Chapter Text
~Lance
Almost nothing remains of District 12. The buildings have all been destroyed. A layer of ash covers everything. Two weeks ago, the Capitol’s firebombs destroyed everything, even the Justice Building. The only area that escaped incineration was the Victor’s Village. I don’t know why exactly. Perhaps so anyone forced to come here on Capitol business would have somewhere decent to stay.
But no one is returning except me. And that’s only for a brief visit. The authorities in District 13 were against my coming back. They viewed it as a costly and pointless venture, given that at least a dozen invisible hovercraft are circling overhead for my protection and there’s no intelligence to be gained. I had to see it, though. So much so that I made it a condition of my cooperating with any of their plans.
Finally, they let me go. To see for myself that we are on the same side. My head hurts as I look around. The summer’s been scorching hot and dry as a bone. There’s been next to no rain to disturb the piles of ash left by the attack. They shift here and there, in reaction to my footsteps. No breeze to scatter them. I keep my eyes on what I remember as the road because when I first landed, I wasn’t careful and I walked right into a rock. Only it wasn’t a rock — it was someone’s skull. It rolled over and over and landed face up, and for a long time, I couldn’t stop looking at the teeth, wondering whose they were, thinking of how mine would probably look the same way under similar circumstances.
I stick to the road out of habit, but it’s a bad choice because it’s full of the remains of those who tried to flee. Some were incinerated entirely. But others, probably overcome with smoke, escaped the worst of the flames and now lie reeking in various states of decomposition, carrion for scavengers, blanketed by flies. I killed you, I think as I pass a pile. And you. And you.
Because I did. It was my arrow, aimed at the chink in the force field surrounding the arena, that brought on this firestorm of retribution. That sent the whole country of Panem into chaos.
The fires at the coal mines belch black smoke in the distance. There’s no one left to care, though. More than ninety percent of the district’s population is dead. The remaining eight hundred or so are refugees in District 13 — which, as far as I’m concerned, is the same thing as being homeless forever.
As soon as the Quarter Quell was over — as soon as I had been lifted from the arena — the electricity in District 12 was cut, the televisions went black, and the Seam became so silent, people could hear one another’s heartbeats. No one did anything to protest or celebrate what had happened in the arena. Yet within fifteen minutes, the sky was filled with aircrafts and the bombs were raining down.
Keith was able to save as many of the people in the town as he could, including my family and Katie’s. He took them to the only place he could think of, the lake my father had shown me as a child. And it was from there they watched the distant flames eat up everything they knew in the world.
By dawn the bombers were long gone, the fires dying, the final stragglers rounded up. Matt and Veronica had set up a medical area for the injured and were attempting to treat them with whatever they could glean from the woods. Keith had two sets of bows and arrows, one hunting knife, one fishing net, and over eight hundred terrified people to feed. With the help of those who were able-bodied, they managed for three days.
And that’s when the hovercraft unexpectedly arrived to evacuate them to District 13, where there were more than enough clean, white living compartments, plenty of clothing, and three meals a day. The compartments had the disadvantage of being underground, the clothing was identical, and the food was relatively tasteless, but for the refugees of 12, these were minor considerations.
District 13 saved us, but I still hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself included.
The Victors’ Village looks so different from the rest of the District.
“What am I going to do?” I whisper to the walls of my house. Because I really don’t know.
People keep talking at me, talking and talking. Antok, a mishmash of districts leaders, military officials. But not President Haggar, the leader of 13, who just watches with her empty eyes. What they want is for me to truly take on the role they designed for me. The symbol of the revolution. The Mockingjay. It isn’t enough, what I’ve done in the past, defying the Capitol in the Games, providing a rallying point. I must now become the actual leader, the face, the voice, the embodiment of the revolution.
The person who the districts — most of which are now openly at war with the Capitol — can count on to blaze the path to victory. I won’t have to do it alone. They have a whole team of people to make me over, dress me, write my speeches, orchestrate my appearances — as if that doesn’t sound horribly familiar — and all I have to do is play my part.
I keep reminding them that that’s not my job. I’m not the Mockingjay. I’m not the person who pulled out the berries and defined the Capitol. I’m not the person whose dress symbolized the revolution. Katie is. Katie should be in my place. But she’s not. She’s probably dead, or almost dead in one of the Capitol’s prisons. Antok reminds me that he’s doing his best to find information about her condition, but communications from and to the districts have been blocked.
Yesterday afternoon, as the door was closing behind me, I heard Haggar say, “I told you we should have rescued the girl first.” Meaning Katie. I couldn’t agree more. She would’ve been an excellent face of the revolution. Unlike me. All I did was talk and talk, sentimental words. But that’s what they call the voice of the Mockingjay, a charming, brave and cheerful person. I only call bullshit.
And who else did they fish out of that godforsaken arena? Hunk, who I rarely see because he was pulled into weapons development the minute he could sit upright. He works with Sam Holt, Katie’s father, who I almost forgot is an inventor. Colleen Holt helps with the food and the only Holt I have to interact with is Matt. He is always by Shiro’s side. We don’t talk very much and I know he doesn’t blame me for what happened to his sisters, but I can’t escape the feeling he’s silently furious with me.
Then there’s James Griffin. They want to transform him into a leader of the rebellion as well, but first, they’ll have to get him to stay awake for more than five minutes. Even when he is conscious, you have to say everything to him three times to get through to his brain. The doctors say it’s from the electrical shock he received in the arena, but I know it’s a lot more complicated than that. I know that James can’t focus on anything in 13 because he’s trying so hard to see what’s happening in the Capitol to Nadia, the girl from his district who’s the only person on earth he loves.
The only one who found peace in District 13 is Keith. He found his family, literally. His mother, Krolia, who he never knew something about is a general in the District 13 force. When I heard it, it came like a shock, but I’m happy for him even if I still don't know the story behind it. They bonded as fast as possible and the woman is amazing.
My house is so empty and silent. I pick up some things: a photo of my parents, the family book, some clothes and spices. My hand brushes on one of the photos my mother keeps on her bedstand. A photo of me and Katie, when we returned from our first game together. I put it face down before I start crying.
What am I going to do?
Is becoming the Mockingjay the only solution? To become the Mockingjay...could any good I do possibly outweigh the damage? Who can I trust to answer that question? Certainly not that crew in 13. I swear, now that my family and Katie’s are out of harm’s way, I could run away. Except for one unfinished piece of business. Katie. If I knew for sure that she was dead, I could just disappear into the woods and never look back. But until I do, I’m stuck.
In my headset, I hear Keith’s voice, telling me we must go back. Before I can hurry outside, I sense something. The house is empty besides me, but I feel it. The smell of something artificial.
A dab of white peeks out of a vase of dried flowers on my dresser. I approach it with cautious steps. There, all but obscured by its preserved cousins, is a fresh white rose. Perfect. Down to the last thorn and silken petal. And I know immediately who’s sent it to me.
President Zarkon.
When I begin to gag at the stench, I back away and clear out. How long has it been here? A day? An hour? The rebels did a security sweep of the Victor’s Village before I was cleared to come here, checking for explosives, bugs, anything unusual. But perhaps the rose didn’t seem noteworthy to them. Only to me.
I hurry outside, trying to forget everything. I’m taken by the hovercraft and to District 13 we go, away from the vanishing District 12.
~
From the air, 13 looks about as cheerful as 12. The rubble isn’t smoking, the way the Capitol shows it on television, but there’s next to no life aboveground. In the seventy-five years since the Dark Days — when 13 was said to have been obliterated in the war between the Capitol and the districts — almost all new construction has been beneath the earth’s surface. There was already a substantial underground facility here, developed over centuries to be either a clandestine refuge for government leaders in time of war or a last resort for humanity if life above became unlivable. Most important for the people of 13, it was the center of the Capitol’s nuclear weapons development program.
During the Dark Days, the rebels in 13 wrested control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol, and then struck a bargain: They would play dead in exchange for being left alone. The Capitol had another nuclear arsenal out west, but it couldn’t attack 13 without certain retaliation. It was forced to accept 13’s deal. The Capitol demolished the visible remains of the district and cut off all access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol’s leaders thought that, without help, 13 would die off on its own. It almost did a few times, but it always managed to pull through due to strict sharing of resources, strenuous discipline, and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol.
There is a strict schedule, but I don’t follow it. I only eat and then wander around the facility. Nobody tells me what to do. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to get away with my complete disregard for the clockwork precision of attendance required by my hosts. Right now, they leave me alone because I’m classified as mentally disoriented. Or so that’s what they classified me. But I’m sane. I know that for sure.
When we reach our underground compartment, I give my sister and mother the clothes and photos. They are very happy for the gifts.
When we’re heading down the dining hall for Dinner, Keith’s communicuff begins to beep, calling the two of us to Command.
Trailing a few steps behind Keith, I try to collect myself before I’m thrown into what’s sure to be another relentless Mockingjay session. I linger in the doorway of Command, the high-tech meeting/war council room complete with computerized talking walls, electronic maps showing the troop movements in various districts, and a giant rectangular table with control panels I’m not supposed to touch.
“How was your trip, Mister McClain?” Haggar asks and it’s the first thing she says to me.
I remain silent because I don’t know what to say.
“We finally received information from one of our trusted allies in the Capitol. It seems your girlfriend is doing just fine,” she says, spitting the word girlfriend with so much venom that I cringe.
Katie. She’s alive. She’s well. They were right – Zarkon wouldn’t kill her for now.
“Romelle and Enobaria as well,” says another general who I know as Kolivan. Keith’s mother, Krolia, is his right-hand woman.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Matt sigh relieved. Shiro pats his back in an intimate manner. I never noticed it before, but it seems the two of them have grown more than close. At least they can find peace.
“That’s good to hear,” is all I can say and Haggar smiles.
That smile. It remains me so much of Lotor. The smirk when he looked at us from the balcony.
Now I know what to do.
“I’ll be the Mockingjay,” I say and Haggar smiles widely.
“I knew you’ll come to your senses.”
“But I have some conditions,” I say, and the others raise their eyebrows.
“I want to hunt. With Keith. In the woods. It’s just…I can’t breathe…” I begin and Haggar already looks done, but Kolivan interrupts her.
“Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. What’s next?”
“The winners that are still kept in the Capitol will be pardoned when this is all over.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you left them there. Romelle, Enobaria, Nadia and Katie. It’s not their fault if the Capitol makes them do something considered traitorous. They will be safe or you can kiss goodbye to your Mockingjay!”
“Fine,” Kolivan shoots, interrupting Haggar once again. “They did nothing wrong, he’s right.”
“All right,” she says. “But you’d better perform.”
“Anything else, Lance?”
“I kill Zarkon.”
I see a hint of surprise on the president’s face, but she nods and turns to Kolivan and Antok. “I leave him in your hands.” With that, she’s out of the room, followed by her silent assistant, Narti.
“So glad to have you on the team,” Krolia says, shaking my hand. Antok slides a sketchbook in my hands.
For a moment, I look at it suspiciously. Then curiosity gets the better of me. I open the cover to find a picture of myself, standing straight and strong, in a black uniform. Only one person could have designed the outfit, at first glance utterly utilitarian, at second a work of art. In his hands, I am a mockingjay.
“Thace…” I whisper. He had a plan for me to be the Mockingjay. Me and Katie together, leading the rebellion.
I turn the pages slowly, seeing each detail of the uniform. The carefully tailored layers of body armour, the hidden weapons in the boots and belt, the special reinforcements over my heart. Him and Ulaz created pages upon pages of designs for our costumes, but only I’m to be dressed in them.
Now I’m sure I need to do this. For me and Katie.
For Panem.