Sparks Fly

Chapter 19

I'm up, running for somewhere – anywhere – far away from here. Across the lawns of the Victor's Village, into the dark beyond. I have to get away. Melted snow soaks through my socks and I'm vaguely aware of the sharp bite of the wind, but my feet don't stop until I'm at the fence and the hum reminds me of how very trapped I am. I back away, panting, turn on my heel, and take off again. I need to leave, to escape. But I can't. It's too late.

I'm on my hands and knees in the cellar of one of the empty houses in the Victor's Village, with no recollection of how I've ended up here. Faint shafts of moonlight come in through the high windows, casting a dappled pattern across the icy cement floor. I'm frozen and wet and winded, but the hysteria within me threatens to consume me. Before I know what I'm doing, I curl up in a fetal position and start to scream. Not for me, no, but for Peeta. For us. For everything that could've been. For everything that – now – will never be. How long this continues, I don't know. But when I stop, my voice is almost gone.

That's when the nausea hits. I barely make it to the dilapidated sink in the corner before I'm vomiting, emptying the entire contents of my stomach into the basin. A cold sweat runs down my spine, but the chilly night air does nothing to help as I am sick to my stomach again and again, as if my body could physically expel the vile words that the president read aloud.

I'm gasping for breath and I can feel my mind spiraling. I'm going back. Back in the arena. Back in the place of nightmares. That's where I am going. And I never saw it coming. I had pictured a million other scenarios. Being publicly humiliated, tortured, executed. Fleeing through the wilderness, pursued by Peacekeepers and hovercraft. Forced to have children with Peeta, only for them to be cast into the arena. But I never dreamed that we would be players in the Games again. There's no precedent for it. Victors are out of the reaping for life. That's the deal if you win. We live out our lives, miserable and traumatized, but safe. Until now.

I stumble away from the now-reeking sink and stumble on some kind of sheeting, the kind they put down when they paint, and I pull it over me like a blanket. In the distance, someone is calling my name. But at the moment, I don't care. They can't save us. Nobody can. I wrap myself deeper in the sheeting, until I can't hear or see anything, can't even breathe save for a small opening at the top.

I picture the wooden box in the little boy's hands, President Snow drawing out the yellowed envelope. Is it possible that this was really the Quarter Quell written down seventy-five years ago? There's no way. It's just too perfect an answer for the troubles that face the Capitol today. Getting rid of me and subduing the districts all in one neat little package.

I hear President Snow's voice in my head. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Yes, victors are our strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty-three of us will be killed to show how even that hope was an illusion.

It's a small mercy that I've only just won the Games. Otherwise I'd know all the other victors personally since they are guests at every Games. Even if they're not mentoring like Haymitch always has to, most return to the Capitol each year for the event, find solace in each others' company. I think a lot of them are friends. Whereas the only friend I'll have to worry about killing will be either Peeta or Haymitch. Peeta or Haymitch!

I sit straight up, shredding through the sheeting with my bares hands. There's no situation in which I would ever kill Peeta or Haymitch. But one of them will be in the arena with me, no matter what. They may have even already decided between them who it will be. Whoever is picked first, the other will have the option of volunteering to take his place. And I already know what will happen, even as my heart breaks at the thought. Peeta will ask Haymitch to let him go into the arena with me no matter what. For my sake. To protect me. Until his very last breath. For as long as we both shall live.