Author's Note:
Apologies AGAIN. I had an absurd number of things that I had to do over the last couple of weeks and they were all time-sensitive, which means that my story got shoved to the back burner yet again. Believe me: I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN WRITING. Things have wound down a bit though, so I'm hoping to get back to a more frequent update schedule. I can't promise yet, but I'm going to try really hard.
Also, thank you, all my wonderful readers, for sticking around while I've been stringing you along! Your reward is not far away. Reviews and feedback keep me going
My first two days in the mine are thankfully spent not in the mine, but in a large, bland, windowless room with dozens of other new hires, while an instructor drones on about how it is an honor to serve the Capitol in our District industry, what is expected of us, and how to perform our duties without killing ourselves. The lecture on safety is a joke, really, since the conditions below ground kill workers all the time without any help from acts of blatant stupidity. We are issued uniforms, timecards, and team assignments. I decide after some debate to consider it lucky that Bristel will be working in the same unit that I will – I don't feel great about him being in close proximity to explosives and other potentially dangerous equipment, but it will be a comfort to be working alongside someone I know. We are informed of the proper procedures for reporting injuries (assuming we survive them), and where to go to see the Capitol-trained physician assigned to the mine (who will only bother with you if he thinks you'll be able to go back to work in a timely manner).
After two days of orientation, we are given over to the depths of the earth. Two days is all the preparation we get for a potentially fatal career. The tunnels are dark and cramped, the air stale and still – nothing different from the field trips we had taken during school, except that it now seems even more ominous since it's no longer just a day's visit. The veteran workers are somber, and within few hours the newest of us fall into step with them. Even Bristel, always quick to crack a joke or stir conversation, retreats into himself.
I remind myself yet again why I have decided to put myself through this – for the good of my family, the ones that I love enough to make this nightmare worth it. With each strike of my pickaxe I recite a name to myself. Rory. Vick. Posy. Rory. Vick. Posy. Every time I pick up a shovel, and heave a pile of coal into the bin to be taken back to the surface. Rory. Vick. Posy. Rory and I are at least on speaking terms again after that new pair of shoes, which is progress. Vick still can't wait to tell me every little detail of his day at school, even though he has to wait till later in the day to do it now. Posy doesn't have any qualms about shoving her brothers out of the way when she decides that it is her turn to be the focus of my attention. Each motion, each minute spent in this pit is for one of them. Thinking of them keeps my feet in place, because my first instinct is to turn and run, to escape the grave I am digging for myself. By the time I am done I ache from the day's exertion, but I am no stranger to hard work. I'll get used to that. The exhaustion will get easier. I hope the misery will, too.
The longer days have one distinct benefit – there is less time for watching the Hunger Games. I miss the muddy, brutal battle between the remaining District Two and Eleven Tributes, so I only get to see the highlights later in the evening. I confess that I am surprised at the result; I expected the boy that rescued Katniss come out on top, but his strength and size were no match for the rage Cato harbored over the death of his ally. The thing that concerns me is that he acquires a set of body armor for his trouble, which will make it a lot more difficult to kill him with an arrow. I also miss most of the live footage of Katniss and Peeta sharing kiss after kiss in their little cave by the creek, but there are highlights for that too, so I don't get to miss seeing her thaw little by little, and start to realize that she means it. I don't get to miss seeing her forget about everyone else that she loves.
The second day that I spend underground, even with the practiced mantra of my siblings' names, the darkness and closeness threaten to get the better of me. I may have known all my life that this is the place that I would end up, but I am accustomed to daylight and open space and living things – and all that is here is the stone inside the dim circles of light cast from our headlamps, and ghosts in the blackness beyond that. I try to think of the woods, the meadow, the sky, anything, try to imagine that everything isn't quite so close and dead so far beneath the earth, but the dense dark seeps over the memory like spilled ink into paper. And it makes me angry. Because that was my music – the thought crashes into me sideways so suddenly that the handle of my shovel nearly slips from my fingers. But it's less the words that rattle me than the lips that spoke them. The girl made of sunlight and fire, sharp wits and curvy lines. The girl I dare not think about while I am here because she is so unlike this place, because she makes me feel like rain, because I miss her. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she has become tangled up in the things that are my music. But of all of them she is the one that fights the darkness the hardest, the one that cannot be eclipsed by this hell.
It's an uneasy thing at first, so unexpected, but I start to let myself think of her because she keeps the shadows at bay. The rhythm of my brothers' and sister's names keep my feet firmly planted, but it is the thought of ferocious blue eyes and a messy golden ponytail that keeps me sane. And thank God for that, because I'm only two days in and teetering on the brink of losing it. What would I do without her, this girl that admires the fight in me? I think of her to keep the fire going in that fight. It'll give me time to find my footing here before I put it to use.
….
I couldn't have imagined it was possible, but the thoughts of rebellion that had so consumed my mind over the last few weeks start to collect dust as they are replaced by a constant worry for Gale. Part of me feels guilty for being so preoccupied while there are so many important things on the cusp of happening, but there isn't much I can do anyway while we wait for the end of the Hunger Games and the thought that he is working in the same place that claimed his father's life is heartbreaking. It's almost silly how much I miss catching sight of him at school, considering that he had always pretty much ignored me. I replay our brief conversation in the kitchen in my head over and over and over again while I ought to be reading an assignment or listening to a lecture in class, or eavesdropping on the Media Team at home, or lying in bed at night trying in vain to sleep, hoping and praying that he'd meant what I thought he did – that he is becoming less inclined to keep me at arm's length. Hoping and praying that he believed me when I tried to tell him that the circumstances around us don't (will never) matter to me. And that moment between us has made everything else so much more unbearable. I'm on the edge of having something to lose again and it has me in a vice. How do all those Seam women do it? And I'm not even a wife; no, I'm just a stupid girl in love with a man who simply decided not to hate me. How much worse does this feel when he loves you back?
….
The field of potential Victors narrows further, and after watching the daily highlights I learn that it is simply the result of Peeta Mellark's stupidity – the District Five girl who had survived by scavenging other Tribute's supplies drops dead after eating a handful of berries that he had gathered for a meal. Katniss had the good sense to forbid him from accompanying her on a hunt after he proved less than useless and left him unsupervised to gather food that he couldn't scare away, at which point he proved less than useless yet again. While I admit that botany isn't exactly my strength, I know what a blueberry is and, more importantly, isn't. The least he could have done would have been to start eating them before Katniss returned, and give her one less thing to weigh her down. It's not a very nice thing to think, but truthfully I've never been especially concerned with being very nice, and if he were gone maybe she'd remember that she has a sister here in Twelve that needs her alive.
And then, the night before what would be my third day, I am granted a reprieve when Claudius Templesmith announces that the Gamemakers have a special treat for the end of this year's Hunger Games.
….
School is cancelled, the mine is closed, and a strict curfew is imposed on the district. The end of the Games is technically another mandatory event, but since it's difficult to predict how long it could take, we are not required to gather in the square to watch yet. Instead, Peacekeepers patrol the streets to make sure that everyone remains in their homes to watch their televisions.
So far, there has been no information as to what kind of surprise awaits the remaining Tributes in the Arena. While the rational part of me knows that those sorts of details are kept carefully secret (especially this late in the Games), some little corner of my brain continues to wonder if perhaps the Capitol has caught wind of our plans and tightened security around all of their Gamemakers. Tangerine had, after all, given me a map a few weeks ago, and she was just a television reporter; couldn't one of our high-ranking contacts have ferreted out at least a few clues? The boy from District Two had found a set of armor inside his pack from the feast when he finally butchered the Tribute that had taken it – had the Capitol become weary of Katniss' advantage with a long-distance weapon, and decided to level the field again? Will today's special event also be specifically designed to work against her and Peeta? Was the rule change a simple ruse, announced to create a more dramatic ending when they steered the odds back out of her favor?
Once the reporters are done with him and out the door, I catch my father before he departs for the justice building, hoping that he'll have something to tell me that will allay my fears. He tries, I'll give him that, saying that there has been no news indicating that our plans have been discovered. But he is apprehensive, uncertain, and I call him on it.
"I worry about the same things you do, Magpie," he says.
"So no one has told us that they definitely don't know."
He sighs heavily, and I remember that he carries far more weight on his shoulders than I do. "We're playing the waiting game right now."
The curfew means that I am stuck at home, but at least today's events mean that the Media Team will be out and about for a while, collecting interviews from the Everdeens and the Mellarks and others familiar with the star-crossed lovers from Twelve. I feel a little selfish for looking forward to another break from them, because it means that people who are already tortured enough have to endure their insensitive questions and flippant attitudes. I wish I could at least visit Prim and offer comfort and encouragement, but I'm not sure I could get away with it even as the Mayor's daughter, and I'm a little uneasy about leaving my mother.
And I might as well be honest – I'd like to see Gale again. Would he like to see me? I can almost believe that he might, after last Sunday.
To give myself something to do, I sit at the piano and noodle around on the keys, playing bits and pieces of familiar compositions. My fingers feel clumsy on the keys, though, and it's an odd feeling; so often I use music as a distraction, but I don't want to be too distracted today and miss something important in the Games. My lack of focus causes my technical ability to suffer. Still, I keep at it, because feeling useless becomes more painful by the second.
After a while, my mother comes downstairs to brave the parlor where the television is on. When she sits down on the couch, Katniss and Peeta are on their way to the lake, apparently spurred to action after finding that the Gamemakers turned off their water supply. I watch her carefully, worried by this show of courage because it can only end badly for her.
The camera turns to Cato, the remaining Tribute from District Two, as he wanders the woods near his camp by the lake. He must be hunting for the lovers from Twelve, but I'm relieved to see that they are approaching from another direction. The longer it takes for them to meet, the better.
After a few minutes, I can't stand the silence, and I ask her as gently as I can, "Are you sure you want to watch this, Mom?"
She flinches slightly at the sound of my voice, and something in her face hardens as if from pain. "I'm sure that I don't want to. But I'm sure that I must."
It occurs to me that, for all my scheming and defiance and anger, I don't know a damn thing about courage and strength. I move from the piano bench to the couch to sit with her. She gives me a sad, distant smile. "You can keep playing," she says softly.
I shake my head. "You're not doing this alone," I say with finality.