Hunger Games fic: Diving Under (2/?, PG-13)
Title: Diving Under
Chapter title: Waiting and Fading and Floating Away
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,286
Betas: thatgirlsix and A Word Nerd from Tumblr
Warnings: character death, psychological torture
Characters: Annie Cresta, Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Plutarch Heavensbee, Alma Coin
Summary: Nothing happening to Annie makes sense, and she’s beginning to believe this is how it starts, not with some obvious method of torture, but with something more mundane, like waiting.
(Listen as you read: The Angry River by The Hat and Panic Switch by Silversun Pickups)
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Chapter 2 - Waiting and Fading and Floating Away
Annie leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. She’s tired of watching her Peacekeeper guard flirt with Dr. Muhti’s assistant, Neva, but there isn’t anything else for her to do but wait. The doctor is in her office, going over notes and charts and test results, leaving Annie to wonder what comes next. Other than during her recovery after the Games, she’s never seen a real doctor before, not for herself anyway. District 4 might be one of the better off districts in Panem, but it was still a backwater compared to the Capitol.
Dr. Muhti had asked Annie plenty of questions, but she wouldn’t answer any in return. Nothing happening to Annie makes sense, and she’s beginning to believe this is how it starts, not with some obvious method of torture, but with something more mundane, like waiting. And waiting. And yet more waiting. I should be used to waiting. The voices of her guard and Neva pause for a moment when Annie laughs.
Sometimes it feels as though her entire life has become nothing but waiting. Waiting to be too old for reaping, and when that didn’t matter anymore, waiting for her Games to begin. Once in the arena, she waited for death to find her, to escape the fear. Later, there were all those times spent alone or with Mags or Finnick’s family, waiting for Finnick to come home. Worst of all was waiting for him to come back from yet another arena. Now she simply waits for the Peacekeepers to take her back to her cell. I hate waiting. She tries her best to ignore the little voice inside her head telling her she won’t have to wait for Finnick to come home ever again.
The office door opens beside her and Annie jumps, her gaze focusing almost immediately on Neva and the guard. The women exchange a guilty look before the Peacekeeper straightens, taking a step back from the desk, while Neva busily shuffles papers.
“Neva,” Dr. Muhti says, “make arrangements to take Miss Cresta to…” She hesitates for just a breath too long between words; it’s barely noticeable, but even in the brief time Annie has known her, that hesitation stands out. “… the obstetrics unit in Asclepius General. A private room.” Annie looks up at her, but Muhti won’t meet her gaze. Before Annie has a chance to ask her why, she disappears back into her office, firmly closing the door.
Unwilling to let it rest, Annie swings up from her chair. She raps on the door while behind her Neva makes the requested arrangements. Annie’s heart beats faster as fear begins to rise. She’s fine. She’s perfectly healthy. None of the blood on her clothes or in her hair was her own. The obstetrics unit?
“Doctor Muhti?” The doctor doesn’t answer even when Annie pounds on the door. The guard comes toward her, her armor rattling slightly, and Annie twists the knob, almost falling through the opening when the unexpectedly unlocked door swings inward.
Melissa Muhti doesn’t look up from the folder resting between her hands, which lie flat on either side of it; her fingertips and knuckles are white with the pressure she uses to keep them that way.
“Why are you sending me to a hospital?” Annie demands, raising a hand to her abdomen almost unconsciously. I can’t be pregnant. But she’s been so tired lately, and the nausea… She had thought it was all nerves from the Games, from watching over Finnick, unable to do anything, but what if it’s something more? Please.
Muhti continues to read her notes as though Annie isn’t there. Fear morphs into terror. I can’t be pregnant. What will Snow do to me? What will he do to our baby? The one time she’d pushed the subject of pregnancy with Finnick, he’d told her not to worry, had said it wouldn’t be an issue and quickly changed the subject. Any talk of children was always someday or if there were no Hunger Games, never what if it happens anyway?
“Am I pregnant?” she blurts out, unable to contain her anxiety any longer.
Dr. Muhti closes her eyes for just a second, as though she’s steeling herself for something unpleasant. She balls her right hand into a fist, crumpling the piece of paper beneath it. When she turns to face Annie, she doesn’t even bother to look her in the eyes, instead choosing to look at a spot over her right shoulder.
“Annie, you’re in the beginning stages of a miscarriage.” Her voice fades a bit when she continues. “I’ll do everything I can for you, but there’s nothing I can do to save the baby.”
xXx
Finnick opens his eyes, uncertain what woke him. He hears Katniss panting beside him, short and sharp as if she’s running from something in her sleep. Beyond her, Beetee’s breathing is steady; he murmurs something, but Finnick can’t make out the words. He’s not sure the older man’s vocalizations even are words.
Sitting up, he lets his eyes adjust to the gloom. The only light comes from the corridor outside, slipping through the eye-level window in the door. Katniss’ chest rises and falls irregularly; he leans toward her, stretching out a hand to gently shake her shoulder, generally a bad idea with any victor, but her wrists are still strapped to the bed. She kicked her thin blanket to the floor, but he’s not fool enough to get in range of her feet.
“Katniss, let it go. It’s just a nightmare.”
Waking, she sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, jerking against the restraints. “Peet…?” Her voice, still a little mushy from sleep and the drugs one of Plutarch’s people gave her earlier, trails off as she remembers. “Finnick? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Listening more intently, Finnick holds up a hand to silence her, even though she probably can’t see it in the dark. Behind him, Beetee moans and then subsides, the sound louder than Finnick would have expected from a dozen feet away. A door opens and closes outside their room. There’s no engine noise, no vibration rising up from the floor. “We’ve landed.” He focuses on Katniss again, lying motionless now on her bed, her face turned toward the rectangle of light in the door. “Welcome to District Thirteen,” he says with a humorless snort of laughter.
xXx
The hospital room is small but relatively comfortable, much nicer than the one they put her Gran in when she had the heart attack. It was only a few weeks after Annie’s Games, and Finnick had been in the Capitol. Borrowing Finnick’s speed boat, Mags and Annie had rushed her to District 4’s only hospital. Once the hospital staff had stabilized her, they set her up to wait on a cot in a room with three other patients while they called in a specialist from the Capitol. None of them had the training for anything that couldn’t be stitched or splinted. Gran had died before the specialist ever set foot on a hoverplane.
In addition to the bed and monitoring equipment, there is a table, a lamp, and a single chair. Annie has neither window nor television, no radio, not even the illusion of the outside world. There’s an old-fashioned clock on the wall next to the door, but its hands remain frozen at nine thirty-three. She has no visitors, sees no one but Dr. Muhti, a couple of technicians, and the Peacekeepers assigned to guard her door, who she only glimpses briefly when that door opens. She can’t decide if the Peacekeepers are there to keep her in or to keep others out. No one speaks to her; Annie is sure they’re under orders not to. Eventually she gives up trying to get any of them to answer her questions.
She wakes screaming in the middle of the first night with a tearing pain across her abdomen. No one comes to answer her screams - they’re already there, both Dr. Muhti and an older man, one of the techs. The doctor presses Annie back into the bed with a gentle hand to her shoulder while the man adjusts a bag of clear fluid attached to Annie’s arm by way of a thin plastic tube and a needle. She doesn’t ask what’s happening. There’s no point. The doctor already told her she was having a miscarriage. Another pain rips through her, bringing tears to her eyes, but this time she doesn’t scream.
xXx
Having become used to the relatively dim lighting and the quiet atmosphere on the hovercraft, Finnick is unprepared for the wall of light and sound that hits him as he follows Haymitch down the ramp to the ground. Blinking rapidly against the harsh light, he resists the urge to raise his hands to cover his ears, like Annie, against the noise. Haymitch stops to talk to the gray-uniformed men wheeling both Katniss and Beetee on gurneys to somewhere they presumably will receive real medical attention. When Finnick starts to follow them, Plutarch places a hand on his arm.
“President Coin wants to speak with you, Finnick.” The older man doesn’t seem to notice his slight flinch at the casual and unexpected touch.
President Coin? Aloud he asks, “Why me?”
Turning away, Heavensbee doesn’t answer as he walks with purpose toward a set of double doors near the far corner of the chamber. It isn’t clear whether he’s avoiding the question or simply didn’t hear it.
Men and women in gray uniforms are everywhere, unloading the hovercraft, checking the landing gear, and doing who knows what with similar vehicles throughout the cavernous hangar. Given that the rest of the districts know next to nothing about District 13 and that what little film footage they have is decades old, Finnick is fairly sure they’re deep underground. Someone would have noticed anything this big on the surface.
Hurrying to catch up with Plutarch, Finnick almost collides with a woman rounding another hovercraft. Although she never breaks her stride, he stumbles in avoiding the impact and only recovers when Haymitch steadies him with a hand to his elbow, briefly held and then released.
“You should join the others in the infirmary, Finnick,” Haymitch suggests. “Maybe leave meeting the president for later?”
Finnick waves off his concern. “I’m fine, old man.” He shoots him what he hopes is a cocky grin, although it probably looks more like a grimace. “I eat politicians for breakfast, remember?” He winces when the words don’t sound quite as funny as they did in his head. Haymitch raises one dark eyebrow, but says nothing.
“Not like this one, Finnick,” Plutarch responds, having stopped to wait for them. “Alma Coin is very different from Coriolanus Snow.” Finnick fights the urge to roll his eyes. I doubt that.
An older man with a military bearing stops near Heavensbee, introducing himself to Finnick and Haymitch as Commander Boggs. After a brief conversation with Plutarch, Boggs leads them deeper into the complex to a room with a large table, lit from within, in the center of the room. The walls are lined with monitors. Other than the table, it reminds Finnick very much of the mentors’ control room in the Hunger Games Headquarters building. Several people stand off to one side, discussing a map at the center of the table.
“Wait here,” Boggs says, raising one hand palm out. When Plutarch nods, Boggs heads toward the cluster of people, stopping beside a woman with longish iron gray hair. He gestures toward Finnick and the others as he speaks.
“Alma Coin,” Plutarch says, his voice soft and low as he nods toward the gray-haired woman, “can be blunt and even harsh, but she is indisputably in charge here. Without her approval, we wouldn’t have had the resources we needed to get you and the others out of the arena, Finnick.”
“Not all of the others,” Finnick reminds him, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He thinks of Johanna, who really is guilty of treason; of Peeta, who they’d all agreed to give their lives to keep safe, just as they had Katniss; and of Enobaria, who had decided at the last minute to join them. They’ll all three certainly be interrogated, with all that entails, but if any of the Games feeds had picked up the low-voiced conversation he’d had with Enobaria, she’s as good as dead. Snow can at least use the other two for leverage.
Boggs motions them over. Coin glances at Plutarch and Haymitch briefly, and then she focuses her full attention on Finnick, her pale gray eyes traveling from head to toe and back again. Her expression doesn’t change.
“So you’re Finnick Odair.” She turns toward Heavensbee. “How is the girl? Will she cooperate?” She glances at Finnick once more, pale eyes full of speculation. Speculative looks are nothing new to him, but perhaps not in this context.
“She’ll come around,” Plutarch says with confidence.
Coin turns back to the lighted table with its maps and what look like game pieces: ground transport vehicles, miniature hoverplanes held high over their bases by copper wires, tiny soldiers in different configurations. “If she doesn’t, we’ll use Odair.”
Finnick tenses and Haymitch shifts beside him. “What are you-?”
Before Finnick can say anything else, a sharp tone sounds and the walls of monitors suddenly change to a single scene, repeated over and over, showing first the seal of Panem and then a crawl of words across the bottom of the screens: Breaking News. The seal fades into the face of the Capitol’s most respected newscaster, Wilmina Jerdann. If the rest of the Capitol knew her as well as Finnick does, he’s sure that respect would die pretty quickly. He fights not to scratch at his suddenly crawling skin.
“Citizens of Panem,” she begins, “we have learned that just a few hours ago one of the strongholds of the disturbance in District Four fell to our Peacekeeper forces. A tribunal has convicted the ringleaders of treason and sentenced them to death. We take you now live to District Four, where those executions are just moments away.”
A flicker and the scene changes to the square in front of District 4’s Justice Building, a place Finnick knows well. At least, he knew it well in another life. Things have changed. The Justice Building itself is half in ruins, as are many of the surrounding buildings. There are holes in the streets, hastily patched so the armored Peacekeeper vehicles can patrol, as they’re doing now in the background. The people of 4 gather in the square, herded there by armed Peacekeepers. At the center of the crowd stands a gallows.
Peacekeepers lead three people onto the gallows, but Finnick only has eyes for one as Wilmina Jerdann’s voice intones, “The leader of the insurgents in Four is Enrique Odair, uncle to Hunger Games victor Finnick Odair, who is himself a fugitive. It is as yet unclear whether Victor Odair is aligned with the insurgents.”
A wordless sound of protest escapes Finnick as a Peacekeeper settles the noose around Uncle Rick’s neck and tightens it down as two other guards hold him steady. The sound quality is good enough to hear it when the executioner asks if Rick has any last words.
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! We will no longer stand by and let you murder our children for your fucking entertainment!” One of the guards throws a black hood over Rick’s head, but he fights them, still shouting as they tighten the noose. “Down with the Capitol! We’re stronger than you! We will fight you!” Finnick feels someone step up close beside him, not quite touching, and glances away from the myriad screens long enough to identify Haymitch. The older man squeezes his shoulder; glad of the support, Finnick doesn’t pull away.
The white-armored guards take a step back and Rick stumbles, but he rights himself to stand tall until the floor drops from beneath his feet and he falls. The microphones, every bit as good as the ones used in the arena, pick up a sharp crack. Blinded by tears, Finnick doesn’t see the end as he cries “NO!” over and over, not caring that more than a dozen strangers are suddenly staring at him. He falls to his knees, barely registering Haymitch calling his name. Finnick stops shouting as the scene freezes on the image of the man who taught him bawdy sea shanties and how to fish with a spear swaying dead at the end of a rope.
xXx
Annie stares at an imaginary spot in the space before her as her Peacekeeper guards wheel her past the stark white walls of a brightly lit corridor; it smells of antiseptic beneath a heavy floral perfume. If the perfume had smelled of roses, Annie might have had no choice but to vomit on the pristine tile floor and her guards’ boots. She wears a pale gray tunic and pants an Avox had brought, the only spot of not-white to be seen. The clothes are replacements for both Dr. Muhti’s borrowed ones and the simple hospital gown she’d worn since her arrival. They’d probably long since disposed of the clothes she’d arrived in, bloody as they’d been. Moving in a kind of fog, Annie had let them dress her, following their commands without resistance. Finnick is dead. Their baby is dead. What can they do to her worse than that?
They pass no one as they move into what must be an underground tunnel, based on the smell of diesel that slowly replaces the scent of antiseptic flowers. Maybe they’re going to bury me. Annie starts to laugh, almost welcoming the thought, but quickly stops as the muscles in her abdomen tighten, causing a twinge of pain. She digs her fingers into her thighs in anticipation of more pain to come - the manacles she wears don’t allow her to reach the arms of the chair - but the discomfort fades. There never was any blood, but the constant pain that started the night she woke screaming had only just begun to subside when Dr. Muhti released her to the Peacekeepers this morning. She’s just as glad no one suggested she walk to wherever it is they’re taking her.
Pushing through a set of double doors, her guards - one of them Neva’ s girlfriend, the other a man who had joined them here - stop at a windowless white transport vehicle emblazoned with the Peacekeeper seal, a bronze shield superimposed over the seal of Panem.
“I think she’s the last one,” a third Peacekeeper says after consulting a clipboard. He hands it to Neva’s girlfriend. “Sign here.” He looks down at Annie. “This one another victor? She doesn’t look so tough.” A sharp retort swims to the front of her mind too slowly to act on. It wouldn’t do her any good to say it anyway. At the moment, his dismissive observation is nothing but the truth.
Neva’s girlfriend wheels Annie around to the back of the van while the other guard laughs. The driver tosses his clipboard into the van and hurries around to open the doors in back onto five people already inside. Annie recognizes three of them. She pauses in the act of climbing into the van, her gaze lighting on Peeta Mellark while a sickening surge of adrenaline flows through her. She gasps. Neva’s girlfriend shoves her into the open seat beside Enobaria and locks her in place.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Johanna Mason says as the doors slam shut.
Chapter title: Waiting and Fading and Floating Away
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,286
Betas: thatgirlsix and A Word Nerd from Tumblr
Warnings: character death, psychological torture
Characters: Annie Cresta, Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Plutarch Heavensbee, Alma Coin
Summary: Nothing happening to Annie makes sense, and she’s beginning to believe this is how it starts, not with some obvious method of torture, but with something more mundane, like waiting.
(Listen as you read: The Angry River by The Hat and Panic Switch by Silversun Pickups)
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Chapter 2 - Waiting and Fading and Floating Away
Annie leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. She’s tired of watching her Peacekeeper guard flirt with Dr. Muhti’s assistant, Neva, but there isn’t anything else for her to do but wait. The doctor is in her office, going over notes and charts and test results, leaving Annie to wonder what comes next. Other than during her recovery after the Games, she’s never seen a real doctor before, not for herself anyway. District 4 might be one of the better off districts in Panem, but it was still a backwater compared to the Capitol.
Dr. Muhti had asked Annie plenty of questions, but she wouldn’t answer any in return. Nothing happening to Annie makes sense, and she’s beginning to believe this is how it starts, not with some obvious method of torture, but with something more mundane, like waiting. And waiting. And yet more waiting. I should be used to waiting. The voices of her guard and Neva pause for a moment when Annie laughs.
Sometimes it feels as though her entire life has become nothing but waiting. Waiting to be too old for reaping, and when that didn’t matter anymore, waiting for her Games to begin. Once in the arena, she waited for death to find her, to escape the fear. Later, there were all those times spent alone or with Mags or Finnick’s family, waiting for Finnick to come home. Worst of all was waiting for him to come back from yet another arena. Now she simply waits for the Peacekeepers to take her back to her cell. I hate waiting. She tries her best to ignore the little voice inside her head telling her she won’t have to wait for Finnick to come home ever again.
The office door opens beside her and Annie jumps, her gaze focusing almost immediately on Neva and the guard. The women exchange a guilty look before the Peacekeeper straightens, taking a step back from the desk, while Neva busily shuffles papers.
“Neva,” Dr. Muhti says, “make arrangements to take Miss Cresta to…” She hesitates for just a breath too long between words; it’s barely noticeable, but even in the brief time Annie has known her, that hesitation stands out. “… the obstetrics unit in Asclepius General. A private room.” Annie looks up at her, but Muhti won’t meet her gaze. Before Annie has a chance to ask her why, she disappears back into her office, firmly closing the door.
Unwilling to let it rest, Annie swings up from her chair. She raps on the door while behind her Neva makes the requested arrangements. Annie’s heart beats faster as fear begins to rise. She’s fine. She’s perfectly healthy. None of the blood on her clothes or in her hair was her own. The obstetrics unit?
“Doctor Muhti?” The doctor doesn’t answer even when Annie pounds on the door. The guard comes toward her, her armor rattling slightly, and Annie twists the knob, almost falling through the opening when the unexpectedly unlocked door swings inward.
Melissa Muhti doesn’t look up from the folder resting between her hands, which lie flat on either side of it; her fingertips and knuckles are white with the pressure she uses to keep them that way.
“Why are you sending me to a hospital?” Annie demands, raising a hand to her abdomen almost unconsciously. I can’t be pregnant. But she’s been so tired lately, and the nausea… She had thought it was all nerves from the Games, from watching over Finnick, unable to do anything, but what if it’s something more? Please.
Muhti continues to read her notes as though Annie isn’t there. Fear morphs into terror. I can’t be pregnant. What will Snow do to me? What will he do to our baby? The one time she’d pushed the subject of pregnancy with Finnick, he’d told her not to worry, had said it wouldn’t be an issue and quickly changed the subject. Any talk of children was always someday or if there were no Hunger Games, never what if it happens anyway?
“Am I pregnant?” she blurts out, unable to contain her anxiety any longer.
Dr. Muhti closes her eyes for just a second, as though she’s steeling herself for something unpleasant. She balls her right hand into a fist, crumpling the piece of paper beneath it. When she turns to face Annie, she doesn’t even bother to look her in the eyes, instead choosing to look at a spot over her right shoulder.
“Annie, you’re in the beginning stages of a miscarriage.” Her voice fades a bit when she continues. “I’ll do everything I can for you, but there’s nothing I can do to save the baby.”
xXx
Finnick opens his eyes, uncertain what woke him. He hears Katniss panting beside him, short and sharp as if she’s running from something in her sleep. Beyond her, Beetee’s breathing is steady; he murmurs something, but Finnick can’t make out the words. He’s not sure the older man’s vocalizations even are words.
Sitting up, he lets his eyes adjust to the gloom. The only light comes from the corridor outside, slipping through the eye-level window in the door. Katniss’ chest rises and falls irregularly; he leans toward her, stretching out a hand to gently shake her shoulder, generally a bad idea with any victor, but her wrists are still strapped to the bed. She kicked her thin blanket to the floor, but he’s not fool enough to get in range of her feet.
“Katniss, let it go. It’s just a nightmare.”
Waking, she sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, jerking against the restraints. “Peet…?” Her voice, still a little mushy from sleep and the drugs one of Plutarch’s people gave her earlier, trails off as she remembers. “Finnick? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Listening more intently, Finnick holds up a hand to silence her, even though she probably can’t see it in the dark. Behind him, Beetee moans and then subsides, the sound louder than Finnick would have expected from a dozen feet away. A door opens and closes outside their room. There’s no engine noise, no vibration rising up from the floor. “We’ve landed.” He focuses on Katniss again, lying motionless now on her bed, her face turned toward the rectangle of light in the door. “Welcome to District Thirteen,” he says with a humorless snort of laughter.
xXx
The hospital room is small but relatively comfortable, much nicer than the one they put her Gran in when she had the heart attack. It was only a few weeks after Annie’s Games, and Finnick had been in the Capitol. Borrowing Finnick’s speed boat, Mags and Annie had rushed her to District 4’s only hospital. Once the hospital staff had stabilized her, they set her up to wait on a cot in a room with three other patients while they called in a specialist from the Capitol. None of them had the training for anything that couldn’t be stitched or splinted. Gran had died before the specialist ever set foot on a hoverplane.
In addition to the bed and monitoring equipment, there is a table, a lamp, and a single chair. Annie has neither window nor television, no radio, not even the illusion of the outside world. There’s an old-fashioned clock on the wall next to the door, but its hands remain frozen at nine thirty-three. She has no visitors, sees no one but Dr. Muhti, a couple of technicians, and the Peacekeepers assigned to guard her door, who she only glimpses briefly when that door opens. She can’t decide if the Peacekeepers are there to keep her in or to keep others out. No one speaks to her; Annie is sure they’re under orders not to. Eventually she gives up trying to get any of them to answer her questions.
She wakes screaming in the middle of the first night with a tearing pain across her abdomen. No one comes to answer her screams - they’re already there, both Dr. Muhti and an older man, one of the techs. The doctor presses Annie back into the bed with a gentle hand to her shoulder while the man adjusts a bag of clear fluid attached to Annie’s arm by way of a thin plastic tube and a needle. She doesn’t ask what’s happening. There’s no point. The doctor already told her she was having a miscarriage. Another pain rips through her, bringing tears to her eyes, but this time she doesn’t scream.
xXx
Having become used to the relatively dim lighting and the quiet atmosphere on the hovercraft, Finnick is unprepared for the wall of light and sound that hits him as he follows Haymitch down the ramp to the ground. Blinking rapidly against the harsh light, he resists the urge to raise his hands to cover his ears, like Annie, against the noise. Haymitch stops to talk to the gray-uniformed men wheeling both Katniss and Beetee on gurneys to somewhere they presumably will receive real medical attention. When Finnick starts to follow them, Plutarch places a hand on his arm.
“President Coin wants to speak with you, Finnick.” The older man doesn’t seem to notice his slight flinch at the casual and unexpected touch.
President Coin? Aloud he asks, “Why me?”
Turning away, Heavensbee doesn’t answer as he walks with purpose toward a set of double doors near the far corner of the chamber. It isn’t clear whether he’s avoiding the question or simply didn’t hear it.
Men and women in gray uniforms are everywhere, unloading the hovercraft, checking the landing gear, and doing who knows what with similar vehicles throughout the cavernous hangar. Given that the rest of the districts know next to nothing about District 13 and that what little film footage they have is decades old, Finnick is fairly sure they’re deep underground. Someone would have noticed anything this big on the surface.
Hurrying to catch up with Plutarch, Finnick almost collides with a woman rounding another hovercraft. Although she never breaks her stride, he stumbles in avoiding the impact and only recovers when Haymitch steadies him with a hand to his elbow, briefly held and then released.
“You should join the others in the infirmary, Finnick,” Haymitch suggests. “Maybe leave meeting the president for later?”
Finnick waves off his concern. “I’m fine, old man.” He shoots him what he hopes is a cocky grin, although it probably looks more like a grimace. “I eat politicians for breakfast, remember?” He winces when the words don’t sound quite as funny as they did in his head. Haymitch raises one dark eyebrow, but says nothing.
“Not like this one, Finnick,” Plutarch responds, having stopped to wait for them. “Alma Coin is very different from Coriolanus Snow.” Finnick fights the urge to roll his eyes. I doubt that.
An older man with a military bearing stops near Heavensbee, introducing himself to Finnick and Haymitch as Commander Boggs. After a brief conversation with Plutarch, Boggs leads them deeper into the complex to a room with a large table, lit from within, in the center of the room. The walls are lined with monitors. Other than the table, it reminds Finnick very much of the mentors’ control room in the Hunger Games Headquarters building. Several people stand off to one side, discussing a map at the center of the table.
“Wait here,” Boggs says, raising one hand palm out. When Plutarch nods, Boggs heads toward the cluster of people, stopping beside a woman with longish iron gray hair. He gestures toward Finnick and the others as he speaks.
“Alma Coin,” Plutarch says, his voice soft and low as he nods toward the gray-haired woman, “can be blunt and even harsh, but she is indisputably in charge here. Without her approval, we wouldn’t have had the resources we needed to get you and the others out of the arena, Finnick.”
“Not all of the others,” Finnick reminds him, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He thinks of Johanna, who really is guilty of treason; of Peeta, who they’d all agreed to give their lives to keep safe, just as they had Katniss; and of Enobaria, who had decided at the last minute to join them. They’ll all three certainly be interrogated, with all that entails, but if any of the Games feeds had picked up the low-voiced conversation he’d had with Enobaria, she’s as good as dead. Snow can at least use the other two for leverage.
Boggs motions them over. Coin glances at Plutarch and Haymitch briefly, and then she focuses her full attention on Finnick, her pale gray eyes traveling from head to toe and back again. Her expression doesn’t change.
“So you’re Finnick Odair.” She turns toward Heavensbee. “How is the girl? Will she cooperate?” She glances at Finnick once more, pale eyes full of speculation. Speculative looks are nothing new to him, but perhaps not in this context.
“She’ll come around,” Plutarch says with confidence.
Coin turns back to the lighted table with its maps and what look like game pieces: ground transport vehicles, miniature hoverplanes held high over their bases by copper wires, tiny soldiers in different configurations. “If she doesn’t, we’ll use Odair.”
Finnick tenses and Haymitch shifts beside him. “What are you-?”
Before Finnick can say anything else, a sharp tone sounds and the walls of monitors suddenly change to a single scene, repeated over and over, showing first the seal of Panem and then a crawl of words across the bottom of the screens: Breaking News. The seal fades into the face of the Capitol’s most respected newscaster, Wilmina Jerdann. If the rest of the Capitol knew her as well as Finnick does, he’s sure that respect would die pretty quickly. He fights not to scratch at his suddenly crawling skin.
“Citizens of Panem,” she begins, “we have learned that just a few hours ago one of the strongholds of the disturbance in District Four fell to our Peacekeeper forces. A tribunal has convicted the ringleaders of treason and sentenced them to death. We take you now live to District Four, where those executions are just moments away.”
A flicker and the scene changes to the square in front of District 4’s Justice Building, a place Finnick knows well. At least, he knew it well in another life. Things have changed. The Justice Building itself is half in ruins, as are many of the surrounding buildings. There are holes in the streets, hastily patched so the armored Peacekeeper vehicles can patrol, as they’re doing now in the background. The people of 4 gather in the square, herded there by armed Peacekeepers. At the center of the crowd stands a gallows.
Peacekeepers lead three people onto the gallows, but Finnick only has eyes for one as Wilmina Jerdann’s voice intones, “The leader of the insurgents in Four is Enrique Odair, uncle to Hunger Games victor Finnick Odair, who is himself a fugitive. It is as yet unclear whether Victor Odair is aligned with the insurgents.”
A wordless sound of protest escapes Finnick as a Peacekeeper settles the noose around Uncle Rick’s neck and tightens it down as two other guards hold him steady. The sound quality is good enough to hear it when the executioner asks if Rick has any last words.
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! We will no longer stand by and let you murder our children for your fucking entertainment!” One of the guards throws a black hood over Rick’s head, but he fights them, still shouting as they tighten the noose. “Down with the Capitol! We’re stronger than you! We will fight you!” Finnick feels someone step up close beside him, not quite touching, and glances away from the myriad screens long enough to identify Haymitch. The older man squeezes his shoulder; glad of the support, Finnick doesn’t pull away.
The white-armored guards take a step back and Rick stumbles, but he rights himself to stand tall until the floor drops from beneath his feet and he falls. The microphones, every bit as good as the ones used in the arena, pick up a sharp crack. Blinded by tears, Finnick doesn’t see the end as he cries “NO!” over and over, not caring that more than a dozen strangers are suddenly staring at him. He falls to his knees, barely registering Haymitch calling his name. Finnick stops shouting as the scene freezes on the image of the man who taught him bawdy sea shanties and how to fish with a spear swaying dead at the end of a rope.
xXx
Annie stares at an imaginary spot in the space before her as her Peacekeeper guards wheel her past the stark white walls of a brightly lit corridor; it smells of antiseptic beneath a heavy floral perfume. If the perfume had smelled of roses, Annie might have had no choice but to vomit on the pristine tile floor and her guards’ boots. She wears a pale gray tunic and pants an Avox had brought, the only spot of not-white to be seen. The clothes are replacements for both Dr. Muhti’s borrowed ones and the simple hospital gown she’d worn since her arrival. They’d probably long since disposed of the clothes she’d arrived in, bloody as they’d been. Moving in a kind of fog, Annie had let them dress her, following their commands without resistance. Finnick is dead. Their baby is dead. What can they do to her worse than that?
They pass no one as they move into what must be an underground tunnel, based on the smell of diesel that slowly replaces the scent of antiseptic flowers. Maybe they’re going to bury me. Annie starts to laugh, almost welcoming the thought, but quickly stops as the muscles in her abdomen tighten, causing a twinge of pain. She digs her fingers into her thighs in anticipation of more pain to come - the manacles she wears don’t allow her to reach the arms of the chair - but the discomfort fades. There never was any blood, but the constant pain that started the night she woke screaming had only just begun to subside when Dr. Muhti released her to the Peacekeepers this morning. She’s just as glad no one suggested she walk to wherever it is they’re taking her.
Pushing through a set of double doors, her guards - one of them Neva’ s girlfriend, the other a man who had joined them here - stop at a windowless white transport vehicle emblazoned with the Peacekeeper seal, a bronze shield superimposed over the seal of Panem.
“I think she’s the last one,” a third Peacekeeper says after consulting a clipboard. He hands it to Neva’s girlfriend. “Sign here.” He looks down at Annie. “This one another victor? She doesn’t look so tough.” A sharp retort swims to the front of her mind too slowly to act on. It wouldn’t do her any good to say it anyway. At the moment, his dismissive observation is nothing but the truth.
Neva’s girlfriend wheels Annie around to the back of the van while the other guard laughs. The driver tosses his clipboard into the van and hurries around to open the doors in back onto five people already inside. Annie recognizes three of them. She pauses in the act of climbing into the van, her gaze lighting on Peeta Mellark while a sickening surge of adrenaline flows through her. She gasps. Neva’s girlfriend shoves her into the open seat beside Enobaria and locks her in place.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Johanna Mason says as the doors slam shut.