Battleborn

Helping Hands

 I needed a distraction. And Coin was willing to give me one to keep me out of trouble. Finch and I hadn’t spoken in two days when I was called into Coin’s office. I held her gaze steady as she told me what she wanted me to do. I didn’t want to look away. That would feel like defeat to me.

 “Katniss Everdeen will be travelling to District 8 this afternoon. I want you to accompany her, and chose one of your trainees to come with you. It would do them good to get some experience. It’s nothing heavy duty. Cressida and her team want to get some footage of the Mockingjay,” Coin said. I nodded, and saluted.

 “I won’t disappoint,” I said.

 “You haven’t so far,” Coin said. I think she meant to remind me of Finch, more than anything. She’d obviously been keeping an eye out for us, but despite us sharing the same room, we’d had no other contact. I’d made certain of it.

 I went back to my quarters to prepare for the day. I dressed in my black trousers, long sleeved top and bullet proof vest, though I knew the main danger would be bombs, not guns. I armed myself with a special gun issued by Coin that was able to fire small missiles, and a knife just in case. I called upon Ronan to accompany me to the District. He’d shown a lot of promise since he began training with me.

 The final part of my preparation involved my mother. I didn’t want to upset her by bringing up old memories, but I knew we’d be visiting the hospital at 8, and I wanted to take some herbs and plants to help with the pain the injured were experiencing. But that meant using Arrian Rider’s supplies. He and his Grandmother had brought their entire medicine cupboard when they moved, but when both of them died, they were passed on to my mother. The medics had little use for them, with their medicines and complicated operations. But in wartime, medicines are limited. I thought they’d come in handy.

 When I asked mother about the plants, she chewed at her lip. She agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and led me to the drawer where she kept it all. As she loaded jars of herbs into my rucksack, I watched her face cloud over. It was a face I associated with thoughtfulness in her. It was like she was somewhere else. She used to try and hide it from me, but as she got older, she began to think more. She had a lot to think of, I suppose. A lot of memories buried deep in her just waiting to resurface. Like they did that day.

 I watched Mother take out the crumpled ingredients list. It was in Arrian’s careful, neat hand writing. He was a careful person, I’d been told. Just not careful enough to stop himself getting killed.

 Mother smoothed out the paper you know she said in signs things like this are all I have left of the people I lost. Old diaries. Sketchbooks. Lists… She shook her head What are they really worth, though? They’re just objects. They’re not going to bring them back to life.

 “They bring them back to life in memory,” I told her. She hung her head slightly. I sighed “Since Elliott left…I’ve been going through the things he left behind. He never did have much. Nothing too personal. But that was Elliott, wasn’t it? Nothing too personal…but he left behind bits of him anyway. I kept one of his shirts. Finch doesn’t wear it. Sometimes, I open his box of matchsticks. He played with fire, didn’t he? It fascinated him, all his life. And if I feel lonely without him, I sometimes light a candle in the dark. And I remember him. Sitting there letting the fire touch his skin. And those rare times when he smiled flicker in the flames, and I can see him, as he was, at his best.” I swallowed. Mother tucked her grey hair behind her ear, frowning. The list in her hand was shaking. “Mother, it’s OK to have reminders. It keeps us human. I know someday, everyone will forget us. No one will know our name. We’ll fade and fade, and it’ll be like we were never here. But if people can live a little longer in our minds, in remembrance, then forgetting them is a sin.”

***

 Ronan and I were the first to exit the hovercraft when it landed, descending from the craft as soon as the steps were in place. The hovercraft left as quickly as it came. I watched Katniss Everdeen survey the area, a road on the outskirts of the District. I was almost as intrigued as she appeared to be. I’d never been to the District before. We followed Boggs to a makeshift hospital, made in an old warehouse and filled with the moans and stench of the dying. I could see Boggs attempting to comfort Katniss. Nothing prepares you for sights like we saw that day. So many people hurting, dying. Screaming out in pain and you can’t even help them.

 I tried to push it out of mind.

 Commander Paylor of District 8 led us into the hospital so Katniss could do some filming. I watched in interest for a while as she spoke to people, touched their hands. But then I realised I was of more use elsewhere. I had no idea what to do with the herbs I’d brought, so I handed them to some medics, and in return, they handed me antiseptics and bandages so I could go and help. I found an old man lying on the floor and knelt beside him. There was a bucket beside him filled with vomit, and he looked weak. He had an infected wound on his arm which had swollen and was leaking pus.

 “Hello,” I said to him quietly. The man opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

 “Hello, young lady. Can I help you?” he asked, his throat scratchy.

 “I’m just going to clean this wound for you. So you can get better,” I said, trying to ignore the stench that surrounded me.

 “Thank you,” the man exhaled. I took a closer look at the wound. There was a piece of shrapnel lodged there. It shouldn’t have got in such a state: even I knew how to treat it without letting it get infected. I supposed that the medics had more major worries. Especially as the man was old. It was generally a rule in Districts, I knew, that the younger generation, who could still work and be of use, were more important. I opened the first aid kit I’d been given and quickly dislodged the debris from his arm. The man visibly relaxed as I began to clean the wound gently. I could see him watching Katniss, who was causing quite a stir on the other side of the room.

 “She’s really something, isn’t she?” I said. The man wheezed, bending over his bucket, a dribble of sick escaping his lips. He was shaking.

 “Some might say,” he said. He sounded unconvinced. He wiped his mouth with his good hand. “Katniss Everdeen is brave,” he said “But she’s only special because the people think she started it all.”

 “Well…she did. Didn’t she?”

 “She did,” the man agreed “But people have a limit to how much they can take. People are scared of the Capitol, but they hate it enough to stand up. They would have done it anyway. It just would have taken longer.”

 I nodded, applying some antiseptic to the wound. I felt the old man’s shaky hand on my arm. His skin was crinkled with age.

 “The real heroes,” he said “Will always go unsung. The people who care about the individuals are the people I thank. Doing something small makes someone tall…wouldn’t you agree?”

 The man caught my eye, and I knew he was thanking me. For tending to his arm. And I thought of the unsung heroes I knew of. Logan Golding. Arrian Rider. Riley Swan. And I realised they’d all died for someone, or for a cause. For caring about the little things. But in my mind, as well as that old man’s, they were heroes.

 “I agree,” I told the old man “I agree.”