Timber

Chapter Sixty-One: Scent of Mahogany

Hazel's eyelids flickered as if even her eyes wanted to reject the scene before her. Unfathomable dread flowed through her entire form, making her head spin and knees grow weak. She strained to hold herself upright on the crutches. The familiar sensation of tears burned behind her eyes as she curled her lips together, holding back a sob by sheer force.

"Oh dear," Indira murmured at her side, gripping her arm, but her voice was distant as if she were underwater.

The scent of rich mahogany wafted out into the open. The craftsmanship was impeccable, and Hazel thought it rivaled the handiwork of District Seven's best carpenters.

The caskets were arranged in a neat line, except one.

The final casket sat apart from the others at the far end of the line. A lush forest green flag was folded over it. Hazel bit her lip; the lid was ajar. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lips.

Murmurs of the crowd began to pick up around her like the wind as peacekeepers flanked her. Hazel shivered and let her head bow forward, hair shielding her face from the cameras, but kept her eyes closed. Don't break. Don't break.

"Give her some space," Festus instructed somewhere behind her.

They were all gone. Really gone. All of them. In her mind, she knew it, but seeing the caskets drilled the fact into her soul. Nothing would ever be the same. The dam she tried to build broke, and tears flowed without restraint down her cheeks.

Festus's voice was at her ear, "Hazel?"

At that moment, if she could run, she would sprint as far and as fast as she could. But running wasn't an option. Hell, I can't even walk. She reopened her eyes, removing herself from Indira's grasp. Her movements were jerky and unsteady as she staggered toward the Grand Train Station doors. She didn't look back, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I need a minute... alone. Please, Festus."

Everything had grown quiet outside of the scratching of her crutches along the ground. It was as if everyone was holding their breath to see how she would react. Festus sighed, turning to Snow, who nodded, watching her with a careful but solemn expression.

She sucked in a breath as she pushed herself over the threshold, keeping her back to the crowd. Maybe tears humanized her, but she didn't want them to see hers. She gripped the crutches' handles until her fingertips were numb and the armrests bruised her armpits.

"Ma'am," Private Drayton called after her, but Hazel did not acknowledge her. Private Drayton strode forward, clearly intending to follow. Senator Snow held up a hand, and she froze as he stepped between the peacekeeper and Hazel's retreating figure. His voice dropped low, his attention flickering between the peacekeepers, the crowd, and then Festus and Indira, "Let her go. I'll watch her myself." A few in the crowd aww'd at his display of concern.

Private Drayton nodded and backed away as Hazel hauled herself further into the train station. Multiple trains waited at the platforms, their doors open, prepared for loading. The station was eerily quiet and empty, devoid of any movement or sound aside from Hazel's footsteps and the crutches. The crystalline chandeliers reflected off the polished surfaces of the caskets. Each waited in silence for their final journey.

Unable to stop herself, she approached the closest one. A flag was draped over it that bore the colors of muted ash gray and coal black. The wood surface itself was engraved with a mining pick crossed with a canary. Hazel sucked in a sharp breath as she made out the engraving, "District 12." Below that, read "Ruby Hart." More tears soaked Hazel's cheeks.

Beside Ruby's casket was a larger, identical one. "District 12. Ethan Black". They are together again. But the thought did little to stop Hazel's quivering lip, "I'm so sorry." Hazel reached her hand out until the coolness of Ruby's casket met her fingers. The chill of the surface sent a shiver through her. Tears soaked into the expensive fabric of her top as she caressed the lid. Her bulky pink bandage caught on the slick surface as she traced the letters with a trembling hand. The wood was polished to perfection, almost silky under her touch, but it did nothing to soften the agony. The engraved symbols seemed to mock her, shining brightly while their occupants lay cold and lifeless.