Mocking Jay

24
A chill runs through me. Am I really that cold and calculating? Gale didn't say, "Katniss will pick whoever it
will break her heart to give up," or even "whoever she can't live without." Those would have implied I was
motivated by a kind of passion. But my best friend predicts I will choose the person who I think I "can't survive
without." There's not the least indication that love, or desire, or even compatibility will sway me. I'll just conduct an
unfeeling assessment of what my potential mates can offer me. As if in the end, it will be the question of whether
a baker or a hunter will extend my longevity the most. It's a horrible thing for Gale to say, for Peeta not to refute.
Especially when every emotion I have has been taken and exploited by the Capitol or the rebels. At the moment,
the choice would be simple. I can survive just fine without either of them.
In the morning, I have no time or energy to nurse wounded feelings. During a predawn breakfast of liver
pate and fig cookies, we gather around Tigris's television for one of Beetee's break-ins. There's been a new
development in the war. Apparently inspired by the black wave, some enterprising rebel commander came up
with the idea of confiscating people's abandoned automobiles and sending them unmanned down the streets.
The cars don't trigger every pod, but they certainly get the majority. At around four in the morning, the rebels
began carving three separate paths--simply referred to as the A, B, and C lines--to the Capitol's heart. As a
result, they've secured block after block with very few casualties.
"This can't last," says Gale. "In fact I'm surprised they've kept it going so long. The Capitol will adjust by
deactivating specific pods and then manually triggering them when their targets come in range." Almost within
minutes of his prediction, we see this very thing happen on-screen. A squad sends a car down a block, setting
off four pods. All seems well. Three scouts follow and make it safely to the end of the street. But when a group of
twenty rebel soldiers follow them, they're blown to bits by a row of potted rosebushes in front of a flower shop.
"I bet it's killing Plutarch not to be in the control room on this one," says Peeta.
Beetee gives the broadcast back to the Capitol, where a grim-faced reporter announces the blocks that
civilians are to evacuate. Between her update and the previous story, I am able to mark my paper map to show
the relative positions of the opposing armies.
I hear scuffling out on the street, move to the windows, and peek out a crack in the shutters. In the early
morning light, I see a bizarre spectacle. Refugees from the now occupied blocks are streaming toward the
Capitol's center. The most panicked are wearing nothing but nightgowns and slippers, while the more prepared
are heavily bundled in layers of clothes. They carry everything from lapdogs to jewelry boxes to potted plants.
One man in a fluffy robe holds only an overripe banana. Confused, sleepy children stumble along after their
parents, most either too stunned or too baffled to cry. Bits of them flash by my line of vision. A pair of wide brown
eyes. An arm clutching a favorite doll. A pair of bare feet, bluish in the cold, catching on the uneven paving stones
of the alley. Seeing them reminds me of the children of 12 who died fleeing the firebombs. I leave the window.
Tigris offers to be our spy for the day since she's the only one of us without a bounty on her head. After
securing us downstairs, she goes out into the Capitol to pick up any helpful information.
Down in the cellar I pace back and forth, driving the others crazy. Something tells me that not taking
advantage of the flood of refugees is a mistake. What better cover could we have? On the other hand, every
displaced person milling about on the streets means another pair of eyes looking for the five rebels on the loose.
Then again, what do we gain by staying here? All we're really doing is depleting our small cache of food and
waiting for...what? The rebels to take the Capitol? It could be weeks before that happens, and I'm not so sure
what I'd do if they did. Not run out and greet them. Coin would have me whisked back to 13 before I could say
"nightlock, nightlock, nightlock." I did not come all this way, and lose all those people, to turn myself over to that
woman. I kill Snow. Besides, there would be an awful lot of things I couldn't easily explain about the last few days.
Several of which, if they came to light, would probably blow my deal for the victors' immunity right out of the water.
And forget about me, I've got a feeling some of the others are going to need it. Like Peeta. Who, no matter how
you spin it, can be seen on tape tossing Mitchell into that net pod. I can imagine what Coin's war tribunal will do
with that.
By late afternoon, we're beginning to get uneasy about Tigris's long absence. Talk turns to the possibilities