Chapter Text
My brain is still trying to catch up with what’s happening as a Peacekeeper takes hold of my arm and starts dragging me towards a door leading into the Justice Building. I see a different Peacekeeper do the same to Lenore Dove. She’s trying to escape him, but he just yanks her back harder.
“Don’t-” I try to step towards her, but I’m being pulled in the opposite direction.
“Haymitch!” she calls out as she gets pushed into a room.
“Lenore Dove!” I yell back.
The Peacekeeper assigned to me opens a door and shoves me in the room, causing me to stumble backwards. “Wait here. You’ll have two minutes to say goodbye to your loved ones,” is all he says before he slams the door in my face. He locks it for good measure.
My brain has caught up now. Lenore Dove is going into the Hunger Games and so am I. Once these two minutes are up, I will never see Sid and Ma again.
It suddenly hits me how selfish of a choice I have just made. I have willingly sealed my own fate. I have no plans of even attempting to make it back home to my family. My family who needs me to survive. In deciding to protect Lenore Dove, I have sealed their fates as well. And for what? Neither Lenore Dove or I plan on winning these games, I know that for a fact. I volunteered just for the sake of being put in a grave before she does. I don’t regret my choice to protect her. I never could.
But without the money I make from Hattie, I don’t think my ma will have enough to keep her and Sid fed. I can only hope that our neighbors will be kind enough to make up for my absence and that Ma will accept their charity.
I sink back against the wall behind me, my realized selfishness hindering me from being able to stay upright. But I have little time to dwell on it because soon enough, that door will be opening and I will have to be the strong older brother and the brave son that my family needs me to be. I allow myself only a few seconds to cry then I’m swallowing the lump in my throat and wiping my eyes just as the lock on the door clicks open.
I scramble to a standing position when Ma and Sid enter the room. “Haymitch!” Sid cries out the moment he sees me. He runs toward me and wraps his arms around me. I lower to my knees before him and envelop him in a hug of my own, burying my face in his curls which are identical to mine. The lump in my throat has returned with a vengeance and I find it to be even harder to fight off as soon as I feel the wetness of Sid’s tears sink beneath my shirt. “They can’t take you,” he wails. “Ma and I need you.”
“I know, buddy,” I choke out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Ma is standing over us, most likely doing little to fight off tears of her own. Her hand lowers into my hair, her thumb massaging circles against my scalp in the way she always does when I have a headache. I look up at her moments later. All it takes is our eyes meeting for her to fall to her knees beside Sid and I, hugging us both and letting out mangled cries.
My prior determination to stay strong for them becomes a battle I’m no longer capable of fighting in. Their cries and how tightly they’re both hugging me makes me unable to do anything but cry just as hard and hug them just as tightly. “I’m so sorry, Ma,” I sob. “I couldn’t stand there and do nothing as she-”
“Shh,” Ma cuts me off with a reassuring whisper. “I know, Hay. I knew the second her name was read that you were going to volunteer.” She pulls back and puts her hand on my cheek, smiling sadly at me. “Because that’s who you are. You’re a protector. It’s not in your nature to let the people you love suffer alone.”
Then I’m not the son you think I am, Ma, I want to argue back. Because the choice I made was selfish and reckless and now you and Sid are going to suffer alone from the consequences of my own actions.
But I stay silent and just nod instead because Sid is curled up in my lap, his hands still clinging to me, and I don’t want his last memories of me to be tainted by me ruining whatever idealized image he might have of me.
I sniff and give my ma’s hand a squeeze before I look down at Sid. His knuckles have gone white from how hard he’s gripping the fabric of my shirt. “Sid?” I say quietly, trying to coax him out of his static embrace. “I want to give you something.”
Sid’s small body won’t stop shaking from his cries. I try to fight against the thoughts of how he still fits perfectly in my lap and how I won’t get to see a day where he no longer does. Maybe I can find some peace in that. I’ll die remembering him as a little kid who still seeks his older brother for comfort when he’s sad and scared.
“Sid?” I repeat a little louder which causes his head to lift. I release my hold on him so that I can lift the flint striker from my neck, leaving my whistle alone. I can’t bring myself to part with both of Lenore Dove’s gifts in one fell swoop. I slip it over his head and press my hand against the snake and bird who have kept me company for the past year. “This flint striker is yours now.”
“But-” He sniffs. “Lenore Dove made it for you.”
“I know,” I reply. “I want you to have it though. She’d want that too. I won’t have a use for it where I’m going.” As I’m saying it, I know that I’m not telling him the truth. I’ll most likely have plenty of use for it. But the thought of it assisting him and Ma with being able to stay warm in the upcoming winter makes whatever use it may have been to me in the arena pale in comparison. And besides, I’ve been selfish enough already.
“Okay,” he whispers. “But I’ll give it back as soon as you come home. I don’t want to keep it forever.”
I avoid giving him any reassurances that I will be coming home to him. Omitting the complete truth is one thing but lying to my brother is not something I want to do in our final moments. So I just smile and say, “You remember the lessons I gave you on how to use it, right?”
Sid nods and inspects the shape of the flint striker, running his thumb over the bird’s beak. “And I know where you keep the good rocks.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from letting out a sob that would surely scare him. “See? You don’t even need me,” I reply, but my voice is on the verge of breaking.
From the way Sid’s face falls once he quickly looks up at me, I know right away that I’ve said the wrong thing and I hate myself for it. “Yes I do!” he cries out then wraps his arms around me again, pressing his cheek flat against my chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut and kiss the top of his head repeatedly. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper against his curls. These two minutes have flown by quicker than I thought they would because the next thing I know, a Peacekeeper is barging through the door and pulling Ma by the arm until she’s standing.
“I love you, son!” she says hurriedly.
“I love you too, Ma,” I answer. I hope she doesn’t detect the fear in my voice.
“No, no, no!” At the sound of Sid’s cries, my focus is immediately redirected to him as a second Peacekeeper tries to pull him out of my arms.
“It’s okay, Sid. It’s all going to be okay,” I attempt to soothe him while giving him a final tight hug. With one last pull, the Peacekeeper has his arms around Sid’s stomach, holding him over his shoulder as he takes him away from me. I quickly stand up and lunge toward the door moments before it closes, trying to catch one last look at my family, but the door slams in my face right as I reach it. I can hear Sid’s cries and screams echo throughout the hallway.
I slump against the door. I make no effort to hide my sobs anymore. They pour out of me, causing my chest to heave and my body to shake for minutes on end. Then it dawns on me that Lenore Dove might be in the neighboring room. I don’t want her to hear me crying like this so I bury my face in my hands, doing my best to stifle what remains of my breakdown.
I’m barely given a few seconds to pull myself together when the door opens again and another masked Peacekeeper grabs me by my arm and yanks me upright. “Let’s go,” he barks while slipping a pair of handcuffs over my wrists.
As he leads me toward the end of the hall, I ask, “Where’s Lenore Dove?”
“Who?”
“The girl tribute.”
“You’ll see her on the train,” the Peacekeeper says in response. “You’ll be driven in separate vans.”
I’m not sure if it’s protocol for the tributes to be taken to the train separately, but it seems odd to me that it would be. I can feel my eyebrows furrow as I press him further. “Why can’t we be driven to the train together?”
The Peacekeeper hesitates so I look at him, trying to see if his face gives anything away, but the bulky black and white mask he’s wearing prevents that from happening. “There was an incident. The girl will be driven separately because of it.”
I feel all of the blood drain from my face and I’m certain I must look as white as the Peacekeeper’s cracked armor. Panic sets in as I assume the worst. Did Lenore Dove end up trying to escape? Was she almost successful? Was she trying to get to me, but she got caught before she could? Was she punished for it? She obviously isn’t dead if she’s still being taken to the train so at least I’m granted some peace of mind there. But that’s not a guarantee she isn’t severely injured.
I remember the Games from the year I turned eight. The boy tribute from District Twelve had been injured at some point between the reaping and the first day in the arena because he was sent into the Games without an arm that he had had when his name was picked. Instead, there was a bloodied bandage over the stump where his arm once was. Clearly the Capitol doesn’t care about injuries hindering someone’s chances of winning.
I feel sick to my stomach as my mind conjures up the most torturous of states that Lenore Dove might be in once I find her on the train. Missing limbs, a brain injury, a stolen tongue; every form of pain that she could be in is at the forefront of my thoughts as I’m silently led to the van that will take me to her.
Once we reach the van, the Peacekeeper opens the door for me and gestures for me to climb inside before he slams the door behind me. “Hello there, Haymitch,” a voice says from the interior.
I startle at the sound. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness since there’s no windows on either of the doors. “Who are you?” I question, squinting to try and make out the figure.
I faintly see a hand extend in my direction. “Plutarch Heavensbee. Pleasure to meet you.” I glance at his hand and then back up to the seat facing me which is where I assume he’s sitting. When I don’t shake it, he lowers his hand to his lap and taps twice on a clipboard he’s holding.
I’m not sure why he’s accompanying me on my ride to the train, but the images of an injured Lenore Dove are still clouding my consciousness. Determining why he’s here is not really a top priority of mine. “That was a brave thing you did. Volunteering for that boy. I can tell the Capitol is going to love you already,” he says when an uncomfortable silence starts to linger.
I couldn’t care less about what the Capitol thinks of me. I had one goal with my sacrifice and it seems like I might be failing at it already.
I still say nothing, but this Plutarch sure is relentless at avoiding lapses of silence, I’ll give him that. “The girl tribute. She’s someone close to you, yes?”
I turn my head and stare at where a window should be.
“Is she a family member?” he continues. His eyes must be more adjusted to the darkness than mine because it seems like he’s able to detect the way my face scrunches up in disgust at the thought of being related to Lenore Dove. “No,” he adds quickly to correct his assumption. “Someone special to you in a different way. Your girlfriend?”
“Why would I answer your questions?” I ask bitterly, turning my head back towards him. But the tone of my voice and the speed of my interjection probably answers his question anyway.
Now it’s his turn to go quiet. “Fair,” he finally replies. “You have no reason to trust me. But I’m just trying to get an understanding of who you are, Haymitch. So I can help you.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes and turning my head away from him again. A Capitol man offering to help a district pig? Unheard of. He must have something else he wants from me. To collect information about my weak spots so they can be weaponized against me in the arena perhaps. Maybe he’s a Gamemaker who took a field trip to the Districts to learn how to torment the tributes in ways that hit too close to home. Something to give the Capitol a more entertaining show.
“How much longer until we get to the train?” I question.
Despite my refusal to answer his questions, he surprisingly offers up an answer to mine with no hesitation. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. Five minutes, maybe.”
I simply nod in response and keep my gaze averted from his.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Plutarch hold up the clipboard. “I read your file. Today’s your seventeenth birthday, isn’t it?” When I continue to give no acknowledgment of his words, he adds cheerfully, “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth, hoping that my resentful sentiment comes across clearly.
Plutarch makes one final attempt at conversing with me by complimenting the patchwork on my shirt, but I continue refusing to give in. Eventually he gives up and we ride the rest of the short drive in complete silence.
From the way the van screeches to a halt, causing me to nearly go flying into the seat next to Plutarch, I know we’ve arrived at the train station. The door slides open and a Peacekeeper waves her hand at me to climb out. “Come on out, boy. The train’s this way,” she says gruffly as she grabs the chain holding my handcuffs together.
I follow her order, less out of fear of what would happen if I didn’t but more out of desperation to make sure Lenore Dove is alright. Plutarch climbs out of the van behind me and follows behind the Peacekeeper and I. “You’re in luck, Haymitch. The train has been upgraded this year,” Plutarch continues yapping while we walk. Like I said: relentless. “It received a complete remodel designed by the best and brightest engineers the Capitol has to offer. I think you’ll like it.”
I think I’m going to hate every inch of it, no matter how luxurious it might be. It doesn’t matter whether we’re being taken in a cattle car or on the fanciest train in the Capitol. We’re being led to slaughter either way.
The Peacekeeper takes off her glove and presses her thumb to a pad beside the door of the train. The door slides open automatically and I’m pushed inside. I barely notice Plutarch and the Peacekeeper stepping in after me because my head is turning around frantically in search of Lenore Dove. But all I can see is a large empty table in the middle of the room, a bar cart off to the side, and a couch accompanied by some chairs and a TV in the other corner. I spin around to face Plutarch. “Where’s Lenore Dove? I was told she’d be here.”
Plutarch smiles at me. “She’s here, don’t you worry. She’s likely resting in her room,” he replies while the Peacekeeper unlocks my handcuffs. Once she does, Plutarch says to her, “Can you bring the girl in here? I bet both of our tributes are starving. We’ll feed them before we watch the recap of the reapings.” The Peacekeeper nods and disappears down the hall.
Unable to stand still until she’s in my arms again, I start pacing across the room with my head bowed. Plutarch stays where he is. I can sense his eyes following me, but for once he doesn’t offer up an unhelpful comment on my anxious demeanor.
Minutes later, I hear Lenore Dove’s voice from the hall. “Would you let go of me? I’m perfectly capable of walking myself!” My head shoots up. Once she and the Peacekeeper step into the room, her eyes lock on mine. “Haymitch!” she exclaims in relief. The Peacekeeper barely has enough time to release her hold on Lenore Dove before I’m running up to her and pulling her into my arms.
“Are you hurt? What did they do to you?” I ask before I pull away. My hands reach to cradle her face so I can inspect it for any injuries. She has a black eye and busted lip, but that seems to be the extent of it.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” she replies with tears in her eyes. I want to believe that they’re because of the relief at seeing me, but I can’t help my worries that she’s more hurt then she’s letting on.
“What happened?” My thumb lightly traces over her bottom lip, clearing away some of the blood.
“After we said our goodbyes to our families in the Justice Building, I heard Sid crying in the hall.” Her eyes well up even more and her hands go to my cheeks. “I couldn’t stop myself, Haymitch. I needed to try to get to him to make sure a Peacekeeper wasn’t hurting him. But when I tried to push past the door, the Peacekeeper standing guard saw me and-” She loosely gestures to her face. “He said there weren’t gonna be any repeats of last year on his watch.” Woodbine is who the Peacekeeper was referring to, I assume. The failed escapee. “He used the butt of his gun to prove his point,” she adds quietly.
I take in a shuddering breath and pull her in close to my chest, holding her head against my heart. I close my eyes and press my lips to her hair. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She draws back with her eyebrows knitted together. “It doesn’t matter,” she insists. “What matters is that-” Her voice catches; a sure indicator that she’s about to cry. When she continues speaking, it’s a hurried whisper instead, “What matters is that we have to find a way out of this.”
Although her words are an implication more than an outright statement, I know exactly what she means. Escaping the Games. Together. But before I even have time to consider the thought, Plutarch pipes up from behind us, “Can I offer you two some lunch before we watch the recap?”
When Lenore Dove and I turn to him, a cart full of plates stacked to the brim with sandwiches is stationed at his side along with a Peacekeeper. My stomach rumbles at the sight of the array of meats that each sandwich holds. I look at Lenore Dove to see what she makes of our offering only to see that her eyes are firmly planted on Plutarch. “Who are you?” she asks.
“Plutarch Heavensbee,” he greets, holding out his hand like he did during his introduction to me in the van. Lenore Dove follows in my footsteps and doesn’t lift a finger to return the handshake. He awkwardly smiles and lowers it once he registers her refusal. “Would you like a sandwich, Lenore?”
“Lenore Dove,” she automatically corrects. “Lenore isn’t my name. Make sure all of your fellow Capitol airheads know that, will you?”
“My apologies,” Plutarch replies, then stacks two sandwiches on two plates before holding them out to us. “Please eat as much as you’d like. These were all made just for you.”
Lenore Dove glances at the plates then looks at Plutarch. She nudges her chin in his direction. “You first.”
Plutarch lets out a huff. “Excuse me?”
“You first,” she repeats simply. “How else are we supposed to know you’re not trying to poison us?”
Plutarch eyes me, but I just cross my arms across my chest. Lenore Dove has brought up a good point that I hadn’t thought of. I wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to tranquilize the tributes into complicity until they’re able to guarantee that no one will try to escape.
Plutarch sighs and takes a bite out of one of the sandwiches, swallows it, then holds it up. After a minute, he says, “See? Not poisonous.”
Lenore Dove keeps her eyes on him for a few seconds more before she steps up to him and takes a plate from his hand. Her stare remains unwavering until she sits down at the table in the middle of the room. I follow suit, making sure Plutarch knows that I will not deviate from Lenore Dove. If she has her suspicions about him raised, then I will too.
Plutarch nods to the Peacekeeper who brought in the cart then says to us, “I’ll let you two eat. I’ll be back once it’s time to watch the recap.” And with that, we’re finally alone.
Once the door slides shut, Lenore Dove immediately turns to me, abandoning her half eaten sandwich. “We have to get out of here, Haymitch,” she says, keeping her voice lowered just in case there are eavesdropping ears.
“How?” I ask. “There’s got to be Peacekeepers swarming every possible exit.”
Lenore Dove closes her eyes and leans her neck back against the headrest of her chair. “I don’t know. But we can’t go into these Games.” She opens her eyes. “I refuse to play a part in their entertainment.”
All I can bring myself to do is nod in response. Lenore Dove outliving me is all I care about. But maybe there’s a way that we could both escape this train. Jump off of it and hope that we’re not somewhere over water. If we’re lucky and can manage it quickly enough, we might even land in the woods that reside just outside of District 12’s borders. Then we could stay out there. Live off of the land, make our own shelter, find our own food. We’d be free of the Games and the Capitol forever. It sounds like a life straight out of one of Lenore Dove’s books.
“I know,” I finally reply in a whisper. Then my mind jumps to the thumbpad that the Peacekeeper used to open the sliding door. “I think all of the doors can only be opened with a Peacekeeper’s thumbprint. I noticed it on my way in here.”
Lenore Dove nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the window across from us. “That makes things tricky. But not impossible.”
My eyebrows furrow. Her and I being unable to find an escape door makes things pretty damn impossible, I think. “How do you figure?”
She looks at me before glancing upwards. “The ventilation system,” she says. “It’s got to lead somewhere, right?” I follow her eyes to the overhead vent. If she were to climb on my shoulders, she’d be able to reach it. So, at the very least, Lenore Dove has a possible exit, even if I’m not able to get myself up there. That’s good enough for me.
But without a map of the ventilation system, she’ll be crawling around blind. Her blindness could lead her to trouble if she doesn’t find a way out quick enough. It’s not worth the risk until we’ve got a better idea of where the vents lead to.
“Okay, but…” I lower my voice even more. “They lead to somewhere, but that somewhere could be right into the hands of Peacekeepers. We’ve got to be safe about this, Lenore Dove. As safe as we can manage, at least.”
“Or what?” she replies. Her eyes are wide and still tearful. “We die? Haymitch, it’s either we die fighting our hardest to escape or we die in the arena. One of those options keeps us from playing into their plans.”
I’m not sure how to respond. I know she’s right. But I feel like both my body and mind are incapable of taking part in a plan where her death is a possible outcome. Especially when it still feels preventable.
Despite my lack of an answer, my mouth still opens to reply. “I just-”
“Recap time!” Plutarch announces upon his return. Lenore Dove’s eyes stay on me for a few more moments before she looks at Plutarch, quickly wiping away a fallen tear as her head turns. This time Plutarch is accompanied by Drusilla who groans as she collapses into one of the chairs in the corner.
“They better have given us some good screentime. We had a volunteer! I bet nothing close to that level of excitement happened in Juvenia’s district!” she says.
Plutarch smiles at Lenore Dove and I. “Would you two like to join us over here?” He gestures to the couch.
“We’re just fine over here, thanks,” Lenore Dove remarks. “We lived through the reaping. We don’t need to watch it on TV to remember it.”
Again, Plutarch looks at me as if I’m going to have an opposing reaction. How long is it going to take for him to realize that that’ll never happen? I just take another bite out of my sandwich and remain seated.
Plutarch sighs and nods. “Alright. Not a problem.”
I’m pretty sure I can hear Drusilla mutter, “Spoiled brats,” as Plutarch turns on the TV.