The next morning, Soldier Deen knocks sharply on the door, entering after a beat. I'm dressed and ready, my gear packed and boots laced tightly. I stand with my hands behind my back to hide the balled fists attempting to control the trembling.
"Good morning, Soldier Mellark," she says quietly, looking around my spare cell of a room, eyes lingering on the manacles dangling at the ready from the bed.
"Good morning." My voice is mercifully steady.
"I've spoken to President Coin," she begins, watching the mirror carefully. "It seems the squad you will be joining is not in heavy combat. She mostly wishes for you to help add some excitement to the propos which have been lacking in 'flair,' as Mr. Heavensbee puts it." She pauses, editing her comment before continuing, "I have lodged my formal dissent, it has been noted." Her words convey her warning clearly enough and I nod slightly, letting her know I understand.
"Thank you, Soldier Deen. I'll be careful. Will my guards be accompanying me to be sure I'm not a danger to others?"
She shakes her head tightly. "They've been reassigned already."
I flinch at this. Not even a chance to say thank you and good-bye. Reaped.
"There's one more thing," she says wretchedly. "Your squadron is positioned in the Capitol. The Peacekeepers have fallen back, but it's not undefended." She pulls out a handheld device called a Holo and speaks her name into it, activating the screen. At her next command, a digital image projects in the air over the device. It's a city block, the perfect square indicating streets of the Capitol. Small lights all along the streets, some even hovering in the air, blink in different colors. There are swarms of them. A shiver runs over my skin, even though I have no idea what they are. "These are called pods," she tells me. "They could be anything. Mines, mutts, snares, booby-traps. Anything to stop you from advancing. We have what we believe to be the most up-to-date information about their placement, but it is more than likely that new pods have been activated since we received this information."
My heart beats achingly against the icy grip squeezing it tight. "It's an arena," I say, my voice cracking with despair. I'm going into a third arena to protect Katniss Everdeen. Some people never learn.
Deen nods silently, her eyes flashing her regret. I turn my burning glare to the mirror, confident Coin is watching safely from behind the glass. My head tips back and I square my shoulders. Whatever she has planned for Panem, I swear to do my best to stop it. If she needs Katniss dead, I will keep her alive. I nod shortly to the glass, my father's eyes blazing back at me, then I turn away.
Soldier Deen accompanies me with a handful of jumpsuits to a helipad where we board a roaring hovercraft. I grip the sides of my seat and close my eyes against the flood of dreadful familiarity. A quick flight to an unknown arena. All I'm missing is a tracker in my arm. Instead, I have a blocky "451" stamped in fresh ink on the back of my hand.
When we set down, I look around curiously. We're near a train track, a stripped down high-speed train waiting with the door open. A haunting familiarity I can't place. As the hovercraft unloads supplies that will be coming as well, I stare at the brushy forest outside a tangle of downed fence line. Something pulls insistently at my mind and I walk around the front to the other side of the train, staring down the tracks toward an ashy ruin of a town. As I stand, transfixed, my vision wavers and I feel my legs begin to shake. A small marker leans haphazardly next to the tracks, a sign declaring on its burnt and twisted face, "District 12."
My legs give out and I drop to the ground next to the train. I stare at the distant rubble, the layer of ash smudging the detail, but bringing the horror into focus. I drop my head between my knees, fighting the nausea threatening to overwhelm me. I clench my jaw against the vision of my family, terrified and trying to flee the inferno, everyone we have ever loved wiped out in one blazing sweep. A tear creeps down my cheek, but I wipe at if fiercely. Pulling myself to my feet, I stare at the remains of my home, letting it etch itself in my mind. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I shove it down with the burning rage, the boiling scream for vengeance. When I return to the other side of the train car, my legs are steady and my breathing calm. Only my eyes blaze.
We ride the train in grim silence, the landscape blurring past with dizzying speed. Deen tells me the use of the high-speed train is restricted to only the rarest of occasions, the fuel consumption being deemed wasteful to the stringent standards of the district. The rest of my squad had travelled for days aboard a cargo train. For safety, we stop in one of the deep, black tunnels leading through the mountain to the Capitol and hike in the remaining six hours. The entire time, I imagine ways to ensure I'm cremated, not buried, at my death. If I'm never underground again, it will be too soon.
Evening has just fallen when we finally emerge behind the train station where I've shuttled in and out more times than I care to think about. Soldier Deen is assigned to another squad and points me through a door, saluting sharply before turning and disappearing down a long hallway. The camp stretches out for blocks in the wide open air, clusters of squads and tents dotting the area. I walk forward uncertainly, not sure where 451 is set up, when a clamor of confusion greets me.
Soldiers leap to their feet, weapons trained on me, fury and shock on every face. Katniss is pulled quickly behind Gale who glares with fierce protectiveness. They were given no warning I was coming.
Boggs strides forward with a furious scowl, stripping my gun off my shoulder before spinning wordlessly and marching away, barking for a communicator.
I stand alone in front of a crowd of angry soldiers. "It won't matter," I shrug. "The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up," I add nonchalantly. My joke falls on deaf ears, greeted only with seething resentment.
When Boggs returns, he looks like he's been chewing glass. He spits an order at one of his soldiers to set up pairs of guards to keep me under watch around the clock. Probably not the worst idea, really. He takes Katniss by the arm and leads her away, winding through the small village of tents until they're out of sight.
"Ok, then," I say, clapping my hands together. "Welcome party done, where should I set up?"
The soldier who seems to be second in command glares at me darkly. "Why are you really here?" she demands sharply.
"President Coin sent me," I repeat. "She thinks it will make the propos better to have me here with the other victors. Let the nation see us all together, fighting side by side. Oh, and you too, Gale," I can't resist adding.
He bristles predictably, brows drawing down and fists balling at his sides. But Finnick laughs out loud and steps forward, standing next to me to face the others. A grateful wave sweeps up from my toes to my scalp and my defiant front gets shaky for a moment.
"Peeta, this is Soldier Jackson, she's Boggs' right hand. Your first watch is Mitchell, he's terrible at cards, but at least he doesn't know when to quit betting. And this is Leeg 1, you're her sister's replacement. She triggered a mine."
I nod to Mitchell, but I meet Leeg's eyes steadily. A deep sadness, almost numbness, throbs in the crystal blue depths. "I'm so sorry," I say softly. "Were you able to be with her?"
She shakes her head tightly, but she meets my eyes and looks surprised to be asked. She shakes her head again, more gently, and looks away. "You can put up your tent over here," she mutters, and leads me to a small, clear spot near a heater. She and Mitchell stand by while Finnick talks to Gale in a low, quick voice. The giant's dark glare never leaves me, but I do my best to ignore it.
Setting my gear down, I unpack my tent and give it a quick shake. Concentrating on the task is difficult, the whisper has been at a frenzied scream ever since I arrived and my hands fumble the simplest jobs. Grinding my teeth together as another grommet slips loose because of my trembling fingers, I hear the stamp of boots behind me.
"What time is my watch?" she spits furiously.
A shudder runs up my spine at the hatred in her voice, but I continue with the tent, keeping my face turned away and hoping she doesn't see the heat I feel rise in my cheeks.
"I didn't put you in the rotation," Jackson answers uncertainly.
"Why not?"
A deep sigh. "I'm not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it."
At this, I straighten and turn to face the small crowd of soldiers. It's one thing to be discussed as though I were a wayward pig, it's another to completely ignore me as they chat about my murder. I meet Finnick's eye and catch him trying to pluck at Katniss' arm, but she ignores him and raises her voice so it carries through the entire camp.
"I wouldn't be shooting Peeta," she declares ringingly. "He's gone. Johanna's right. It'd be just like shooting another of the Capitol's mutts."
A silence drops over the squad and I feel my face burn with humiliation. How many of the people here think exactly that? How many of them see me as an animal? A roiling knot of shame burns in my belly but I keep my head up, forcing myself to meet their eyes.
"Well, that sort of comment isn't recommending you either," Jackson mutters.
But Boggs' deep voice brooks no argument. "Put her in the rotation."
"Midnight to four," Jackson sighs. "You're on with me."
A sharp whistle pierces the tension and the soldiers turn away, start to file toward the large tent in the center of the camp. "That's dinner," Mitchell says.
"Thanks," I reply, my voice steady through sheer force of will. "I'll just be another minute." But I stand quietly, hands at my sides, staring at the pile of the tent, unable to move.
"We can help," Leeg says softly, and Mitchell nods.
Together, the three of us have the tent up and my gear stowed in time to make the end of the line at the canteen. Dinner is spare, but hot, welcome against the autumn chill settling over the camp. The squad gathers together in a circle to eat, but the tension is palpable. I stay on the outer edge, trying not to draw attention to myself. Gale spends the entire meal glaring at me. The whisper shrieks maniacally.
As darkness falls, a new shift of guards takes over and my stomach drops as Gale saunters over with Boggs and a quiet, slightly older man with kind eyes.
"I want you where I can see you, soldier," Boggs rumbles. "You'll sleep in your bag, no tent. You know Soldier Hawthorne, this is Soldier Homes. They have eyes on you for this shift."
"Thank you sir, I feel safer already," I reply dryly as Gale smirks.
"Your safety is the least of my concerns," Boggs growls, spinning to return to his tent where he confers angrily with Jackson.
The squad is settling in for the night, some in the tents, some in sleeping bags outside. Katniss casts a glare of loathing my way before ducking inside. Mitchell is a small distance away, but Leeg is right next to me. She disappears inside, but I can hear her trying to muffle her crying through her sleeping bag.
Before going to sleep, Finnick wanders over and stands quietly, watching me with a curious tip to his head, gleaming bronze in the dim light.
"What are the chances, huh?" he asks. "The propos must really be awful if they decided they would risk sending you to spice them up." His eyes hold mine steadily, asking the question he can't voice.
I shrug, "I'm a pawn, I go where I'm sent." Gale snorts derisively, but doesn't comment.
Finnick pulls a short length of rope from a pocket and holds it out. "In case you forgot yours," he offers smoothly.
My hands shake slightly as I reach to take it. This tiny kindness sends my shaky grasp on control spinning. I can't speak for a minute and only nod gratefully, unable to trust myself not to break down sobbing or something worse. He nods back and moves away, back to his sleeping bag where I listen to him rustling around getting comfortable. In the glow of the heater I can see him smoothing something out before pressing it briefly to his lips. My sketch of Annie. A warm glow spreads over my skin that I was able to do something for him, return kindness with kindness.
With this in mind, I pull my sleeping bag up around my chest, trying to keep the chill at bay, and lean very slightly toward the canvas where Leeg's muffled sobs tear at my heart.
"I lost my brother," I offer in a low voice. A bare pause from inside the tent, a hiccup followed by a sniffling gasp. "Two brothers actually. My whole family really. They were in 12." My eyes watch the rope sliding in and out of my fingers, the knots forming and disappearing over and over. "My brother Jasper was my best friend. He loved me best in the whole world." My own throat tightens as I remember Jasper's fierce loyalty and warm humor. "I miss him so much," I whisper. "It's like my heart doesn't know how to keep beating the same way without him."
"Like a piece of yourself has been lost," her voice adds shakily in the dark. "How do you go on?"
"He deserved the best of everything life has to offer," I answer. "But since he doesn't get the chance, I have to make my life worthwhile. I have to be worthy of surviving." I hear the truth of this as I say it. I feel the weight of responsibility, of making my life matter.
"Thank you, Peeta," Leeg whispers. "Good night." I hear her sigh deeply and burrow down into her sleeping bag. Looking up, I find Gale's eyes on me, but, for the first time, they hold no hostility. In fact, is it pity?
"Jasper was a good guy," he says gruffly, his voice low. "Everyone liked him. He –he wouldn't leave because his neighbor's kid got scared and hid. He was trying to help find him. And your father wouldn't leave your mother behind. She didn't believe it would really happen, and he wouldn't leave her. He was trying to convince her right up until…until the end."
Tears burn in my eyes and my throat aches. I close my eyes and twist the rope tightly around my fingers, letting the pinching pain focus my mind away from the screaming crashing against my skull. "Thank you, Gale," I say quietly. "Thank you for trying to save them."
He nods, his eyes steady on the invisible horizon. I stare into the darkness, images of Katniss burning my home, my family, dancing before my eyes. The burned, ashen ruin behind the train this morning. Snow, threatening retribution for my non-cooperation. The rope slides in and out of my fingers, the knots forming and disappearing as I wonder hopelessly what is real and what is fantasy. Time passes at a snail's pace until, with a yawn and a stretch, Jackson emerges from her tent to take her turn on the watch. It must be midnight. I wind the rope in a hopeless tangle, fingers trembling and clumsy as Katniss climbs out into the open and settles onto a stool, stiff and tired she stares at me, her eyes empty.
I keep my gaze on the rope, the knots appearing and disappearing in my inexperienced hands. The whisper screams mayhem and hatred as I wonder over and over again. Fantasy or reality? True or false? Real or not real?