Chapter 37 : The Road to Eleven
The train cut through Panem like a knife through flesh.
Effie had reorganized our schedule three times since departure, color-coded cards spread across the dining car table like a war room map. "District 11 first—that's Rue's home, so the emotional resonance will be tremendous. Then we work backward through the numbers. District 10, 9, 8..."
"The districts that lost tributes to us," Katniss said.
"To the arena. Not to you specifically." Effie's correction was automatic, practiced. "The narrative is three allies who survived together. Not three killers who—"
"We know the narrative." I pushed away from the window. "We've been living it for six weeks."
The landscape outside had shifted from District 12's sparse mountains to flatter ground, agricultural territory stretching toward the horizon. District 11 was the largest district by area—endless fields worked by endless workers, feeding a Capitol that never seemed satisfied.
Rue's home. Thresh's territory. The place where two tributes had left for the Games and only one was coming back.
Haymitch found me in the observation car after midnight.
"Can't sleep?"
"Can you?" I didn't turn from the window. Stars were visible here, away from any city's lights. The same stars I'd seen from the arena, from the train ride in, from a hospital room in another life entirely.
"I don't sleep much anymore." He settled into the seat beside mine, bottle in hand but not drinking. "The dreams are worse than the whiskey hangover."
"What do you dream about?"
"My Games. My tributes. The forty-six kids I watched die over twenty-four years." His voice was matter-of-fact, stripped of self-pity. "You?"
"The arena. Sometimes." I hesitated. "Sometimes other things. Places I've never been. People I've never met."
"Sounds like madness."
"Maybe." I finally looked at him. "Does it get easier?"
"No." He took a drink. "But you get better at carrying it."
The train rocked gently, steel on steel, carrying us toward the first stop on a tour designed to parade our survival before the families of the dead.
"Snow spoke to me at the crowning," I said. "Told me to enjoy my victory while I could."
"He says that to all the interesting ones."
"Interesting?"
"The ones who survive in ways he doesn't expect. The ones who might cause problems." Haymitch's eyes were sharp despite the alcohol. "You're a problem, Nolan. Three victors instead of one. A boy who heals from wounds that should kill him. Someone who figured out how to beat the system."
"I didn't beat anything. I just... refused to play."
"That's worse, from his perspective." Haymitch leaned forward. "The Games work because everyone plays. Tributes fight. One survives. Districts mourn and move on. You broke the pattern. You showed them it could be broken."
"So what do I do?"
"Tomorrow? You smile, you give speeches, you thank the districts for their sacrifice." His voice hardened. "And you don't give them any more reasons to hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope gets people killed."
The train rushed on through darkness. Behind us, District 12 slept. Ahead, District 11 waited.
Hope, I thought, was already loose. Whether I wanted it or not.
Katniss came to my compartment before dawn.
"I couldn't sleep either." She sat on the edge of the bed, still in yesterday's clothes. "I keep thinking about Thresh's family. They'll be there. Watching us celebrate while their son is dead."
"He saved my life." The memory surfaced unbidden—Thresh standing over Clove's body, rock dripping, offering mercy I hadn't earned. "At the Feast. He could have killed me. Instead, he let me go. For Rue."
"Will you tell them that?"
"I'll tell them he was honorable. That he showed mercy. That he deserved better than a grave in the arena."
"Will it help?"
"No." I met her eyes. "But it's true. And maybe truth matters, even when it doesn't help."
She reached for my hand, squeezed once. We sat in silence as the first gray light of dawn touched the windows.
District 11 appeared on the horizon—guard towers first, then processing facilities, then endless rows of crops stretching to every edge of sight.
The largest district. The most controlled. The most watched.
The first test of whatever we'd become.
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