Pawn of Panem | Finnick Odair [2]

Traitors and Trials : 4

Chapter Four

I can hear the accusations against Gerard and Peeta building. The words -- traitor, liar, enemy -- bounce off the walls. Since I can neither join in the rebels' outrage nor counter it, I decide the best thing to do is clear out.

As I reach the door, Coin's voice rises above the others. "You have not been dismissed, Soldier Scrymgeour."

One of Coin's men lays a hand on my arm. It's not an aggressive move, really, but after the arena, I react defensively to any unfamiliar touch. I jerk my arm free and take off running down the halls.

"Sage, wait!" Katniss calls, but I don't stop. She should understand how I'm feeling, after all.

Behind me, there's the sound of a scuffle, then fighting, but I don't stop. My mind does a quick inventory of my odd little hiding places, and I wind up in the supply closet, curled up against a crate of chalk.

"You're alive," I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace. Gerard's alive. And a traitor. But at the moment, I don't care. Not what he says, or who he says it for, only that he is still capable of speech.

After a while, the door opens and someone slips in. Gale slides down beside me, his nose trickling blood. We have become good friends since the hovercraft, after all he is the one who talked me back from suicide.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I got in Boggs's way," he answers with a shrug. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose. "Watch it!"

I try to be gentler. Patting, not wiping. "Which one is he?"

"Oh, you know. Coin's right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you." He pushes my hand away.

I groan, "Gale, quit! You'll bleed to death." The trickle has turned to a steady stream. I give up on the first-aid attempts after he shoves my hand away the fourth time. "You fought with Boggs?"

"No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose," says Gale.

"They'll probably punish you," I say.

"Already have." He holds up his wrist. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. "Coin took back my communicuff."

I bite my lip, trying to remain serious. But it seems so ridiculous. "I'm sorry, Soldier Hawthorne."

"Don't be, Soldier Scrymgeour." He grins. "I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway." We both start laughing. "I think it was quite a demotion."

This is one of the few good things about 13. Getting simple humor back. Friendship that I've never experienced. Whatever the case, I've got someone to tell my secrets to.

"Who are these people?" I say.

"They're us. If we'd had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal or stretches of power lines," he answers.

"I like to think our Districts wouldn't have abandoned the rest of the rebels back in the Dark Days," I say.

"We might have. If it was that, surrender, or start a nuclear war," says Gale. "In a way, it's remarkable they survived at all."

Maybe it's because I still have the dirt of the Arena on my shoes, but for the first time, I give the people of 13 something I have withheld from them: credit.

For staying alive against all odds.

Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Population decimated, no possible ally to turn to for aid.