Although no one has made a move toward it, the television flares to life, emitting a high-pitched beeping sound, bringing half our party to its feet.
«It’s all right!» calls Cressida. «It’s just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for it.»
There we are on-screen, just after the bomb took out Boggs. A voice-over tells the audience what they are viewing as we try to regroup, react to the black gel shooting from the street, lose control of the situation. We watch the chaos that follows until the wave blots out the cameras. The last thing we see is Gale, alone on the street, trying to shoot through the cables that hold Mitchell aloft.
The reporter identifies Gale, Finnick, Boggs, Peeta, Cressida, and me by name.
«There’s no aerial footage. Boggs must have been right about their hovercraft capacity,» says Castor. I didn’t notice this, but I guess it’s the kind of thing a cameraman picks up on.
Coverage continues from the courtyard behind the apartment where we took shelter. Peacekeepers line the roof across from our former hideout. Shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the chain of explosions we heard, and the building collapses into rubble and dust.
Now we cut to a live feed. A reporter stands on the roof with the Peacekeepers. Behind her, the apartment block burns. Firefighters try to control the blaze with water hoses. We are pronounced dead.
«Finally, a bit of luck,» says Homes.
I guess he’s right. Certainly it’s better than having the Capitol in pursuit of us. But I just keep imagining how this will be playing back in 13. Where my mother and Prim, Hazelle and the kids, Annie, Haymitch, and a whole lot of people from 13 think that they have just seen us die.
«My father. He just lost my sister and now…» says Leeg 1.
We watch as they play the footage over and over. Revel in their victory, especially over me. Break away to do a montage of the Mockingjay’s rise to rebel power—I think they’ve had this part prepared for a while, because it seems pretty polished—and then go live so a couple of reporters can discuss my well-deserved violent end. Later, they promise, Snow will make an official statement. The screen fades back to a glow.
The rebels made no attempt to break in during the broadcast, which leads me to believe they think it’s true. If that’s so, we really are on our own.
«So, now that we’re dead, what’s our next move?» asks Gale.
«Isn’t it obvious?» No one even knew Peeta had regained consciousness. I don’t know how long he’s been watching, but by the look of misery on his face, long enough to see what happened on the street. How he went mad, tried to bash my head in, and hurled Mitchell into the pod. He painfully pushes himself up to a sitting position and directs his words to Gale.
«Our next move…is to kill me.»
21
That makes two requests for Peeta’s death in less than an hour.
«Don’t be ridiculous,» says Jackson.
«I just murdered a member of our squad!» shouts Peeta.
«You pushed him off you. You couldn’t have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot,» says Finnick, trying to calm him.
«Who cares? He’s dead, isn’t he?» Tears begin to run down Peeta’s face. «I didn’t know. I’ve never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I’m the monster. I’m the mutt. I’m the one Snow has turned into a weapon!»
«It’s not your fault, Peeta,» says Finnick.
«You can’t take me with you. It’s only a matter of time before I kill someone else.» Peeta looks around at our conflicted faces. «Maybe you think it’s kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that’s the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you’d be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?»
Peeta. Back in Snow’s hands. Tortured and tormented until no bits of his former self will ever emerge again.
For some reason, the last stanza to «The Hanging Tree» starts running through my head. The one where the man wants his lover dead rather than have her face the evil that awaits her in the world.
«I’ll kill you before that happens,» says Gale. «I promise.»
Peeta hesitates, as if considering the reliability of this offer, and then shakes his head. «It’s no good. What if you’re not there to do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have.»
Nightlock. There’s one pill back at camp, in its special slot on the sleeve of my Mockingjay suit. But there’s another in the breast pocket of my uniform. Interesting that they didn’t issue one to Peeta. Perhaps Coin thought he might take it before he had the opportunity to kill me. It’s unclear if Peeta means he’d finish himself off now, to spare us having to murder him, or only if the Capitol took him prisoner again. In the state he’s in, I expect it would be sooner rather than later. It would certainly make things easier on the rest of us. Not to have to shoot him. It would certainly simplify the problem of dealing with his homicidal episodes.
I don’t know if it’s the pods, or the fear, or watching Boggs die, but I feel the arena all around me. It’s as if I’ve never left, really. Once again I’m battling not only for my own survival but for Peeta’s as well. How satisfying, how entertaining it would be for Snow to have me kill him. To have Peeta’s death on my conscience for whatever is left of my life.
«It’s not about you,» I say. «We’re on a mission. And you’re necessary to it.» I look to the rest of the group. «Think we might find some food here?»
Besides the medical kit and cameras, we have nothing but our uniforms and our weapons.
Half of us stay to guard Peeta or keep an eye out for Snow’s broadcast, while the others hunt for something to eat. Messalla proves most valuable because he lived in a near replica of this apartment and knows where people would be most likely to stash food. Like how there’s a storage space concealed by a mirrored panel in the bedroom, or how easy it is to pop out the ventilation screen in the hallway. So even though the kitchen cupboards are bare, we find over thirty canned goods and several boxes of cookies.
The hoarding disgusts the soldiers raised in 13. «Isn’t this illegal?» says Leeg 1.
«On the contrary, in the Capitol you’d be considered stupid not to do it,» says Messalla. «Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies.»
«While others went without,» says Leeg 1.
«Right,» says Messalla. «That’s how it works here.»
«Fortunately, or we wouldn’t have dinner,» says Gale. «Everybody grab a can.»
Some of our company seem reluctant to do this, but it’s as good a method as any. I’m really not in the mood to divvy up everything into eleven equal parts, factoring in age, body weight, and physical output. I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. «Here.»
I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads Lamb Stew.
I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. «Thanks.» I pop open the top.
