Free Mockingjay (The Final Book of The Hunger Games) by Suzanne Collins Page B

Beetee. He reaches over and pats my hand. “So we should just leave you alone, right?”
People laugh. I even smile a little.
“Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful,” says Fulvia peevishly. “Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat--”
“That's exactly what I'm suggesting,” says Haymitch. “Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling.”
“But people think she's pregnant,” Gale points out.
“We'll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the arena,” Plutarch replies. “Very sad. Very unfortunate.”
The idea of sending me into combat is controversial. But Haymitch has a pretty tight case. If I perform well only in real-life circumstances, then into them I should go. “Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay. It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to.”
“Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety,” says Boggs. “She'll be a target for every--”
“I want to go,” I break in. “I'm no help to the rebels here.”
“And if you're killed?” asks Coin.
“Make sure you get some footage. You can use that, anyway,” I answer.
“Fine,” says Coin. “But let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you.” She walks around Command, studying the illuminated district maps that show the ongoing troop positions in the war. “Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?”
“Wash her face,” says Dalton. Everyone turns to him. “She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do.”
As Coin adjourns the meeting, Haymitch asks her if he can speak to me privately. The others leave except for Gale, who lingers uncertainly by my side. “What are you worried about?” Haymitch asks him. “I'm the one who needs the bodyguard.”
“It's okay,” I tell Gale, and he goes. Then there's just the hum of the instruments, the purr of the ventilation system.
Haymitch takes the seat across from me. “We're going to have to work together again. So, go ahead. Just say it.”
I think of the snarling, cruel exchange back on the hovercraft. The bitterness that followed. But all I say is “I can't believe you didn't rescue Peeta.”
“I know,” he replies.
There's a sense of incompleteness. And not because he hasn't apologized. But because we were a team. We had a deal to keep Peeta safe. A drunken, unrealistic deal made in the dark of night, but a deal just the same. And in my heart of hearts, I know we both failed.
“Now you say it,” I tell him.
“I can't believe you let him out of your sight that night,” says Haymitch.
I nod. That's it. “I play it over and over in my head. What I could have done to keep him by my side without breaking the alliance. But nothing comes to me.”
“You didn't have a choice. And even if I could've made Plutarch stay and rescue him that night, the whole hovercraft would've gone down. We barely got out as it was.” I finally meet Haymitch's eyes. Seam eyes. Gray and deep and ringed with the circles of sleepless nights. “He's not dead yet, Katniss.”
“We're still in the game.” I try to say this with optimism, but my voice cracks.
“Still in. And I'm still your mentor.” Haymitch points his marker at me. “When you're on the ground, remember I'm airborne. I'll have the better view, so do what I tell you.”
“We'll see,” I answer.
I return to the Remake Room and watch the streaks of makeup disappear down the drain as I scrub my face clean. The person in the mirror looks