Eila strains from the weight of the tree trunk. It's a girthy oak that should have an entire crew lifting it, but there are only four of them. She widens her stance to try putting more strength behind her lift, but the wood of the trunk is rough, and it painfully rubs against her palms at the slightest movement. It's a familiar injury. It stings a lot, but there aren't any creams on site, and the gloves go to Peacekeepers and senior members of the crew. She'll worry about the inevitable blistering later. She knows the others don't expect the same level of work from a sixteen-year-old, but she wants to hold her own.
On the other side of the trunk, lifting it into the truck bed, Camden Mah grunts with manly exertion as he raises his tail end to reach the height of the tray. He's got five years and about sixty pounds on Eila, and all the strain that's been building in her shoulders disappears when he gets a proper grip on the tree. He pulls it into the bed. They've been on the same crew for about a year, but all she knows about him is that he has a wife and a daughter who's only a few years old. There's a little photo he carries around in his pocket of them together, and she notices him looking at it a lot during long shifts.
"How much of the shift have ya got left?" He asks.
"About twenty more minutes. I've got school tomorrow."
"Well, aren't you a lucky little lassie?"
She wouldn't say she's lucky, school is about as interesting as watching leaves grow, but she doesn't say so. She's the youngest on the crew but doesn't want to drive it home by acting like a brat.
"When do you get off?"
He wipes the slick sweat from his eyes. "In twelve hours."
Eila winces. She shouldn't be surprised. Hours are regular for someone Cam's age, and the Capitol likes to work the younger loggers for their worth. That will be her in a couple of years when she graduates. The kids who are fresh out of school are pushed the hardest and given the most prolonged hours, hence why she barely sees Mari. Maybe they'll be on the same crew and do some sisterly bonding.
She offers to help with the restraints, but he waves her off. "You can help Gabriel with the tents."
He points her in the direction of Gabriel Becker, an old guy with a missing arm. He's carrying the poles for the camp tents under his remaining arm and going back and forth. She walks over.
"Need help with it, Gabriel?"
"Nah, I'm good, sweetheart."
She puts her hand on her hips. "It'll be quicker with the two of us. I also need to look busy."
He relents, and she helps him carry the tent parts back and forth from one truck to the other. The truck they're packing the tents into will be taking a couple dozen lumberjacks further into the forests to the camps where they'll work for the next week or so. She's too young now, but give it a few years, and she'll be right there with them. When she was a kid, and grandma had a more stable mind, her parents would often be gone for weeks at a time, hacking away at tree trunks inside the campsites.
There are only a handful of interactions Eila has had with Gabriel, so they're a bit awkward with each other. He's also a quiet man in general, and he doesn't speak unless spoken to first. They work in silence. The tent fabric is easy enough, it's all in bunches. It's the poles that are difficult to fit into the truck, they're long and awkward, and it takes a bit of maneuvering to slide them into the back of the transportation truck.
She isn't slow but she doesn't rush either, she takes enough time so that it fills the twenty minutes.
Gabriel thanks her when they finish, and she goes back to the factory truck with the logs in the back. Cam's stepped off the truck since she's been gone is sipping from a canteen of water. His face is shiny and wet, and for a second, she thinks it's sweat. She realizes that he probably just splashed his face with water.
"All finished." She calls to him.
He bangs on the truck with his palm when she reaches him. "Go home, relax before school. We'll be all good here."
She glances at his wristwatch and sees there are still ten minutes left of her shift.
"I've still got time to hel-"
"Go home. We got everything done quicker today, it looks like we can all get an early mark."
She looks around at the other crew members and they chirp in agreement. Men and women with years of experience compared to her. Weathered and worn skin and limbs. She knows they won't go home early, that's a lie to get her to go, but there are only ten minutes left. She supposes there's no harm in sitting around for ten minutes before the home-truck leaves the forest and heads to the factory.
She relents. "Thank you. Have a good shift, and make sure you look after yourselves!"
She goes to the truck's passenger seat, climbs in, and waits a few minutes; the Peacekeeper assigned as the driver has to double-check the restraints on the tree trunks in the back. While she waits, she looks out the window. All throughout the trees, men and women stagger around with tree trunks, baskets of ropes, or axes and knives. They shout information or orders to each other, sometimes sending birds rocketing from their nests. She sees a little girl who's probably around twelve scurry down from the tresses of a tree and gives one of the older men a thumbs up.
The Peacekeeper has deemed the logs stable in the truck bed and pulls herself into the driver's seat. She starts the engine. It sputters at first, and for a few seconds, Eila thinks she will have to walk the whole way home, but it finally struggles to life.
Eila waves goodbye to her crew as they proceed onto the dirt road that leads out of the forest camps. It's a twenty-minute drive from this campsite and it feels even longer sitting in silence with the Peacekeeper. She looks only a little older than Eila, probably in her late teens, but there's no way she's from Seven. She just doesn't have the same gruffness.
The woman doesn't look keen on conversing, so Eila passes the time by trying to figure out where the woman comes from. She's heard her speak to the loggers before, and her dialect didn't sound like the weird Capitol accent, but Eila can't remember enough about accents to match it to any other districts. It's not very distinctive. Green eyes are pretty common in a few districts. Her pale skin shrinks the possibilities considerably, but her origins still aren't apparent.
Eila eventually decides that she's from District 5 entirely on a hunch.
She's only wasted a few minutes, so she rests her head on the seat and watches the trees and workers pass by. The Peacekeeper somehow exudes discomfort, so Eila tries to ask her where she's from. The woman gives short answers that don't tell Eila anything, and she takes the hint to shut up.
The woman does, however, keep side-eyeing Eila. She was doing it back at the logging camp. It's not the side-eye you do when you're annoyed with someone; it's the type when you're trying to see something without being obvious. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why.
When she was a kid, people would glance at the white streaks through her hair and the spotty patches of white skin on the back of her neck. The lightest hair color within District 7 is probably a dirty blonde, so she always stood out in the crowd of browns and blacks. There was no way her parents could afford a proper doctor, so they don't know what causes it, but whatever it is hasn't affected her health. Most of the district knows her by now. She's kind of a little celebrity because of it.
She doesn't say anything to the woman. One of the other Peacekeepers can tell her all about it. Why would she be decent when she's only given short, terse answers?
They eventually come up to the loading dock of the logging factory. There are a few throughout the district, but this one is for their portion of Seven. All the wood harvested at the camps is sent here to be processed and turned into paper, planks, or many other things. Even from inside the truck, the noise from the machines is deafening, and Eila silently thanks the Gods that she wasn't born into a family of factory workers.
She thanks the Peacekeeper but doesn't wait for a response. She jumps out of the truck and begins her walk to settlement fourteen.
The sun has just started to dip below the horizon, and the streets are empty. The stream of factory workers on the day shift rushing to get home finished up about an hour ago, so she should get home without an issue. If she cuts through the train station like always, she can avoid anyone unpleasant lurking in the alleys when she reaches the settlements.
Eila's feet push her faster and faster toward the station. She's been cutting through here ever since she started work in the lumberyard two years ago. One day, it suddenly started raining, and she took shelter under the station's roof. She went home from there and accidentally found a quicker way home by going directly through the merchants' block instead of around the pub. The merchants are generally friendly and have no issue with her strolling through their neighborhood.
She reaches the station. It's not particularly pretty; a mixture of concrete, brick, and wood makes up its foundation and structure. It looks like it could collapse at any moment, so she rushes through as quickly as possible without making a sound. It's ancient. It hasn't been adequately renovated since before the Hunger Games, which means it's been sitting around here with minimal repair for at least seventy-five years.
Her grandmother says the tribute train has been coming here since she was a kid. She's a bit senile now, and when she speaks, it's mostly jumbled nonsense, but it's possible to pick information from her rambling if you listen carefully. Eila heard her talking about how one of her friends went to the Hunger Games when they were teenagers. She meant to ask her mother about it, but Karita got reaped before she could, and after that, it was too triggering to bring up.
Her heart aches for her sister, but she pushes it away.
She keeps her head down and sticks to the shadows to avoid being seen by anyone. She doubts a Peacekeeper would bother her, but quite a few like to abuse their power. She'd rather not have the shit beaten out of her.
She's halfway through the station when the screech of one of the delivery trains from District 6 whistles through the air. She jumps at the sudden, loud noise, rounds a corner, and leans against the wall.
It's a Sunday night; of course the train is here. It'll be here to pick up all the wood the factories processed throughout the week. She mentally kicks herself for being so careless. She's not one-hundred percent sure there will be repercussions if she's spotted, but there will be Peacekeepers coming to double-check everything. She wants to avoid trouble.
It scrapes into the platform slowly, sending off a few sparks. It's nowhere near the fancy ones that take the tributes to the Capitol yearly; it's brown and rustic, weathered for years, and billowing smoke.
The train has only stopped briefly when a ramp slams out of the second carriage from the end, and a crate on a dolly emerges. The woman pushing it pries the top open with a knife and looks around nervously. She disappears back into the train.
Eila presses her back harder against the concrete wall, trying to conceal herself in the shadows the most she can. Her heart beats so hard that she can feel the pulse in her throat. The crate sits ominously against the wall a few feet from the train. A few minutes pass. She debates whether she can slip through unnoticed (no workers or Peacekeepers are around), and she has just stepped away from the wall when two men seemingly materialize out of nowhere. She flattens against the wall again.
It's hard to see through the darkness, but the moonlight lights up the silhouette of a large man. Compared to the man next to him, he looks bigger than he probably should. The guy next to him is much skinnier, but what he lacks in weight, he makes up for in height. He has a good foot and a half on the chubbier man. His face is obscured thanks to black hair hanging shaggily from his head, but the moonlight shows the sickly yellow undertones of his tanned skin. He looks like a corpse.
Something in Eila's brain twinges. She feels like she's seen him before, which reassures her a bit, but nothing presents itself when she searches her brain for who he could be.
For some reason, Chubby Guy turns on the water spout attached to the wall.
"You need to keep them from doing that stupid shit. It helps no one when the most rebellious ones are locked up." He tells the taller man. He puts his hands on his hips.
Tall Man shrugs. "Me and Berenice can't do anything!" he says in a reedy voice. "We've tried what we can, but we're locked up in the Village. No one listens to us anyway."
"Yeah, and I wonder why that is."
The thin man starts to argue, but the worker rushes off the train.
"Chiron, we'll have to go soon. They've almost finished with the paperwork." She turns to Chubby Guy. "I'm assuming it's true, then? Seven isn't rebelling?"
He sighs. "If we could, we would, but Peacekeepers are strict here. Thousands of us handle potential weapons daily; there are no openings to start anything. But Six and those other districts are more than making up for it."
"We aren't exactly making a difference, though. Six has been a war zone since the Dark Days, so the Capitol is used to us fighting, but trashing vehicles in the middle of production hasn't exactly been crippling for them. And car bombs are too difficult to get through processing right now. On the other hand, Eight has managed to take control of their Peacekeeper headquarters against all odds."
"Chiron did tell me about Eight, but Three and Eleven?" Chubby Guy asks.
"District 3 is a very…. sterile district. Not a lot of physical fighting, mostly technical bugs, and viruses for now. District 11 was on lockdown last Chiron heard." She nods her head toward the thin man. "Eleven has been silent for a few weeks."
Eila sits back in the darkness, reeling at the information she just learned. She never in a million years thought she would live in a world where people are actively rebelling. And it's four districts that are crippling their industries. District 11 seems to be the worst off if that woman's intel has been silent for weeks, but it's something. Change might actually be happening.
They wrap up the conversation; the last remnants contain terms and names Eila has never heard of, something about a Pluto Heavensbee. Chubby Guy turns off the tap, and the dirty, brown water stops instantly.
The thin man, Chiron, climbs into the crate, and the train worker clips the lid on. She nods to Chubby Guy, then pushes the dolly up the ramp. He turns and leaves before the woman is on the train. Eila stays hidden and waits. It only takes another five minutes before the train drags itself out of the station, and Eila creeps along the wall and slips out of the entrance once she's sure it's clear of anyone. Her brain struggles to comprehend what she just saw.
She's positive those people did not want someone listening in on their conversation. The water was weird, but it was probably to cover their murmuring, even though it didn't do a good job at all. All three seemed anxious about the rebellion in other districts, which is worrying. Despite that, Eila feels hopeful. There's a real chance of freedom from the Capitol.
Chubby Guy's voice replays in her head; when he explained to that woman why District 7 can't involve themselves yet. He's right, but it can snowball if the change starts small. She knows what she wants to do.
Several Peacekeepers are milling around the further she gets into town. Most of them ignore her but a few shoot glares in her direction. She tries to look casual as she lists off kids she goes to school with in her head—kids who will want to make a change.
She passes the paper mills on her way home like always, and the egg smell invades her nostrils once again. You get used to it after a while, but it's almost unbearable up close. She passes the factories quickly, but the egg smell doesn't leave her nostrils for a time. It'll probably still be on her when she gets home.
She gets to the settlement around six in the evening. It's quiet like always, but so is her house when she walks through the back door. Grandma is snoring away in her chair, a small wooden carving and a knitted mess resting in her lap. Her parents are resting. She creeps past their sleeping area and into her bedroom.
Her mattress is right against the wall with the window. She often stirs Mari about getting to see the stars as she goes to sleep. The cool breeze in the warmer months is heavenly, but the freezing wind in the cold ones is biting. The moon sits in the dark sky, shining from the abyss. The air is warm, but there's a cool breeze.
She removes her shoes, puts them next to her bed, and changes into her sleeping clothes. An old shirt and soft pants. The mattress isn't exactly soft, and it's definitely worn, but after the long day she's had, it feels like a cloud. She enjoys it for a few moments. She leans against the windowsill. The train station slips back into her thoughts. Things could change. They're starting to. Four districts are in the midst of making that change. She wishes Seven could do something, but that man was correct; there's no way they can get the weapons out of the camps. Besides, what good will axes and knives do against Peacekeeper bullets? She leans against the side of the window frame.
Karita's laugh plays in her head.
She looks out into the expanse of space. "I wish you were here."
As expected, there's no response.
She wishes every day that the last image of her sister she has isn't one of her corpse. Eila rejects any further thought.
"Something might actually change, Karita. If only you were here to see it."
She decides then that she'll go through with what she wants to do. It's not really something she puts a lot of thought into; she just makes the decision there. She will talk to her classmates and start something. And if something happens before then, she will join. For her sister.
A gentle breeze drifts through the window and caresses her cheek.