Another Way Out
Chapter 15 – So Little Time
- Katniss -
I don't know how it's possible, but my world feels as if it is both spinning out of control and halted at an eerie standstill. Yet somehow, I manage to place one foot in front of the other as the Peacekeepers separate me and Peeta at the Justice Building. I don't understand what just happened. I suppose the additional rule just caught me off guard, considering that I've spent the last few months preparing myself for this day. It's taken months for me to accept the fact that Peeta and I are going back into the Games. That we have no choice. That one of us might—" and will most likely—" die.
I get that it's a Quell and the rules are different, but this was the last thing I ever expected. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I feel like this is personal, that this supposed, "rule change," is targeted towards me. But why Prim? Why does my sister have to suffer because of me?
For two consecutive years Effie Trinket has called my sister's name. The terror still lingers in my veins— that gut-wrenching, frozen, nearly petrified sensation from when Effie called Prim's name, all the while knowing there was nothing I could do to save her like I did last year. I can't very well volunteer for my sister when I'm already a tribute. Then, like a saving grace, Madge came to Prim's rescue and took her place. Without hesitation. I feel like I'm trapped in a really, really horrible nightmare ever since Effie called Prim's name and I really wish someone would hurry and wake me up. Except I'm awake, wide awake, and perhaps it's time for me to face the fact that the nightmare is my new reality.
'Katniss, are you okay? Did . . . did you know? Why did Madge do it? I don't— what's going on?' Peeta's voice grounds me back to reality. I shake my head instinctively, reacting without thinking, forgetting that Peeta's not actually next to me. 'Katniss, talk to me please,' he urges me when I forget to respond.
'I–I'm here. I'm okay. I . . . I don't understand either. I don't get it, Peeta, why did she . . . why did Madge do it? And . . . why . . . WHY did they add that rule? Can they even do that?'
Why did they do it? What was their purpose? What do they hope to gain? These questions ruminate through my mind, although left unspoken.
Of course, they can do it, I answer my own question. The realization of this new rule change hits me at full force, wondering how many tributes Peeta, Madge and I will be up against.
As if twenty-two wasn't enough.
"New procedure, you get five minutes with each visitor. And make it quick because the train departs at the top of the hour," a peacekeeper I've never seen barks at me just before he opens the door. I glance around the room in search of a clock, nodding my understanding.
12:40. I can't help the laugh-like-chuckle that trickles from my lips. Well . . . I guess I should be thankful they haven't taken our goodbyes away altogether, I silently retort. I suppose twenty minutes is better than no minutes.
Mom and Prim are first to rush into the room and they immediately join me on the familiar plush velvet sofa. Mom pulls me into her arms and just holds me while Prim squishes in next to me.
Prim trembles, sniffling against me just before she speaks. "I . . . I don't— how . . . but why . . . did Madge . . . how can—" Prim's watery eyes meet mine pleading for an answer I don't have.
I shake my head, just as confused as she is. I don't know why Madge took Prim's place but I'm more than relieved that she did, which in turn fills me with so much shame and guilt.
"I— I need to go see her," Prim articulates with a quivering chin. Then she turns to me and places a hand on each of my shoulders. "Promise me, Katniss."
"Prim, I—" I begin, knowing immediately what she expects me to say.
"Say it," she demands.
"I'll try . . . I promise," I placate her. She knows my weakness; I've never been able to tell her no. She wants the promise I made to her before my first Games. She probably thinks since I kept my word last time, the same will ring true once more. Whether or not she believes me, I don't know, but this seems to lighten a load from her shoulders.
The corner of Prim's mouth twitches ever so slightly before she leans into me and wraps her arms around my neck. "I love you Katniss," she declares, sniffling against my cheek. We embrace for a moment and then I feel her pulling away. "I— I—" she whimpers, her eyes red, puffy, her face streaked with tears.
"It's okay, go. I love you," I tell her, knowing she feels guilty about Madge. She nods, then bolts from the room.
So many of us to see and so little time.
"I love you, my sweet girl, I love you so much Katniss!" Mom breaks down in a sob. Then she straightens her back and dries her face, quickly pulling herself together. We break a few inches apart and she holds my chin in place, imploring me with her tear-filled, clear blue eyes.
I never realized the strength inside my mother. I wonder when she became so strong, or if it was always there. For so long I only saw a frail woman who sat vigil by her comatose husband's bedside. A woman who was more focused on said husband's recovery than taking care of her very alive children. But that woman has been gone for a long time. It's no secret that my mother has battled depression, and I feel guilty that I've been so blind— that I haven't allowed myself to see the strength behind her mask.
Mom holds me tight, squeezing and not letting go. In her arms I feel safe, loved, so I stay like this for as long as she'll allow. She says so much without uttering a single word. I fight the tears that are threatening to flow, knowing there's probably a camera hidden in every corner of this room. Crying is a sign of weakness, and I am not weak. I do not cry.
"Katniss," Mom eventually breaks the silence, her tone stern. I have a feeling I know what she's going to say, and I shake my head vehemently, begging— pleading for her silence. Her eyes soften. She opens her mouth. "I just . . . I love you," are the words that come out. Then she pulls me back into her arms and holds me for the duration of our time.
"You can't keep this from Peeta, he deserves to know," she whispers next to my ear at the exact moment the peacekeeper tells us that our time is up.
- Peeta -
I wasn't the least bit surprised to learn about this "new procedure": our severely reduced time limitations. In fact, I anticipated this year's rules would not follow any of the previous years' guidelines.
I opt not to sit, and instead pace from wall-to-wall until the door swings open with my father and Rye in tow. I've been so worried and perhaps slightly paranoid that we would be denied these last minutes, that I made sure to leave no words unspoken before this morning.
Nothing of value should be uttered in these rooms anyway.
"You remember everything I told you?" I whisper into my dad's ear as he pulls me to his chest. He answers me by squeezing me tighter. "And you know where—"
"You worry about you, son, I'll take care of things on this end," Dad whispers reassuringly.
Rye swears about this and that, and something about time limitations, not even bothering to subdue his tone, which causes me to crack a grin.
Three days ago, I stopped by the bakery to see my mother. I said my goodbyes then, so I don't expect to see her before I leave.
Prim bursts through the door just as Dad and Rye exit. She runs straight into my arms and wraps her arms around my neck. "I . . . I would have done it; Madge didn't have to— she didn't have to Peeta!" Prim wails frantically into my ear. Then she squeezes me even tighter.
"I know Prim, I know. But Madge is strong, she'll be okay." My words are meant to reassure Prim but instead they make her cry harder.
"You're the best brother Peeta— I love you so much!" she wails.
I try to reassure Prim, albeit unsuccessfully. I make her promise not to take any tesserae if they start running low on supplies— not that it will even be offered. I tell her to go to my dad if she and Lily start running low on supplies, that my dad has promised to help.
Prim nods her assent, her tears slowly subsiding. Then she begins fidgeting with her fingers. "Peeta," she says after a moment, her eyes still focused on her hands.
She trembles, still staring at her fingers. Her mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if she means to tell me something. Then she rushes at me, circling her arms around my neck, squishing our cheeks together. Then she begins speaking softly next to my ear. "Katniss is pregnant, Peeta. I— she's going to be so mad at me for telling you but I . . . I don't think she was ever going to tell you . . . and . . . I just thought you should know." Her words come out barely above a whisper, so soft and faint that I'm certain no cameras or recording devices could have possibly picked them up.
But I heard every word. I retract slightly from her embrace and do a double take, my eyes widened with some unknown emotion.
Shock. Fear. Surprise. Confirmation.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Prim meets my eyes and gives me a solid nod of validation, telling me that yes, I did in fact hear her correctly. Then she leans in, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before turning around and disappearing out the door.
I shouldn't be surprised, I shouldn't. I've had my suspicions. For a while now. But that doesn't dissolve the vast array of emotions bubbling inside me.
The next few minutes feel as if I'm trying to swim in a vat of sludge, struggling to move but getting nowhere.
I see Delly's tear-streaked face; her mouth moves, but I can't make out the words. I just nod and hug her back, which seems to appease her until her time is up. Holly, Graham's wife comes after Delly, but no Graham.
Katniss is pregnant. We're having a baby.
Katniss and I are going to have a baby, I think silently, my heart momentarily swelling with joy before the sudden realization hits. But will I be alive to meet him or her?
In that moment I make a solemn vow to myself. I will do anything I must to protect Katniss and my unborn child. Anything at all to make sure Katniss lives.
Delly crosses paths with Gale and this seems to ground me.
A baby.
"Um . . . Hi," Gale mumbles, not seeming sure what else to say.
"Hi," I respond, unable to hide the surprise in my eyes. It's true that over the last few weeks I have felt like mine and Gale's friendship has grown, but I'd never have expected to see him here.
"I—" Gale begins, taking a seat next to me. Then he leans over, pressing his elbows into his thighs. "I don't know why I'm here. I can't ask what I want to ask without it—"
"It's okay, you don't have to say anything," I tell him, already knowing what he wants from me. If our roles were reversed, I'd be asking the same of him. "I know," I emphasize, looking into his hard gray eyes.
He stares back at me, his eyes filled with so much anguish.
He nods, understanding my meaning then focuses his attention on his hands. We sit in silence for another moment or two, then he sits up straight, staring right at me, and the sight of this broken man tugs at my heart.
His eyes are bloodshot, filled with unshed tears.
"Please, just . . . don't kill her."
I open my mouth to say something . . . maybe to ask which "her" he's referring to, but he must know there is no way I could or would ever hurt either Katniss or Madge . . . but he cuts me off before I have a chance to speak.
With tears in his eyes he stands up, turns his back to me and walks toward the door.
"I would never— I could never," I stammer, and he halts his strides but doesn't turn around. "I give you my word, Gale," I begin. He still doesn't turn around to face me, but he also doesn't walk away, so I continue. "She's one of my closest friends and I will do everything in my power to protect her— to protect them both, for as long as I can."
He stands in place for a moment digesting my declaration, then he tosses a glance over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine and he nods once before disappearing out the door.
- Madge -
"Hazelle—" My surrogate mother's name slips from my tongue when she enters the room.
"You came," I utter, my eyes instantly pooling with tears. I know that I shouldn't be surprised to see her, but I guess . . . in the back of my mind I'd been preparing myself to face the fact that I was important to no one. Or maybe . . . I was afraid to get my hopes up.
Had I expected to see Hazelle and the kids, only for them not to show, I think I would be devastated beyond belief. And that devastation would diminish my will to fight, I'm certain of it.
"Of course, I did, you silly girl," Hazelle joins me on the sofa, while Vick, Rory, and Posie encircle us like a shield. The boys are tense. Only because I've spent so much time with them do I notice the twitch in Rory's jaw, and the subtle way Vick refuses to meet anyone's gaze; other than that, the boys who I've come to love as brothers mask their emotions well. Posie, on the other hand, has not yet mastered the art of creating a false facade of her feelings.
It's such a strange feeling looking at Posie sniffling, her eyes red, her face puffy and stained with tears. On the one hand, it saddens my heart to see her suffering, while on the other hand, it makes my heart smile knowing I will be missed. Talk about a double-edged sword.
Hazelle whimpers lightly as she pulls me to her chest, embracing me in her arms. After a moment she pulls back and discreetly places a small drawstring pouch in my hands. I look at her with a questioning brow.
"Don't open it now. Not here," Hazelle whispers, shaking her head simultaneously.
The confusion must be prevalent in my expression because she continues, "I bring this with me every year. Just in case, well, in case it's one of my kids . . ." She pauses, inhaling a steadying breath, as if the words cause her physical pain. "Just . . . don't open it yet . . . wait until you need a piece of home," she finishes cryptically.
Then the children who I've come to love as if they were my own siblings tackle me with hugs and kisses.
"You're so brave Madge," Vick mumbles against my shoulder.
"I love you sooo much, Miss Madge… . . . and I— I— I don't want you to die! Oh!" Posie's sobs deepen, then she wipes her face against her forearm. "Maybe . . . maybe they will change the rules again . . . you know, like they did last year for Catnip and Peeta," she whimpers hopefully.
"Yeah, Pose. We'll see Madge again, you'll see." Rory gives Posie a reassuring pat on her shoulder. Then he looks straight into my eyes and says with so much conviction, "I don't care what your last name is, you remember that you are an honorary Hawthorne, and Hawthorne's are survivors," he declares, leaning down and encircling his arms around my waist.
"Yeah, you're an honorary Hawthorne, Madge," Vick agrees, and I feel the warm tears gliding down my cheeks.
"Come on guys, there are more people who want to see Madge," Hazelle prompts the kids, and they immediately fall in line, and my brows raise slightly.
I run to Hazelle one more time before she leaves and wrap my arms tightly around her middle. "Thank you so much Hazelle, for everything. For taking care of me, for loving me, for letting me be a part of your family."
"Of course, Madge, I love you too, we all do," are the last words I hear before they disappear out the door, and I wonder if it will be the last time I ever see them.
Prim is next to burst through the door. It's obvious she's been crying. She runs into my arms and hugs me tight.
"Why Madge? Why did you do it? I— I would have gone! You didn't have to—"
But I did. I did have to.
"It's okay Prim, it's—" How do I tell her that I did it because I love her? Or did I make this choice for selfish reasons? I couldn't bear to watch her suffer in the Games. Trapped in a prison filled with seasoned killers. And I refuse to allow the Capitol to taint her pure heart. Does that make me selfish?
"Thank you, Madge," she cries before I can say anything, squeezing me tightly one last time before disappearing out the door.
Not caring if there are cameras in here, I bury my face in my hands and release my tears. I'm not sure I could have stopped them anyway.
God, oh God, what have I gotten myself into? What have I done? Can I do this? Am I strong enough, brave enough to face the arena? How am I supposed to kill another person . . . or . . . people? Do I have what it takes to end another person's life?
"Get it together, Marjorie," I mumble under my breath, then slowly inhale a steadying breath to ease my nerves. When I look up, everything is fuzzy for a moment, and then he comes into focus. Gale. He inches his way next to me and swallows me into his arms, wrapping me with his love. I allow myself these next few minutes to feel truly loved and safe.
"I want to be so angry at you Madge Undersee. I want to hate you so badly right now. I want to throttle you for what you did, but dammit, I can't," he declares, swaying us gently back and forth. "Dammit Madge," he whispers, the apparent anger absent from his tone. Then he kisses the top of my head. "Why did you make me love you?"
I don't have an answer, so I just let him hold me. Neither of us utters a word for what feels like a lifetime. Then, Gale's the one to break the silence. "Just promise me this one thing," he leans back to look at me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Please come back to me Madge, I can't lose—"
"Gale," I say with a slight raise of my brow and he shakes his head. I can't tell him that maybe there's a chance we'll all make it out of here. Because no one can know that I know. That, and I don't want to give him false hope.
"I know, I know, but . . . you can't just give up." Each tear that glides down his cheeks creates another crack in my heart.
"I'm not going down without a fight, Gale Hawthorne. That, I can promise you. Just . . . if . . . please don't let Posie watch me—"
Die. The last word gets stuck in my throat.
Gale closes the distance between us and secures his lips against mine. "I love you Madge Undersee," he mumbles against my lips. "I know I've said it before, but I couldn't let you go without . . . you have to know how loved you are, and there are people waiting for you." Then he kisses me harder. "Because I do, I love you."
He kisses me hard and deep, and I savor the moment, committing to my memory the way he feels, the incredible way his tongue dances, perfectly in time with mine. I inhale his scent, hoping to savor, permanently, the way he smells. I never want to forget this moment; I must keep it with me always.
"I love you too," I tell him just before he pulls back. Then I open my mouth, prepared to tell him the words I've been reciting in my head for the past hour. "Gale, I need you to know that being part of your family this past year—"
"Shhh," he hushes me, pressing a finger to my lips, then he pulls my head against his chest and says, "I know. I know, Madge. Me too." We sit together like this until the peacekeeper throws him out.
The peacekeeper . . . I never caught his name, struts over to me and snatches my arm, jerking me off the sofa. "C'mon. Time to send the princess off."
I snatch my arm out of his grasp as I stand up. "I'm coming," I hiss at him through narrowed eyes. He throws his head back and laughs.
"I need a moment," Mayor Kadinski stops us at the door. The peacekeeper huffs and raises his wrist to look at his watch.
"Sorry, time's up," he huffs again.
"I am the mayor of this District, and when I say I need a minute, I mean I need a minute." Poppy glares at him through menacing eyes. He winces back, unable to mask his uneasiness, and I don't blame him. Mayor Kadinski— Poppy, has never been anything but kind to me. Before this moment I've only ever been privy to the kind, compassionate, empathetic, mother figure. Never the strict, authoritative, Capitol Representative that commands fear and respect. Now I see why she was chosen for this position.
"My apologies, Madam Mayor," the peacekeeper grunts, not seeming too pleased to concede to her as he exits the room.
"Pompous ass," the mayor mutters under her breath. My lips twitch slightly upward.
As soon as the door is closed, Poppy's entire demeanor changes. Her stiffened, straight-backed shoulders relax and she's back to the soft, kind person I recognize. "I didn't want to take time away from your friends and family, but I needed a moment with you before you leave."
She takes a seat on the sofa and motions for me to join her. "I'll make this brief because God forbid the train depart five minutes off schedule," she snarks, rolling her eyes, and I can't help but grin.
"You, Marjorie Undersee, are an amazing, brave woman. I hope you know that." She smiles softly at me and places a gentle hand on my knee. "Kismet wanted to say goodbye, but I made her stay with Raven." Then she pulls a tri-folded piece of paper from her pocket and offers it to me and says, "From Kismet."
"Oh," I blurt out, accepting the paper with a confused glare. "Tell her thank you, and it was a privilege to play with her," I gush, feeling my eyes welling with tears. I'm about to unfold the paper when Poppy stops me.
"Not here," she whispers, then leans in next to my ear. "Read it in the last car on the train," she urges, not giving me time to respond by pulling me in for a hug. And then, she whispers ever so faintly in my ear, "I know you know. Trust your instincts. And remember that there's always another way out."
– Peeta –
Effie wastes no time beginning the grand tour once we board the train. I smile, nodding enthusiastically, hopefully at all the appropriate times, but truthfully, it looks no differently than it did last year, the exact same as when we went on the victory tour. And besides, how is anyone supposed to enjoy something as ridiculous as luxury when the three of us are being herded to our deaths?
We pass the main car, the dining car, then file down a narrow hallway where Effie shows us the personal compartments dedicated for the Tributes. She points, indicating the "special," additional room created just for Madge. Madge rolls her eyes.
Effie seems to get distracted describing in intricate detail all the new amenities added to the personal compartments. Madge uses this distraction to her advantage and bolts into the first room, slamming the door in our faces. I can't say I blame her.
"Maybe I should—" Katniss begins, but I quickly grab her hand and pull her to my side.
'Give her some time; we'll check on her in a little bit . . .' I silently relay to Katniss as we trail behind Effie.
"Well . . . I—" Effie falters, seeming flustered at Madge's prompt departure. "I suppose one of you can help her around should she get lost." Then she reminds us of the schedule, urging us not to be late for dinner before suggesting we wash up, then finally, leaving us to our own devices.
"Is she acting strange, or is it just me?" Katniss asks once we lock ourselves into our room.
'It is definitely not just you,' I agree, hesitant to vocalize my response. Recording devices planted throughout the train isn't a kept secret, but it wouldn't surprise me if they've upped the ante this year.
I head straight for the bathroom and grin at the double shower heads, turning the water on full blast. I give the water a moment to heat up before stripping down and hopping in. Katniss joins me less than a minute later.
"Roses, cupcakes, ocean-waves, what'll it be?" I ask Katniss as I fumble with the dials, trying to remember how to program the soap settings.
"Definitely not roses." Katniss scowls.
"Your wish is my command," I say cheekily, leaning in and kissing her lips lightly. Then I turn her around and pull her to my chest, moving us under the stream of the water.
"Peeta, I'm scared. Something isn't right. I get that it's a Quell year, but something's just . . . I don't know, something feels off. None of this is making sense."
"I agree."
We alternate between our silent talk and hushed whispers as I intermittently steal kisses from my wife. I debate whether or not I should mention Prim's confession, but in the end, I decide against it.
Before I know it, each of our one-hundred and eighty minutes have come to an end— signaled by a knock on the door telling us it's time for the evening meal.
"Hmm, that smells divine!" Effie remarks once we're all seated at the table.
"It does smell very good," I inhale deeply through my nose, agreeing with Effie. I notice something familiar about the aroma. It almost smells like—
"Oh God!" With an almost greenish hue to her complexion, Katniss bolts up with a hand covering her mouth. Before I have time to blink, she has sprinted down the hall.
"She okay?" Madge looks to me with a raised brow.
"I don't know," I reply while simultaneously shrugging my shoulders. "I'll go check on her," I say, sliding my chair back.
"No, let me." Madge jumps up, chasing after Katniss before I have a chance to protest.
– Katniss –
My stomach starts churning almost immediately after Peeta opens our compartment door. My senses are bombarded from the faint, once enticing aroma wafting from the dining compartment. I grit my teeth, hoping to calm my insides.
I think I've got it under control when Effie says, "Hmm, that smells divine!" and the shrill tone of her high-pitched, nasally voice only serves to exacerbate my nausea.
"It does smell very good," Peeta agrees with her, and for some reason this grates on my nerves.
The servants enter and continue filling the table with platters of food. Effie removes the lid from one of the trays and my senses are instantly assaulted. My insides churn. They flip, and then they flop. I feel what little contents that are in my stomach working their way up. I should have known the moment Peeta and I stepped foot outside our compartment that eating anything would be a losing battle.
My hand snaps up to my mouth as I bolt from my chair, then I high-tail it through the doors and down the hallway in search of the nearest restroom.
Thankfully, I make it to the bathroom in mine and Peeta's compartment in the nick of time.
I don't know if it's a minute, five minutes, or half an hour before the queasiness finally subsides when there's a light tapping on the door.
"It's open," I croak, certain it's Peeta, and the thought of facing him has my nausea threatening to return at full force.
"Katniss?" I'm surprised it's Madge's voice instead of Peeta's and a wave of relief ripples through me. "Is it safe to come in?"
"Yeah," I tell her, leaning against the wall and stretching one leg out to open the door.
She enters, then closes the door behind her and slides against the wall, joining me on the cool, tile floor. "You okay?" she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
I nod but am made a liar by the stray tears that leak from the corner of my eyes.
Madge reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. She doesn't let go, relaxing her hand against mine. We sit in silence like this for a minute or two.
"Madge, why did— why'd you do it? I mean . . . I'll never be able to pay you back for . . . for saving Prim."
Madge is quiet for a moment as she searches her mind. Then finally she says, "Do you remember what I said to you when we had our Girl's Night?"
I think back to that night, trying to recall her words to the surface. And then it hits me. "Y– you kn—"
My entire body tingles with shock. Is it possible that she knew about this supposed rule change? Before today? But . . . that was more than two weeks ago.
She silences me with a finger to her lips, coupled with an imperceptible nod. Of course. She must know about the bugs too.
"I love you, and I love Prim. And I couldn't just stand by and let Prim— I just couldn't, Katniss." She closes her eyes, shaking her head. "And Katniss, you don't owe me anything. This was my choice." She squeezes my hand, as if to reassure me. "Is there . . . maybe anything you wanna tell me?" she questions with a raised brow, and I swear her eyes land on my stomach.
My widened eyes lock with hers and I open my mouth to confirm or deny her accusation, but my expression must have been answer enough.
"That sucks," she says, and we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. "Does Peeta know?"
I refuse to meet her eyes and shake my head.
"I'm not really hungry, but I feel like I should probably eat," Madge says after a time.
"Yes," I declare firmly. "Eat every chance you have. Any time there is food, it's important to eat. The goal is to put on as much weight as you can between now and when the Games begin," I explain to her, feeling that somehow, I sound as if I'm reading from an instruction manual. But then I recall how I ate so much last year that I nearly made myself sick, so I add, "But not so much that you make yourself sick," I instruct her as if I'm her mentor. I guess in a way, I am.
Then I am hit with another realization. Madge. Peeta. Who to save? How am I supposed to choose? My best friend or . . . my best friend?
She rolls her eyes at me and says, "Practice what you preach." Which grants her a scowl. "I'm serious. You need to eat. Even if it's just crackers or a banana, or one of those energy-bar things. And you need to stay hydrated," Madge insists, shoving a miniature bottle of water in my hands. Then something about her changes. Her shoulders droop and she averts her eyes.
"Madge, what's wrong?" I press.
"Y–you're trying to help me," she seems to shrink back.
"Of course, I am, why wouldn't I?"
"Does this mean . . . are we going to stick together? You . . . and Peeta . . . and me? I mean, I understand if you don't—" She finally looks up and I see her eyes are glistening with tears.
I lean in and pull her in for a hug. "Don't be silly. Of course, we're going to stick together. I refuse to have it any other way."
Madge sniffles, then nods.
We sit in silence for another minute or so before she pulls herself off the floor. "You coming?" She asks, as if our emotional moment hadn't just happened and extends her hand to me. I hesitate for just a moment before taking it. I suppose I have to face Peeta at some point.
– Peeta –
Katniss, Madge and I squish together on one of the loveseats just before the recap of the Reaping begins. Haymitch has broken his vow of sobriety with a promise to stay clear headed enough to help us. He is slumped in a recliner to our right with his flask gripped firmly in his hand. On our other side is Effie, Portia and Cinna, seated together at a large, round table.
"Oh! I just love this part!" Effie squeals, clasping her hands together. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Katniss rolling her eyes.
The blue screen flickers on, followed by the sound of blaring trumpets.
"And the show begins," Madge mumbles sarcastically.
I retrieve my notepad from my pocket along with a pen, so I can take notes on all the tributes. In the history of the games, there have been seventy-five Victors. Fifty-nine are still alive. Some are very old or wasted by illness, drugs, or drink. As expected, Districts 1, 2, and 4 have the most tributes. But each district managed to scrape up at least one male and one female.
Haymitch stares at the screen, his face devoid of emotion. Instead of watching the screen, I focus on Effie, studying her reactions. Her expressions. I wasn't sure before, but I'm almost certain something is going on with her. She seems more like the woman we first met and not the kind, nurturing woman who has been instrumental to our survival these last few months. This last year.
From District 1 a beautiful brother & sister volunteer who won consecutive years. Cashmere. Gloss.
The male volunteer from 2's name is Brutus, who looks as burly as his namesake. I recognize the female volunteer, who, after winning her Games by ripping the throats of other tributes, had her teeth filed into points. Enobaria.
"She looks scary," Madge admits. Both Katniss and I nod in agreement.
District's 3's tributes are an older pair. An average sized man with dark rimmed glasses framing his eyes. The woman is lanky and has dark hair; neither of them look very threatening. Wiress and Beetee.
Finnick, a handsome bronze-haired guy from 4 who won ten years ago at the age of fourteen. I think he was the youngest tribute to ever win.
'Is that—' Katniss asks silently.
My brows wrinkle in confusion for a moment, but then I remember. 'Oh yeah, he's from— the guy we met at—'
'The Victory Tour in 4,' Katniss finishes my thought.
My curiosity is piqued when Madge snaps her head up when they announce the female tribute from 4. A hint of . . . something like recognition infiltrates her eyes for a moment and then it's gone just as quickly. The beautiful young woman with flowing brown hair— Annie Cresta becomes hysterical when the escort calls her name, and then she's pushed aside. Katniss turns her head and our eyes lock for a moment, both of us confused when an eighty-year-old woman who walks with a cane takes her place.
Haymitch is clearly affected by these tributes because when I glance over and see him, his entire body is tense as he white knuckles his flask. I make note of this in my notepad.
Johanna Mason is the only living female victor from 7. She won her games a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. Once the number of tributes dwindled down she turned the tables and became a vicious killer. I wonder what her plan is this time, seeing as that strategy won't work for her this time.
Effie gasps when the woman from 8 is called. "Oh no, not Cecelia," I think I hear her say. Portia snaps her head to Effie and gives her a stern look. "I just mean . . . um, if she does not return, her poor children will be sent to the Children's Home, which of course, is subsidized by the Capitol."
Katniss tenses next to me, as does Madge at her comment. But I saw Effie's initial reaction and witnessed the anguish in her eyes, and her pain was very real. I just don't think a reaction like that can be truly faked, and that's when I realize what's different about Effie. She's playing a role. For the Capitol. The corner of my lips twitch up slightly; she's still our Effie.
Cecelia is a beautiful woman of about thirty years, and it makes me sick to see the three small children being pried from her arms. The image is a stark reminder of Katniss and the secret I know.
Katniss is called. Then Haymitch. I volunteer. Then Effie is handed the note, declaring a new rule. She calls Prim's name. Madge volunteers. Not once in any other district was there an announcement about this new rule. No other escort was handed an envelope to read.
"Why was the extra card only read aloud in 12?" I blurt out. I have my suspicions, but I ask anyway.
"Yes, I wonder why that is," Portia blurts out, her tone laced with animosity.
"Well, if you think about it, it makes perfect sense," Effie answers.
"How so?" I question with a raised brow, urging her to continue.
"Well, if you think about it, the vast majority of the tributes are over twenty-five years old, and their siblings, if any, would have already aged out. Meaning that the rule simply does not apply. As the rule states that siblings are to accompany the tributes, should they be of reaping age," Effie explains matter-of-factly.
Haymitch scoffs, rolling his eyes and mumbles something indistinguishable under his breath before bringing his flask to his lips and turning it up. I'm instantly curious about his response and jot down in my notepad a reminder to ask him about this later.
I nod at Effie's reasoning, and she returns her attention back to the television. I suppose her explanation makes sense, but I can't seem to get rid of this nagging feeling that there's something more to it than just that.
One of the announcers gets teary eyed because it seems the odds will never be in mine and Katniss's favor. I stop paying attention shortly after that.
"Cinna, will Madge have a different stylist?" Katniss wonders aloud.
"Nope, I get both of you girls," Cinna answers with a wink. Then he stands up and says, "Well, I think Portia and I are going to call it a night."
"Yep, same here," Haymitch groans, his words followed by a belch.
"Ugh! You are such a vile man, Haymitch!" Effie chastises him.
"You know what they say, better out than in!" Haymitch responds sourly with a wink.
Effie rolls her eyes then turns her back to Haymitch and faces us. "Goodnight my darlings, I shall see you in the morning!" she says as she heads out the door.
Katniss, Madge and I stay seated, not moving a muscle.
One-minute passes, then two, before Madge says, "Is it weird that I find the silence comforting?"
"Not at all," Katniss tells her. "They can be a bit . . . overwhelming."
"This is nothing though, wait till you meet our prep teams."
"Oh!" Katniss groans. "Don't remind me!"
"I met them," Madge chimes. "When they came to 12 for the wedding shoot."
"Oh, right," Katniss says.
"I think I'm going to go for a walk," Madge tells us and stands up.
"Do you want some company?" I ask her.
"No, it's okay. I won't be gone long, I think I just need a few minutes to clear my head," she informs us.
This makes me uneasy because I'm worried about her, but I give her a soft smile and nod my head.
- Madge -
I walk to the end of the train, it's the only car on the train where the windows can automatically retract because I require some much needed fresh air. I pat the side of my pants and feel Hazelle's gift, still tucked safely inside my pocket, along with the letter from Kizzie. The thought of Hazelle, of Vick, Rory, and Posie causes a stinging behind my eyes.
Wait till you need a little piece of home, is what Hazelle told me. Well, I could probably wait, but I think I need it now. So, I pull the pouch out and loosen its drawstrings. Then I turn it upside down, emptying the contents into my hand.
If I thought I was feeling sentimental and overly emotional before, it has nothing on how seeing this little prize has me feeling now. I find myself floating back in time as I stare at it. To the first time I saw it, curious as I was.
"What's this? It looks familiar, but I can't figure out where I've seen one of these before?" I ask Gale, removing the tiny object from the shelf.
"Don't touch that!" With furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, Gale shouts at me, snatching the little trinket from my hands.
I wince back apologetically from his angry words. "I'm sorry," he says almost immediately, his features softening.
"It was . . . it was my dad's. It's the only thing that was left of him after the uh . . . explosion." Then Gale opens his hand, displaying the tiny, familiar looking object. He delicately turns it over in his hands to show me something. "You see here?"
I lean in closer to see what he's pointing to. It's the tiniest etching . . . something that looks like two letters. "What does it say?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
"They're his initials. You see this loop right here, he always attached it to his belt. Carried it with him everywhere." He explains.
"What does it do?" I ask and Gale returns it to the shelf.
"You tap a tree with it." The confusion must be prevalent on my face because he continues. "You dig a hole in a tree, pop the spile in, and whatever kind of tree it is, it'll pull its sap out."
A spile. That's what it is.
I'm not sure how a spile would ever help me in the Games, but I make a silent promise to Hazelle to protect it with my life.
Figuring that I've been gone long enough, I decide to come back later to read Kizzie's letter and make my way back to the main compartment. I'm sure Katniss and Peeta will start to worry if I don't return soon.
I get turned around several times trying to find my way back to where Katniss and Peeta are. After the third wrong turn I see one of the servants and ask for directions. Who knew you could get lost on a train?
The servant smiles softly at me, but she doesn't speak. I remember Katniss telling me about Avoxes in the Capitol and wonder if this beautiful young woman is one of those. The thought angers me. What crime could be so severe that the punishment is the removal of your tongue?
I shove the thought down as the woman guides me down a corridor, pointing me in the correct direction. I think I'm lost again after passing five or six doors, but then I hear something. I can't quite make out the words, but I follow the sound anyway. I walk into the room and see the back of Peeta's head, sitting in the same love seat from earlier.
I open my mouth to let Peeta know I'm back when my eyes freeze on the screen. My heart sinks into my chest as I catch sight of the blonde haired, blue-eyed beauty on the television. It's not just her beauty that solidifies me in place, but the fact that she could practically be my twin.
I feel like I'm staring at a ghost. "Gracie—" her name slips from my lips, which causes Peeta to snap his head around.
"Madge—" Peeta blurts, seeming stunned by my appearance. "Hey, sorry you startled me. Come sit." I slowly regain my senses and manage to put one foot in front of the other. Once I circle the sofa, Katniss's head pops up from Peeta's lap. She meets my eyes with a smile and sits up to make room for me.
"Who's Gracie?" Peeta asks.
I take a seat next to Katniss and point to the screen. "She is. That's my aunt."
Peeta's brows furrow with confusion. "They said her name was Maysilee Donner."
I don't say anything, recognizing the familiar, awkward glances shared between my friends that lets me know they're doing their mind-speak thing. Peeta's face morphs through a multitude of expressions, so I can only assume Katniss is explaining how the tribute on screen is actually my aunt.
"Why are you watching this one? I thought you were only watching Games of the Tributes we'll be facing." I ask Peeta.
"It's the only Quell available, so I thought that . . . well, I'm not exactly sure what I thought. I guess . . . I figured it couldn't hurt," Peeta explains awkwardly, averting his gaze.
I shrug and nod. "Makes sense." I wonder if Haymitch would mind. It almost feels like an invasion of his privacy.
I sit back and relax in my seat as Caesar wraps up the interview with my aunt. She is beautiful beyond measure, but she doesn't use her looks or curvy figure to her advantage. Not only is she stunning, but she's also witty and a little snarky.
"It's crazy how much you look like her, Madge."
"Yeah," I nod, unable to take my eyes off the screen.
Caesar says goodbye to "Maysilee," and introduces the young, strapping Haymitch Abernathy. Peeta, Katniss and I gasp nearly simultaneously as the younger Haymitch struts onto the stage, taking his place next to Caesar.
"Wow!" Katniss gasps, tapping my forearm. "Haymitch was a looker!" She turns and gives Peeta a wink. But she's right. Haymitch, at sixteen years old, was more than just a looker. Though I have to admit, it's rather uncanny to see this younger Haymitch, who was once handsome and strong, his eyes clear, not yet destroyed by years of drink and self-destruction. He is also arrogant, which doesn't surprise me a bit.
Haymitch leans back in his chair, emanating a certain amount of confidence and arrogance, and with more than just a hint of superiority.
"So, Haymitch, what are your thoughts on the arena having twice its number of tributes this year?" Caesar asks him, and I wonder what kind of special creams, or perhaps torturous procedures Caesar has endured over the years to make it appear as if he hasn't aged in the last two and a half decades.
Haymitch shrugs indifferently, seeming completely unaffected by Caesar's question. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."
The audience bursts out in laughter, as do the three of us and Haymitch gives the audience a half smile. Snarky. Arrogant. Indifferent.
"He didn't have to reach far for that one, did he?" Katniss asks.
"Are you surprised?" I ask Katniss.
Finally, the Games begin. We watch from the point of view of one of the tributes as they're lifted from the launch room and into the arena. I can't help but give a slight gasp, as does Katniss. All the tributes seem to be stunned as well, in awe of the arena's beauty. Even Haymitch quirks a brow, affected by his surroundings, but almost immediately knits them into a scowl, as if forcing himself to focus.
Haymitch looks almost indecisive throughout the countdown. He looks around, surveying his surroundings. His eyes land on my aunt and he almost looks pained.
I've seen arena's that are frozen tundra's, vast deserts, and spacious forests. Sometimes there is an abundance of wildlife, weapons, edible plants, and sometimes there is not. But never have I ever seen an arena this breathtaking. The golden cornucopia sits in the middle of a green meadow with patches of gorgeous flowers. The sky is azure blue with perfect white puffy clouds. Bright songbirds flutter overhead. An aerial shot shows that the meadow stretches for miles. Far in the distance, in one direction, there seems to be a woods, in the other, a snowcapped mountain.
The beauty disorients many of the tributes, because when the gong sounds, most of them seem like they're trying to wake from a dream. Not Haymitch though. He readies himself and the second the gong goes off, he's running at full force. He bumps into my aunt, which breaks her out of the trance she's in.
"Did he—," Katniss blurts out, pointing to the screen and turning to face me. "I think he did that on purpose!"
I nod solemnly, agreeing with her.
By the time most of the tributes have regained their senses, Haymitch has already scoured the cornucopia, donned a backpack, filled his pockets and gotten the first pick of the weapons. Haymitch and "Maysilee" lock eyes for an instant before they take off in separate directions.
Eighteen tributes are killed in the bloodbath. Others begin to die off and it becomes clear that almost everything in this majestic place—the luscious fruit dangling from the bushes, the water in the crystalline streams, even the scent of the flowers when inhaled too directly—is deadly poisonous. Only the rainwater and food provided at the Cornucopia are safe to consume. There's also a large Career Pack of ten tributes scouring the mountain area for victims.
The point of view changes constantly. Haymitch is clever and scurries up a tree and just observes . . . everything. He witnesses firsthand how deadly the arena is as another tribute plucks a berry from a bush and collapse only moments later. Another tribute sips water from a stream and begins convulsing shortly after. He checks his backpack and retrieves his bottle of water. He unscrews the lid and sniffs.
"Well, I guess there are worse ways to die," Haymitch laments, then takes a small sip.
The next day Haymitch encounters a pair of cute, fluffy squirrels that turn out to be carnivorous. He manages to escape, but not without a few injuries before he's stung by poisonous butterflies.
Once Haymitch has recuperated from his injuries, it seems as if he's on a mission.
The screen switches to "Maysilee." She fled the Cornucopia with nothing but a backpack, but it seems to have been a wise choice. Inside she finds a woven bowl, several packages of beef strips, dried fruit and crackers. Her eyes widen with delight when she finds the bottle of water, which I notice is identical to Haymitch's. I can tell she wants to chug the entire bottle, but she restrains herself, settling for a few sips. At the very bottom of the backpack she finds a blow gun with two dozen darts. She also climbs high up in a tree and observes the other tributes for several hours before she scurries down and heads toward a patch of flowers.
"No, no, no!" Katniss cries out, as if willing her to walk away. But I know how my aunt dies, and it isn't by something as pleasant—and quick as lethal flowers. She picks a flower with a stick and drops it in her bowl. Then she crushes the petals with her stick. My brows wrinkle in confusion, wondering what she's doing until I see her dip the tip of a dart into the poison, creating a set of lethal darts.
"That's smart thinking," Peeta comments.
For days Haymitch walks as if he's searching for someplace specific. He finds a large branch and carves it into a bowl, for each night it rains for exactly one hour. And rainwater seems to be the only non-lethal method of hydration.
Several days pass in the span of minutes and the number of tributes slowly dwindles down. We learn that the beautiful mountain is actually a volcano as it erupts, spewing liquid fire down its hills and into the meadow, which wipes out another dozen tributes, including all but five of the Career Pack.
Haymitch continues his trek—always in the same direction. He gets ambushed by three of the Careers and pulls his knife. Although they are much bigger and appear stronger, Haymitch has remarkable speed and has killed two of the Career's when the third disarms him.
Even though I know he's the winner, my heart pounds erratically in my chest. Katniss grabs one of my hands, and one of Peeta's hand when it looks like Haymitch is out of moves. The Career is about to slit Haymitch's throat when a dart comes flying out of nowhere, embedding itself in the Career's neck. He drops dead within seconds.
"We'd live longer with the two of us," "Maysilee" says, revealing herself from her hiding place in the woods.
"I guess you just proved that. Allies?" Haymitch says.
"Maysilee" was right. With the two of them they get more rest, sleeping in shifts. They work out a system to salvage more rainwater. They fight as a team and share the food from the dead tributes' packs.
But like all alliances, it eventually ends. "Maysilee" gets irritated with Haymitch's quest to keep going.
"But why? What do you think you're going to find?" "Maysilee" asks him, clearly annoyed.
"Because it has to end somewhere, right? It can't go on forever." Haymitch says, cutting down vines with his knife as he and "Maysilee" venture through the woods.
They finally make it through the impossible hedge, finding themselves on flat, dry earth that leads to a cliff.
"See," "Maysilee" points to the bottom of the cliff, which is filled with an endless row of jagged rocks. "That's all there is. Come on, let's go back," she huffs, crossing her arms across her chest.
"No, I'm staying here." Haymitch states stubbornly.
"Maysilee" glares at Haymitch. "Please Mitch. Come on." "Maysilee" whines.
Katniss's shoulders tense at the name of endearment.
I can see Haymitch's internal debate. He really wants to go with my aunt, but he's too stubborn for his own good. "No, Gr—Maysilee, there's something, I can't explain it, I just—I don't know. Just trust me." Haymitch pleads.
"Maysilee" thinks about it for a moment then closes her eyes. "I—I think it's time, Mitch. There's only five of us left and I don't want it to come down to you and me." Haymitch winces as if he's been stabbed with a knife before he acquiesces.
They stand awkwardly for a moment. Neither of them looks like they want to leave the other. My aunt is the one who turns her back. Haymitch, with a pained expression, watches her walk away.
It isn't until she's completely out of his sight that he takes off, running after her.
And then she screams.
Haymitch runs harder, faster, following the sound of "Maysilee's" screams. By the time he finds her, we all know it's too late, even if we didn't already know the ending.
The screen switches points of view, focusing on "Maysilee." We see her telling Haymitch goodbye. She turns her back to him and re-enters the woods. She doesn't walk long before she stumbles upon a flock of bright pink, thin, long-beaked birds. She freezes, shocked by the sight of them and slowly reaches for her blow gun. The birds surround her, cornering her against a tree before they start pecking at her with their beaks. The largest bird then impales its beak through her stomach. "Maysilee" screams. High pitched, guttural wails echo throughout the arena.
Haymitch finds her literally a few seconds too late. He chases the birds away, who exit the woods, their sinister giggling echoing throughout the speakers.
Haymitch drops to his knees and scoops his former ally into his arms. Tears fall from his eyes. "No, no, no, no—" he cries.
Haymitch talks to "Maysilee", his words indistinguishable through the sobs as he runs his fingers through her hair. If no one knew before, it's more than clear now. Haymitch loves her.
"Maysilee" reaches for Haymitch's hand and then she tells him something, her final words coming out in gasps.
Her eyes go flat. And then she's gone.
Haymitch stays with her, clutching her body to his chest. When his tears are all dried out, he lies her down gently and kisses her lips. Then he walks away, his eyes seething with rage.
He stuffs his feelings inside and continues his search for the end. He screams, shouts and punches a tree. "Fuck you! All of you bastards!" He shouts, kicking a branch over the edge of the cliff.
A second later, the branch returns. Haymitch stiffens, cocking his head to the side. He picks up a handful of rocks and tosses them over. They come back, just like the branch.
Two days pass. Something in Haymitch has changed since "Maysilee's" death. There is something darker about him, though I'm not exactly sure what it is. He continues walking, always keeping close to the force field. Two tributes die in combat and another gets eaten by the fluffy squirrels. It's finally down to the last two, Haymitch and a large, burly girl from District 1.
"Well, well, well, this should be a piece of cake." The tribute from District 1 says. She's larger, much larger than Haymitch but just as fast. When the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and gruesome and both have received what could be fatal wounds when Haymitch is finally disarmed.
Haymitch staggers through the woods holding his intestines in while 1 chases after him. I'm wondering where he's going when I see the cliff. And the ever so slight glint in Haymitch's eyes. He has a plan.
1 tosses her ax at Haymitch. Haymitch was expecting it, so he has time to dart to the side. The ax flies into the abyss and Haymitch falls to the ground.
At this point all the fight is drained from both tributes and they're both just trying to outlast the other. But what she doesn't know, and Haymitch does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the edge it buries itself into her head. Haymitch begins convulsing just as the cannon sounds. 1's body is removed and Haymitch is declared the winner.
Peeta gets up to click off the tape.
"The force field wasn't meant to be a weapon," I blurt out.
"That's almost as bad as us." Katniss waggles her brows at Peeta.
"Almost, but not quite," a voice . . . Haymitch's comes from the doorway.