CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:

Atoka Menzies

"Not so long ago, it seems, Momma took me out to this place. It was a big open field back then… no one had built all of this," Atoka said to the little girl in front of her. She felt her stomach, running a hand over it, trying to find the life growing inside her. Giving her up… because Atoka had decided it was a girl… was going to be the worst challenge of her life. She was a Victor of the Hunger Games with so much blood on her hands; she wanted to quit the business of blood-letting and take an occupation that was life-giving. This child, this girl, was the key to open that door. "Maybe, I'll call her Ceridwyn like my Momma." She told the girl in front of her. "She took me here a long time ago. Or maybe it wasn't that long ago, it just seems like it was a long time ago." Atoka sighed and looked down at the girl, whose expression was fixed as if frozen. "I'll call her Ceridwyn," she decided and left their conversation there.

Jesse was waiting for her when she walked in the door. His boots were lined against the wall just inside the swing of the door. He met her in the entry hallway and brought her to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for her and sitting her down. Putting on an apron, the cowboy returned to the stovetop and flipped the flapjacks in the frying pan. His movements were smooth because he'd been doing this for a couple of weeks now. Despite this, Atoka thought he looked out of place for a cowboy: the apron was comical. He used to blush when she'd laugh, but now he just smiled at her, depositing a stack of pancakes onto a plate and pushing it in front of her. From another pan, he scooped out a helping of hashed browns and deposited them onto her plate as well. She made a face. "I can't eat all this, Jesse." The cowboy shrugged and forked a few hashed browns off the plate into his mouth. "I still can't eat all of this." Atoka said as he turned around and moved away to turn off the stovetop. He returned to her and took a seat.

"Where were you today?" Jesse asked. Atoka dug into the food.

"Same as always."

"Why do you go there?" He asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"Momma used to go up there with me when it was a field." Atoka said through mouthfuls.

"What are you talking about?" Jesse's brow furrowed more. "It's never been a field. It's always just been… you know… the Compound." Atoka glared at him, and Jesse backed away. "Okay, when was it just a field?"

"I don't remember exactly when, but I was young."

"And there were no buildings at all?"

"None. Maybe one. Maybe two."

Jesse looked nowhere for a moment, making Atoka think he was lost in some sort of deep thought or memory. But he snapped back to her. "Who went to live there first?"

"I suppose someone knows, but not me." She forked some hash browns into her mouth and thought hard if Momma had ever told her anything about them.

"They" were the Townies who had their reasons for leaving. It was when the Dark Days had fallen on them. Even though the Mayor Steward had offered a surrender to the Capitol forces at the beginning of the Rebellion, when stocks and supplies had been cut off from them, they'd become a hunting ground for angry or frustrated District 2 soldiers. First it was just the livestock, but later they began hunting people as well. Children couldn't run too fast so they were easy pickings. It became a game. That's when the folks who couldn't stand the Town moved out. Pretty soon after, the raids began and District 2 lost a lot of occupying soldiers. When the Capitol came in to polish off their victory, the corpses were propped up like scarecrows in the town square. Yes, some of the Townies moved out to what became the Compound, and yes folks in the Town knew they were behind the raids. Some gave them up, but most didn't. What followed emphasized the darkness of the Dark Days, and Atoka couldn't remember much more about it because they all became so used to being occupied – if not by District 2 then by the Capitol – and house raids were common. She did remember moving though. It took them away from the main action, and for that Atoka supposed she was grateful. Treatment was largely egalitarian though, and no one was treated well. Eventually, they all turned on each other, forcing a permanent Capitol presence in the Town and around it: they might have been the catalyst for Peacekeepers.

"We moved, not out there but away from Town," Atoka said. "Where were you?"

Jesse shrugged. "I've always been a rancher. I suppose I was on the ranch. Things there were different too, but they haven't changed as much as elsewhere in this part of 10." He helped himself to a few more hashed browns off her plate. "I don't know," he said as if it was the answer to a question. "I remember the drills we had to practice if we saw soldiers on the grounds. We had to stop and get down under a table or something, count to three and then crab-walk to the nearest closet or closed space, count to three and then open it and get inside. We had to wait until it was clear." He shook his head. "Sometimes it was all night until someone signaled. It wasn't easy but we survived. But the cow-men took a big hit. I think we lost most of them in raids and other assaults. It's lucky folks don't know what happened on the ranches because it was terrible."

"When did you start working with Mrs. Dickson?" Atoka asked. She was calculating what the personal cost would be when she became the assassin President Snow was shaping her into; it wasn't her favorite game to play.

"My cow-man was killed in the last raid: Mr. Farnsworth took in all those on my ranch, and he took the land, I think." Atoka studied him.

"How did he die?"

"Can't say. Didn't wake up one morning."

"Oh," Atoka said. "That's a nice way to go."

"We buried him eight days after he was found. I don't know why." Jesse began. "And his tongue, it was swelled up and pushing his mouth open. Inside his mouth was all black like smoke and ash staining, and the pallor of his face was splotchy." He looked at Atoka. "It means he was poisoned. So…" he shrugged. "Not so much a nice way to go after all."

Poison: Atoka made the mental note.

"What is your name?" Atoka asked the little girl. Her conversation partner was still looking out toward the open plains, her gaze fixed. "Mine was Atoka Menzies. Pretty soon it'll be Atoka Lee. I guess Cor needs to ask me first, but I think he knows I'll say yes. It's his daughter I'm carrying anyway." She touched her womb. "I can't remember growing up. Can you?" The girl didn't say anything. Atoka nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're still growing, aren't you?" The girl didn't say anything; she just stared off into the distance. Atoka stayed a little longer and then went back home near sunset.

"Why would anyone want to bring a child into this place?" She was testy when she got back and found Jesse on her doorstep. He looked like he'd been caught off guard, stumbling as he was taking his boots off.

"What's wrong, Ms. Menzies?"

"What's right? Why bring a child into this place?" She spat at him as she pushed by and into the house without removing her shoes. He followed closely behind her.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh gees, Jesse! What do you think I mean?" She spun on him with ire.

"I… I don't know. That's why I asked." He said bashfully.

"This place is no place for new life." She left him in the kitchen and made sure to slam her door behind her. Eventually, she heard him leave.

She found plates of food premade for her and wrapped in the refrigerator. She wanted to ignore them but all her decisions were made for her now that she had another life in her. It all seemed too strange that she should have life in her when all she'd ever been was an angel of death. To have a mother like that – one who only knew death – Atoka couldn't imagine how a child would live. She wasn't sure how she could live for her child either: she'd been bought at a dear price. How many had to die for her to get her happy ending (not that she believed in those)? She grabbed a plate and marched out of the house. Maybe her conversation partner had more to say this evening.

Overhead, the sky was covered by clouds, thick and impenetrable. Just beneath them, a wind picked up carrying colder temperatures on them. The world was already cold; now it promised to be colder still. Atoka didn't seem to notice as she carried her plate of food out through the Victor's Village, across the Ranches and through the Reserve. She found her friend still staring out into the plains, just as she'd left her. Atoka made a seat for herself and handed some food to the girl. It wasn't enough to break that icy stare so Atoka put some into her hand and began eating her own share. Jesse had really improved as a cook, though when he'd gotten time to learn at all was a mystery to Atoka. Often, she hadn't realized she was hungry until she began eating. Now, as she sat with her reticent little friend, she appreciated his efforts almost enough to feel disappointed in herself for being rough with him earlier.

"What are you looking at out there?" she asked her friend without looking at her. Dusk was coming in like a high tide. Above the clouds it seemed that there was no sun to set anyway, but as Atoka waited for an answer from her friend, a tear in the fabric of cloud cover lit magically as the sun slipped through and shone a single slanting ray down to the ground. It caught Atoka's attention. "Oh," she said as if it was an answer from the little girl beside her. As Atoka watched the ray disappear slowly, something moved beneath it. The clouds seemed to zipper up, hiding the sun behind them and Atoka realized that, indeed, there was a figure moving toward her. Before the cover of dusk fell, the teenage girl was there. She said nothing but looked at Atoka's conversation partner, and then she frowned at Atoka.

"What the Hell are you doing out here, Miss Menzies?" The girl said.

"Eating," Atoka said. "Isn't that right?" She was talking to her little girl friend. Like always, she said nothing but merely stared out from where the teen girl had come.

"Who the Hell are you talking to?" Atoka pointed up at her friend, and that made the teen girl laugh. "You are crazy." She took a seat, still laughing. Atoka moved away from the girl and continued to eat. She knew she was eating for her daughter now because she wasn't hungry after the first few bites. The plate of food sat between them. The teen girl continued to laugh, but she was looking at the plate with the same sort of expression Atoka had seen on many other children of District 10. Some of those expressions had also been carried from other Districts into the arena where so many went to die. Death was a lucrative business; hunger was its harbinger. Atoka pulled the plate closer to her and shot the laughing girl a look: not yours. The girl's laughter changed tone, but she didn't stop laughing. She did look away. "Oh man, District 10's lone hero is a crazy woman talking to a dead girl." She said between laughs, shaking her head. "Not to mention, a bitch." Atoka shrugged. She'd kill the girl later.

"Who are you?" Atoka asked, not really caring.

"You've met me before. Of course you don't remember." Atoka looked over at the girl and thought she could see something familiar about her. She decided she was making it up and gave up. "Moxie Tyler," the girl said, finally.

After that meeting, Atoka was careful not to return to the Compound. It was a decision she made based on their parting; Moxie Tyler, a girl she did remember seeing once long ago, stayed in the Compound which meant that Atoka wanted nothing to do with the place. She discovered that staying home was suffocating, though, and with her food prepared for her, Jesse's visits had stopped, leaving her with a lot of time to herself. She decided to go back three days later, toughen up. Partially, she wanted to know more about this Tyler girl; it was a surname she had a vague memory of from times she'd forgotten too soon. Taking the last plate of food with her, Atoka made the trek back out to the Compound: the clouds were still thick above, this time with the promise of snow. As she approached the Compound, she saw how it had changed. The rubble from the hovels had been cleared away and in one large hovel there was smoke rising from a hole dug into the earthen roof. Atoka made her way over to that hovel, passing by her silent friend staring out into oblivion through dead eyes. It was no wonder she was frozen solid.

Moxie was sitting at a broken table inside the hovel when Atoka knocked once on the tin door outside it and entered. They looked at each other a moment before Atoka held up the plate of food like a peace offering. Moxie sighed and looked away. Atoka took the remaining seat opposite the Tyler girl, putting the plate down. "She's dead," she said, unwrapping the plate of food and pushing it, this time, toward Moxie. "I knew that. I needed someone to talk to." Moxie looked at her a moment, smirked and took some food off the plate, putting it in her mouth. "And I am crazy, you're right. I'm not a hero."

"Me either," Moxie said. "Me either."

"What is this place?" Atoka asked, taking some food for herself.

"Home. I've come home."

"You lived here?" Atoka asked, looking around at the small room standing entrance before a second room shrouded in darkness and partially covered with a curtain in disrepair.

"Yeah," Moxie said, sounding annoyed. "I grew up here."

"What was that like?" Atoka asked, all other topics suspended for her.

"What… growing up? Or growing up here?"

"Well, both." Atoka said.

"It was easier when it was filled with my sisters and brothers. All of life is hard though, unless you're a Victor." Atoka shook her head.

"No. Even then, life is hard."

"I can't imagine," Moxie said sarcastically.

"No you can't."

"Well what's so hard about it?"

"Every day. Every day you live, you relive death." Atoka said, fighting off her own recollections. "There isn't anywhere you can turn without looking at Death. It's a reality." She trailed off and fell quiet.

"I think that's true for us all, now." Moxie took more food and continued to eat, but the silence between them was no longer ice cold or uncomfortable. Atoka found some familiarity in the Tyler girl's silence. "What happened here?" Moxie finally said so softly Atoka couldn't hear her.

"What?"

"I said, what happened here?" Moxie repeated louder.

"No idea. I was in the Capitol." Atoka replied.

"What's that like?" Moxie asked, but her tone suggested she didn't care, so Atoka didn't answer.

"I remember," Atoka said instead, several minutes later. "There were a few buildings here before. This was one of them."

"Sorry? What are you talking about?" Moxie asked.

"Before. Momma used to take me here. Before it was the Compound and you all were Prairie Dogs."

"There was no Before," Moxie said sharply.

"Of course there was a Before, you just weren't around for it. How old are you anyway?"

"Thirteen now," Moxie said.

"Gees, I was just a couple years older than you when I went into the arena. What are your odds of going, girl?"

"In my favor," Moxie said, but she didn't sound certain.

"I guess it doesn't much matter anyway since it looks like all your kin were tacked up to those posts out there, frozen, shot, frozen again."

"When has it ever mattered?" Moxie asked, expressing to Atoka a sense of grim resolve that death was coming for her eventually.

"What was it like growing up here?" Atoka asked suddenly. "Was any part of it happy?"

"Sure. We had each other throughout it, which I guess kept everyone going. I had to run most of the household, especially when Dad was away."

"Didn't you have a momma?" Atoka asked, interrupting her.

"For a little while, but I don't remember her." Moxie pulled at something around her neck and brought out a trinket from beneath her clothing, attached to a chain fastened about her person. She showed the little thing to Atoka. It was in the form of a heart and seemed to be hollow until Moxie flicked a little knob and the heart opened, revealing its secrets inside. Atoka looked longingly at the children's photos inside. She felt her womb and wished for a sign of life, a kick or something like it. "Dad gave this to me during the Games this year. He said it was my momma's. It's all I have of her now, not that I'm sentimental or anything; but having a piece of her is better than nothing at all." She stuffed the trinket back down her clothing and resumed picking at Atoka's plate of food.

"I think you were happy here," Atoka said at last. "I think you were."

After dinner, Moxie showed Atoka around the hovel and as the snow began to fall at sunset, she offered Atoka a place to sleep for the night. Eventually Atoka pulled the mattress out of the bedroom and set it in front of the fire where Moxie had set up a place to sleep. They spoke a little more, but not about childhood or growing up. They spoke, instead, about changes, about dignity and about how to resurrect a place with so many bad memories that no one dared come near it. That place was all around them, the Compound, and their plan for attack was to take down all the slain women, children, men and boys, and Peacekeepers. Without the dead guarding their living space, maybe… just maybe those who had fled would find a way to return.