Coriolanus’s mind was in a whirl. Lucy Gray rejoined the Covey for one of those harmonious things with unintelligible words, and he tuned them out as he tried to ride the curve life had just thrown him. He and Lucy Gray, running away into the wilderness. Madness. But then again, why not? It was the only lifeline in his reach, and he meant to grasp it and hold on tightly. Tomorrow was Sunday, so he had the day off. He’d leave as early as possible. Grab breakfast, possibly his last meal in civilization, when the mess opened at six, then hit the road. His bunkmates would be sleeping off the whiskey. He would have to sneak off the base. . . . The fence! He hoped Spruce had had good information about the weak spot behind the generator. And then he’d make his way to Lucy Gray and run as fast and as far as he could.
But wait. Should he go to her house? With the Covey all there? And possibly the mayor? Or did she mean to meet in the Meadow? He was mulling it over when the number ended and she slid back up on her stool with her guitar.
“I almost forgot. I promised to sing this for one of you,” she said. And there it was again, ever so casually, her hand on her pocket. She began the song she’d been working on when he’d come up behind her in the Meadow.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
The hanging tree. Her old meeting spot with Billy Taupe. That’s where she wanted him to meet her.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
He would have preferred not to meet up at her old lover’s rendez-vous spot, but it was certainly much safer than meeting at her house. Who would be there on a Sunday morning? Anyway, Billy Taupe was no longer a concern. She took another breath. She must have written more. . . .
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we’d both be free?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
Who did she mean? Billy Taupe telling her to come there so they’d be free? Her telling him tonight that they’d be free?
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Now he got it. The song, the speaker in the song, was Billy Taupe, and he was singing it to Lucy Gray. He’d witnessed Arlo’s death, heard the birds call out his last words, begged Lucy Gray to run away to freedom with him, and when she’d rejected him, he’d wanted her to hang with him rather than get to live without him. Coriolanus hoped this was the final Billy Taupe song. What else could be said, really? Not that it mattered. This might be his song, but she was singing it to Coriolanus. Snow lands on top.
The Covey performed a few more numbers, then Lucy Gray said, “Well, as my daddy used to say, you have to go to bed with the birds if you want to greet them at dawn. Thanks for having us tonight. And how about one more round of wishes for Commander Hoff!” The whole drunken gymnasium slurred out one more “Happy Birthday” chorus for the commander.
The Covey took their final bow and exited the stage. Coriolanus waited in the back to help Bug get Beanpole back to the barrack. Before they knew it, it was lights-out and they had to climb into bed in the dark. His bunkmates lost consciousness almost immediately, but he lay awake, going over the escape plan in his head. It didn’t require much. Just him, the clothes on his back, a couple of mementos in his pockets, and a lot of luck.
Coriolanus rose at dawn, dressed in fresh fatigues, and tucked a couple of clean changes of underclothes and socks into his pockets. He chose three photos of his family, the circle of his mother’s powder, and his father’s compass, and hid them among his clothes as well. Last, he made the most convincing form of himself he could with his pillow and blanket and arranged the sheet over it. As his bunkmates snored on, he gave the room one final look and wondered if he would miss them.
He joined a handful of early risers for a breakfast of bread pudding, which seemed a positive omen for the trip, as it was Lucy Gray’s favorite. He wished he could take her some, but his pockets were full to bursting, and they didn’t have napkins in the mess. Draining his cup of apple juice, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, dropped off his tray for the dish washers, and headed outside, planning to make a beeline for the generator.
As he stepped into the sunlight, a pair of guards descended on him. Armed guards, not aides. “Private Snow,” said one. “You’re wanted in the commander’s office.”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through him. His blood pounded in his temples. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t be coming to arrest him just when he was on the verge of freedom. Of a new life with Lucy Gray. His eyes darted to the generator, about a hundred yards from the mess hall. Even with his recent training, he’d never make it. He never would. I just need five more minutes, he pleaded with the universe. Even two will do. The universe ignored him.
Flanked by the guards, he drew back his shoulders and marched straight to the commander’s office, prepared to face his doom. As he entered, Commander Hoff rose from his desk, snapped to attention, and gave him a salute. “Private Snow,” he said. “Let me be the first to congratulate you. You leave for officers’ school tomorrow.”
Coriolanus stood stunned as the guards slapped him on the back, laughing. “I — I —”
“You’re the youngest person ever to pass the test.” The commander beamed. “Ordinarily, we’d train you here, but your scores recommend you for an elite program in District Two. We’ll be sorry to see you go.”
Oh, how he wished he could go! To District Two, which was not really that far from his home in the Capitol. To officers’ school, elite officers’ school, where he could distinguish himself and find a way back to a life worth living. This might be an even better road to power than the University had offered. But there was still a murder weapon with his name on it out there. His DNA would condemn him, just as it had on the handkerchief. Sadly, tragically, it was too dangerous to stay. It hurt to play along.
“What time do I leave?” he asked.
“There’s a hovercraft headed that way early tomorrow morning, and you’ll be on it. You’re off today, I think. Use the time to pack up and say your good-byes.” The commander shook his hand for the second time in two days. “We expect great things from you.”
Coriolanus thanked the commander and headed outside, where he stood a moment, weighing his options. It was no use. There were no options. Hating himself, and hating Sejanus Plinth even more, he walked toward the building that housed the generator, almost not caring if he was apprehended. What a bitter disappointment, to have a second chance at a bright future so irrevocably stripped away. He had to remind himself of the rope, and the gallows, and the jabberjays mimicking his last words to renew his focus. He was about to desert the Peacekeepers; he needed to snap out of it.
When he reached the building, he took a quick look over his shoulder, but the base still slept, and he slunk around to the back without witnesses. He examined the fence and could find no opening at first. He wound his fingers in the links and gave them a shake of frustration. Sure enough, the mesh pulled free of a supporting pole, leaving a break in the fence he could just squeeze through. Outside, his natural wariness reinstated itself. He skirted around the rear of the base and through a wooded area, eventually making his way to the road that led to the hanging tree. Once there, he
simply followed the path the truck had taken on previous trips, walking briskly, but not so fast as to attract attention. There was precious little to attract anyway on a hot Sunday shortly after dawn. Most miners and Peacekeepers would not rise for hours.
After a few miles, he reached the depressing field and broke into a run for the hanging tree, eager to conceal himself in the woods. There was no sign of Lucy Gray, and as he passed under the branches, he wondered if in fact he’d misinterpreted her message and should have headed to the Seam instead. Then he caught a glimpse of orange and tracked it to a clearing. There she stood, unloading a stack of bundles from a small wagon, his scarf wound in a fetching manner around her head. She ran over and hugged him, and he responded even though it felt too hot for an embrace. The kiss that followed put him in a better mood.
His hand went to the orange scarf in her hair. “This seems very bright for fugitives.”
Lucy Gray smiled. “Well, I don’t want you to lose me. You still up for this?”
“I have no choice.” Realizing that sounded halfhearted, he added, “You’re all that matters to me now.”
“You, too. You’re my life now. Sitting here, waiting for you to show up, I realized I’d never really be brave enough to do this without you,” she admitted. “It’s not just how hard it will be. It’s too lonely. I might’ve made it for a few days, but then I’d have come home to the Covey.”
“I know. I didn’t even consider running until you brought it up. It’s so . . . daunting.” He ran a hand over her bundles. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t risk bringing anything much.”
“I didn’t think you could. I’ve been collecting all this, and I raided our storeroom, too. It’s okay. I left the Covey the rest of the money.” As if convincing herself, she said, “They’ll be okay.” She hoisted up a pack and threw it over her shoulder.
He gathered some of the supplies. “What will they do? I mean, the band. Without you.”
“Oh, they’ll get by. They can all carry a tune, and Maude Ivory’s just a few years from replacing me as lead singer anyway,” said Lucy Gray. “Besides, the way trouble seems to find me, I may be wearing out my welcome in District Twelve. Last night the commander told me not to sing ‘The Hanging Tree’ anymore. Too dark, he said. Too rebellious, more like it. I promised he’d never hear it from my lips again.”
“It’s a strange song,” offered Coriolanus.
Lucy Gray laughed. “Well, Maude Ivory likes it. She says it has real authority.”
“Like my voice. When I sang the anthem in the Capitol,” Coriolanus remembered.
“That’s it,” said Lucy Gray. “You ready?”
They’d divided everything between them. It took him a moment to realize what was missing. “Your guitar. You’re not taking it?”
“I’m leaving it for Maude Ivory. That and my mama’s dresses.” She struggled to make light of it. “What will I need them for? Tam Amber thinks there’s still people in the north, but I’m not convinced. I think it’s just going to be us.”
For a moment, he realized that he wasn’t the only one leaving his dreams behind. “We’ll get new dreams out there,” Coriolanus promised, with more conviction than he felt. He pulled out his father’s compass, consulted it, and pointed. “North is this way.”
“I thought we’d head to the lake first. It’s mostly north. I’d kind of like to see it one more time,” she said.
It seemed as good a plan as any, so he didn’t object. Soon they’d just be adrift in the wilderness, never to return. Why not indulge her? He tucked in a bit of scarf that had come loose. “The lake it is.”
Lucy Gray gazed back at the town, although the only thing Coriolanus could make out was the gallows. “Good-bye, District Twelve. Good-bye, hanging tree and Hunger Games and Mayor Lipp. Someday something will kill me, but it won’t be you.” She turned and headed deeper into the woods.
“Not much to miss,” agreed Coriolanus.
“I’ll miss the music and my pretty birds,” said Lucy Gray with a catch in her voice. “I’m hoping one day they can follow me, though.”
“You know what I won’t miss? People,” Coriolanus replied. “Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.”
“People aren’t so bad, really,” she said. “It’s what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we’d never have considered if they’d just left us alone.”
“I don’t know. I killed Mayfair, and there was no arena in sight,” he said.
“But only to save me.” She thought it over. “I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.”
“Sometimes there are tough decisions.” He’d been making them all summer.
“I know that. Of course, I do. I’m a victor,” she said ruefully. “It’d be nice, in my new life, not to have to kill anyone else.”
“I’m with you there. Three seems enough for one lifetime. And certainly enough for one summer.” A feral cry came from nearby, reminding him of his lack of a weapon. “I’m going to make a walking stick. Do you want one?”
She pulled up. “Sure. That could come in handy in more ways than one.”
They found a couple of stout branches, and she steadied them while he snapped off their limbs. “Who’s the third?”
“What?” She was giving him a funny look. His hand slipped, driving a piece of bark under his nail. “Ow.”
She ignored his injury. “Person you killed. You said you killed three people this summer.”
Coriolanus bit at the end of the splinter to pull it out with his teeth, buying a moment of time. Who, indeed? The answer was Sejanus, of course, but he couldn’t admit to that.
“Can you get this out?” He held out his hand, wiggling the compromised fingernail, hoping to distract her.
“Let me see.” She examined his splinter. “So, Bobbin, Mayfair . . . who’s the third?”
His mind raced for a plausible explanation. Could he have been involved in a freak accident? A training death? He was cleaning a weapon, and it went off by mistake? He decided it was best to make a joke of it. “Myself. I killed the old me so I could come with you.”
She plucked the splinter free. “There. Well, I hope old you doesn’t haunt new you. We’ve already got enough ghosts between us.”
The moment passed, but it had killed the conversation. Neither of them spoke again until the halfway point, where they stopped for a breather.
Lucy Gray unscrewed the plastic jug and offered it to him. “Will they miss you yet?”
“Probably not until dinner. You?” He took a deep drink of water.
“Only one up when I left was Tam Amber. I told him I was going to find out about a goat. We’ve been talking about building a herd. Sell the milk as a sideline,” she said. “I’ve probably got a few more hours before they start looking. Might be night before they think about the hanging tree and find the wagon. They’ll put it together.”
He handed her the jug. “Will they try to follow you?”
“Maybe. But we’ll be too far gone.” She took a swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Will they hunt you?”
He doubted the Peacekeepers would be concerned anytime soon. Why would he desert with elite officers’ school waiting? If anyone even noticed he was missing, they’d probably think he’d gone into town with another Peacekeeper. Unless they found the gun, of course. He didn’t want to go into all the school stuff now while the wound was still fresh. “I don’t know. Even when they realize I’ve run, they won’t know where to look.”
They hiked on toward the lake, each lost in their own thoughts. It all seemed unreal to him, as if this were just a pleasure outing, as the one two Sundays ago had been. As if they were going for a picnic, a
nd he must be sure to get back in time for fried baloney and curfew. But no. When they reached the lake, they’d move on into the wilderness, to a life consumed with the most basic type of survival. How would they eat? Where would they live? And what on earth would they do with themselves, when the challenges of obtaining food and shelter had been met? Her with no music. Him with no school, or military, or anything. Have a family? It seemed too bleak an existence to condemn a child to. Any child, let alone one of his own. What was there to aspire to once wealth, fame, and power had been eliminated? Was the goal of survival further survival and nothing more?
Preoccupied as he was with these questions, the second leg of the journey to the lake passed quickly. They set down their loads on the shore, and Lucy Gray went directly to find branches for fishing poles. “We don’t know what lies ahead, so we better fill up here,” she said. She showed him how to attach the heavy thread and hooks to their poles. Clawing through the soft mud for worms disgusted him, and he wondered if this would be a daily activity. It would, if they were hungry enough. They baited the hooks and sat silently on the bank, waiting for a strike as the birds chattered around them. She caught two. He caught nothing.
Heavy, dark clouds rolled in, providing some relief from the beating sun but adding to his oppression. This was his life now. Digging for worms and being at the mercy of the weather. Elemental. Like an animal. He knew this would be easier if he wasn’t such an exceptional person. The best and the brightest humanity had to offer. The youngest to pass the officer candidate test. If he’d been useless and stupid, the loss of civilization would not have hollowed out his insides in this manner. He’d have taken it in stride. Thick, cold raindrops began to plop down on him, leaving wet marks on his fatigues.
“Never be able to cook in this,” Lucy Gray said. “Better go inside. There’s a fireplace in there we can use.”
She could only mean the one lake house that still had a roof. Probably his last roof, until he built one himself. How did you build a roof anyway? It had not been a question on the officer candidate test.
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Page 45
