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Chapter XIII

Winter Sickness

- District 7 -

March brings cold wind with it.

Mama and I spend the morning chopping wood, our breath white in the frosty air. It snowed again last night, covering District 7 in another blanket of white, making me happy that at least I don't have to trudge to the paper factory anymore. It feels good to use my muscles again as I swing my ax into the block of wood. Ever since the Victory Tour, I've been spending more time inside.

I kept thinking I'd get a phone call any day to summon me to the Capitol. But they never came.

Still, I'm not naive enough to think that Snow or Carus Cardew has forgotten me.

"I'll pack these away for tomorrow," Mama says, hefting up a bundle of logs. She's started going into town to deliver logs to those who can't chop them for themselves. I think it's her way to not feel guilty for working at the mill anymore, but I don't get in her way. It makes her happy, so who am I to stop her?

Inside, we make a fire. I sit down with my legs crossed like I used to do in school when I was little, lifting my stiff hands out to warm up. The orange flames dance, licking my fingers with gold light.

The door opens in the hallway and giggling follows.

"Mama, Fern, I'm home!" Pine calls loudly. He steps around the front hall, peeking into the living room, nose red from the cold. "Hey, Fern."

I smile. "Hey. How was school today?"

"We learned about identifying tree ages," he responds. He glances over his shoulder and then another face appears beside him.

"Hi, Maple," I say, trying not seem startled. I instantly recognize her from two months ago at the Victory Tour when she appeared with her family. I know Pine got her to dance, but I didn't think I'd see Maple around much more after that. But I'm not about to make Timber's sister feel unwelcome. I nod towards the fire. "Do you both want to come warm up?"

They come sit next to me, smiling as they stretch out their hands to the fire.

"Balsam called," Mama says. "She and Blight are over at Alder's house. The poor dear got sick last night, and apparently Striker is still not feeling well. She asked if you could come over for a bit to help."

I nod, trying to hide how much I wish I could just stay with Pine in front of the crackling fire. Every February, our district seems to have a bad cold roll in. This year it's particularly bad, leading into March. Mama will be delivering food next week to one of the hospitals, along with her usual fire log delivery. She always says the poorest are the worst hit but this year Alder and Striker have already gotten sick too. It's a bit worrying, especially since Striker just turned seventy-four recently.

"I'll be back soon," I tell Mama. I smile at Pine and Maple. "You both can keep the stoking fire."

They say goodbye and go back to chatting. I pull on my coat and wrap a green scarf around my neck before heading outside.

After only a few seconds of knocking on Alder's door does Blight answer. "Good, you're here. Rasp just threw up, and Striker is still refusing to eat. It's been chaos all morning. I called Axel and Johanna, so they should be here soon. Can you make a soup? They need something."

"No problem, Blight," I reply, tossing my scarf onto a chair and hanging up my coat. "Go see if you talk Striker into eating."

They've been keeping Alona, Striker, and Rasp all here so that they can keep en eye on them. I'm not sure who'll get the sickness next but I sure hope it isn't me.

Cutting up a few pieces of chicken, I toss them into a pot along with carrots and potatoes and let it simmer before adding some herbs.

The sound of the door opening and slamming shut makes me jump. I peek around the corner, watching as Johanna and Axel walk in the house. Johanna doesn't look that great herself, what with her bloodshot eyes and frazzled hair. Her skin is paler than normal too and sallow under her eyes. The last thing we need is Johanna to be sick too. Half of us don't need to get this.

"Knock, knock," Johanna says as they walk into the kitchen.

Rasp looks up from the trash can still in his arms. He frowns at my mentor. "You look like death, Johanna."

"Shut up," Johanna snaps. "Seen yourself, Rasp?" She walks past me without an acknowledgement, opening several of the cabinets before she pulls out a loaf of bread and starts tearing off pieces. She jumps up to sit on the counter, hunched over the bread protectively.

"Very respectful, Johanna," Rasp groans, wincing as he buries his head in the trash can.

Johanna glances at him once, blinking her red eyes, and then goes back to eating.

I glance over at Axel as he sits down across from Rasp and gives him a sympathetic look. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Like my stomach hates me." Rasp sighs loudly, clutching his midsection with one hand.

"I'm making soup," I say, nodding towards the pot I'm stirring. "I figured a bone broth would be good. Not too rough on the stomach."

Axel's gray eyes flick towards Johanna. "Might wanna' make some more. I think Splinter could use some."

Johanna grabs a rotting orange from a bowl beside her, flinging it at Axel's head. He deflects it with ease, giving her a disappointed shake of his head. "You can't even throw," he adds, then glances over at me again. "Make a bowl for her too, will you, Fern?"

I start to nod but Johanna glares at both of us. "I don't need you help," she snaps, ripping off a large piece of bread with her teeth.

"If Splinter wants to feel miserable, I guess let her," Axel mutters. He gives Rasp a gentle pat on the shoulder and stands up.

"Do you think it's what the others have?" I ask gently, peering between them.

Axel finally cracks a smile. "It's a hangover, Fern. Johanna had a bit too much last night."

Johanna makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "I did not. It's just extra cold today. That's all."

"Right," Axel drawls. He walks over to me, opening a drawer and pulling a spoon out. Without asking he dips the spoon into the steaming pot. "My uncle makes the best bone broth. I used to have buckets of it when I was sick as a kid." He sips from the spoon, thinking.

He sticks a spoon into the soup and pulls out a great helping of the vegetables and swallows, thinking.

I lightly shove him. "Go grab some blankets for Rasp."

He sticks the spoon in my hand, walking towards the living room. "Needs salt."

I consider it for a moment before dipping my own utensil in and sipping the warm soup. It's rich and delicious, just like Mama's always made, but he's right. I've forgotten the salt. "I don't think it needs anything," I say, stirring the ladle and staring down at the bubbling gold broth.

"Liar," Axel calls over his shoulder and gives me a quick grin.

I add a dash of salt to the concoction before ladling it into three bowls. I hesitate, and then make a fourth bowl. Grabbing the bowl, I add a spoon and set it down on the counter next to Johanna. "Figured you might want some," I say, looking away quickly before she has time to argue. I give Rasp his broth, earning a weak thank you muttered into his trash can. Then I take the other two balanced on my hands and pad my way up the stairs.

The victor's mansions are all identical, even down to the furniture. Alder has decorated with flowers here and there, and instruments litter the space. Balsam's voice floats from one of the cracked doorways.

I gently push the door open with my shoulder, and Balsam pauses. She looks up from the book in her hands.

"There you are, Fern," she says, a smile lighting up her face.

Alder blinks his blue eyes confusedly, straining his neck to peer over at me, his skin nearly pale as the snow outside. Around him is a sea of tissues. He holds one tightly in his hand, the other threading through his handmade, colorful knit blanket. The blinds have been shut tightly, keeping the room dim except for the lamps Balsam has on to read to him by.

"Fern?" Alder murmurs.

I smile at him, setting down a steaming bowl of broth down. "Hello. Might want to let his cool a bit, Balsam, it's a bone broth. How are you feeling, Alder?"

He breathes shakily and reaches a hand up to tangle in his blonde curls. "Yes. Feeling." Alder shuts his eyes, taking another deep breath.

Balsam gives my a sympathetic look. "I gave him some painkillers. They tend to have a side effect of confusion, I'm afraid."

"You didn't use morphling?" I ask, knitting my brows in confusion. It's what the Capitol used to sedate us all after the Games. I don't think there's a stronger drug in Panem, but it's effective.

"He refused," Balsam says. She sighs, slipping a bookmark into her book page. She brushes a lock of silver-streaked brown hair behind her shoulder. "Thank you for coming over, sweetheart."

I smile at her, wrapping my arm around Striker's bowl of broth. "Of course. Axel and Johanna are downstairs taking care of Rasp. I left some food for him."

She smiles over at the bowl of broth. "This looks perfect. I'm sure it'll help. Blight should be across the hall-"

"The rocks are falling."

We both look over at Alder. He's staring into a corner of the room, seeing something that's not there again. His eyes widen. I watch as his chest rises and falls beneath his homemade blanket, growing more and more rapid. Tears sparkle in his eyes but he doesn't try to wipe them away. I don't think he even realizes Balsam and I are still here.

"Evergreen isn't moving," he says, the tears streaking down his face. "Evergreen isn't moving!"

I have no idea who he's talking about, but I take a fresh tissue to dry his tears. More tears keep coming.

"Evergreen is safe, Alder," I whisper, hoping it'll give him some semblance of comfort.

"No she's not!" he shouts. I jump, surprised to hear Alder speak above his usual soft tone. "She's not moving! Why won't she move?"

Balsam sets her book down and leans forward, taking one of Alder's hands in her own aging ones. "Alder, sweetheart, listen to my voice." She tries to catch his unfocused eyes, seeing into some world or memory that we aren't part of. "You're here in District Seven. Your name is Alder Haffen. You're thirty years old." She squeezes his hands gently, her tone even and calm in the way only a mother's can be.

I hold my bowl of broth, scared to say a word and feeling helpless. I haven't seen Alder get pulled into his own mind like this. Maybe the combination of painkillers doesn't mix well with his memories.

"I'm Alder Haffen," our fellow victor echos, blinking in puzzlement. His blue eyes finally seem to notice Balsam. His breathing slows. "I'm in District Seven. I'm thirty years old. My family is dead?"

Balsam's smile becomes strained, fighting something, but she squeezes his hand reassuringly. "We're your family, Alder."

He blinks, leaning back on his pillow to stare up at the ceiling. He doesn't say anything else, just breathing, letting Balsam hold his hand.

"You might want to go give that to Striker," Balsam says gently to me. Her eyes crinkle with warmth, but I know it's an order.

I nod, turning and shutting the door softly behind me. I take a stabilizing breath in the hallway.