ones calling the shots.
Boggs smiles and shakes his head when he sees me. «Let’s see it.» Unsure now, I hold out my stamped hand. «You’re with me. It’s a special unit of sharpshooters. Join your squad.» He nods over at a group lining the wall. Gale. Finnick. Five others I don’t know. My squad. I’m not only in, I get to work under Boggs. With my friends. I force myself to take calm, soldierly steps to join them, instead of jumping up and down.
We must be important, too, because we’re in Command, and it has nothing to do with a certain Mockingjay. Plutarch stands over a wide, flat panel in the center of the table. He’s explaining something about the nature of what we will encounter in the Capitol. I’m thinking this is a terrible presentation—because even on tiptoe I can’t see what’s on the panel—until he hits a button. A holographic image of a block of the Capitol projects into the air.
«This, for example, is the area surrounding one of the Peacekeepers’ barracks. Not unimportant, but not the most crucial of targets, and yet look.» Plutarch enters some sort of code on a keyboard, and lights begin to flash. They’re in an assortment of colors and blink at different speeds. «Each light is called a pod. It represents a different obstacle, the nature of which could be anything from a bomb to a band of mutts. Make no mistake, whatever it contains is designed to either trap or kill you. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others developed over the years. To be honest, I created a fair number myself. This program, which one of our people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. They don’t know we have it. But even so, it’s likely that new pods have been activated in the last few months. This is what you will face.»
I’m unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I’m inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.
Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick’s fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. «Ladies and gentlemen…»
His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. «Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!»
I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.
«I don’t even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch,» I say.
«Yeah, we’re already the two best-equipped soldiers you have,» Finnick adds cockily.
«Do not think that fact escapes me,» he says with an impatient wave. «Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish.»
We retreat to our places, ignoring the questioning looks thrown our way. I adopt an attitude of extreme concentration as Plutarch continues, nodding my head here and there, shifting my position to get a better view, all the while telling myself to hang on until I can get to the woods and scream. Or curse. Or cry. Or maybe all three at once.
If this was a test, Finnick and I both pass it. When Plutarch finishes and the meeting’s adjourned, I have a bad moment when I learn there’s a special order for me. But it’s merely that I skip the military haircut because they would like the Mockingjay to look as much like the girl in the arena as possible at the anticipated surrender. For the cameras, you know. I shrug to communicate that my hair length’s a matter of complete indifference to me. They dismiss me without further comment.
Finnick and I gravitate toward each other in the hallway. «What will I tell Annie?» he says under his breath.
«Nothing,» I answer. «That’s what my mother and sister will be hearing from me.» Bad enough that we know we’re heading back into a fully equipped arena. No use dropping it on our loved ones.
«If she sees that holograph—» he begins.
«She won’t. It’s classified information. It must be,» I say. «Anyway, it’s not like an actual Games. Any number of people will survive. We’re just overreacting because—well, you know why. You still want to go, don’t you?»
«Of course. I want to destroy Snow as much as you do,» he says.
«It won’t be like the others,» I say firmly, trying to convince myself as well. Then the real beauty of the situation dawns on me. «This time Snow will be a player, too.»
Before we can continue, Haymitch appears. He wasn’t at the meeting, isn’t thinking of arenas but something else. «Johanna’s back in the hospital.»
I assumed Johanna was fine, had passed her exam, but simply wasn’t assigned to a sharpshooters’ unit. She’s wicked throwing an ax but about average with a gun. «Is she hurt? What happened?»
«It was while she was on the Block. They try to ferret out a soldier’s potential weaknesses. So they flooded the street,» says Haymitch.
This doesn’t help. Johanna can swim. At least, I seem to remember her swimming around some in the Quarter Quell. Not like Finnick, of course, but none of us are like Finnick. «So?»
«That’s how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks,» says Haymitch. «In the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn’t know where she was. She’s back under sedation.» Finnick and I just stand there, as if we’ve lost the ability to respond. I think of the way Johanna never showers. How she forced herself into the rain like it was acid that day. I had attributed her misery to the morphling withdrawal.
«You two should go see her. You’re as close to friends as she’s got,» says Haymitch.
That makes the whole thing worse. I don’t really know what’s between Johanna and Finnick. But I hardly know her. No family. No friends. Not so much as a token from 7 to set beside her regulation clothes in her anonymous drawer. Nothing.
«I better go tell Plutarch. He won’t be happy,» Haymitch continues. «He wants as many victors as possible for the cameras to follow in the Capitol. Thinks it makes for better television.»
«Are you and Beetee going?» I ask.
«As many young and attractive victors as possible,» Haymitch corrects himself. «So, no. We’ll be here.»
Finnick goes directly down to see Johanna, but I linger outside a few minutes until Boggs comes out. He’s my commander now, so I guess he’s the one to ask for any special favors. When I tell him what I want to do, he writes me a pass so that I can go to the woods during Reflection, provided I stay within sight of the guards. I run to my compartment, thinking to use the parachute, but it’s so full of ugly memories. Instead, I go across the hall and take one of the white cotton bandages I brought from 12. Square. Sturdy. Just the thing.
In the woods, I find a pine tree and strip handfuls of fragrant needles from the boughs. After making a neat pile in the middle of the bandage, I gather up the sides, give them a twist, and tie them tightly with a length of vine, making an apple-sized bundle.
At the hospital room door, I watch Johanna for a moment, realize that most of her ferocity is in her abrasive attitude. Stripped of that, as she is now, there’s only a slight young woman, her wide-set eyes fighting to stay awake against the power of the drugs. Terrified of what sleep will bring. I cross to her and hold out the bundle.
«What’s that?» she says hoarsely. Damp edges of her hair form little spikes over her forehead.
«I made it for you. Something to put in your drawer.» I place it in her hands. «Smell it.»
She lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. «Smells like home.» Tears flood her eyes.
«That’s what I was hoping. You being from Seven and all,» I say. «Remember when we met? You were a tree. Well, briefly.»
Suddenly, she has my wrist in an iron grip. «You have to kill him, Katniss.»
«Don’t worry.» I resist the temptation to wrench my arm free.
«Swear it. On something you care about,» she hisses.
«I swear it. On my life.» But she doesn’t let go of my arm.
«On your family’s life,» she insists.
«On my family’s life,» I repeat. I guess my concern for my own survival isn’t compelling enough. She lets go and I rub my wrist. «Why do you think I’m going, anyway, brainless?»
That makes her smile a little. «I just needed to hear it.» She presses the bundle of pine needles to her
