Interview With the Mockingjay Chapter 27A
In which our heroine makes the Great Escape from District 11
In the previous chapter, located at
Meredith was told by Head Peacekeeper Cassius Gray that she had two choices in facing his apparent corruption: submit to becoming his mistress, or gruesome torture. She would not give in to Cassius Gray, but led him on with a Shakespeare quote to keep him at a distance while she plotted how to save her life.
***
“I had to get out of there,” Meredith repeats. “And I had no time.”
“I don’t understand what you did…with that poetry,” Katniss says.
“Meredith was doing a scene from Richard III,” I say. “Well, actually, two scenes. Both where the evil Richard of Gloucester tries to woo a woman he has brutalized. Meredith gave him lines from a scene early in the play where Richard convinces Lady Anne to marry him, even though he murdered her husband.”
“And she does, and then Richard kills Lady Anne, once he’s king. Then Richard plots to marry his niece. So, he tries to convince his niece’s mother, Queen Elizabeth, to reach out to the niece. Elizabeth pretends to support Richard’s desires, so he lets her go to convey the message. Which is what I did – just to get out of there alive,” Meredith adds.
“And you got out of there alive,” Peeta says. “Without losing your mind.”
“But I nearly did,” Meredith says. “And it actually got worse, if that’s possible.”
“But how did you get out?” Archer asks.
***
Meredith lies flung back in her office chair, trying to control the trembling and heart palpitations in her body. She pants for breath. “I have to get out of here, now,” she mutters to herself.
She reaches for the phone on her desk, to call her family. It’s probably tapped, she thinks. If I tell my family I’m leaving, there’ll be Peacekeepers outside the door, ready to cut out my tongue.
There has to be a way out. She looks through the myriads of papers on her desk, folders, files, notes, schedules…
Then she hears it – the distant wail of a freight train whistle, the evening freight coming in to District 11, to unload supplies, and take on freight.
That’s it, she thinks. She rips through papers, tossing them on the floor, not needing them. Then she finds it. A train timetable. She stares at it. The evening fast merchandise freight, loaded with fresh fruit and vegetables for the Capitol, is set to leave the District in an hour, making a stop at the heavily-industrialized and populated District 8, to take on additional cars.
All right, Meredith breathes. She spins to her typewriter and grabs a carbon paper form out of her desk. In a few minutes, she types out a movement order to allow herself to ride the train to the Capitol, to check on quality control issues on the delivery. Since the food is to serve banquets connected with upcoming Quarter Quell events, the order should pass most inspections.
Meredith clacks out her name, and, as she has often done, signs the order “for Mayor Raintree.”
There’s very little time. Meredith can’t flee the district and her life in a one-piece black dress. She unzips it and tosses it onto the floor. As it slides down, she sees her reflection in a mirror – pert, perky breasts restrained by a worn, gray bra, a ripe rump in an equally gray pair of panties. She smiles for a moment in spite of the situation. This is as close as Head Peacekeeper Gray will get to seeing and touching this body, she thinks. Maybe the stretch marks would put him off.
She grabs a t-shirt from a drawer and pulls it on, and then grabs a set of coveralls and work boots from behind the door, and some toiletries. It’s a question of survival, Meredith thinks. Just take what I need.
She puts on the coveralls, and shoves her wallet and ID card into her pocket. Meredith sticks the movement order in another pocket, and then sees a pair of jeans hanging from the back of her door, exposed when she removed the coveralls.
“The belt,” she says. In a quick move, she loops out the brown leather belt from the jeans, and rolls it up. Time is running out.
Next she grabs a group of books on her shelf – battered copies of Shakespeare and other writers. She tosses them in a bag to take with her. She also sticks some fresh fruit in it, just in case.
Then she sits at her desk to write her family a note, grabbing some stationery and a pen. She holds the pen over the paper, struggling to find words.
***
“I couldn’t,” Meredith says. “I couldn’t explain it to them. Not in the time I had left.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I just wrote, ‘I have to go. I love you. I’ll explain later,’ and left it on the desk,” she says. “Then I did the thing that really mattered in the long run.”
***
Meredith pulls a wool cap on over her head for a little concealment. She’s almost ready. The train will be leaving in 20 minutes. It’ll take at least 15 to get to the station. She glances around the office.
I’m leaving this for the last time, she thinks. I may never be able to come back. I’ll probably never see my family again.
Then she remembers – I have no money. Money makes Panem go round.
She glances at the safe, filled with official funds, checks, and the account records from the Post Office Savings Bank, where most of District 11’s elite keep their limited stores of money. No time to get that, she thinks. Too many combinations on the safe – make one mistake and you set off alarms. Besides, better I leave that alone. But I still need money.
The petty cashbox sits on a shelf near her desk, serving as a bookend to some manuals. She rips it open, and finds it filled with bills, for once.
Fabulous, Meredith thinks. She peels off a few bills from the box, and then slams it shut. Time to go. One last look at the cameo on her desk of her family – a tender glance at her two sisters and three brothers. We will meet again, she thinks. I promise. She steps out of the office.
Then she comes back in, swipes the cameo off her desk, shoves it in the bag with her books, and leaves the office for the last time. “The odds are finally in my favor,” she mutters.
***
“I just ran out the door,” Meredith says. “Didn’t even remember if I’d closed it. I know I didn’t lock it. Then straight to the station.”
“Did anybody notice you,” I ask.
“It was a shift change,” Meredith says. “Hundreds of people in the streets. I pony-tailed my hair and looked like half the workers going on or off-shift. Once I got near the freight yards,” there was only one guard at the gate. A Peacekeeper. Now, that order was not for him, of course. I knew he would be a paranoid but stupid guy.”
***
Meredith strides up to the Peacekeeper, who is wearing the usual uniform – white armor, black mask, white helmet, with a pistol at his hip.
“I have to go with this train to District 8,” Meredith says. “I’ve got an order right here.”
“Let me see it,” says the Peacekeeper.
“I’ll get it for you,” Meredith answers. She takes the order out of her pocket, and hands it to the guard.
He studies it with a wary, yet dumb, expression. “I think I have to call this in,” he says, in a mechanical voice.
He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t believe his own signature if it was shoved in front of him, Meredith thinks. She knocks the paper out of his hand, and onto the ground. The Peacekeeper stupidly reaches down first to pick it up.
Meredith punches him in the left side of his neck with astonishing force. I’ve never been this violent, she thinks. The punch knocks the Peacekeeper to the ground and she immediately kicks him in the throat, leaving him gasping for breath. Meredith flips the Peacekeeper on his belly, and wraps her belt around the neck, making it difficult for him to breathe.
I’ve only got minutes, Meredith thinks. She pulls hard on the belt, and the Peacekeeper gasps for air. Then Meredith hears snapping sounds, and the Peacekeeper collapses flat on the ground.
She doesn’t waste a second. She grabs his pistol and clip, shoves them in her bag, and tosses the limp Peacekeeper body aside.
Then Meredith stares down at the body. He’s really dead? Yes, he is. He’s starting to urinate all over his uniform – that means his bladder is emptying out.
I killed a man. Unbelievable. I’ve never killed anyone. She stares down. It wasn’t so hard, she thinks. He was an enemy. She pauses mentally. All right, she thinks.
I’m out of time.
She scoops up her order, dashes up to the train, which is getting ready to leave, and climbs up a ladder to the engineer’s cab. There stands a lumpy white man in his 50s with gray hair, a heavily wrinkled face, and a battered nose, in a boiler suit. The boiler suit has a name tag: “Donaldson.”
“Who the hell are you?” the engineer asks in a thick voice and alcohol-heavy breath.
“Meredith Jackson,” she replies briskly, “Assistant Business Administrator, District 11. I have to go with this train to District 8 to ensure quality control for its cargo.” She hands over the order.
The engineer stares at the order, not seeming to comprehend it. His eyes are dull from a fatiguing life of stifling boredom and personal defeat.
“Okay,” he says at last. “This order’s legit. Grab a seat in the crummy.”
“The crummy?” Meredith asks.
“Sorry. The caboose. Back of the train. I’ll hold it up and tell Alex. Josh Donaldson. Engineer.” He puts out his gloved hand.
“Meredith Jackson.”
“You said that,” Donaldson says, idly. He reaches for a phone in the cab, and says into it, “Hey, Alex, we’re holding a few minutes. We got a passenger. Yeah. Would you believe it? The District 11 ABA. She’s riding with us. Doing some kind of quality control. Beats the fuck out of me, but the order’s good.”
“Thank you,” says Meredith. She pauses. “All right,” she adds.
She climbs down from the cab and starts walking down the train. It’s a long train. She starts jogging down the track, fearing that Donaldson might double-cross her, or the Peacekeepers will find their dead buddy. Then she runs. At the end of the train, a man in a leather jacket leans out of a red railcar, extending a hand. This must be Alex, Meredith thinks.
“Come on, pal,” the figure yells, “You’re holding up the road!”
Meredith runs down to the figure, who turns out to be a young black man, standing on the porch of the caboose. He hoists Meredith up onto the porch as the train starts to roll out of the station, and down the track towards the enormous fence and tunnel that is the barrier to District 11. All along the electrified fence are watchtowers, all manned by Peacekeepers, armed with machine-guns.
Alex opens the door into the caboose, which reveals a trestle lunch table, several bunks, and a stove.
Alex introduces himself. “I’m Alex Gordon,” he says. “Second engineer. Want some tea?”
“Yes, I would,” Meredith says.
She sits down at the trestle table, and the train thunders through the tunnel, lights flashing, darkness filling the caboose for the moment, and then the train races out of the District.
Alex makes himself and Meredith cups of tea, and sits opposite her at the table. He gives her a quizzical look.
“Are you really doing quality control on our cargo?” he asks.
“That’s the order.” She sips the coffee, trying not to tremble.
“I wonder why the Assistant Business Administrator has to do quality assurance on 80 carloads of apples,” he says, in a laconic voice. Then he pulls back the collar on his jacket, revealing a Mockingjay pin. “Do you have anything to do with this?”
Meredith freezes. “I might,” she responds, choosing her words carefully.
Alex smiles. “I thought you might,” he says. “Ever since the last Hunger Games, I’ve been taking people on the run from the Peacekeepers to various places. Never an Assistant Business Administrator, though. Why are you on the run?”
“My Head Peacekeeper is giving me a choice: be his mistress or become an Avox.”
“Sounds like you really pissed him off,” Alex says. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll take you to District 8. You can get off there and hide. They might never find you.”
“How do you know that?” Meredith asks, puzzled.
“Oh, they’re having strikes and riots. It’s all chaos there. And if you don’t want to get into the fighting, the factories all need workers.” He sips his tea. “It’s my home district. I’ve hidden a lot of people on the run there.”
Meredith starts to feel a sense of relief, flowing from the tea in her mouth, into her belly. “What about the engineer?”
Alex shakes his head. “He doesn’t care. He just drives trains, drinks whiskey, and finds himself a girl after he’s had some whiskey. He lost his interest in living when they whipped his wife to death for sneaking food home three years ago.”
Meredith nods in understanding.
“So, how’d you get past the Peacekeeper guarding the entrance?” Alex asks. “Seeing as you’re on the run from the Head Peacekeeper.”
Meredith sighs. “I killed the son of a bitch,” she says at last.
Alex whistles and shakes his head. “That’s one I’ve never heard. You must be hard-core.”
Meredith takes that one in, swirling the tea in her mouth. Finally, she says, “I am now.”
Alex smiles again. “Why don’t you grab one of those bunks and get some sleep? We’ll be in District 8 in about six hours. You look whipped.”
“I am,” Meredith says. “I don’t suppose the tea will help, though.”
She finishes the drink, and collapses on the bed, on top of the blanket. After a while, the rhythmic clatter of the train and her emotional exhaustion puts her into an unpleasant sleep, where she dreams of the Peacekeeper she has killed.
***
“The trainman woke me up as we were getting near District 8,” Meredith says. “I don’t know how long I slept. When I woke up, the Quarter Quell was beginning, and it was on the TV set in the caboose.”
***
Meredith feels a shaking as the train vibrates and hears the familiar voice of Caesar Flickerman spouting his pre-game hyperbole, in an unusually nervous voice.
“So, we’re all set for what should be the most exciting Hunger Games of the past 75 years, and the Tributes will be on their marks in just two hours!” Flickerman booms.
“You want some breakfast?” Alex asks. “I’m cooking scrambled eggs.” He nods his head at the TV set above the stove. “They’re starting the Hunger Games.”
Meredith sits up on her bed. “What happened last night at the interviews?”
“A royal mess for the Capitol,” Alex says, in his quiet, laconic voice. “Most of the Tributes basically told Caesar Flickerman to fuck off and die. The District 12 Tributes topped them all. Peeta Mellark said that Katniss is pregnant, and Katniss showed off an outfit that made her look like a Mockingjay. When it was done, the Tributes all linked arms, and they had to cut off the broadcast, claiming ‘technical issues.’”
Alex walks over and presents Meredith with a plate of eggs. “Here you go. Do you believe that shit?”
“The food or the interviews?” Meredith asks, as she starts to eat the eggs.
“The interviews,” Alex says. “The Capitol having technical issues on the broadcast. I think they fucked up by having former Tributes go back in the Arena. They just want Katniss and Peeta to die, or turn into killers, so people won’t look at them as heroes, and stop revolting, or something.”
“You’re pretty smart for a trainman,” Meredith says.
Alex flops down in a chair. “When you ride the rails a lot, you get to see a lot of stuff. Things you should see, things you shouldn’t see, and things you thought you’d never see. That’s how I got the pin,” he says, flashing it again.
Meredith chomps down on the eggs.
“You’re pretty hungry,” Alex says.
“I kind of had to miss dinner,” Meredith answers. She looks up at Alex. “What do I do when we hit District 8?”
“Not really sure yet,” Alex says. The train starts slowing down. “That’s funny,” the trainman says.”
His phone buzzes, and Alex answers it. “Yeah, Josh,” he says.
Meredith can only hear Alex’s end of the conversation, but it mostly consists of him grunting in agreement, and whistling occasionally. “Okay, Josh,” he finishes, and hangs up.
“There’s some kind of problem in District 8,” he says to Meredith, looking puzzled. “Come on.”
Meredith and Alex walk out onto the back platform of the caboose, as it slowly rolls through the fences and towers that wall off District 8 from the rest of Panem. “Josh said he has to slow down. The signals aren’t working. Nobody’s in the tower.”
Then Meredith notices it. “Look at those watchtowers,” she says. “Nobody’s in them.”
“How can you tell?” Alex asks.
“Look at them,” Meredith says. “They’re empty. And some are on fire.”
Alex whistles again.
The train moves slowly through the yard and comes to a stop, shaking Meredith and Alex. The trainman dashes into the caboose and calls the cab. “Hey, Josh, what’s going on? What’s with the sudden stop?”
There is a sound of a gravelly voice, and Alex hands the phone to Meredith. “We just got stopped by some rebels. You guys better come up,” Josh says.
Meredith and Alex climb down from the caboose and start jogging past the freight cars up to the front of the train. Around them they see factories, roundhouses, grubby industrial buildings and power plants with smokestacks, an endless array of gray, soot, and machinery – covered with Mockingjay drawings, Mockingjay flags, and scrawled anti-Panem graffiti: “The odds are never in our favor,” “Fuck the Peacekeepers,” “Plow Some Snow,” and “Snow Sucks Dick.”
“This is great,” Alex says, quietly.
They run past a train on an adjoining track. This one shined once. Now its four cars are blasted open and the area around it is strewn with wreckage and the shredded corpses of dead Peacekeepers. The engine’s front is exploded like some kind of obscene flower. Meredith and Alex stop and stare at the gruesome sight.
“What happened here?” Alex asks.
“We blew up the train engine as it was coming in, and then we killed all the Peacekeepers,” a female voice says. From behind the train emerge a group of heavily armed District 8 residents, in filthy clothes, dirt-covered and thick faces, their eyes distant and hollow. Most are adults, but five of them appear to be teenagers. They level their guns at Meredith and Alex.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” yells the woman.
“Don’t shoot,” Alex yells. He flashes his Mockingjay pin at the crowd, and they lower their weapons. “I’m one of you guys.”
“And your pal?” the woman asks.
“I’m on the run from the Head Peacekeeper in District 11,” Meredith says, advancing toward the group, right hand extended in greeting. “Meredith Jackson.”
“Melissa Perez,” the woman answers, extending her hand. “What has the Head Peacekeeper have against you?”
Meredith pauses for a moment, then says, “He gave me a choice last night: be his mistress or become an Avox.”
Melissa grins. “Sounds like the odds weren’t in your favor.”
“Well, I hope I changed them,” Meredith answers.
“How did you get here,” Melissa asks.
“I typed out a movement order to jump on this train, killed the Peacekeeper guarding the freight yard, and got on the train.”
“Pretty bad-ass. How did you get clear of the Head Peacekeeper?”
Meredith pauses for a moment. Explaining Shakespeare doesn’t sound appropriate here. “I made him think I was going to be his mistress.”
“And he bought it?” Melissa returns.
Meredith finally smiles. “He bought it.”
“Sounds like a dumb guy. Hope that’s the last you see of him.” Melissa slings her rifle and nods at the train. “So, what’s in the train?” she asks.
Meredith’s weary mind clicks. “Alex, can you get Melissa the cargo manifest?”
“Yeah, sure,” the trainman says.
Meredith turns toward Alex. “Then can you go get it, please?” she asks, in the more commanding voice she has used in District 11. She turns back to Melissa. “The train is full of food for the Capitol. I’m sure you guys can use it more than the Capitol can.”
“Yeah, we can,” Melissa says. “Some of us haven’t eaten for days. The Peacekeepers cut off our food supply.”
“All right,” Meredith says. “Then it’s time we did something about that. Have you got refrigerators? Big ones? Where can we store this stuff? Do you have portable cookers? How many fighters have you got? What about wounded, children, and elderly? We need to establish a central point to feed your folks…”
Melissa cuts Meredith off. “Lady, I can’t answer all your questions. We’re fighting against Peacekeepers on the other side of town right this minute. I can take you to some people who can answer them. They’ll probably put you in charge of food.”
“All right,” Meredith says.
Alex returns from the caboose, followed by Josh. “Here’s the manifest,” Alex says. “I only have the paper version.”
Meredith starts reading the document. The train is indeed jammed with fresh fruits and vegetables. “This will do. I’ll take this with me, thanks.”
“What are you doing with my train,” Josh asks, in a weary voice. “I have to go on to the Capitol.”
“Not anymore,” Meredith says, her voice firm, her psyche reconstructed. “You’ve joined the rebellion now. This train is staying here, and we’re going to unload it to feed all the people here. Is that okay with you?”
Alex looks around, at a district filled with smoke and battered buildings. “Fine with me,” Alex says. “I guess the war is on.”
Josh stares numbly at Meredith. “Okay, I guess. I don’t have anywhere to go. What the hell, you only live once. I’ll leave the train running to keep the power on in the reefer cars.” He turns and shuffles off.
Alex stares at Meredith. “I don’t know how to say this…but…I’d like to see you again.”
You’re joking, Meredith thinks. Last night, I had to fend off Cassius Gray, Head Peacekeeper of District 11. The last thing I want to do now is get a boyfriend. I can’t imagine being kissed. I’d better let him down gently.
Meredith smiles sweetly at him. “I’m sorry, Alex. You’re very nice. And I’m very flattered. But I’m not up for that now. There’s a war starting. But thank you.”
“Well…if you ever change your mind…”
“I’ll look for you,” Meredith says. You deserve a nice girl, she thinks. But it’s not going to be me. Sorry.
Meredith turns back to Melissa and her gang.
“You got a gun?” Melissa asks.
Meredith holds up the pistol she took from the dead Peacekeeper the night before.
“Nah, you need something with cojones,” Melissa says. “Something with balls. We’ll get you a bigger piece. I’ll take you to HQ, where you can tell them about the food.” She turns to her crew. “You guys guard this train. We’ll be back.” She seems to look at the younger boys with a special glance, Meredith thinks.
Melissa and Meredith start walking through the battered street, over the rubble and wreckage, past fresh corpses. “You’re pretty tough, to survive all that shit. What were you before you ran from District 11?”
“I ran District 11,” Meredith says. “I was the Assistant Business Administrator. And you?”
“Factory worker. Floor leader. Mother of five,” Melissa answers. “And got pissed off when they sent a pregnant girl into the Hunger Games last night. So, my husband Carlos and I got some Peacekeeper uniforms. We took over a Peacekeeper station, and shot them dead. Hijo la puta.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sons of a whore,” Melissa said. “Spanish. We’re not supposed to speak it, but my parents and grandparents taught me. At least some of the dirty words. We call Snow a ‘maricon,’ which means he sucks dicks.”
“Does he?” Meredith asks, idly, trying to make conversation.
“Do I look like I care?” Melissa answers.
Melissa leads Meredith down a street, where a Peacekeeper truck lies flipped over on its side, its bottom blasted open. Melissa jerks her left thumb at it. “Blew that motherfucker up last night.”
All around them smoke curls from buildings, and Meredith can hear the rattle of gunfire and the occasional thump of an explosion.
“We went on strike last night. Everybody in the District,” Melissa explains, her voice hard and stony. “We actually started planning it during the 74th Hunger Games, and we got a lot of people to support us and agree to do it only last night.”
They reach a bunker-like concrete building, and climb an outside staircase. Melissa bangs on a door, and it opens at once. Inside, a bunch of heavily-armed workers, some in pieces of Peacekeeper uniforms, are at work – some gathered at a map table, others manning communications laptops, and others looking out windows, clearly on guard.
A swarthy man at a desk rises from it and kisses Melissa on the lips. “Muy chica,” he says. “You’re back.”
“Mi amor,” Melissa says to him. She points at Meredith. “My husband, Carlos. This is Meredith Jackson. She’s on the run from District 11 and brought us a train full of food. She says she was Assistant Business Administrator there and knows how to distribute it.”
“Good,” Carlos says, pointing at her. “We have a lot of hungry people here. I’ll put you in charge of food. Why did you run from District 11?”
“The Head Peacekeeper gave me a choice: be his mistress or become an Avox,” Meredith says wearily.
“Head Peacekeeper in District 11?” Carlos asks. “He was just on TV. Take a look.”
They go over to a wall with several television sets. One of them is taking a live feed from District 11.
“This was a Peacekeeper station before we took it over,” Carlos says. “So, it has connections to all the official TV monitoring in each district. Check this out.”
He hits a remote control, and Cassius Gray’s smooth face appears on one of the screens, addressing an audience.
“Turn it up,” Meredith says.
Carlos raises the volume, and Gray’s voice fills the room. “As of 0700 hours local time, I have declared martial law in District 11 and this district in revolt against the Capitol and President Snow. All the Peacekeepers in this District are behind the revolt and I am proud to join with my fellow residents of District 11 in fighting against tyranny, and for freedom…”
“Now you can turn that down,” Meredith says. “He declared martial law?”
“Yeah,” Carlos says. “Arrested the civilian leaders and any Peacekeeper who supports the government. He says he was disgusted when they announced last night on TV that Katniss was pregnant and going into the arena. He’s creating an armed militia to fight the government.”
“You sure this is the same guy who wanted to make you an Avox?” Melissa asks.
“I don’t know what to think any more,” Meredith says. She grabs at her head. “It’s too much to absorb.”
“Well, if Cassius Gray puts District 11 on our side, I’m all for it. But what are we going to do about all that food?” Melissa asks.
“We have to figure out how many people we need to feed, where they are, get the food to them and them to the food, provide them with plates and utensils…I’ve done it, when we had to mobilize everyone to work all night back home…but I’m really getting tired right now,” Meredith answers, spouting off the policies. A mist seems to come over her. The struggle of the past 20 hours has caught up with her. I’m doing this from force of habit, she thinks. Any time my District had a problem, I’d just spew out the policy answers. I’m doing the same thing here.
“Mira, I have to go back there,” Melissa says. “I need some more guys to come with me to guard that train until you figure out what to do with it.” She pauses. “Luis and Junior are out there. I don’t want them to get hurt.”
Meredith feels a burning sensation when she hears that. “Your sons are out there? In that group?”
“Si. My babies. Well, the oldest ones,” Melissa says, nodding.
“I’m going back there with you,” Meredith says, firmly. She turns to Carlos. “While I’m out there, have somebody figure out where our people are and how many there are. Just get me that information.”
“Here,” Carlos says, digging in a cabinet. “We found these early this morning. Peacekeeper Communicuffs.” He hands one to Meredith. “Give yourself a call sign.”
Meredith looks down at the cuff and slaps it around her wrist. “Othello,” she says.
“Does that mean something?” Carlos asks.
“To me it does – a black warrior from a play by William Shakespeare.”
Carlos nods his head judicially. “Did he ever write about any Latinos?”
“Not that I know of,” Meredith says. “And I need something better than this.” She hands over her pistol.
“That’s easy,” Carlos says. He opens another cabinet and gives Meredith a Peacekeeper rifle and several ammunition clips. “You take care of my family, now,” he says.
Meredith looks down at the rifle, puzzled for a moment.
“You know how to work that,” Melissa asks.
“No, but I’m a fast learner.”
“I’ll teach you,” Melissa says.
“And I’ll take care of your boys,” Meredith answers, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.
***
“I felt like I had to do a duty at that moment,” Meredith says. “I thought of Melissa’s kids out there, in her party, and they could have been my brothers. I couldn’t just let her go back out there. And they told me they needed me as a leader.
“So, when Carlos handed me that rifle, and told me I was in charge of food, I felt powerful, and like I had a mission to accomplish. I didn’t care about what Cassius Gray was doing or what was happening in District 11. I had a job to do, and I was going to be okay.”
“What about your family,” Peeta asks. “Weren’t you worried about them?”
“It’s a funny thing,” Meredith says. “But somehow, once I knew that the district had revolted, they would be okay, too. I just knew that now we had the bastards on the run, and we could defeat them. I just knew…we couldn’t lose. And everything would be all right, in the end. For them, for me, for the whole country.”
I know the next part. Meredith distinguished herself in District 8 in both organizing the logistics and leading troops in the fighting. She was one of several people from District 8 sent to do officer training in District 7, where we met.
“What happened to Carlos and Melissa?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Meredith says. “We said goodbye when I went to District 7 to train and meet you, and I never saw them again.”
“Well, now I understand why you weren’t happy when you met up with General Gray back at the bridge,” I say. “I’ll bet you were the last person he wanted to see.”
“And you also know why I wanted to serve in the Black Devils, not in the regular ground forces. I heard he was a bigshot in the ground forces,” Meredith says. “I was afraid I’d meet up with him again.”
“Did that happen while you were in the Army?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not until that day at the bridge. I don’t think he knew I was even in the Army. If he did, he was probably hoping I’d died in the fighting,” Meredith says. “I’m sure that’s why I was sent forward that day.”
“You got wounded, didn’t you?” I ask.
“My Buffalo was hit in that ambush right after, and I was burned. After I was flung from it by the force of the explosion, I passed out from the pain. When I woke up, I was in a hospital in District 2.”
“Great,” I mutter. “My father was probably 20 feet away.”
“He was taking care of wounded guys in the hospital?” Katniss asks.
“I don’t know what he did in the war,” I say. That phrase was a standing joke in the Black Devils, courtesy of Gus Lewis, who had a reproduction of a giant poster in one of our training rooms, which showed two kids asking that question of an uncertain father. Gus said it was from something called the “First World War,” and it was to shame laggards into joining the Army. We would make quips about that phrase when we had to do boring or repetitious tasks. Sometimes I wondered what Dad did while I fought. But I couldn’t ask him. It was like his service as a Peacekeeper. He wouldn’t talk about it.
“So, what happened in the hospital?” Peeta asks.