Mockingjay thg-3

by Сьюзен Коллинз

  «Fine. I’ll train. But I’m going to the stinking Capitol if I have to kill a crew and fly there myself,» says Johanna.

  «Probably best not to bring that up in training,» I say. «But it’s nice to know I’ll have a ride.»

  Johanna grins, and I feel a slight but significant shift in our relationship. I don’t know that we’re actually friends, but possibly the wordallies would be accurate. That’s good. I’m going to need an ally.

  The next morning, when we report for training at 7:30, reality slaps me in the face. We’ve been funneled into a class of relative beginners, fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds, which seems a little insulting until it’s obvious that they’re in far better condition than we are. Gale and the other people already chosen to go to the Capitol are in a different, accelerated phase of training. After we stretch—which hurts—there’s a couple of hours of strengthening exercises—which hurt—and a five-mile run—which kills. Even with Johanna’s motivational insults driving me on, I have to drop out after a mile.

  «It’s my ribs,» I explain to the trainer, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman we’re supposed to address as Soldier York. «They’re still bruised.»

  «Well, I’ll tell you, Soldier Everdeen, those are going to take at least another month to heal up on their own,» she says.

  I shake my head. «I don’t have a month.»

  She looks me up and down. «The doctors haven’t offered you any treatment?»

  «Is there a treatment?» I ask. «They said they had to mend naturally.»

  «That’s what they say. But they could speed up the process if I recommend it. I warn you, though, it isn’t any fun,» she tells me.

  «Please. I’ve got to get to the Capitol,» I say.

  Soldier York doesn’t question this. She scribbles something on a pad and sends me directly back to the hospital. I hesitate. I don’t want to miss any more training. «I’ll be back for the afternoon session,» I promise. She just purses her lips.

  Twenty-four needle jabs to my rib cage later, I’m flattened out on my hospital bed, gritting my teeth to keep from begging them to bring back my morphling drip. It’s been by my bed so I can take a hit as needed. I haven’t used it lately, but I kept it for Johanna’s sake. Today they tested my blood to make sure it was clean of the painkiller, as the mixture of the two drugs—the morphling and whatever’s set my ribs on fire—has dangerous side effects. They made it clear I would have a difficult couple of days. But I told them to go ahead.

  It’s a bad night in our room. Sleep’s out of the question. I think I can actually smell the ring of flesh around my chest burning, and Johanna’s fighting off withdrawal symptoms. Early on, when I apologize about cutting off her morphling supply, she waves it off, saying it had to happen anyway. But by three in the morning, I’m the target of every colorful bit of profanity District 7 has to offer. At dawn, she drags me out of bed, determined to get to training.

  «I don’t think I can do it,» I confess.

  «You can do it. We both can. We’re victors, remember? We’re the ones who can survive anything they throw at us,» she snarls at me. She’s a sick greenish color, shaking like a leaf. I get dressed.

  We must be victors to make it through the morning. I think I’m going to lose Johanna when we realize it’s pouring outside. Her face turns ashen and she seems to have ceased breathing.

  «It’s just water. It won’t kill us,» I say. She clenches her jaw and stomps out into the mud. Rain drenches us as we work our bodies and then slog around the running course. I bail after a mile again, and I have to resist the temptation to take off my shirt so the cold water can sizzle off my ribs. I force down my field lunch of soggy fish and beet stew. Johanna gets halfway through her bowl before it comes back up. In the afternoon, we learn to assemble our guns. I manage it, but Johanna can’t hold her hands steady enough to fit the parts together. When York’s back is turned, I help her out. Even though the rain continues, the afternoon’s an improvement because we’re on the shooting range. At last, something I’m good at. It takes some adjusting from a bow to a gun, but by the end of the day, I’ve got the best score in my class.

  We’re just inside the hospital doors when Johanna declares, «This has to stop. Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients.»

  It’s not a problem for me. I can move into our family compartment, but Johanna’s never been assigned one. When she tries to get discharged from the hospital, they won’t agree to let her live alone, even if she comes in for daily talks with the head doctor. I think they may have put two and two together about the morphling and this only adds to their view that she’s unstable. «She won’t be alone. I’m going to room with her,» I announce. There’s some dissent, but Haymitch takes our part, and by bedtime, we have a compartment across from Prim and my mother, who agrees to keep an eye on us.

  After I take a shower, and Johanna sort of wipes herself down with a damp cloth, she makes a cursory inspection of the place. When she opens the drawer that holds my few possessions, she shuts it quickly. «Sorry.»

  I think how there’s nothing in Johanna’s drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn’t have one thing in the world to call her own. «It’s okay. You can look at my stuff if you want.»

  Johanna unlatches my locket, studying the pictures of Gale, Prim, and my mother. She opens the silver parachute and pulls out the spile and slips it onto her pinkie. «Makes me thirsty just looking at it.» Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. «Is this—?»

  «Yeah,» I say. «Made it through somehow.» I don’t want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him.

  «Haymitch says he’s getting better,» she says.

  «Maybe. But he’s changed,» I say.

  «So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don’t get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don’t you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?» she asks me.

  «No,» I answer.

  «That’s the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There’s no going back. So we might as well get on with things.» She neatly returns my keepsakes to the drawer and climbs into the bed across from me just as the lights go out. «You’re not afraid I’ll kill you tonight?»

  «Like I couldn’t take you,» I answer. Then we laugh, since both our bodies are so wrecked, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, my ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help.

  Soldier York gives the pair of us an approving nod as we knock off for the day. «Fine job, Soldiers.»

  When we move out of hearing, Johanna mutters, «I think winning the Games was easier.» But the look on her face says she’s pleased.

  In fact, we’re almost in good spirits when we go to the dining hall, where Gale’s waiting to eat with me. Receiving a giant serving of beef stew doesn’t hurt my mood either. «First shipments of food arrived this morning,» Greasy Sae tells me. «That’s real beef, from District Ten. Not any of your wild dog.»

  «Don’t remember you turning it down,» Gale tosses back.

  We join a group that includes Delly, Annie, and Finnick. It’s something to see Finnick’s transformation since his marriage. His earlier incarnations—the decadent Capitol heartthrob I met before the Quell, the enigmatic ally in the arena, the broken young man who tried to help me hold it together—these have been replaced by someone who radiates life. Finnick’s real charms of self-effacing humor and an easygoing nature are on display for the first time. He never lets go of Annie’s hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to. She’s lost in some daze of happiness. There are still moments when you can tell something slips in her brain and another world blinds her to us. But a few words from Finnick call her back.

  Delly, who I’ve known since I was little but never gave much thought to, has grown in my esti
mation. She was told what Peeta said to me that night after the wedding, but she’s not a gossip. Haymitch says she’s the best defender I have when Peeta goes off on some kind of tear about me. Always taking my side, blaming his negative perceptions on the Capitol’s torture. She has more influence on him than any of the others do, because he really does know her. Anyway, even if she’s sugarcoating my good points, I appreciate it. Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.

  I’m starving and the stew is so delicious—beef, potatoes, turnips, and onions in a thick gravy—that I have to force myself to slow down. All around the dining hall, you can feel the rejuvenating effect that a good meal can bring on. The way it can make people kinder, funnier, more optimistic, and remind them it’s not a mistake to go on living. It’s better than any medicine. So I try to make it last and join in the conversation. Sop up the gravy on my bread and nibble on it as I listen to Finnick telling some ridiculous story about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat. Laugh before I realize he’s standing there. Directly across the table, behind the empty seat next to Johanna. Watching me. I choke momentarily as the gravy bread sticks in my throat.

  «Peeta!» says Delly. «It’s so nice to see you out…and about.»

  Two large guards stand behind him. He holds his tray awkwardly, balanced on his fingertips since his wrists are shackled with a short chain between them.

  «What’s with the fancy bracelets?» asks Johanna.

  «I’m not quite trustworthy yet,» says Peeta. «I can’t even sit here without your permission.» He indicates the guards with his head.

  «Sure he can sit here. We’re old friends,» says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat. «Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We’re very familiar with each other’s screams.»

  Annie, who’s on Johanna’s other side, does that thing where she covers her ears and exits reality. Finnick shoots Johanna an angry look as his arm encircles Annie.

  «What? My head doctor says I’m not supposed to censor my thoughts. It’s part of my therapy,» replies Johanna.

  The life has gone out of our little party. Finnick murmurs things to Annie until she slowly removes her hands. Then there’s a long silence while people pretend to eat.

  «Annie,» says Delly brightly, «did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing.»

  Annie cautiously looks across Johanna. «Thank you, Peeta. It was beautiful.»

  «My pleasure, Annie,» says Peeta, and I hear that old note of gentleness in his voice that I thought was gone forever. Not that it’s directed at me. But still.

  «If we’re going to fit in that walk, we better go,» Finnick tells her. He arranges both of their trays so he can carry them in one hand while holding tightly to her with the other. «Good seeing you, Peeta.»

  «You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you.» It could be a joke, if the tone wasn’t so cold. Everything it conveys is wrong. The open distrust of Finnick, the implication that Peeta has his eye on Annie, that Annie could desert Finnick, that I do not even exist.

  «Oh, Peeta,» says Finnick lightly. «Don’t make me sorry I restarted your heart.» He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

  When they’re gone, Delly says in a reproachful voice, «He did save your life, Peeta. More than once.»

  «For her.» He gives me a brief nod. «For the rebellion. Not for me. I don’t owe him anything.»

  I shouldn’t rise to the bait, but I do. «Maybe not. But Mags is dead and you’re still here. That should count for something.»

  «Yeah, a lot of things should count for something that don’t seem to, Katniss. I’ve got some memories I can’t make sense of, and I don’t think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance,» he says.

  Again the implications. That more happened on the train than did. That what did happen—those nights I only kept my sanity because his arms were around me—no longer matters. Everything a lie, everything a way of misusing him.

  Peeta makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and me. «So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?»

  «Still dragging,» says Johanna.

  Spasms cause Peeta’s hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion. Is it all he can do to keep them from my neck? I can feel the tension in Gale’s muscles next to me, fear an altercation. But Gale simply says, «I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.»

  «What’s that?» asks Peeta.

  «You,» Gale answers.

  «You’ll have to be a little more specific,» says Peeta. «What about me?»

  «That they’ve replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself,» says Johanna.

  Gale finishes his milk. «You done?» he asks me. I rise and we cross to drop off our trays. At the door, an old man stops me because I’m still clutching the rest of my gravy bread in my hand. Something in my expression, or maybe the fact that I’ve made no attempt to conceal it, makes him go easy on me. He lets me stuff the bread in my mouth and move on. Gale and I are almost to my compartment when he speaks again. «I didn’t expect that.»

  «I told you he hated me,» I say.

  «It’s the way he hates you. It’s so…familiar. I used to feel like that,» he admits. «When I’d watch you kissing him on the screen. Only I knew I wasn’t being entirely fair. He can’t see that.»

  We reach my door. «Maybe he just sees me as I really am. I have to get some sleep.»

  Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. «So that’s what you’re thinking now?» I shrug. «Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he’s not seeing you as you really are.» He kisses my cheek and goes.

  I sit on my bed, trying to stuff information from my Military Tactics books into my head while memories of my nights with Peeta on the train distract me. After about twenty minutes, Johanna comes in and throws herself across the foot of my bed. «You missed the best part. Delly lost her temper at Peeta over how he treated you. She got very squeaky. It was like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly. The whole dining hall was riveted.»

  «What’d Peeta do?» I ask.

  «He started arguing with himself like he was two people. The guards had to take him away. On the good side, no one seemed to notice I finished his stew.» Johanna rubs her hand over her protruding belly. I look at the layer of grime under her fingernails. Wonder if the people in 7 ever bathe.

  We spend a couple of hours quizzing each other on military terms. I visit my mother and Prim for a while. When I’m back in my compartment, showered, staring into the darkness, I finally ask, «Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?»

  «That was part of it,» she says. «Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.»

  «Tick, tock,» I whisper back.

  Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me.

  Everything screams in my dreams tonight.

  18

  I throw myself into training with a vengeance. Eat, live, and breathe the workouts, drills, weapons practice, lectures on tactics. A handful of us are moved into an additional class that gives me hope I may be a contender for the actual war. The soldiers simply call it the Block, but the tattoo on my arm lists it as S.S.C., short for Simulated Street Combat. Deep in 13, they’ve built an artificial Capitol city block. The instructor breaks us into squads of eight and we attempt to carry out missions—gaining a position, destroying a target, searching a home—as if we were really fighting our way through the Capitol. The thing’s rigged so that everything that can go wrong for you does. A false step triggers a land mine, a sniper appears on a rooftop, your gun jams, a crying child leads you into an ambush, your squadron leader—who’s just a voice on the program—gets hit by a mortar and you have to figure out what to d
o without orders. Part of you knows it’s fake and that they’re not going to kill you. If you set off a land mine, you hear the explosion and have to pretend to fall over dead. But in other ways, it feels pretty real in there—the enemy soldiers dressed in Peacekeepers’ uniforms, the confusion of a smoke bomb. They even gas us. Johanna and I are the only ones who get our masks on in time. The rest of our squad gets knocked out for ten minutes. And the supposedly harmless gas I took a few lungfuls of gives me a wicked headache for the rest of the day.

  Cressida and her crew tape Johanna and me on the firing range. I know Gale and Finnick are being filmed as well. It’s part of a new propos series to show the rebels preparing for the Capitol invasion. On the whole, things are going pretty well.

  Then Peeta starts showing up for our morning workouts. The manacles are off, but he’s still constantly accompanied by a pair of guards. After lunch, I see him across the field, drilling with a group of beginners. I don’t know what they’re thinking. If a spat with Delly can reduce him to arguing with himself, he’s got no business learning how to assemble a gun.

  When I confront Plutarch, he assures me that it’s all for the camera. They’ve got footage of Annie getting married and Johanna hitting targets, but all of Panem is wondering about Peeta. They need to see he’s fighting for the rebels, not for Snow. And maybe if they could just get a couple of shots of the two of us, not kissing necessarily, just looking happy to be back together—

  I walk away from the conversation right then. That is not going to happen.

  In my rare moments of downtime, I anxiously watch the preparations for the invasions. See equipment and provisions readied, divisions assembled. You can tell when someone’s received orders because they’re given a very short haircut, the mark of a person going into battle. There is much talk of the opening offensive, which will be to secure the train tunnels that feed up into the Capitol.

  Just a few days before the first troops are to move out, York unexpectedly tells Johanna and me she’s recommended us for the exam, and we’re to report immediately. There are four parts: an obstacle course that assesses your physical condition, a written tactics exam, a test of weapons proficiency, and a simulated combat situation in the Block. I don’t even have time to get nervous for the first three and do well, but there’s a backlog at the Block. Some kind of technical bug they’re working out. A group of us exchanges information. This much seems true. You go through alone. There’s no predicting what situation you’ll be thrown into. One boy says, under his breath, that he’s heard it’s designed to target each individual’s weaknesses.