CHAPTER TWELVE: Turning Tables

The Compound

Moxie wiped tears from her face and sighed as the cool evening breeze kissed her cheek. Elka appeared at her sister's side, noiselessly, and leaned her tired head against her older sister's arm. Moxie stroked Elka's hair and wrapped an arm around her small shoulders.

"I get bad dreams too, Moxie," Elka offered. Moxie nodded.

"Not like this," she said kindly.

"How do you know?" Elka said, frowning up at her sister. "I bet you we have the same nightmares." Moxie couldn't imagine how that could be possible but she nodded anyway. "So tell me what you were screaming about." At this suggestion, Moxie laughed and ruffled Elka's hair, and then she leaned down to be eye-level with her sister.

"Don't worry about me, chickadee. It's just a dream." Elka grinned and wiped away a tear from Moxie's face.

"Just a dream that makes you cry." She sighed and Moxie thought she caught a glimpse of an older girl in her sister at that very moment. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, I'll tell you," she continued. "I had a dreamed that you got reaped into the Hunger Games and I had to watch you in that awful arena with all those caves and tunnels. And I watched you fall into a really deep hole where there was hardly any light, and not only did you fall but you also broke your ankle. I cried and cried and cried for you after watching that because that boy you saw was nearby and I just knew he was going to kill you." She stopped talking and mirrored the frown on her sister's face.

"Elka, what boy are you talking about?" Moxie asked, gripping Elka's shoulders. Elka shook her head.

"I don't know his name, but you do… at least I think you do. He's got tawny hair, I think that's what color it was… it was hard to see in the gloom of the caves. And it was so real, Moxie. It was so real. He didn't look like a mean boy or like someone who could kill, but I just knew that he was going to kill you." She winced and shook her shoulders. "Moxie, you're hurting me." Stunned, Moxie let her sister go and let out a breath.

"Was he from District 10, Elka?"

"Yes," Elka said with a fair amount of uncertainty in her voice. "Yes, and no. He's not from District 10 right now, I think that's what it means. But he will be." Moxie frowned deeply.

"What do you mean by 'it'?"

"We never know exactly," Elka said. "But we have a really good idea and feeling about these things when they happen."

"We?"

"Yeah," Elka's face lit up. "Yeah, we." Moxie shook her head, standing up slowly.

"Elka, you're making no sense at all. Start from the beginning and tell me clearly who you are talking about."

"I told…" Elka began but then she stopped herself and sighed one more time, crossing her arms and looking out across the prairie. "I didn't think you'd understand when I decided to tell you." She fell silent for a long time, during which time Moxie puzzled through what her sister was saying, or what she was trying to say. It didn't make sense that she was talking about herself as a "we" or that she might be talking about that boy – if her descriptions were to be believed – who had let her and Bess off that evening on the Gaming Reserve. It also made no sense that Elka would have seen her in the Hunger Games, or him if she was to be believed! He was a ranch hand, and everyone knew that ranch hands never got reaped into the Hunger Games. "It happened once," Elka cut through Moxie's internal monologue, which made Moxie frown even deeper. "It did. The boy's name was Musa. But it's very rare. Just ask Miss Vetta."

"Elka," Moxie began slowly, trying to convince herself that she wasn't crazy to even think it. "Elka, can you hear what I'm thinking?" Elka laughed very loudly at the question.

"No! Of course not! I can't hear your thoughts!" She said when she's composed herself. Moxie felt a little relief at the confirmation that what had been happening wasn't some sort of mystical mind-reading trick that Elka was using to amuse herself. She was relieved that her sister was, in fact, very normal and it was just a coincidence that she must have been thinking the same thing that Elka was thinking, and that Elka had determined it to be a chance to talk about what they were both thinking … at exactly the same time. A shiver ran down Moxie's spine, and Elka turned to her sister and gave her a big hug, running her warm hands as far up Moxie's spine as she could reach. She had to bury her face into the hollow of Moxie's stomach though, and Elka's face pressing into Moxie's stomach at the same time as her hands were pressing Moxie's back served as a bellows that pushed the air out of Moxie's body. Finally, the older girl had to detach herself from her sister, gasping to catch her breath again. She was leaning down in order to suck in as much breath as she could recover, and at this level, she could see into Elka's eyes clearly. So it sent another shiver trickling down her spine as she looked into her sister's eyes and saw them shining like illuminated stones along a moonlight pathway, naturally catching the light and shining from inside rather than from outside. It was ghostly seeing her sister like this and Moxie frowned even as she coughed, sputtered and sucked in fresh air. Elka's smile twinkled as much as her eyes did. "Of course I can't hear your thoughts," she repeated in a voice that didn't sound like her own. "Ohh Moxie, but I can read them."

The Ranches

Deane wasn't sleeping. Another bloody day of the Games and another icy silence between him and Thatcher left him feeling very alone in the world. It wasn't how he had hoped it would be at this point. He had hoped that he and Thatch would be closer to each other, not farther apart, but the truth was that his suggestion that they run away had left Thatch feeling unsafe around him. Thatch thought that Deane would up and leave at any moment and that keeping his distance from his brother would mean that no further bad turns would befall him. But what Deane saw instead was that Thatch was taking Biter and using him as a replacement for his own brother. It was not a comfortable feeling to know that his brother was seeking to replace him.

Earlier that day, Thatcher had chosen to sit with Biter during the screening of the Hunger Games. It was an episode in which Flicka, the crazy girl from District 2, had murdered both Tempra, the girl from District 6, and Inby, the boy from District 12. Actually, when Deane thought about it without sneering, it was a very impressive feat. She killed them both in quick succession. The final image of her bashing their broken skulls together and seeing Inby's split open so that his brains slipped out made Deane want to vomit. "If the Capitol thinks this is entertainment, then they're dead wrong," Deane whispered to the cow into whose stall he was leaning. "And if she wins the Games, we're all doomed." The other big death scene had been much quicker. Gusset, the boy from District 8, had lured Dex, the boy from District 1, into a hidden alleyway between buildings and had needed four throwing stars to bring the Career to his knees. The fight wasn't over there though. Dex had managed to get to his feet and hack off Gusset's throwing hand, and he might have finished the District 8 Tribute if it hadn't been for the flask of poison Gusset had with him. Dex let one of his open wounds get too close to Gusset, who emptied the flask of poison into Dex's blood stream, then smashed the glass bottle on the Career's face, stabbing one of his eyes. Deane winced as he thought about how the poison took half a minute to reach Dex's heart. During that time, Dex got a few cuts into Gusset, but nothing fatal. He managed to cut a large gash in Gusset's side though, but before he could cut any deeper, the poison gripped his heart and he just stopped, crashed to the ground and died. Deane wasn't convinced that Gusset would live through the night, or that he wasn't also completely insane. It seemed to Deane that insanity was what won the Hunger Games. He had no intention of waiting around for insanity to win and come unleashed by the Capitol. His saddle pack was ready and the horse he had chosen for the task was at the back of the barn. Mr. Burliss wasn't coming around for inspections tonight because he had guests to entertain, and that had been like a stroke of luck, at least. Deane knew that it was now or never. His heart was heavy, but it wasn't an unmanageable burden. He made a promise with himself that he'd come back someday and steal Thatcher away.

From the bunkhouses there was a great roar of laughter and the sound of a door opening and slamming against the wood planks that outfitted the walls. Light spilled across the dried grass of the yard, and footsteps were marching off toward the outhouses. Deane knew that whoever it was out in the yard, they'd be going the opposite direction from him, so he would need to act fast if he was going to make this escape clean. He counted five seconds and then grabbed his pack and tiptoed toward the back of the barn. The mare was content to be saddled even at this time of night. She liked Deane: he always gave her extra oats and never used a switch on her if it could be spared. Even now he was gently whispering human talk into her ear as he saddled her and patted her head. Her ears perked up as he reached into his shoulder pack and withdrew a handful of oats. She gave a little whinny and set to eating the gift he offered her. Before they knew it, he was on her back and directing her gently toward the back door of the barn.

As horse and rider slipped out into the night, a light breeze danced across the Ranches from the northern direction of the Gaming Reserve: freedom. Deane glanced back at the moonlit rooftops of the buildings he had come to know well, and his heart sank thinking about leaving his brother all by himself. Thatch had made his choice, though, and if he wasn't willing to come with Deane, then there was nothing Deane could do about it. The point was that Deane knew he couldn't live here anymore. He couldn't agree with the privileged life he was leading anymore, even if the protections in place for him would remain in place after he ran away, the point was that he was not being allowed to live his life. He needed to be free from his slavery, and that was exactly his purpose for this moonlit ride.

Deane gently dug his heels into the mare and she began to trot northward toward the Gaming Reserve. Deane wasn't sure how long he could live on the Reserve before they caught him, but he had time to think about it more tonight. Plus, there was the choice before him to step off the Reserve and offer himself as an assistant to the Prairie Dogs. The face of the girl he'd scolded once, years ago now, returned to him. She was a Prairie Dog: would she remember him? Would she accept him? Better yet, would she give him away?

The Town

Velvetta was glad for the end of the broadcast. She had been watching only under obligation to do so by the Capitol, but she was not invested in the spectacle like some others were. She'd long since heard the Tyler girls stop talking about them, and that made her feel a little more proud of them than she had been already. She sighed and was preparing to turn out all the lights when there was a knock on her kitchen door. "Who in the Hell could that be?" She said, heaving herself up out of her chair – the only cozy one she had – and making her way to the kitchen. She arrived just as her night visitor knocked again. "Alright! Alright! I'm here." She unlatched the door and opened it to find no one else but Drake Tyler catching his breath on her doorstep. She looked around the abandoned schoolyard and then gripped the man by his shoulder and pulled him inside, closing the door quickly.

"Miss Vetta," he began but she silenced him.

"You are a crazy man, Mr. Tyler," she scolded, offering him a seat as well.

"Don't I know it, ma'am. Thank you." Vetta pulled up a chair opposite him and took a seat.

"You coming back from work or going to it?" she questioned him with a sharp look.

"Coming back, of course," he said. "The girls need their Dad at home, even at this time of night." Vetta hummed her approval at this lucky stroke of sense in the man sitting across from her. "Vetta," he said and then stopped and leaned forward, rubbing his forehead. "Vetta, I need to ask you something personal."

"Oh I don't like the sound of that, Mr. Tyler," she said. "What's your question, boy?"

"It's not for me," he began, stumbling over his next few words. "It's about the girls. Especially about Moxie."

"She's a good girl, Mr. Tyler. Don't you go ruining her."

"Yes, ma'am, but that's not what I'm trying to ask you. I'm trying to ask you about," he blushed and stumbled on his words again. "About women's issues." Velvetta Cordwip did all she could not to burst out laughing.

"Has she started bleeding yet, boy?" Drake shook his head. "I didn't think so, but girls are starting a lot sooner than thirteen these days." Drake blushed a deeper red.

"I don't know the first thing about caring for women except for how to get them pregnant," he said all in a rush. "I want her to learn properly how to grow into a woman. Can you help?" Vetta considered Drake for a few minutes. He had been a very handsome man all through his growing years. It was his mother's side that had graced him with those good looks, and it was his father's side that had graced him with his strength and skill as an outlaw. She'd never breathed a word of it to the girls before, but their connection had come from that midnight many years ago when the boy Drake Tyler had come to her door and asked her for a personal favor. He had needed somewhere to stay until it was safe for him to leave. She had given him the kitchen cupboard, which was mostly empty and could fit a growing boy of fifteen years without too much adjustment. You better hope you get yourself killed before you get yourself found, boy, she had said to him all those years ago. The Peacekeepers had come anyway and they had been ruthless then. They were looking for the last of the rebels and they had Drake on their list.

"The last time you came around here looking for my personal help, boy," she said sternly, "it didn't end so well for any of us did it?" Drake shook his head, his expression changing to one of apology and sorrow. "I guess bygones ought to be left as bygones. It's a lucky mistake that Iffy couldn't keep her mouth shut. That's what." Drake looked up at her with defiance in his eyes.

"You don't think I was there to route her out do you?" Vetta tightened her lips and clenched her jaw. "Vetta, I knew they were coming for her. I knew what she had said, and I wanted her to get out like I was."

"Well, she didn't and you did, Drake. And we can't change the past so let's forget about it. You want me to help bring your Moxie up into this world as the best woman she can be. And I have a mind to say no, but I love that girl like she was my own, and I love all your girls like they were my own, so I'm going to say yes." The look of thanks in Drake's eyes was enough for Vetta but she accepted the thanks he voiced to her when she was done accepting his ask. Her silence brought him back to his seat though.

"Miss Vetta, what is it? Did I ask too much?" Vetta shook her head.

"No child, you didn't ask too much. I was just thinking how good you were with my sister, and how you did what you could for her. I was just thinking about those times when we all knew what was going to happen, but Iffy was the only person brave enough to say anything about it. And I was just thinking about how I was ready to risk everything so that nobody found you when you came to me that night about twenty years ago now." She sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. "And I was just thinking about how your lifestyle could get those girls rolled up into the Games if they catch you. Why do you do it anyway?" Drake leaned his elbows on his knees and got close to Vetta.

"Once, long ago, my Momma read me a story about a man who came back from war and devoted his life to stealing from the rich and giving to the needy. He was called Robin of Locksley, but she called him Robin Hood. I want to be Robin Hood for our folks." Vetta shook her head sadly.

"Well, Robin of Locksley, you better hope you get yourself killed before you get yourself found, for the girls' sake."

"Yes, for the girls' sake." Drake repeated.

The Compound

Bess saw him first. Moxie and Elka were outside too when Bess had woken up and found them gone. She had thought that she heard Elka having a bad dream, but when she came outside looking for them, she couldn't see any trace of upset on Elka's face. No one was talking, but that was okay. The prairie was enchanting beneath the moonlight, and beyond the fence, the fires were going strong. Set against it all, the enchanting backdrop and the fires, the exposed and dark side of the canyon closer to them, against that backdrop was the hauntingly lovely Old Fifty Yards Tree. Bess imagined it was sleeping, and that was when she saw him emerge from its shadow. The boy was astride a horse and he was coming from the Gaming Reserve. At first, his appearance frightened Bess, but as he came closer, she decided that there was no reason to be frightened. Anyone who was out on horse at this time of night was not likely to be a threat. Nonetheless, she wondered if they shouldn't go back inside. It was too late for her to make the suggestion when it came to her though, for Moxie had spotted the horse and her boy as well. "Who's there?" she called out toward the approaching pair. Of course there was no answer.

"Moxie, don't!" Elka was saying as Moxie took a step forward toward the approaching stranger. "Moxie, he's okay." But Bess could see that her older sister's nerves were spiked. She went to her sister's side quickly and took her hand.

"Let's go out and meet them, Mox," she suggested. "It might be someone from the Compound at any rate."

"On a horse?" Moxie frowned at Bess. "No one except for the neighbors have anything close to a horse, and it ain't our she-mule."

"Exactly," Bess said. "So let's be good hostesses and go out to meet him. Come on." She pulled Moxie with her as she stepped forward. Elka began to come with them too, but Bess turned to her. "Elka, go and keep Sissy warm. We'll be back really soon." Elka stopped and put her hands on her hips, but Bess kept pulling Moxie forward, and after a few paces, she turned to look back at Elka and found her gone. Good.

"You know," Moxie said through gritted teeth. "I think our sister is a Cassandra." Bess shrugged, griping Moxie's hand tighter.

"Would that be such a terrible thing?" she asked. They were closing the gap between them and the rider, and any talk to fill the time was welcome to Bess. She was getting a little more nervous as they got closer.

"Nothing good ever happens to Cassandras, Bess." Moxie spat. "Besides, she saw me in the Games with that ranch hand. You remember him." Bess caught her breath as they hit a cold spot of air. The rider was almost upon them now, so she lowered her voice.

"Of course I remember him. He gave us a free meal without any trouble. I remember his friend too. He was not as nice, but I think he'd have come around if we let him." Moxie tugged on Bess's hand and they both stopped. The rider was a few paces away. He too stopped and dismounted, patting the horse's head and whispering something into its ear. Then he reached into a shoulder bag and pulled out a lump of something in the palm of his hand. The horse whinnied and began eating from the rider's hand. Oh! He can't be so bad if the horse trusts him. Bess let go of Moxie's hand and stepped forward, but Moxie yelped and grabbed out for Bess's arm, catching it at last and pulling Bess back to her.

"Bess! Don't be stupid! We should go back!" Bess freed her arm from Moxie's grip and smiled at her, even though they couldn't see each other's faces. She took five paces toward the rider and horse, and bravely put her hand out toward the horse. She giggled as the horse sniffed her hand, and then nuzzled her palm with a little whinny. Focusing only on the silhouette of the horse, Bess broke the silence.

"You're not going to hurt us are you?" The stranger shook his head. "Good. My sister is afraid of you."

"And you?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

"Should I be afraid of you?" Bess asked. She saw him shake his head. "I didn't think so."

"I'm running away." Bess nodded.

"Where to and where from?"

"I don't know where to, but I'm from the Ranches." Bess finished patting the horse's nose and turned to face the rider.

"The Ranches," she repeated for him. "Why would you want to run away from there?" The rider said nothing. Bess's eyes were almost well-adjusted to the night now and she could make out his eyes through the gloom.

"Why would you choose not to live in the Town?" He answered sharply. Bess shrugged.

"We're better out here in the open. Out here, no one owns the land except for the folks who live and die on it." He said nothing. "Who are you?" He said nothing still. "I'm Bess Tyler," Bess said, hoping he might return the introduction.

"I've met you before," he said, his voice softer now. "Long ago." Bess grinned, remembering the only two ranch hands she could.

"So are you the older boy or the younger?" she asked. He snorted.

"The older." He paused and then took the plunge. "I'm Deane. Deane Scythe."

The Capitol

Atoka woke with a start. Her "guest", Anura Bufo, was asleep in the chair in the corner of the room. He looked uncomfortable like that, and Atoka felt like he ought to have a room for himself, but he had insisted on staying with her. He had misled her in his advances: he wasn't interested in her as she had thought he was, but instead it had all been a rouse.

"Appearances are everything, Miss Menzies," he had said when they had stepped into the elevator. "Right now, it appears that I am making good on a promise made to me earlier this evening in a banquet hall filled with people who are going to see me until the Hunger Games have ended, and some who will continue to see me after that. So," he leaned back from her, "appearances are everything." When they arrived on the tenth floor, she had anticipated him having his way with her, but quite the opposite had happened. "Please, sit." He had offered her a chair in the sitting room, and then had gone to the bar and fixed himself a drink. "Would you like one?" She'd said no.

"I'm a little confused, Mr. Bufo," she'd said. "Aren't you interested in repayment?" He had smiled, closed mouth this time, and sauntered to a seat on the couch facing her.

"You are obviously repulsed by me, and I don't blame you. There is nothing about me that is remotely attractive except for the fact that I have money, and those who have money have power. But power is not attractive like people think it should be." He sipped his drink. "But you know that already don't you?" She'd said nothing. "I bet you do. Because for you, power is always tied to death and destruction. But for me, power is tied to construction and life-giving. It is the sole purpose for being a sponsor, I think." He took another sip and then focused on her.

"That makes no sense," she retaliated. "You just admitted yourself that you planned to use your power to destroy."

"I'm using my power, Miss Menzies, to make certain that an innocent life is saved."

"While destroying others," she spat back.

"Okay. I understand." He said, staring at her. "You are right." She glared at him for a long time while he sipped his drink, and when he'd reached the bottom of the tumbler, he set it down on the side table and continued to look at her. "May I say something you might find inappropriate?" She said nothing but continued to stare at him. "Miss Menzies, I'm asking you a genuine question. I don't want to offend you."

"Sure," she said quickly. "Whatever. Talk away!"

"All I have to say is that you are quite a beautiful lady." Atoka snorted. "Even when you discredit yourself like that, I still think you are beautiful." Atoka sat back and crossed her legs, leaning against the arm of the chair. "I'm not looking for sex," he continued. "Neither were you when you propositioned me. What I want is more valuable than sex. I want to know what it is like to be a part of the Hunger Games." Now, Atoka snorted even louder.

"Why on earth would you want to know that?"

"Simple," he said as he steepled his fingers. "I spend half the year preparing for the Hunger Games, and then less than a week – unless the Games are designed for longer – being a very important part of the Games from the periphery. But I've always wondered what it felt like to have all that time knowing that if you made a wrong move you would be dead."

"What? You want to get off on the pain and suffering of innocent lives?" Atoka spat at him.

"There's no need to be rude, Miss Menzies. At some point in the Hunger Games, no one is innocent anymore. It's one of those delicate things that I never really took care to understand. Where do you think you cross the line from innocent to intelligent?" Atoka wasn't sure why he'd paired those two adjectives opposite each other, but she knew what he was asking.

"It's not an instinct, if that's what you're asking me."

"No. I'm sure no one goes into the arena with the desire to kill. But I do think that there is a very definitive moment when the killer becomes us. I've watched your particular Games many times for one reason only. Do you know what that reason is?" Atoka shook her head. "It's this: you begin as a killer and a ruthless one at that, and you end as a ruthless killer, but at one point you transform from a killer to a recognizable human being. It's the moment when…" but Atoka held up a hand to stop him. She closed her eyes and shook her head violently. When she reopened them, he was looking at her as though he'd just discovered a new species. "Oh, I see. You've never left the arena. All of this, every day you live and breathe, all of this is the arena. You're still playing the Hunger Games." Atoka stopped herself from jumping across the room and smashing his skull into the carpet.

"You want to know about the Games," she repeated through gritted teeth. "You want to know because you want to study me." He nodded. "Well I'd prefer to have sex with you because then I'll know when the torture is over." He grinned and responded with a chuckle.

"I'm not bad between the sheets, actually," he said slyly. "I don't blame you for wanting this encounter to be over so quick. But you have to understand that I'm in search of empathy, not in search of a way to prolong your torture." He leaned forward. "I don't think you should have to live like this, always fighting. I think at some point, someone needs to let you free."

Atoka looked at him, sleeping in the chair. He'd misled her. For that he would have to die. She wasn't sure when or how, but she was certain in this moment that it would happen, it would happen when he was least expecting it.