Chapter 38

Katniss's PTO

With an alarm blaring, I climb onto the desk and pull the map off the wall. I don't know what is happening, but I'm going to chance losing this map, it's how I get home.

Jumping down, I hastily fold the document up and shove it in my back pocket as I rush out of the storage bay and down the hall to the living quarters. As I draw near, smoke starts to fill the air. i The pasta, /i I realize, relieved it's not something more threatening, like my captor breaking in.

The living room is filled with thick gray smoke, and I start to cough. At the stove, I find the pasta water has completely boiled away and the pasta itself is now black and smoldering. Switching off the stove, I reach for a dusty towel and grab the handle of the billowing pot. With some effort, I manage to unlock the thick metal door to the bunker and pull it open. Fresh air wooshes past me, displacing the smoke a bit. I drop the pot in the small vertical tunnel that led me down to this haven and take a breath of clean air. The space is dark, only a small dappling of light makings it's way around the camouflaged door at the top of the ladder. Running a hand over the map in my back pocket, I can't keep the smile from my face. This ladder has become my savior for the second time in as many days. It provided me shelter, food, and access to what I need to figure out where I am so I can go home. iFinally, the odds are in my favor, /i I think, Effie's chipper voice of days gone by echoing in my memory. I kick at the burnt pot and a smile pulls on the corners of my lips. "First food that isn't crispy, then on with a shopping list, and then home," I sigh.

Twenty minutes later I have a full stomach and an outline of what I'd ideally like to take with me. I head back down to the vault and plop down at the computer again. Laying out my procured map, pull up the overlaid maps of Canada/The Wilds on the screen. My map is old and doesn't show the change in shorelines or where Panem starts and this country of Canada ends. I'll need to modify it, but carefully, I don't want to end up following a path right into the water.

Drawing in the new borders takes the rest of the afternoon, but by the time my stomach starts growling again, I think that I've transposed all the pertinent information onto the map. Leaning back, my entire back pops in protest after having sat hunched over for far too long.

To get to the nearest outpost in Panem it looks like I'll be crossing about 275 miles of hilly and mountainous ground. The map shows some old roads cutting across the expanse, they are likely no longer paved, but I'm hopeful the grading is still present, it is, that could make the trek as short as 5 days, but I'll plan for two weeks, which is the longest I think the trip would take and allows for a few days padding for the unexpected.

I snag the list I drew up over lunch and begin polishing it:

Backpack or bag

Water bottle

Lightweight foods for a month

Way to trap animals for extra protein

Weapon if there is one here

Sleeping bag

Plastic bag or sheet

Knife/saw/all-purpose tool

Fire starting

The Map

Warm clothes and an extra set of socks

First aid

Compass

Pot for cooking/water preparation

Hygiene items

Time to pull items. Taking the retrieval pad out of its pouch, I start punching the list of items I require into it and watching as the mini forklift brings box after box to the floor. Two hours later, I'm snacking on tinned sausages when the final box is placed at my feet. I've found nearly everything on the list, and anything that was perfect I found a suitable substitute for. I've even found a couple of things I didn't plan for, like water purification tablets and a handheld filter.

Resting back on my heels, I toss the last bitesize sausage in my mouth and let out an exhausted sigh. It's late but I want to pack my bag before turning it in for the night. It takes about an hour but soon I've tucked away a can of black beans and some more sausage and I'm snugging into the sofa. I've shut the lights out in this section of the bunker, leaving the lights from the vault on to serve as a "nightlight". A solid night's sleep is needed before I start my trek south tomorrow.

Tucking a hand under my head, I stare up at the dull gray ceiling and try to visualize the journey in front of me, but as I drift off into slumber the last image I have isn't of the woods or the mountains of the wilds I see in my mind's eye but my father's lake with the little cement cabin. Sun shines off the ripples on the surface of the bright blue water, a color so familiar to me that it's like a second home. My guard slips and I drift off into sleep.

Peeta's POV

The road the transporter bumps along is no more than two rutted paths heading north. It's teeth-jarring, but at least we are finally heading in the direction of the suspicious deliveries Carley's company provided us yesterday. I sit, anxiety clamping down on my guts and my hands holding me to my seat, wanting to shout questions, and demand answers, but I also know that goading these soldiers will likely only get me to put out on the side to the road, I mean it wasn't like they were exactly keen letting us come along after all. Can't throw out all of the 'persuasion' Haymitch used to get us on the transport, he's likely to put me out himself if I start running my mouth now. I suppress a laugh when I think that these folks even thought they had a chance of keeping him or us off this truck. Per usual, people underestimate Haymitch Abernathy. You'd think they'd know by now who they're dealing with, but I guess it works to our favor that they're as stupid and shortsighted as they are, got us here didn't it?

A tire hits a huge hole sending all of us sitting on benches in the back of the transport flying into the unupholstered roof. Johanna curses and rubs her head, "We better be getting close or I'm going to end up as braindead as brainless," she mutters under her breath.

"You're so charitable," I snort, rolling my eyes.

Johanna shrugs and opens her mouth to shoot back some snippy reply, but before she can voice her retort, the brakes squeal and the incessant bumping comes to a sudden halt.

The eyes of our trio immediately go to the windows, searching the foliage that surrounds the caravan for evidence of why we've stopped, but there is nothing, just the same weeds, and trees we've been looking at for the past two hours.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Haymitch demands

"The lead truck spotted what looks like a fence so they're sending troops in to check it out," the woman soldier in the passenger seat explains.

"We can help with that," I offer, struggling to keep my agitation in check.

The private turns her hazel eyes on me, clearly unmoved. "You'll stay put until its deemed safe. You aren't even supposed to be out here," she returns dryly.

Clearly, she's not a fan of us tagging along, so I mind my tongue. The wait for the 'all clear' or any information at all, is excruciating, but eventually, a group of four soldiers approaches our truck, and the private who's been driving step out to talk to them. Through the windshield, I can see one of them pointing emphatically at our truck and our driver shaking his head. Thankfully, the guy giving the commands appears to not be our unapproving driver because before long he's opening the back of the transport and ushering us out.

The soldier, who I can now see by the patch on his shoulder is a Sergeant Major, Sergeant Major Hemings to be exact, takes us in for a second before getting to the point. "Unlike some, I don't see any point in bullshittin' ya, and I'm not gonna keep all ya out of this, y'all have got more in stake here than any of us," he offers before taking a beat to consider his next words. "We've located Jasper Chilton." He says plainly. I gasp, but he puts a hand up in warning, "I'm sorry, but there isn't any sign of Katniss Everdeen," he continues evenly. "We have him restrained and we are questioning Mr. Chilton and we have another team scouting the grounds for evidence."

My heart plummets to my feet and I feel like I'm going to throw up. "You're sure?" I manage to ask through a tight throat.

The Sergeant Major lips tighten into a thin line as he nods his affirmation. "We're not givin' up, the grounds are quite large and there are a number of structures that may offer up clues as to where she is now. It's not clear if he knew we were comin' and has moved her, or if she was ever even in this location. There's a lot of work to be done before we get any of those answers." He returns honestly.

"I want to talk to him!" I demand.

Hemings holds up a hand. "That isn't a good idea, not just yet," he states. "He needs a proper interrogation done first. I've assigned my very best intelligent officer, let her do what she does best." He requests, a calming hand on my shoulder. "On a better note, I have cleared your team for entry into the compound. Your thoughts about this place that our suspect has built will be…most helpful I believe," He says, stammering a bit.

Haymitch catches the uneasiness that comes upon Hemings carriage as he makes his request for our help. His eyelid twitches as he stares at the Sergeant for a long moment. Having come to some kind of conclusion, he sniffs and says, "Well, get us the fuck in there then."

Hemings dips his head in agreement and points up the road. "See Sergeant Miller, he and his team will take you inside and I'll catch up with you in a bit."

With a nod, we turn and double-time it down the rutted road towards the soldier indicated by Hemings. Closing in on the front of the convey, a 10-foot high, smooth metal fence appears in the woods to our left. I stumble a bit at the sight of and a shiver works its way runs up my spine. It's a prison.

As we approach the group of soldiers and investigators milling about at the front of the caravan, I see that an entrance in the gate has been forced open. A tall dark-skinned soldier with sergeant insignia on his shoulder approaches us. "Mr. Mellark, Mr. Abernathy, and Ms. Mason," he greets formally. "I'm your assigned ride," he states, pointing to a dark green jeep sans its canvas top, parked near the mangled gate.

"I'm not that ancient, I'm fine walking'" Haymitch grumbles, clearly feeling as if he's been personally attacked by the suggestion of needing a ride.

Miller smiles and heads towards the transportation, "No sir, I'm sure you are quite fit, it's just that we're estimating this estate to be 20 or 30 acres and the homestead is about a 10-minute drive, just thought this is quicker," he supplies.

Johanna gives a low whistle. "I'm not hoofing it all that way, get in the car old man," she instructs, flinging herself into the passenger seat.

Haymitch huffs.

Grabbing him by an elbow I bodily move him towards the backseat, "Just get in the damn vehicle," I grumble.

"I'm goin'!" he grumbles, climbing up and sliding in over to allow me a place to settle.

With our escort behind the wheel, the engine roars to life and we're finally off. I can't sit still, both knees bounce in time to the bumps we hit on the road.

"Is it just me, or is this part of the forest got a different vibe to it?" Johanna asks.

"Huh, you're right, the trees are different. Driving up here it was all about the pines, but here, it's a mix. Like that there is a sugar maple, and that one is beech, I think. I don't remember seeing either on our drive-in or back in town," Haymitch muses suspiciously.

I'm deep in my own world of worry and anxiety, but the tone in Haymitch's voice pulls me into the present. My head swivels, taking in the woods around us. Haymitch is right, this looks different than the forests we traversed to get here. "Looks like home," I intone.

Johanna raises an eyebrow, "Well that's…creepy."

We're taking in the canopy above us when the road veers sharply to the right. The trees thin and there spread out before us, is something that is mind-boggling.

"What the Fuck!" Johanna shouts in shock.

I come to my feet, grabbing the crossbar over my head as we drive through a gate welcoming us to Victors Village. This isn't just any Victors Village either, this is District 12. From the defunct fountain in the center of the green to the small garden we keep next to Katniss's house, this is a replication of home. "What the…." I mutter.

The jeep comes to halt in front of what would be my house and while I want to play nice with the soldiers and mind my role in this whole thing, I literally have no control over my next actions. Without a word, I'm out of the jeep, up the front stoop, and halfway into the kitchen before I pull to a halt. Turning slowly, I'm literally gawking with my mouth hung open, at the room around me. The room is identical to mine, down to the color of the yarn I use to tie up herbs to dry out over the fireplace. "How the hell is this even possible?" I ask, running my hand over the flour-impregnated island top of my kitchen.

Haymitch who's also wandering around the room, pauses and pulls open the cabinet door where I keep plates and cups. Reaching in, he takes something out and looks down at it. Pivoting on his toes, he sets a mug carefully down on the island in front of me. It's the roughhewn ceramic mug I traded the potter in town for last winter. This mug isn't just similar to the one I have, it's exactly like the one I have, down to the chip on the rim near the handle. Haymitch runs a thumb over the chip and looks up at me, "I think you've been robbed," Haymitch ascertains.

I rub a fist into my eye and try desperately to make sense of what we've found. "No, I mean there is no way he could have gotten in there since we left, Sae and her crew are stayin' at my place so Sae can do the baking in my larger kitchen. There's no way he could sneak in with her and her family coming in goin'." I reason.

"How about in February, when you went to 13 to meet with Aurelius," Haymitch asks.

I shake my head but start creeping in.

"I kinda think you and Katniss might have noticed a fake Peety nosing around the village. At the very least a capitolite or any stranger for that matter would've been seen and been the talk of the town for weeks in a small town like 12." Johanna counters. "I'd also be amiss not to mention that this, "she says waving her hands around the room emphatically," level of crazy would take more than a trip or two to recreate, " Johanna states. "The only time he would have had unfettered access was during the war, and that doesn't explain the current items," she says, pointing to the mug. She takes a deep breath and lowers her eyes in concern. "The only logical explanation is hidden cameras," she says under her breath.

"Cameras are just a rumor Jo," I counter.

"Well, Peety, all of us thought so too. We knew there were mics, and the phone was bugged, but…uh…" she stammers a bit, pushes on," but after taking the Capitol Beetee found camera footage in the palace of a bunch of places we never suspected; different mayor's houses, Capitol buildings, and some victors homes." She admits. "I never bothered finding out whose houses were being filmed but seeing y'all were some of Snow's most favorite misbehaving victors it would be foolish to bet against it."

The thought of someone spying on every single move I made in my home for a year, sends a shiver up my spine.

Haymitch sighs in defeat. I can tell with one glance that he didn't know about the cameras. Despite that there was no way for him to know about this development, I can see the self-loathing building behind his eyes.

Johanna circles around the island and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know it's not a consolation, but you can trust me Pete when I say that Beetee burned that shit down," she says solemnly. "Ain't no one ever going to unbury what he's dismantled, we're free now."

I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out of my mouth. I stare down at my scuffed-up boots and reframe the real of my reality.

i He had Cameras. He saw everything. Every word that was spoken in hast or in affection, every interaction large or small, every look passed, the moments when we thought we were outsmarting the listening devices. /i A barrage of moments in time whip through my head like a filming being sped up. The moments from the precious to the mundane tumble over themselves through my head. An afternoon baking with the windows open, Prim hunched over her homework mimicking her Districts Industries teacher, who she couldn't stand, under her breath. Haymitch drinking himself into a stupor, slouched in his favorite armchair; Katniss, purchased on her back steps peeling potatoes or cleaning that day's catch. So many mundane and private things that belong to only those who lived it.

My throat feels like it's closing up as the everyday actions of life give way to the painfully private moments. They watched as we struggled through our days, dark circles under our eyes from nights spent tossing and turning or screaming from the games they threw us into. They witnessed that day in my parlor sitting on the hearth with Prim next to me, sad tears sliding silently down her face as I explain the true nature of Katniss's and I's engagement. They scrutinized me, my fragility on that first night back in my house after the Victory Tour; broken and crying into my big brother's shoulder as the full realization of what a life forcible married to Katniss would do to both of us.

Vomit threatens at the back of my throat. This is just another thing taken from us without our consent, something else to be used as currency in their goal of breaking us. My fist meets the counter, sending flour up into a cloud around me.

"Make you feel better?" Haymitch asks, nodding at my hand.

I glance down and find that I've split the skin on one of my knuckles. Grabbing a tea towel on my way out of the kitchen, I halfheartedly wrap the bleeding appendage.

I wander into the front room and look around. Suddenly the place feels foreign to me, not because the reality is that it isn't my home just a facade, but because now I'm seeing it with my eyes fully opened. The crevice in the fireplace mantel would be a great spot for a camera, or perhaps at the top of the ornate hat rack by the door. Every nook and cranny is ominous. My feet turn on their own towards the stairs. There's only more pain up there, but that doesn't stop my foot from finding the first stair.

A hand on my shoulder stops my assent, "Don't think that's wise son," Haymitch mutters in a low but concerned voice.

"I know. But…I have too," I state, looking over my shoulder at him. He looks grim and a little gray, but he nods in understanding. The climb to the second floor is labored. Each step tightens the noose wrapped around my stomach. Behind me, I hear Haymitch's labored breathing as he follows me to the second floor, resigned to the job of mentor once again. A silent support system.

The door at the end of the hall stands open a few inches, the sun streams through, dappling the wood of the hall floor, but I can't see inside. My uneven steps come to a halt just outside what would be my bedroom. I pause, looking over my shoulder at Haymitch. He's leaning against the wall near what would be my painting studio. Though morose, he gives me a nod of encouragement. I take a deep breath and push open the door.

My bandaged hand pushes open the door, and like the rest of the house, It's like I'm at home. Not a single picture or piece of furniture missing. "Surreal," I mutter, moving over to the dresser on the far wall, a picture of my brother and is wife at their toasting sits there.

"Fuckin' creepy," Haymitch sneers, having moved into the doorframe of the bedroom.

My fingers brush the top of the dresser, no dust. Turning on my heels, I go into the bathroom; it doesn't disappoint. The room smells of mine and Katniss's shampoos and soaps mingle together, it's kind of intoxicating. I breathe it in, relishing it a little but also laughing a little under my breath. In the real world, in my real bathroom, this combination doesn't exist. Stumbling back, I sink onto the edge of the tub. Hands-on my knees, I close my eyes.

"You okay?" Haymitch asks from the other room.

"Yeah," I manage, "Just….just…." I mutter, unable to find the words for the tumbling thoughts and feelings.

"Yeah, I get it," he grumbles.

I push myself up and move to the sink to throw some cold water onto my face. Hands flat on the cool marble, I hold myself up, as I stare at my own reflection. Water drips off my chin, catching in the two days' growth on my chin. There are deep violet smudges under my eyes, and deep lines run across my forehead and in between my eyes. I've seen myself like this, exhausted, hungry, and worry plain written across my skin, it's the look that arenas and war forever etched on my soul.

The door in the bedroom thuds loudly against the wall, startling me out of my trance. "Well, isn't this just all kinds of messed up?" Johanna grunts loudly.

I push away from the sink and go to the bathroom door and find Haymitch, muttering something sternly at Johanna who has her hands poised defiantly on her hips. Her eyes leave him and flutter quickly to the bed, then to me. She brushes past the older man and plops down on the bench at the foot of the bed. She's trying too hard to be nonchalant, but something is off. My eyes fall to the spot on the bed she was just inspecting. Curiosity mixed with the weird vibe in the room pulls me forward, and Johanna shuffles her feet against the floorboards. "I got someone to tell me where they're holding the crazy bastard. Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into," she suggests. I ignore her attempt to distract me and move to the side of the bed that Katniss would sleep on if she were to do such a thing. There, tucked under the pillow, I see a small loop of a light brown leather strapping, the kind Katniss uses to tie off her braid. Clasping the leather between my index finger and thumb I pull it out of its hiding place. It snakes out, revealing two beads on each end, one green and the other blue. The forefinger of my damaged hand plays along one of the roughly honed and glazed blue beads. I made these; I made this tie. I traded a week's worth of fruit and nut bread loaves to the potter in town to show me how to make them, fire them, and glaze them. I gave her this hair tie for our last Harvestfest celebration. My fist closes around the tie and my eyes squeeze shut as anger builds to rage as realization floods over me. i He didn't just hold her captive, he forced her to sleep in this bed with him /i. "Where is he?" I ask, my voice low and menacing.

Haymitch puts a hand on my chest, "Peeta," he says softly, the use of my real name showing his deep concern.

My eyes go from his worried ones to Johanna's flashing ones. "WHERE IS HE!" I growl out between my teeth.

Haymitch's chin drops to his chest in defeat and sighs. He knows he can't stop me. I'm too big, too strong for him or Johanna to hold me back.

"They're in Katniss's house, the kitchen," Jo says.

I shove past the pair, fly down the stairs, out of the house, and am climbing 'Katniss's' stoop with my two comrades close on my heels. At the top of the staircase, a guard is standing duty at the front door. Tall but young, the man stands at attention as we approach. When I reach for the doorknob, I am quickly rebuffed. "Closed interrogation, sorry sir I can't let you in," the soldier explains.

A humorless laugh escapes my chest, "Right," I snort under my breath and reach again for the knob. This time the soldier step in front of the door, his weapon over his chest, a defensive posture. I step back, and take a deep breath, trying to calm the rage thrumming through my veins.

I stare at the guy for a moment and glance back at my entourage, "Look, I know you're just doing your job, I was in the army too, but I'm going inside," I state plainly.

The soldier shakes his head, "I can't sir."

"I'm not asking," I clarify, taking a step forward, and crowding him against the door.

With a shuffle of feet and hands gripping the body of his rifle, I can see the soldier is unnerved. Still, he remains at his post.

I level my eyes with the muddy brown ones of the guard, "Do you really want to go a round with three victors?" I ask evenly.

His hooded eyes briefly travel to my companions, then back to me. "Sir…" he pleads.

I raise an eyebrow. "He hurt someone I care about," I say evenly, "What would you do?" I ask.

For a long moment, he just stares at me, wheels turning behind his eyes. After a beat, he steps to the side, "Don't kill him or I'll get court marshaled," he sighs.

I nod and push through the door into the living room. From the kitchen, I hear a deep voice echoing around the space. "What is your name!"

I hear shuffling and then "I told you, I'm Peeta Mellark!"

This is when my vanishing ability to control my actions completely dissolves. In less than a half dozen steps I have Jasper dangling in the air by his shirt, my face in his, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!" I scream.

Later I'll recall the sounds of chaos behind me, men and women shouting my name and people trying to pull this man out of my grasp, but at this moment, I see no one, hear no one. It is only me and the maniac.

This dip-dyed, creepy cerulean blue-eyed, crazy man dangles from my grasp like a limp rag, his face completely neutral. There is no sign of concern or worry in them, just a strange emptiness.

I give him a violent shake, "Where is Katniss!" I demand.

"She out, hunting in the woods," Jasper answers pleasantly.

Stepping forward, I push the fake version of myself up against the wall, bracing him against it with one of my forearms.

"Those soldiers back there," I growl nodding my head to the group behind us, "They've been all over this place, she's not on the compound. "What the FUCK have you done with her?" I bellow menacingly.

Confusion fills his dim eyes, "You think I hurt her?" he asks.

"You made her sleep with you," I grind out between my teeth, "So yeah, I think you're capable of hurting her!"

This causes him to laugh lightly, "It keeps away the nightmares. As victors we have intense dreams!" he says innocently.

This throws me off, causing me to loosen my grip. He slides down the wall till his feet meet the floor. i How does he know that? /i

"Why do you even care? I'm her fiancé and what we do isn't really any of your concern," he says offhandedly.

My forearm tightens up against his throat again. This time he beings to panic, "She isn't anything to you!" I spit.

I don't know if it's my feral rage or the fact I'm about to choke the man out, but the troops behind me finally intercede, pulling me bodily off the imposter. I buck against the four men holding me back as a medic rushes in to see Jasper, who is now laying prone on the floor of the kitchen.

Haymitch approaches, putting a hand behind my neck, and forces me to look at him, "Calm down! You're either going to mutt out or they are going to sedate you." he says evenly.

The even tone of his voice manages to seep past the inferno in my brain and the fight drains out of me. A shuttering breath slips from my lips, and I go limp in the arms of the soldiers surrounding me. Tears I didn't realize I had formed, slip silently down my face as the reality that the delusional man I've just assaulted isn't going to be able to help us find Katniss. He's too far gone to be of any help. Haymitch instructs my captors to prop me into a kitchen chair and Jo crouches down and puts a glass of water in my hands. "Drink," she demands.

"What if he killed her? If she denied him or made him angry and he snapped?" I ask numbly.

"There is no proof that he's hurt her, we've been all over the complex and have dogs searching too," the larger of the two soldiers who had pulled me off my target answered.

I take a sip from the glass in my hands, the water is warm and tastes strongly of iron. Finally, something different, a thing that the madman couldn't identically replicate. I gaze down into the cup and find a strange sense of solace in this fact.

The back door bangs open, startling everyone around the table. A breathless woman hurries into the room and up the large man who just told me about the dogs. "Commander, the house at the end of the block isn't just a shell like the others, it has a real basement, and you aren't going to believe what we found," she says between gasps.

Haymitch and Jo are both lifting me by the arms and shoving me toward the door before the Commander even has time to respond.