Splintered

Chapter Nineteen: Water Water Everywhere Nor a Drop to Drink

Shock and sleep battled over Hazel's consciousness. Weariness was her needy companion. Despite the fact that her mind could not stop replaying everything Harla said, it wrapped itself around her, whispering in her ear.

If only I could just shut my eyes for a few minutes...

The blaring train horn burst through the cabin, jolting her into alertness.

We must be close. Outside, rows and rows of almost barren corn fields blurred past, along with several harvest-thinned orchards. Mud and earth shaped into neat rows overlaid most of the land like the ground had been braided by a knowledgeable hand.

Dirt-covered countryside stretched as far as she could see. Most of it was plowed with a random scraggly ear scattered about, like the balding head of an aging man who couldn't quite shave the last few hairs.

As the train slowed, they passed scattered clusters of shacks patched together from dilapidated cheap slabs of wood and rusted sheet metal. Even from a distance, the shacks made the homes of District Seven seem refined in comparison.

Thankfully, Augustus had moved to another car, making the journey between Districts slightly more bearable.

She purposefully ignored him as she stepped off the train. As she did, her group was met by a wave of damp air, heavier and warmer than the crisp, sharp smells of pine and frost she longed for. Her boots sank slightly with every step as she followed her escorts toward the town square.

Although a few rays of sunlight came through the overcast winter sky, the citizens did not seem to take notice.

Cocoa-colored tones covered the District. The same shade coated the clothes, hands, and shoes of the people gathered to meet her. While they did not look as starved as those in District Twelve, deprivation was written in the dirt lines along their skin and the slump of their shoulders.

Without much ado, she was led to the stage in the center of town; the citizens assembled more out of obligation than interest.

In the front row was a young man and woman stood shoulder to shoulder. While too old for the reaping, they were much too young to be Kai's parents. Behind them were three younger children shielding themselves. Their clothing was humble and homemade. She swore she caught the familiar taupe fabric of Capitol-issued cornmeal burlap.

The oldest girl did not tremble or shake but remained rooted in her place, a picture of Kai clasped in her hands. Hazel squinted at it, chewing her lip. He was a few years younger than when she had met him. But even then, his shaved head made his eyes more expressive and innocent.

She shuddered as she remembered his precious young life seeping from them, along with his blood, forever lost to the arena.

Besides those who were apparently Kai's family, there was an elderly man and woman. Each wore matching masks of melancholy resignation. The man leaned to the side, a knotted oak cane grasped in one hand. His much shorter wife had her arm wrapped around his middle. It wasn't clear which was holding him upright more. They gripped a faded photograph of Iris, who looked barely old enough to reap the fields. They, too, didn't appear to be the right age to be Iris's parents, but Hazel knew very little about either of her alliance partners or their families.

Tearing her gaze away from them, she refocused on the speech in her hands, licking her too-dry lips. "Citizens of District Eleven. It is an honor to stand here today as part of this Victory Tour. District Eleven holds a vital place in the strength of Panem. Your efforts fuel not only your district but the entire nation..."

Hazel nearly choked on the fakeness, easily gliding over her tongue. Though she had to admit, she was slightly less nervous this time around. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was the fact that she already had one of the spectacles under her belt.