Now, as I trudge through the snow, I see the mockingjays hopping about on branches as they pick up on other birds' melodies, replicate them, and then transform them into something new. As always, they remind me of Rue. I think of the dream I had the last night on the train, where I followed her in mockingjay form. I wish I could have stayed asleep just a bit longer and found out where she was trying to take me.
It's a hike to the lake, no question. If he decides to follow me at all, Gale's going to be put out by this excessive use of energy that could be better spent in hunting. He was conspicuously absent from the dinner at the mayor's house, although the rest of his family came. Hazelle said he was home sick, which was an obvious lie. I couldn't find him at the Harvest Festival, either. Vick told me he was out hunting. That was probably true.
After a couple of hours, I reach an old house near the edge of the lake. Maybe “house” is too big a word for it. It's only one room, about twelve feet square. My father thought that a long time ago there were a lot of buildings — you can still see some of the foundations — and people came to them to play and fish in the lake. This house outlasted the others because it's made of concrete. Floor, roof, ceiling. Only one of four glass windows remains, wavy and yellowed by time. There's no plumbing and no electricity, but the fireplace still works and there's a woodpile in the corner that my father and I collected years ago. I start a small fire, counting on the mist to obscure any telltale smoke. While the fire catches, I sweep out the snow that has accumulated under the empty windows, using a twig broom my father made me when I was about eight and I played house here. Then I sit on the tiny concrete hearth, thawing out by the fire and waiting for Gale.
It's a surprisingly short time before he appears. A bow slung over his shoulder, a dead wild turkey he must have encountered along the way hanging from his belt. He stands in the doorway as if considering whether or not to enter. He holds the unopened leather bag of food, the flask, Cinna's gloves. Gifts he will not accept because of his anger at me. I know exactly how he feels. Didn't I do the same thing to my mother?
I look in his eyes. His temper can't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. I could take hours trying to explain, and even then have him refuse me. Instead I go straight to the heart of my defense.
“President Snow personally threatened to have you killed,” I say.
Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. “Anyone else?”
“Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families,” I say.
It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. “Unless what?”
“Unless nothing, now,” I say. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily into the fire.
After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. “Well, thanks for the heads-up.”
I turn to him, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on someone. We're all going to be obliterated no matter what. “I do have a plan, you know.”
“Yeah, I bet it's a stunner,” he says. He tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don't want your fiance’s old gloves.”
“He's not my fiance. That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves. They were Cinna's,” I say.
“Give them back, then,” he says. He pulls on the gloves, flexes his fingers, and nods in approval. “At least I'll die in comfort.”
“That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened,” I say.
“Let's have it,” he says.
I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay.
Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust.
I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming.
“Well, you really made a mess of things,” he says.
“I'm not even done,” I tell him.
“I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours,” he says.
I take a deep breath. “We run away.”
“What?” he asks. This has actually caught him off guard.
“We take to the woods and make a run for it,” I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. “You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said—”
He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy.
“Hey!” I protest, but I'm laughing, too.
Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. “Okay, let's run away,” he says.
“Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?” Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders.
“I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you,” he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. “We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!”
“You're sure?” I say. “Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you—”
“I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.”
That's why.
I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next… you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. “I know.”
It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. “I know! And you… you know what you are to me.” It's not enough. He breaks my grip. “Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know.”
I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we'll go. We'll find out.” He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. “My mother's going to take some convincing.”
I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. “Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative.”
“She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you,” says Gale.
“I hope not.” The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. “Haymitch will be the real challenge.”
“Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You're not asking him to come with us?”
“I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd—”
His scowl cuts me off. “What?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me.
“They'd torture them to death, trying to find out where I was,” I say.
