Work Text:
13 could not be much further now. they had been walking for weeks...or months? the girl had been from 12, meaning 13 was now a stones throw away. bonnie kept her eyes trained on the ground, ignoring the rips in the soles of her feet, the scratches from native fauna along her legs, and the itches on her arm from curious bugs.
the rubble had started a few days ago. bits and pieces of brick, shrapnel, and signs of a life that once was. an old garden bed covered over in thick undergrowth. a sign, so decayed that it mimicked an ancient tree stump. scattered remnants of plastic, hardly natural to the dark greenery the pair found themselves in. the walk had been unforgiving, almost absent of any trinket of water. her research on plant life in the woodlands surrounding the districts had served them well in the familiar woods around her home district, but now all she found was nightlock. she had caught bonnie caressing some on his lips, leaving a purple lipstick across her water-parched lips. just in time, she whacked them from her face, leaving her a bloody nose. better the blood of a nose than death. “that’s nightlock, you idiot,” she exclaimed, too frightened to watch her volume. twill was her only cause for the continued pain of walking, one in front the other, for days on end.
the fire was weak, but enough for twill to see the outline of bonnie’s face in the night. it was reminiscent of the woman who had come with her to parent-teacher night. bonnie’s brown eyes did not match her mother’s striking blue ones. blue eyes were wealthy eyes. where had she got her brown ones? her father? twill had never met the girl’s father, but had seen a ghostly figure with a hand wrapped in hers at the market a few weeks before the capitol blew up the factory. lucky it had occured during teaching hours.
the makeshift bed of undergrowth did little to offer any comfort. still, an anxious sleep eventually washed over twill, leaving her dreams to wonder what may become of tomorrow.
&
the morning awoke with a start. more than a start--a panic. the type of panic bonnie and twill remembered from the uprising, and the months of tension before it. the hovercraft had come out of nowhere, and its angry pursuit of them as pray was all twill needed to know that it was not 13. it was the capitol. weak from months of low nutritional intake, thirsty beyond belief, any hope of escape was depended on their ability to run....or hide.
the odds were not in their favour.
running through the undergrowth, the hovercraft making ground, masterfully swerving the trees and chasing them towards a clearing. little protection offered by the open canopy, twill pushed bonnie into a small cave opening, and dove under a bundle of fallen roots and branches herself.
the hovercraft, although trying was impossible in its ability to penetrate the ground for the capture of its victims. it tried as it might--the release of nets and chemicals, but the victims’ experience in factories had taught them to limit their intake of air in such situations. spears filtered down too, with the poison from nightlock extraced and sprinkled onto the ends as to create a fatal blow. still, the vegetation surrounding them created a strong shield of protection. after crawling into an even deeper part of the undergrowth to allow for further protection, twill awaited escape. or death. whichever came first.
just as her eyes fluttered over her lids in pain and exhaustion, she heard the faint song of a mockingjay in the distance.
&
the hovercraft came back for the bodies. it had hovered several hours, observing for any signs of motion. peacekeepers watched the radar screens for signs of movement. confidant that the targets had deceased from a combination of pre-existing injuries and new ones sustained in the attack, it landed in the clearing ahead. a peacekeeper was released to collect the victims. a machete in tow, he hacked away at the greenery to reach the final resting place of the victims.
another peacekeeper soon joined him, and they dragged the bodies back to the hovercraft, awaiting their return to district 8 where they would be placed on display.
on its return to 8, the hovercraft did a pass by of 13. the silencing technology equipped in the hovercraft prevented it from being detected by 13’s radar, allowing the capitol to conduct periodic flyovers of the abandoned surface above 13. a meagre twenty five minutes in the air, the peacekeeper looked over at the bodies on the operating table and speculated they only had another half days of walking before reaching the relative safety of 13’s surface. then, 13’s ground radar surface would pick up their presence, usher them down below, interrogate them for capitol affiliation, and release them into the general population after thorough medical screening. still, for these two, in their shape, a half day could easily turn into another 3. maybe they could have got their on sheer hope and will. metaphorical aspirations aside, the sheer physical state on the bodies would have made that an unrealistic dream. he'd done them a favour.
the odds were never in their favour.