CHAPTER 10

PART I

"He's not here."

Katniss Everdeen looked down at the pair of broken bodies sprawled at her feet. The bodies were of two men, obviously dead, and surrounded by rubble…the remnants of the building that had first been a refuge, and later a trap, during an ill-conceived battle for Rail Hub One-Seventeen.

Although One-Seventeen was now firmly in the hands of the Rebellion, the victory had come at a high price.

The smell of death hung heavily in the air, but Katniss seemed to not notice. All of her attention was on the pair of bodies, dead now for several days, and, more importantly, the fact that there were only two bodies and not three, as she had expected to find.

"I think this one is Mitchell," Katniss said softly. Absently, she reached under the sling that cradled her left arm and tried to scratch under the hastily applied cast, wincing slightly as her fingers pressed too firmly on an especially tender spot. "I don't know who the other one is."

"It is Mitchell," Jackson confirmed, as she squatted down next to the body. "We served together for years. I'd know him anywhere." Her voice caught slightly as she spoke, but her face remained carefully neutral. "I think the other one is from Ten's militia," she added.

"He's alive, then." Katniss looked up at the two men standing off to one side. The younger of the two men was favoring his right leg, and was using a trident, of all things, as a makeshift crutch. The older man, whose erect bearing and confident demeanor were evident even under the filthy bandage that covered half his face, was looking at Katniss sadly.

"He's alive," Katniss repeated, her voice rising. "Alive! He has to be alive, Boggs! They wouldn't have bothered taking him if he wasn't!"

"Katniss," Boggs said gently, "it's been days, and we haven't heard anything. Do you think Snow would wait in parading him in front of the cameras if they had him?" Boggs shook his head. "Peeta would be an invaluable propaganda tool. I just don't think – "

"No! He's alive!" Katniss snapped. "He's not laying here dead! He's alive!" She turned to the younger man, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Finnick, tell him!"

Finnick Odair nodded once. "Colonel, we don't have a body. And Katniss has a point. The Peacekeepers wouldn't have bothered lugging a corpse out of here." He straightened up slightly. "I'm with the Mockingjay. Peeta Mellark is alive until…until someone can prove otherwise."

Boggs looked first at Finnick, then at Katniss, before nodding once, tightly. "Of course." He looked down at Jackson. "Lieutenant, please officially list Soldier Peeta Mellark as 'missing in action.'"

Jackson stood up slowly, carefully brushing her hands off on her pants. "Yes, sir," was her only response.

Katniss didn't reply. Instead, she spun around and, together with Finnick Odair, made her way carefully out of the rubble and into fresher air, even as Jackson was issuing new orders to Squad Four Fifty-One.

"Duffy, contact Graves Registration on these two," she ordered. "Homes, you and the Leeg sisters stick to Everdeen and Odair. Don't let 'em outta your sight." As the soldiers turned to comply with their orders, Jackson looked around the ruined building and shook her head slowly.

"What a mess," she muttered.

"Agreed." Boggs said as the two soldiers walked slowly through the ruins.

"I don't think he's alive," Jackson said, as they carefully stepped over the twisted remnants of a conveyor belt.

"Neither do I," Boggs agreed. "Chances are; some overexcited Peacekeeper blew his brains out before he realized what a prize he had. He's probably buried in a shallow grave somewhere here in One-Seventeen." Boggs paused, wiping his sweating face with a filthy bandana. "I just can't see Snow not taking immediate advantage of such a prize…if he was delivered alive."

"That's my thinking also," Jackson said.

"Still," Boggs added, "make sure your personnel report lists him as 'missing in action,' but you may want to add 'presumed dead' to that."

"Yes, sir." Jackson replied.

"Just don't let Everdeen know about the 'presumed dead' part," Boggs added.

Jackson didn't reply. She was a good soldier, and a good leader. Boggs knew she would do exactly as she was ordered.

"What a mess," he muttered.

Boggs stood in front of President Alma Coin's desk, staring at a spot on the wall behind her head, as she finished scrolling through the report on her PADD. After several minutes, she sighed, tossed the PADD onto her desk, and sat back in her chair, tiredly rubbing her eyes. Only then did she look up at Boggs, her face set in an impassive mask.

"Sit," she said, waving him into a chair.

Slowly, Boggs sat down, but he didn't relax. His back was straight, each hand clasped firmly on his knees, his face just as impassive as Coin's, as he waited for her to speak again.

He didn't have long to wait. "What a cluster fuck," Coin muttered.

"Yes, ma'am," Boggs replied carefully.

Coin looked at Boggs sharply. "Oh, relax, Boggs." Her gaze softened slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"All right, Madam President," Boggs said. "The doctors tell me that the bandages can come off the day after tomorrow."

Coin nodded. "Good." She paused for a moment before continuing. "And how about Odair and our Mockingjay?"

"Finnick Odair has a badly sprained ankle. Katniss Everdeen's left arm was broken. They are both still in the hospital, but it's just a precaution at this point." Boggs looked down at his lap. "I'm more concerned about her mental state."

Coin nodded. "Give her a couple of days. Perhaps by then we'll have some solid news about Peeta Mellark."

"Heavensbee thinks he's alive, then?" Boggs asked skeptically.

"He hasn't been able to confirm with his operatives in the Capitol, but yes, he thinks Mellark is alive."

"Then why hasn't Snow announced his capture?"

Coin shrugged. "Who knows? But Everdeen made a good point. Why haul his body off? If the Peacekeepers were able to identify the body of Peeta Mellark, then all that they needed to do was to take some photographs and clip some of his hair for DNA analysis to confirm. The situation at that point was very fluid, and it would have taken two to four Peacekeepers to carry him off. I doubt if their commander would have committed Peacekeepers that were needed to fight just to carry away a corpse."

Boggs nodded slowly. "I had Jackson list him as MIA, presumed dead."

"Prudent," Coin replied. "At any rate, One-Seventeen…or what's left of it…is now in our hands."

"There's only one operational rail line coming out of One-Seventeen," Boggs said. "General Beck promised two more up and running in thirty days. The Peacekeepers really made a mess of things there."

Coin shook her head in disgust. "Beck," she said, practically spitting the word. "He's already screaming for more support. At least Paylor is more diplomatic about it."

"The other rail hubs in Ten don't seem to be as well defended as One-Seventeen," Boggs pointed out. "The Peacekeepers were hell-bent on denying us One-Seventeen. They expended fully a quarter of their assets in Ten in their attempt to deny us that one hub."

"And almost succeeded," Coin pointed out. Wearily, she rose to her feet. "I want you to go back to your quarters for the rest of the day, Boggs. Or to a recreational facility. Anywhere but work. Understand?"

"Madam President – "

"Don't argue with me, Colonel," Coin said firmly. "Watch a video. Listen to music. Sleep. You're no good to me, or to the Rebellion, if you're exhausted." She turned away, and then looked back at Boggs. "Now, excuse me. I'm going to meet with Mitchell's family. His mother and I have known each other since childhood. I owe her this much."

PART II

"Wake up, Townie."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar voice. Gamma Churchill was perched on the end of my bed. Next to her, Gale Hawthorne was sprawled casually in a chair. I groaned and let my head fall back to the bed.

"Nice to see you too," Gamma said.

"Please give me some good news," I muttered. "I could use some. In case you haven't noticed, I'm in deep shit here."

"Yeah," Gale replied flatly as he sat up. "We can see that. Not enough that you had to play hero in Eight. You just had to do it again in Ten."

"I don't need any lectures, Hawthorne!" I snapped. "If that's why you're here, then you can go haunt someone else."

Gale stood up suddenly. "We don't need this shit, Gamma. If he's not appreciative of our help, maybe we should go!"

Gamma sighed. "Shut up, Gale," she said tiredly. She turned back to me. "We don't have much time. I have two messages. Are you listening?"

I felt my heart rise in my throat. "Is it…is it about Katniss?"

Gamma ignored my question. "First message: things aren't always what they seem."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Second message: take both."

"That's it?" I snort in disgust. "You two pop in, speak in riddles, and leave. That's the best that you can do?"

Gale snapped his fingers. "Gotta go, Gamma."

"Afraid so, Townie," Gamma said as she patted my leg. "We'll talk again. Bye for now."

"Wake up."

"Go away," I mumbled.

The reaction this time was to grab me roughly by my shoulders and shake me. "You traitorous little shit!" A hand slapped me across my face, jarring me fully awake. "Wake your ass up, now."

I forced my eyes open and found myself staring into the cold eyes of one of my Peacekeeper guards. Shit. Not Gamma and Gale. "Sorry," I muttered, hopefully sounding contrite.

"Smartass," the guard grumbled in an unmistakable District Two accent. "Sit up," he commanded. "You have a visitor."

Slowly I complied, my ribs protesting as I propped myself up on my elbows and swung my legs off the rough cot, the stainless steel chain attached to my one good leg jingling slightly as I moved. I sat on the edge of the cot as the guard stepped back, signaling to someone outside my cell. I heard the door creak open and the guard, without a word or a backward glance, stepped out of the cell. A moment later, another man stepped inside, and I was immediately assailed by a familiar odor of blood mingled with roses as the cell door clanged shut once again.

President Coriolanus Snow walked slowly into my cell, pulled the single chair out, and sat down, facing me. For long seconds neither of us spoke, and I could feel the decidedly uncomfortable sensation of his eyes, serpent-like, sizing me up, as a snake must do to a mouse before it strikes.

"How do you like your new accommodations, Mr. Mellark?" Snow finally asked.

"My room in the hospital had a window," I replied honestly, hoping that he didn't sense just how frightened I was at that very moment.

Snow chuckled. "That it did, my boy. That it did." He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully with his fingertips, before continuing. "You don't seem surprised by my visit."

In fact, I was shocked, but I was determined not to let him know that. Instead, I just shrugged. "I guess I haven't given it a lot of thought, Mr. President."

Actually, if you really want to know, Mr. President, I'm somewhat relieved that you're here. At least I'm reasonably sure that I won't have a cloth tied to my face and water poured on it, or have my balls hooked up to live wires, as long as you are sitting here.

I didn't reply. "No matter," Snow continued, waving his hand dismissively. "I am here because I have just received some news that I wished to deliver to you personally."

"What's that, sir?" I asked, hoping that I sounded interested.

"It seems," Snow said, "that I was given faulty and premature intelligence. As it so happens, Katniss Everdeen is still very much alive."

You son of a bitch! I'd rather have my balls electro-shocked! "You…you told me before that she was dead," I managed to say, my voice catching in my throat.

"So I had been given to believe," Snow said. "And, in hindsight, I should have waited for confirmation before passing on such distressing news to you. Be that as it may, earlier reports were in error. The body of a young woman bearing a very strong resemblance to Miss Everdeen was recovered by my Peacekeepers during the fluid phase of the battle in District Ten, and, in apparent eagerness to collect the posted reward, reported that Katniss Everdeen had been killed."

"Why should I believe you?" I choked out, my eyes suddenly blurry with tears.

Snow actually looked hurt. "Mr. Mellark, do you recall the deal that you and I made during my last visit to District Twelve? You do remember my visit with my granddaughter, Andromeda?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "Good. Then you remember that we agreed not to lie to one another. That's an agreement that I hold personally sacred, Mr. Mellark. I trust that you feel the same way."

I finally found my voice. "Things were different then," I managed to say.

Snow's bushy white eyebrows went up in an inquiring expression. "Oh? How so?"

"We weren't at war," I point out.

Snow laughed again. "And we aren't at war now, my boy. These uprisings are disjointed, uncoordinated, and doomed to fail, just as they did during the Dark Days."

I could feel anger welling up inside me, in spite of my fear. "District Twelve was burned to the ground. District Eight is in ruins, and, from what little I saw of District Ten, well, it didn't look…or smell…much better than either Eight or Twelve. Sir, if that's not war, then what is?"

Snow's eyes narrowed into slits as I spoke, and, for a moment, I was afraid that I had gone too far. "Mr. Mellark, do you really want the answer to that question? What you've witnessed so far is nothing. How would you like to see nuclear mushrooms sprouting over the rebelling districts? Imagine thousands…even hundreds of thousands…dead in the blink of an eye. Incinerated. That, Mr. Mellark, is real war."

"You wouldn't do that," I said, my voice a near whisper. "You need the districts and what they produce to support the Capitol."

"Point taken, Mr. Mellark," Snow replied. "A single example would suffice to make my point. District Nine, perhaps. After all, much of their growing capacity is dedicated to the tesserae fields, and those are only for the benefit of the districts. Production of high quality grains could be given to, say, District Eleven. I'm sure they would gladly absorb District Nine's quotas in exchange for being spared a similar fate."

"You're forgetting one thing, sir," I pointed out, rather smugly.

"Oh?" Snow asked innocently. "And what might that be, my boy?"

"District – " Shit. I was about to say "District Thirteen," but "where are you and the rest of the rebels hiding?" was a standard interrogation question…and one that I had resisted answering in spite of the best efforts of my torturers.

"District…Thirteen, Mr. Mellark?" Snow chuckled again. "Oh, yes, we've figured that out long ago. They were the only ones that possessed the necessary military capability to support the insignificant little uprisings that have, sadly, taken up so much of my time of late. So, you see, my boy, you could have saved yourself a great deal of discomfort if you had simply answered a few simple questions during your interrogation sessions."

Okay, so he knows about Thirteen. That means he knows that Thirteen has nuclear weapons of their own. That means that he's bluffing about nuking any of the districts! In spite of my slip-up, it seemed that there was no real damage done. I vowed to be more careful. In his impeccably polite way, President Snow was a more effective interrogator than the worst of the Peacekeepers.

"Thirteen has nukes too," I pointed out flatly.

"Which they will not use, unless in direct self-defense," Snow replied confidently. "Whereas I have options. District Nine, as I've mentioned before. Or perhaps I could deliver the coup de grâce to District Eight. It is of no further use to me anyway."

"District Eight was a Rebel Victory," I said. The news that Katniss was still alive…I knew that Snow was telling the truth; honesty was about the only virtue that he did possess…has made me bold in a way that I wouldn't have been just a few short minutes ago.

Snow shook his head sadly. "No, my boy. District Eight was a concession, not a victory for your pathetic little band. I simply chose to not contest it. After all, it really wasn't worth fighting for, now, was it?"

Was he lying? Did he just let District Eight fall into our hands? In terms of unimportance to the Capitol, Eight had ranked just below Twelve. Panem could get along just fine without Twelve's coal. And textile production could be absorbed by other districts that already had industrial capability, such as Two, Five, or Six. I thought back to the differences between the battles for Eight compared to what I saw in Ten at Rail Hub One-Seventeen. The Peacekeepers in Eight were defeated, demoralized, and desperate to just save their skins. In Ten, they fought viciously, and that was for one small piece of a large, sprawling district.

I knew then that Snow wasn't lying. And I knew that he would defend those districts that he deemed important just as fervently as he did in District Ten.

"At any rate," Snow continued, "I just wanted to pass on the happy news that Katniss Everdeen's death was, as an old saying goes, 'greatly exaggerated.'" Slowly, Snow rose to his feet. I heard the cell door creak open at the same time, and vaguely wondered how they knew to open the door at that exact moment.

Snow turned to leave, stopped, and then turned back towards me one final time. "She is alive for now, Mr. Mellark. For now. But I want you to think about something."

"What's that, sir?" I asked, feeling fear grip my insides once again at his suddenly menacing tone.

"I don't need District Thirteen either."

"But you said – "

"I said nothing." Snow's voice grew colder. "And I have no intentions of provoking a nuclear response from Thirteen. Options, Mr. Mellark. Always have options. A conventional strike would suit my purposes just as easily as a nuclear option would. Think about that, during your next interrogation session."

"I won't betray them."

Snow smiled unpleasantly. "I thought we had agreed not to lie to one another, my boy."

"I'm not. But I won't talk."

"A lie of omission is still a lie." Snow turned to the Peacekeeper standing patiently by the cell door. "Another session for Mr. Mellark is in order. And this time, do not stop until he gives you names. I want him broken. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Snow looked over his shoulder at me one final time. "Not that I need names, you understand." He smiled again. "And don't go anywhere. I wouldn't want you to miss anything."

I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how scared I am! Mustering my courage, I replied, as casually as possible, "I can't, Mr. President." I waved one hand at the empty place where my prosthetic leg would normally be. "You've taken my leg."

Snow's eyes narrowed slightly. "So I have." He then turned and stepped out of the cell, but not before issuing one final order to the Peacekeeper.

"Broken. Completely."

PART III

Coriolanus Snow glanced up from the report that he was reading, slamming the cover closed in disgust. In spite of their best efforts, Peacekeepers were now fighting a losing battle in District Ten, with several more rail hubs falling to the Rebels. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, looking up at the soft chime of his desk intercom.

Snow sat up, reached out, and punched a button. "Yes?"

"Minister Blackstone is here, sir."

"Send him in." Snow sat back in his chair and casually reached for a teacup, the chamomile now tepid, and took a quick swallow, grimacing slightly. He briefly toyed with the idea of summoning an Avox to warm the beverage up, but pushed the thought from his mind as his inner office door swung open and Panem's Minister of Security entered the room.

"Ahh, Blackstone," Snow said. "Right on time." He waved one hand at a high-backed chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

The minister, obviously nervous, eased into the chair. Snow steepled his fingers in front of his lower face, gazing at Blackstone for a moment. Stewing in his own juices, Snow thought. Well, he should. Another district lost…not to mention impossible-to-replace Peacekeepers.

"We have a problem, Blackstone," Snow finally said, his voice casual, almost conversational.

"Yes, sir," Blackstone replied nervously.

"Winter is fast approaching, Blackstone. Shipments from District Four are practically nonexistent. Ten has fallen. That leaves Nine and Eleven as our only food sources, and shipments from both are spotty and inconsistent. Soon rationing will become mandatory here in the Capitol, for all food items. Even if I order the opening of our strategic food reserves, we won't last through the winter."

"Yes, sir," Blackstone said again.

"You're the Minister of Security, Blackstone," Snow pointed out coldly. "I expect to hear something more from you than 'yes, sir.'"

"Mr. President, distribution of foodstuffs falls under the purview of the Minister of Agriculture," Blackstone replied shakily. "Perhaps if we heard what she – "

"I have already spoken to her," Snow said quietly, but with menace hanging over every word. "She cannot very well distribute what she does not have, now, can she?"

"No, sir."

Snow shook his head in disgust. "Give me an update on Ten."

Blackstone did. The situation was bleak, and, as previous reports had indicated, Ten was a lost cause as far as the Capitol was concerned. Snow listened as Blackstone made his report, saying nothing until the end.

"Recommendations?" Snow asked.

Blackstone took a deep breath. "Evacuate all of our remaining Peacekeepers from Ten while we still have the means to do so. Concentrate our efforts on District Six."

Snow raised one eyebrow. "Six? Why?"

"Deny the Rebels transportation. It's obvious that their next move will be either Nine or Eleven. I would bet on Eleven. But they can't move food without trains. So, we defend Six, and, if necessary, disable or destroy the trains to prevent them from falling into Rebel hands."

"Then we would be unable to move supplies as well, Blackstone," Snow pointed out coldly.

"Yes, sir," Blackstone replied. "Temporarily. But we have reserves. The Rebels don't. We can use their own strategy against them."

Snow looked thoughtful. "I'm glad to see that I did not make a mistake in appointing you Security Minister. Very well then…begin evacuating the Peacekeepers from Ten for immediate redeployment to Six. Blackstone, kudos for thinking outside the box. The Rebels won't expect this move. However, I don't want to launch into any operation involving the destruction of transportation assets just yet. I have another option that I wish to employ first."

Blackstone looked puzzled. "What's that, Mr. President?"

"How is Peeta Mellark's interrogation coming along?" Snow suddenly asked, ignoring Blackstone's question.

Blackstone was startled by this sudden shift. "Uhhh…he is still resisting, in spite of our best efforts. He's given us no names, and no other information regarding District Thirteen. I've never seen anyone able to resist the way he does."

"I should never have told him about Katniss Everdeen," Snow muttered. "I've given him hope. Hope, Blackstone, is the only thing stronger than fear. And young Mr. Mellark was afraid, make no mistake. Afraid and in despair over the loss of his beloved Katniss Everdeen. And now that I have told him that she lives, his hope is able to overcome that fear. No matter." Snow sat upright, his voice changing timber, becoming more forceful. "He is still of use to us. He will be useful as a coercion tool to keep Miss Mason compliant and willing to broadcast her pleas for the Rebels to disarm. I want him available for her next broadcast."

"Yes, sir," Blackstone said.

"One last thing, Blackstone," Snow added. "I want a strike on Thirteen. Conventional only. Penetrators. We'll catch them napping and, with luck, we won't even need to deploy our forces to Six." Snow paused for a moment before continuing, a cruel smile creasing his face. "The snake will die if we cut off its head."

"When would you like this strike to take place, Mr. President?"

"During Miss Mason's next broadcast," Snow replied. "I'm sure the entire population of Thirteen will be glued to their Holo-screens, calling for her pretty little head." Snow looked down at his desk and the unread report sitting on it, before he looked up again. "That's all. You may go."

Blackstone stood, carefully saving his notes on his PADD. Snow was already engrossed in the report that he was studying. But, as Blackstone turned to leave, Snow's voice, suddenly cordial, stopped him.

"How is Sperantia?"

"Very well, thank you, Mr. President."

"Well, perhaps in the next day or two she can pay Andromeda a visit. Andromeda misses her so."

"I'll have her call Andromeda, Mr. President," Blackstone replied.

"Yes, do that," Snow said absently, already back to concentrating on the report. Blackstone breathed a sigh of relief and quickly made his exit, happy to be leaving under his own power, rather than share a fate that had befallen other unlucky members of Snow's cabinet.

He, at least, was still breathing.

PART IV

"What are you doing?"

Rory Hawthorne's head jerked up at the sound of Primrose Everdeen's voice. He had been so startled that he nearly dropped the file that he had been using on the rear grip of his carbine. He smiled sheepishly when he saw who it was that had startled him so badly.

"Personalizing my weapon," Rory replied with a wolfish grin as he turned back to his task.

Prim frowned. "How?"

Rory held up the carbine and pointed to the rear grip. "See?"

Prim bent forward, examining three narrow, v-shaped notches cut in the bottom of the pistol grip. "Why did you do that?"

"We're all doing it," Rory replied, as he passed his file one final time over one of the notches. "Sergeant Duffy heard about it from a militia sergeant in District Ten. They cut notches in their weapons for each confirmed Peacekeeper kill." Once again, he held up his carbine proudly. "Sergeant Duffy told me I have three confirmed."

Prim's eyes narrowed. "And you think that's something to brag about?"

This was not the reaction that Rory had expected. "Well," he stammered, "we…we all thought that it would be a good idea to – "

"To what?" Prim snapped. "Brag about your 'kills?' What are you, Rory? A Career?"

"Prim, I don't understand – "

Prim snorted. "That's obvious. Rory, do you really think it's okay to brag about killing people?"

"My brother died in the Games, Prim," Rory said defensively. "And I was flogged…by a Peacekeeper…for trying to feed my family! Your own sister was almost killed in the Games, remember? Katniss has done her share of killing, don't forget!"

"Katniss doesn't brag about it!" Prim practically shouted. "She hates it! For that matter, so does Peeta, and Madge, and July Barrow. You're the only one that seems to like it!"

"I don't get it," Rory grumbled. "You grew up in the Seam, same as me. Remember our fathers dying together, Prim? Remember all those hollow days, when, no matter how much we managed to eat, it wasn't nearly enough? Remember watching Twelve burn, Prim? I do. And it's all because of the Capitol. And Snow." Rory stood suddenly, clutching his carbine tightly in one hand. "I won't apologize. Not now, not ever. They owe me, Prim. They owe us. And I plan on collecting what they owe me, one Peacekeeper at a time."

Prim shook her head sadly. "I don't even know you anymore," she whispered.

"I'm the same," he replied firmly. "Maybe it's you that's changed."

Prim watched Rory stalk away angrily. We've all changed, she said to herself. And I don't think winning this war will bring us back to the way we were.

"She's not ready, President Coin."

Coin glared at the speaker. "I was given to understand that her arm is practically healed, Dr. Aurelius. What's the problem?"

"Her arm is almost completely healed," another voice chimed in, speaking in a refined Capitol accent. "The rapid healing protocols have knitted bone in days, rather than weeks. Katniss Everdeen has another problem, which can be best explained by Dr. Aurelius."

"Thank you, Dr. Picardo," Aurelius said. "To put it succinctly, Katniss is suffering severe emotional trauma as a result of the loss of Peeta Mellark. Trying to force her in front of cameras for propos at this point would be a waste of time."

"I see," Coin said coldly. "I assume that you are treating her for this trauma?"

"President Coin," Aurelius explained patiently. "Katniss Everdeen's condition cannot be 'fixed' by a pill, or an injection, or hypnotherapy, or electroshock. She deeply loves Peeta Mellark. Her reaction is identical to that of a person suddenly losing a close relative or a spouse…even more so because we don't know what happened to him. If we had concrete evidence that he was dead, then I could work with her to bring her some closure. We just don't know."

"My operatives in the Capitol have been able to give me assurances that are eighty-five to ninety percent reliable that Peeta is alive and being held in the Capitol," Plutarch Heavensbee said. "That information, by the way, is classified. However, we could tell Katniss – "

"Nothing," Coin interrupted. "We say nothing unless we are one hundred percent sure."

"I agree," Aurelius said. "Too much of a chance that the information is faulty. That would be even more devastating to her in the long run."

"We need her," Coin muttered. "And Mellark as well. She's what the districts are rallying behind." Coin turned to Heavensbee. "Locate Mellark. That is your top priority, Mr. Heavensbee. And, once we find him, our new priority will be in rescuing him."

"A rescue mission will require a lot of assets, Madam President," Heavensbee pointed out. "If Peeta is being held with the other Victor prisoners, then, well, we can't ignore them. We have to get them out too, if at all possible."

"Do we have confirmation on any outside of Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta?" Coin asked.

"Three more probable prisoners," Heavensbee replied. "Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister Victors from One, and Enobaria from Two."

"Careers?" Coin asked in surprise. "Snow has his precious Careers in prison?"

"Well, 'detainees' or 'confinees' may be more accurate terms, Madam President," Heavensbee explained. "My operatives think that they were brought to the Capitol to prevent them from possibly displaying pro-Rebellion sentiments."

"Why go to all the trouble?" Coin asked. "Why not just kill them outright?"

"They're too famous…too high-profile," Heavensbee replied. "Such a move could backfire on Snow…and he needs the continued support from both Districts One and Two."

"Good point," Coin said. "All right. Any potential rescue mission has to take into account as many as six Victors." She smiled for the first time. "Mr. Heavensbee, imagine the propos you could make with eight Victors…and fully half coming from Career districts!"

"We gotta get 'em out, first," a gravelly voice pointed out. Coin turned and faced the new speaker, Major Silenus Festuca. "Ain't gonna happen unless you got support on the inside. And, on another note, I don't like what I'm seein' in District Eleven."

Coin sighed. "How so, Major?"

"Well, Snow's pulled out his remainin' Peacekeepers in Ten," Festuca pointed out. "But he's only sent token forces to both Nine and Eleven. He's holdin' back a lot of troops, and I can't figure out why…or where he could possibly send 'em."

"Somehow I doubt that he's conceding Nine and Eleven to us," Coin said. "Mr. Heavensbee. You actually knew Coriolanus Snow. Any thoughts on what his strategy might be?"

Heavensbee shook his head. "Snow plays chess, Madam President. He's actually quite good. And his chess strategies are unorthodox, to put it mildly. Our move into Ten surprised him. More than likely, he was probably expecting us to tackle a more malleable target that has already been softened up, such as Four or Eleven. Our campaign in Ten has tipped our hand to our immediate goal of securing food for the Rebellion, while denying that same food to the Capitol." He shook his head again. "If anything, he should be beefing up his garrisons in Nine and Eleven."

"So you have no idea what he may be up to?" Coin asked bluntly.

"No, Madam President," Heavensbee admitted.

"In the future, Mr. Heavensbee, a simple 'I don't know' will suffice." Heavensbee's neck and cheeks reddened slightly at the rebuke. "Mr. Latier," she said, turning away from Heavensbee, "I need you to get a message to Districts Four, Six, Nine, and Eleven, to alert us in the event that they experience any unusual upticks in Peacekeeper activity."

"Yes, President Coin," Beetee replied quietly.

"And," Coin added, "let Chaff know that Eleven is still next on our timetable, barring any new intel."

"Of course," Beetee murmured as he quickly tapped keys on his PADD.

"All right," Coin said as she stood up. "We're done here. Henry will inform you of the exact time for our next meeting. Plan on – " she glanced at her PADD "– tomorrow afternoon. We'll finalize our District Eleven op then."

As the group filed out of the conference room, Boggs hung back, falling in step with Festuca. "Major," he said quietly, "got a minute?"

Festuca glanced quizzically at Boggs. "Sure, Colonel," he replied as they walked down the corridor. "What's up?"

"How well do you know Rory Hawthorne?" Boggs asked.

Festuca shrugged. "Seam kid. Hard life. But you could say that about everyone from the Seam. Why do you ask?"

"I heard he was flogged," Boggs said slowly. "For poaching."

Festuca looked at Boggs sharply. "Yeah, he was. By Thread. That bastard striped his back good. Where are you going with this, Colonel?"

Boggs sighed. "Primrose Everdeen came to me earlier. It seems that Staff Sergeant Duffy has been encouraging his troops to notch their weapons with each confirmed kill they make."

"And the Hawthorne kid took him to heart?" Festuca snorted in disgust.

Boggs nodded. "Apparently Duffy learned the trick from a trooper in Beck's militia. He and Hawthorne were the only two in his team doing it. I've set Duffy straight. I was wondering if you'd do the same for Rory Hawthorne."

Festuca looked at Boggs in surprise. "Me? I hardly know the kid!"

"Well, either you or Abernathy," Boggs said irritably. "The kid looks up to you both. He'll listen to you."

"I'll talk to Haymitch about it," Festuca promised. "Although I don't personally see the harm. The kid's got a lotta anger and hate in him. He needs to let it out somehow."

"And if he's ever captured, you don't think the Peacekeepers won't figure those notches out?" Boggs asked. "Yeah. They will. And it'll go hard for young Hawthorne." Hi voice softened a bit. "You or Abernathy set him straight. I'll get him a new rear grip for his carbine."

"Deal," Festuca replied. "I knew a detachment of Peacekeepers in Four. They were stationed in a remote spot, and they were the justice there. Took to slicin' off ears and wearin' and stringin' them as necklaces if they had t' shoot or hang some rabble rouser. It's a pretty common trait. Easier to kill your enemy if you don't look at 'em as human to begin with."

Boggs nodded. "Thanks," he said softly.

Festuca grinned. "Don't mention it. Kid's got enough on his plate as it is." The elevator door slid open and Festuca stepped inside. "See you tomorrow, Colonel."

"Major," Boggs said as he inclined his head slightly. A second later, the doors clanged shut and Boggs watched the elevator descend, before sighing and turning away. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done, he said to himself as he impatiently waited for the elevator to return.

PART V

I shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bunk in my cell. My genitals and nipples still burned from where the wires had been clipped to me earlier. Still, I managed a humorless grin, in spite of the pain. I have yet to give my interrogators any information, in spite of their best efforts.

I know that I'm not alone in this prison. I've heard screams – female screams – coming from an adjoining cell, as well as some very loud, skillfully applied profanity. The voice is familiar, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my neighbor is none other than Johanna Mason. I have yet to see her - or anyone else for that matter - other than Peacekeepers, and my single visit by Snow. But I'm pretty sure it's her.

The sound of the cell door opening fills me with momentary dread. They have already fed me, so the only reason that anyone would be entering my cell now would be for more "interrogation." However, when I saw one of the Peacekeepers carrying my prosthetic leg, I knew that was not the case, and I relaxed slightly.

"Sit up," the Peacekeeper with my leg commanded gruffly. He tossed my leg onto the bunk as I complied. "Put that on."

"What's going on?" I managed to ask as I snapped my leg in place.

"Command performance," the other Peacekeeper said with a laugh, as he unlocked and removed the chain from my good leg. "And we ain't about to carry you. So stand up."

I complied shakily, standing as still as I could while the two Peacekeepers shackled my arms and legs, carefully running a chain from both sets of shackles to the belly chain around my waist. "I didn't know I was so dangerous," I managed to say.

One of the Peacekeepers slapped the back of my head. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, as he and the other Peacekeeper each took an arm. "Come on."

They led me out of my cell, not bothering to close the door, and, for the first time, I got a look at my surroundings. I was most definitely in a prison. Gray steel doors were regularly spaced down a long corridor. Like my cell, the walls were painted a dull off-white. My escorts and I only took a few steps out of my cell when we stopped.

I kept my mouth shut this time, not wanting to earn another cuff across my head. As it turned out, we waited for only a minute or so before another door swung open and a second prisoner stepped into the corridor, also escorted by a pair of Peacekeepers.

This prisoner was a female, slightly older than me, and well dressed. She, along with her escort, were trailed by a pair of Capitolites that positively screamed "prep team." The woman didn't show any outward signs of physical abuse, although she was gaunt, and had dark circles under her eyes that the makeup didn't quite manage to hide. We stared at each other in shock and mutual recognition for a second or two, until the woman spoke.

"Hello, handsome," Johanna Mason said through a forced smile. "Don't take this personally, but you look like shit."

I was forming a response when one of "my" Peacekeepers slipped a hood over my head, muttered "Let's go," and hurried me blindly down the corridor.

Voices.

I stumbled a bit as my escort roughly hurried me along. I heard one of them curse as, none too gently, he grabbed me under my arm and jerked me upright. I grunted slightly from the pain, silently pleased with myself that I was able to stifle any louder reaction. Suddenly, my escorts stopped, and one pushed me down into a hard metal chair.

"Sit," he growled. I could do nothing else but comply.

I was still wearing the hood, so I couldn't see a thing…but I could hear just fine. I concentrated on the voices around me, trying to hear what they were saying, hopeful that I would be able to recognize who was talking. I was soon rewarded for my efforts…and what I heard chilled me to the bone.

"– take it that everything is on schedule?" There was no mistaking that voice. It belonged to Coriolanus Snow.

"Yes, sir," a new voice – one that I couldn't identify – replied. "They took off from District Two four hours ago. So far they've reported no radar contact. By the time Thirteen picks them up on radar they won't have any time to take shelter, much less mount a defense."

"Good, good," Snow's voice said enthusiastically. "Well done, Blackstone. And the penetrators?"

"They can punch through six levels before exploding," the other voice…someone named Blackstone…replied. "They are the most powerful conventional bombs in our arsenal. The hovercraft will climb to bomb run altitude five minutes after the start of the broadcast, and will deploy their weapons three minutes after that."

"Excellent," Snow hissed. "Perfect, Blackstone. Perfect." I could feel that cold knot of fear twist inside my belly again as I processed what had just been said. A bombing raid on District Thirteen. And, as far as I knew, Katniss was in District Thirteen. And I had no way to warn them.

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by Snow's voice, now much closer. "Remove his hood."

Immediately the hood was jerked from my head, and I blinked as bright lights hit my eyes. I could make out a figure looming in front of me as my nostrils were assailed by the now-familiar odor of blood and roses. Coriolanus Snow.

"Welcome, Mr. Mellark," Snow said jovially. Gradually, he came into focus. I could see another, younger, man standing just behind him that I assumed was the one the he addressed as "Blackstone." Beyond the two men was a room that I easily recognized. It was Caesar Flickerman's sound stage.

"Hello, sir," I managed to croak. Snow frowned at the sound of my voice and he glanced to one side, gesturing impatiently at someone. Almost instantly a member of the stage crew appeared next to me and handed me a bottle of water. I took it and drank thirstily.

As soon as the bottle was drained a Peacekeeper plucked it from my hand. "Better?" Snow asked.

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable." Snow nodded at another Peacekeeper, who moved forward and unshackled my hands, and then immediately stretched out my right arm, forcing my fingers into loops and strapping my arm firmly to a wooden plank. The plank was then attached to the side of my chair. My right arm was now fully extended to one side, with my hand splayed wide open. The Peacekeeper then quickly strapped my left arm to the arm of the chair that I was sitting in.

"That's not necessary!" Johanna Mason said from behind me. She stepped into view, her face contorted in a mixture of anger and fear. "I told you I would cooperate!"

"No doubt you will, my dear," Snow purred. "However, in the event that you decide to not cooperate, I have Mr. Mellark here as an insurance policy." He turned back towards me. "I would much prefer to have Caesar Flickerman interview you, Mr. Mellark. You are much more articulate and persuasive than Miss Mason. However, you've displayed a remarkable ability to resist interrogation, and I doubt if you would be swayed by threats of physical harm to either Miss Mason or Miss Cresta."

"So Johanna says what you want her to say, or I get hurt?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm. No easy task, considering that my guts were once again churning with fear.

Snow nodded. "Crude, but necessary. And I am sure you will be a more effective deterrent than poor Miss Cresta. Unfortunately, she does not always have a firm grasp on reality, and would, more likely than not, be more apt to display confusion, rather than fear." Snow smiled unpleasantly. "You, on the other hand, are quite afraid, are you not? I can smell your fear, Mr. Mellark. And that's why your presence here will be much more effective."

"And if I scream?" I managed to ask. "Won't that ruin the audio feed?"

"Not at all," Snow replied. He signaled at the Peacekeeper standing next to me, who pulled a gag from his pocket and stepped behind me. I had just enough time to tense my neck and jaw muscles before the gag was slipped into my mouth and tied behind my head. Once it was in place I relaxed, and – yes! I could feel a little play in the strip of foul-tasting cloth. I had already decided on what I needed to do. I just hoped that my voice would be heard clearly enough.

"Mr. Mellark," Snow said in a remarkably gentle voice, "should it become necessary for us to use you as a coercion tool, please know that you may now scream as loudly as you wish."

Snow then turned and spoke quickly and quietly to Blackstone. The younger man nodded once before hurrying off. Johanna caught my eye and silently mouthed, "I'm sorry." I nodded in response, my mouth and tongue still working on the gag. I just needed to loosen it enough to shout a quick warning.

"President Snow?" Caesar Flickerman stepped forward, shooting me a quick - and, what seemed to me - apologetic glance. "Sir, we're ready."

"Ahh!" Snow rubbed his hands together. "Very well then. Mr. Flickerman, you may proceed."

I watched as Caesar Flickerman and Johanna Mason took their places on the stage. Tonight there was no studio audience, of course. Just the handful of people watching off-camera from the side of the stage. Technicians and make-up people buzzed around Caesar and Johanna, and, for a moment, it reminded me of the interviews that I had given as a Victor. Only now, the stakes were much higher.

I forced myself to remain calm. Once Caesar began to talk to the cameras, I had eight minutes before the bombs began to fall. But, in order for any warning to be effective, I had to be able to get it out long before then. I figured three minutes. I continued to work away at my gag, feeling it loosen a bit more…but still not enough.

"Good evening, Panem," Caesar's rich, soothing voice started the mental stopwatch inside my head. "Tonight, another interview with our favorite Victor-turned-antiwar activist, Johanna Mason. Johanna, how are you this evening?"

Johanna's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly in my direction. "Fine, Caesar. And yourself?"

I tuned out their opening banter and concentrated on the task at hand. By now there was no doubt that I would, eventually, be able to loosen the gag. The only question was…would it be in time? I was acutely aware of the Peacekeeper standing at my side and slightly behind me. I would only be able to shout a few words before he would react.

There! I felt the gag slip just a bit. I risked a glance at Snow, but he was focused on the interview. At one point, one of his bodyguards glanced over at me, and I froze, terrified that he noticed my loosened gag, but he turned away casually. I closed my eyes for a second, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly. He didn't notice anything.

I was ready. The gag was loose enough that I could push it free from my mouth with my tongue. I only hoped that my voice would be clear enough so that my words were understandable. My mental stopwatch was still running, and I knew that I had to be very near that three-minute mark, or even a little past it. Five minutes. Five minutes for the people of Thirteen to get to shelter. Five minutes to –

"Thirteen!" I shouted, and I could hear that my voice was still muffled, still distorted, but I pressed on. "Incoming! COVER!"

My head suddenly exploded in pain and I was dimly aware of the sensation of my chair tipping over, of Snow shouting, "Cut it!", and Johanna screaming.

There was another explosion of pain inside my head, and then I wasn't aware of anything at all.

Katniss Everdeen sat in the mess hall, scarcely paying attention to the interview between Caesar Flickerman and Johanna Mason. I'm not going to cry again, she said to herself. I need to be strong. Peeta would want me to be strong.

It was no use. Katniss could feel fresh tears welling up and she quickly pressed the heel of her left hand to her reddened eyes. Wordlessly, Haymitch Abernathy, sitting to her left, laid his hand on her shoulder, while Finnick Odair, sitting to her right, squeezed her right hand gently.

Katniss wished she could acknowledge her friends' compassion, but she was so emotionally spent that even a simple "thank you" was beyond her present capacity. She found herself wishing that the mess hall was its usual noisy self, with people angrily shouting at Johanna's pleas to disarm and stop fighting, but tonight it was stonily quiet, and any sobs that she allowed herself to make would be easily heard by all.

"I don't care what Coin says," Finnick hissed at Haymitch. "Katniss doesn't need to be here right now!"

"Mandatory viewin' Finn," Haymitch drawled softly. "It'll be over soon, and – "

"THIRTEEN!"

Katniss sat bolt upright at the sound of the voice, her eyes widening in surprise. The voice had been muffled, and obviously didn't come from either Caesar or Johanna, and it was oh, so familiar. It could only belong to one person –

"INCOMING! COVER!"

The sound of a scuffle, then a woman's scream, then the unmistakable voice of Coriolanus Snow angrily shouting, "Cut it!" The image on the video screen jerked wildly, briefly showing a view of the scaffolding and lighting rigs above the stage, and then abruptly disintegrated into static.

The mess hall erupted into chaos. Haymitch looked at Finnick. "Incoming?" Finnick looked grim and nodded.

"That was a warning," Finnick snapped. At that moment, a siren began to wail as a mechanical voice began to repeat a recorded air raid drill message, ordering everyone to immediately evacuate to the shelters. Haymitch and Finnick immediately grabbed Katniss by the arms, only to find that her eyes were still glued to the static-filled video screen.

"You're alive," she whispered. "You're alive!"

"And we need to stay that way," Haymitch urged. "Come on, Sweetheart!"

Katniss allowed Haymitch and Finnick to pull her out of the mess hall, and to the emergency stairs, as the sirens continued to wail and the air raid message continued to play. Tears were flowing freely down her face, but these were not tears of despair, because she had just heard a voice that she had all but given up hope of ever hearing again.

The voice belonged to Peeta Mellark.

He was alive.

And, for the first time since he had disappeared, Katniss Everdeen smiled.