Chapter 13

Muleshoe

Spruce

The boy on the blanket in the soil outside the field hospital couldn't have been any older than fourteen. "Why were you even here?" I asked, shocked, as I tied a tourniquet around the bleeding stump of his arm.

"Better here than the Arena – figure my odds are better here," he said, and managed a smile rimmed with blood. That was when I knew the severed arm was the least of his worries and started calling for a surgeon – but I shouldn't be surprised that in a field hospital with no beds, there was no surgeon to spare. All I could do was watch his odds dwindle with each passing minute as I laid him down and elevated his legs and monitored his situation, unable to do much else in the field. Someone brings me a saline pack and a makeshift IV – there's not even any real blood or blood substitute to be spared – which I diligently add to his body even though I know it would do no good if the bleeding wasn't staunched. I lied to him and told him he was going to be fine as I watched his face grow pale and his abdomen distend from pooling blood – he told me his name was Jon, that he came from the easternmost part of the district and ended up coming here to fight even though he was safe at home, just because he wanted to see if there was anything he could do to make sure that the Games, the overseers, and the starvation never came back. He told me he was the second oldest of seven children, and his oldest sister had been stung to death by tracker-jackers so that he was the only one to protect their younger siblings, and in this case this was the best way to do it. I listened, and called over my shoulder for a surgeon and more saline every now and then, never getting an answer. I tried to do so calmly, but I think Jon saw through that. "I don't guess I made much difference in the end, did I Spruce?" he asked me when he was almost too weak to speak.

"You did, Jon, you did," I said, lying to him one more time. "We're that much closer to being safe forever because of you … your little brothers and sisters will never have to stand at the Reaping because of you … There's going to peace and justice and food for everyone …" I said as he closed his eyes. He was still alive but I knew he would never wake up – the call for a surgeon was still unanswered.

The Other Guy had been growling in fright at every bomb blast and in anger at every dead boy the whole time … as Jon slipped away, so did my control. I tried my best to control him, appease him, pleading with him to let me stay and do my work as a medic.

None of it worked.

I awake and stretch, working out the kinks in my body gathered over the long flight, as we touch down in a little clearing in the woods I've known since before I could talk. It's warm here, warm enough that I almost abandon my jacket in the hovercraft, but Katniss and Gale pull theirs closer to their bodies. I always forget it's cold here compared to everywhere else. We're close to Muleshoe – I know I'll see people I know and love from the next few villages over, and I know that there were survivors who were able to run and take shelter with their neighbors. I try to hold onto hope most of the village got out safely – even though I know better. I've seen the footage of Peacekeepers posted in front of doors and windows, shooting anyone that tried to flee their burning homes. The only survivors are those who fled before the fires started or managed to cut their way out in the back without being shot.

Cedar James – a young carpenter who tattooed my mother's name on my arm and whose wife and daughter died as my mother tried, in vain, to bring them back after a difficult delivery – is waiting for us. He gasps when he sees me and embraces me, like he hasn't really believed I survived until now. Which he might not have – the rebels don't put me in front of the camera very much. "Spruce … I'm so sorry … your cabin was the first to go up …" Of course it was – since he's apologizing I take it Dad didn't make it. I don't know what to feel in response to that.

"What about everyone else, how many did we lose?" I ask. Tears come to his eyes. "Cedar?"
"We're it. The only survivors. Me, Lucy and Billy Foreman, the Davises, Autumn West, Oak Norton, and … Elmer West if he can survive the burns and the bullet wound. Some of the others might be alive – they got taken away by the Capitol." Lucy has two older children and a husband … had two older children and a husband … The thought brings up tears that stick in my throat … and I think of all the people who weren't on the list of survivors and it's all I can do to stop the Other Guy from emerging full-force and turning me into the Hulk right now. I'm glad they medicated me beforehand.

We landed close enough to walk to the field hospital where they're keeping those wounded in riots against the Peacekeepers and, presumably, Elmer – it's basically a little white canvas tent in the middle of the forest. Another fire or even a heavy rain would destroy it. Cedar leads us there, and I notice Gale scrutinizing it closely. "I don't think it's a good idea to keep everyone together out in the open like this," he says nervously.

"We're well behind the line – and it's our only option," Cedar answers.

I step through the tent and I can smell the death and sickness – I'm surprised at how much it still bothers me. Even among the relatively healthy – the friends and relatives standing by bedsides – you can see how thin and sick so many of them are. Gale pulls back, hesitating, and while Katniss and Johanna both stand by me, I can feel how tense their bodies are because we're pressed together in the narrow corridor between beds. None of them are healers, but they're doing better than the stylist – she's standing ten feet from the entry way and crying just at the distant sight. The film crew surprises me by being unflinching. "You can go," I whisper to my travel companions.

"Like hell," Johanna says loudly. "I'm come this far, Spruce, I'm not leaving you now."

"Spruce?" someone asks weakly at the sound of my name. It's Mossy – an elderly carpenter who had to give it up when her hands were gnarled by arthritis. I did anything and everything I could to relieve her pain and let her keep working, since she didn't want to be a burden on her children. She's been beaten, like she's been in a brawl – but the thought of kindly old Mossy in a brawl is hilarious. Or, it would be, under different circumstances. "It's me," I answer, and I take those gnarled hands in mine. I want to ask her why in the hell she was at the riots – I try to think of a funny way to say she's too old for it in a way that isn't patronizing – when I realize it doesn't matter if she was there or not. They might have gone right up to her door, they might even have tried to get information about me from her. This might be my fault. I kiss her hands and she asks me to come closer – she wants to feel my face. Her eyes are so swollen, and her sight wasn't so good anyway, that she hasn't really seen me and she wants to make sure the rebels are taking care of me. I lean closer and press her hands against my face, only remembering to take off my glasses at the last minute. It feels odd that I haven't shaved – the stylist told me to leave the stubble, that I would look more manly. The people of 7 have always known me to be clean-shaven – but whatever Mossy thinks of the change, she doesn't say it. "Is that Johanna Mason with you?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"Yes ma'am," I answer respectfully, and beckon Johanna closer. "Johanna Mason and Katniss Everdeen, and Gale Hawthorne. You wouldn't know Gale – but he helped save three thousand people from District 12, and he helped save the victors …"
"Katniss? Is her sweet little boyfriend here too?" Mossy asks, managing to smile. By now other people are looking up at us – I don't know how to feel about the hope in their faces.

"No ma'am – Clint's still recovering. Katniss – come here and show her your ring," I say, even though she'll probably hate me for it later.

"Spruce is here! Somebody go get Lucy and Billy!" one of the nurses calls to someone else.

"Spruce – I know you're not here as a medic but will you help for a moment?" a doctor asks me.

"Of course," I say with a nod.

"Medic?" Mossy asks me, and I take a moment longer to talk to her.

"Yes – they're going to make me a proper doctor before it's all over," I say with a smile, and she makes a sound of delight. Katniss takes my place by Mossy's bedside, showing her the ring, and I just see that she starts to cry when Katniss tells her it was Blight's wife's ring before the nurse leads me to a young woman with a deep gash above her eye – it's easy work but nobody's had time to get to her with all the worry over people with bullet wounds and some kind of horrible acid burn. Much to my surprise, there's a bowl of the herbs I used to dull the pain sitting by her bedside. "We took Ivy Collins from Wrigley Glen you and your mother's medical books when we thought you were dead – we thought they might as well go to a healer and keep doing some good," Cedar, who's followed me, explains. "She's here helping now – when we can't get any good medicine from the rebels we use the herbs." I'm so, so glad, to know they did some good and weren't destroyed in the fire. Wrigley's Glen is miles and miles away – I wonder how far out the riots go. I set to work stitching, immensely glad I'm not doing this without any painkillers.

"How did you survive?" the girl asks me breathlessly. I don't know her, not personally, but she knows me.

"Well … we just held on long enough for the hovercrafts to leave," I answer lamely.

"I mean … how did you survive in the Capitol?"
"I just … I knew they'd take whatever I could give them to go after the rebels, and I didn't want to make it easy for them after the rebels tried to save me," I say honestly. She starts to cry, as though that's the most beautiful, poetic thing that's ever been said.

Word of my presence has spread apparently – people come just to see me. One in particular, they show through the crowd. She looks authoritative and has quite a few scrapes and bruises, and a nurse tells me I should stop to acknowledge her. I hate to do it, but I don't see any other option. "You don't know me … but I'm Holly New …" Her face and the last name stirs something in my memory – vague at first, and then crystal clear and filled with pain.

"You're Juniper's sister," I say breathlessly – her little sister died in the Games I survived. She nods. "Was it a boy or a girl?" I ask through the tears that I'm trying not to choke on – she was almost due at last year's Reaping.

"A little boy – I named him for you."

"Why?" I ask before I can bite my tongue. I wasn't anything to her sister – I vowed to myself I wouldn't kill her, but she has no way to know that. She seems bewildered by the question – and I remember that they made me a martyr. "I … thank you," I mumble, unsure of what else I can say. She smiles, then her eyes fall on the girl whose wound I'm stitching. She lays a hand on her shoulder, and the girl seems glad for it.

"I should let you go back to work," she says, and steps away.

As soon as I finish sewing, I'm besieged by hugs. Tiny Billy Foreman and his mother were waiting for me to finish – I'm so glad to see them and so sorry for their loss all at once I can't stand it and I start to sob. I've held it together until this moment, but there's no point fighting the tears any more. "You've got to see Elmer," Lucy whispers gravely, and leads me away from the hospital. I wipe the tears away and remember that these people need me to be brave. On the way out I stop at almost every bed to hold hands and reassure the wounded that I am, indeed, alive. I'm almost out of the tent when I feel one more hand on my arm.

"How's that pretty little girl you saved?" Dogwood, an old goat who was always after the young women in, well, everywhere, asks me with a wink and a tone that means he's not only concerned with her well-being.

"She's … she worries," I tell him honestly. "But … we're engaged. But I don't know if … I don't know if I can marry her until we know what's going to happen with my condition …" Lucy looks completely stricken, and I realize that's a mistake. I have no idea how much they actually know about it, and I shouldn't be putting my troubles on them, not when they have so much on their minds already. I could kick myself. Cherry, Dogwood's longsuffering wife who's standing by his bed, grabs me around the shoulders and smothers me with a grandmotherly hug, sobbing for me and the tragedy of my condition, reassuring me that they'll find a cure when it's all over and I'll get the girl and make a wonderful husband and father. Several people who are mobile join her, and some patients chime in from their beds. The absurdity of the situation, that I would be comforted by people who are going through hell, makes me feel guilty for how easy I've had it since I've been at base.

"It's … it's fine … we'll have time to worry about it later," I say lamely, wishing I could take my words back.

Finally, I'm on my way to see Elmer. As I step out, I see that Katniss is being hugged and held and spoken to just like I was – maybe the rebels should rethink only playing the "We Remember" spots in the districts the tributes belonged to. Johanna is similarly in demand. Gale is doing an admirable job as well – he's taken Mossy's hand and is now recounting the escape from District 12 to her and several patients around her. To us, it's a tragedy and a failure – to them, it's a heroic, triumphant act of defiance. And the patients are right – three thousand people are still alive that wouldn't have been otherwise.

Lucy takes me to the cabin nearest the hospital. "The tent only went up yesterday," she explains to me. "You really think you can't marry that girl, Spruce?" she asks, and I'm still just so bewildered that they care so much and sorry for blurting it out. But Lucy … I can't lie to her.

"Well I … They're worried I'll have nightmares and wake up and … not know where I am." I don't have to elaborate. "So we can't sleep in the same room and …" There's no way to explain the rest of it in a way that's not humiliating, especially since the cameras are still following me, but I do my best. "I can't be a normal husband to her, not while I'm like this, and we couldn't have children … I won't put her through that." Tears come to her eyes at that, and I quickly add, "But … they're not really worried about trying to fix it right now, with everything else going on, so … once it's all over, they've got scientists who promised they're going to try help me, and I'll … once things are calm I can finish my schooling and I'll learn what they did to me, maybe how to undo it …" But there's not much hope, and I know that very well, and it comes across in my words and I see it in her face that she knows how little hope I have towards that. "It's … not much hope. But … it's more hope than I had when I was reaped." That finally gets her to smile a little bit, just as we're at the door.

The lady of the house – a young woman who looks like she's weary in the way that gets in your soul – opens the door and nods us to the back. She's probably Elmer's cousin, or one of his grown children's in-laws – I don't know what happened to the Wests' children – and we step into her house. I can smell the gangrene from the door, not surprising considering how long he must have been fighting it, and I step to the back with quiet footsteps.

He's awake, but barely. I kneel by his bedside, remembering how he was on my table on Reaping Day. He looks much worse now – I can see the sores where the healers and medics have desperately fought infection, and his face is completely colorless and soaked with sweat. Already, the big man is wasting away to nothing. "Elmer?" I ask softly, not sure if he'll be aware of his surroundings. He stirs.

"Who's there?"
"It's Spruce – Spruce Banner," I say.

"Spruce Banner is dead … torn apart by abominations … damn the Capitol … taking our kids … too much lumber, never enough grain rations," he says bitterly.

"No I … I was just captured," I say urgently. "I'm here, right now … I escaped with Clint Barton …"

"That boy … so sad to see him go in after what his brother did … if Spruce wasn't in it that same year I would have … both of them torn apart by abominations … horrible, horrible dogs … why is it so hot in here, Red?" Red is his son … was his son … I don't know any more.

"I don't know, Pop, I'll see if I can open a window or something," I say softly, giving in and going along with his fevered delusions.

"Thanks, Red, you're a good boy." He falls asleep then – he's affected both by his fever and the painkillers (they've found some morphine to spare for him, thankfully).

We sit in silence for a while. "I guess there's nothing for me to do but head up to Muleshoe," I say softly, knowing that's the next on the plan.

"Spruce, don't go up there if you don't have to," Lucy says softly.

"I think I do, Lucy," I say regretfully, and she nods. She understands this much.

My own breath seems to stab me in the chest as we top the hill that leads into Muleshoe. Or what used to be Muleshoe anyway – all that's left is a bunch of blackened husks of cabins. It's incongruous to me – the image I've had all my life of the little homes, happy if not always safe, and these ruins.

I hear the growling again and I have to fight harder than ever to keep the Other Guy in check.

"I still don't like this," Gale says again. He's been quiet since the field hospital visit – all except for expressing his dislike of our going up to the village, completely unaccompanied by anybody with arms except Gale and Katniss.

"Headquarters says it's clear," Castor says with a shrug. The stylist couldn't bear to come with us – she just fixed my make-up and Katniss's and then sent us on the way. Gale keeps watch, looking everywhere for any sign of a sniper.

Cedar shows us to the mass grave first – when they were sure it was safe, they came up here and buried the dead. What was left of them, anyway. I kneel by the soil – it's been weeks now, and there's been rain, so you can barely tell the soil's been disturbed – and put a hand to the ground. I know who's underneath and tears escape my eyes despite my best efforts, and I just give up and sob openly for a little while. Katniss kneels by me and puts an arm around my shoulder. Her touch is warm and soothing, but fills me with shame. She lost half her District, and she never lost her cool like this, not that I saw. She shut up and did something about it – why is she here comforting me, when her loss is so much greater? She gives me a handkerchief from her pocket and I'm immensely grateful – I wipe my face and get a hold of myself.

I realize I should speak – that I should give some record of the people who once lived here. I lead the camera crew through the village, pointing out each home and the family who lived there and what they meant to me. Even the rain hasn't wiped out the smell of smoke and … the worst death I can imagine. Every time I catch the horrific scent of burnt flesh, I know whose flesh it was and it's all I can do not to run and cry and vomit up the provisions they gave us on the hovercraft, but I bite my lip and try not to show the horror and the sorrow.

And here it is … my cabin. I left it until last on purpose.

Most of it is burnt to black, but it's standing. I look to Katniss and our film crew and softly say that I want to go in, in the vain hope that I can salvage some of my things – in particular my mother's photograph and little dolls, the only luxuries she allowed herself. If the dolls survived, I want to take them in case Betty and I can have children and we have a little girl … or I'll give them to Finnick and Annie for their children if that's not the case. She had a photograph of herself and Dad on their wedding day. She looked so beautiful and happy, lovely in the white dress that had probably been worn by every married woman in the village and which hid the fact she was in the family way. If only she'd known she was signing her death warrant the day she signed the marriage license. "Do you think it's safe?" Katniss asks Cedar, who nods. She keeps a comforting hand on my arm as we step across the smoking threshold, and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh is overwhelming. I pull the collar of my jacket over my mouth and nose, and I don't really care if that limits the expression the cameras can capture – if I had my way they wouldn't be here at all. I go to the approximate spot where the bookshelf was – much to my dismay but not so much to my surprise, all of my non-medicinal books and Mom's dolls are gone. The picture frame is there, but warped by the heat of the flames, and the picture within burnt to a black crisp. "What was it a picture of?" Katniss asks gently.

"My parents on their wedding day …" I hesitate, and then realize that's the only picture I had of her, probably the only one taken of her by anyone ever, and I bite my lip hard and try not to sob. It's terrible … I shouldn't cry, not over this. Not when everyone's gone.

"Was that your only picture?" she asks, knowing even though I didn't say anything. I nod, and can't hold back the tears anymore. She pulls me into an embrace, and I forget the camera's there. "It's my fault, Katniss … I was the only reason she married him."

"You think your dad would be alive if you hadn't been born?" she asks.

"Yes but that's not what I meant …" I start, and I remember the cameras are there but I'll have to tell them sometime – they'll never let me rest until I answer them about the Capitol propo.

I still vividly remember that awful bit. Maple Winters, one of the girls who used to cry on my shoulder, was telling them about how I beat my father to a bloody pulp. She looked terrified and her swollen belly announced she had two people to worry about, and it was obviously taken out of context. The rebels wisely didn't show it to me until I was in the woods, alone except for a television screen – I had an incident almost instantaneously. The Other Guy wanted to go rip and tear and smash until he found the people who were hurting her – he got through quite a bit of woods before he realized that wouldn't happen. Then I was left with the sadness and horror. I don't know if she's okay now – I can only hope they were merciful enough to let her go. But mercy is not the Capitol's virtue. Who's the father of her baby? Jack she always had a crush on, Birch or Nail or Bark who always had a crush on her or … I got sick thinking it might have been a Peacekeeper who raped her or gave her bread for sex. Whoever it is, unless it's the last one, must be going out of their minds right now … assuming they're alive …

I can't think about that now – I have to stay in control long enough to tell them the story. My mother deserves to have the world know what happened to her. Maple probably tried to tell them that – I shudder when I think what they must have done to her to get her to shut up, and hope they were happy to just edit it out.

I lead Katniss to the spot just beyond what used to pass for a kitchen and is now just a burnt black mess like the rest of it. "This is where I held my mother while she died," I say softly, as calmly as I can. "This is where my father murdered her." Katniss looks up at me, horrified but not that surprised. "I did what I could, but she was bleeding inside and there wasn't anything I could do … not then …" She nods and holds tight to me. "It was … everyone knew. Everyone tried to stop him … I should have stopped him. I was big enough – he got to where he didn't hit me much anymore because he was a coward and I was big enough to fight back." I'm shaking, even though it's all-too-warm in here.

"How old were you?" Katniss asks softly.

"Fourteen. His crew tried too … they'd jump him every now and then, give him a taste of his own medicine … it just made it worse." He'd be vicious for days on end afterwards.

"The Peacekeepers didn't do anything to him, did they?"
"They took him away. We never really had much hope something would happen … sure enough it didn't. They said there wasn't enough evidence for a trial and let him out. He came home and he just … he just smiled at me. And her name was burning on my arm and … I tried to be good. I made him supper like always and he hit me because it wasn't enough meat and … I just lost it. The Other Guy took over and I didn't know anything until he was laying on the ground, bleeding and broken and I … I thought everyone would hate me for what I did to him. I hated myself, I was terrified … But at the same time … I felt like a coward that I didn't kill him. I felt like I failed her. I still do … I …"

"Spruce …" Katniss says softly, soothingly. "I think we should go."
"Yeah … I just … I want to check the bedroom too." I don't have much hope anything of mine or my mother's survived in there, but it's worth a shot.

Sure enough, there's nothing here except ash and an especially strong scent of burnt flesh and hair, and we step out into the woods behind the house and breathe the somewhat fresher air with relief. "Where did you bury him?" I ask Cedar.

"Out here … we didn't want to bury him with the others," Cedar says, reluctantly. He probably has no idea what to expect from me in response.

"Not close to Mom?" I ask quickly.

"No – a good two hundred feet away," he answers, obviously relieved I'm not mad they segregated him from the other victims, and points to the spot where he is. It's far enough away from Mom.

"That's good," I say with a nod. The tears start to escape my eyes again, and I hold so tight to Katniss that Gale's probably going to be jealous when he sees it. I curse softly, exasperated with myself, for still having tears left, for having any tenderness left for that man after everything … I should be dancing on his grave, maybe desecrating it in worse ways. Didn't I love my mother at all? "Why do I care if he's dead?" I ask out loud before I know what I'm saying.

"Because he was your father. And kids love their parents even when … even when they're awful," Katniss says softly. "Even when they abandon them, or hurt them, or hurt people they love …" I nod against her shoulder, but I can't stand it.

"Let's go," Cedar says softly, nervously, and I remember what Gale said. The camera crew will probably not be very much help if an attack comes.

We turn to leave, and a bullet zips by, centimeters from my ear. Katniss reacts instinctively, bravely – she pushes Cedar to the ground in case there are more coming, shielding him with her own body since she has some semblance of body armor, and calls to the crew to protect themselves. I hear Gale cursing and trading shots with someone. The camera crews whirl to face the source of the shot, ignoring Katniss's advice to get down, and despite the medication I feel the Other Guy's voice resonating almost coherently in my mind, but more pressingly my watch is beeping shrilly, and I feel the all-too familiar, awful burning in every muscle in my body.

Looks like the Other Guy will get to see this cabin one more time after all.