Peeta once said I was brave, but as I wait in the train station I know nothing I've done up 'til now has been of any consequence. Gale got it right - I really am just a spoiled townie. I'm pretty sure the Capitol has kept me out of the reapings - keeping me safe as leverage against my father. What will happen now? How long will it be until Thread realizes I'm not sick in bed? Daddy wouldn't tell me enough of his plans, other than showing me the recording device. My voice is the only part of me that will stay in 12. Still, he'd seemed to think of everything, so what could I do but trust him? I couldn't believe he was really going through with it, sending me away, especially after we'd learned about uprisings in district 4.
When it came right down to it, sneaking my trunk in with the Capitol reporters' luggage was unbelievably easy. When daddy comes to check on me at the train station, he helps me into the trunk and then makes sure I can release the latch from inside. The wire is barely noticeable. As I hug him goodbye, I can't hold back the tears. He wipes my cheeks with a freshly pressed handkerchief and pushes it into my hand. Back in the trunk, my 'survival pack' as I call it is nestled to my chest. The lid swings down and everything goes dark. He whispers for me to be brave. And then he's gone, and I'm alone.
I wait in the dark, paralyzed with fear. I manage to stay silent through the loading, putting all my effort into silence and slow, quiet breaths. My trunk is lifted in the cargo compartment on the train along with the rest of the Capitol luggage. The compartment is uncomfortably warm and smells like industrial cleaner. Once the peacekeepers leave and I feel the sway of the moving train, I allow myself a moment of weakness, releasing my tensed body and letting the shaky breath and quiet sobs wrack through me.
Tears stream silently down my face and I think about everything I'm leaving. Of course my family is the hardest, but at least I could say goodbye to them. Peeta and Katniss are already in the Capitol waiting to see who will die in the arena, both expecting it to be them. After the interviews last night the victors joined hands a split second before the screen went black. Today they enter the arena. How long will any of us last?
After Katniss and Peeta in my personal list of important people, I'm down to Gale, who will probably be the last person in district 12 to realize I'm gone. I thought I'd given up on my Gale fantasies, but now I imagine him finding me back at the train station. Would he have been impressed by my courage, wanting to come with me to district four where he could join the rebellion? I half-snort at my own ridiculous wishful thinking. More likely he'd have glared at me hatefully, because it's my family's wealth and position that makes my escape both necessary and possible. Gale would ignore the necessity and only see my unfair opportunity. This thought sends fresh tears down my face. I know it's stupid and thinking of Gale won't do me any good, but I can't help it.
I get plenty of air in the trunk; unfortunately I also get a fair share of claustrophobia and fear. As my body stiffens and aches from the close quarters, I retreat into my music, calling it up in my head, pressing my fingers to my legs as they silently play out the sad melody I still associate with the hunter. I may be wallowing, but the routine calms me and keeps me steady. I think how preposterous this whole situation is. My world has been changing too quickly ... I wonder what it could look like a day, a week, a month from now. If I'm still alive. If I haven't been captured by peacekeepers. Ugh, I can't keep thinking this way. I deliberately change the melody in my head to a complicated sonata I'm still learning; it makes for a more effective distraction.
The train rumbles on down the track, carrying me away from everything I know and love. Before each district, I can hear peacekeepers walk through the compartment and I break out in a cold sweat. Later, a group of them returns, loading the luggage of the next set of Capitol reporters. When we get to 8, things are different. A pair of sentries stay at the door to the compartment, and no luggage is brought in. I can hear pieces of their conversation – at first they must be talking about the situation in district 8, but then I pick up something about a jungle, which confuses me, until they continue about weapons and a cornucopia, and I realize the games must have started, and they are talking about the arena. I wonder what is happening to Katniss and Peeta. Hours have passed and the warm dry air (or maybe just my nerves) have left me parched, so once the train is rolling out of district 8 and the sentries leave, I pull my water bottle and some food from my pack.
It's early morning when we reach four, and the peacekeepers come through the compartment as usual. I haven't slept, and I'm exhausted but so keyed up I'm shivering despite the warmth. Before they leave, a high nasal voice rings out, "On your guard. Those victors are setting a bad example." With that, the whole group trails out of the compartment. I wonder what's going on in the arena to spark such a comment. I take a deep breath and ready myself for my final flight. My braid is pulled up under a loose cap and contact lenses from the Capitol tint my eyes green. I briefly grip the knife taken from my kitchen back in 12, before leaving it in my pack. Time to go.
I'm halfway across the compartment when I hear muffled footsteps beyond the door. I panic, and throw myself behind the closest pile of luggage, painfully hitting my elbow in the process. I press myself against the wall of the compartment; my heart pounds in my chest. The compartment door opens and the footsteps pass to the far side of the piles of luggage. There's no place to hide and I am sure I'll be caught in a matter of seconds. I peer desperately through a slit between the trunks hiding me, but can't see anything. There are the sounds of luggage being moved around and then the footsteps are coming back toward me and the door. I catch a glimpse of a young Capitol attendant carrying a small stylish bag, and jerk backward before I can stop myself – and thump quietly against another set of luggage. In that split second I know I am dead for sure. A strange animal-like noise comes from the direction of the man, who has frozen in place. Why did I leave my knife in the bag? Can I possibly get to it before the attendant takes me into custody? Reaching for it will only make more noise – will it matter? The attendant hasn't moved – maybe he doesn't realize I'm here, and thinks the noise came from beyond the compartment? It seems like hours pass, though it must only be a moment. I slowly reach back to my bag, find the knife, and slide it out of the bag. Almost silently. Almost. I can't see anything, but I'm poised behind the knife with the knife raised when I hear the young man continue to the compartment door and leave without a word. What just happened? All I can think is that any second he'll return with Peacekeepers in tow.
Fearing I'm walking straight into a trap, I bolt through the compartment, out the far door, and to the door of the train. I'm between two compartments and take a moment to the situation outside the train door – the platform is mostly empty, except for a pair of Peacekeepers standing on the platform, facing the station. No sign of the young man; he must still be on the train, in the compartments toward the front of the train. I'm debating whether I can make it to the end of the platform without being seen, when I notice two Capitol reporters walking from the train toward the Peacekeepers, down the platform. One of them is gesturing frantically. I crack the door of the train to hear her shrill voice, "… I sent my attendant ages ago. Where is my bag?" The Peacekeepers have turned to them, facing away from me so I can't make out their gruff response. While the Peacekeepers are preoccupied, this is my opportunity. I ease the door open, verify that no one is looking in my direction, and sprint for the far end of the platform. I reach the end and look back over my shoulder as I turn to drop over the edge. That's when I see the young man again, looking abashed and standing with the reporter who now has ownership of her bag again, the same one I'd glimpsed in his hands back in the luggage compartment. He is not exactly facing me, but I have the feeling that he's seen my race across the station platform. I'm confused, wondering who he is and why he hasn't turned me in to the Peacekeepers, but I don't have time to ponder it because just then the other Peacekeepers exit the station with arms filled with luggage for the train. I drop to the ground behind the platform, and crouch behind the landscaped shrubbery of the district four train station, gasping for air.
I've been gripping the knife tightly through my escape from the train. After a quick drink, I tuck my water bottle and the knife back into my survival pack. My stomach is churning and there is no way I can eat anything. Even if I could, now isn't the time. I don't think the Peacekeepers saw me, but for all I know that attendant could be reporting me at this minute, so I keep moving, sneaking along the edge of the platform toward the train station and town. There aren't many people on the street outside the train station, and I stay off the side of the road as I head away to the south. The sun is just up above the horizon, and after a few blocks there are more people in the streets. Before I know it the city seems to swallow me up into a complex web of busy streets. District four is huge – I knew it was much bigger than 12 but this is bigger than I could have imagined. It's hard not to stop and stare at the strange storefronts, especially in the areas that show signs of recent fighting, but I force my head down and I continue heading south, also cutting east. My aunt's family is supposed to live in a part of town along the coast. The land seems to slope down to the south and east, so this should lead me to the right part of town. I only hope I can find them in this huge labyrinth.
A/N: So begins Madge's escape from 12, and our adventures in district 4 begin. The capitol attendant, for those curious, is an avox.