A/N: Alrighty, so I have a little issue to address before I start babbling. The quote I gave at the end of last chapter came from Mrs. Everdeen, not Mellark. I admit that when I previously posted the chapter, I had it as Mellark first. Which, well, for her to say that would mean that she's alive to speak in the first place.
And that just doesn't work.
So, for those of you who read the chapter before I caught my mistake, take a deep breath and smile. The wicked witch is dead.
*cue dancing, singing munchkins*
Okay, so now that that's done, let's move on! This is a long-awaited chapter by many, I think. The jabberjays! I hope you like what I did with the scene and the scene that follows. And, might I just say that a character might surprise you this chapter. I know I was surprised when I wrote it.
Movie quote of the day comes from . . . Robin Hood: Men in Tights.
"Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!" - Blinkin
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; "You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."; "Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!"
Chapter 33
"Prim!" I plow through the jungle, heedless of any dangers. All that matters is getting to Prim. Vines cut my skin as I run right through them. Creepers try to trip me up at every step. Sweat stings my healing wounds from the fog. I'm panting, breathing in the humid air that's threatening to suffocate me.
Prim screams again, a terrible, agonized sound. "Prim!" Another scream. What are they doing to her? "Prim!"
I finally break through the constricting foliage and emerge into a little clearing. I hear Prim scream again, her voice so full of agony and terror. What could they be doing to her to evoke such a sound? "Prim!" I cry, my eyes searching frantically for my little sister.
I hear her scream again, and the sound is coming from right above me. Wait, what? Above me? My eyes look up into the branches of the tree nearest me and that's when I see it. Perched on a limb, ruffling its feathers, is a jabberjay. I watch as it opens its beak and then Prim's scream pierces the air.
In the next second the jabberjay is falling to the ground, my arrow having pierced its throat. I stare at the dead bird at my feet. A jabberjay, a muttation used by the Capitol in the Dark Days. Able to mimic the human voice, recording whole conversations. Or, in this case, my sister's screams. I continue to examine it. It looks nothing like a muttation. It resembles an ordinary bird. I conjure a picture of a mockingbird in my head and fuse it with the jabberjay at my feet. Yes, I can see how they mated to make my mockingjay.
Nonetheless, I pick the bird up and toss it into the jungle.
It wasn't real, I tell myself. It's not real. It was just a jabberjay. Prim is safe. She's at home. Not here.
"Katniss!"
Peeta bounds into the clearing and finds me placing my used arrow back in my quiver. "It's alright," I assure him. "I'm fine. I thought I heard Prim but—"
I'm cut off by another scream, but it's not Prim. This scream obviously belongs to a young man, his normally playful voice filled with agony. It's Rye. Peeta's face drains of color, but I manage to grab his arm before he dashes away toward his brother's screams.
"Peeta!"
I'm standing in front of him, my feet planted firmly in the ground as I keep him from moving forward. I know that if he truly wanted to, he could plow right through me, but he won't. Because that would hurt me, and that's the one thing that Peeta, no matter what state he's in, is incapable of doing. Still, I feel the strain of his muscles as they plead with him to run forward.
I wrap my arms around his neck, taking it as a good sign when Peeta's hands settle at my hips, despite the fact that his grip is so tight it will probably bruise. That doesn't matter, though. I whisper soothingly in his ear, "It's not him, Peeta. It's a jabberjay. It's not Rye. He's back at the bakery, telling really bad jokes. You know how he is. It's not him. He's safe. It's not him." I flinch as a particularly harsh cry pierces the air.
"Katniss." My name slips from his lips in a strangled plea.
"It's not Rye," I soothe. "It's a jabberjay, I promise. Trust me."
Peeta's grip on my hips relaxes a little, and I pull back to look at his tear-filled eyes. "Trust me," I repeat, holding his gaze. "It's a jabberjay. It's just a trick. It's not real."
"Jabberjays mimic what they hear, Katniss," he reminds me. "Where did they get those screams?"
Horror fills me as I understand his meaning. No, Prim and Rye may not be the ones screaming now, but at one point they were. How else could the jabberjays know what sound to produce? To torture us with? A terrible image congeals in my mind. Prim in a bright white room, strapped to a stainless steel table as President Snow hovers over her, a large, menacing knife in his hand. Prim struggling fruitlessly to get free and avoid the knife's decent . . .
"You don't think—" My voice cracks. "You don't think they . . ."
"I don't know." Peeta closes his eyes tightly, trying to think of an explanation. I wait impatiently for his brilliant mind to come up with an excuse. A reason why the jabberjays are mimicking our loved one's screams. A reason that doesn't involve them having elicited the screams themselves.
"They're not real," Peeta finally says as his eyes open. "The Capitol probably just took a recording of their voices, like in an interview or something, and then edited it to make it sound like a scream."
I soak in his explanation, seeing the logic in it and the probability. The Capitol had technology that we in District 12 can't fathom. It makes perfect sense that they could have a device, or some computer program that could produce the screams we're hearing now. Beetee would probably know.
"Right," I agree. "You're right. They're not real."
And just then, Gale's pained cry echoes in the air. Automatically, I make to move toward the sound, but Peeta's grip on my hips stops me. "Remember, it's not real, Katniss," Peeta tells me. He is now the one soothing me. "It's not real. Just a jabberjay."
And then I hear Prim scream. Peeta flinches, but takes my hand. "Come on, let's get out of here," he says as he begins to walk back the way we came, towing me along after him.
But it doesn't take long for our pace to go from a stumbling walk to a blind sprint. We're being chased away by the screams of our loved ones. Peeta and I flee what we can't fight. This must be the four to five o'clock wedge. The monkeys go home and the jabberjays come out to play.
I see Finnick and Johanna standing a few yards away from us, and it irks me that they're just standing there, doing nothing to help, although there's nothing that can be done. Peeta and I are just at the jungle's edge when we hit a barrier. Not a force field, but a solid barrier. Like one made of thick glass. I crumple to the ground, my shoulder aching from the impact with the glass. Peeta is on the ground beside me, muttering curses as he cradles his left arm. But that's when I see that it's not his arm that is hurt, it's his shoulder. And judging by the unnatural position, it's dislocated.
Finnick and Johanna pound on the glass, but their axes and knives don't even scratch it. I see Beetee solemnly shake his head out of the corner of my eye. Peeta and I are trapped in here until the hour passes, but I can't focus on that right now. I have to focus on Peeta and his injury.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it . . ." Peeta mutters heatedly under his breath. He's sat up by now, leaning against a tree. His eyes are closed tightly, his face twisted in pain.
"Peeta." He opens his eyes immediately and manages to give me a pained smile.
"Don't worry," he says. "Regrettably, this has happened before."
"Why do I get the feeling Rye was involved?" I ask, trying to distract him from the pain.
"Because he was." Peeta chuckles but then sucks in a deep breath as the action aggravates his shoulder. "Ow, fuck!" he groans before looking at me. "Sorry."
I roll my eyes. "I've heard worse from you." One f-bomb is tame compared to what I heard last year in the arena when I had to roll him to the stream in order to clean all the mud off him. This was after he'd camouflaged himself into the bank of the stream after being cut by Cato. "Truly, it was the most colorful, creative cursing I have ever heard."
"Glad you were impressed," Peeta mutters before hissing in pain, spewing another string of profanity. He truly doesn't curse often, and only deems it appropriate when in pain or extremely angry. Like now. "Okay, you're going to have to shove it back into place, alright?"
My eyes widen. "But won't that hurt more?"
Peeta chuckles without humor. "Oh, you have no idea. But I'll feel better afterward. I promise."
"But what if—"
"Katniss, just do it," he interrupts sharply. "Please."
I feel my jaw set in determination, and I give him a curt nod. Peeta's being strong. I need to be, too. We're a team. Still, my hands are trembling when I touch Peeta's shoulder. "Alright," Peeta hisses. "You can do it, okay? Just pop it back into place, and ignore whatever comes out of my mouth. I'm sorry in advance."
"You're not helping," I snap in my nervousness. I hate the fact that I have to cause Peeta more pain. "Okay, on the count of three." Peeta nods. "One." I take a deep breath. "Two!"
I shove Peeta's shoulder back into place with a pop, ignoring the plethora of curses spilling from his mouth. Honestly, I can't blame him. Simply hearing that sickening pop hurt me. But I notice Peeta's breathing evening out, his breaths becoming deeper and more measured.
"You cheater," he accuses with a tired, pained smile. "You said on three."
I shrug. "You weren't expecting it. I figured that would be better."
"Come here." He holds out his good arm, and I settle in his lap, though I stay clear of his left shoulder. He kisses my temple. "Thanks."
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm cut off by a scream. While we'd been distracted by his dislocated shoulder, the jabberjays have been assembling. Both Peeta and I look up at the trees, fear freezing our bodies when we see the sheer number of birds. Of course, the Gamemakers can't give us a break.
"It's not real," Peeta manages to whisper to me before the screaming starts. I cringe as Prim's pain-filled voice fills the air. My mother's scream is next. Then Gale and the rest of the Hawthornes. Hazelle. Rory. Vick. Even Posy, helpless, little Posy.
Peeta shudders when a particularly gruesome scream sounds exactly like his father. The screams of Rye and Chris haunt us, too. But neither Peeta nor I break. We hold each other tightly, whispering reassurances to the other, desperately trying to ignore the jabberjays. Frantic whispers of 'it's not real' and 'only jabberjays' and 'they're safe at home' pass between us. Though the screams of our family threaten to overwhelm us, Peeta and I remain strong.
Until one wail eclipses all the others.
The high-pitched wail of a baby pierces the air and my heart. I know that it's not my baby. My baby is safe in my womb. But even so, the sound cuts me to my core and I can't control the tears that begin pouring down my cheeks. Peeta is just as affected as I am, and I can feel his chest shake as a strangled sob escapes him. "It's not real," Peeta tells me in a tear-filled voice. "It's not real. It's not our baby." We both cringe as the baby wails loudly. "Not real," he repeats, his voice trembling. "It's not real."
The screams eventually stop, but Peeta and I don't move as Johanna and Finnick approach us. Their lips move, but I don't hear a word they say. All I can hear are the baby's wails. Suddenly, I'm lifted into the air and I realize that Peeta has gotten to his feet, though he's kept me in his arms. He carries me, bad shoulder and all, to the camp that Finnick and Johanna set up in our absence. Peeta sits down on the beach on the outskirts of our camp, emphasizing our want to be left alone, and wraps both his arms around me. My face is still buried in the crook of his neck, my tears still flowing freely. I want to stop crying. I really do. More than anything. But my hormones are preventing me from doing so.
To the Capitol, I must look like a completely different person compared to what they saw from me in the arena last year. Last year, I only cried twice. The first time, when I sang to Rue until she died. And then the second time in the cave the night I found Peeta. Other than that I was resolute and strong, blowing things up and eluding death. What have I done this year? Cry. Puke. Being excessively emotional in general.
I've been acting like a pregnant woman. If they don't like it, then that's just too damn bad.
I don't know for how long Peeta and I sit on the beach, away from everyone. It feels like hours, but I know it can't be for more than thirty minutes. All I hear are the baby's wails, and I have to constantly remind myself that it wasn't my baby. But was it someone else's child? Or did the Capitol manipulate that sound, too? Either way, it's a heartless act, torturing me with those screams.
Peeta has yet to loosen his hold on me, which is bordering on being too tight, but I don't say anything. We've yet to say a word to each other actually. What's there to say? We both know the truth. It wasn't our baby . . . but that doesn't mean that the thought doesn't cause us pain. The thought that it could have been our child. That is what currently haunts us. In a way, the baby's screams were the manifestation of mine and Peeta's worst nightmare.
Snow is definitely pulling out all the stops this year, but I refuse to bend to his will. I refuse to crumble. After all that I've survived? All the hell I've been through? I've survived dehydration, starvation, great walls of fire, bloody battles, vicious mutts, poisonous fog, malicious monkeys . . . I can survive. It's the one thing I've proved over and over again. I'm resilient. I'm strong. And right now? Right now I'm a very pissed off pregnant woman who is sick and tired of President Snow haunting her thoughts and threatening everyone and everything she loves.
It's this anger, this determination, that makes me move. I pull back from Peeta and stare into his eyes, which are still reflecting pain and sorrow. But as soon as he sees the fierceness in my gaze—the anger—I see the sorrow fade. The pain remains, but it's eclipsed by the determination that's gripping me. We will not let President Snow break us.
"We're stronger than this," I tell him, and Peeta nods.
He closes the space between us once more, but only so that he can whisper in my ear, "We're going to give him hell." The same words I used the night after finding out about the baby. Both of us had been feeling terrified, but then, just like now, I'd refused to wilt. Determination had filled me and I'd told Peeta that we would find a way out of the arena and then make Snow pay. Give him hell.
"Right."
I wonder how I ever thought love could be a weakness. If anything, it has only made me stronger. It gives me a reason to fight. It gives me a reason to believe. Because as day after day passes, I realize that Prim's words to me nearly a year ago are proving to hold more and more truth. Love is a strength that can't be beaten.
And so without further ado, Peeta and I get to our feet and move back to where Johanna, Finnick, and Beetee are sitting. There's a beat of silence as we all stare at each other before Finnick asks, "You two going to be alright?"
"Fine," I answer.
"Jabberjays," Beetee begins, looking at me and Peeta. "You can't trust what you heard. The Capitol can easily take someone's regular voice and manipulate it into the screams you heard. It's quite simple. We teach our children the technique in school."
"You heard them too?" Peeta asks.
"Some," Johanna answers. "Before the barrier went up. There was a girl and a man. We thought one of them sounded like Peeta, but when we tried to reach you, the barrier came up. Didn't hear anything after that."
"It was Rye you heard," Peeta tells her, and despite our renewed determination his voice wavers slightly. "The one you thought was me. My brother."
"The other was Prim," I add softly.
"That wasn't all you heard," Johanna states looking between us, obviously referring to mine and Peeta's mini-breakdown.
Peeta and I share a glance before he says, "One of the screams sounded like a baby's."
Silence.
It takes a second for our allies to absorb this, and I know that I will have nightmares about the jabberjays for a long time to come. Finnick is the first to show any emotion. He scowls before abruptly standing and then diving into the sea. Beetee looks deeply troubled, though the look in his eyes reminds me of a thoroughly disappointed teacher. Johanna, however, once again proves to be a surprise. Disgust shows plainly on her face, and she abruptly turns her face up to the sky and shouts, "Go to hell, you bastards!"
My mouth drops open in shock. If I thought her words earlier today about the Capitol reaping my child just to see if it could kill as well as me or Peeta were gutsy, then I have no idea how to describe her words now except to say that Johanna Mason is the bravest woman I know. Our eyes meet and she smirks. Any inhibitions I had about Johanna are gone. She's on my side, and I think we'll turn out to be good friends.
The editors in the control room are no doubt having a time editing out Johanna's words, but I don't care if no one in Panem heard her treasonous, daring words. I did.
A cannon blast startles us all, and we all turn to what must be the six to seven o'clock zone. We watch as the hovercraft's claw descends five different times in order to pick up all the pieces of the dead tribute. Peeta immediately picks up his knife and a new leaf and draws another map like the one he had at the Cornucopia. We lost it when we were spun. This time he adds JJ for jabberjays in the four to five o'clock section and beast in the six to seven o'clock section.
For the next few hours, we each busy ourselves with mindless tasks. Peeta and Johanna venture back into the jungle to the tree he was tapping before the jabberjay attack to get water. Beetee fiddles with his wire, and I go to sit at the edge of the sea. Finnick has only come out of the water to weave yet another fishing net and more water bowls. The rest of the time he's spent fishing and he'll wordlessly give his catch to me and I will gut and clean them. When the sun begins to set, Finnick finally comes out of the water and sits beside me.
"I'm sorry," he says. "For what you had to hear."
"So am I," I reply, not wanting to linger on the subject.
Finnick senses this and nods. "Let's take these back to everyone then," he says, picking up a bowl of the raw, cleaned fish.
I take the other bowl and follow him. We've just sat down when the anthem plays and the faces of the dead appear in the sky. Cashmere. Wiress. Mags. The woman from District 5. The other morphling from 6. Blight. The man from 10.
Seven dead, plus the nine from yesterday. Two thirds of the tributes dead in only a day and a half. That has to be some sort of record.
"They're really burning through us," Johanna says, her thoughts obviously mimicking mine.
"Who's left? Besides us five and District 2?" Finnick asks.
"Chaff," Peeta answers immediately, and I think that he must have been keeping an eye out for the older man, since he is one of Haymitch's friends.
Just then, a silver parachute floats down toward us, bringing with it the small, bite-sized rolls from District 3. Beetee doesn't object when Finnick takes the parachute. "These are from your district, right, Beetee?" Peeta asks, though I really don't know why. He knew the answer. Maybe just making conversation.
"Yes, from District 3," Beetee replies before looking at Finnick. "How many are there?"
Finnick turns each roll over in his hands as he counts them, setting them in a four by six square. What is it with Finnick and bread? My eyes narrow slightly, but whether it's in suspicion or confusion I can't really tell yet. "Twenty-four," Finnick announces.
"An even two dozen then?" Beetee repeats, as if to make sure.
"Right on the nose." Finnick raises his eyebrows. "How should we divide them?"
"Let's each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest," Johanna jokes, but I'm the only one that actually laughs a little. Johanna gives me an approving look, like maybe I'm not so bad after all.
After we eat our meal of fish and rolls, we wait until the ten o'clock wave before moving to that section. Theoretically, we should have twelve horror-free hours. Still, we're cautious and the fact that there's a mysterious, yet ominous clicking sound coming from the eleven o'clock wedge doesn't make us feel exactly safe. We just avoid that side of the beach, should some evil Gamemaker cockroach leap out at us and attack.
Peeta and I offer to keep watch, and no one objects, giving us our time alone. We sit on the damp sand, me watching the water while he watches the jungle. My mind can't help but drift to the events of the day. Losing Mags so early in the morning to the fog. The monkeys. Meeting up with Johanna, Beetee, and Wiress. Moving to the Cornucopia where I killed Cashmere and Wiress was lost. Then the jabberjays. I inwardly cringe at the memory still haunting the back of my mind. It's been a long day.
"How's your shoulder?" I ask quietly.
"Fine," Peeta replies, shifting so that he's sitting beside me, our shoulders (his right, my left) touching. "It's a little sore, but I can deal." He studies me. "How are you?"
There are so many ways I could answer that question, but I settle for, "Fine."
"You're not fine."
"Neither are you," I retort before sighing. "I just wish I could see their faces—my mother and Prim. Gale. And Maya. I really miss Maya."
Peeta chuckles. "Well, I can't whisk them here, but you can still see their faces," he says and I frown in confusion. Peeta gives me a smile before tugging at a gold chain around his neck that I've noticed, but never commented on. He takes it off and I see that a gold disk hangs from the chain, engraved with my mockingjay.
"Oh, look. We match," I say. This must be Effie's present to Peeta, her idea of 'matching accessories.'
But when Peeta runs his thumb over a catch, the disk opens. It's a locket. And like every locket should, it holds pictures. I feel my breath catch in my throat when I see my mother, Prim, and Gale smiling back at me. How in the world had Peeta gotten Gale to smile? On the left side of the locket is the other half of my family, my newly acquired family—Mr. Mellark, Chris, and Rye.
I smile softly, my eyes leaving the pictures briefly to look at Peeta. "Thank you."
"We should probably get back to keeping watch," Peeta says with a smile, before beginning to shift back to his previous position facing the jungle.
This doesn't work for me. Seeing the pictures of my family has raised my spirits greatly, and I'm feeling grateful. Despite everything that's happened, I still have my family. And I still have Peeta. I feel the need to celebrate, in my own little way.
So I straddle him, looping my arms around his neck. Peeta's eyes widen slightly before he laughs and says, "Uh, Katniss? This isn't how keeping watch usually works . . ."
"Sure it is," I tell him with a smirk. "I can watch the jungle, you can watch the water. It works."
"Katniss," Peeta protests, but his hands still settle at my waist. "I love you, but—"
I interrupt him with a kiss, and can't help but feel triumphant when Peeta immediately begins kissing me back. Though our brief conversation was rather playful, our kiss is anything but. I sigh as my fingers tangle in his hair and he deepens the kiss. There's no telling how long we would have kept kissing, if it weren't for Finnick, who pointedly clears his throat and says, "Odd way to keep watch."
Peeta and I break apart abruptly, looking at Finnick in annoyance. He holds up his hands, "Sorry, but you two don't have a cave to snuggle in this year. Spare the rest of us from what went on in that sleeping bag."
"Nothing went on in the sleeping bag," I tell him and Peeta scoffs.
"That's not how I remember it."
"Shut it, Mellark."
Finnick rolls his eyes. "Okay, I'm taking over for one of you, since you two obviously can't be together without causing trouble." He then looks pointedly at me, and so does Peeta.
I scowl, but before I can argue Peeta speaks, "Go to sleep, Katniss," he says. "You need it."
I want to argue. I really do. But he's right. Besides, I get the feeling that we'll be breaking out of the arena soon. Beetee is obviously feeling better, and these Games are winding down fast. We need to make our move, and I need to be prepared. So I allow Peeta to walk me back toward where the others are sleeping. He slips his locket off and puts it around my neck. Then, he places his hand on my stomach and says in a soft voice, "You're going to be a great mother, you know."
He kisses me once more before moving back to Finnick. I settle down a few feet from Johanna and close my eyes. Sleep captures me quickly and I'm swept up in dreams of a world where the Capitol and the Games don't exist. A place where mine and Peeta's child would be safe.
Woo! Lots of stuff in this chapter. I admit it's probably one of my favorites, if only because I actually had Peeta say the F word. I know, petty of me, but really, isn't it kinda cute? I mean it's Peeta.
So, in summary for this chapter: The Capitol seems to have a fascination with genetically-altered birds, Peeta drops an F-bomb thus, if we're being overly dramatic, shattering his "Golden Boy" image, Katniss of course loves him all the same, someone else died by some unknown beastie (again, LOST reference anyone?), Beetee is probably thinking of stuff no one can follow, Finnick is becoming one with the fishes and killing them soon after (seriously, who eats that much shellfish?), and Johanna is cursing the Capitol (what's new?).
Alas, I owe you a quote from CROCS! Hmm . . . let's see, let's see . . . time to introduce a brand new character! May I proudly present my own creation . . . Dr. Riley.
"Girl, you are so many shades of stupid, I don't know where to begin."
Lots of love,
AC
