Thud
Thud
Thud
My heart is the only sound in the square. Blood fills my ears, pounding through my veins in a vain attempt to get oxygen to my paralyzed limbs. My whole body is pulsing with energy. An unmistakable ringing begins in my ears, humming in step with the hammering of my heart. Free floating thoughts wander their way into my subconscious.
An arrow. Katniss Everdeen just shot an arrow as she was struck by lightning… lightning… lightning.
When I blink, the dazzling fragments of the bolts still grow and shrink behind my eyelids. I need to move, think, speak, but my functions have been rendered useless. I'm caught in the eye of storm; winds and driving rain just beyond my line of sight… which ends right in front of my nose. Blackness. That's what fills the square. Utter and complete blackness. All the lights, including the shop windows and lit houses, have been extinguished. Even the ghostly lights of the emergency bulbs in the square have been smothered.
Somewhere in the crowd, a baby starts to wail, bringing everyone to their senses, at least partially. Unfortunately, that also means the Peacekeepers start to take action. I can't see them, but I can certainly hear their bellows.
"Go home!" I feel a gloved hand shove me. "Clear out! None of you have permission to be outside anymore! Stay in your houses until further notice! Move!"
As my eyes begin to adjust to the next-to-no light, I reach out, groping for my wife, for anyone in this pit of darkness. Panic begins to spread like a wildfire, infecting each person and spreading quickly. Dark shapes push me in all directions as people try to blindly find their way home.
I shout for my wife, my cries joining thousands of others.
"Dad!" The voice comes from somewhere far off to my left. "Dad! Where are you?"
Shoving someone aside, I attempt to make my way towards the voice.
"Trish?" Someone else grabs me, but I don't recognize their voice.
"No, I'm not- " But whoever it was is gone, feeling their way among the next group of people.
By some miracle, I find my wife. Now that the clouds have moved a little, we have the moonlight to guide us. It's not much, but at least I can make out the rigid figure that I so often see in the doorway of the bakery.
"Come on," she yells over the rising noise of the frantic crowd. "Let's go home!"
"Not without the boys," I say, resisting her attempt to pull me away.
"Didn't you hear the Peacekeepers?" she shouts. "Everyone needs to go home! They need to stay in their house and we'll be in our. Tomorrow morning you can go over there.!"
I can't leave them here. I can't. I've already lost Peeta. I can't. "They need to come with us! I heard one of them call for me!"
"They'll be fine." My wife is angry, desperately dragging me towards the road. "Come on, come on!"
It's out of my control now. The crowd is surging forward, pushing us away from the square. It doesn't matter what I say or do now, it's pointless to fight against this current. So I let myself be swept up in the jostling crowd, trying not to let my trembling hands show. Every now and then, a white uniform catches the irredentist light from the moon and sends a painful jolt all the way from my stomach to the tips of my fingers.
"Which way?" I strain my voice trying to scream over the noise. My hands are gripping my one ally in this mess, holding on because if anyone knows how to answer a question, it's her. She'll get us home.
In response, my wife just elbows her way past people, pulling me along. My eyes can't help wander the shadowy silhouettes of Twelve's population. Our party from the square has merged with the neighboring streets gathering, and their neighboring street's. We're all a scrambled pot of fear and bewilderment.
She gets us home and I've never climbed the steps so quickly. When the door to the bakery is locked and we're standing in the sudden, still darkness, I finally feel the exhaustion and terror take hold.
My wife feels her way around, gathering candles and the matches we keep by the fireplace. Power outages aren't uncommon, in fact, it's more common not to have electricity here in Twelve, but lately, the Capitol's been reducing the blackouts. All the mandatory programming and the Capitol stylists and escorts passing through here are reason enough to keep the lights on.
The candles aren't much, but the flickering flame at least offers some comfort, however limited.
"What the hell just happened?" It comes out in a near whisper.
"I don't know." My wife's fixated on a candle, watching the wick burn black. "I - I was hoping that when the alliance turned, our people would get angry. I thought, well I hoped, that seeing our tributes betrayed would light a fire. That we'd start an uprising ourselves."
"And you wanted to be part of it?" I sit down heavily on a chair, anxiously tapping my foot against the rung. Outside, I can hear the confusion of the stream of people trying to force their way back home. To safety.
The candles continue burn, wavering slightly. In the orange glow, my wife looks a hundred years old. She was so hoping for a change, the impossible idea that Twelve could fight back. It's been the insane dream she's held onto for years and years. I finally see why she didn't give up when her brother died, what made pick her head up and move on.
I let my brain roam over the evening's events. The wire was more than a crucial part of the trap; it was a cord of control. When it was snapped, weapons came out, consciences faded, and the victors abandoned any pretense of friendship. I mean, Katniss and Peeta were still in it together, but other than that, it turned into a free-for-all. No, that's not entirely true. Didn't Katniss lower to bow at the last second before she shot at Enobaria and Finnick? Could she have been unable to kill her former ally or did a lightbulb go off in her brain just then? After that, everything gets hazy. Something about her slipping the wire from a knife to her arrow and then -
"Do you think Katniss knew?" I blurt out. In the quiet of our house, my voice echoes.
"Knew that she'd destroy the force field? Wreck the Games? Die giving us a final moment of rebellion?" she smiles sadly. "What do you think?"
"No," I moan. "Don't say that."
"What? That she's dead?" My wife laughs. "Fine, she survived the Quell-charged lightning and is now leading the other victors on a march through the Capitol. Better?"
No, but Katniss can't be dead. She can't be. And if she's dead… did the charge shock everyone in the arena? Could Peeta be dead too?
I suddenly notice how still everything's gotten. Dead quiet. The earlier sounds movement in the street are gone . My wife peeks out the window at the square and the road beyond, her curiosity getting the better of her for a moment.
"No one," she whispers. "Not one person."
"Where did they go?"
"Back home, you dimwit," she says, annoyed. "Didn't you hear the Peacekeepers? They intend to shoot anyone outside."
My mind is stuck on those last moments we got of coverage, when the lightning storm began. The way Katniss' body convulsed as she let the arrow fly.
"What do you think they'll do?" I ask. "Now that they don't have a victor? Was there ever meant to be a victor?" All the questions I never got to ask her because I was worried we were being watched or unable to face reality come pouring out. Doesn't matter now.
"Why do you think I know the answer to all these?" she asks.
"You always know the answer," I say, not realizing how childish it sounds until it falls from my lips. "Even when we were kids."
"Oh." She ponders this for awhile, then turns to me. "I really don't know anything for certain. Not this time."
"But you have a theory at least," I say. "I've seen that look on your face. Tell me what you think you know."
She lets out a puff of air, then begins talking very quickly. "The Capitol always has a plan. Nothing they do is arbitrary, nothing. Every reaping, every speech. The same goes for the Quell. The whole "victor of the victors thing" was perfect. Too perfect. No, be quiet, let me finish." She holds up a hand as I try to cut in. "The districts were getting too confident, too hopeful. So, the Capitol took the one thing that was stemming these ideas - the victors. And not just any victors, the most beloved ones."
"Most beloved…?"
"Cashmere and Gloss - the family victors, Finnick Odair - the handsome sex symbol of Panem," she rattles off. "Beetee - one of the most intelligent victors ever, and of course, the star-crossed lovers. Don't you think they knew Haymitch would volunteer if Peeta was reaped? Don't you think they also understood that if Haymitch was reaped, Peeta would take his place?"
"So it was rigged?" I'd never thought if that.
"How else did the star-crossed lovers end up back in the Games again? How else, out of ranks of victors from Four we forgot the names of, did Finnick Odair get reaped? I've spent years studying the Capitol and their way of thinking. They wouldn't leave anything to chance."
I sink back, trying to take it all in. For some reason, the silence isn't helping me puzzle it all out, which doesn't make sense. Maybe it's just that I've never heard the district this quiet before. "See," I say after a while. "You do know the answer."
"I'm just speculating," she brushes off my attempt at a compliment. "I could be all wrong."
"Wait… did you say you've been studying the Capitol?" My brain feels slow and foggy as I try to work out the meaning of her words. "Why?"
"In case we -" she clears her throat. "In case this ever happened. The discomfort and semi-revolution."
There's a long silence as we both submerge back into our own thoughts. We don't know where our victors are or what's going on in the Capitol. The Capitol who adores the Games, who watch every moment, what must be going on there? Did they lose power? Probably not. But I can only imagine the confusion. The pampered citizens thrown into panic because their coverage shut off. Maybe they don't even realize exactly what happened.
"Do you think the boys made it home?" I ask.
"Well, they're not outside, so I'd say there's a fair chance they did."
"Do you think Peeta's dead?"
She doesn't answer, which means yes. I lean my head against the table and groan.
My wife gets up and looks out the window periodically, checking for who knows what.
"What are you looking for?" I ask finally. "There's no one out there but the Peacekeepers."
"That's the strange thing," she mutters. "They're not patrolling the streets like I thought they would be."
"They've successfully scared the entirety of Twelve into their houses!" I burst out. "Why would they need to patrol?You said yourself that no one would risk going outside!"
"Shhh," she hisses. "Shut up. Do you want the whole town to hear you?"
I sigh, my breath extinguishing a candle that's too close. I reach for the matches and am about to strike one when I hear a noise. A great rumbling of engines.
"Those must be the trucks," she says.
We look at each other. The Peacekeepers' heavily armored trucks.
My wife goes back to looking outside. "They're all leaving. Every last one."
The world seems strangely fuzzy suddenly. What… why… there's only one reason every Peacekeeper would clear the district. From the look on my wife's face, she knows it, too.
Once again, the thud of my heart is the loudest noise in the room. My entire body is shivering. A knock on the door downstairs in the bakery causes me to jump ten feet.
My wife flies down the steps, peering out into the darkness, trying to see who it is. "It's Thom," she mutters, swinging open the door. The bell jingles merrily.
The man is standing on the steps, his bright eyes wide, but determined. His unshaven face looks more ragged than usual. I don't know him well, only that he's a regular customer at the bakery and that he works in the mines every day of the week except Sundays.
"Thom," my wife whispers.
"Grab anything you want and come with me," Thom tells us, not bothering with a greeting of any kind.
"Where are we going?"
"To the woods. Come on!" He checks the sky, then glances at us. "Meet me at the fence line. Hurry!" He jumps of the steps and bounds to the next door, pounding in it. This time, he doesn't wait for someone to open it. "Open up, come on! We have to get out! Pack everything you need and come to the fence line!"
I pull my wife inside.
"What does he mean? Get out? Where will we be going? This is madness!"
She pushes away my hands, already gathering our coats. It's still much too warm to be wearing jackets, but it makes her feel more in control. "Don't you understand?"
"I think everyone's overreacting! The Capitol won't like it if -"
"THEY ARE GOING TO BOMB US!" she shrieks, pressing my coat into my arms. I can feel her shaking, but it may be from anger just as much as fear.
Bombs. It's the only explanation, yet my brain refuses to accept it. I order myself to think it through, to understand that staying here means death. "And somehow the woods will be spared?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "That'll be the first thing to catch fire! And there could be anything in there! If we get out of here alive, we'll just be killed by a wild animal or something!"
"I agree," she grabs me by the hand and begins to pull me out the door. "We'll make a break for it on the road. Come on, we don't have time for this!"
People are starting to realize what's happening. The silence is broken as frightened children are hurried out the door. Some people try to gather a few provisions, but most just herd their families toward the main road out of the district.
Many guys from the mines are still pounding on doors, trying to get the attention of those few residents who still don't understand what's happening.
"To the fence!" they order. "Everyone to the fence!"
Ahead of me, a little boy looks up at his mother. "Why aren't we going to the fence, mommy?"
"Honey, it's dangerous in the woods, but we must move quickly."
"The boys," I mutter, trying to turn around. "We have to get the boys!"
"Keep moving!" my wife cries. "They'll get the message."
"I'm not leaving without them!"
"You can't save everyone! We'll all die!"
"It's the Mellarks!" I hear someone screech behind me. The Cartwrights are running towards us. Both blonde, both merchants.
"Have you seen our children?" she sobs.
"We left the shoe store and they were right there! One of the guys from the mines was trying to get us to the fence, but we lost them!"
Delly and her little brother. Missing. I want to help, assist them. They can't be far, right? "I'll help! We're looking for our boys." My breath comes in shallow gasps.
Pain shows on the Cartwrights' faces and I know they're thinking of Peeta. It's too late for him, but maybe not for Delly and the others.
"I'm sorry," my wife says, starting to pull me away. "But if we're going to get out of here, we all need to go. They'll be in the crowd somewhere, just - let's hurry!"
"You guys can go, but I'm not leaving until I find my children!" sobs their mother.
"Do you see that -" I start to say, but I'm cut off by a cry.
"Dad!"
And they're sprinting toward us. I throw my arms around their necks. "You're safe, you're safe," I mutter. "We were so worried!"
"None of us are safe!" my wife throws her hands up in the air. "Follow me to the damn road and let's get out of here! They will kill us!"
People are pushing each other as we file onto the main road, everyone trying to get a spot. As far as the eye can see, a river of people stream away from the district. I turn, looking over my shoulder, trying to catch a final glimpse of our home. Of the bakery.
A low sound begins to rev in the distance. Like thunder, except it doesn't stop. It sounds like… like hovercrafts. Heads crane upward, searching the inky sky for any sign of them. It's not until the noise is practically deafening that we see them. They materialize right over the district. Great grey beasts whose stomachs drop open to let the first bombs cascade over our home. And then the sky falls.
The explosions begin behind us, sending up smoke and fire. The ground shakes and people begin to scream. Families swing their children up on their backs and break into a run.
My legs feel like lead as I join in, my heart beating so quickly I can no longer tell one pulse from another. I'm really shaking now, tripping over the people in front of me as I flee.
Our district. Our home. The only place I've ever known. The bakery. Is it burning away now? The loaves I'd had cooling on the counter and all the old recipe books that have been in my family for generations. I imagine the flames hungrily licking the old waxy paper, relishing every yellowing page. And the old flat? It wasn't much, but it was my home. The second round of bombs shake me to my core, and hot, angry tears well up in my eyes. How could they just take away everything? Burn away our lives like they were nothing?
The pig! What did Peeta name it? Paprika? We forgot to unchain her. She'll be burned to a crisp by now.
"Has anyone seen my sister?"
"My dad?"
"My brother?"
The cries of helpless relatives pierce the throng. There's no going back now.
It's not until the hovercrafts materialize over the road that the world tilts sideways and I feel dizzy. Up ahead, a few dark shapes begin to fall from the air in slow motion.
"Turn back, turn back!" I hear people crying.
But we're blocked in. We can't move! Behind us the dying district, in front of us -
The screaming begins. Terrible, agonized. Orange flames begin to swell in front of us, charring the road and… the people.
They've found us. We're trapped, unable to move. I leap over fallen bodies with their flesh melting off, burning away to grisly black ash. I swallow down bile as someone in front of me drops to the ground. More explosions. I can't see straight. My throat is burning. I feel my foot land on something that crunches sickeningly, but I don't look down. I've lost my grip on my wife and my sons. On reality itself.
A little girl in front of me is screaming for her mother. I reach out for her, but I'm knocked to the ground. When I raise my head, eyes streaming from the smoke and chest heaving, I can see her figure on the ground. Her neck is twisted at an odd angle, snapped by the impact. Holy -
An excruciating sensation begins at my legs and I look down to see my pants on fire. I can't move. White hot fire raced through my body, replacing my blood. I'm detached, floating away from the pain. It's not pain anymore. This can't be pain.
Just kill me. Just let me die.
My eyes focus on something in front of my face. A piece of paper, burning away as I am.
Through the murky haze of smoke, screams and pain, I find words. Peeta's words. They're the last thing I see before the blackness takes over.
I'll see you on the other side. Love always, Peeta
A/N- A huge thank you to all the people who constantly read and reviewed this story! It was a crazy process, but I loved every moment of it! I'm really sad that this is over :( Thanks for bearing with me!