Mags' POV
Mags frowned. In the right light the thick mold covering the walls was indeed of a dark purple and its odd patterns did give the illusion of movement.
Purple crawlies.
She was astonished the Scavenger girl had been so quick to believe that they shared her wish to convince Chase, whoever he was, to be more lenient. Yet being self-centered was the most normal of her flaws. She'd been so young and could Mags even blame her? Growing up here? Was the girl even mentally healthy, with the polluted air she breathed every day?
Mags thought of Chase, the man who decreed how spoils were divided. She kept her livid face hidden from Constantine. How could the scavenger have reminded him of a friend? Such a creature, he had said. No. Scavengers were human. Calling them creatures would strip them of any responsibility but, boy, were they responsible of their acts! A rabid dog was no criminal. These people were ill from the fumes and desperate, stuck between rebels who didn't want them and peacekeepers who would kill them on sight, but ill fortune wasn't an excuse for every crime. But if they were too ill be held accountable... Mags had to see first.
The grenades were heavy in her bag; the leather straps dug into her shoulders. Maybe they'd try to stick her in a cage, but she couldn't just bomb a settlement. She didn't want to kill, but letting the Scavengers be would be the coward's way out. How many desperate people seeking a haven had had their dreams destroyed by those voracious scroungers? Mags forced her boiling blood to cool and her mind on the present. Emotions were best stored away when reality merged with nightmares. It was too late to turn back. She focused on facts, cursing the nascent headache clawing at her eyes.
Scavenger security wasn't foolproof or the girl from Eleven would not have escaped. Constantine would blow the Scavengers up if they so much as touched any of them, and that made Mags feel hypocritical. She vowed to stop him if he tried.
She rubbed her temples and focused on her surroundings. She would not be taken by surprise by another set of snares.
Constantine had stopped. High-pitched laughter reached her ears. Mags swallowed.
They had found them.
"One on one, even two to one, we remain at an advantage. We have no reason to hide. If they were organized warriors, they would be with Chickaree's people. At worse we run," Constantine whispered, looking fed up with the whole situation.
Mags shared the sentiment. The faster this was over the better, but acting too fast would make them the monsters. She was leaping in the unknown, about to commit actions that could change her forever, with no guarantee that her own mother would recognize, or even approve, of the Mags that would emerge. She could refuse and leave the sewers, hoping life would hand her a better outcome, but she'd learned as a child that one had to fight for good things. Staying idle, paralyzed with fear of what may be, was the reason people let the Capitol rule Panem. She turned to Fife who grudgingly nodded. The brunette looked far from happy. They had not given her a say in the matter but Mags didn't see any acceptable alternatives.
Two scantily clad skinny boys, maybe eight, were mock-attacking a blonde man armed with a metal bar, who patiently weathered their assault. Mags heart clenched at the sight of small children.
The man's jaw dropped as he registered their presence. He gaped, as if not believing his eyes.
"We'd like to be lead to Atli," Constantine said, with a self-assurance that made the smaller man wilt.
"Who's that, Pap'?"
"A weasel? But weasels got uniforms."
"Are they from below?" The first boy said, his eyes wide in awe.
The man fingered his thick matted beard, his gaze falling on Constantine's sword. He finally squared his shoulders and shrugged.
" 'kay. Falcon, go tell we got visitors."
The two boys sped off.
Mags tried to smoothen her features. Constantine's expression was hostile enough for ten people. She absently rubbed her aching upper arm, wondering when she'd gotten a bruise. Whole families were living here, struggling to keep their loved ones alive, like so many others in the districts. Mags admired the broken families who selflessly worked themselves raw to offer their children dreams despite bad fortune, but here a line had been crossed. She would rather die than live like this. Her skin crawled as they walked deeper in the Scavengers' base.
"Will both of you stop looking like you've come to commit a genocide," Fife muttered, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Mags feared she couldn't do better. Images of those kids' crooked teeth sinking in the dead tribute's flesh would not leave her mind. How could one bring children in the world when this was all they could offer? The worst was that those boys could very well be happy, with this the only life they knew. Mags' eyes stung at the thought.
Tents soon appeared, reminding Mags of the post-rebellion slums which every mayor in Four still worked hard at eradicating. The stench of crowded humans was thicker with every step. People dressed in rags turned suspicious eyes towards them, their hands on crude weapons, but they made no move to attack. There were maybe a score, barefoot on the rugs which now covered the sewer floor. They were drawn and angular, their skins of a pasty yellow, but the sorry sight only fueled Mags' fury. They were much too numerous to survive on the flesh of wanderers. They had other food, they had no excuse!
Mags tensed. A huge hairy man with a gun was blocking one of the tunnels. He would have looked robust in any setting but next to the scavengers, who were all bordering on undernourished, he was a beast. He crossed his thick arms and stared down at them, standing nearly half a head over Constantine. "I'm Chase," he said with narrowed eyes. "You're from the same bunch that fried the top hollow."
So this was Chase. And the Careers had apparently been no less zealous in their destruction of cannibals than they had been in the cold murder of the two poor tributes from District Six. Mags took a deep breath, afraid to drown in righteous hate. Such a powerful, glorious feeling, hate, a shield from guilt and hesitation, a weapon of superior strength. A trap. She would not lose control. Those were people, people who had just lost loved ones to tributes that should never had been near the sewers. She would not forget it.
"I'm Fife. They're Capitol supporters. It'd be like saying you're like the ones who live below," Fife said with a defiant glare.
Mags tightened her grasp on her pike. Intimidating was one of the few angles Fife could not pull off. Not when faced with a seven foot monster. And how could she compare supporting the Capitol and supporting the Citadel? The Citadel genuinely tried to make the best of the little they had and had noble ideals. Of course they weren't perfect, but no one was.
Hostile mutters rippled behind them. Chase cracked his knuckles. "You met them?"
Fife huffed. "Full of themselves, aren't they?" She said with a tight smile.
A booming laugh resonated behind the bulky scavenger. Chase slowly moved aside to reveal a fatherly bald bearded man draped in long shifts. He was accompanied by a skinny hawk-eyed woman.
"Quite the understatement. You wanted to meet me?"
So this was the infamous Atli. He looked… normal, a ragged and unhealthy normal, but not like a savage. How arrogant of him, to believe they would not throw a knife straight at his throat. Mags hoped she would not have to talk, for she knew only accusing words would leave her mouth.
"You've been keeping scores of people alive in this wretched place and no one in the Districts has ever heard of you," Fife said, awe coloring her voice. "It seemed impossible, we had to come and see."
"Your friends came and burned. We lost many good people."
Good people. Perspective was everything. Did the Scavengers kill all the wanderers from the Districts as a rule? Mags nevertheless acknowledged that Atli's sorrow might be real.
"They're not my friends," Fife said, her eyes flashing, "they're strangers from other districts. They're judgmental fools born in false comfort. What you have here is incredible."
Mags' face was hard as she turned her attention on her more mysterious companion. Could masks completely cover a decent soul? Was Fife's disgust so well hidden that even she did not catch a glimpse of it? Her words were objectively true if one extended the meaning of incredible to its darkest sense. Mags watched revulsion and amazement flicker in Constantine's narrowed eyes. Fife looked sinfully genuine as she flattered the middle-aged man and Mags finally saw why lies could be considered weapons as much as any sword. Fife's whole being, attitude and words alike, were crafted to suit her purpose, no flaw in her disguise. For the first time since she had grasped the boyish tribute's hand, Mags was afraid of her.
Atli opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. "I like you, Fife." His grin faded, he pointed a stubby accusing finger towards Constantine. "Your friends look tense."
Fife shuffled her feet in embarrassment. "It's the smell, no offense."
Mags almost snorted. But of course.
Atli's booming laugh resonated again in the stale air. "Follow me," he said.
"Impressive," Constantine granted as Chase let them pass. Mags' fear vanished as the girl flashed them an apologetic smile. It had to be genuine. Fife would not risk being called out on her act by the Scavengers unless she truly cared about her companions not thinking her a monster. She couldn't be that devilish.
"Let's hope it was worth it," Mags said, wondering what they were even doing anymore. Infiltration and mass murder didn't sound appealing, no matter how she tried to justify it in her mind. Ever since the crash, she felt she hadn't taken the time to just stop and think.
They were led to a large tent, which was a patchwork of rags on uneven poles. Mags estimated the number of Scavengers at well over fifty and figured they had to have access to the same supplies as the Citadel. Kinship. She didn't doubt Chickaree had not given her the true reasons, but such misguided loyalty was appalling . Without food, the Scavengers would have had to go to Three. It would have been better than this.
"Everyone else out," Chase grunted, glaring at the dozen onlookers.
"I have nothing to hide from my children," Atli said, his voice pleasant and kind.
Mags winced, feeling a crawl run up her arms. He spoke of the others as his children? Kinship was doubtless the only thing these people had and maybe that made Atli a good leader, since he gave them the happiness he could, but no rationalization could ease her discomfort.
"They can be told later. I won't have blasphemous words poisoning our brothers and sisters' ears, Atli."
Atli shrugged as if there was little he could do against the larger man. They were soon alone.
A sense of dread permeated Mags' bones. Blasphemous words? Atli's attitude echoed that of one her father's old commanders. There was no doubt in the girl's mind that Chase acted on orders, but Chase shielded Atli from any hard feelings since it was the large man who voiced all the unpleasant orders. Chase was doubtless hated and it served Atli well, for Atli retained his image as benevolent leader. Or father. Mags crossed her arms to stop a shiver from betraying her unease. Words had meaning, and the fanatical connotations of Atli's made her rethink her options.
"Welcome to my humble abode. What do you really want?"
"The truth. We're tired of everyone's lies," Fife said, a picture of earnestness.
Mags nodded vehemently, her mind searching for a way to disarm Chase if he threatened them. No one else seemed to own anything more sophisticated than knives and crowbars.
"We met one of your people before, a boy our age. He tried to kill us before we chased him away," Constantine said, a defiant cast to his handsome features.
Atli sighed. "My children are far from perfect and we have so little to offer our young." Anger twisted his compassionate expression into a hateful scowl, "They tolerate no flaws in the Citadel. Only when they will have an army of perfect warriors will they march. So never! They kicked us out like mongrels, leaving us to die, calling us leeches that helped the Capitol with our weakness. I found them, all the leeches. My children." Atli brought his fist down on the low table. "They value only the life of those they can use, people are tools to them. Just like the Capitol. They left half their kin to die in filth and dare feel better than us!"
Mags felt she was swimming deep in passionate propaganda. She wasn't impressed. People were very mean to us, so of course we're a bit creepy, you must understand. Right. If Atli cared more about his people than his power, why were they all still here? Even they could not find these acceptable living conditions.
She struggled to keep her voice lower than a shout and her arms docilely by her sides. "You do eat people even if you have food."
Atli didn't seemed very fazed by the accusation. She had the urge to throttle the man and shake some sense into him.
His wife snorted. "We eat those who die in the sewers. We can't bury and can't burn, and rot brings even more death. Only the maddest of us try to murder travelers. We do try to raise them proper. The Citadel would have them dead, but they are our children. They deserve a chance."
Liars. The tributes who had stayed near the train wreck had had days of supplies left. The two youths they had met could barely string coherent sentences, yet this couple seemed reasonably educated. They had choices, no matter how unpleasant, and they had chosen this. "Then why not flee to Three, in small groups? What future do you have here?"
A feverish exclamation greeted her question. Atli had turned an unwholesome shade of purple. "I will protect my children to my dying day! No-one will even think to harm them!" He was shaking in fervent anger, his arms waving in grand expansive gestures. "Better die free here than become disgusting donkeys! Better suffer and starve than touch Capitol cloth and food."
"It's district food, grown and gathered by district people, distributed by district people," Mags painstakingly ground out, her whole body shaking with anger.
"Under the Capitol's orders!" Atli spat. "We are not so weak as to fall into temptation!"
"Don't you dare try and pervert our youth to your cowardly, comfort seeking, depraved ways with your honeyed words," the woman said in trembling tones.
Mags didn't reply, Fife's grip on her arm had grown bruising. Chase was glaring daggers at Mags, his blue eyes much colder and more focused than the couple's feverish and exalted gestures. They had walked into a madhouse. Mags cynically wondered why she had even tried to make them see reason, who else would live in sewers for nine years? Of course they would have demonized the outside world beyond reason.
"Please don't get angry. We're not perfect either, we're trying to learn," Fife said in a meek voice.
Atli was instantly back to his paternal self and patted the girl's shoulder. "I know, child. It's just agonizing to witness the Capitol's dark words twist bright young minds."
Mags clenched her jaw. She wondered if finding the man's litany of excuses for keeping scores of people under his control utterly sickening made her as bad as Chickaree. Suddenly, she found being compared to Chickaree did not sound as bad as it had an hour ago. Would Mags have given grenades to lost teenagers and sent them out to murder inconvenient people? No. But Chickaree had seemed guilty and the three of them were already condemned.
"Do you think you'll ever attack the Capitol?" She said, hoping her voice didn't betray her sarcasm. Or her fear. Either Atli had multiple personalities, or he was toying with them, waiting to kill them. He probably believed each of them had been tainted by the Capitol.
"We would, if The Five just let us have the weapons they keep in the Citadel! They have supplies for a nation but hoard them for themselves. They leave us with no choice but to endure." Atli's voice had risen to a shout. "We won't give them the satisfaction of begging at their door, never!"
They couldn't have nothing or they would have starved to death a long time ago. They were dirty, thin and pale, but not starving either. Their teeth were healthy and their hair dirty but long and solid, so the food was reasonably healthy. Did Atli really expect them to do more than pity him? Justified bitterness didn't excuse such warped reasoning. He was supposed to be responsible for his people, not make them live miserable lives out of pride!
Fife's self-serving question distracted her from her outraged musings. "Shouldn't you be wearing masks?"
Atli smiled kindly again. Mags' fear grew. She knew in her bones that the man didn't mean well. Fife wasn't the only good liar in the room.
"The purple molds filter the air," Atli said.
That odd thing thick with the stink of unwashed flesh? Even so, how could you filter efficiently tunnels with no doors? She could still smell smoke. Had Atli convinced the others they were safe from the fumes? Could it be true? The Scavengers had endured for years after all.
Constantine nodded appraisingly. "Crafty of you to turn the Capitol's organic weapons against them."
Hypocrites, Mags read in his dark eyes. Atli only heard the compliment.
"All their wealth cannot disguise their vileness. Only we know the way and we will bring them down."
Mags couldn't bear to listen further. This was the worst perversion of rebel ideals she had ever seen. They had not fought to sacrifice their children to insanity and lingering death in the name of freedom. They had not died to have people convinced ideals with no action made people superior and guaranteed them victory. They had not bled to have deluded despots lord over desperate people in the name of the rebellion. She abruptly stood up.
"Do you want us to spread the word of this place?" She asked curtly. She was seconds away from snapping. They had talked enough. She couldn't kill them. She wished there were peacekeepers she could trust to exert true justice. Determination burned in her veins. She would find a way to salvage those who had not succumbed to fanaticism, but the others would answer for their crimes. The more rational part of her knew that would not happen until Panem was free of the Capitol's clutches, but she had to try.
"Oh but you are not leaving, children. Surely you want to stay free." Atli's smile hadn't reached his eyes.
Just brilliant.
"We'd come back with people, and permanent ways of having better food," Fife said, "we think you deserve a bigger family, Atli."
The man seemed reluctantly charmed by the idea. He cocked his thin eyebrows, unable to hide his suspicion.
"We cannot put our brothers and sisters at risk," Chase interrupted, a deep frown creasing his face.
It wasn't reason but pain that stayed Mags' arm. Her headache was worsening by the minute. She couldn't think properly. Her survival instinct was screaming at her. They had to get out.
Atli nodded gravely. "My duty is foremost to my family."
The silence stretched into a hostile pause. Mags' fingers clenched over her pike. The gun, they couldn't avoid gun shots.
"Can we properly meet them then?" Fife said brightly. "I'd love to finally see people not tainted by the Capitol."
Atli's wife clapped her hands together. "Of course, darling, come."
Oh please, no.
"In twenty minutes, I'm using those grenades," Constantine mouthed as Chase pushed them towards the exit.
"No you're not," Mags hissed, "we need to leave." This was wrong on so many levels.
Fife huffed, her low voice trembling with fear. "This is a bloody sect."
An invisible cloth erased all feeling from her face. She turned and smiled at Atli as the man gently grasped her hand.
Mags closed her eyes briefly. If Fife could do this, so could she.