Interview With the Mockingjay -- Chapter 8

In which our narrator and hero finally meets the Mockingjay, and becomes her target

With the whoosh of air brakes, the train comes to a halt in District 12’s station, and Archer and I hop out and onto the platform. Scores of trucks, mobile cranes, and forklifts stand before us, along with yellow-hatted industrial workers of both sexes. They ignore us and race to the freight cars, where crewmen rip open doors. In less than a minute, the workers are unloading construction materials on the forklifts and cranes, loading supplies into trucks. Others form columns, passing huge boxes to each other and on to the trucks.

Archer alertly snaps away with his camera, while I grab a worker, who comes striding down the platform, yelling encouragement to his crew, clapping his hands.

“What’s going on,” I ask the worker, a red-bearded mass of muscle.

“We’re behind schedule,” he drawls. “Let’s go, let’s go,” he yells at his colleagues, clapping his hands. “You guys are great! It’s Wednesday in District 12! Good day, good day to work!”

“What is all this,” I ask.

“Most of it is for the new homes for the residents,” the worker says. “Let’s go, it’s a great day!”

I flip out my notebook. “What’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Sam Horn. I manage the project. I’m originally from District 8. Who are you?”

“My name’s Charlie Allbright, and I’m from the Panem Times. I’m doing stories about District 12 and its re-construction.”

The worker brightens. He’s happy to see me, which is good. “We don’t get too many reporters out here. Commissioner Davis usually throws them right back on the train,” Horn says. “You guys are brave.” He spits out some chewing tobacco on the ground, and smiles for Archer, who obediently snaps a photograph.

“You come by my office and I’ll give you the lowdown on the houses. We should be ready to open the place in just a few days. We’re doing great around here! Super job by a super team!” Horn shouts, cheerily.

“What happens then?” I ask.

“We move on to the other projects going right here…we have to finish the shopping center.”

“Why are you a month behind?” I ask.

“We had to do the power and water hook-ups completely from scratch. There was practically no running water here when we started, and the electrical grid was bombed to shit. I thought we were deprived in District 8, but this place is incredible.

“But I want you to know, and you can put this in the paper,” he stabs at my notepad, “My boys and girls have been working 12-hour shifts, seven days a week. We’re a month behind schedule, but we when we first looked over the situation, we estimated we were six months behind schedule. I can’t talk enough about my workers. You find me at the construction site, and I’ll show you how we saved five months off that fuck-up,” Horn says.

The workers are done, and the trucks are pulling away. Horn sprints over to his truck, hops up into the cab and points at me. “Just come over to that site, and ask for Sam Horn. I want you to see how good a job we’re doing.”

“Thanks,” I yell. The trucks drive off, leaving clouds of dirt and dust. As the smoke blows away, we get our first look at District 12’s downtown.

It’s another bunch of blasted ruins, this pile smaller than the piles of rubble we saw earlier while en route, and newer, covered with coal dust. It still smells harsh and fresh. Over it is the stink of coal. In the distance, we can make out shiny new buildings. Clearly, the new rulers of District 12 have chosen to build their new downtown on a different site from the old downtown.

With the trucks and people gone, the station and its area are empty. Nobody there to meet us or pick up our bags.

The stationmaster walks up to us and our bags, which have been unceremoniously dumped on the platform. “These yours,” he asks.

“Yes…can we leave them here?”

The stationmaster looks at me studiously and folds his arms. “Well, what’s to ensure that you’ll come back for them?”

I reach into my wallet and give the man some money. He smiles. “Thank you, sir. They’ll stay here.”

“What do we do now,” Archer says.

“Let’s head into town, and find Commissioner Davis. He knows we’re coming, and he’s supposed to arrange for our accommodation.”

“We just walk into town and announce ourselves,” Archer says.

“Something like that, yes,” I answer.

Archer throws his hands up in the air. “Behold, we are the messengers from the Panem Times, bringing the truth of the word!” he shouts out, with glee.

“You’re nuts,” I say, without looking up, as we trudge through the ruined square.

Beyond the wreckage stand a string of pre-fabricated buildings, all built out of modular construction.

I look around the wreckage. It’s smaller, of course, than the shattered cities we have seen, but we were separated from those ruins by the windows of the train. Now we can scrape at the destruction beneath our shoes and smell the harsh odor of rubble, coal, melted iron, and charred wood. At least I don’t smell the distinctive and familiar odor of burned or decomposing human remains.

Archer starts snapping pictures of the ruins. “Do you know what these were?” he asks.

“No, we’ll find out.” I stare at a heap of blackened rubble. It looks like the video I saw of the Justice Building, where Katniss Everdeen was reaped, not once, but twice. Then past some more ruins, towards a melted lump of a bakery oven. I point it out to Archer. “Get a photo of this. I think this was the Mellark family bakery here.”

Archer drops down on one knee and fires off a shot of my finger pointing out the ruins.

There’s another hunk of metal behind me, and I inspect that. It looks deadly and familiar. Not part of the bakery. An outdoor item. Then I realize it’s the base for gallows. People were hanged in District 2 periodically, despite our favored status.

I feel like I’m walking through another battlefield, and realize that I am.

“Boss, let’s get the hell out of here,” Archer says.

“A wise idea,” I answer, and we walk out of the square, past the ruined houses, towards the modular buildings. They are all identical…made of corrugated steel, concrete, and fiberglass, in neat rows, along a paved road full of potholes. The buildings along the road are all clearly temporary. None of them are marked. There are no people about. Not only am I walking through a battlefield, I’m walking through a haunted battlefield.

Finally, we see a couple of District 12 residents, two men, identified by their dark hair and olive skin, sitting at an outdoor table in front of one of the buildings, playing a card game. They look up from their cards and stare at us as we walk past, their eyes cold and harsh. They do not speak.

“What’s with those guys?” Archer asks.

“They know the heat when they see it,” I answer. “We’re not going to find any friendly faces here.”

I have no idea where to go or what to do. As we are about to turn back to the train station, to ask the stationmaster if he can help us out, I see a figure coming towards us down the road, seeming to be burdened under a heavy load.

The figure comes toward us, and I recognize her from the videos…it’s Katniss Everdeen herself, wearing that hunting jacket, carrying a small dead deer over her shoulders, hunched down by its weight. As she closes the range, I can see that she’s carrying a bag over her left shoulder as well. Her hair is braided in the style that has become popular with every 16-year-old girl in the nation.

“It’s Katniss,” I say to Archer. “Let’s go.”

“Fantastic,” he says. “We can get this party started right here and right now.”

“No, we’re not going to shove a notebook under her nose and ask her what she thinks of President Paylor,” I retort. “Jesus Christ, try not to live up to all my expectations, Archer.”

As I walk towards Katniss, he stands there, and snaps, “What the fuck does that mean?” He hustles after me.

“Just shut the hell up,” I say to Archer, under my breath.

As I close in, Katniss looks up at me and stares into my face. There she is. The Mockingjay.

And her eyes are cold, gray, and piercing right into me. Like I’m fresh game that she’s just spotted.

I stride up to her and say, “Miss Everdeen? I’m Charlie Allbright, from the Panem Times. My photographer, Ace Archer.”

“Another reporter,” she says, crisply.

“Perhaps I can help you…let me carry that deer for you,” I say.

She looks at me warily. “Think you can handle this?”

I’ve carried larger things over my shoulders – dead and wounded Black Devils in the war. But I don’t tell her that. “I can handle it,” I say.

“A gentleman,” she says, and shoves the deer onto my shoulders. I wrap it around my neck. It’s extremely heavy, and still dripping blood. She hands the bag to Archer. “Squirrels,” she says.

As the deer comes off her shoulders, I see that she is wearing the original of the now-legendary Mockingjay pin on her hunting jacket.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Just follow me,” she says.

“I hope you don’t think I’m here to bother you,” I say.

“Yes, you are. That’s why I don’t do interviews.”

“I’m not doing an interview right now,” I say. “We’re just talking. Nothing we say is on the record until and unless you tell me it’s on the record.”

Katniss glares at me. “Good, because I don’t want to go on the record.”

Archer, wisely, is keeping his mouth shut, and his camera tucked away. We start walking in the direction Katniss came from, past the modular buildings.

“I tell you what,” I say, “Why don’t you interview me, and I’ll tell you where I’m coming from, and then you can make up your own mind?”

“You mean you’re letting me control this conversation?”

“Sure,” I say. “My purpose in coming here is not to harm, vex, threaten, intimidate, control, or damage you.”

“You have a way with words,” she says, looking straight ahead.

“I’m a writer by trade. Have you read the Panem Times – I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be letting you ask the questions.”

“We don’t get newspapers out here,” Katniss answers, “And that’s all right.”

“So fire away.”

“Why are you here?”

“Fair enough,” I answer. The deer’s blood is soaking into my jacket. “The paper wants to do a comprehensive and exclusive interview with you, to finally learn your story, in your own words, and your own terms. From start to finish. Nothing omitted. I’m to write the story, and Archer is here to photograph it.”

“So what is the Panem Times?”

“It’s the nation’s newspaper of record,” I say. “It was rebuilt after the war, under new management.”

“And why does the nation’s newspaper of record want to interview a crazy woman who killed the nation’s president?” Katniss says.

“Well, that’s a good reason right there,” I say, trying to sound light. “But I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s well-known in the Capitol that President Coin was going to reinstate the Hunger Games and be a new and improved dictator. A lot of people think you rendered the nation a signal service by getting rid of her.”

“That’s wonderful for a lot of people,” Katniss says sarcastically. “But what does that have to do with me?”

I turn to face her, swinging the deer. “You are an inspiration to thousands and maybe millions of people,” I say. I point at her pin. “Copies of that pin and jewelry of it are hot sellers in the Capitol and many of the Districts. Kids in schools write essays about you. Wear their hair like you. But nobody knows the real Katniss Everdeen.”

“Maybe the real Katniss Everdeen wants to keep that to herself,” she answers. She’s trying to keep her intense anger at me under control, I think. Burying it in politeness. But it’s a thin veil. I can see the sarcasm under her words. Like Marc Antony describing Brutus.

“And you have a right to do that,” I say. “But I think the real Katniss Everdeen has her own message for the people of a nation who respect and admire her. And I think the real Katniss Everdeen’s message could go a long way toward rebuilding this nation, healing the wounds, and restoring peace.”

Katniss regards me, flipping her braided hair. “You’re quite a speaker, Mister…Allbright?”

“Right. Charlie Allbright. And it was sincere, I assure you.”

“And I’ve already been used to send all kinds of message for people who were just using me for their own little games,” Katniss answers. “Why should I be a piece in your game?”

“I’m not playing a game,” I say. “And you’re not a piece. We do not want you to tell us anything but your own, personal story.”

“But you do want me to say something in particular,” she says, pointing at me. She may not have a huge education, but she’s a smart kid. Well, she’s had quite a learning experience.

I hesitate. “I won’t lie to you. The President wants to know if you support the new government,” I say. “They’re afraid that if you are opposed to the government and its rebuilding efforts, it could set off another rebellion. So they would like you to support them.”

“They think a rebellion would start because of me?” Katniss laughs. “Where have I heard that before?” She shakes her head. “And I’d like to stop having nightmares every night. Can you do something about that?”

Ouch. That’s a hard one. Maybe honesty will help. “I have serious nightmares, too,” I say.

“Yeah, I heard them last night,” Archer says. “They’re pretty damn loud.”

“You have nightmares about people you know being killed and maimed?”

This time I stop. “All the time,” I say. “I fought in the war, too.” I touch the red arrow pin on my jacket. “I was in a parachute-infantry unit. The Black Devils. You may have heard of them.”

She shakes her head.

“Their official name was the First Special Service Force.”

“I vaguely remember someone mentioning them,” Katniss says.

“I helped to liberate the Capitol. I was at the Presidential Palace when it fell.”

Katniss’s eyes widen. “You were there – when Prim…” she points at me.

“Yes, I was. Me and my photographer.”

“This guy?” She points at Archer.

“No, my regular photographer,” I say. “Archer is just a loaner. But, yes, I was there. I was in a few battles.”

“You must tell me about them,” Katniss says, her voice acrid.

“Well, when we get some time,” I say.

“No, you must tell me about them,” she repeats, her voice hard.

Oh, great, I think. This is going to be fun.

“I want to hear this, myself,” Archer says. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Ace has his anti-social moments, but we keep him around for his entertainment value,” I say. “He’s not a bad sort.”

We walk between two buildings and onto a new, wide street, bordered by sidewalks and empty lots. In the distance stands a lone, stone building.

“What are they doing here?” I ask.

“This is where they will build the new town center,” Katniss says.

“Where is everybody?” I ask. “I’ve seen barely any people since we got off the train.”

No answer. Just the scrape of boots on the pavement, and the smell of coal.

“I’m asking the questions,” Katniss says.

“Right,” I say. “Keep going.”

“Why is it so important that I lead this nation?” Katniss asks.

That’s a tough one. Then I think of an answer. “Because you have become a great person, whether you like it or not, I’m afraid. However, ‘be not afraid of greatness, some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them.’ You have done all three.”

Katniss looks at me with some amazement. “Where does that come from?”

I smile. “William Shakespeare. Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene V.”

Katniss shakes her head, and continues walking.

“Maybe this is your opportunity to send a message to the Capitol,” I say. “I can craft that for you. Everyone from the people who clean the Capitol’s streets to the President will read it.”

Katniss purses her lips. “Interesting,” she says.

We reach the stone building. “This is Peeta’s bakery,” she says.

“They built it here? Why? Where are the other stores?”

No answer.

We stop in front of the bakery. I peer inside. It has been done with wooden furnishings and subdued yellow lights, in what I think was called a Victorian style. Fresh rolls, crullers, loaves, and cakes sit in a refrigerated case in the shop window. Katniss tells me to wait here, climbs up the steps and enters the bakery. The smell of fresh bread wafts out of the bakery, replacing the stench of coal and rubble.

I turn to face Archer, my deer no longer dripping blood.

“You look ridiculous,” Archer says. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being politic,” I say. “We can’t just get what we need by starting in and asking Katniss questions. She’s been through horrific ordeals. We have to justifiably win her confidence, and that’s going to be difficult.”

“So what are you going to do…you’re really going to tell her all about your war?”

I can’t answer him.

“You will, won’t you?” he says.

“I have to get this story,” I finally say. “I’ll do what I have to do. Right now, I’m carrying a dead deer on my back. And so will you.”

“What, carry dead deer?”

“No, you blithering idiot, you’ll do what you have to do to get this story.” I roll my eyes.

Katniss emerges from the store, trailing a blond-haired boy in baker’s white. This has to be Peeta. There is no outward display of affection.

Peeta says, “Hi, Katniss.”

“Hi, yourself.” She almost sounds warm.

He glances at us. “Who are these guys?”

Katniss says. “They’re reporters from some paper in the Capitol. They want to interview me. The man with the deer is Charlie Allbright, and the man with the squirrels is Ace Archer. A reporter and a photographer.”

Peeta wipes his hands on his shirt and bounces down the stairs to us. He moves sprightly for a man with a prosthetic leg, I notice. “Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you. You’re here to interview Katniss?”

“Well, we also want to hear your story,” I say. “But for now, we’re just talking.”

“That’s great,” Peeta enthuses. “I’d be happy to talk to you…” He sees Katniss glaring at him, and turns to her. “What?”

“We haven’t decided if I’m giving them the interview yet,” Katniss says.

Peeta nods slowly. “Okay,” he says.

“We’re just talking right now,” I say. “Katniss is asking the questions, and I’m doing my best to answer them.”

“Good,” Peeta says. “Because I have a bunch for you, since you’re from the Capitol.”

“Before you start asking…can I ask what we’re doing with this deer around my neck? It’s getting heavy.”

“Oh, right,” Katniss says. “Peeta, I shot four squirrels and this deer today. But we can’t have them for dinner tonight, because of the town meeting. We have to be there.”

“Town meeting…” Peeta says, his voice drifting.

“7:30 p.m.,” Katniss says.

“Okay…I remember now. Right. Town meeting. So we’re having, what… meatball sandwiches tonight, venison tomorrow?”

“That’s right. Save me some bread for tonight.”

Peeta points at us. “What are you going to do with these guys?”

“They’re carrying my food to the icebox,” Katniss says.

“Gentlemen,” Peeta says, and disappears back into the store.

We start walking down the road. “He wants to talk,” I say.

Dead silence from Katniss.

“But he’s not going to talk until our situation is…resolved,” I say.

“That’s right,” Katniss says.

“So what else can I tell you?” I ask.

“Who are you? And don’t just say ‘reporters.’”

She wants to know what’s behind my press pass. “I’m 30 years old, I’m a war veteran, I’ve been covering the trials of the old government ministers, and I’m originally from District 2. Archer is from District 1. He missed the war.”

“Career Tributes,” Katniss says, sounding bitter.

I laugh. “Worse than you think. My father was a Peacekeeper.”

Katniss stops again. “I thought Peacekeepers couldn’t have families.”

“The custom was honored in the breach,” I say. “Another Shakespeare quote.”

“We had Peacekeepers here who broke a lot of rules, too,” Katniss says. “To benefit themselves.” For a moment, I want to ask her if she knew my father, but I hold my tongue.

“So what are you doing being a reporter instead of a Tribute or a Peacekeeper?” Katniss asks.

“I had no stomach for the former and my father wouldn’t let me be the latter. I got into writing. Liked Shakespeare. And my father urged me to join the rebellion.”

“Your father, the Peacekeeper, urged you to join the rebellion?” Katniss gasps. “That’s different.”

“I’m kind of a different guy,” I say. “But I’m not an ogre.”

“I see that. You’re still carrying the deer.”

The weight is starting to kill me, though, but I’m not going to complain about it. Lugging a deer through the blitzed streets of District 12 is a small price to pay for quality time with the Mockingjay, I think.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to make with this deer?” I ask.

“I figured I’ll just clean it, gut it, and make a stew,” Katniss says.

“How about venison fajitas?” I ask impulsively.

“What?” Katniss says.

“Venison fajitas. I can make them myself.”

“You cook, too?”

“I’ve had to do the cooking in my family for years,” I say. “I learned a few things along the way. I learned about venison fajitas from our food editor a couple of months ago. They’re pretty good. You cut the venison into two-inch strips and put them in tortillas. If you like, I can make them for you and Peeta tomorrow night.”

Katniss doesn’t answer. She seems to be pondering the situation. She’s only 19 years old, I think. But she operates like someone years older. But then, she’s aged in a very short time. But hasn’t everyone who has been through the war?

“So you’re inviting yourself to my home for dinner tomorrow night,” she says.

“Well…yes. But I’m also offering to make the dinner. Just…dinner. Nothing on the record. No pictures. All I need are some tortillas to wrap them in. Does Peeta have tortillas in his bakery?”

“I think so…yes.”

“Then with some pepper, salt, oregano, and vegetable oil, we’re in business,” I say cheerily. “They’re really good.”

I see Archer shaking his head in amazement, while Katniss rolls her eyes in disbelief. I’m sure she didn’t expect a reporter to come all the way out from the Capitol to cook her dinner.

The road leads past the edge of the ruins. I point at them. “I see they haven’t cleaned them up.”

No comment. Again.

“What else can I tell you?” I ask.

“A lot,” Katniss says. “What do people think about me, if they think about me at all?”

“They all admire you, but they don’t know you,” I say. “That’s the big reason I’m out here.”

“What are they doing for the Avoxes?” Katniss asks.

“The medical experts are trying to figure out ways to repair their tongues. It’ll be a long process.”

“Are people still starving in the Districts?”

“No, but there are still shortages of various products, even in the Capitol.”

“Nobody has vomiting parties any more,” Archer chips in.

“What do they do for entertainment?” Katniss asks. “Since they can’t waste food any more.”

“They’re bringing back organized sports,” Archer says.

“They’re also bringing back theater, music, and opera,” I say.

“What are things like in the Capitol now? Are they still shallow, ignorant, and uncaring?”

“No, I think the war took them out of their comfort zone,” I say. “And the world has really turned upside down. Most of the people running Panem are from the districts now. So many people were killed, there are a lot of empty neighborhoods and blank streets. The city is very austere. There’s a lot of war damage, and it still hasn’t been repaired. Still a lot of unexploded bombs. And now there’s the terrorism…”

Katniss spins on me. “The terrorism?”

“You better explain this one, Charlie,” Archer says. “You stepped into it.”

“You haven’t heard?” I ask feebly.

“What terrorism?” Katniss barks.

Oh, hell, I think. She doesn’t know. Damn. Well, better be honest.

I say, quietly, “Just before I came here, a group of terrorists raided a police station and stole weapons. Then they attacked a police car in District 1, and issued a manifesto calling for a restoration of the Hunger Games. The army and the police are looking for them. They call themselves ‘The Defenders of the Hunger Games.’”

Katniss stops and looks terrified. “Are they coming here?”

“We don’t know. We don’t know what they’re doing,” I say. “There’s some thought that Caesar Flickerman is behind them.”

Katniss drops down, hands on her knees. “Caesar Flickerman. My old pal. The first man to interview the Mockingjay. Where is he?”

“Nobody knows, either,” I say. “He may be connected with them, he may not…he’s not a great political leader, just a motormouth…”

Katniss doesn’t look at me. She stares into the distance. I recognize that “thousand-yard stare” in the faces of my pals from the war. Someone who has seen too much combat. “I’ll never be safe,” she says. “They’ll come here for me.”

“They have to get here first,” I say. “And the whole army’s after them.”

Katniss shakes her head and rises. She is still staring off into the distance, toward the ruined buildings. “They’ll come for me,” she says, cold and hard. “I’m the Mockingjay. I wrecked their games. Destroyed their nation.” Her mouth puckers. “They’ll come for me,” she says firmly. “I’ll never be safe.”

Nice job, I think. Now she’s scared shitless. She’ll retreat into her turtle shell.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I think you should know.”

“Was this part of why you were assigned to do this story about me?” Katniss flares.

“No…that was in the works before these incidents. They are not connected. I promise.”

She starts walking again, and I keep going next to her. The deer is really weighing down on me now. Archer, wisely, is keeping silent. Katniss’s face looks furious.

Think fast, Allbright. But think right.

“Katniss, I’m a combat veteran,” I say. “I actually do know how you feel. I felt the same way myself during the war.”

“But nobody’s actually gunning for you,” she snarls.

“No. But when I was in the war, I felt like the Peacekeepers were shooting right at me, personally. And some days they were.” I pause. “Look, I’m not going to put a gloss on it and suggest that you should feel safe and sound out here, but I can tell you that a lot of people are working very hard to catch these bastards. And one thing I did learn in the war is not to let fear defeat you. I was afraid in every battle I fought…but I fought on anyway. I can’t tell you not to be afraid…but I can tell you that you should never surrender to fear.”

Katniss stares at me. So does Archer. I’m telling her more about the war in two minutes than I have to anyone outside of the Black Devils in seven months. I have a gut feeling I’m going to be talking a lot more about it in the next few days.

“Let me tell you something else,” I say. “My boss, Colonel Gus Lewis, told us once, about something an English chaplain said, in a war hundreds of years ago. Before the men were going into a major battle. He said, ‘Fear knocked at the door. Faith opened it, and there was nothing there.’ You have to have faith…in something.”

“What do you have faith in?” Katniss asks.

“I want to hear this,” Archer says.

I exhale. That’s a good question. Faith that I’ll find Meredith again? No. But I do have the answer. “I had faith in the men and women in my unit,” I say at length. “I believed in the folks I fought with. That they would protect me, and I would protect them. They might get killed and wounded, and I might get killed or wounded, but we’d never let each other down.”

Katniss nods. We walk on. She is clearly absorbing that. There is a long silence as we keep walking. Appearing in the distance is a clutch of white houses, centered on a green. I recognize the construction of a Victor’s Village. We must be nearly at Katniss’s home, I think.

Finally, Katniss says. “I guess your Sponsors took care of you.”

“She means that you had a lot of support,” Archer says.

“I figured that out all by myself, Ace,” I say. “Ace is a walking encyclopedia of the Hunger Games,” I say to Katniss.

“Maybe he can fill me in on what I missed,” she says, her voice bitter again.

“I’m sure you know the last two games better than anybody living,” I say.

“When I was in the Arena for the last Games,” Katniss says, as if she didn’t hear us, “several of the other Tributes were taking care of me, but they didn’t tell me. Johanna, Finnick, Beetee, Wiress, Mags, they were all involved in a plot to bail me out of the Arena. They didn’t tell me about it before I went in, so I was trying to save Peeta at the expense of my life. Meanwhile, they all had my back, and I didn’t know it…”

I listen closely, but don’t take notes. She’s opening up a little. I will have to open up as well. I have a hunch she’ll find my war story very shallow, compared to hers.

“I’m sure there are people here in this District who have your back,” I say. “And I think the whole country has your back now.” I face Katniss. “And I have your back. Nobody’s going to hurt you on my watch.”

She looks into my eyes, and shakes her head, and resumes walking. “Glad to know so many people care about a crazy person,” she mutters.

We walk into the square of neat houses. From the yard of one I hear geese cackling. They sound like they’re laughing at me.

She turns left and walks down a path past a well-tended but temporarily fallow garden. “What do you grow here?” I ask.

“Primroses. And dandelions,” she snaps.

“The significance of the primroses I can guess,” I say. “The dandelions?”

“Later,” Katniss says. She opens the door, and takes the bag of squirrels from Archer. “There’s a deep freeze in the backyard, where you can put the deer,” she adds.

I beckon to Archer to come with me and we step carefully over the garden, around the side of the house. It is a neat, unpretentious, two-story affair.

“You mean that crap, about watching her back,” Archer hisses. “How the fuck are you going to do that?”

“The chances of those shithead ‘Defenders of the Hunger Games’ coming here are pretty remote,” I say.

“How can you be sure of that?” Archer says.

“District 1 is hundreds of miles from here. The only connection between the districts is by train. The cops are going over every train with tweezers. Anyone who looks at them cross-eyed will probably spend a night in jail. So they only other way they can get here is on foot, and that will take forever. It’s late fall. It’ll soon be winter. They’ll probably starve to death or freeze before they get here.”

“And what tells you that?”

“I’m a light infantryman,” I say. “I know about combat, life in the field, and troop movements.”

Archer bounces in front of me. “And I know about kids my own age, which these guys probably are,” he says. “First off, they trained all their lives for the Hunger Games, and that includes such little things as outdoor survival and concealment. They probably know more about snaking across country than all of your goddamn Black Devils. Second, they are true believers in this shit. They will do whatever they think they have to do to make their point. And third, they’re my age. That means they want to make the biggest and loudest fart possible, because that’s what people my age do.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that they’re coming here. They will do whatever the fuck it takes, but they will come straight here.” He points at me. “You think I’m stupid, because I’m young and obnoxious? But you watch. This is where they’re going to come. Right for her. And now you put our asses on the line to protect her. Real fucking smart.”

“We have to protect our sources,” I say.

“Yeah, I had that lecture from Altman when I joined the paper, too! Only he meant from courts and retaliatory harassment!”

“What do you think this is?”

“Harassment means a bastard landlord who shuts off the water to kick unwanted tenants out of his apartment building in the Capitol! Not terrorists armed with automatic weapons!”

“Do you have any better ideas? This isn’t some tenant who’s blowing the lid off a lousy landlord! This is the fucking Mockingjay! The whole rebellion in one package!”

We resume walking into the backyard, which is full of more rows of plants. Katniss is waiting for us, having gone straight through the house. I notice that she has not let us into the house. Her mental walls are still up. Standing at her feet is the world’s ugliest cat, with a mashed-in nose, torn-up ear, and yellow fur, hissing and mewing at us.

That is one ugly and mean cat, I think.

“Get back in, Buttercup,” Katniss says to the cat, and it waddles back into the house.

Even the cats dislike me, I think.

There is a large refrigerator in a corner of the yard, which is enclosed by a high wooden fence. “You can put the deer in there,” she says.

“Nice fridge,” I say.

“The government gives us a lot of stuff,” she says. “But I paid for that.” She looks at the fridge. “When I lived in the Seam, we couldn’t even dream of these kinds of luxuries.” Katniss strides towards me, eyes hot and damp. “But you know what? When I went out this morning to hunt those deer and squirrels, I broke the law again.”

I’m baffled. “Excuse me?”

“Under the terms of my release from killing President Coin,” Katniss says, “I’m barred from leaving District 12. The district is still defined by the barbed-wire fence that encloses it. But I still go hunting. So every time I go out to hunt, I’m violating my parole. The only reason I don’t get arrested is that Commissioner Davis has personally assured me that he will never order his police or allow any national police to interfere with my hunting. But when I hunt, I’m still breaking the law, just like in the old days.”

I open the deep freeze’s door and put away the deer. My shoulders ache from the weight. “I see,” I say.

“So I don’t see that much of a difference between the old regime and the new one. And now the new regime can’t even guarantee my safety.”

Archer and I are quiet.

“So I’m right back where I started. In a prison state again, being played as a piece in someone else’s games,” Katniss says. Her face is turning red with anger.

I scrape at the ground. “I see your point.” I let out a sigh. “I was not aware about the conditions of your release.”

I don’t want to bargain with her, but Katniss does it for me.

“So here’s a condition for dinner. I want my restrictions lifted.”

“We can work on that,” I say. “I’ll have to talk to my editors as well as the district’s leaders. Are there other conditions?”

“Let me think about them,” Katniss says. “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of some more, I’m sure. I want to talk this over with Peeta, too.”

I walk up to her, right hand extended. “Deal,” I say.

She steps back. “Not yet,” she says. “You still have to tell me about your war first.”

I’m puzzled. “Why is that?”

“I need to know who I’m dealing with. I’ve had enough people manipulate me for their ends, who were dishonest or partially honest, or just plain lying. Even Haymitch lied to me, and he was my Mentor. Most of the people who were honest with me are dead.” She laughs bitterly. “And that includes President Snow.”

President Snow never lied to Katniss Everdeen? When the hell did President Snow even talk to Katniss Everdeen, I wonder.

I let out a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll talk about my war. I’ll tell you what happened. Over dinner. Tomorrow. Do we have a deal?”

She looks down at my hand. “We have an agreement to keep talking,” she says. “You can come over tomorrow night and cook us dinner, like you offered. We’ll talk some more, then.”

It’s not the agreement I want, but it sounds like the framework for the agreement I want. At least we’re still talking, and she hasn’t booted me out on my ass. Or put an arrow through my eye.

“Okay. Dinner it is. I’ll be here at 4:30 to make the fajitas.” I reach forward and she shakes my hand.

“Deal,” Katniss says. “I have oregano.”

“Good.” I smile.

“And thank you for carrying the deer,” she adds. “It was good to get some help with that.”

“No problem,” I say. “Was there anything else you wanted to ask me, or that I could help you with?”

“No,” Katniss says. She turns towards the path back to the front door. “But I think these folks from District 12 Police would like you to help them.”

Walking down the path toward me are two typical police specimens, a grim-faced man and an equally grim-faced woman, in green uniforms, wearing seven-starred badges, both brandishing automatic weapons, wearing green caps.

“I didn’t call them,” Katniss says. “But I saw their car coming just before I came out here. I think Commissioner Davis wants a word with you.”

Archer smacks me in the arm. “Nice going, pal,” he says. “I hope you got bail money.”

The two cops stand in front of us. “Charles Allbright and Ace Archer?” the female cop says.

“That’s us,” I say. “Are we under arrest?”

“I am Police Chief Angelica Barnes. Commissioner Davis sends his compliments and asks you to come with us,” the female cop says, imperiously. “We have your bags.”

“Are we under arrest,” I repeat.

“No, but if you don’t come with us, you will be,” Chief Barnes says, her voice snarling.

I nod my head. “Okay, we’ll come with you,” I say.

“Way to go, boss,” Archer says.

The cops lead us down the path, to their prowler. Our bags are jammed in its trunk.

I look back, and see Katniss calmly standing, watching us, her arms folded over her chest, staring at me again like I’m prey in her sights.