Chapter Eleven

In the morning, I wake before the sun - look outside and see there will be no sun today. There's something pointed about this storm, as if it is being manipulated by the Gamemakers. We're in crisis - a new Head Peacekeeper has arrived and has a heavy hand. Katniss thinks we need to flee the district, sooner rather than later, to escape a terrible end. And here is this late-winter storm, when we should be getting the soft warm rains that tease out the spring wildflowers.

I stoke the coals in the stove, then warm up the kitchen with the oven. Despite everything, there's a routine to follow. People will still expect bread.

I walk over to Haymitch's and leave his delivery in the front room. He'll be sleeping off the morning, probably. Then I go over to Katniss'. I take three deep breaths before gently going inside.

It's - about what I expected. Gale's still unconscious on the kitchen table, his bandaged back damp, but his demeanor calm. Katniss sits next to him, on the stool where his mother sat. Her head is on the table and she's asleep, but she clutches his hand in one of hers.

It's hard to see - no question. But I can't legitimately argue that I have any claim on her - not a real claim, anyway. I was silent. He spent years with her in the woods. If anything, I'm the intruder. I can almost see it - him watching the Games, dreading watching her, but unable to avoid it. Hearing some stranger declare his love for her. Did he know that her actions in the arena were motivated by survival, not love? Surely, if he knew her at all. But it must have been hard to watch. It is so hard to watch.

I put the bread on the counter and gently shake her awake. She stirs and looks at me - right at me - as if she knows she is killing me and she hates it, but she can't help it. She's gray-faced and gaunt. It's uncomfortably reminiscent of the moment before the berries, when she should have killed me.

"Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now."

"Peeta," she says. "About what I said yesterday. About running -."

"I know." I shake my head. I always knew. "There's nothing to explain."

She continues to stare at me for so long that it starts to get uncomfortable, and I'm anxious about what can possibly be said as a follow-up. She is silent. But what can she say? There's nothing she can say to change the fact that she's made her choice. I will go with her, but he will not - so, she's going to stand here and take whatever punishment is coming to her because nothing will force her to leave him again. I don't know where this puts our supposed engagement and wedding. I don't know what she thinks will happen in the Quarter Quell, when we will be expected to resume our performances back in the Capitol. Haymitch is going to be unhappy, but I know - I have reason to know - there's no dislodging Katniss Everdeen when she puts her mind to something. It's why I'm alive today to offer to watch over the boy she really loves.

"Peeta -." she says again. There's no happiness in her face. She has the grace to look genuinely distressed.

"Just go to bed, OK?"

I take a seat against the wall, and Prim comes in after a while, doing a double-take when she sees me there. She smiles at me as she pokes around the bandages, gently. I think about last year's Reaping, when she was a little younger, but so much smaller, much more frightened, as she took those tentative steps to the stage. Those last few moments before I myself was a tribute. That whole day retains a slanted quality in my memory, as if I can only see it at the crazy angle of a person about to collapse into a faint.

She's alive. Her sister is alive. I'm alive. An impossible situation. The odds were against it.

"How's he doing?"

"He'll be fine. We'll keep him on morphling until the danger of the worst pain has passed. Have you ever had a really bad sunburn?"

"Yeah, I burn pretty easily."

"Me, too. This summer, remind me to show you something that can prevent them. He'll feel like that for a while - like he has a really, really bad sunburn. He'll manage. He'll miss a lot of days at work, though."

I frown. "Will he - take money?"

She chuckles. "He doesn't take anything. His mother might."

"Thanks, I'll remember that," I say.

She looks me over for a while. "It's good of you to ask. I'm glad you are spending time with us now. We've been worried about you."

"What? What do you mean?"

"You don't seem to get many visitors. Um - I've been around a lot of people who have had - amputations - and sometimes they get depressed."

"Oh." I look at her curiously. "Have you ever had to …."

"I've helped, yes."

I'm flabbergasted as I look at her calm, still, smiling face. "Maybe you would have been better prepared for the arena than me," I say.

"It's different though, isn't it? What happens here - mining accidents. They're unfortunate, maybe they could be prevented better. But they're accidents. What happened to you - and the things that you saw …."

"I've been a little depressed," I admit. "My leg is - only part of it. It's everything, really. I'm always afraid that people will want me to talk about it, so it's easier to avoid them."

"Maybe you should talk about it."

I smile. "You really aren't much like Katniss, are you?"

"No, not that way, I guess."

Gale stirs and we both turn to look at him, but he settles back down.

"Do you know why Madge's mother uses - morphling?"

"I guess it's for her headaches. Katniss says she gets severe headaches that last for days. That's why Madge comes over here so much. That and I'm not sure her parents would be happy that Katniss is teaching her how to hunt."

"What?"

Prim laughs. "Right? You wouldn't think it, but she asked Katniss to teach her. Katniss always wanted me to learn, but I wasn't any good at it."

I look over at Gale, thoughtfully, wondering if Haymitch had the right of it, after all.

"Peeta - you're still going to come over for breakfast, aren't you?"

"You mean …." I look over to her. I wish her sister had one-tenth her powers of perception. "Oh - I already knew how she felt about Gale. Nothing has changed, really."

"Good. You shouldn't spend too much time on your own. And we won't bug you with questions. Anyway - it's good for Katniss."

"How do you mean?"

"You - make her smile."

That hurts in a specific point in my chest, high up and sharp. It hurts in a way that doesn't make me feel sorry for myself. It makes me sorry for her - for the girl whose life has had few smiles in it, especially since her father died. Yes, I've seen her smile - I've made her smile. "Oh," I say. "Well, I don't know about that, but it is good for me."

Her mother comes into the kitchen and follows her lead, poking around the bandages. "I think we'll try snow coat later this morning," she says thoughtfully. She then looks out the kitchen window. "I don't think there will be school today, Prim."

"No, I don't think so."

"Peeta, have you eaten?"

I shake my head.

"Why don't you guys go sit in the other room. We'll just have some bread and leftover stew. Obviously, food preparation is out of the question."

"Will you be able to move him soon?"

"We'll want to do the snow coat in here, as it might make a mess. But after that, we'll move him into the spare bedroom. He should be able to go home in a couple of days."

She brings tea, the sliced loaves of bread - to which I had added orange peel and cinnamon - butter and the remainder of a beef and potato stew into the sitting room, and we eat in silence. She has a habit of looking at me - like Prim does - with a gentle look, unobtrusive but thoughtful. "You look like your father," she says, suddenly.

I blush. And Katniss looks like her own father, the man her mother chose instead of mine.

"I was surprised when you said that he had ever spoken to you - about me."

"Well, I mean - not a lot. Just once or twice."

"We were very good friends as children, and I was sorry - sorry to disappoint him. He seemed to move on quickly enough," she adds. "I was glad for that."

Well - not really. I wouldn't hold my parents' marriage up as an example of wedded bliss. But I've embarrassed them enough, already, so I don't say anything.

I feel at this point - love triangles and marriages being the topics on the table - I should bring up something about the engagement and all the kisses on the tour. But I honestly don't know what Katniss has told them, exactly, about all that. They are surely aware that there was a strategic element to the whole thing. But I just finish breakfast, then wash up the dishes. I'm supposed to be looking after Gale, but there doesn't seem much to do, not with Prim and her mother downstairs, as well.

When I hear Katniss stirring upstairs, it's mid-morning, and I slip away before she comes down.

Prim asks me if I'm sure, I might get stuck in the house if this weather lasts much longer, but I say I have plenty of supplies, and I should keep the house warm, anyway.

Outside, there's a small lull in the storm, in the sense that the wind seems to be gently swirling around in circles, as if trying to decide on a direction. But the white sky and the white ground are indistinguishable from each other, offering no promise of imminent relief. I trudge through the snow, following the tops of the little iron fences that border the front yard of each house. I slither my way up Haymitch's porch and go inside. He's still passed out. The bread is untouched. I refuel his fire, then go back out into the blizzard and make my own way home.

Since the storm looks to be a long one, I prep my house for the worst. I shut the upstairs vents to preserve my coal, and move my bedding and some clothes into the living room, piling them up on the couch. I'm tired and drained, and only got about three hours of sleep last night, so I snuggle into the pile of blankets and clothes and am just slipping away into a comfortable and effortless nap when the phone rings and jerks me awake.

Phone calls usually mean Effie or someone, calling from the Capitol. Could be Portia. Maybe they've seen a weather report and are calling to check in on me. I stagger into the study to answer the phone, and there's a beat before I hear a response.

"Hey," says Katniss. "I just wanted to make sure you got home."

I blink at the phone. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you."

"I know," she says earnestly, "but with the weather and all."

I can feel my face smile and I don't even know why. I'm sure it's just that she's feeling sorry for me, but - it's a lot better than being completely ignored, anyway. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking." There's a long pause. I can still hear her breaths on the other end of the line. "How's - Gale?" I ask, as if I wasn't just over there.

"All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now."

"And your face?"

"I've got some, too. Have you seen Haymitch today?"

"I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread."

"I wanted to talk to - to both of you," she says, with her voice oddly strained.

This is curious. She is no longer planning to run into the woods. Has she come up with some other plan? I can't even begin to imagine what it is. But at least she's not leaving me out.

"Probably have to wait until the weather calms down. Nothing much will happen before that, anyway."

"No, nothing much," she agrees.

There's another pause. "Well - thanks again for calling," I finally say.

"Are you going to be OK there? I'm worried we might get blocked in, and …"

"Depends on how long the storm lasts," I reply, "but I have plenty for now. I don't know about breakfast tomorrow - we'll have to see."

"I know. I'll miss … the bread. But don't leave the house if it's dangerous."

"Same with you," I tell her.

Over the next two days, as the storm rages on, I regret more than once not staying with the Everdeens. Katniss calls in the mornings to check in, and twice on the second day. We have a long conversation that starts with our favorite things to eat in the Capitol and ends with everything we can remember about fourth grade. We're that bored.

I hear from Portia once, too. She quizzes me on wedding ceremonies in District 12. Having seen the lavish public ceremonies of Capitol celebrities, I know they are done very differently from ours. On our own ceremonies, I'm a little bit of an expert, the bakery making specialty breads for the toasting ceremony that is the core of the wedding. "Not that specialty breads are needed," I conclude. "Just that - if you can afford it - you try to get something a little nicer than normal."

Eventually, I come to understand that she's helping Cinna work on wedding dresses.

"For Katniss? How many does she need?"

"There's a bit of a - thing - about it over here," she says delicately. "Since the wedding is going to be televised, the Capitol audience is voting on venues and catering - and outfits. So - we're working on quite a few."

I force myself not to give in to a long, frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry for you guys. That sounds like a lot of work when you could be - doing other stuff."

"Well, it won't be a waste. Whatever dresses don't make the final cut, someone will want them. So, what's your preference, anyway? Lace, silk, satin, feathers, sequins, pearls?"

For a wedding that will never happen? "I … I'm not sure I have a preference. We don't really do fancy wedding dresses here, so the only ones I've seen are on TV, and I didn't really pay much attention."

"OK, but - you've seen Katniss in enough dresses over the course of the year. If you had your preference, would there be one that looked like one of those?"

I mostly remember the sleeveless dress from District 11, the one that showed off just a little too much. But I feel like I would be giving away something intimate and embarrassing by admitting to it. "I liked the orange one," I say, impulsively. Then, as a follow up, since that dress is clearly too plain for a Capitol wedding, "I liked the puffy sleeves."

"Noted," says Portia, with a laugh in her voice.

On day 3, the storm has stopped, but the drifts are so high that there is no going out of the house, at least via the front door. But I'm determined to escape into the sunlight, at least for a little while. I go upstairs to my cold bedroom, open the window, and drop down onto the snow pack, which is just a few feet below me.

The sky is as blue today as if there never were such a thing as clouds. From here, I can see the main square of District 12, where just the tops of the houses show. There's activity - people are already starting to shovel - and over in the Seam, too, where the small houses have vanished, people are starting to dig paths to find doorways. Helping each other.

I check to make sure there is still smoke rising from Haymitch's and Katniss' houses. Then, feeling so much better for having had the sun in my face, I go back inside and start baking. I'm so low on sugar now, I really have just enough to start one batch of dough, and definitely not enough to make sticky buns. But I don't want anything plain, either, so I experiment with cheese, of which I am no great fan - but I have two enormous wheels of it. Melted inside and sprinkled on top, baked crispy - it turns out a lot better than I expected.

The next morning, I wake to my ringing phone and it's Katniss. "Hey," she says, "they've cleared a path to the square. Do you want to go into town with me?"

Sure enough, the people with the shovels have cleared a narrow path to my door, and between mine, Haymitch's, and Katniss'. I warm up some of the leftover cheese buns in the oven, then head out. It's eerie, the walls of snow, taller than I am by several feet - like walking in a tunnel.

At Katniss' house everyone looks tired, but well. The fresh bread is welcomed with delight, and even more than that. Katniss - who is a pleasure to feed anyway, she likes food so much - takes two bites and then says, "Are you kidding me?" before wolfing down most of the rest of them.

"You've been holding out on us," she says to me, accusingly.

"No, I haven't!" I laugh at her. "I just had a lot of time to experiment over the last couple of days."

We go over to Haymitch's, where, predictably, the usual horrific smells have become even more pungent over the last couple of days. Still, it's clear that he's been feeding himself, as well as tending to his stove. We rouse him with no more than the usual trouble, and he agrees to come to town with us, his only complaint that we are such absurdly early birds.

We all seem to be in silent agreement that Victors' Village is not the safest place to have a conversation, so we're well away from it when Haymitch finally speaks. "So, we're all heading out into the great unknown, are we?"

"No, not anymore," she says, reacting to the sarcasm in his voice with coolness in her own.

"Worked through the flaws in that plan, did you, sweetheart? Any new ideas?"

I'm trailing behind them on the narrow path and Katniss gives a quick glance back at me. "I want to start an uprising."

Haymitch laughs. Just laughs. "Well, I want a drink," he says. "You let me know how that works out for you, though."

"Then what's your plan?"

"My plan is to make sure everything is just perfect for your wedding. I called and rescheduled the photo shoot without giving too many details."

"You don't have a phone," she says.

"Effie had that fixed. Do you know she asked me if I'd like to give you away? I told her, the sooner the better."

"Haymitch…."

"Katniss. It won't work."

Up above us on the path, three men with shovels are heading toward us, and Katniss and Haymitch stop talking. After they pass us, we have reached the square, which is considerably more shoveled in than the rest of town, and this allows us to see all the changes that have somehow been made since the storm started three days ago. A new banner on the Justice Hall. Peacekeepers stationed around the square. Peacekeepers on the rooftops, with machine guns, just like District 11. In the center of the square, a permanent post - for official whippings, I guess - stockades, and - a gallows. Something I've seen only in old pictures. They plan - for executions.

Not only did we not calm the districts. Katniss and I brought more trouble down on our own, where we have been so ignored, so blasé all these years, that most of us probably don't even know what all the punishable offenses are.

I step up to stand beside Katniss and she looks at me in horror. What did we do? What did we not do? How could all this stem from those berries? I wish I'd never found them. I wasn't supposed to have. I deliberately wandered off - irked by Katniss not trusting me to defend myself in the woods - and found them by a stream. If I had never found them, I would not have accidentally killed Foxface with them. And Katniss would not have had an easy way for us both to challenge the Gamemakers - to make them stick to their word and let both of us win. I had been so close to dying, anyway. Without the berries, she would not have been able to force their hand quickly enough - I surely would have bled out, problem solved.

Or, maybe not. Surely, there must have been some long-simmering anger, some existing underground preparing for an uprising, and Katniss just provided the spark. Maybe my death - Katniss returning home a sole victor - would not have even been enough to contain it. Could she have served as inspiration on her own? I don't know. But I do know the Capitol's crackdown on 12 is directly the result of both of us still being alive, and not quite in love enough.

"Thread's a quick worker," comments Haymitch, forcing me out of these thoughts.

As he says it, we see smoke rising from the far side of town. Where the Hob is.

Katniss stirs. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in -."

"Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be too, if you'd been around longer. Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare." He takes off, and I cringe at his words. He gets his white liquor from the Hob.

"What's he want that for?" Katniss asks me. Then her eyes widen. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home."

"Me, too." Sometimes, Haymitch is like our own very troubled kid. "Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business." I stare at my old bedroom window, which overlooks the square. "I need to check on my family."

"I have to go see Hazelle," she says.

I glance at the Peacekeepers - they seem unfamiliar. I wonder if our old ones were all recalled back to the Capitol. "I'll go, too. Drop by the bakery on my way home."

"Thanks."

We walk east, toward the Seam, and pass the townhouses. It's early enough, I guess, but even so, it's weird to run into no one on the road. We see people staring out their windows, but they draw away as we pass. They know - or guess - that we're targets now, since the incident on the square. Gale's whipping may have inspired Katniss' decision to rebel, but it may also have simultaneously killed the possibility of a District 12 uprising. If it ever existed.

I've never been to Gale's house. I only once went to Katniss' old house in the Seam, the day after all the festivities ended on our return from the Capitol after the Games, and I walked her home. I was surprised how small it was, and I'm even more surprised that the Hawthorne house really isn't much bigger, despite the larger size of the family. There are three beds in the one bedroom and two in the living room. We find Hazelle here, anxiously tending to her little daughter, who is flushed with the measles.

Katniss tells Hazelle that Gale will be ready to come home in a day or two, and can return to the mines in a couple of weeks.

"Might not be open until then, anyway," Hazelle replies. "Word is they're closed until further notice."

Which means, when they reopen, the miners will have to play catch-up with longer shifts and increased production numbers. Hell.

"You closed down, too?" Katniss asks her.

"Not officially, but everyone's afraid to use me, now."

I remember that Hazelle runs a laundry service.

"Maybe it's the snow," I say, hopefully.

"No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently."

Her second-oldest son wraps his arms around her. "We'll be all right."

Katniss leaves some money on the table and promises something from her mother for the little girl, then we leave the house and stand in the cold air, thinking our own thoughts.

"You go on back," she tells me. "I want to walk through the Hob."

"I'll go with you," I say. I'm exceedingly anxious about her making it home without causing an incident with the new Peacekeepers. They are probably just itching to draw her into something.

"No," she says. "I've dragged you into enough trouble."

I look at her and smile. "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob … that's going to fix things for me?" She seems hesitant, rooted to the spot, so I take her hand, and we wind through the Seam until we reach the Hob - really just an old warehouse that used to store coal, until the tracks from the mines to the train station were built. The main mine entrance is just beyond, and, sure enough, the metal doors are chained shut.

The Hob burns, melting the snow all around it. A few people have come to watch it burn, but nothing else happens.

Katniss points out the black liquid running down the street. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days. I want to check on Greasy Sae."

"Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them."

We head back into town and stop at the bakery, going in the front door, so I can avoid my mother, who is probably in the back office. My father's at the counter and helps Katniss pick out some cakes.

"That was quite the storm," my father says to me.

"It's been quite the winter. I hope that was the last one. I'm ready for spring."

"Aren't we all?" he replies lightly.

"Can you order some sugar and butter for me? I'm just about out of both …."

.

.

The next day, I'm on hand - with cheese buns - when Katniss' mother pronounces Gale fit to travel. He seems eager to be home and flies through breakfast. Katniss offers to walk him back to the Seam, but he says, "No - Rory took out tesserae. I need - to talk to him alone."

There's no hint that there is a new understanding between them. Of course, they could be avoiding showing any signs of affection around me. Not that that's necessary. Or maybe their understanding runs so deep and long that there doesn't have to be an outward sign of their relationship changing. I'm sure by now, with him staying here, there have been more kisses exchanged.

"He's going to freak out when he sees what's in the square now," frets Katniss.

"You keep expecting Gale to explode or something," Prim says soothingly. "But he's really more in control of his emotions than - you think."

"You didn't see him when I told him about District 8," she says. "If I'd been wearing a Peacekeeper uniform at the time, he might have shot me himself."

Over the next two weeks, while the weather clears, things only get more grim. Train shipments are cancelled - or the shipments themselves are smaller than expected - so the shops and grocer start running low on food. Parcel Day - the day each month when the extra food comes from the Capitol as part of the prize for Katniss and I winning the Hunger Games - arrives with the food spoiled and infested with rats. There isn't even enough grain and oil for the monthly tesserae allotments. As Hazelle predicted, the mines stay shut for two weeks, so half of the district couldn't afford to buy food even if it was available. I'm grateful for having ordered fresh supplies. I can help - carefully, carefully - with bread where the want is most severe. But even those of us better off are going to be eventually starved out just through the sheer lack of food.

Things are in motion - and it is grimly clear exactly who has the upper hand.