Chapter 10

District 10

Peeta

When they said they were sending us to war, I thought they meant in the air quotations "war", you're going to be in the green zone but we'll make it look good in editing way. I have greatly underestimated the general's willingness to put a man with a fragile psyche in harm's way.

We touch down pretty close to Clint's ranch in what used to be the victor's village of District 10. Everything around is flat and dry – we're surrounded on all sides by what looks like miles and miles of grassland. Even the sky seems bigger – it's so wide open I almost feel some sort of bizarre reverse claustrophobia. The sun is shining and it's hot – which isn't helping conditions here. It's not exactly a raging war at the moment, but pretty much all of District 10 is a battlefield. I don't know how many propos I've watched where Morgan Stark's voice explains that, "The cowardly Capitol uses mines and air dropped explosive devices to make the fields of District 10 unsafe for livestock and ranchers alike." Apparently they've decided that if they can't eat the meat of District 10, we can't either. It makes sense I guess – it's sort of like our attempts to cut off District 5. Only people don't die if they don't have oil.

Clint practically jumps out of the hovercraft to greet the big, brown skinned man who's waiting for us. "Nesto! I'm so glad … I was worried that …"
"Nah, they didn't get me. We knew better than to stick around when your brother disappeared – all of us hands and Hidey took off. Toby's brother was in on the rebellion all along – they arranged for people to hide us. Good thing too … they went to our family's houses and searched for us."

"All of you made it?"
"Yeah – as soon as we saw there was something about rebels at the training center, we dropped everything and ran. You know Hidey – we practically had to tear her away from the laundry. We left just in time – we must have had less than five minutes head start on the Peacekeepers." It bothers me that they apparently had no warning – Howard Stark wouldn't even think about fleeing until the rebels secured his servants, and Duke didn't even give his guys a warning? It's not like he wasn't in on it – he knew what was coming.

"Have you been back to the ranch? What did they do with our animals?" Clint asks.

"It's … It's bad Clint. It's real bad. You don't want to go up there. There's mines everywhere, and even before that … they took all the cattle except the dairy cows, the goats, and the pigs for immediate slaughter and everything else they … they just shot 'em and left 'em to rot." Clint's hands make fists automatically – I know he cared about the animals, and I'm sorry he has to hear this.

"Even the dairy cows? And the sheep? They could have eaten the sheep too, or taken their skin for clothes at least … we've got people dying here, and they just shot perfectly good dairy cows and llamas? Hell, no one around here would turn their nose up at dog meat, and I hear they eat horses in the Capitol."

"Everything. They even shot the chickens and let them go to waste … guess they didn't want to mess with them." That is so wrong. I have no idea what llamas are and I know that eating the dogs wouldn't occur to someone from the Capitol, but chickens? They wasted perfectly good chickens? I'm almost as mad as Clint. I hope the cameraman is getting this – anyone from the outliers who's ever been starving or just desperately hungry for meat will be spurred on by the horrific waste.

"Even the breeding stock? They could have made themselves …"
"Everything Clint. Everything either got eaten or left to rot up there – they were nasty little pigs about it too … they put Allie and Fluffy's body in your bed and a couple of the sheep in Duke's, and they cut up the horses and llamas and left them lying all around the house … broke my heart seeing what was left of those animals. That house will never be habitable again. Didn't stop people from looting the valuables though." Of course not – even if it stank to high heaven, people would go in looking for stuff they could trade for food. I'm surprised they didn't try to salvage the meat – they must have been scared to go up there the first few days after the escape.

"I'm sorry … what were Allie and Fluffy?" I ask. I'm trying to imagine hauling a dead cow up to Clint's room for no reason other than hoping that if he somehow came back, he'd be greeted with the sight of a rotted animal he used to love.
"Our dog and our cat," Clint says stiffly. I should have known – they love their dogs here in District 10. Not like in District 12 where we eat them. But they serve a purpose here – the dogs protect the other animals and help the ranchers herd them. And everyone loves cats – they eat mice and rats, what's not to like? "I mean I don't … I don't want to think of Allie and the horses and llamas getting eaten but that would have been better than just … that's so stupid." He's just so mystified by the waste of food – I guess Duke never told him about what they do at their feasts, making themselves throw up just so they can eat more.

"I'm sorry Clint," Nesto and I say at almost the same time. "I tried to grab Fluffy and Allie but there was no time," Nesto adds apologetically.
"It's … I'm just glad all the people made it out okay, that's the important part," Clint says and forces a very stiff smile. "It probably would have helped if Duke had given y'all some warning …"

"You know we wouldn't have let it happen, if we could have avoided it. We could have just found someone to give the animals to – free cows and goats to everyone, and we would have kept Allie and Fluffy safe for you …" Nesto sees the anger in Clint's eyes and corrects quickly. "But I don't blame Duke, he wasn't in a good state …"
"He still should have thought about you. It's not the animals, it's that … That if you hadn't gotten Hidey to ditch the laundry or the Capitol hadn't played the news right away, it could have been y'all cut up and left around the house, if you were lucky. I'm glad it was just the horses."
"Lucky?" Nesto asks, and he almost laughs, but it's a nervous reaction.

"They … we, Spruce and I … heard people being tortured to get to other people while we were … they don't care. In the Capitol. They'll torture anyone. They shot a little girl from Spruce's village just to torture him, and now they burned his whole village down … That's why I didn't want to say the name of the Peacekeeper who helped me and Duke when we were kids … I was afraid they'd find her and hurt her … I wonder if they managed to do that anyway …"

"Look, Clint, why don't we get down to our mission?" I ask, cutting him off before he can sink too deep.

"Right," he says, forcing that same stiff smile. We're supposed to visit a field hospital and then go pretend to be part of the minesweeping effort – they're gonna have us go through a field that's already been cleared in all the gear and have Clint "find" one that's already been deactivated. "Nesto – I take it you're supposed to lead us there?"
"You know it."

We climb into the truck that Nesto leads us to while I instinctively keep looking up at the skies, even though there haven't been any reports yet of the Capitol being able to use hovercrafts en masse since the battle of District 12. He changes into his costume during the drive – he's not shy so he doesn't mind. His costume is an armored version of what he wore when he and his brother were with the circus – it's a deep purple sleeveless shirt, black pants with sequins, boots the same purple as the shirt, and a black cowboy hat. Like Stephen's, it makes me uncomfortable because it makes him a brightly colored standout from the crowd, and therefore, I would think, a sniper's dream. Fury assured me we won't be in any danger, and if, on the off chance we did go into a danger zone, he'd get a greatly toned down version of it, like Thresh and Stephen do. I don't like that he followed his promise with something that essentially amounted to "but even if I did break that …" Not least of all because the fact they had Clint's costume perfectly fitted and ready to go makes me wonder if he would have sent him out even if he had said, yes, he would kill Tony on sight if he saw him. I glance at the advanced, collapsible bow and elaborate arrows in the advanced quiver on his back, and I hope, if we do run into Tony, it works the way Beatee says.

"You think Kat's okay?" Clint asks when it's too quiet.

"I'm sure she is," I say quickly, even though I don't know.

"She was here just last week – I'm sad they didn't send us sooner, maybe we'd have gotten to spend some time together."
"That would have been nice," I agree.

"When's the wedding?" Nesto asks, butting in, and I manage not to flinch.

"Um … not until after … we shouldn't have that happiness while so many things are still wrong … in Panem …" he says, and I'm not sure why he would have tried to memorize an answer like that.

"I gotcha – no rush," Nesto says after a moment, but he's clearly puzzled by the answer too. Well, whatever the reason, Clint needs to practice that lie more.

The camp is on the edge of the city – it's just gurneys and makeshift beds, all filled with suffering, burned, bleeding, sick people. I very nearly throw up and the color drains out of Clint's face, but we know we have to keep it together, for the people here and everyone watching through the cameras. I can hear children wailing and adults sobbing, and it's the most depressing sound I can imagine. The smell of burning flesh – I never wanted to smell that again – triggers something and all I can think about that desperate flight through the woods. I calm myself – I think about how I wish I could have comforted my own people during that time, what I wish someone had been able to say to us …

As we start to walk through the aisles of sick people, I stay as warm and friendly as possible – I try not to flinch at the sight of bleeding stumps and chemical burns to the muscle, or gag at the smell of sickness. How do those medical people do this every day? It's horrifying. "Peeta Mellark! You were so brave, saving that little girl from the big Career!" someone calls and I cringe a little. I turn to see an older, very tanned woman with heavy bandages over most of her arms and legs. I place a hand on her unbandaged shoulder.

"But I … I didn't save her … she still …"
"You almost did it – and you did it when you didn't know anyone was coming," she says. "You're a good boy. A brave boy." I don't know what to say, so I just mutter "thank you" and stay with her for a while.

Clint is perfect with the patients, much better than me – he holds mutilated hands and stumps without the slightest hint of hesitation. He doesn't cringe when everyone wants to touch him even if they have festering sores. He asks everyone's names and listens to their stories, and I try my best to do the same. After about an hour of this, a beautiful little girl, probably about eight or nine, dark headed and with light brown skin, reaches for Clint with her right hand – the only intact limb she has left. Clint takes it and holds it tight. "What's your name sweetheart?" he asks.

"Alfalfa," she answers. She starts to cry, and Clint wipes her tears away.

"I'm sure you were doing something very brave when you got hurt, Alfie," he says as he holds her right hand with his and puts his left hand on her shoulder.

"Lasso and I were trying to save the goats. Four of the goats and Dolly the llama had already died and the others were scared. I knew how much we needed the cheese to keep going, and I thought if I could pick up parts of the dead ones we could at least have meat … I didn't want to eat Dolly or any of our goats but we were so hungry …" her face is sunken and even now you can see the hunger in her eyes.

"It's okay sweetheart – I've had to eat some of the animals I liked sometimes too," he says understandingly. He wisely decides not to share about the bad news he just got – no need to add to her suffering. But his sympathy prompts her to go on.

"I saw the bomb … I was smart enough not to pick it up even though it looked like a doll, because I've seen all the warnings on TV, but I was trying to pick up Spot and he struggled and I stepped back …" and her feet probably came down right on it. I have to guess because she starts to cry, and no amount of soothing from Clint can make her go on. He holds her against his chest and pats her back, letting her literally cry on his shoulder.

"That was very brave, Alfie – don't worry. We're going to make sure everyone gets taken care of."

"Will I ever have legs again?" she asks.

"I'll do my best to make sure everyone has prosthetics like mine," he answers, and shifts her so her back is to him, and flexes his hand in front of her. He's never seemed more comfortable with his new fingers. She smiles a little and reaches out to touch them, but she's still crying.

"But nothing will bring Lasso back," she says stiffly.

"I know. I wish I could. Can I say anything to make you feel better, Alfie?" he asks gently.

"Will you sing?" she asks. "Like Lasso used to sing to me?" I smile – I know she's going to enjoy this.

"What do you want me to sing to you?"

"The mockingbird song?" she asks. I wonder if she asks just because mockingbird is close to mockingjay and she knows about Katniss. Clint takes a moment – I wonder if he doesn't know it, but then he opens his mouth, and delights the crowd with a version of the song that is about Mockingjays. "Hush little darling, don't be afraid, you'll be watched over by a mockingjay …" He goes on to list all the Avengers and how they'll protect her, but he makes it sound so peaceful, like a real lullaby. Now I know what he was working on in the hovercraft on the way over – he had a notebook out, making notes. I'm surprised that he mentions Tony, and a little embarrassed that he includes me. I'm not really doing anything, after all.

The words aren't what matters – they're just a bonus, given how badly these people need their spirits lifted – his voice is the main thing. Strong and clear and hitting every note perfectly. Alfalfa's tears stop and then start again – there are tears in my eyes too. You could hear a pin drop with the hush that falls over the rest of the ward, and everyone strains to listen and catch every note, to hold it in their minds for darker times. He finishes the song and she asks for another, and other patients second the motion. "I don't know any other protest songs," he says, with this winning smile I haven't seen from him in so long …

"We don't mind an encore," an old man says, and everyone laughs, so Clint starts again, and by the end, Alfie is starting to fall asleep against his chest. He gently gets up from the bed and lays her down and tucks her in – Cressida's going to be so thrilled. She'll have a lot to work with this week.

At that moment, Nesto, who is just as uncomfortable as we are with the sick and wounded people, comes up to get us to take us on to the next portion of the day – the stage de-mining. "How'd you know someone would ask for that song?" I ask in a whisper.

"I didn't – I just figured if someone asked for a song or a lullaby in general, I'd have something special for them," he says. "If no one had asked for anything like that, I would have just gone off in the corner and sung 'to myself' for the camera on the ride home." I smile – he knows how to play the game. I should expect that – he's been in it since his brother won. Maybe he should have spent some of that time practicing his lie about the wedding date, though.

We go to one of the minefields and, to my surprise, they suit me up too. They put us both in these thick armored suits that you can barely breathe or move in. "How much would these help if we found a live one?" I ask.

"It'd probably stop you from being killed," the woman who is helping me get in one says, in a tone that makes me think I would be alive but not very happy.

We walk along a demonstrated path to "find" several disarmed mines, and play at flagging it for the bomb experts and slowly backing along the same way we had come while the cameras roll. "Is that it?" I ask when we're done, as the same people help us get out of the suits. "Isn't that more than enough?" the camerawoman asks me. "We've got lots of good footage of the two of you now – you've done your part." Yeah – I'm finally useful, I guess.

We've barely gotten back in the truck to head back to the field hospital – the camera people want to get one more "establishing shot" out front – when the bomb drops. Nesto slams the brakes on the truck and he, the camera people, and I duck down automatically in the truck, pinning ourselves to the floorboards. The shock wave reverberates in my ribcage and the sound is so loud it sends a stabbing pain into my ears even though I cover them. Clint covers his ears through the initial blast, but he reacts swiftly. He stands up straight, reaches to his back and unhooks the bow from his quiver, and unfolds it in one swift motion, notching an arrow. "Clint …" I call to him, and I can barely hear my own voice through the ringing in my ears left by the blast. He doesn't react to me, and I'm not sure if it's because he can't hear me or because he's deliberately ignoring me. I want him to get down – he's a bright purple target, but I realize what he's doing and bite my tongue. I see him looking, scanning for the telltale outline of the hovercraft, having missed the moment it uncloacked to drop the bomb, and I guess he finds it because he lets the arrow fly before the hovercraft can do any more damage. I wish Tony were here – in his suit he could redirect the wreckage so it didn't do more damage as it fell, but it can't be helped. The craft surely had at least another bomb, which wouldn't be armed until it was launched for the safety of its pilot, as well as its guns which would have made mincemeat of the helpless people below. The falling wreckage will do less damage.

No no no – if the blast felt that strong from where we were …

Clint's arrow did the trick, the hovercraft uncloaks and crashes, fortunately right into the area it just bombed. I doubt the wreckage will do much more damage than the bomb already did. Clint stays where he is, scanning the sky for more, but thankfully he doesn't see anything just yet.

While he stands in wait, arrows at the ready, all I can think about is the people we were just helping in the hospital, and I leap out of the truck while Nesto cries out in protest. "Peeta no – there's nothing you can do," he calls, but I run on anyway.

There's already a flurry of activity – medics are already at work stabilizing the wounded, well, doubly wounded, while some of their colleagues bark into radios asking for the mine-clearing staff to make their way to them as soon as possible to deal with the fire spreading from the wreckage of the plane and help with heavy lifting. Some of the townspeople have run out to help their neighbors – but most, understandably, stay in their homes. "What can I do?" I ask a passing medic.

"You look strong – go help those two lift that," she answers, and jerks her head at a piece of heavy metal from the hovercraft that has bodies pinned beneath it – at least one of them is moving. Two of the bigger medics are trying to shove it off while another waits to pull the people trapped inside out – I thrust my shoulder under it and heave, only discovering after I do that the metal is white hot, explaining why the other two's hands are wrapped. I shove anyway, but can't stop myself from crying out. Between the three of us we lift it and by now several have joined us to grab the bodies underneath – all of them except one look dead, but it's not worth the risk of leaving someone to a horrible death. The sight of the fresh injuries, the pieces of what used to be human beings blown everywhere, the smell of burning flesh stronger than it was before and now joined by a chemical I can't identify, and my own burning pain arouses painful memories that send panic throughout all of my being and threaten to overwhelm me but I swallow it down and ask what else I can do.

"Are you crazy?" one of the medics asks, looking at my neck and hands. My neck I obviously can't see, but my hands are red and raw and hurt like hell.

"What else can I do?" I repeat, but even while I ask I look around. I see that the medics are moving patients outside the tent, away from the flames, sometimes with the whole cot if that's easier than trying to detach an IV pole in a hurry. I run to help – pumped up with adrenaline, I can pick up an elderly man cot and all without much trouble and still move pretty quickly, whereas it generally takes two or three medics. I know a lot of these people shouldn't be moved but the damage from being moved will be much less than burning to death.

I carry the old gentleman to safety – to about the same distance the only two or three patients who've been moved so fast already were left. I notice they are not taking them into town even thought that would presumably provide more shelter – I imagine most people are either already fleeing or bunkering down, likely unwilling to open their homes. I set his cot down gently and hurry back even though the flames are licking higher and wider now. I try not to think about what's providing fuel for those flames.

I hear another crash as Clint sends another one to the ground – this one thankfully was a little distance away from the hospital. Now the frantic shouting into radios is for air and ground support against an oncoming invasion. I worry for Clint now, since I know he's still a target, but even more I worry for the patients we can still save and feel sick for the ones already gone, which judging by the blast radius is probably at least half of the people under this tent. The chaos is horrifying – the few patients who can run are scattering, fleeing for their lives. Some even run on stumps of legs or crawl along as fast as they can, frequently being tripped over or stepped on by the others. I admire the medics acting coolly and efficiently, trying to save as many lives as possible, at great risk to themselves. As I run back into the chaos, working desperately to move against the stream of fleeing people, looking to grab the first helpless person I see to take to safety, I hear a little girl screaming for the Avengers – I look up and recognize Alfie. I don't hesitate to pick her up – she has no way to run, and no one's thought to carry her yet, probably because she's still fairly far away from the flames and surrounded by people just as unable to run. Normally I would slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders – as it is I sling her over my shoulder like a potato sack and run, joining the flow of people now. I almost trip over an already battered woman with no legs crawling away, so I bend down and pick her up, getting bumped into by half a dozen people as soon as I stop. I can't quite carry her and Alfie at the same time so I just put the woman against my hip and half-drag, half-carry her. It's not dignified and probably painful but she'll get to safety sooner.

The problem is there's nowhere to go in this flatland but into the city – now that we know there are more coming, we can only scatter and get everyone as far away as possible and desperately hope people can find an open building to take shelter, and that those buildings don't end up collapsed or in flames. Clint takes down another one, and in spite of everything people find it in them to cheer.

A man is standing up in a field on the city's edge, gesturing frantically to get everyone's attention. He is standing by what looks like a door in the ground – I head towards him as fast as I can, as do a stream of other survivors. I get to him and he ushers me inside. The door leads to some narrow, steeply sloped stairs, and I sacrifice a moment to make sure the woman I have found is more comfortable as I go down them. I can't fathom what this place is, but it smells musty and earthy and I am worried it will cave in, but it's better than nothing. Alfie is still crying, understandably. "Hush little darling, don't be afraid / you'll be watched over by a mockingjay …" I start soothingly, even though my voice cracks with fear and pain. I reach the bottom where a few dozen survivors are already huddled, and I help Alfie and the woman get comfortable among them, then head back up. In the narrow stairs, it's hard to fight the stream of people, so I press myself against one of the walls and walk sideways.

"Where are you going?" the man asks as I go past him when I reach the top.

"To get more people," I say, not waiting to see his response. His room is almost full and I'm sure he'll climb down himself and shut the door before long – whatever protection that door is going to give against a bomb, I'm glad for it.

Nesto grabs me on the unburned shoulder as I start to head back to what used to be the field hospital, which now has flames spreading higher and wider – his grip is like iron. "Peeta – air support is here. I have orders to get you two the hell out of here." He has Clint's arm gripped in his other hand – Clint was probably the one who spotted me, on orders.

"Take him, leave me – there's still …" I protest. Clint is valuable – he just proved that. I'm just muscle – and my place is here, gathering survivors.
"Peeta, everyone in there is gone," Nesto says gravely.

"You said that when I got out of the truck …"
"Listen, Peeta – the firefighters and bomb squad are doing the best they can. You'll be in the way at this point – you helped while you could, before the pros got there. You don't' need to be underfoot," he says sharply as he starts to physically walk us away. "Clint, you get naked and get back in regular clothes on as soon as we get in the truck. You're a bullseye on us all," he adds sharply.

"I found Alfie," I tell Clint breathlessly as we stop resisting and jog with Nesto. "I got her to a little underground room … I don't know how it will hold up but …"
"A storm cellar? It can withstand a tornado … unless the Capitol firebombs the daylights out of it, they should be fine down there," he answers. But his eyes are wide and staring and his face is a little green. I know he's scared and probably a little sick over the battle he just had to fight – I'm just glad he held up so well. I guess since Tony and the Games weren't part of the equation, he was able to keep his head.

As soon as we climb in Nesto's truck, which already holds the terrified camera crew, Clint leans over the side and vomits while Nesto starts the car and accelerates it as fast as possible. Between that, the smoke bearing awful scents, and the knowledge of all the deaths that just happened, I do too. "I screwed up," Clint moans when he sits back against the backseat.

"Get naked!" Nesto shouts, but Clint doesn't comply right away.

"I shouldn't have shot that while it was over …"
"Clint, what choice did you have? To let it drop a few more bombs and use its guns?" I demand, and surprisingly that seems to work. He still looks pale but he nods and does as Nesto says, putting away the bright costume and putting on the clothes he had on before.

We get back on the hovercraft and Clint doesn't want to tell Nesto goodbye – he hugs him tight and I almost have to pry him off.

The doors slam shut and we get up in the air almost immediately. "Where are we going now?" I call to the pilot.

"District 11," he answers.

"Wherabouts in District 11?" Clint asks.

"The west border." Oh joy – another war zone. I really kind of hate General Fury right now.

Clint and I slump against the side of the craft, exhausted but unable to sleep. As soon as I'm still and the adrenaline subsides, I'm screaming in agony from the burn on my shoulder. The medic who travels with us jabs me in the arm with a needle, then gets to work tending the wound. Her work only hurts even worse at first – I scream in pain as she cuts away my shirt and disinfects the burn – but then the jab starts to work. I start to feel warm and happy inside, and nothing bothers me anymore. The pain is a distance memory and I feel numb all over the place, inside and out.

I tilt my head to the side and watch almost disinterestedly as Clint, still pacing and nervous despite the same medic giving him antianxiety pills, turns on the small screen on the opposite wall of the hovercraft, to watch the rebel broadcast, hoping to calm his nerves by seeing what becomes of the battle he's left behind.

I'm already so happy and calm inside that I feel almost nothing as I watch the rebels win their first battle of the revolution.

Author's Note

Update on school situation: I found a lab and the funding is secure but I was so worried about this situation I blew my final. *facepalm* I get to stay but I am on academic probation and will have to work really hard next semester to make it up. I also don't get paid by the school for the next two months for sure, possibly not for the next five months, so I will have to take another job for the summer, possibly in addition to lab work and definitely in addition to cleaning and consolidating my things to one half of the apartment and finding a roommate. (Which I would have to do anyway because I get paid less by the lab but I realized it sooner due to screw-up costing me my savings.) So … updates may be rather slow. (My current excuse for slowness is going home to visit family.) TLDR; I screwed up, it will be okay eventually, but I will be posting slow. Sorry.

I'm guessing District 10 is in North Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas, since that's mostly prime cattle country, and if there's some land you can't raise cows on you can probably raise goats there since goats will be okay on pretty much any kind of vegetation.

If you were wondering whether Nesto is a butchering of Nestor or Ernesto … the answer is both. I'm guessing they may have sort of fused together in the future of District 10.

I have never tried it for obvious reasons but I've been informed that cat meat tastes really horrible, like how you imagine cat urine tastes based off the smell. I don't know of any culture where cat meat is a common foot item, probably for this reason. They would probably still eat cat if they got desperate enough in the districts but it wouldn't be anyone's first choice which is why I don't mention anyone eating Fluffy but mention eating pretty much literally all the other animals.

I started off trying to make Clint's costume less ridiculous than the comics version and I think I made it worse. Oh well. It is a circus act costume after all.

I suck at writing songs, so I decided to spare you guys my sad attempt at songwriting with the rebel version of "Mockingbird Don't Sing." I actually wrote it out and realized how terrible it was and was like, "That is no way to repay people who've read the story this far …" If someone wants to write that for me to include (with credit of course) I would be incredibly grateful.

Peeta is being self-deprecating when he says Clint is better with the patients – he does just as well if not better.

And awesomely Jeremy Renner actually is involved in raising awareness for mine clearing charities but I didn't think about that until after I started writing. He also sings, which I did think about while I was writing – his voice is not quite the "voice of the angels" I give Clint here but much better than most of the Hollywood actors who claim to be singers too. (Gary Oldman had a funny sketch on Jimmy Kimmel about "Actors Against Athletes Acting" – I think we need one with "Singers Against Hollywood Actors Singing.") I wanted to add the musical stuff with him because in the books, it's such a huge part of Peeta's attraction to Katniss and Katniss's relationship with her father. And girls always go for boys like their dad. (Also, poor Peeta. I'm so sorry.)

It is possible for a person full of adrenaline to run on the stumps of legs – my grandfather witnessed sailors doing so after his ship was hit by a kamikaze in WWII. The body is capable of amazing things in a state of fear.