PART ONE: THE DISTRICT
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I lay in the underbrush, my breathing slow as I calm my beating heart. Night has fallen, and I stare up at the stars. They're hard to see, as a fog has settled, but I spot the Orion constellation easily. It shines bright, and I take it as a symbol of hope from the stars. They've always looked out for me, and you're never lost when they're around you. I once believed my destiny was written in them, but Coriolanus is long gone.
Coriolanus.
His name is poison in my mind. I was so stupid to trust him. The moment he'd told me he was responsible for three deaths, and his avoidance of my question, I pieced it all together. The look on his face at the hanging tree wasn't grief. It was guilt. Coriolanus had betrayed Sejanus and told of him working with the rebels. Sejanus just wanted a better life. We all wanted a better life. Sejanus, a district boy... it all made sense. How Coriolanus disliked him, as subtle as he tried to conceal it. He viewed Sejanus as he viewed the rest of us: inhumane. Lesser beings. Savages. If it had been his choice, he would've left Sejanus in the Games to die in the hands of Reaper or the snakes. I took it upon myself to thank the stars for the snakes' behavior toward me, perhaps the one act of kindness Coriolanus provided me. Yet, he did it for himself, not for me. I was no stranger to the gifts presented to the mentors. If I won, he received a full scholarship to the Capitol's university, as well as fame amongst the Capitol. His acts were not out of care for me, they were to ensure his success. While I get nothing, he gets everything.
I can feel my heart pulsating in my arm where one of his rapid-fire shots struck me. I clutch it tightly as blood flows between my fingers. Sticky, red, hot. It reminds me of Reaper's pile of bodies in the arena. I tremble at the thought. Despite my efforts, memories of the Games will always remain.
It's been a few hours since Coriolanus fled, so I make myself stand. Whether it be from laying for so long or blood loss, I'm not sure exactly, but my head swims and I lean on the tree next to me for support. My legs tingling, I take one step, then another. A twig snaps under my foot. I flinch, but the only ones listening are the mockingjays above me. I watch one spread its wings and flap away in the direction of District 12. Thorns prick me, and more than once a branch scrapes me, but I continue on, determined to reach the small shed at the edge of the lake. Coriolanus must've fled back to the Peacekeeper's barracks. If he reports me, I have to flee, and quickly, but I'm exhausted. I need to tend to my wounds and drink.
As I clear through the forest, I see a warped glint of light, signifying the lake is nearby. I let out a jovial cry, panting as I continue through the bushes. Twigs snap and trees rustle, but I don't care. The dirt beneath me gets slicker, and I catch myself half-running toward the water. Exhaustion, heat, and dehydration catch up to me, and I slide down the rest of the way, mud caking my legs as I submerge myself into the fresh, cool water. Shaking, I put my hands together and splash water on my face, letting the dirt trail off in little streams. I scoop water into my mouth, rejoicing in the freshness and how it soothes my aching throat. My arm angrily jabs in pain, reminding me of my wounds, and I slow my motions. On the shore, I find a large leaf and ball it up before wetting it. I bring myself to a shallower end, sitting upright as I assess my body. My legs are riddled with scratches and dirt, though those are the least of my worries. My left arm is caked in blood, the gunshot aching. The pressure I've applied to it helped a great deal, but if I don't treat it soon, it could become infected. My best bet would be to fashion a tourniquet, but I don't have any spare fabric on me. Unless Coriolanus left his scarf near the trap.
Begrudgingly, I stand up, despite my aching loins. I walk out of the sopping mud, my legs once again covered by the thick soil. I continued uphill, retracing my steps, carefully this time. For all I know, the snake, albeit it's limited danger, could still be around. Soon, I spot it, the small patch of orange that was his scarf. It had been trampled on, made obvious by the dirt stains and rumpled effect of it, but I hunch over and reach my left hand out to it, right hand still gripping my arm, and-
The snake returns, jumping at me in a flash. I recoil quickly, stumbling back a few steps. He seems to be guarding the scarf, circling around it while he hisses at me. His tongue darts out to me and I look from side to side, trying to figure out which angle to take it from. Sure, he isn't poisonous, but a snakebite on top of a gunshot wound? It increases the chances of infection, and in the woods, an infection could be a death sentence. Cautiously, I take another step back, watching his movements. Considering I set the trap with him and the scarf, any attachment was my fault. How ironic. Strange, though, how it protected something it was used to. It reminded me of the muttations that were dropped in the arena, how they protected me. The scarf smelled like Coriolanus, and it'd struck Coriolanus. It must have a connection with him.
No. It needed a distraction, not a forged connection. I still myself, creeping down as slowly as I can, my legs barely touching the twig-filled ground. The snake recoiled, sticking its tongue out as it slowly backed away, eyes trained on me. My body stills, looking slightly to the left for anything I can use. All I can see is thick weeds and thorns, overgrown tree roots and puddles from the rain that haven't dried completely. I lean slightly, adjusting my weight so as to not make a sound. It's a very awkward position, my right hand grasping my arm, dried blood caked and sticky between my fingers, my entire body wobbling on its left side, my left and extended outward. It doesn't help that I'm in a dress. My eyes remain on the snake, who has completely retreated in its own circle on top of the scarf. I lower my hand, wincing as I get pricked by a thorn, but make no noise. My hand continues to lower until I touch soggy ground and drag it around. Soon, my fingers land on something smooth and solid, and I grab it. Or, at least, attempt to. Half of it is lodged in the thick mud, and in this position, with my weakened arm, it's nearly impossible. I bring my nails to the side, thankful for the lack of clippers in my old home, and begin to rake at the side of the mud. It's grueling work, but after a few seconds I have one side completely dislodged. I wipe my fingers, slippery with mud, on my dress and dislodge the rock. Due to the force, my arm shoots up quickly and sends a bit of dirt toward the snake. I flinch, but it doesn't budge.
I groan quietly as I stand up, my muscles protesting. I need to get rest, and quickly. If I can't get that scarf, it's hopeless. The chance of getting an infection is low, but a risk is a risk. I raise my arm as high as I can without pain, which isn't very high, and throw the rock. It makes a loud thump, causing the snake to jump and bolt after it. In my haste to grab the scarf, I fall to my knees and blindly reach around for the scarf. I grab hold of it before slipping straight on my face with a grunt, loud enough to divert the snake's attention. It slithers back toward, fangs outstretched. I turn away, and suddenly I'm slipping. Down, down I go, running into twigs, bushes, and thorns, scraping and scratching everywhere. I stop with a thump against a particularly large tree root, gathering my bearings. I still have the scarf, a bright orange in the moonlight, and climb over the tree root. I can no longer see the snake, and the lake is only a few yards away. I sigh in relief once more, grabbing hold of a few sticks as I continue to the water. I waste no time in getting in, submerging myself fully before swimming to the shore nearest the shed. My stomach grumbles, my cuts sting, my arm screams in pain, everything hurts. Exhaustion tries to take over, but for my own survival, I must keep going. I manage to clean off my scrapes with a single hand, and then remove the pressure. I almost vomit at the sight of my arm all bloody, but I take to cleaning it, ignoring the stinging, before assessing the damage.
It was a clean shot, but the bullet didn't go all the way through. There is no way for me to remove it, so I have to hope for the best. Whatever "the best" is. I gulp down some water, before using the sticks and scarf to fashion a tourniquet. It's nowhere near perfect, and quite messy, but the best I can do. I drink some more water and properly rinse the dirt out of my hair before rising and heading toward the shed. I shiver a bit, and look to the sky. It's about midnight now. If Coriolanus were to alert the other Peacekeepers, wouldn't they have come by now? Or was he waiting until the morning? Either way, I have to rest up to keep myself moving by sunrise.
Only the embers of the fire I'd started hours ago remained, and the stench of burnt fish filled the room. Of course, Coriolanus had burnt the food. The satchel containing the guns that killed Billy Taupe and Mayfair was missing, too. Not that I care. Those weapons held the truth about their murders; It wasn't just Spruce, it was Coriolanus who'd killed Mayfair. Rightfully so, but Spruce and Sejanus had hung because of Coriolanus' lies. You cannot come back from that.
I assess what's left: my metal can, some matches, the dry wood, a few packages of cracked nuts, courtesy of Maude Ivory, a bottle of water, and our fishing hooks. I displaced my knife somewhere near the katniss roots, but my hunt for it will begin tomorrow morning. I pile a few sacks on top of each other as a makeshift pillow, chew on a few tasteless nuts, and allow myself to drift to sleep.
Are you, are you
Coriolanus' voice rings in my ears. I can hear him, but I can't see him. I can't see anything. My eyes are covered, and stiff hands lead me down a gravel path. Someone is walking beside me, their feet dragging, and I can hear murmurs all around. I stumble on something large, but the hand pulls me back up and growls "Keep moving."
Coming to the tree
Blindly, I do. My only guide is the person behind me, who walks straight up, as if he has a purpose. The murmurs become louder, and the ground becomes bumpier as we continue our journey. When my foot knocks on wood, we halt to a stop.
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
The sack is removed from my head, and I gaze up at the hanging tree. My mouth opens in terror, and I see the hand on my shoulder is that of a Peacekeeper's. I look to my side, and my partner is Maude Ivory. "Maude Ivory?" I hiss, my heart beating wildly. I look around me, seeing the dusty, lined faces of the people of my district. "What's happening?"
Strange things did happen here
Tears streak through her dirt-covered face. "I'm sorry," she whimpers, lips trembling. She heaves, and a loud sob comes out. I shush her before a loud stomp grabs my attention, and I look up the platform. Two nooses are tied to branches above trap doors. It only takes me a moment to register that they're for us. My jaw drops, and I look to Maude in horror, who is stuck on a silent sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobs, before our Peacekeepers lead us up the stairs of the platform. I'm trembling, but I keep a straight face. I remember something Coriolanus said to me once, in one of our private meetings before the games. Never let them see you bleed. I steady myself, climbing the stairs on my own accord. His voice continues to ring throughout the crowd.
No stranger would it be
I step on the trapdoor as Maude Ivory's Peacekeeper pushes her on hers before straightening her back. We stand tall, facing members of our district. Maude Ivory is hyperventilating, and I look at her, pressing my finger to my mouth. It's the only solace I can give her. There is no comfort: this is how the Covey ends. I spot our friends in the crowd and they present grim faces.
Someone clears their throat behind us and begins to speak. "On this day, we bring you the faces of two traitors: Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray Baird. They have betrayed the Capitol, therefore all of Panem, and are charged for the murders of Billy Taupe and Mayfair Lipp. The weapons found in this satchel-" the speaker holds up a satchel- "are confirmed to be those that caused the death of the mourned. Near the weapons we found Lucy Gray Baird, asleep in a shed, and upon the search of her home found Miss Maude Ivory, both popular members of the Covey. The hunt for the rest continues."
Murder? Treason? We'd done nothing. Maude Ivory, out of the two of us, was most innocent. She discovered the bodies, I was merely a witness to their murders! I'd never even touched the weapons, where was the proof I'd touched them? Why wasn't Coriolanus standing up for me? Surely, Sejanus had already been hung, had they not put the case to rest? Spruce was dead as well, so was Lils. Everyone connected was dead. Except Coriolanus. Something he said to me pinged. Snow lands on top.
No matter what, the blood on his hands would be placed on someone else. Who else died at his expense? First Bobbin, then Mayfair, then Sejanus... who else? Maude Ivory? Me? The rest of the Covey? What was his plan, to kill off everyone in District 12? Become Head Peacekeeper? There was no prize in that. Then, I remember how he hoped to become a national hero. To return to the Capitol, a place he spoke so fondly of.
His selfishness got the best of him. He'd blamed me, said I framed him and Sejanus, to save himself. Coriolanus shows no mercy. Snow lands on top.
Someone stepped beside me, slipping the noose over my head. I swallow, looking straight ahead. I would be avenged. A hand brushes against my skin as the noose slips over me, a hand that I know all too well. "Coriolanus," I say under my breath, no kindness in my voice. I can sense his smile next to me.
"Lucy Gray," He murmurs, almost mocking me. "How shocked I was, learning of your involvement in the deaths of these poor citizens." Now, he was. I flare my nostrils, continuing to look ahead. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of meeting my eye.
"You'll pay for this," I growl, my voice harsh. He merely chuckles before whispering his mantra in my ear.
"Snow lands on top."
I can tell he goes to the trap door, to open it, to conduct the execution. Quietly, I hear him.
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree
Before he opens it, I hear the mockingjays begin to sing. It gives me satisfaction, and I smile before the trap door is opened beneath me.
I wake up in a cold sweat, grasping at my throat. I breathe heavily, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight spills in through the lone windows, and I gather my bearings. Slowly, I remove the satchel from under my head, and begin to fill it with my few supplies. For good measure, I take all but two dry logs. I remove all traces of myself, leaving everything the way it was, spare the missing logs. If the Coveys came looking for me, they'd know I was long gone. I step out of the shed silently, rubbing my eyes as I adjust to the sunlight. The sun is still rising, and I couldn't have gotten more than six hours of sleep, but the more distance between me and District 12, the better. I drink from the lake and refill my water bottle, then set off to find the katniss roots. Sure enough, my knife lay abandoned, a few uprooted katniss roots surrounding it. I grab a few more and store them for good measure. I return to the shed, sure to cover my tracks, and begin to follow the lake. I wade knee-height in it to hide my tracks, while also keeping note of any fish that swim by. The sun bears down on me, proving it will be a hot day. I'm thankful I have the lake near me. After putting an hour between me and the shed, I begin to hum the tune about Clementine. It's a sad song, really. Soon, a mockingjay picks up, and the forest lightens up with my song. They tell me that I'm not really alone.
Another few miles down, I find a fallen tree on the side of the lake and allow myself to rest. I sit back, basking in the sunlight as I assess my wound. The gunshot still aches, and the skin I can see is a bright red. I remove the makeshift tourniquet and wash my skin again, trying not to grimace at how awful it appears. I fasten it with new sticks, bathing my feet in the water. It's shaded here, and I watch a small bunny hop behind me. She pauses, staring at me as her nose quivers. I watch her deep, black eyes widen. The cloud moves and the sun shines down upon her as she goes back on all fours. How beautiful, a wild animal, free from the horrors of the world. She'd probably never encountered a human. Probably never again. The flowers blooming behind her created a perfect image, and if I were a skilled painter, I'd have painted the scene before me in a heartbeat. I feel a pang in my stomach. Despite my hunger, I let her roam free. She didn't choose her life, who am I to dictate hers? I don't need any more blood on my hands, human or animal. She hops away, heading east through the foliage. I watch her go.
I will not end up like Coriolanus. I refuse.
Despite that reasoning, after ten moments of rest I begin to fish. I catch some easily, quickly ending their misery with my knife and eating one raw. It's gross, and a bit demeaning, but anything to keep myself alive and healthy. I store the remaining two in a spare satchel before standing and continuing to wade down the path. The forest grows thicker, and soon I'm stuck with no shore, just deep water surrounded by thick bushes and overgrown trees. Nobody has stepped foot here in years, maybe decades. I would eventually have to swim to keep going, and that's not good if I end up in a storm. I turn around and walk the mile back to where I saw the bunny. All is still, and just as I left it. I sit down against the log again and drink, before rising and heading east, toward the bunny. Perhaps she was my savior. I bend under low branches and navigate through thorns, the lake behind me. There are still puddles around me, and it rains often. If I run out of water, I'll be able to follow my tracks back to the lake. I continue my trek until nightfall with no incident, sweating profusely. There are many miles between not just me and the lake, but me and District 12. The further I go from there, the closer to freedom, to the north. I've traveled east for some time now, but I can continue north whenever I please. Anywhere that isn't Capitol is good to me.
There's a large willow tree a few yards away from me, and I cross over to it easily. Slinging my satchel over my back, I begin to scale the tree, climbing until the vines conceal me and I find a sturdy branch to lay on. It isn't the comfiest, but if I fall I'll have a soft landing. Not that I plan on falling.
For the first time in my life, I peacefully lull off to sleep without danger of being discovered.