Ricochet

Chapter 23: In a different light

Author: Carla, aka cali-chan
Rating: Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.
Genre: Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.
Pairings: Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.
Canon/timeline: Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of The Hunger Games. Katniss is 21.
Disclaimer: Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.

Note: I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Summary: "Primrose Everdeen." This can't be happening, Katniss thought. She desperately pushed through the crowd. I volunteer!, she wanted to scream. I volunteer as tribute! But she couldn't, because she wasn't eligible for the reaping anymore. There was nothing she could do.

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"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers." —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

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Gale had been bluffing when he said he'd figure out how to get out of the district.

Well, partly; he knew he could find a way out (eventually) but he was more aware than he let on of how hard it was going to be. He knew "his" side of the woods very well, and the expanse of fence that separated him from them. He couldn't go under it (Katniss could, but even back when it wasn't permanently electrified his frame was much too big for that), so the only way out was by going above it.

Of course, going above the fence meant he had to find a way to get twenty feet off the ground and then safely back down on the other side. He knew there wasn't anywhere near that area where he could do this, not for at least half a mile on either side of the place by the meadow he usually went through. There were many trees that were tall enough, but very few had branches sturdy enough to hold his weight, and he wasn't going to risk breaking his neck by jumping off from that height, anyway.

So that day, when everybody was dismissed from the Town Square after the Games started, he decided to skirt the fence until he could find a spot that worked for him. He wasn't sure one even existed. He walked for miles until he finally found a place that looked promising: one of the old coal warehouses, about half the size of the Hob, which had been in disuse for years.

It was a creaky, run-down depot that hadn't been used for coal in over twenty years, not since the new outgoing warehouse was built on the opposite side of the Seam, near the train station. It was away from the Seam proper, almost hidden into a little niche, only the fence separating it from a dense patch of forest. Usually empty, but Seam teens would hold parties there sometimes, whenever they could con a couple bottles of white liquor out of Ripper. (He dimly wondered if that's how the rumor of her liking youngsters started, though he'd always been more than willing to turn on the charm, regardless, as long as it could get them free booze).

In the couple of weeks since Thread had arrived at Twelve, though, one of the first things he did was make sure people couldn't use it, and a number of similar warehouses that littered the Seam, for "unlawful assembly" or to store illegal goods (the Hob was the first one to go). So now doors were chained and padlocked, and every window or hole in the walls was boarded up. Thread had announced publicly that if people insisted on breaking in, the next step would be to burn these "condemned" buildings to the ground.

Fortunately for Gale, he didn't have to get inside it, he just needed to climb it from the outside: there was a huge black oak on the other side of the fence, and its branches had grown over the fence, almost into the structure of the roof of the warehouse. So the next morning, before it was light, he walked out of his house carrying nothing but his game bag, and inside it, a length of rope. He brought nothing else with him; whatever he could need, his family needed it more. He left only a small note where he knew his mother would find it, two lines he hoped would be enough: Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'll be back soon. Undersee would have to fill in the blanks.

He managed to secure the rope on the edge of the roof, around a support beam that looked like it would hold. He piled a few garbage bags and boxes that were nearby and used them as a stepladder before hauling himself up with the knotted rope. It was tough, and he mentally thanked the forest for all the climbing experience, but he was still uneasy even as he made it to the top. It would be the biggest joke ever if, for all his usual bravado about routinely going into the forest and hunting among wild beasts, the dilapidated structure collapsed under his feet before he even managed to get to the other side of the fence.

Being careful to keep his weight balanced on both legs, he brought the rope up, tied it around his waist and grabbed onto the sturdiest branch he could reach. He felt patently ridiculous as he did (usually he had to climb up the trunk and onto the branches, not the other way around), and he was glad Thom and Bristel weren't around to see him in that position, or he'd never hear the end of it.

He made it to the other side of the fence and safely down the trunk of the tree in just a few minutes, but he didn't actually get on his way until much later. He had to go back following the fence, all the way to his side of the woods, to get his bow, arrows and knife. He took the time to check his snare lines— whatever he'd managed to catch since he last was out in the forest was inedible by then, but he could use the wires and framework to set them up somewhere else, so he took the time to pick up as much as he could.

He paused for a little while at the spot where he and Katniss usually met up. For what felt like the thousandth time he wondered where she was, how she was doing. If she was okay. If she was alive.

It was late afternoon when he made it to the lake. He'd never been there before; Katniss had mentioned it a few times, how she used to go there with her father when she was younger, but it was too long a hike and they didn't usually have time to waste, focused as they were on hunting for their families. Now that he was there, however, he figured he'd be better off sleeping in the cabin than anywhere else, so he decided to stay for the night. He'd continue on his journey the next morning.

He made use of the last of daylight to set up some snares and to throw the fish lines. The waterfowl in the lake were barely even bothered by his presence, so it was easy to shoot a couple, one to eat that night, and another just in case nothing caught on the snares. He also picked some katniss tubers, to complement the game.

When night fell, he lit a fire. Normally he wouldn't risk it, because any craft flying above would be able to locate him by the smoke, but Thread cancelled the hovercraft sweep he had previously ordered just as soon as Mellark made his unexpected appearance on television before the training scores were revealed. There was no point in looking for him and Katniss in the forest when clearly they weren't there.

He thought back to Mellark's message on TV as he sat down to skin the ducks he'd caught. Just as it had that night, none of it sat well with him. He would never admit it to Undersee of all people, but the truth was that Mellark's little TV intervention, along with Rory's angry words, had shaken something in him, and maybe that had been a factor in his decision to go look for Thirteen.

It wasn't so much what he said that really bothered Gale. He had known all along that Mellark had a thing for Katniss— the man had just about admitted it the last time they spoke. And yes, it irked him that Katniss seemed to humor Mellark's attempts at conversation when she usually kept a polite-at-best distance from everyone else she traded with. The baker was a likeable guy, and apparently even Katniss was not immune to it.

He couldn't deny that seeing Katniss become so quickly at ease with some other guy, particularly one who had designs on her, annoyed him greatly. Katniss didn't lend her attention and her time to just anyone, and it hurt that she would give it to this guy, this merchant, who didn't know what her life was like, everything she'd been through. Who didn't know her like Gale did.

So sure, he felt a little possessive. Katniss had never admitted to having romantic feelings for him, but they'd been best friends for years. They were partners. They understood each other. They'd been each other's support system when things around them got tough, and that meant something to him. He hoped it meant just as much to her— more than anything Mellark, or any other man out there, could mean.

But it wasn't jealousy he felt after Mellark's message on TV. Maybe a twinge of it, but that was normal for him; it wasn't what drove him to the forest in search of a lost district that might not even be there at all. Despite what other people might think, he wasn't just angry the baker was trying to steal "his girl." He knew very well by then that the biggest obstacle in getting Katniss to love him was not any "competition" he might have, but Katniss herself.

It wasn't that. It wasn't even the fact that the woman who was asking Mellark questions seemed to be under the impression that he and Katniss were married. Which they weren't. They couldn't be. It had only been two weeks, and Katniss had always insisted she was never going to get married anyway. That wasn't about to change so quickly. It had to be a ruse of some kind.

That's what really jumped out at him that night: the why. Why did they even need to put up that pretense? They'd gone to the Capitol to rescue Prim, and Mellark had somehow ended up on television. Gale wasn't stupid: he knew, as different as they were in tone, that latest broadcast interruption was just as much a message as the clip of Katniss at the Reaping was. A message from an unidentified rebellious faction to the districts.

Mellark was working with the rebels. And what about Katniss? The baker had said her name, so Gale had to assume she was in on it, too. Katniss had gone to the Capitol to save Prim. Mellark had only gone with her so she wouldn't go alone. How in the world had they gotten involved with that?

The bottom line was: not only was Mellark helping Katniss where he couldn't, but he was helping her rebel. And Gale, outspoken Gale, who had never made it a secret that he hated the Capitol, and who should've been there by her side, encouraging whatever they could do to help bring them down, was stuck in District Twelve, unable to do anything but watch.

Maybe Undersee had a point: being the one left behind... that's what really hurt.

As he cooked the meat, he wondered how his family was doing back home, and how they had taken his absence. Did they buy the excuse he'd sent with Undersee? Speaking of which, had they accepted the help she offered? He may have agreed to it, but his mother was her own person, and as much from the Seam as he was. They had the same views when it came to receiving charity.

The difference was, if it helped her children, his mother would put aside her pride without a second thought, without guilt. She might offer to wash all of the Undersee family's clothes for free for a while, but he highly doubted she would refuse the help. It helped that the girl who was offering was so damn polite.

He snorted, imagining the Mayor's daughter walking through the Seam, carrying a giant basket filled with food, complete with fancy napkins and a picnic blanket, and knocking on the door of his house only to be welcomed with befuddled expressions. He shook his head. He hated to admit it, even just to himself, but that girl was something else.

Through the years, he'd never paid much attention to Madge Undersee. She used to sit with Katniss at lunch in school, so he figured the two girls were friends of a sort, but even then he didn't spare much thought for the blonde. She was easy to overlook. She was pretty enough, in a "frail" kind of way, but apart from the fact that she was the daughter of the Mayor and as such the richest girl in the district, there wasn't anything particularly striking about her.

Maybe that's why it was so easy for him to point his hatred of all things Town toward her. He didn't bring up his dislike of her too often because Katniss didn't like it when he did that, and even less to Undersee's face because he never really interacted with her outside their quick, get-in-get-out strawberry transactions. But it irked him that out of all the teenagers in town she would be the one with the most reason to brag, yet she didn't. He didn't understand why, and he didn't like not understanding.

To add insult to injury, whenever he did voice his dislike out loud, there was little to no reaction from her. She always remained cordial and non-confrontational, no matter how snide his comments. It always seemed like she was holding back; like there was so much more she wanted to say, but was far too polite, or maybe even afraid, to do so.

It made her come across as weak. Gale didn't like weak people; not when they had no justifiable reason to be that way, having food to sustain them, a good roof over their heads, and clothes to keep them warm. People who had everything weren't allowed be weak.

Part of him wanted to see what it would be like to make her lose her composure. That wasn't why he antagonized her— not on purpose, anyway; for the most part, any scornful comments he threw her way weren't really meant for her, but for snobby townspeople, oppressive district officials and the government itself. It was only too simple for him to mentally designate her an avatar for all of the above. But he always wondered what it would be like for her to finally say what she usually held back.

He saw it the last time they spoke.

He wasn't gunning for it, but somehow frustration and fear and urgency piled high enough for both of them and that, coupled with his cutting dismissal of her offer to help, was enough to make her snap. She didn't yell at him, she didn't berate him; she just told him directly how she felt. But there was something in her tone, in her expression, that commanded his attention for the first time since he knew her.

It wasn't a fire, like he saw in Katniss often enough; instead it was a kind of steely determination. She wouldn't be overlooked. She didn't downplay her fears, her doubts; she knew her limitations (which he agreed with), and even so, whatever was in her power to do, she would, because she wanted to help. She was taking a stand.

In that moment, he began to see her in a different light. Maybe she wasn't so weak after all, and he found that he respected her for that. It's why he accepted her offer of helping his family while he was away; he wouldn't leave the well-being of his mother and siblings on the hands of just anyone, but he knew what it was to feel powerless, and her resolve struck a chord with him.

If she could keep that up, he didn't doubt his mother would accept her help, too. She knew the girl was friends with Katniss, and if Gale approved of her, that should be enough. He just hoped the kids didn't give her grief for being the "bearer of bad news." He asked her to transmit to them his excuse for leaving, and he hoped they wouldn't take it against her, instead.

Posy had to be mad at him for leaving so abruptly, he knew. He should probably expect the silent treatment from her. That had been the worst possible punishment between friends back when he was in grade school, and he figured that still held, so he'd have to be ready for a few days of that when he went back home. The prospect sucked, as he already got enough of that from Rory. At least Vick wasn't likely to get angry at him; he was more like their mother that way, trusting that Gale had a good reason for leaving, though he was probably curious about what it was.

Thinking of his siblings made him feel a pang of longing in his chest, so he decided to focus on the food instead of thinking too much of home. He pulled the duck out of the fire and roasted the katniss tubers, helping himself to a small but satisfying meal. The rest he sliced thinly, using his game bag as an impromptu smoker, so it would keep for a few days. Hoping more would catch in his snares overnight so he wouldn't have to waste too much walking time hunting, he went into the cabin to sleep.

Thankfully it was summer so he didn't need to start up the fireplace; in fact he rather welcomed the cool breeze coming in through the empty windows. The cabin wasn't exactly comfortable (you could barely call it a cabin, really), but at least he wouldn't have to worry about wild animals coming way too close as he slept. He'd heard howling in the distance a while ago, so it didn't hurt to keep cover.

He lay down on the concrete floor, which was nowhere near as cool as the breeze, and tried to get as comfortable as possible. Which wasn't saying much. He couldn't believe it, but he actually missed his creaky old mattress.

The next morning, it was the heat more than the sun which woke him up. He had some leftover roasted katniss tubers as a quick breakfast and went to check on his traps: there was nothing in the snare lines but he did manage to catch two medium-sized fish. He'd eat those later or the next day, because they'd spoil before the smoked meat did.

After putting everything in his game bag, he picked up after himself as quickly as possible— he was fully aware from that point on his pace would be slower, as he was venturing farther into the forest than he ever had in the past, and he had to watch his step. Efficiency was the name of the game.

That idea proved correct sooner than he expected. At around noon, he began seeing signs of a specific animal trail through the forest, heading in the direction he intended to go. Whatever it was, it was big, and individual; probably a bear. He had to go around the area instead of going straight as he had planned, which meant he would've been walking in the dark if he hadn't started the hike so early.

A little while before sundown, he started looking for places to settle down for the night. He hadn't yet decided whether he should find high ground and sleep up in a tree, or if he could risk sleeping on the ground. Taking into account the trail he had found, the latter probably wasn't a good idea, but he wasn't finding many trees sturdy enough to take his weight; a while back he'd begun to notice that trees in that area were different than back home.

He found a place where he could make a fire to cook the fish (maybe he could accompany it with some berries, there were a few bushes around), and he was just beginning to set up when he heard it. It was a sound he was familiar with, and immediately had him ducking for cover: it was a hovercraft flying low, just above the treetops.

He looked up from his spot among the bushes and could just see the edges of the craft in-between tree branches, though judging from the noise it was clear it was flying just above his head. He barely caught sight of the Capitol Seal that was marked on the hull before the aircraft moved out of his line of sight.

He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake in coming out into the forest. He thought he wouldn't have to deal with this. He'd spent enough time in the woods through the years to know hovercrafts didn't usually do fly-bys unless they were specifically looking for someone, like that one time he and Katniss had spotted one intercepting a pair that looked like Capitol runaways. He hadn't anticipated encountering hovercrafts in this trip; he thought Thread had cancelled his order for a permanent sweep.

Or maybe that information had been wrong. Maybe the sweep was still on. But then why hadn't he seen any others before? He'd been out in the forest for almost two whole days, but this was the first time he saw (or even heard) a hovercraft in the area. They couldn't still be looking for Katniss and Mellark.

For one panicked second the idea crossed his mind that they may be looking for him instead. But so soon? Those Capitol runaways he'd encountered a few years back had run all the way to District Twelve before they were found out. It would've taken weeks for them to walk that distance, perhaps even months as he couldn't expect Capitol people to have any sort of experience when it came to surviving in the forest. So how could they have found out Gale had left before even two days had passed?

Someone had to have told. Was it his family? Were they alright? Or maybe they'd forced an answer out of Undersee? But that made no sense either, because if they thought he'd gone to look for Katniss, like he'd told her to say, they would be looking on the opposite side of the district.

The opposite side...

As he came out of his hiding place, he looked up at the sun. Not only was that the only hovercraft he'd encountered in two days, but it had been flying west. Not south, as it would've been if it was heading back to Twelve, but west. What was west of Twelve? He could barely remember his geography classes at school— though he clearly remembered ditching them often— but he thought it was the wide plains of Eleven, part of Nine and Eight, and then the Capitol. Maybe that was its destination.

More importantly, it had flown by heading west from somewhere northeast of his current position. Northeast was the direction he was heading in. Where Thirteen used to be.

He frowned. Something really strange was going on. This basically confirmed his theory that there was something more than ruins out there. But that was a Capitol hovercraft he just saw. If whatever was currently in Thirteen's former location was under Capitol control, was there even any point in him trying to get there? Most likely he'd get himself captured and killed.

Maybe he shouldn't have done this. Was he so upset by the knowledge that he couldn't help Katniss, so yearning to prove (to whom?) that he could do something, that he'd let some hearsay cloud his better judgment? Had Mellark's little stunt on television shaken his confidence so much that it made him reckless? The biggest irony was that even Undersee had handled things better than him, he thought with much disgruntlement, because in his eagerness to be a part of the rebellion, he'd completely ignored his own limitations.

He sighed. The sun was going down. Go back or keep going— whatever it came down to, he couldn't move until morning, anyway. In the meantime, he needed to forage for berries.

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Author's notes!—

Because I can't not have at least ONE nerdy note per chapter: Smoking and drying has long been a process used to extend the shelf-life of meats for longer than they would naturally last. However, it's more than just exposing the meat to smoke for a few minutes; smoking meats fully is a long, drawn-out process, and even then, smoked/cured meat should be kept in refrigeration in order to really last for longer periods of time. In this case, Gale gives the meat a partial smoking because it's the only choice he has in the middle of the forest, but even then it's still a risk. I wouldn't recommend for anyone to try that kind of impromptu smoking in a real-life situation.

And now, something of an anecdote: There's this book, written by a local author, that's about the day-to-day misadventures of this country guy (think of him as the Panamanian version of a redneck, sort of). I had to read that book for school many, many years ago. There's a chapter in it that's all about the guy winding up lost in the forest, and I swear to God that chapter was the longest chapter of anything anyone has ever written, ever. It was excruciating to read. Or at least it felt that way to me. That book is widely regarded (by me at least) as the most horrible form of torture for eight-graders since the advent of Hemingway's The Old Man And The Sea. Trauma doesn't even begin to cover it.

Anyway, the morale of this story is: Yes, I know this chapter is short, but there's only so much "forest adventure" I can write before wanting to cover my ears and curl up into a ball a-la Annie Cresta. It's a miracle I even made it through the first book of The Hunger Games as it is (that's actually not a criticism, but a credit to Suzanne Collins' writing. I mean, the plot is fantastic, but the pages and pages and pages of Katniss dragging herself through the forest looking for water and food would be enough to make me fling a lesser book against a wall). And yes, it's not a very eventful chapter either, but I needed Gale to be out of the district because of reasons.

But I'll give you guys this: if I get lots of reviews for this chapter, I may be convinced to post chapter 24 before I finish writing 30. Hint hint. ;) I mean, it's not like I really need to be six whole chapters ahead, right? (watch me live to regret this offer). So go on, let me know how you liked this and if you'd like me to post the next one soon! :)