There’s a tap at the door and Gale steps in. «Can I have a minute?» he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other’s reflection. I’m searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I’m wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol’s help?
«I brought you this.» Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. «It’s supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war.»
«What if I miss?» I say. «Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?»
«You won’t miss.» Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder.
We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other’s eyes. «You didn’t come see me in the hospital.» He doesn’t answer, so finally I just say it. «Was it your bomb?»
«I don’t know. Neither does Beetee,» he says. «Does it matter? You’ll always be thinking about it.»
He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it’s true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.
«That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family,» he says. «Shoot straight, okay?» He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I’ll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn’t the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can’t, I’ll just have to deal with the pain.
Effie comes in to usher me to some kind of meeting. I collect my bow and at the last minute remember the rose, glistening in its glass of water. When I open the door to the bathroom, I find my prep team sitting in a row on the edge of the tub, hunched and defeated. I remember I’m not the only one whose world has been stripped away. «Come on,» I tell them. «We’ve got an audience waiting.»
I’m expecting a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs me where to stand and gives me my cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where six people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well. «What’s this?» I say.
«We’re not sure,» Haymitch answers. «It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors.»
«We’re all that’s left?» I ask.
«The price of celebrity,» says Beetee. «We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol.»
Johanna scowls at Enobaria. «So what’s she doing here?»
«She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal,» says Coin as she enters behind me. «Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors’ immunity. Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we.»
Enobaria smiles at Johanna. «Don’t look so smug,» says Johanna. «We’ll kill you anyway.»
«Sit down, please, Katniss,» says Coin, closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow’s rose on the table. As usual, Coin gets right to the point. «I’ve asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this.»
Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta’s hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now.
«So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote,» says Coin. «What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power.»
All seven of us turn to her. «What?» says Johanna.
«We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children,» says Coin.
«Are you joking?» asks Peeta.
«No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security,» Coin tells us.
«Was this Plutarch’s idea?» asks Haymitch.
«It was mine,» says Coin. «It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes.»
«No!» bursts out Peeta. «I vote no, of course! We can’t have another Hunger Games!»
«Why not?» Johanna retorts. «It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes.»
«So do I,» says Enobaria, almost indifferently. «Let them have a taste of their own medicine.»
«This is why we rebelled! Remember?» Peeta looks at the rest of us. «Annie?»
«I vote no with Peeta,» she says. «So would Finnick if he were here.»
«But he isn’t, because Snow’s mutts killed him,» Johanna reminds her.
«No,» says Beetee. «It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No.»
«We’re down to Katniss and Haymitch,» says Coin.
Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts’ children? The scent of Snow’s rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.
I weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, «I vote yes…for Prim.»
«Haymitch, it’s up to you,» says Coin.
A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me.
«I’m with the Mockingjay,» he says.
«Excellent. That carries the vote,» says Coin. «Now we really must take our places for the execution.»
As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. «Can you see that Snow’s wearing this? Just over his heart?»
Coin smiles. «Of course. And I’ll make sure he knows about the Games.»
«Thank you,» I say.
People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I’m guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He’s not going anywhere. There’s nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He’s ten yards away.
I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes
