna's eyes were reddened when she came back with more tea, but the woman still cut a relaxed figure as she curled up on the couch.
"How I wish," Johanna sighed, "how I just fucking wish, you were born years before me."
"It's not over yet," she answered, barely cringing at the bitter taste of the tea, "in fact, I've no idea what's going on after Coin's guys drove me into the river."
"Did she? What a two-faced cunt," Johanna said, reaching for her television remote. It flickered on, and Johanna scrolled through hours of a Capitol Orchestra programme, a filler video which signalled that the Capitol had resumed broadcasting to the Districts.
"Look what our saviour had to say about you earlier," Johanna scowled, pausing as an image of Coin appeared on the screen to give a speech. The woman's grey hair and wrinkles took her by surprise, she'd imagined Coin to be someone more regal in appearance. But there was something in Coin's eyes which stirred unease.
To my fellow Citizens of Panem, both in the Capitol, and the Districts. The events which transpired today were the collective results of years of oppression, and ill-guided intentions by the Capitol. Despite many opportunities over the decades to reverse the annual event of the Hunger Games, our nation has instead upheld it as a tradition, unbefitting of the humane society we've lived in before the dark days. Though many of you do not recognise myself, I represent a collective group seeking to return Panem to the days when we were kind and civil to one another. The actions of the head gamemaker today are the culmination of months of planning, and were instrumental in bringing the current Snow Regime to its last days. Unfortunately, immediately after the Quarter Quell was stopped, her whereabouts have become unknown, and she is feared to have been killed by warmongers in retaliation for her brave actions...
"What a fucking crock of shit-" she seethed.
As the State of Panem is at its most pivotal and fragile point today, I beseech all fellow Citizens to lawfully follow the orders in their respective local areas, whether Peacekeeper or District alike, and to pray for a new Chapter in our Nation's history. Tomorrow the sun will rise upon a new Panem, and until then - I bid you a very good evening.
Before the video could end, she lurched for the remote control and hit pause, freezing the frame on Coin, standing behind a glass rostrum with a frosted logo of the Capitol, and purple curtains behind her. It was the same one she saw in the broadcast building earlier today.
"Coin's in the Capitol," she observed.
"W-what does that mean?" Johanna asked, "What're you going to do?"
She slumped against the couch, and pondered everything Coin had announced. No more Hunger Games. Peace and Civility for all of Panem. Wasn't this what she sought to accomplish? She did cut Coin a deal for her to lead Panem in exchange for District 13's involvement anyway. Effectively, her plan had come to fruition. She could rest here in the sanctuary of Johanna's home or return to District 5 in secret, to check on Gase and live out the rest of her days in the knowledge that she'd made Panem a better place.
The tea blazed down her throat, annoying her with how much it dulled her brain. Still, the cogs in mind churned with unease. The dead bodies in District 1 burned behind her eyelids when she shut them tight. There's something about a leader who kills for convenience, which stirred so much disgust within her. Even if she was one herself.
"I wouldn't trust that cold-hearted bitch if I were you," Johanna said, "in fact I wouldn't trust anybody at all. Not me. Not even yourself."
"I don't," she answered, downing the rest of her tea, "but I wonder if I'd be able to trust you enough for a favour."
Johanna locked eyes with the girl for a brief moment, her amber eyes glimmering in the fireplace's glow. It's been awhile since she's had anyone in her house, and the presence of this girl filled a void in her soul she'd long given up trying to fill. It was enough to make her want to do anything for her. So, she sat next to her and allowed the girl to whisper in her ear.
"That's not a problem, Blight can arrange that," Johanna nodded, "And I can put a call in to Finnick tomorrow, if he's still in the Capitol."
A glow descended upon Johanna's living room, and they looked up to see the sunrise as it wove ribbons of gold and azure into the morning sky. The sight rendered them speechless for a moment.
"A new Panem, huh?" Johanna remarked, daring to put an arm around the girl, like she used to do to her younger sister. The girl had imagined Johanna's hands to be cold, like a soul which'd lost everything and more, but the woman's skin was warm to the touch, and she found her head slumping onto Johanna's chest for comfort. She heard Johanna inhale deeply, before her hair turned wet with her tears.
"Not for everyone, I'm afraid," the girl replied, "not if I can help it."