Here's your warning: don't read unless you've read the first 2 fics I posted in this series. Unless you're cool with stuff not making that much sense. If you HAVE read the first two…WELCOME TO THE FINALE! Well, the beginning of the finale. Dark Side has 30 chapters and arguably the best chapter names. #24 is my favorite.
And, oh yeah. Actual split POV. Any guesses on who our second storyteller is…?
Katniss
A wolf's howl splits the air, closely followed by a cannon. It's much closer this time, and they've killed someone. Either their bloodlust will be sated, or they'll be hungry for more, and given there's no way these are ordinary wolves, I assume it will be the latter.
"Well?" Turquoise demands, hands on her hips. "Are you coming with or not?"
Nolan and H agree right away. Storm pretends to think about it, but I know she'll take Nolan's side eventually. It's Peeta and I who are in limbo- do we stay or go? I never intended to get wrapped up in a rebel plot. I imagined a lot of terrible scenarios coming out of the Quarter Quell, but this one genuinely never crossed my mind.
Turquoise huffs at us. "Oh, come on. They'll never let you live if you stay. Let's go!"
She's right. Even though Peeta and I have been dragged into this completely without our consent, the Capitol will kill us just for associating with the rebels, and Turquoise has very clearly defined herself as a rebel. Ironically, we had first joined up with her and her pack to avoid rebel associations, but I guess we can't go back now.
"But the trackers-"
Turquoise interrupts me. "I was getting to that. We're going to cut them out, see? Like this!"
She rolls up her sleeve and presses her knife into the tender skin on her forearm, slicing her broken-winged-bird in two. "Not too deep," she cautions. "Can't have you bleeding out, right? You'll know when it's gone."
I'm horrified at the prospect of turning my hunting knife on myself, but with the wolves howling and several threats of imminent death, I don't feel like I have a lot of choices right now. I'm the only one who hesitates- Storm is a psychopath, Peeta and Thunder are obedient by nature, and Nolan and H have taken this whole thing weirdly in stride. Turquoise urges me on, but her words barely reach my ears as I roll up my coat sleeve and slowly press the blade to my skin. It's cold, but at least it's sharp. I still gasp as it draws blood, but I try to treat it just like I'm cleaning an animal. How many times have I removed a broken arrowhead from a goose? This is more or less the same thing.
Turquoise is right. I do know as soon as the small silver tracker piece slides out of my arm, fortunately after just a few seconds of digging around in my arm. The pain seems secondary to the time crunch, although I'm fully aware of how close I am to accidentally severing my radial artery.
"Oh, good," says Turquoise, when all of our arms are dripping blood. "Our ride's here."
Okay, now what is she talking about? She looks up, so I do too. At first, I don't see anything, although I guess it is a beautiful day with a beautiful sky. Then I spot movement, and I realize a hovercraft is descending almost right on top of us, but the underside is fully mirrored, allowing it to blend in with its surroundings almost effortlessly.
"Are we…getting on that?" Thunder asks doubtfully.
"It's that or wolves!" Turquoise replies cheerfully. True enough, I guess.
I look back to the forest then up towards the hovercraft, my last chance to decide if I stay or go. A rope ladder is descending from the hovercraft. A wolf- pure white and about as natural as snow in July- leaps out of the woods. Instinctively, I draw back an arrow- this kills my bleeding arm, by the way- but then Peeta tugs on my jacket, and just like that, the decision is made.
Storm is the first to reach the ladder. She might be out of her element here (her element being murder) but her self-preservation instinct keeps her going. She's forced to drop her javelin as she makes the climb, but she keeps her hunting knife clenched in her teeth- just in case the hovercraft pilot turns out to be hostile, I guess. I'm right behind her- I know I can climb faster than the boys; it would just hold me up to wait for them- and Peeta is right behind me. He throws his pack to the ground, refusing to be burdened by anything and it doesn't seem like we'll need a bunch of bear steaks where we're going anyway. Nolan and H follow him closely, and Turquoise brings up the rear, leaving the ground right as the first of the wolves takes a snap at her heels.
For those of you who haven't climbed a hundred-foot rope ladder with six other people hanging from it, it is hard. It takes all of my concentration and currently-pitiful arm strength to keep putting one hand above the other and haul myself upwards. It only gets more difficult as the hovercraft itself begins to rise, pulling us further away from the comfort of solid ground. My vision swirls the second I look down and I force myself to keep my eyes up. If I get dizzy, I'll fall. If I fall, I'll die. I have to go on.
My arms are killing me by the time I make it into hovercraft, and there's not much relief in my arrival. Aside from Storm, I'm surrounded by strangers: a helmeted woman piloting the craft, a round man with just a little bit of pale blonde hair, then a buff man and an equally-buff woman. They don't look hostile, per se, but there's also nothing welcoming about them.
Peeta joins me in the hovercraft, panting for breath. His presence offers me a little bit of comfort, but the strangers in the craft don't acknowledge us until H makes it up, and even then, it's just a quiet, "Miss Hunt," from the round man. But when Turquoise scrambles into the craft, knife still clenched in her hand, they all break into grins- they know her. "Turquoise Morningstar- welcome back! You've done so well!"
"Oh, I know," she says breezily. "What are we still doing here? Let's go!"
"Safety and protocol," the round man reminds her, as if he's told her this many times before. Then he addresses the rest of us for the first time. "Buckle up."
We all take seats along the wall except for Turquoise, who makes herself comfortable in the open bucket seat next to the pilot. While the rest of us are overwhelmed, terrified or both, she seems downright perky. "District Thirteen, here we come!"
District Thirteen. She's mentioned that once before. Given the events of the last ten minutes, I'm no longer certain that Turquoise is crazy, but that still doesn't add up. "There's no District Thirteen!" I blurt out, as the hovercraft lurches forward. "It was bombed to nothing seventy-five years ago!"
"Miss Everdeen, I advise you to sit down and be quiet," says the round man. "All will be explained…eventually."
Sit down and be quiet? Is he being for real? "Eventually" is way too vague; I need a lot of explanations and I need them fast.
"Just trust him, Katniss," H insists, which does nothing to ease any of my fears.
"Why should I trust him?" I demand. "Why should I trust any of you? Clearly I've been lied to!"
"I'm just as confused as you are, Katniss," Thunder puts in. As if that will make me feel any better.
"Me too!" Storm adds. At least she sounds angry about it. "The only reason I agreed to this is because staying down there was certain death. But what the hell is this?!"
The man raises his voice now. "Everything will be explained eventually. We just ask that you be patient-"
"Patient?!" Storm repeats. I'm glad she's making a fuss. "You drag us up here with no warning or explanation and you expect to us to be patient?!"
Now he sounds really mad. "Do you realize who you are speaking to, Miss Talisman?"
"I'm sure she doesn't, Plutarch," Turquoise cuts in, a little bit haughtily. This is the first time she's looked away from her conversation with the buff pair- who I am beginning to realize, look very familiar.
Plutarch. That name is familiar to me too. I'm sure I've heard it before, but I can't remember where. Fortunately, he introduces himself. "Plutarch Heavensbee, head Gamemaker."
He's a Gamemaker. He's the Gamemaker. Shit. "So this is all just part of the Games." Terror overcomes me, and instinctively, I start looking for an exit, but there's nothing I can do. The door we climbed in through has already shut, and leaping to my death doesn't sound much better than whatever they'll do to me in here anyway.
"This is the end of the Games," Plutarch corrects. At first he really seemed to want us to just sit down and shut up, but now that he's talking, he's puffed up like a peacock. "…and the start of the rebellion. It's been in the works for years, and it's finally all coming together."
The head Gamemaker is a rebel. That's going to take some getting used to.
"At the head of this operation is District Thirteen," Plutarch continues. "…which is very much a real and functioning place, by the way. During the first war, they agreed to move underground and allow the Capitol to bomb the surface, preventing the war from going nuclear and essentially faking the death of an entire district."
"So they abandoned us," I say flatly. I'm certainly not the most educated person in the world, but the districts' defeat was the one thing we learned about in school that wasn't coal-related. And I know that the "end" of District Thirteen is the reason the districts lost the entire war. The reason we have the Hunger Games.
"They haven't forgotten about us, Katniss," Plutarch chides. I guess we're on first-name terms now, much to my dismay. "Avoiding nuclear war was a smart decision. And they've spent the past seventy-five years recruiting and preparing for war, just like we have."
"Well, their recruiting process must be pretty good," I say sarcastically. "If they've convinced someone from the Capitol to join."
Now he just looks irritated. "Don't speak about me that way. I couldn't help where I was born any more than you could."
I fall silent. I don't know if it's because he's right or if I've just decided I don't like him.
There's also undeniable merit to "sitting and thinking about it", although at this point I don't know exactly what "it" is. A lot of "it" has happened today and I am equal parts overwhelmed and confused.
"Everything will be explained when we arrive," Plutarch says with an air of finality, and we're all quiet for the rest of the ride, with the exception of Turquoise and the pair of buff people, who I now recognize as Gloss and Cashmere, previous victors from District One. Of course she would know them.
I turn my focus to not being sick everywhere. All the swinging around on the rope ladder combined with the high-speed travel has done something unpleasant to my stomach. It doesn't help that basically all I've eaten in the past few days is fish. There's the blood loss, too.
I sneak a glance at Peeta, when I'm not decidedly looking down at my feet. He doesn't look well, nor did I expect him to. Part of me wants to reach over and grab his hand, but in the end, I don't. We're not in the Games anymore. We don't have a story to tell. It's been so long since things were normal between us that I can't remember what that felt like. Were we the type of friends who held hands or not? And what are we now?
I'm not sure how long the flight lasts. In addition to my turning stomach, I grow lightheaded and completely numb. I think it's because of my arm, still leaking blood. Turquoise finds a first aid kit and passes supplies to all of us, but I really don't feel any better with a bandage on my forearm. Mostly I keep my eyes closed and wait for it to be over.
The descent of the hovercraft sends a new wave of nausea rolling over me, but it's a relief to be landing all the same. For the first time, I dare to look out the window, and I watch as a great metal plate slides apart and we descend into an underground hangar.
There seems to be some kind of special docking system that we land on, and then we're herded off the hovercraft. Turquoise, as bouncy and spry as ever, leads the way, and we're immediately swarmed by people. They're all wearing the same ash-gray jumpsuit and continuously bark orders into their headsets. And to us. "Med center. Now," one of them tells Peeta forcefully, turning over his wrist to take a pulse.
"Med center, all of them," corrects Cashmere, who has remained quiet for most of the affair. She's calculated, speaking only when it really counts. "Including our shining star. You've lost a lot of blood too, Turquoise."
Turquoise doesn't seem bothered by that instruction. Maybe just because she likes being called "shining star". "If you insist. Somebody needs to show these kids around anyway- as long as they let me out in time for our meeting. C'mon guys, this way!"
Her enthusiasm is not catching. Peeta and I are dragging our feet and Storm is trailing behind us with her shoulders hunched. Nolan and H are in quiet conversation with each other- I'm almost certain they're involved in "it", but not certain enough to ask them about it. Speaking seems like too great a task for me anyway.
What does cause me to perk up is the sight of a familiar face, striding down one of the walkways. Not just any familiar face- one I thought I'd never see again. Gale. His face is grim and he's dressed in the same bland gray as everyone else, but it's still such a relief to see someone I truly know.
Except, it raises the question: what is somebody I know doing tied up in this?
"Katniss will come up with me," Gale announces, mainly addressing Turquoise.
"Your wish is my command, Mockingjay," she replies grandly, and perhaps a little bit sarcastically. Mockingjay and Shining Star. Are these code names? "And what a pleasure to finally meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine," says Gale, but his eyes never break away from mine. In my weary state, I can't be quite sure, but I don't think he's really happy to see me.
I cast one quick glance at Peeta before we walk away. This will be the first time we've been separated since the beginning of the Games, and it feels wrong to do it now. He clearly needs medical attention, though. And if Gale is involved with the rebels, I think that means I can trust them to care for him.
However, it might be time to reevaluate how much I trust Gale…
I don't know where we're going, and Gale doesn't say. Presumably just a different set of gray hallways. Instinctively, we both stay silent until we're past hearing range of the group we left behind.
"Katniss, we need to talk."
Oh, yes we do.
"So you're a rebel," I state, figuring we can begin with the obvious.
"Aren't you?" he asks, taking a snappish tone and then catching himself. "I mean, isn't everyone a rebel? Who's happy to live like this, under the Capitol's thumb with kids dying every year? The difference is, some people know about District Thirteen and the plan and some people don't."
"If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know the whole story until right before the Games," Gale admits. "And Haymitch convinced me you'd be safer if you didn't know. He's big in this- he helped put this whole scheme together."
"So Haymitch doesn't trust me," I clarify.
"Doesn't trust Plutarch," Gale corrects. "If the rescue mission failed…if you were taken by the Capitol…the less you know, the safer you are. He didn't want us to be at the mercy of your acting skills.
"…although," he says, with a hint of nastiness. "Judging by your performance in the arena, you're actually a pretty good actor."
My cheeks burn, but I'm not going to let him talk to me like that. "Quit being jealous. I did what I had to do- just like you did."
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," says Gale, even though that's exactly what he said. "Just making an observation."
I ignore the jab. Gale's insecurity is the least of my problems right now. "How long have you been involved in…all this?"
"Since my Victory Tour," he answers. "That's when I realized how ready the districts were to be lit up. So many people were angry, inspired, ready to fight…and all because of Madge."
"So when you told me not to stir anything up…" I trail off.
"We were biding our time," Gale confirms. "We knew we needed a big scene- we needed the Quarter Quell. It was the perfect stage, and we made excellent use of the limelight."
"Was everyone in on it except me?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. Only a select few."
When I look like I don't believe him, he lists them off. "Turquoise, obviously. Nolan and Haven. And Aspen and Lorcan from District Seven."
District Seven. "The other pack?"
"We had to keep it interesting, with as little life lost as possible. A second pack kept the audience interested without any more kids dying. Thus the love story, as well."
At least he's not being condescending about it this time. I realize something concerning. "…but none of the second pack got pulled out."
Gale nods, his face grim. "You're right- but they chose that. Aspen's a strategist. She knows she can do more damage from within. People like me, and Turquoise- our best blows are dealt from the outside."
"She called you "Mockingjay"," I recall.
I think he was hoping I'd mention that. Suddenly, he looks quite proud. "That's my job, being the Mockingjay. The public face of the rebellion. An inspiration for all of Panem."
"That sounds like a lot of responsibility," I observe. I definitely could never do it.
He shrugs. "A lot of the work has been done for me. When people see me, they think of Madge."
I knew Madge too well to see her as the rest of the world sees her, but I know she became a symbol of defiance when she chose to kill herself rather than turn against her partner. She didn't win, but she made sure the Capitol lost out too. The fact that she died doesn't matter- she proved we don't have to play their game. I can see why the rebels would capitalize on Gale's connection to her.
"Right. And she had that mockingjay pin."
"Yeah. Thus the name." He frowns. "I've always hated the birds, myself."
"I know."
He stops in front of a severe-looking gray door at the end of a narrow hallway, and I stop with him. "This is the cafeteria, by the way. It takes some getting used to, just to warn you."
"I'll follow your lead."
He opens the door and we enter an equally-gray room. We bypass the workers serving meager portions of sad-looking food; Gale seems to know exactly where he's going. It's a sea of strangers in gray, until we come across a quintet of familiar faces: Haymitch Abernathy and the rest of the Hawthorne family.
"I see you made it," Haymitch drawls.
I wrinkle my nose. Any joy I might have found in reuniting with my mentor is stripped by the alcohol on his breath. "You're drunk."
"Extremely," he replies cheerfully. Definitely more cheerful than the situation calls for. "They don't allow alcohol in District Thirteen. Nothing "impractical", nothing fun. Had to get my kicks while I still could."
"We've only been here a few hours," Gale explains. "He'll be sober soon."
Yeah, and going through withdrawal. I doubt I'll want to be present for that. I turn my attention to the Hawthornes. "What are you doing here?"
Hazelle, the matriarch of the family, smiles at me. She's always been fond of me, I know- and my closeness with Gale only increased that fondness. "They snuck us out of Twelve a week ago, knowing we'd have a target on our backs once Gale formally aligned himself with the rebels."
"I hate it here," Vick informs me. He's the youngest of the Hawthorne boys; I think he's eleven.
Hazelle scolds him gently. "It's nothing like home, but at least we're safe here. You're old enough to understand that."
Vick just goes "tuh!" and returns to picking at his meager meal. Mashed beets and boiled fish- not much better fare than we had in the arena. The color drains from my face and I can't believe I'm thinking about beets in a time like this. Hazelle's right. Anyone associated with the rebels is in grave danger. I have family in Twelve too, and what did I do?
I associated myself with the rebels.
"Where's my family?" I ask, scanning the cafeteria desperately. "Why aren't they here?"
I'd do anything to see them right now. My sister Prim, cheerful and golden as a sunflower. My mother, a weathered pale woman who I've never really understood. They're not here. I know they're not here. Gale's silence tells me that just as clearly as any words could, as does Hazelle's quiet announcement that she's going to take Posy to the bathroom.
"Well…here's the thing," Gale trails off. He's stalling. He knows I won't take this well. But it doesn't matter, because I already know and it changes everything. I'd put myself back in that arena willingly if I knew it would keep Prim safe.
"There's no thing," I snap. "You rescued your family. You clearly had the resources. How dare you leave my family in danger?! After everything we've promised each other?"
Haymitch cackles drunkenly. "Promises, promises!"
Gale and I both ignore him. For all our time apart, our rhythm has not suffered at all. "It wasn't that simple, Katniss!" he argues.
"I doubt getting your family out was simple!" I snap. "If it had been me, I never would have left them behind. Never."
He scowls at me. Gale has never taken criticism well, but I don't have the option of sparing his ego right now. "Would you just listen? It wasn't as simple as making an extra stop. My family was in District Twelve. Security's lax enough to get a craft in and out. Your family was in the Capitol."
My stomach drops. What little hope I had left dies. "…no."
Gale nods slowly. He won't meet my eyes. "Yes. All the families were there, filming interview specials for the Quarter Quell. There was no way we could get to them- any of them."
I'm empty.
This could not be worse.
"You left them in the Capitol?" I screech. I'm dimly aware that I'm making a scene, but I really don't care at this point. "Don't you know what they'll do to them? They'll be killed! Or tortured! Or worse!"
Haymitch shakes his head at me, looking weary. "They'll be fine, Katniss. Think bigger. Right now, the only leverage the Capitol has is those families. I assure you, they'll be well taken care of."
"How do you know?" I demand. "Can you guarantee it?"
"Unlike Hotshot here, I will not be making promises I can't keep." He cocks his thumb at Gale- as if I am interested in their petty disputes right now. Nothing matters except for Primrose- my baby sister, in grave danger.
"I can't believe you," I snarl, standing up abruptly. "You should've left me in that blizzard, if you couldn't save them too."
Gale has the audacity to look angry about that. He, of all people, should understand how much I value my family. "I thought you'd be grateful."
"Grateful? Do I look grateful?"
I don't give him much opportunity to analyze how I look, because I need to get out of here. I spin on my heel and leave, ignoring the fact that I don't know where I'm going. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Gale stand up too, then Haymitch's death grip on his arm, and I ignore that too. I'm already gone.
I suck at writing exposition, go easy on me. I think I will try to update 5x a week for now so I can have this story completed by end of November ish. It's a delicate dance of, I don't want to overwhelm people by posting too often, but I don't want to be boring by not posting ENOUGH. Or am I overthinking this?
I got some really nice reviews on the last chapter I posted, thank you all!
