Nezumi stumbled blindly through the forest. Every time he faltered the vice grip on his arm reminded him that this was real, that the black shrouding his vision and soft whimpers from Shion somewhere behind him were not projections of his fevered mind.
Their captors pulled Nezumi to a stop and something creaked heavily in front of him. They descended a stairway. Their footfalls clanged and the air smelled stale, gritty, and metallic. They were going underground.
He was sure now these were not Peacekeepers. If they were, they'd already be loaded onto a hovercraft and speeding towards Capitol punishment. The only other identity he could devise for their captors was that of District 13—who else would go to such lengths to stay hidden?
And why are they being such assholes? He hoped it was a misunderstanding, but the rough handling didn't let him put too much stock in that hope. Certainly at least some of the rumors Shion had heard about District 13's hospitality were distorted.
They left the stairs behind and began walking on level ground. Nezumi couldn't hear a sound other than the scrape of their boots against the concrete. Where were the other people? Even if he couldn't see anything, he had no doubt that this underground complex was large. It would have taken a small army to construct and operate a stronghold like this.
They drew to a halt again, but this time Nezumi was shoved forward. He stood still a moment, but when the man's grip did not return, Nezumi cautiously pulled the bag from his head. He was in a small room. A cot was affixed to the wall and a compact toilet and sink were wedged into the corner. Dread clawed its way up Nezumi's throat.
He turned and met his captor's eyes through the cell door, and realized he was alone. The other officers had peeled off at some point.
"Where's Shion?"
"Your friend's being taken care of in the medical bay." The man took a step back from the cell. "Someone will be along to give you some medicine."
The corner of his mouth curled, so slightly that Nezumi was uncertain if it was a smile or a sneer. The man withdrew, paying no heed to Nezumi's shout for answers.
Nezumi paced with the caged intensity of a panther. It had been a day. It felt like eternity. He hadn't seen a single person since the woman who had come to give him a pill for his headache and dress his sting with plantain leaves. She wouldn't speak to him, and she avoided looking at him. He said some choice things about District 13's reception thus far, and even that didn't faze her. She left Nezumi with a bad taste in his mouth, from frustration and whatever herbal mixture was in the pill.
Shion still was not back. Was he all right? Three stings were bad, but Shion was strong. He would be fine. He would fight it. Right?
What if that officer didn't take him to the medical bay at all? What if Shion was doubled over in some other cell, buffeted by the terrors of his own mind? What if it was already too late?
Nezumi sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. He shouldn't have brought Shion. He shouldn't have believed they could be anything but unlucky strangers. Every time he was naïve enough to hope it was snatched out from under him.
Footsteps. Nezumi raised his head. The officer strode into view, looking surly as ever with his flinty eyes and close-cropped hair.
Shion was behind him. Nezumi shot to his feet and crossed to the door.
Shion looked pale and exhausted, but his eyes lit up when he saw Nezumi. His smile was flush with relief and Nezumi's heart swelled. Shion was alive and well enough, and he was happy to see him.
"Back up," the officer drawled.
Nezumi glared at the man, but moved back into the center of the space. The man didn't shove or command Shion into the cell; he didn't need to. Once the door was opened, Shion went right in and to Nezumi.
Nezumi knew he didn't deserve it, but he didn't care. He held Shion and thanked whatever power there was for the heartbeat he felt against his own. Shion drew back and smiled. Then his eyes flitted to their surroundings and his expression shuttered.
"Don't," Nezumi said. Nicks and scratches crisscrossed his face from their flight through the brush. Nezumi grazed the mark on Shion's cheek with his thumb. "It wasn't your fault."
Shion's mouth opened in half-hearted argument, but he let it go and rested his forehead against Nezumi's shoulder instead.
"This is very touching," the man said drily, "but could you pause your love making until I've briefed you?"
Shion lifted his head. Nezumi flushed, but he channeled it into anger. "About time someone told us what the hell is going on. I thought District 13 was supposed to be a haven, but that was obviously a load of shit."
The man canted his head. "I am Rashi, the commanding officer here, and I'm afraid what you've heard about District 13 is not entirely true. Especially when it comes to high profile persons such as you, Nezumi Singer."
Cold trickled through Nezumi's limbs. He let Shion go and faced Rashi.
"District 13 and the Capitol have an understanding, you see. We stay out of each other's business and no one gets nuked. It's worked rather nicely for the last few decades, but now…." Rashi shrugged and shook his head. "For the most part, the Capitol turns a blind eye to the runaways that manage to make it here, but sheltering one of their beloved victors puts a strain on our truce. The Capitol demands your extradition."
Of course. This would be the result of all his efforts. To have escaped, only to be caught at the last second and delivered into the Capitol's clutches in a neat bureaucratic package. Of course District 13 and the Capitol had an agreement. Why did he ever entertain the fantasy of it being a refuge?
Nezumi lifted his chin. "When?"
"As soon as our president and yours come to an agreement. Your misstep has allowed the Capitol to get its foot in the door after forty years. Fox is making the most of it." Nezumi could taste the venom in his words. "But I can't imagine negotiations will last much longer, and then 13 can go back to life as usual."
Right. Options. Nezumi drew himself up and wracked his brain—for leverage, a counteroffer, anything he might be able to use. But Rashi's sneer was ready and mocking. Nezumi knew there was nothing he could say to save himself.
"Let Shion stay here."
Rashi raised an eyebrow.
"The Capitol is after me. Shion isn't part of this; he should be allowed to stay here."
Shion grasped his sleeve, but Nezumi brushed him off. His eyes never broke gaze with Rashi's. "If you agree to that, I won't make trouble. I'll go back to the Capitol."
Shion grabbed Nezumi's wrist and planted himself in front of him. He shook his head violently, mouthing no repeatedly and with increasing force as Nezumi ignored him. Nezumi addressed the officer again. "Tell your president that's my condition."
Rashi grimaced. "That's a bit difficult. You see, we already offered your friend that deal. He said no—or rather, shook his head no."
Nezumi's attention snapped to Shion. Shion turned his face aside and glared at the floor.
"I wouldn't be too mad at him. The offer was tenuous at best. Maybe Shion wasn't involved at the start, but since your escape, the Capitol has linked him inextricably to you." Rashi smiled, but his eyes were flat. "The people are beside themselves with your kidnapping."
"What?" Nezumi knew what Rashi meant the moment the incredulous question slipped out. He knew the kind of games the Capitol played.
Rashi smiled his dead smile, and Shion turned to face the officer. Realization seeped into his face, leaching from it what little color he had regained in recovery.
"It's all over the news," Rashi said, finally breaking the silence. "The Avox who kidnapped their beloved victor in a fit of rage. The media is laying it on thick. Avoxes are unstable, dangerous, jealous." Nezumi bristled and Rashi's counterfeit smile tightened at the edges. "You two really screwed things up for Avoxes everywhere."
Shion's hands tightened into fists at his sides. Nezumi felt the immediate instinct to comfort him, but the look that twisted Shion's face stopped the impulse in its tracks.
Pure loathing. Shion glared at Rashi like he would tear him to pieces if not for the bars between them. Even though Nezumi felt the same, he felt uncomfortable at seeing such an ugly emotion on Shion's face.
He touched Shion's elbow. Shion relaxed his jaw and his snarl shrunk to an aggressive scowl.
"Their storytelling is quite masterful, and they have some very convincing footage from your bedchamber…" Rashi seemed genuinely curious on this point, but he shrugged a shoulder when he realized he would get nothing from them.
Rashi studied Shion. "The mugshots they're circulating of you are terrible. At first I thought they were edits, but I can see it now. There's a lot of pent up rage in you." Shion tensed, but was aware enough not to get riled up again. Rashi, though, apparently couldn't help himself and added, "It must drive you crazy that you can't give me a proper tongue-lashing right now."
"That's enough," Nezumi growled. He laid an arm across Shion's chest and stepped forward, shielding him from Rashi. "It's obvious that you can't help us and don't want to. You made your report, you can fuck off now."
Rashi held up his hands, placating. He flashed his grim smile at them once more before he strode off.
Nezumi muttered under his breath for the third time in the hour. He never thought he could hate anything more than the Capitol, but District 13 was slowly rising up the rankings.
Shion sat on the cot behind him, staring at the floor. After the officer had left, he retreated there and warded off any attempts Nezumi made at talking to him. Nezumi let him alone.
He needed time to think.
They'd never make it to the Capitol. There was no way Fox would suffer traitors to live, even if one was one of his precious victors—especially if one was a victor. Once District 13 negotiated his extradition, Nezumi would be escorted out of the compound and shot in the head before he made it three steps from the door. He wouldn't be surprised if it were Rashi who carried out the deed. The man would do anything to keep District 13 buried.
Fox would work the masses into a froth over the fate of their victor and then feed them the tragic news of Nezumi's death. They'd probably say Shion killed him in a hostage situation gone wrong. Then they'd take Shion to the Capitol and execute him publicly, milking the Capitol's grief and hatred to the last drop, and Fox's hold over Panem would be that much stronger.
Nezumi could see every step from here to the grave. He'd be damned before he walked right into it.
I survived the Hunger Games. I can survive this. We can survive this.
His and Shion's eyes met for a moment, but Shion's slid away, towards the hall. Footsteps again, but these were not made by Rashi's heavy military boots. Nezumi turned.
A young man appeared, holding a tray. He looked between Shion and Nezumi and tried to smile. "Hello. I'm Yamase." Nezumi glared daggers at him. The man's smile petrified.
He fixed his gaze on Shion instead, deciding, rightly, that he was the less terrifying of the political hostages. He cleared his throat. "I brought dinner."
Nezumi curled his lip at the tray of gray mush and bread Yamase pushed through the bottom of the bars.
"I'm sorry it's not much, but we all get the same rations here."
Even though there was a cage of metal separating him from them, Yamase took a step back when Nezumi approached to take the tray.
"And are we supposed to eat with our hands?" Nezumi sloshed the food around, accentuating its soupy consistency and the lack of utensils.
"I'm sorry, but the officers won't allow anything that could be used as a weapon." He almost looked sorry. "But you don't need a spoon. Scoop it with the bread. And if you need any water, I've got some." Yamase unpacked a glass bottle from the bag at his side and filled two paper cups. He set those on the floor just outside the bars.
Nezumi huffed and offered the tray to Shion. He stared, but didn't take it. Nezumi put the tray down on the edge of the bed. He half expected the young man to be gone when he turned around, but he was still there, his arms folded uncertainly across his chest.
"Can you get Shion's notebook at least? Kid's useless without it."
Yamase hesitated. "I can probably get you the book… But the pen…"
"Is too weaponlike," Nezumi finished drily.
And now Yamase did look sorry. "It isn't always like this, you know," he said, uncrossing his arms and looking earnest in a way that reminded Nezumi of Shion, except that it looked pathetic on this man. "District 13 helps the people who come here—my mother was a runaway from 12. It's just you two…" Yamase drooped. "I know it isn't fair, but there's nothing we can do."
"What a load of crap."
Yamase lifted his gaze. Weariness hung about his shoulders, as though he realized his mistake and was resigned to take the punishment.
Nezumi ground his teeth. He was sick of these hypocrites. Everyone wanted to be standing on the righteous side, and when they couldn't fool themselves, they immediately retreated behind platitudes and shrugs.
"You're a coward. Everyone in District 13 is. You've been hiding down here for forty years, and not once did you try to help the people in the other districts. Sure, District 13 might take pity on the one or two lucky ones who escape, but what about the other thousand? People are starving up there—dying—every day, and you do nothing. Hundreds of children have been murdered, and you turned your faces aside because you couldn't bear the inconvenience to your Capitol sanctioned asylum. District 13 is no different from the Capitol, except that the food in the Capitol is at least good."
Yamase shrunk back and Nezumi drew forward. It had been a long while since he'd laid into someone, and he relished the wash of hatred rising in his chest.
He wrapped his hands around the bars and leaned in until he could feel the cold draft of the metal on his cheeks. "Selfish bastards like you really piss me off. You think as long as you keep your heads down you'll be safe. You've sold your soul, and for what? You're still the Capitol's dog; it's just that you've got a longer leash.
"At least the people in the other Districts still have their pride. And one of these days, the Capitol will go too far and we'll have had enough. It may be tomorrow, it may take decades, but I promise you the day will come. And when it does, you're going to wish District 13 made a few more friends."
Yamase's hands curled at his sides. His face was pale and drawn and Nezumi saw the man knew that at least some of what he'd said was true. But instead of acknowledging it, he ran. True to form. Nezumi cursed his weakness viciously even after he was long gone.
Shion sniffled. Nezumi stopped swearing to the empty air and turned. Shion sat hunched over on the cot, head in his hands.
Nezumi sighed and crossed the cell to sit beside him. "This isn't your fault, no one's going back to the Capitol, and no one's going to die," he intoned. "I don't know what you're crying about, but that ought to cover all the bases."
Shion sniffed again and swiped at his face.
"We're getting out of here."
Shion angled toward him, his eyes shining with silent questions. Nezumi glared at the paper cups outside the bars.
"I have a plan."
