CHAPTER 47

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

The earth rumbled in anticipation and the massacre that followed could only be on par with it—no other way would be precise to describe the attack to Eight that had been broadcasted live to everyone in the Capitol.

Liv and Peeta watched in horror as two hovercrafts circled around the decayed ruins of District Eight, released bombs onto an apparently empty building, and stayed around just enough to hear the screams and cries of the hopeless people who had been trapped under the ruins of fire and smoke. They could only be thankful that Minerva had been knocked out hours ago due to her aggressive disposition to medicine. A sight like this could have very well destroyed the little hope that was left in her eyes.

When the hovercrafts circled around again, ready for a second row of nightmares and screams of agony, a large group of people appeared at the top of a half-decently preserved building. The leader, the girl who had done nothing but complicate their lives since the Quell, bent her bow and fired her arrow, striking one hovercraft and igniting it in flames as it exploded. It then collided against the other, taking the both of them down to the ground.

"Katniss…" Peeta mumbled, jerking away from the adjoined bars of his and Liv's cells to approach the television embedded in the wall. "She's alive."

The camera was on District Eight just long enough to have a good look at the massacre. Katniss had done nothing but prolong the people's suffering. Those who were trapped under the ruins of the building ignited under the flames as their breaths slowly faded away. Another round of bombs would have ended their misery. But, like that, there was no saving them. No way to get even a single one of them alive.

Liv's sight caught many people moving around before the broadcast was cut short. However, there was only one that had her attention the longest. It wasn't the boy whose face was covered in a scar that travelled from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, nor the girl whose hair was as short as the boy's. It was a girl, not as young as Katniss, nor as old as the short-haired girl. She seemed almost too innocent to be there. Too distracted by whatever had her on her knees, rocking herself back and forth with her hands pressed tightly against her ears.

"Annie…" Liv found herself mumbling before she could make any sense of things.

If she had remembered something, she could have as well not voiced it out loud. Her torturers took less than ten minutes to come in, ready to inflict her own special round of nightmares. Peeta tried to fight them verbally and convince them to leave her alone, but there was no valiant speech that could help Liv. She was doomed to keep on forgetting without gain.

Minerva woke her up hours later, tossing small remains of bones from Peeta's enhanced meal near her to wake her. The television was on. It was an interview; Peeta's interview. Branded as a 'Special Segment' Peeta talked his way through a perfected plan to keep his pregnant wife alive, which didn't seem as if his wife appreciated all that much as they went on to mention how she had gone out of her way to take down two hovercrafts by herself.

"They're using her, obviously," said Peeta. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" asked the sparkly interviewer, Caesar Flickerman, whose name Minerva had to remind Liv.

"There is," answered Peeta before looking straight into the camera. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't…find out."

"We're officially dead," Liv mumbled, which, to her surprise, Minerva nodded to.

"When the rebels win, we'll be the first to be executed, won't we?" Minerva asked, no longer cowering in her cell's corner, but leaning tiredly on the bars.

"Most likely," Liv answered without much hope left in her voice, either.

The screen turned black, showing Panem's seal, and then nothing. It took half an hour for Peeta to be back, escorted to his cell in a not-so-pleasant manner. He was thrown with little care before there was a click, meaning the door was sealed closed. Liv didn't understand what that was for. Even if they could leave the cells, what could they do? Where could they go? Except for Minerva, everyone knew their faces. They would be spotted the moment they stepped outside if they weren't caught before.

In between the silence of the after-torture of the following day, Liv lay awake, going over the little recollection she had of the day. A necessary ritual. Her torturers adored to let her know just how bad her days were. They wanted to make her suffer, though she didn't know much as to why. She could only guess the title of 'Victor' weight heavier than her value as a person on their scale. Being a victor meant being a product, and, though she had not many opportunities to be used as such, the days where her memories were hazy were, ironically, a good reminder.

She didn't forget everything, just bits and pieces. Not once had she woken up without knowing where she was or who she was since a month ago. But she knew every step, every memory, would only be and had only been erased. That was her torture. Not the physical pain, not whatever they injected her to make her skin ignite in invisible flames, but the knowledge that she would never remember. Forever unsure of knowing who she was for sure. Her family would be a living mystery, the husband Peeta kept on promising no better than a mirage, and the idealistic future she hoped for just that, a hopeful idealisation of a demented mind in its last moments.

"The light went out," Peeta mumbled to himself, though it worked wonders to pull his friend back to reality.

Liv had not realised that the lights had turned off. The entirety of the cell block was immersed in pitch blackness. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Are they finally going to kill us?" she asked, unsure if such bluntness had to be used when she didn't know if Minerva was still awake or not.

"I don't think so," Peeta replied. "Rebels, maybe?"

"Wait, doesn't District Five provide the Capitol with power?" Liv asked, though not expecting any replies. "Did the rebels destroy District Five or something?"

"No," said Peeta, unsure. "They need the districts, they can't wipe them out."

Liv leaned into the bars, hardly keeping herself seated on the ground. "It didn't work all too well for Eight, now, did it?"

Peeta shook his head. "The hovercrafts attacked first."

"And Katniss attacked second. It doesn't matter." Liv sat back up, hugging her knees close to her chest. "The point is, people died, and they will keep on dying. Every hour of every day, we'll watch people get shot, bombed, killed. There will be no shortage of losses until we absolutely wipe ourselves out of existence. That might be the only thing I have sure to look up to. There's no husband or family waiting for me anywhere, either way. They've all given up on us."

Silence had never hurt so badly. Nobody could deny her claim, and it showed. They had been forgotten, given for dead, most likely. At most, if any of their loved ones were still alive, they get avenged, but that was as far as they could hope for. No future, no happiness, no life beyond the bars.

With those thoughts lurking dangerously at the back of their minds, the doctors' appearance could only be deemed a practical joke. That time they didn't only appear to get Peeta, but Liv as well. Their expectations of life could be low, but not enough to fight back or act carelessly. So they complied and followed.

There was no care for personal space when the Capitol doctors strapped them from the ragged outfits which they were forced to call clothes. With a little more privacy, they showered. It lasted little. They were immediately forced onto a metallic table, where prep teams worked on covering their bruises with make-up. Although it would be naïve to think they would all simply go away with just that. There were a good few in Liv's body alone that would remain forever. Like the scars that were all too present to ignore. Just what had she done? How had she ended up like that? And how had she survived so many attacks on her chest, waist, and hips?

Cards were issued right away. Exactly five minutes. That was how much time Peeta and Liv had to read them before their interview would take place. Nothing out of the ordinary, another ceasefire call. Or so it appeared. Peeta gave Liv the look she had grown to dread so much. The look that analysed her soul in search of any indications that she had forgotten again. There was something she was meant to know. That was obvious, but what could it be? She couldn't recall a single thing that could be of any importance when their interview would be issued by no other than President Snow, who she could no longer tell which relation she had with him. His words could be as sugarcoated as he wanted. The murderous look in his eyes would never reassure her enough to approach him.

Liv and Peeta had to remain silent as President Snow greeted the nation. They sat by the chairs a metre off the camera view, just near enough to the podium where President Snow was, ready to pull back and have them in the frame. Exactly what happened once the welcoming speech was over. As scheduled, words and phrases that Liv couldn't decipher shone past on a monitor near the camera, just beside the monitor that showed their haggard appearances back at them. With their hands together for support far greater than physical, Peeta went on reading and explaining, frustrated, the need for the cease-fire.

An image of Katniss replaced their own. She was peaceful, walking along the rests of a building that Liv couldn't distinguish, but that had been home for Peeta for far too long to not recognise. They were back on track the next second. Then, Finnick, standing idle in the middle of a grey room, as shiny and other-worldly as ever, but with lost eyes. And the cameras went back to them. And they were gone again. Not only had the rebels managed to infiltrate the Capitol broadcast, they were obliterating it. Each second of Capitol's screen time became ten from the rebels.

People came into the rebels' picture. Some of which weren't famous victors or the focus of the rebellion. They were common and unimportant, and yet Liv's mind wouldn't let her lose them from sight. Their ten-second spot had been simple; a walk down the ruins of what appeared to be District Eight.

Before she knew what she was doing, Liv leaned closer to the monitor, watching those people with awe. Until a wave of confusion replaced it, leaving her star-struck at the minimal thought of them. "Gianna…" Peeta squeezed her hand quickly, telling her to keep quiet. "Peeta, I…"

"The rebels are clearly attempting to disrupt the dissemination of information they find incriminating, but both truth and justice will reign. The full broadcast will resume when security has been reinstated. Peeta, Livia, given tonight's demonstration, do you have any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen or Finnick Odair?" asked President Snow.

Liv frowned at the mention of Finnick Odair, her hundred-times-mentioned supposed husband. Seeing him there, though not in the flesh, was outstanding in many ways. She had no expectations regarding her future, no face to attribute to the husband Peeta so much preached. Now she had it, along with half her family. She had remembered. Not much, but it was enough. She remembered who Gianna and Finnick were. Any memories could wait. Her elation could hold on for a bit longer. She had a family.

"No one's safe. Not here in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you… In Thirteen…" Peeta's odd speech took a turn as he inhaled, giving Liv an apologetic look before carrying on. "You'll be dead by morning!"

That was the last straw for President Snow. "End it!"

The camera was taken to the ground, recording the marble-tiled floor as Peacekeepers barged in while in the frenzy. Peeta kept on shouting warnings, telling Katniss to be safe. However, Liv doubted anybody could hear them anymore. Katniss's own images were overlapping the Capitol's broadcast, which no longer meant anything other than a warning to the victors on the rebel side.

Liv pulled on Peeta's hand as he squirmed away from the Peacekeepers' grasp. However, she hadn't had as much care for her own safety. A Peacekeeper hit her right on the side of her head, prompting her to drop to the ground with a loud hit that was heard all over the room, even those playing the broadcast.

Katniss and Finnick watched in horror as blood came to view soon after Peeta's cry. Then, nothing. A horrible silence had taken over the screen and the broadcast did nothing but end without an explanation. No sight of the victors, no cut back to President Snow, not one thing.

"Shut up!" Haymitch yelled, getting everyone's attention to him. "It's not some big mystery! They're telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."

Like many things before in Thirteen, the warning's trustfulness was put into question, which enraged Finnick far beyond comprehension. If it weren't for Katniss's hand keeping him grounded, perhaps his victor characteristics would come out to play for his third Games. It worked for Katniss too, though for different reasons. She was hardly hanging on to a single trail of thought, let alone their surroundings.

"They're beating them bloody while we speak. What more do you need? You two, help me out here!" said Haymitch in exasperation, turning around to meet Finnick's and Katniss's quiet and stiff figures.

"Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta and Olive got the information. Or if it's true. But they believe it is. And they're—" Katniss halted mid-sentence, squeezing Finnick's hand tighter.

She couldn't think of Peeta and Olive. She shouldn't. Their frail silhouettes, exhausted and hollow, being tortured.

"You don't know them," Haymitch locked eyes with Coin as he spoke. "We do. Get your people ready."

Coin nodded absentmindedly, her mind going over problems far greater than the two victors being tortured while in Thirteen's indecision. "Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counter-strike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

To add to the irony of it all, Haymitch felt the need to give one of his sarcastic remarks. "You think so?"

His subtle irony did not reach Thirteen's comprehension, though. "I do," said Coin. "At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill. Let's proceed with the lockdown."

It took a second to type down on a keyboard for the siren to run around the entire district. It blasted all throughout the corridors and stairways. There was no spot where it couldn't be heard, no place to escape the mass of people making their worrying paused way down the district and further into the depths of the earth.

Boggs forced Katniss and Finnick to move along out of Command. For whatever reason, he had been assigned to guide them down the hall and into the doorway that led to the stairway. They joined the calm crowd and drowned in the hidden shallow breaths and fast-paced beating hearts. The bunker was barely metres away when Boggs halted and told them to scan their schedules; a way to have the population accounted for.

Inside, Finnick excused himself to his assigned cavern, which represented a compartment he had yet to be allowed to step into. 306 belonged solely to Mags since they had got back their family and friends from District Eight only the day before. Still, there had been no time to change the compartment, leaving Mags and Finnick with four bunks and a ground-level cube space for storage.

He stumbled into a white paper on the storage box, which he paid close to no mind until he saw Mags, Annie, and a few others get into the bunker. Along with Clem and Librae, they took it upon themselves to prepare everyone's caverns for them. They quite needed to move around and get their minds off the likely possibility that the roof could collapse on them and there would be no human way to survive it. They were done too soon for their liking.

All District Four victors and families united in a silent meeting at 309, where the little space and four bunks provided no personal space unless they were to sit on the ground. Finnick sat on one of the top bunks, next to Angel and Annie, whose eyes were everywhere but their surroundings.

He should have gone to sit with Johanna and Theo. However, as Annie turned to him, a weak smile on her face and the notebook he had seen so many times before in her hands, he couldn't quite control himself. A couple of tears pricked his eyes when he hugged Annie, who, for someone who was not any better than him mentally, was rather experienced in calming someone down.

"I took it just in case," she said. "When we were watching the Games, I had it always with me… Finnick, I've only read up to the middle, and I think you should know… doesn't matter. Just promise to read it only when someone else is around."

He lied. Who wouldn't? "Alright. Don't worry about it, Annie."

The same warm smile from before reappeared on her face, crushing Finnick's heart in the weight of his own promise. He couldn't simply tell his friend that he wasn't capable of waiting for someone to be there for him to read. Without mentioning, if Annie, Olive's sister and twin, couldn't have passed whatever point around the middle of the diary, just what horrors could there be written? Perhaps it was an old-fashioned belief, but he would rather not cry and worry everyone in his recently welcomed in family.

"We'll get her back, Finnick—the real Olive," Annie assured, and the silence got back on track.

Finnick's thoughts wouldn't quiet down, though. 'The real Olive?'